There's been a fair amount of chatter around Arizona lately about restaurants earning Michelin stars. Now, I ain't a restaurant critic, but I play one in my neighborhood. And being a legend in my own mind, I take my recommendations pretty seriously. Somebody's got to keep the culinary world straight, and apparently, the job fell to me.
Scottsdale gets its fair share of the spotlight. Lots of flash, plenty of fancy places, and enough folks willing to pay good money for somebody to explain what's on their plate. But if you ask me, one of Arizona's brightest culinary stars shines up in a little mountain community hiding in the rugged rim country of Arizona . And it shines just fine without a Michelin Star anywhere near it.
I'm talking about the Old County Inn, or OCI, as the locals call it. This place ain't just a restaurant. It's a force to be reckoned with, and if you haven't figured that out yet, you might want to check your taste buds for a pulse.
I've always had a soft spot for serendipity. She's a funny old gal. Shows up when you least expect her, usually when you're looking the other direction.
Sometimes a casual glance turns into a love affair. Sometimes a wrong turn turns into the right destination. And sometimes, if you're lucky, you stumble into a pizza that ruins you for all the others. Now, there's good pizza, there's great pizza, and then there's the kind of pizza that becomes the yardstick by which all other pizzas are judged. The kind that makes you wonder what you've been doing with your life all these years. OCI belongs in that last category, sitting pretty in the middle of a wonderful little mountain town called Pine, Arizona. It's sorta a suburb of Strawberry...
Not long ago, we were out on one of those wilderness adventures that sound a whole lot better before the weather gets involved. The rain started coming down, and my enthusiasm started heading in the opposite direction. There's something about being cold and wet that can turn a man from a nature lover into a fellow who'd just as soon admire the wilderness from a heated room with a plate of food in front of him.
So we pointed the vehicle toward Pine in search of pizza. Now, I wasn't interested in standing around for an hour and a half with a crowd of hungry souls, all staring at the door like a busload of Baptists waiting for the gates of heaven to open. The main restaurant was hopping, and I figured we'd either have to wait our turn or find another plan.
That's when serendipity decided to earn her keep.
Tucked into the ever-expanding universe of OCI is a place called the Agave Room. It's an unassuming patio area with full service, and as far as I'm concerned, it deserves a little recognition of its own. We found ourselves a spot, ordered our food and drinks, and got served a whole lot sooner than we would have if we'd joined the hungry congregation inside.
But the real surprise wasn't the pizza. Well, not entirely.
It was Amanda.
Amanda is one of those people who reminds you that good service isn't something you can teach with a handbook and a laminated chart. You can teach somebody where the silverware goes, how to carry a tray, and which end of the table to approach. But that extra something? That spark? That ability to make a stranger feel like an old friend without making a production out of it? That comes from somewhere deeper.
Amanda has it in spades.
She's a bundle of energy. The kind that could light up a room without adding a dime to the electric bill.
She sets a gold standard for the service industry, and she does it without looking like she's trying to set one. She's attentive, engaging, and genuinely good at what she does. You get the feeling she enjoys people, and in the restaurant business, that's a mighty fine place to start.
The rest of the staff were wonderful, too. I don't want to shortchange anybody. But Amanda had that little extra sparkle, the sort that stays with you long after the dishes are cleared and the bill is paid.
I don't know if the Old County Inn will ever receive a Michelin star. Heck, I don't even know if they want one. Maybe they're perfectly happy doing what they're doing, making great pizza and giving folks a reason to come back to Pine.
If Michelin ever does make its way up the mountain, I hope they bring an appetite. They might discover what a lot of us already know: a restaurant doesn't need a fancy award to be exceptional. Sometimes all it takes is a great pizza, a welcoming place to sit, and somebody who makes you feel glad you came.
And if the Michelin folks do show up, I've got one recommendation for them.Forget the fancy speeches. Skip the velvet rope. Head straight to the Agave Room and ask for Amanda.
That pizza might be the yardstick by which all other pizzas are measured, but Amanda just might be the brightest shimmer on that special star. But you know, She doesn't really need a star to shine.
And that, folks, is my professional opinion.
THE VILLAGE IDIOT... read more