When two food cultures meet, you get something that feels familiar but tastes different, with a deeper flavor. Mixing things doesnโt erase what was there, but enhances it.
Lobster folded into mac and cheese. Watermelon with feta and salt. Mango or pineapple with chile and lime. There is still a sweetness and richness, but the lobster in the cheese adds dimension and even a touch of luxury. The salinity against the watermelon makes it sweeter and brighter, and the sugar gets punched up against the heat and citrus. Something new moves in, but the original is still there, just changed.
Some of the most interesting combinations come not from a restaurant kitchen, but from the food that grows in a region.
Mesquite doesnโt smell like a sweet dessert. It smells like heat and smoke caught in desert air. Stand near a mesquite tree in Southern Arizona, and you understand that the aroma comes from being grown in the aridness and sun.
But chocolate chip cookies tell a different story. Even before a taste, itโs a comfort only from a home kitchen. Butter, sugar, vanilla and chocolate turned into dough that doesnโt need explaining. Itโs a childhood come back in a flavor.
What happens when you fold mesquite flour into a chocolate chip cookie? You get something you recognize, but the sweetness shifts toward caramel and molasses. Think sassafras and root beer.
Indigenous communities have harvested and ground mesquite pods for thousands of years, transforming what grows in the Sonoran Desert under drought into nourishment. Thereโs a faint smokiness beneath it all, subtle and dry, a flavor that doesnโt shout but lingers.
So, when mesquite is added to the recipe, itโs still a chocolate chip cookie, but thereโs more happening underneath. Itโs bringing in the Indigenous tastes, unique and wholly American, because itโs from here.
The chocolate chip cookie may be one of the most adaptable eats. Itโs welcome anywhere. Itโs what you bake when you want assurance that all is right with the world. Mesquite brings in drought and sun, turning the cookie into a more meaningful treat. Even if you never leave your kitchen, wherever that is, itโs like moving between places.
I use almond flour because my partner is celiac. You can use regular wheat flour. Whatโs important to remember is that foods change because we do. We are not statues; we follow our health, which takes us to the kitchens and destinations. Changing a recipe keeps it alive.
And then thereโs salt. Salt brightens it. Without it, the sweetness falls flat; with it, the flavors become more pronounced. If this cookie were a person, it would be me. Donโt laugh. (Okay, laugh.) But itโs made by many places, with a convoluted history that doesnโt fit in one place. Iโve spent my life in that in-between, never just one thing or another. Like mesquite in a cookie, I donโt always match what they expect. Once, someone said when they met me, they expected me to be blonde and blue-eyed.
This version is very Southern Arizona. Itโs where desert ingredients meet European baking. Itโs still butter, sugar, and chocolate, but with something more groundingโlike nutmeg or cinnamon โonly sweeter and unfamiliar.
When I make this, I feel it showcases my new home, bringing the old and the new together. Itโs still a chocolate chip cookie, for chrissakes, but now it has more of a story.
Mesquite Almond Chocolate Chip Cookies
Makes about 24 cookies
Ingredients
2 cups finely ground almond flour
3 tablespoons mesquite flour
ยฝ teaspoon baking soda
ยฝ teaspoon fine sea salt
ยฝ cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
ยพ cup dark brown sugar, packed
1 large egg, room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
ยพโ1 cup dark chocolate chips or chunks (use the higher amount if you like them generous)
Optional but good:
ยผ teaspoon ground cinnamon
Flaky salt for finishing
Instructions
Heat the oven to 350ยฐF. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the almond flour, mesquite flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon if using. Set aside.
In a larger bowl, whisk the melted butter and brown sugar until smooth and glossy. Add the egg and vanilla, whisking until fully emulsified.
Stir the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients until just combined. The dough will be soft but scoopable. Fold in the chocolate.
Scoop heaping tablespoons of dough (about 1ยฝ tablespoons each) onto the prepared sheets, spacing them about 2ยฝ inches apart. Gently flatten the tops slightly with your fingers.
Bake for 10โ12 minutes. Rotating the pans halfway through baking until the edges are set and lightly golden, while the centers remain soft.
Remove from the oven, sprinkle lightly with flaky salt if using, and let the cookies cool on the pan for 10 minutes before transferring to a rack.
Mesquite flour is naturally sweet and aromatic, so resist the urge to add more sugar. This balance lets the caramel notes come through.
Almond flour keeps these tender. If the dough feels oily, chill it for 15 minutes before baking.
These improve after a few hours and are excellent the next dayโespecially with coffee.
Black American history is incorporated into the story of Southern Arizona in ways we don’t see in other cities. In the Sonoran Desert, Black life didnโt grow out of the big migration waves or the busy neighborhoods that influenced food in Chicago, the South, or Los Angeles. There were no rows of storefronts, no restaurant scenes built on being seen. Instead, in this arid landscape, where survival depends on resilience, Black communities adapted to the land, forming in small, often invisible ways.
Black history in Tucson and throughout the borderlands starts with the Spanish colonial era, not the U.S. South. By the mid-1500s, Afro-Mexicans were living throughout the region, outnumbering white settlers, with Mexico ending slavery in 1829. After the Civil War, the Buffalo Soldiers stationed in Arizona remained and built lives there. As time passed, Black Arizonaians entered the military, worked on the railroads, taught, and held civic jobs. Neighborhoods formed, as they often do, around churches, schools, and civic institutions.
Enslavement under Spain was brutal, just like that of those bought and sold in the American South, but it operated differently. Spanish colonial slavery allowed for indentured servitude, wage earning, and migration freedom, so by the eighteenth century, many people of African descent in Mexico, then called New Spain, were living outside plantations or farms. Regarding food, cooking was done at home rather than along trade routes, unlike much of the Confederacy. In other words, they were tending their farms and livestock because they owned them. In Chicago and other northern Midwest cities, Southern recipes and traditions were sustained by churches, clubs, and restaurants that served as community gathering places. In the South, food came from working on plantations and farms. Black cooking along the West Coast is part of a broader conversation, blending with Mexican, Central American, and Asian Pacific flavors.
Buffalo Soldiers at a military camp in the American Southwest, early 20th century. Public domain image, Library of Congress.
In Tucson, Black life took shape through military service, particularly at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, because the city is a service townโrailroad jobs, education, and civic workโnot through dense neighborhoods like Harlem or South Central. There was never a big soul food scene here. Instead, a blend of Afro-Mexican and Mexican cultures began to emerge, found in ingredients that could withstand the heat. The result is a mix that also draws from Indigenous culinary history, too, in what the desert grows and sustains.
Importantly, the Tucson Black History Museum tells the story of Black culture in Southern Arizona, weaving work, service, and the slow building of community, not through big culinary scenes. Across the regionโs churches, homes, and workplaces, the food stories told become part of everyday life rather than being celebrated publicly.
Portrait of a Buffalo Soldier, circa 1896โ1899. Public domain image courtesy of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture
Preserved by the museum, a quote from a longtime resident, โYou cooked what you could get here, not what you remembered from somewhere else. The desert decided a lot of that for you.โ
The other night, I cooked cod with garlic, butter, lime, and chiltepรญn. I used what I had on hand, which I thought might honor those before me. I served the pan-roasted fish with quinoa, roasted cabbage and green onion. Itโs a Borderlands meal, but the ingredients might show up in Black kitchens in Borderlandia. Instead of vinegar or tomato sauce, lime provides acidity, shifting the flavors toward the Southwest. Chiltepรญn, native to this region, adds the heat. Quinoa can be used in place of sorghum or rice, though either would work. The farmers-market cabbage and green onions, sautรฉed and mixed in, tie it together.
These ingredients donโt match what youโd find in Chicago, the South, or Los Angeles, because life and farming are defined by the desert and what grows here. Everything in the Sonoran has to adapt to heat, to scarce water and to being resilient in the face of adversity.
Paddle cactus at Mission Gardens
Recipe
Cod with garlic, lime, butter, and chiltepรญn
Quinoa with charred cabbage and green onion
Serves 2
Ingredients
2 cod fillets
Olive oil
Salt and black pepper
2 tablespoons butter
2 garlic cloves, smashed or thinly sliced
1 lime
Chiltepรญn, crushed, to taste
1 cup cooked quinoa
2 cups thinly sliced green or Napa cabbage
2 green onions, sliced
Roasted unsalted peanuts, chopped or crushed
Instructions
Begin by cooking the quinoa, then set it aside.
Heat a wide skillet over medium-high heat with olive oil. Add the cabbage and let it sit undisturbed for a minute or two, until it starts to char. Stir, add the garlic, season with salt, and cook until tender, with browned edges. Remove from the heat and fold into the quinoa, along with the green onion and peanuts, if using. Finish with lime zest, a small squeeze of lime juice, and salt to taste. Set aside.
Pat the cod dry and season with salt and pepper. Heat a skillet over medium-high heat with olive oil. Add the cod and cook without stirring for approximately 3 minutes, until lightly browned. Flip, add butter and garlic, and baste the fish for another 1 to 2 minutes as it finishes cooking. Remove from heat and finish with lime juice and a pinch of crushed chiltepรญn.
To serve, spoon the quinoa and cabbage mixture onto the plate and place the cod on top. Drizzle some of the spicy butter and lime sauce over the fish.
Iโve made carnitas in every city Iโve called home, always riffing on a San Francisco Chronicle recipe: pork, aromatics โ cloves, cinnamon โ some citrus, a little heat, and slow-cooked until it falls apart. Most people crisp the meat in oil or bake it after shredding, but I usually just leave it in the braising liquid and pull it apart. Moving to Southern Arizona changed that for me. I started to see how many versions of carnitas belong to the Borderlands, each one telling a different story of history and its place in it.
Along this 378-mile stretch of border, from California to New Mexico, ingredients document memories of their location, from climate to use to migration. Even a dish as familiar as carnitas raises more questions once you pay attention to its components.
I came across a version of carnitas braised in milk. Itโs a technique Iโd always thought of as French. So how did milk-braising find its way into Mexican cooking? And who gets to say whether itโs authentic or not?
Even as I seek out meaningful conversations about food, that question remained with me. One of those talks turned out to be a lesson I wasnโt planning to learn. Or, maybe I knew I would. Iโve seen it before.
Authenticity, Permission, and a Closed Door
After the holidays, I decided to reframe a cookbook I was working on around immigrants. And since I moved to the Sonoran Desert, I wanted to focus on this historic region. I was recommended to speak with someone โ a Midwest academic โ known for their knowledge of Indigenous cooking and farming. More scholastic and less homey. More explanation than trying to expand the actual use of ingredients and how to use them in a pie or noodle dish. In less than a full five-minute conversation, this educated man of many letters, who claims the region as his adopted home, slammed the door. His words: โI donโt want to dumb it down.โ
It wasnโt so much a conversation as a โsee what Iโve doneโ and โI should be recognized for bringing this to the world.โ He mentioned his cookbooks and how long he has been bringing this knowledge to others. He stated that he grows some of the ingredients and sells them as part of his business. I realized it wasnโt about food at all, but that he had an arrogance in wanting to give me permission: In other words, I was supposed to listen to his answers to the questions I wanted to ask, and I was to stay in a lane that he controlled.
It wasnโt so much a conversation as a โsee what Iโve doneโ and โI should be recognized for bringing this to the world.โ He mentioned his cookbooks and how long he has been bringing this knowledge to others. He stated that he grows some of the ingredients and sells them as part of his business. I realized it wasnโt about food at all, but that he had an arrogance in wanting to give me permission: In other words, I was supposed to listen to his answers to the questions I wanted to ask, and I was to stay in a lane that he controlled.
It was as if these foodways and history, built on centuries of survival โ long before he wrote a book and became the self-appointed guardian โ were meant only for the privileged few who used ingredients such as mesquite or chiltepin according to his God-like instructions. It made me think about how power works. Even with the best intentions, these keepers protect the culture and believe they own the traditions.
I donโt think you need credentials to cook. You can certainly have them, and even get degrees in culinary programs, such as a PhD in gastronomy or food & beverage management. But I donโt think caring and storytelling need permission. Tradition only survives because people keep cooking at home with family and loved ones. Adaptation comes over time. Recipes continue to stay alive because theyโre savored and eaten, not because theyโre locked away or put on display for approval. And chefs, cooks and writers can be creative with whatever they want.
For me, making pork braised in milk was not about proving authenticity. Itโs a recipe born in a region where these ingredients resided, and someone said, “Letโs use this before it goes bad,โ-a type of humility food earned by being well-made with quality ingredients accessible to all, not by being defended.
Why Milk-Braised Carnitas Belong Here, and How I Make Them
Milk-braised pork isnโt pulled from nowhere. Dairy appears differently in northern Mexican cooking than farther south, shaped by ranching, the climate and, of course, history. Milk isnโt foreign to the Sonoran region, but it’s not native either. It’s existed for centuries, and now, it’s become part of the cuisine. When pork simmers gently in milk, the meat softens deeply, the liquid reduces and caramelizes, and the dish moves naturally from braise to fry.
For this version, I keep things simple on purpose
Sonoran Milk-Braised Carnitas Recipe
INGREDIENTS
3 pounds pork shoulder or butt, cut into large chunks
1 tablespoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons lard or neutral oil
1 orange, peeled and pith removed
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon crushed Mexican oregano
2 bay leaves
3-4 garlic cloves, smashed
1 medium onion quartered
1/4 teaspoon crushed chiletepin pepper or red pepper flakes
2 cups whole milk or more.
Cook this up: Season the pork generously with salt, pepper, and oregano.
Heat up the lard or oil in a wide, heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven. Gently place seasoned meat and lightly brown, no more than a minute or two. We aren’t browning, we are preparing it for the braising. Once done, add the bay leaves, garlic, and onion. Stir for a minute or so.
Pour in the milk. It should reach halfway up the meat. Add in the orange peel. Bring the pot to a gentle simmer over medium heat.
Turn the heat to low and cook uncovered, stirring occasionally, for about 2 to 2ยฝ hours. As the liquid reduces, the milk will begin to caramelize and separate, as expected. Watch carefully. (I like to set a timer on repeat in 15-minute intervals. It sounds far more labor-intensive than it actually is. You are making sure the liquid doesn’t evaporate too quickly.) The meat will brown and continue cooking until the liquid has fully reduced — you might need to add a little more milk depending on how the heat — and the pork begins to fry gently in its own rendered fat.
Stir and turn the pieces carefully, allowing them to brown evenly. Cook until the pork is deeply tender with crisped edges, about 20โ30 minutes more. Taste and adjust seasoning. Serve as desired — I like it as tacos with crema, pickled red onions, cilantro, thinly sliced radish and crumbled queso fresco.
Small shrimp mixed with crema, chiltepin and a side of chips
Shrimp from the Gulf of California is some of the best in the world. Sweet, clean, and deeply tied to the Sonoran Desert. The Gulf helps create the Sonoran Desertโs five seasons, including the brief season when monsoon rains move into the arid landscape and everything responds by getting a little greener. Itโs that connection between the sea and the desert that makes Sonoran and borderlands food so distinctive.
Thus, when Nick mentioned we were traveling to Phoenix from the Old Pueblo, for a family gathering of Midwest transplants featuring his cousins and a former childhood next-door neighbor from Wisconsin, I wanted to bring to the potluck something that felt inclusive of our new home. Knowing that the Gulf and the desert are like Lake Michigan is to the Midwest, I wanted to craft a shrimp dip with ingredients used in the borderlands that felt right and, of course, important.
Image of the Baja (Stock)
Using small frozen shrimp, chiltepรญn pepper, crema, lime and hints of the deep south, dill, instead of cilantro (because not everyone loves cilantro) seemed simple, spoonable onto a chip and delicious. While the main ingredient focused on the small shrimp, the Mexican crema added creaminess, the lime provided citrus notes, a dash of agave to temper the acidity, and the chiltepรญn added a burst of borderlands warmth.
Whatโs interesting about Sonoran food, and about the Indigenous nations who have cooked here for centuries, is how much power there is in these foods. Chiltepรญn isnโt just a pepper; itโs considered the mother of all peppers. But not for its heat, but because botany experts believe itโs the original wild chile.ย An indigenous ingredient that still grows wild along ravines and canyons, underneath shade, shielding it from the brutal desert elements.ย It shows up in cooking every day, bringing the desert, the border, and the table. It doesnโt ask to be explained. It simply shows up as a reminder of what came before and is generous to those who pay attention.
Now that the holidays are over, I can really lean into the regions where there are fewer excessive dishes and more food that makes sense where I am.
Saguaro Cactus in the Rincon Valley
Iโm especially grateful right now to explore food and ingredients that began in North America but not as something chic, but as food history. Ingredients that are shaped by desert climates, with Indigenous knowledge and surviving milleniums. In the borderlands, ingredients move across borders, kitchens, and of course, across generations. No matter how much we try to maintain a foodways map, it does work that way.
So I wanted something familiar enough for guests from the Midwest, but shaped by the desert and the borderlands.
Shrimp Salad with Chiltepรญn, Crema, and Lime Serves 4โ6 as a small plate or appetizer
Ingredients
1 pound small shrimp, peeled and deveined (frozen is fine), cooked and chilled
1โ2 teaspoons fresh lime juice, plus lime zest if desired
1-2 teaspoons, chopped dill or cilantro. Nick doesnโt like the latter, so you improvise.
One stalk of celery, cut in half lengthways, and then diced. Add two if you want more crunch.
ยฝโ1 teaspoon crushed chiltepรญn pepper, to taste
Salt to taste
Optional: 1โ2 teaspoons olive oil
ยฝ teaspoon ground coriander
Preparation If using frozen shrimp, thaw completely according to directions. Drain well. Spread the shrimp in a single layer on paper towels and pat dry thoroughly. For best texture, refrigerate uncovered for 20โ30 minutes to remove any excess moisture.
Transfer the shrimp to a bowl and season lightly with salt and the crushed chiltepรญn. Toss gently and let sit for about 5 minutes. If any moisture releases, blot again with another paper towel.
In another small bowl, whisk the crema until emuslified. Add lime zest.
Add the crema to the shrimp along with the lime juice, starting with 1 teaspoon. Save the remainder of the lime for an accompanying margarita. Just sayinโ.
Toss gently to coat. Add olive oil, if using, for a silkier texture. Taste and adjust seasoning with more lime, salt, or chiltepรญn as needed.
Serve immediately, or chill briefly and toss again just before serving.
Note: Water may still accumulate while chilling. Use a slotted spoon or donโt mind that itโs not dry.
Mesquite shortbread cookies with pecans, partially dipped in dark chocolate.
Iโve been baking and cooking with mesquite lately. Itโs an ingredient you donโt see on many menus or listed in recipes except as wood used for burning meat. As a wood, it imbues an aroma and smoky flavor youโd associate with a campfire or a grill. That savory, romantic smell of open flame alone is part of the reason many pitmasters pair it with apple and cherry woods.
But mesquite has a much longer history as an edible food. Across the Sonoran Desert, Indigenous communities have harvested not only the wood from the trees but also the pods, drying them and grinding them into flour for thousands of years. That flour was mixed with water or fat and baked into tortillas, bread, or porridge. Mesquite flour isnโt meant to be used as a substitute for wheat. Because itโs derived from a tree pod, itโs grainy in a way that feels closer to rough-hewn corn or barley than sugar. It works best when blended with another flour, such as almond.
I decided to try my hand at gluten-free shortbread made with mesquite. I paired it with almond flour, folded in pecans, and dipped it in melted dark chocolate. Pecans feel like a natural choice. Theyโre the only nut native to North America and appear across Indigenous, Mexican, and American kitchens. Cacao, indigenous to Mexico and the Amazon, adds another layer, chocolate, to the cookie. Shortbread made sense because itโs traditional and feels like a holiday, and it doesnโt need frosting or messy sprinkles to contend with. This cookie relies on butter and balance, creating a sturdy texture that holds up to being dipped in chocolate.
When they are finished, they make a good Santa treat. How could the jolly man, after squeezing himself down a Tucson chimney, covered in Sonoran dirt, not find joy with these and a glass of milk?
I like mesquite โ Iโm using it in sauces too โ because it connects Indigenous foodways, Mexican culture, and the American Borderlands kitchen that absorbed both, often without being acknowledged.
Did I say these were gluten-free?
Mesquite shortbread cookies with pecans, dipped in chocolate. (Gluten-free) Makes about 24 cookies
Ingredients
1 cup almond flour 1/3 cup mesquite flour 1/4 cup powdered sugar 1/4 teaspoon fine salt 1/2 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1/2 cup finely chopped pecans 4 ounces dark chocolate, chopped
Instructions
Heat the oven to 325ยฐF. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
In a bowl, whisk together the almond flour, mesquite flour, powdered sugar, and salt.
Add the butter and work it in with your fingers or a pastry cutter until the mixture looks like coarse sand and holds together when pressed.
Stir in the vanilla, then fold in the pecans. If the dough feels dry, add 1โ2 teaspoons of cold water.
Roll out the dough so itโs about a quarter inch thick, then cut it into. Cut into rectangles for a classic shortbread shape, then place them on the baking sheet. Repeat the process with the remaining dough.
Bake for 14โ16 minutes, until set and just lightly golden at the edges. Let cool completely.
Melt the chocolate gently. Dip half of each cookie into the chocolate, then return it to the parchment to set. You can even paint the chocolate onto the cookie with the back of a spoon โ which is what I did. I tried dipping a couple of times, but found the cookie broke under the weight. I didnโt wait for the cookie to cool completely.
Aside: Because mesquite flour is naturally sweet, it doesnโt need additional sugar. These keep well for several days and freeze well, both as a dough and as a finished product.
Leftovers
Local: Tucson Foodie reported that brothers Erick and Jose Quintero have opened Kintoki Sushi House & Bar in the former El Berraco space on North First Avenue, bringing a modern sushi concept with subtle Latin influences to a longtime neighborhood location. The restaurant, which opened Dec. 5, retains the buildingโs recognizable exterior while introducing a new menu of sushi, small plates and cocktails, keeping the cultural focus of the brothersโ Tucson ties.
Regional: According to KJZZ, winter vegetable growers in southwestern Arizona are preparing for another uncertain season as water constraints and rising input costs continue to pressure food production in the Sonoran Desert. The Yuma region, which supplies a majority of the nationโs leafy greens during the winter months, remains heavily dependent on Colorado River allocations, even as short-term conservation agreements provide some stability. Growers say labor costs, transportation expenses and long-term water security remain key concerns heading into 2026.
National: Labor shortages across U.S. agriculture are continuing to strain the food supply chain, with growers warning that limited access to workers could reduce output and contribute to higher food prices, according to national trade publication, FreshPlaza.
Nick and I will have been in Tucson for a little over two months by the time I publish this post. While I often mention what Iโve done and where Iโve been, and, of course, what I eat, I try to keep things that are really important to me private. Sometimes, I leave Nick out. Not because I donโt want to share about him, but I believe I honor our life together by not sharing it with everyone. I also feel that way about my friendships. Sometimes, I post about them, but in this day and age of oversharing, I donโt want to share everything.
But, oddly, kismetโhappenstanceโluck happened before Nick, and I arrived in the Sonoran Desert. Thus, I believe this warrants a blog post.
Unbeknownst to me, Kim, the former food editor for the now-defunct Cottage Living, which published from 2004 to 2008, and I worked together on a series of stories in Napa Valley. We became friendly as journalists and media relations people do. You spend hours โ sometimes, days working beside journalists, helping keep clients on message, ensuring control over what your client may or may not say and in general, guiding both with helpful information. On one such venture, Kim stayed with me in San Francisco once, and another time, when I first got sober, she stayed with me in West Hollywood while she was on her memoir tour for Trail of Crumbs. Admittedly, I was a bit of a mess โ my world imploded. I realized that those whom I thought cared about me โ indeed, said they loved me โ had thrown me to the wolves, in front of an oncoming train, under a bus and facing an avalanche. ย
Kim and me in her Tucson backyard
Kim moved to Alaska with her then-new husband. When Kim said to me about moving to Anchorage, I replied, โThey donโt even grow basil there!โ (They do, but thatโs not the point I was making. Luckily, she laughed.)ย ย I floundered about until I met Nick and continued to be a fish out of water until โ truthfully, until we decided to move to Southern Arizona.
We didnโt stay in touch except maybe with our social media posts. In September, she posts something about moving to Tucson โ and I reply, โNo way! We are moving there too!โ As a couple, they have been together for 15 years, almost as long as Iโve been sober. Nick and I bought a home in a developing neighborhood about 7 miles south of the entrance to Saguaro National Park. Our commutes to the grocery store and shopping pass through undulating mountain ranges and saguaros โ desert sentinels, really โ standing as tall as a four-story building.ย
Weโve spent time together now โ the four of us eating magnificent meals cooked by Kim overlooking the Tucson Valley basin from her new home with Neil. If the desert can bring a longtime friend into the fold, perhaps itโs the Sonoran Desert telling us that this is home.
Tepary beans are native to the Sonoran Desert, which extends into Mexico from Arizona. Itโs been cultivated by the indigenous peoples for more than 4,000 years and is drought-resistant, owing to its prevalence in the region’s foodways. When cooked, itโs sweet, if not a little sugary, a bit nutty too and stays firm. I bought these at Mission Gardens, a four-acre agricultural museum that showcases the heirloom crops grown in the Sonoran Desert for thousands of years.
Black bean tepary hummus with cotija cheese
Black Tepary Bean Hummus
This version keeps the ingredients minimal, so you will find a sugariness. It has a deeper, more complex flavor than chickpea hummus and a gorgeous dark color that photographs beautifully.
Ingredients
1 ยฝ cups dried tepary beans
2 tablespoons tahini
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1โ2 cloves garlic, minced
ยฝ teaspoon ground cumin
ยฝ teaspoon salt, more to taste
ยผ cup of cold water (to thin)
A pinch of chiltepin or red pepper flakes
A drizzle of chile oil
A squeeze of lime instead of lemon
Instructions
To begin, soak the tepary beans for at least 24 hours. They take a very long time to cook. I have found that they need at least 10 hours on the stove at a gentle simmer. I also add salt, pepper, a garlic clove and a bay to the water. Keep testing a bean or two until soft.
In a food processor, combine the tepary beans, tahini, olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, cumin and salt.
Add ยผ cup of cold water at a time until the smooth texture to your liking. Tepary beans make hummus thicker, so continue adding a little water until the desired consistency is reached. Adjust seasoning as needed.
Add more salt, lemon or garlic as needed. If youโre using chiltepin or chile oil, add it now.
Spoon into a serving bowl, drizzle with more olive oil and finish with your optional Tucson flourish.
Paddle cactus at Mission Gardens
LEFTOVERS
LOCAL
Cafรฉ Maggie, according to Tucson Foodie, a popular Fourth Avenue spot known for coffee, sandwiches, and a collegial atmosphere, has closed after an equipment failure and ongoing financial strain.
REGIONAL
KTAR News reported that Michelin Guides will now cover the Southwest. It will include Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada and Utah.
NATIONAL
The James Beard Foundation announced new criteria for its 2026 Awards, placing greater emphasis on community impact, wage transparency, and equitable workplace culture. While culinary excellence remains central, nominees will now be required to show documented commitments to fair labor practices. Bon Appรฉtit did a beautiful story on Tucson. I wish I had the chance to write it. Bummed.
Interior of Wildflower, Sam Fox’s first restaurantSmoked salmon and potato pancake
How a Newcomer to the Southwest Dips His Toes into the Holiday Festive Glaze.
When Nick and I picked Tucson as (hopefully) our final move and โ yes, our last destination โ I knew I didnโt have a clear picture of Tucson’s Indigenous ingredients or the region’s complex food history, even after living on both U.S. coasts and in seven cities. Tucson, also known as the Old Pueblo, is full of gastronomical history, indeed the countryโs oldest, going back nearly four centuries. In comparison, Iโve spent years writing about ingredients, cooking techniques, and chefs in their kitchens, and I’ve felt confident in my descriptions and use of both gluten-free and non-gluten-free ingredients. Living in the Sonoran Desert is making me realize my usual approach doesnโt apply here.
This Tucson gluten-free almond cake came out of that intention โ something simple, something I could bake without fuss, but still tasting like the Sonoran Desert brushing up against my kitchen. Hibiscus for tang and color, citrus for brightness, almonds for body. Itโs the kind of dessert that lets the region show up without trying too hard.
Tucson isnโt a โfarm-to-tableโ town in the way the Midwest is. Itโs much older than that. What you see in markets and farmers’ markets traces back to Indigenous farming methods that have been here long before the United States existed. Tepary beans. Mesquite. Chiltepin. The three sisters — corn, squash and beans. Sonoran white wheat. These are foods created by people who figured out how to thrive in arid conditions, stark heat and scarcity, including long periods of drought. Yet, they managed to build a culinary region with depth.
Iโve certainly not used many of the new ingredients Iโm surrounded by, such as the beans or nopales. Instead of asking myself, โWhatโs seasonal?โ Iโm now asking no one but me, โWhat survived here, continues to grow and why?โ It creates a different way of viewing local Ingredients. And, these, of course, carry stories as well as the people who cultivate them, too.
Iโve also been reading how longtime Tucson restaurants have done this work. Wildflower, native Tucsonan and restaurant impresario Sam Fox’s first restaurant, manages to highlight the region without leaning on trends. No doubt you know his Culinary Dropout or Flower Child, and the selling of his empire to the Cheesecake Factory netted him $800 million. It opened more than two decades ago and still draws a regular clientele because it balances a sense of place with a contemporary atmosphere: no adobe wall or cactus but a well-lit, sexy space. The menu changes enough to keep new and old customers happy, but youโll always find something tied to the desert, such as mesquite, squash, cinnamon and Oaxaca cheese.ย
So, Iโm trying to cook with the foods that matter to my new home. Iโm buying mesquite flour. Iโm reading up on tepary beans. Iโm reaching for chiltepin instead of the usual red pepper flakes. And Iโm letting Tucson teach me to look at food from a different, more inclusive perspective.
This week’s recipe is an almond cake with cinnamon, covered in a โpretty in pinkโ hibiscus glaze, which isnโt ancient or Indigenous. But it uses items such as almond flour (while wild desert almonds can be made into a flourโthis Bob’s Red Mill almond flour), hibiscus, an edible flower found throughout the Southwest, and cinnamon, brought to the region in the 16th century by the Spanish. It tastes sweet and right while showcasing the beauty of where Iโm living now. Itโs easy, with hints of sweet floral notes and pantry ingredients I have on hand โ except the hibiscus syrup. (You can find that online or at specialty stores like AJ Fine Foods. It’s where I purchased mine.)ย And sometimes itโs enough to acknowledge the food where you moved, combined with familiar elements that you know.ย
Importantly, it’s festive enough for the holidays.
Almond Cake with Cinnamon and Hibiscus Glaze
Serves 8
Ingredients
1 ยฝ cups almond flour
ย ยฝ cup white rice flour
ย 1 teaspoon baking powder
ย ยผ teaspoon baking soda
ยฝ teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 large eggs, room temperature
โ cup neutral oil (avocado, canola, grapeseed)
ยฝ cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
ยฝ cup milk or a milk alternative
Hibiscus Glaze
โข ยฝ cup powdered sugar โข 2 to 3 tablespoons hibiscus syrup (adjust to taste and thickness) โข A gentle squeeze of fresh orange juice for brightness (Optional)ย ย
Directions
Preheat oven to 350ยฐF. Grease an 8-inch round cake pan and line the bottom with parchment.
Whisk the dry ingredients together in a medium bowl: almond flour, rice flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon.
In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs, oil, sugar, vanilla, and milk until smooth.
Combine the wet and dry ingredients. Mix until just blended. The batter will be slightly thick.
Pour into your prepared pan and smooth the top.
Bake for 22 to 28 minutes, or until the center is set and a toothpick comes out clean.
Cool completely before glazing.
Make the glaze: whisk the powdered sugar with hibiscus syrup until it reaches a pourable consistency. Add lime juice if using.
Drizzle glaze over the cooled cake. Let it sit for at least 15 minutes before slicing.
LEFTOVERS
Local: Tucson Tucsonโs KGUN reports that the MSA Annex at Tucsonโs Mercado District continues to grow, adding two new food spots to its westside lineup. BลS Burger opened with Japanese-leaning Wagyu smash burgers and katsu-style sandwiches, while Hidden Hearth Bakery started serving whole-grain, fresh-milled breads in late November.
Regional: Arizona and the Southwest According to The Glendale Star, A 16-year-old was hospitalized after visiting the fair on Oct. 26. She and several others say the illness began after petting pigs at the fairโs zoo.ย
National: The USDA Economic Research Service says food prices in the United States will continue to rise in 2026. The agencyโs latest Food Price Outlook projects an increase over all food categories of about 2.7 percent next year, with grocery costs climbing roughly 1.2 percent and restaurant prices up an estimated 3.3 percent. The forecast states that uncertainty remains high, driven by tariffs and climate-related disruptions.
A move from Indianapolis to Tucson reshapes our holiday season and inspires a Sonoran sweet potato and green chile gratin.
We thought we had two more years in Indianapolis. Two more winters of fall-back clock changes, farmersโ market routines, and knowing exactly where to find good greens or a reliable gluten-free loaf for the poultry stuffing. But as we know, life doesnโt exist for our specific timelines. Instead of a nice, slow transition, we decided to pack up boxes, say as many goodbyes as our last month in Indy would allow and drive southwest toward Tucson. The move to the Old Pueblo felt like stepping back into a familiar space โ Nick and I had lived in Phoenix for a year and, of course, Palm Springs, which has a similar weather pattern: warm, arid and dry, with occasional heavy rain. Tucson, though, feels safer than both. More diverse and friendly, perhaps itโs due to the Indigenous and Mexican cultures, which lean heavily into their foodways.ย
Thanksgiving is next week, and we are still getting into our familiar patterns. Back in the Midwest, the holiday always had a specific blueprint, as it had over the last 12 years of our relationship. Nick makes the turkey, and I would cook everything else, including the cheesecake. Itโs usually the two of us and occasionally someone else. Last year, we had Tanya, a longtime New York City friend who moved up from Nashville. This year, we will have some of Nickโs cousins who live in Phoenix, Bill and Anne and possibly the new neighbors โ Collen and Greg โย our Lucy and Ricky, to our Fred and Ethel.ย
Moving sooner than expected shifted everything. Weโre still figuring out which grocery stores offer the best deals โ especially in this challenging economy โ where to walk Betsy and Rufus, and how to create a neighborhood in our builder community.ย
This Tucson Thanksgiving wasnโt the one we planned at the beginning of 2025 โ we also didnโt plan on losing George โ but we have Betsy for Rufus.
If you are looking for a change of scenery other than your kitchen stove, bring friends and family to the newly opened Redbird at Sam Hughes. It offers something for everyone and a great local back story. Located in the historic, former Rincon Market building, the restaurant opened in September and appeals to everyone with seemingly little effort, but most likely requires more than most.ย The former grocery outlet, which had been part of the area for almost a century, has been divided into two spaces, and Redbird Scratch Kitchen + Bar “flits” right into it, meaning itโs the kind of restaurant that feels cared for because the people running it care.
Pretty much everything is made from scratch: sauces, dressings, and marinades. The only exceptions are the gluten-free hamburger buns and waffle fries, which are bought from a wholesaler. Think of Redbird as a place to hang out, watching sports in a creative atmosphere with someone else doing all the cooking, such as tacos, wings and burgers. They also have a house-made black bean burger for the vegetarians in the group. Another great touch: they offer a hot towel to clean off their hands at the end of the meal. The first time I saw this was at a high-end resort in Bali. I asked Sergio Pinon, one of the owners and general managers, about this amenity. He basically said they saw it at a luxury property and wanted it at Redbird.
It offers coziness and the aromas of the Sonoran Desert as soon as you walk in, but the neighborly atmosphere of a โCheersโ bar. Sometimes itโs enough to sit in a place that welcomes you without hesitation, especially when youโre still figuring out what it means to belong in a new city.
I
Sonoran Chile and Sweet Potato Gratin
This is a dish that bridges both worlds. It nods to the Midwestโwhere casseroles anchor every gatheringโbut pulls its warmth from Tucson. Roasted Hatch or Anaheim chiles replace the traditional green bean casseroleโs heaviness, and sweet potatoes stand in for richer autumn sides. Itโs comforting, regional, and quietly celebratory.
Ingredients
โข 2 large sweet potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced โข 2 Hatch or Anaheim chiles, roasted, peeled, seeded, and chopped โข 1 small yellow onion, thinly sliced โข 2 cloves garlic, minced โข 1 cup heavy cream โข 1 cup whole milk โข 1 teaspoon smoked paprika โข 1 teaspoon ground cumin โข ยฝ teaspoon Mexican oregano โข Salt and pepper to taste โข 1ยฝ cups grated asadero Oaxaca or Chihuahua. If you canโt find these cheeses, substitute Monterey Jack or a mild white cheddar โข Olive oil for sautรฉing
Instructions
Heat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter a medium baking dish (about 9 x 9).
In a skillet, heat up the of olive oil. Sautรฉ the onions until soft and lightly browned. Add in the garlic and cook for another minute.
Stir in the chopped roasted chiles, then season with smoked paprika, cumin, Mexican oregano, salt, and pepper. Remove from heat.
In a small saucepan, warm the cream and milk together until just steaming. Donโt boil.
Layer half the sweet potatoes into the baking dish. Scatter half of the chile-onion mixture over the top. Add a handful of the cheese.
Repeat with the remaining sweet potatoes, chile mixture, and cheese.
Pour the warmed cream and milk mixture over the potatoes.
Cover with foil. Bake for 30 minutes. Remove the foil and then bake another 20โ25 minutes or until the top has turned a lovely brown, bubbly and the potatoes are tender.
Let it rest for 10 minutes to allow the layers to settle.
When you pack up your life and start over somewhere new, you think about the job, the weather, the cost of living, and finding a community. When Nick and I moved to Tucson, a city framed by the Sonoran Desert and celebrated for its food culture, I didn’t expect to miss my grocery store so much.
After six years in Indianapolis, I knew where to buy the best gluten-free baked goods (Gluten Free Creations), which great butcher (Moody’s) to buy meat, and which farmers market stand (Warfield Cottage) sold the best greens. Moving to Tucson meant trading the Midwest’s cornfields for the desert’s cactus, and where much of the food is born of Mexican and Indigenous ingredients, even an easy meal of rice and beans felt like an introduction to another language.
There is no doubt that moving from one state to another changes the way you eat. In Indiana, I cooked broths and experimented with braising, especially during the fall, winter and early spring, eating warm, stewy dishes. Here, I think more about citrus, chilies, and beans. Dinners are full of flavors that make up the region: mesquite, nopales, prickly pear, and the “three sisters” comprised of corn, beans, and squash. Now our pantry will be stocked with dried chiles and freshly made corn tortillas, replacing the hoarded Red Gold pasta sauce of my Hoosier days.
The relocation isn’t only about ingredients; it’s about discovering a community. For Nick and me, it’s how we find and make friends. In our first week in our new home, we joined our next-door neighbors, Greg and Colleen, at La Fridaโs Mexican Grill, a charming, well-designed spot located on East 22nd Street with a painterly mural honoring the late artist. The meal started with a basket of chips and โ surprise โ jalapeรฑo crema (instead of salsa) for dipping, touched with habanero. Zesty, rich, and impossible to stop eating. Alongside it came an additional four sauces to try: salsa verde, black refried beans, a smoky coloradito, and a deep, chocolatey mole. The chef, originally from Hermosillo, cooks with an appreciation for her birthplace and presents dishes in a hearty, picturesque manner: deep browns, rich greens, and sauces with royal crimson overtone. We had a variety of dishes, but the quesabirra, historically from Tijuana and developed by the region’s taqueros, had that buttery crunch with tender meat, salty creaminess from the cheese and that rich flavor from the consommรฉ for dipping. The corn ribs, quartered and eaten off the cob, smeared with cotija, were a reminder of how delicious street food can be. We arrived at 4:00 p.m. and by the time we left two hours later, it felt like the whole of Tucson was waiting for a table.
In every move I’ve made โ Los Angeles, San Francisco, Irvine, Palm Springs, New York City, Indianapolis, now Tucson โ I’ve learned that the fastest way to feel at home is through its restaurants and markets. Each city teaches you its flavors, and Tucson shows the earthiness of Sonoran wheat tortillas, the char on a roasted green pepper, and the comfort of beans simmering away on the stove. These are image postcards tattooed into my memory banks that will last longer than any logo t-shirt ever will. Indeed, Tucson’s UNESCO City of Gastronomy status only reinforces the idea that what we eat tells the story of who and where we are.
In the freezer, there’s still a loaf of gluten-free bread from Native Bread Company in Indianapolis. I slice and toast it on mornings when I miss the Midwest. It’s that heady scent of bread, with a smear of local prickly pear jam bridging my recent past to today in a way no moving truck can.
What we eat when we move isn’t just about adapting to a new market or menu. It’s about creating continuity. The table’s location may change, but the act of sitting down, of being fed and feeding others, remains constant.
But in a short time, here in the Old Pueblo, I’ve found that the desert’s vastness, beauty and indigenous ingredients are finding a way into my kitchen. As I’ve said before, moving isn’t about leaving something behind. It’s about eating and discovering what’s next.
Recipe: Prickly Pear and Lime Agua Fresca
Makes 2 quarts
โข 2 cups prickly pear puree (fresh or bottled)
โข Juice from 3 limes
โข 4 cups cold water
โข 2 tablespoons agave syrup (more to taste)
โข Dash of sea salt
Whisk or blend all ingredients until smooth. Taste and adjust the sweetness. Chill for at least 30 minutes. Serve over ice with a sprig of mint or a lime slice. While this is a simple beverage, it tastes like the Sonoran Desert, which I think of as being bright, sweet, and restorative. If you’re feeling festive, add a touch of rum, tequila, or vodka.
A year of eating throughout Indiana and what it taught me about community.
I often think about the delicious six years Iโve spent exploring Indiana food. My path crossed many food folks and chefs, including Rachel Firestone and Samir Mohammed at 9th Street Bistro, as well as Zoe Taylor and Josh Kline at Borage. I ran into Shadow Loungeโs Chef Tia Wilson at one of the local markets one day and, the next, watched Jonathan Brooks man the line at Beholder. One of my favorite stories was seeing Burgeezyโs Kadeesha and Antonine Wiggins grow their dream business. Of course, there is pizza and Diavola may serve the best Neopolitan pie in all of Indy, in my humble opinion.ย
Some editors took notice, giving me a platform to write about food: Culinary Crossroadsโ Jolene Katzenberger, former Edible Indy owner Jennifer Rubinstein, current publisher Adam Grubb and, of course, Indianapolis Monthly’s Eve Batey and Andrea Ratcliffe. Through them, I found a voice focused on Midwestern cuisine, especially as it relates to identity and immigration. But it also showed me something more profound: that food entrepreneurs create a sense of community wherever they are.
While I genuinely love fine-dining, destination experiences, itโs the local neighborhood spots that bring people togetherโwhether over coffee, drinks, or dinnerโthat make communities thrive. Gather 22, for instance, with its hammocks and generous outdoor space, does that beautifully, along with its tasty bites. What Adam Reinstrom and Pablo Gonzalez have created — part restaurant and adult playground — is nothing short of remarkable.
This is only a partial list of what I ate this year. Iโm eternally grateful to Culinary Crossroadsโ Larry Dickerson for allowing me to travel all over Indiana during the course of my three years writing for them. After visiting nearly 100 towns and hamlets throughout the state, Iโve come to understand how both historians and restaurateurs have shaped the Midwestโs culinary history and, importantly, how interconnected the region truly is.ย ย
Itโs not that my time in Indiana has come to an end. Iโm working on a cookbook project that is part Midwestern history and part chef-driven stories from across the region, which I hope to see published next year. I also like to think that Iโm evolving, which is vital to my well-being.
While some people go to concerts, shop, watch IMAX, or attend large-scale sporting events, spending their hard-earned wages โ and yes, any work today is hard-earned โ I head to a locally owned restaurant or a farmers’ market. By doing so, my partner and I give back to the communities we live in. Thatโs important to the regionโs economic health and vitality.
Last word: Writing about food, I canโt be tone-deaf to how nearly 40 million people will suffer without SNAP benefits. My childhood was marked by food insecurity and hunger. My mother raised me alone, stretching a meager salary that never went far enough. She tried really hard, but there were days when the sharp pain in my stomach could only be eased by water. Despite paying taxes on her modest income, she could never get ahead. It was systemic gender bias at work: no matter how hard she pushed, the system pushed back harder. Iโm seeing this play out again; it’s always the hard workers who only want to raise families who suffer at the hands of the big corporate powers.
Chefs Erin Kem and Logan McMahan reimagined the venerable Tony and Rosa Hanslits’ Nicole-Taylor Pasta and Market, which had been an emporium focused on Italy, into a mostly vegetarian cafe and retail experience. What they do with simple ingredients is on full display with a roasted kombucha squash, caramelized and seasoned with restraint, which showed me how Indiana produce can shine when treated with respect.
1134 East 54th Street, Studio C, Indianapolis, IN 46220
In Oldenburg, a small-town gripping tightly to its German Catholic heritage, Wagner’s has been feeding generations with its four-ingredient, family-style fried chicken. Crisp skin, juicy meat, and it makes it a southern Indiana tradition worth the drive. The James Beard Foundation even awarded it for Classic American. It’s one of those honors that tries to extend an olive branch to communities often dismissed in the cosmopolitan food world. Regardless, the eatery and the hamlet have a history and a sense of place, with church spires casting shadows over two-hundred-year-old cobblestone streets, and the highly seasoned chicken is pretty good.
Chefs Zoe Taylor and Josh Kline created an homage to Midwestern food at their restaurant, cafe and market. They elevated their dream business to something beyond nostalgia, transforming it into a refined yet rustic experience that stays true to their regional roots. Sometimes, in their deft hands, childhood treats become both nostalgic and refined. At the bakery, the gluten-free Pop-Tarts โ technically made by their pastry chef Rachel de Masi โ change with the seasons and serve as proof that playful baking can be serious food. I’ve often written about the duo and profiled them for Edible Indy, my last story for that publication.
I was on one of my small-town Culinary Crossroads travel excursions and decided to swing by Smokey’s Concession Stand. It was early on Friday, and a crowd was already seated at the bar. While some people say not to ask the serverโor, in this case, the bartenderโwhat’s good, I often do. A restaurant worker will honestly tell me what they prefer โ and I, being a former dishwasher and waitperson who believes in excellent customer service, will point you in the right direction. The bartender recommended the smoked Reuben, which featured house-smoked corned beef that raised the bar. The smoke clung to each slice, balanced by tangy kraut and melted Swiss. It reminded me how a sandwich can be just as transportive as a tasting menu.
Kokomo may be best known for auto manufacturing, but tucked into one of its Korean restaurants, I found japchae that took me to another continent. Sweet potato noodles, sesame oil, and vegetables created a plate that was comforting and unexpected in central Indiana. It’s hard to find great Asian food in this part of the country, but this was one of the best noodle dishes without having to fly to Seoul. It was also part of a destination piece I wrote for Indianapolis Monthly.
Inside the Alexander Hotel, Nesso delivers an upscale Italian coastal dining experience under the direction of recently appointed Chef Zach Szabo. He’s a transplant from D.C, and brings “glam Italian” to the Midwest, meaning rustic yet refined. An example was a special item: Hokkaido scallop crudo, bright, clean, delicate, citrusy and with a hint of heat. It was a dish that felt worldly without crossing the Atlantic. It was mastery of crudo, with thin rounds of the mollusk in a sauce meant for slurping.
South Bend is emerging as its own dining scene, and Roselilly, with its chef-owner Eamonn McParland, is at its center. The AAA four-diamond dining experience is one of two in town, which is also home to the University of Notre Dame. He created a tasting menu, and his sweet pea agnolotti, part of the experience, captured the freshness of spring in tender pasta pockets that were both delicate and celebratory.
701 South Main Street, South Bend, IN 46601
(574) 347-4560
Fried Pork Tenderloin at The Tin Plate, Elwood
Fried pork tenderloin at the Tin plate
The breaded tenderloin has long been considered Indiana’s official sandwich. And, truthfully, like many people, I love breaded, fried meats (chicken-fried steak, chicken tenders, fish and chips anyone?), but it’s not that unique. However, the version at The Tin Plate in Elwood — while not unique — made me a convert. The pork is pounded thin but not too thin, and then fried to a golden brown, retaining juiciness rather than a dry puck, which can happen without brining. Like a soft-brimmed hat, it flopped over the sides of the bun. It was a taste of pure Midwest and Hoosier comfort. I also loved the fact that Elwood is home to Red Gold Tomatoes. While the canning company is not related to the German-inspired pork tenderloin, add some sauce and fresh mozzarella and you have pork cutlet parmigiana.
Noblesville’s 9th Street Bistro is intimate in size but ambitious in flavor. Husband-and-wife team Samir Mohammed and Rachel Firestone created a well-thought-out small-town bistro in the heart of Noblesville, half a block from the town square. It’s one of the places you would find in a European hamlet, owned and operated by the same family for decades, sewn into the community fabric. The pork and foie gras meatloaf is an indulgent, warm dish โessentially a country pรขtรฉ heated rather than served coldโthat marries Midwestern comfort with French luxury. It is proof that, even in a small town, with this duo at the helm, grand tastes can fly without pretension.
To provide the best experiences, we use technologies like cookies to store and/or access device information. Consenting to these technologies will allow us to process data such as browsing behavior or unique IDs on this site. Not consenting or withdrawing consent, may adversely affect certain features and functions.
Functional
Always active
The technical storage or access is strictly necessary for the legitimate purpose of enabling the use of a specific service explicitly requested by the subscriber or user, or for the sole purpose of carrying out the transmission of a communication over an electronic communications network.
Preferences
The technical storage or access is necessary for the legitimate purpose of storing preferences that are not requested by the subscriber or user.
Statistics
The technical storage or access that is used exclusively for statistical purposes.The technical storage or access that is used exclusively for anonymous statistical purposes. Without a subpoena, voluntary compliance on the part of your Internet Service Provider, or additional records from a third party, information stored or retrieved for this purpose alone cannot usually be used to identify you.
Marketing
The technical storage or access is required to create user profiles to send advertising, or to track the user on a website or across several websites for similar marketing purposes.
