Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Rabid & Ready Swarofski Encrusted Dobermen

During a recent visit to Scottsdale, Arizona I found myself crushed under the wet, sloggy heaviness of a brief but intense depression. I attribute this to recently developing happy facts in my life; Daisy's health is on the mend, JP is out of the hospital, the DH's retina is refraining from detachment, and so on. Why, one might ask, would the mending of my loved ones cause me to BE depressed instead of happy? I think during the visit to Scottsdale I finally allowed myself to breathe. I felt safe amongst some of the people who love and care for me the most. And in the for some reason unforgettable lyrics of the completely insipid Faith Hill, I could finally, "just breathe". So I had a good cry and went on a rampage at Target. As I threw away the disgusting amount of environment ruining packaging that comes home with you after a spree at Target, I felt a little better. I dried my tears and went down to the pool at the Scottsdale Resort and Athletic Club.

A little later in the day, to further cheer me up, D took me to have a gander and a medicinal beverage at the Scottsdale Mondrian. Just like every other Mondrian and/or Ian Schrager property, this one is whimsical, fun, and filled to the brim with good looking young people partying their asses off. Both of the following are pictures of the Skybar, which I like much better than the Skybar in West Hollywood.

While it might not show much imagination on my part, I had a major craving for Mastro's. There are three unidentical branches of the small Mastro's chain in Scottsdale. The one we chose is called Mastro's City Hall Steakhouse: The first of a new hybrid steakhouse and sophisticated nightspot offering elegant, timeless dining experiences for the new millenia. You can find descriptions and locations for all Mastro's restaurants at the link below. (Psst: TomKat has been photographed leaving the one in Beverly Hills several times, which makes me hope they bring their own cutlery.)

As always I ordered the petit filet on the bone. With consistency, the Mastro's filet on the bone is the best steak I have ever and will ever eat. Period. The end.

All sides are served family style, and by family style they mean for the family portrayed in the 1970's drama, Eight is Enough. We finished none of our sides between the five people and there is not a dainty eater among us. Here are the delicious snap peas.

As a self-identified truffle whore, I was unable to take a pass on the truffled gnocci. This was a serving of monstrous proportions...did you hear me? MONSTROUS! I am sad we didn't finish this either. Tears fill my eyes at the thought that some portion of a beautiful truffle was used and did not pass through my digestive system.

We ended Saturday evening at a winebar modeled like a speakeasy. With a sign above the door stating simply, "The Truth Is Within", Kazimierz World Wine Bar has plush if not ample seating, friendly staff, a stunning interior that I will christen SouthWestoroccan, and a 136 page wine list that I did not even begin to delve into. I will do so at a later date. Do you hear me Scottsdale? I will return to conquer that wine list! Lock up the children and batten down the hatches!

The following day, after attempting comic tennis in the swirling desert winds, DF gave us the tour of old town Scottsdale and some of his favorite and notable spots. Eating lunch at the Italian Grotto was a treat. Aside from the open walls looking out onto the desert landscape, it feels just like any New York/Long Island brick walled, black leather boothed Italian restaurant owned by a made man with a bar tender so lovingly snarky you have to smile. The clams portofino were outrageously delicious. Frank Sinatra singing in the background was so cliche it was classic.

D being D meant that he ended up with tomato sauce spilled all the way down the front of his tee shirt and we spent the better part of the afternoon shopping for a replacement. When in the wild west, one wants to look like a wild western cowboy, therefore we shopped here.

And wonders may never cease, since we shopped for quite some time in a store with very expensive shoes and I found nothing of interest. It may have been a first.

We ended our afternoon walk at a random overly contemporary restaurant bar with the notable and noted Swarofski encrusted doberman pinscher statues encased in plexiglass. These are randomly cool.

We ended our evening and our trip with C at a Mexican restaurant so lovely I cannot remember its name. Delivering strong well constructed margaritas and light fare with lots of vegetables and freshly made tortillas, I will gladly eat there again anytime. Adios, Scottsdale.

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