chinese broccoli

part one day one: chicago to phoenix to tucson

i don’t know what kind of measurements you use, but going by tacos per hour, this trip clocked in at 4.5 tacos per hour (tph). maybe not that much of an accomplishment in the digital era, but hey, a girl’s gotta sleep.

so! what better way to extend an already unruly christmastime trip home than by taking up a crazy, generous adventure offer from my oldest showgoing pal andy to meet up and see sonic youth in tucson and tempe? it’s not irrational to fly to the desert for two days to eat a dozen tacos and see a band you’ve seen 20 times that lives in the same city as you, right? not if you’re me, anyway. and in any case the tacos are terrible in new york city.

i flew into sky harbor airport on ummm three hours’ sleep monday morning, on the heels of just barely escaping a lake effect snowmare at my family’s house in indiana the day before. i remember clearing four inches of snow off of mom’s camry, then clearing another four off again an hour later. but in 24 hours time i’m somehow in a rental car in phoenix with my shoes and socks off, exclaiming like a hyperactive child at all the oranges just growing for free and falling onto sidewalks and roadways just everywhere!! CAN YOU JUST TAKE THEM?! phoenix is kind of like atlanta but with palm trees. i digress.

andy and i are hungry (well, we’re always hungry) so our first stop is super bougie grocery-compound la grande orange on north 40th street. i feel underdressed here, but they are playing mid-period new order. also, a guy in a very elaborate Rockstar Energy Drink athletic jersey is eating a sandwich with his mom..or is it his wife? none of that stops me from completely enjoying their “commuter” breakfast sandwich: homemade english muffin with egg, avocado, bacon, tomato. we lay in some pastry supplies (chocolate chip fleur de sel cookie, cherry-almond brioche, macaroon, ooey gooey cupcake) for the overnight trip to tucson, and hit the interstate.

but first, andy obliges while i pull over and grab some oranges off a tree on the side of the road. they are too juicy and almost inedibly tart, but whatever. i grew up in the rust belt. too early in their season i imagine, but i would have liked to cook with oranges that taste like lemons. one day.

a couple chatty hours later we arrive in tucson where we drive straight to pico de gallo taqueria in south tucson. when i open the door of the taqueria the first thing i see is sonic youth tour manager dan mapp. he is with misters ibold and ranaldo, and let me tell you, when i see mark ibold in a restaurant i know i have chosen the right place to eat. it turns out to be his second time here that day. at pico de gallo i begin what will be a trip-long theme of trying to find a place to charge my phone in a taqueria, and order two fish tacos and a carne asada. the asada (as i had been warned moments before) was pretty dry, but the fish were burstingly moist underneath crispiness so prevalent you temporarily forgot there was fish in the first place. but truly the focus here was on the corn tortilla, not doubled but double-weight itself, supple and more complex in texture than what i’m used to (due to being so damn thick). the head cold i’d been working towards over the prior two weeks in the midwest evaporated immediately upon contact with the hot sauce.

a couple of middling thrift stores later, we roll over to juanitos taqueria where i order a crispy, crunchy, chunky al pastor taco and another carne asada. it’s good but not magical. we figure we still have time to try a sonoran hot dog at el guero canele and check into the hotel congress before the rock show, so we do this. andy tries a taco at el guero as well as a double hot dog, known as the “sammy dog” (spanish menu translation: “2 winies”). i stick to the straight and narrow. this thing is pretty weird… fluffy white bun into which a bacon-wrapped mediocre frank has been submerged, covered in fresh onions, jalapenos, mayo, mustard, grilled onions, tomatoes…and beans? i didn’t think the “winie” was that good, but i did like the free calendars.

liz: “i think the weirdest thing about this hot dog is the beans on top.”
andy: “i think the weirdest thing about this hot dog is the second hot dog.”

sonic youth are a pleasure at the rialto, sticking (not a surprise) exclusively to songs from the eternal and a smattering of things from daydream nation or earlier. i take some pictures and go stand with andy for the rest, who reminds me during “brother james” of the time his feet hurt so bad at a sonic youth show in washington, dc he almost went to the hospital but then they played “brother james” and everything was alright forever again.

day two: tucson to tempe

it’s probably not possible but i can’t find any evidence anywhere on the internet that the beer i drank in the hotel congress’ tap room (amid the overflow from what i think was a big lesbian dance party) last night actually exists, but even though jeremy and andy didn’t care for it, and even though it may not exist, i do recommend the sierra nevada juniper black ale beer camp #16. i also recommend that you probably only want one. moving on, andy and i check out of the congress and head to breakfast (oops, lunch) at little cafe poca cosa. steve shelley is already eating in here, which generates that “i’m eating in the right place/man the band must think i’m a stalker” feeling i’m becoming familiar with. the house lunch plate is tremendous: chile relleno, tamale, pork taco on the side and a tall glass of basil pineapple juice (!!) that changes my worldview on pineapple juice rather significantly. the tamale is perfection, a super honeysweet corn wrapped around gooey cheese with the odd pepper.

totally stuffed, andy and i walk around the gravel sidewalks of sunny tucson’s old barrio, taking pictures of cactuses and shit while dogs bark at us from every other house. it’s gorgeous and strange, prickly and cozy all at once. the st. vincent depaul is an everything graveyard and has 100 rooms, but i am somehow able to not buy anything. i will need the space in my luggage later for chile peppers and cupcakes.

last tucson stop is to check out the local specialty carne seca my friend chris has been talking up to me, so we scoot over to st. mary’s mexican food where the carne seca taco is good (hard shell…was there another option?) but the tres leches cake is ridiculous. trust me…you want your tres leches cake to be sitting in a pool of its own milk, and this thing was as good as it looked, or better. i will miss you, tres leches cake at st. mary’s mexican food. i will come back for you sometime.

time to head through the desert!!!! now, my friend doc says the desert is “more crowded” than it used to be, but since i live in a city with about 400,000 in just my neighborhood, i like hwy 79 just fine. we don’t see much in the way of life — a few state troopers, a few cows — and we visit the tom mix rest area, where in 1937 the western film star drunk drove into a flooded-out gulch and died not from the car crash but from his airbone aluminum suitcase whacking him in the back of the head. note to all of you heavy packers…this could be your end. the desert is rambling and relaxing, and i’m pretty sure we’re the only people listening to big dipper driving towards florence that day. also, go for long enough and saguaro cacti begin to look like people. just sayin’.

we turn towards coolidge just in time for sundown at the casa grande ruins national monument. i admire their irrigation and the nubs of ancient walls. i can imagine the hohokam people cooking up some squash pretty easily, and for a moment that life doesn’t seem too distant from current reality. and then i go brew us a couple cups of coffee in the parking lot like a giant enormous coffee nerd. (thanks for the outlet to plug my kettle into, national park service!) this dalliance doesn’t count out a visit to tempe’s cartel coffee lab, a nice space with an impressive gear setup and onsite roasting. i’m not sure about my macchiato but the vibe is totally great. it’s nice to be focused on tacos instead of coffee for a change anyway.

my dinner fantasy for phoenix has been noca, but luckily it’s closed for a winter holiday and we are diverted to carolina’s, which at 7pm to an out-of-towner sure appears to be situated smack in the middle of total fucking nowhere. blocks of nearly blacked-out dark streets led to this sad-looking tortilleria, which could not have looked less open, but in fact was. we were the only patrons, but i can only express delight at the oaxacan special burro (w/chorizo, potatoes, cheese, served enchilada style; green) and the machaca taco, which comes on a freshmade flour tortilla that at first appears soggy-wet…but upon embrace reveals itself to be deliciously slicked-up, with crispy edges that seem almost caramelized with beef grease. a truly special taco in a charming (once you got past the “is this an abandoned building” mood) place. high marks for carolina’s.

the ooey gooey (buttercream/chocolate cake) cupcake baked by tammie coe procured yesterday gets hastily consumed on interstate 17 on our way to the sonic youth concert. its heavy-duty buttercream frosting is super sugary but you could eat it for days, and i almost don’t leave any to share with andy, but seeing as the trip was his idea i save him 40%. andy’s review of this cupcake was: “i couldn’t tell where the frosting ended and the cupcake began”, which describes it with alarming accuracy. we cross a bridge and i wonder why there are bridges in arizona, but this one actually has water under it.

nowhere we have gone in tucson or tempe or phoenix (except carolina’s) seems to have adequate parking. i think the state motto of arizona should be “arizona. more people showed up than we expected.” we park somewhere vaguely proximal to the concert venue and encounter a huge line of people being made to take off their shoes before getting patted down by security. is this normal? i’ve never had to take off any clothing to see sonic youth before. (i know arizona is a little wild, but usually a simple “please don’t bring your firearm in here” sign suffices.) the show was super loud and super awesome, very similar set but with “white cross” swapped in at the end, and i danced a lot during “cross the breeze” except my feet were really sticking to the floor. we take gwen lemos out for a drink while jeremy packs all the gear into the sonic semi-truck, and head home to the hotel andy’s pricelined for us, at a friggin golf resort, the kind of place i’ve never been in before and don’t expect to ever be in again. he keeps expecting the staff to treat him like he “isn’t even a golfer” but us two punks slip past unnoticed. arizona is weird.

day three: phoenix to brooklyn

morning finds us on the south side of phoenix, poised perfectly for ranch market, a most festive and expansive grocery store with an excellent taqueria and good security cameras as well. i have no sooner tried futilely to capture the “party” vibe of the produce department/tortilla factory/grilling area when a member of the ranch market family tells me he is very glad i am enjoying ranch market but no photography, please. i dare andy to get the five taco special and he does, going al pastor straight through, and i have a moist moist moist carne asada, carnitas, and al pastor trio, we shop the giant grocery store for chiles and other delights, and then encounter another taco stand outside on the way to the parking lot, where i get another asada and andy gets another al pastor. while we order and wait for these last succulent tacos, a mexican version of cheap trick’s “i want you to want me” is playing from a boom box three feet away. i thought the trip had peaked several times already by now, but undeniably, this is my moment. (it’s your moment too; since these tacos were consumed outside of the ranch market premises, you can enjoy them vicariously.)

on baseline road we pass a biker funeral, the lead car followed by a hearse followed by a car towing a ghost motorcycle with a stuffed animal on the seat and the vanished biker’s leather vest draped ominously over the back, dozens of road hogs behind it. then we try to visit the mystery castle, a private novelty residence made out of mosaic tile and goat cheese, but it’s closed on wednesdays. well, you can’t have it all.

the last order of business is postcards and cupcakes, meaning i have a very pleasant life indeed, and we stock up on the latter in time to drop the car off at the sky harbor rental return which is no fewer than 62347238982399002 kilometres away from any of the airport terminals. andy is psyched to see his wife and kids and i am still in total denial of my imminent return to 30 degree brooklyn tonight, but when i wake up in the morning and shake the tortillas out of my sneakers, i think i will still remember this feeling forever.

thank-yous-so-much to andy for the adventure itself, to jeremy and sonic youth for the musical hospitality and excellence, and kiki, chris and doc for advice, hand-holding and the like. i owe you each a slice of tres leches cake. word.