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Dine Time 

The restaurant meal as a main event.

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Everyone knows the basic American tastes: sweet, sour, salty, bitter, MSG and high-fructose corn syrup.

Real food art enters the stage when chefs craft intriguing fugues, or even whole symphonies, off the interplay of certain spices and fresh ingredients. A particular cheese mixed with mission figs becomes “flinty” on the palate. A savory food-and-wine pairing ends up such a nice fit that, matched with the restaurant’s décor and your evening’s company, the meal becomes a destined moment in time, something you alone were bound to share in. A Mexican mole sauce blended with the right proportion of chiles to chocolate turns into such an overwhelming experience that it engages all your senses—surging across the tongue to simmer in the nostrils, the eyes and, finally, settle in the stomach, expanding it with warmth and fulfillment.

These aren’t just meals we’re talking about. They’re main events. And in the long span of human life, filled as it is with sweet and sour moments of its own, we all deserve an hour or two in a more controlled environment where the harried elements of cooking are turned over to more capable hands. Food is food, that essential fuel we all need to keep on keeping on. The finer moments of life are what dining out is all about.

Or perhaps you find yourself dining in the car or behind a desk more often than at the table. Food likely has lost its sense of ceremony, turning into something you can only cram in between stuff-that-has-to-get-done. That’s why this year’s installment of City Weekly’s annual Dining Guide includes articles on great, fast, low-key places to grab a bite. Fry sauce may not, but more than likely is, part of your native diet as well. But it’s high time someone put a cease-and-desist order on Utah’s Jell-O clichés and gets hip to other parts of our culinary legacy.

But whether discerning gourmand or mobile munch-hound, we hope you keep this Dining Guide at the ready. Use it to expand your world of taste beyond the handful of restaurants you already visit. Life is short, but good taste always lingers.

Sauce and Effect

The story behind Utah’s indigenous condiment is full of ooze and awe.

By David M. Candland

Mountains, Mormons, bankruptcies and “Oh, my heck!” There are many things indigenous to Utah. So it is with fry sauce. Everybody’s favorite flesh-colored condiment has its beginnings, and pretty much its endings, right here in Utah. Its origins can even be traced right back to the actual Utah man—or should we say, genius?—who invented it. What’s to invent, someone might ask, when we’re talking about the simple mixing of ketchup and mayonnaise. Are you kidding? Is the “Mona Lisa” mere globs of paint on canvas? Actually, fry sauce is pretty much just ketchup and mayonnaise. But there’s a bit more to it than that.

First, let us ponder the impact fry sauce has had on Utah pop culture. It has put smiles on the faces of fast food patrons, money in the pockets of local ketchup and mayonnaise vendors and helped clog arteries. The fry sauce pin was one of the most coveted of the 2002 Winter Olympics. This gave the condiment international flair. How much is fry sauce a part of our lives here in Utah? Local merchants have sent cases of the stuff to transplanted Utahns homesick for it in places as far-flung as Japan, Australia, France, England and Korea. It’s tradition. It’s positively Utahn. Furthermore, it’s “darned” good. Let’s look at how this celestial serum came about.

After operating concession stands and small eateries in Northern Utah since 1923, a gentleman by the name of Don Carlos Edwards opened one in Salt Lake City. The year was 1948. The location was the corner of 900 South and Main Street. Don Carlos’ Barbecue was the “in” place where all the hep cats in town ate. It was the quintessential carhop/teen hang-out of the time. History was made on the day people took notice of a strange concoction known initially as “pink sauce.” At that time across America, hamburger stands were becoming all the rage. McDonald’s was in its seminal stages. Don Carlos wanted something to set his place apart from the others. The traditional hamburger came with pickles, tomatoes, ketchup, mustard and lettuce. Don Carlos decided he’d also use mayonnaise, and then began to mix it with ketchup. By happenstance, he dunked in a French fry. He liked what he tasted. He added a little garlic and onion powder, pickle juice (yes, pickle juice!), and several spices before arriving at a finished product. Patrons were immediately impressed. Within two years, Don Carlos moved his place a block due east to State Street and rechristened it Arctic Circle. The rest was history. And still is history, as an Arctic Circle restaurant still sits at that very location.

More than half a century later, Arctic Circle President and CEO Gary Roberts says there’s never been any need to change or deviate from the recipe. The same fry sauce as Don Carlos’ concocted flows freely throughout the Arctic Circle chain. Roberts, a Tremonton native, grew up on Arctic Circle fry sauce when trips to the eatery were a family tradition. He started work at the company to put himself through Weber State University during the ’70s and never left. Since then, he’s been involved in every aspect of the restaurant’s operation. He’s paid his dues making lime rickeys, flipping Ranch Burgers and replenishing fry sauce for hungry patrons.

“Our sauce is still the best,” Roberts said. “I’ve tried just about all of them and some come close, but ours is the best.”

Roberts said the fry sauce flows through his veins. “We hope our employees have it running through theirs, too ... we have to slit their wrists every once in a while to make sure,” he said.

Arctic Circle operates 85 stores in Utah, Wyoming, Idaho, Oregon, California and a couple of other neighboring states. Eighty percent of company fry sauce, however, is distributed to its biggest market: Utah. “It’s still basically a local phenomenon,” Roberts said. “When we open a store out of state, people are at first wary of fry sauce and use mostly ketchup. As time wears on, ketchup and fry sauce run neck and neck. Eventually, it’s nearly all fry sauce.”

º“People love it, and not just for fries. I’ve seen many a customer hold their hamburger underneath the fry sauce and pump away,” he said. “Our distributor makes it fresh daily according to our recipe, and we don’t add preservatives. We expect it to be gone in a few weeks. The quality and consistency of the ingredients is why it’s so good.”

Fry sauce brings out the family in people, Roberts believes. They remember it as a kid, like it as an adult, and pass the taste for it on to their kids. So much so, that Arctic Circle caved to customer demand and recently started to sell it from their outlets in bottles. “We were tired of gathering up small containers, putting them in a box and shipping them all over the place,” Roberts said. “One Canadian woman getting married to a Utahn had us mail her a big box of it to present to her husband as a wedding present. He loved fry sauce, and they were going to reside in Canada.” Ain’t love grand?

While its ingredients aren’t quite as hallowed as those in The Colonel’s chicken, they are listed on the bottles. “The twist,” according to Roberts, is in the proportions—and how it’s made.

While Arctic Circle stakes its claim to the origin of fry sauce, it doesn’t claim to corner the market. It’s not something they have patented, either. Nearly every restaurant here has followed suit. Hundreds upon hundreds of similar strains are available almost anywhere in Utah where a portion of raw potato takes a skinny dip in hot oil. From upscale burger joints like The Training Table and Red Robin to fast-food chains like Crown Burger to smaller, stand-alone operations, loads of establishments have tried their own fry sauce recipes on for size. Even big franchises have gotten in on the act to placate customers.

Every version has its own proven ingredients. After much gut-expanding field research, I discovered a litany of slightly different fry sauces statewide: sweet, sour, spicy, thick, runny, more mayo dominated, more ketchup dominated—the gamut. There’s every sort of additive to the ketchup/mayonnaise base you can imagine: buttermilk, sour cream, mustard, horseradish, Worcestershire, relish, salsa, sugar, lemon juice, Cajun spices, etc. While it doesn’t seem like it could ever be that complicated, Mike Thompson, owner and entrepreneur behind the ridiculously named Some Dude’s Fry Sauce, said it took him one year to perfect his recipe. Thompson owns and operates Some Dude’s out of a small warehouse in Salt Lake City.

Thompson’s been selling his sauce through grocery outlets since the early ’90s. Look for it in the condiment section. The label’s artwork looks like it was done by a fourth-grader. That’s part of the appeal. Thompson agrees with Roberts: the right ketchup and mayonnaise is the key to successful fry sauce.

“You’ve got to be consistent in your product, and I’ve toyed with every kind of ketchup and mayonnaise you can think of,” Thompson said.

Because air and light are detrimental to his product’s shelf-life, Thompson uses high-tech plastic containers that are impervious to the elements. “It will last a good six months, easy, but I want people to go through it much quicker than that.”

Thompson’s had the opportunity to apply his old skills as a railroad engineer to the manufacturing process. “I had to make a little device out of plastic and Bondo, to keep the bottle at a certain angle, because when the machine fills the bottle with sauce it would create an air bubble and overflow,” he said.

There’s been the occasional bottling mishap during perfection of the bottling process. “These walls have been covered in fry sauce more than once,” Thompson said, spanning the confines of his warehouse.

Fry sauce is not for the bashful eater. And it’s not just for fries and onion rings. The Some Dude’s label states that it makes a fine chip-dip, or condiment for fish, chicken, hot dogs and even veggies. Sampling it with cauliflower and baby carrots seems somehow morally and nutritionally wrong, but the taste isn’t bad at all. The label discourages its use as a shampoo. I ask, “Why not?” Rinsing and repeating will move a lot of product, and create some wacky dreadlocks as well.

Fry sauce is Thompson’s present and future. “I’m not getting any younger. If I can’t retire with this and be floating on a sailboat in the Bahamas in the next several years, I won’t be happy,” he said.

Some Dude’s Fry Sauce is thinking big, right down to case sales and bottle sizes. The company offers 16 and 36 ounce bottles, as well as the “Quadruple Bypass”-size four-and-a-half-gallon bucket. Thompson is proud that, out of the 200 condiments available at Associated Food Stores, Some Dude’s is the 11th best seller. The company also ships out orders via its Website (www.somedudesfrysauce.com).

“You’d be amazed where the stuff winds up. One lady from Florida ordered some and several weeks later sends us this picture of her son, a soldier, sitting on the back of an army truck, eating a hamburger and holding up a bottle of our fry sauce in Baghdad!” Thompson said.

Some restaurants carry Chatsworth fry sauce made by Borden in California and distributed locally by Sysco Foods. What’s an out-of-state company doing getting involved with our precious fry sauce? According to Sysco, there was so much demand for it that Borden acquiesced and began manufacturing it, realizing that profit could be made even if it’s only in this region. Ah, the power of fry sauce.

As a Utahn, I’ve never dwelled on the fact that fry sauce was, dare I call it, a delicacy reserved only for those of us in the state. It’s so commonplace. A given. When you munch on fries, you dip them in fry sauce. Period. Somewhere, there’s probably even a law on the books. The Brits use vinegar. The Belgians—the actual inventors of french fries, by the way—use mayonnaise. For us, there is fry sauce.

Bill Hoyt, of Taylorsville, “gets it,” as we might say. “I like fry sauce. It’s uniquely Utahn. When I first came here I thought, ‘What is this?’ I’d never heard of it. I’d never seen people lugging around enormous refillable containers of soft drinks before, either. I liked fry sauce right away, because it reminded me of a similar salad dressing my mom used to make,” he said.

Utahns traveling out of state get the same reactions to requests for the condiment that first-timers give when introduced to it here, as did Tim Sealy of Alpine. “I love fry sauce. When I go back East and ask for it at a restaurant, they look at me like I’m a weirdo. And I’m thinking, ‘You guys don’t have a clue.’”

Will a low-fat version be fast in coming? “The fat and calorie content in lite and regular mayonnaise is not that different than the no-fat version and doesn’t taste as good,” Thompson said.

Roberts agreed. “It would compromise the taste. Plus, when you’re eating french fries, you pretty much know what you’re getting into,” he said.

While Roberts, of course, boasts of the fact that Arctic Circle invented fry sauce and paved the way for it as a regional item, Thompson will settle for no less than world dominance. He realizes that goal may come slowly. Either way, there’s no shortage of the stuff in our Utah neighborhood. While fry sauce is loved by natives and is even eventually embraced by outsiders, there are detractors. But they’re all “fry-babies,” or fry-sauce virgins, and this is a pro fry-sauce piece.

Seven Up

Cheap, healthy, hip and mostly meatless meals for every day of the week.

BY Kristy Davis

Let’s start with the weekend, ’cause it’s time to chow down, binge drink and run amok, then sleep it off, wake up and do it all over again. Among Salt Lake City’s ample eateries, we found a few long-forgotten friends, some new interests and everyday darlings. So jump on the semi-vegetarian wagon for a weeklong hitch with local restaurateurs.

Saturday morning—some time after noon, but who’s counting—and you can’t stomach another Denny’s breakfast with Dad. Drag the visiting family to Blue Plate Diner, where most clientele appear to have drunk too much tequila the night before. No worries: It’s nothing a beanie, sunglasses and a stack of flapjacks won’t cure. Sugar House hippies, vintage bicycles and the Andy Griffith Show paraphernalia go well with the black bean and green chili breakfast burrito, a tortilla smothered in black beans, eggs, salsa, cheese and avocado. Meat eaters and vegetarians can all just get along at Blue Plate, where traditional breakfasts like three eggs, toast and home fries come with your choice of bacon, sausage, ham or vegetarian sausage. Three-fifty to $8 buys you breakfast with an efficient—not annoying—smile that deserves a gargantuan tip. Blue Plate Diner, 2041 S. 2100 East, 463-1151.

Chef Ian Brandt serves enlightenment on the side with Sunday brunch at Sage’s Café, a renovated Victorian home gone vegan restaurant. The brunch menu, with dishes named “The Mountain” and “La Mesa,” offers mostly organic, homemade, gourmet wonders from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. every Sunday. Sage’s backcountry breakfast mixes toasted pecans, brown rice, fruit and real maple syrup in a sort of sweet stir-fry. Entrée prices range from $4 to $15. Soy shakes, smoothies, chai and espresso drinks complement the all-vegetarian (vegan) fare. Tantalizing beer and wine selections await hearty afternooners. Sage’s Café, 473 E. 300 South, 322-3790, www.sagescafe.com.

Ever wanted to say, “I am vegetarian” in Thai? If you’re a guy, it goes: “Phom pen mangsawirat. If you’re a lady, try: “Chan pen mangsawirat.” Both sayings come in handy on “Meatless Monday” at Bangkok Thai. Kick the Monday blues with pad Thai: rice noodles stir fried with bean sprouts, green onions, tofu, ground peanuts and pad Thai sauce. While usually made with eggs, you can request vegan. The dish will run you $7.99 for dinner, which is a deal. Every other day of the week it’s priced at $12. The Gang Keow Wan—green curry with coconut milk, bell peppers, peas, bamboo shoots, Thai eggplant and Thai basil—will also rock your Thai boat. Bangkok Thai, 1400 S. Foothill Dr., 582-8424, www.bangkokthai.

Vegan food doesn’t get better or less expensive than the souped-up veggies at Ever Green House Café. The Monkees’ rendition of “Last Train to Clarksville” jogs the radio while paisley-spotted wallpaper, fake flowers and green carpet set the scene for ladies who lunch on Tuesday, or a lone diner reading David Sedaris while waiting for his No. 12. The lunch special, served from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m., includes any of the 14 entrée items, brown rice and a spring roll for $4.99. Black pepper soybean is a delish combination of snap peas, carrots, broccoli and soybean in a sweet and spicy gravy. Ever Green House Café, 755 S. State, 328-8889.

Wednesday night after 5 p.m. at Ahh Sushi and O’Shucks bar can get pretty outa hand, but culture vultures never miss $3 rolls of phat succulent fish, $3 schooners of 32-ounce draft beer and $4 “Funky Charlies,” yellowtail fish rolls dipped in tempura batter, then fried. Single-item rolls of fish, called “maki,” include tempura shrimp, tuna, yellowtail, hamachi, scallops and nigiri (or eel—meow).

Sushi Wednesday isn’t the night to dine solo, as you’ll need your ladies who lunch, or guy in army pants to keep up the conversation. Depending on the sheer number of sushi hunters, sometimes service takes awhile. Thus—the bar.

Vegetarians aren’t left out in the cold at Ahh Sushi, where side dishes like agadashi tofu and shishito peppers tempt the palate, and sushi chefs gladly experiment on new vegetarian rolls. One drag: Ahh Sushi and O’Shucks are private clubs, so buy the $13 annual membership, or bring a member. Ahh Sushi and O’Shucks Bar, 22 E. 100 South, 359-6770.

Dig out from the pile of work, call it a Thursday, and make time for pizza, beer and pool. You’ll be a better person for it. Grab a group of cronies and hit Stoneground for veggie delight pizza with green peppers, red onions, button mushrooms, artichoke hearts, mozzarella cheese, fresh cilantro and red pomodoro sauce. On tap, Stoneground serves Murphy’s Irish Stout, Golden Spike Unita Hefeweizen, and Heineken, among other savory beer sodas. Fifteen bucks for a large pizza will feed you and a couple of friends, easy. Enough said. Stoneground Restaurant, 249 E. 400 South, 364-1368.

Before getting on your Friday groove, stop by House of Coffee for a soy latte, conversation and Rico burrito, fixed up with vegan sour cream, salsa and potato salad. A few months back, owners Adam Rudy and Emir Grbic (23 and 28 years old respectively) opened up a hip joint not many people know about. Coffee slingers sell vegan vittles not available elsewhere, including vegan donuts, cheesecakes, soy meatballs and cinnamon rolls—all homemade by a fabulous vegan chef. House of Coffee doesn’t snub the omnivorous type: They offer cold-cut sandwiches and soups for meat eaters. Pool tables, local art and musicians make for a casual hangout where the young-at-heart, enlightened and open-minded keep their Friday groove on ’til 3:30 a.m. House of Coffee, 511 W. 200 South, 359-2278.

My Lunch With Olene

A burrito and horchata with the soon-to-be governor reveals her easygoing charm.

By Jake Parkinson

The server at El Prado didn’t bring us a menu. There was no need.

Lt. Gov. Olene Walker, the lady likely to be the next chief of state, knew what she wanted. And although it’s an El Prado favorite, it isn’t on the menu. “I’ll have Lenny’s Special,” Olene said. Named after Lenny Rees of the Division of Wildlife Resources, this is a burrito smothered in chile verde and cheese with a cheese enchilada on the side. On Walker’s recommendation, I ordered “Rich’s Special,” a shredded beef enchilada smothered in chile verde and cheese along with a guacamole tostada. This entrée’s namesake is Gov. Mike Leavitt’s Chief of Staff Rich McKeown—who calls himself El Prado’s “pro bono vice president of marketing.” Evidently, the guy never stops praising the place.

The suits of Capitol Hill dig this mamá y papá Mexican restaurant, humbly located at 1264 W. 500 North in Salt Lake City.

Even Leavitt, President George W. Bush’s new pet poodle, frequents El Prado. His picture hangs on the wall above photographs of the owner’s grandchildren. It’s as if Leavitt—who doesn’t have a dish named after him—is part of the family.

Walker, a low-maintenance, high-energy, 72-year-old politician, agreed to meet me for lunch at the restaurant of her choice, to talk about food. Her one stipulation: She didn’t want to discuss the future. That meant no talk of Leavitt’s confirmation hearings or the possibility that she could be governor.

So, between a meeting with the state budget director and a ceremony honoring www.Utah.gov as the best state Website in the country, Walker and I rattled on for more than an hour about victuals—Capitol potlucks, Sunday family dinners, junk food, steaks, sandwiches, cafeteria slop and cheese fries.

“I don’t come here as often as some do, but I really enjoy it every time. It is great Mexican food, but it is not well known by the public,” Walker said, before guessing this meal as her 12th at El Prado. “It is the favorite spot of the governor’s office and other Capitol Hill employees,” she said. “See!” she exclaimed as Palmer DePaulis, state tax commissioner, and a handful of others walked through the door.

As we waited for our meals, Walker gave a rundown of her dining-out history, starting with a now-closed burger joint on Ogden’s 25th Street, not far from where she grew up. “You could get a hamburger, chips and salad for 25 cents. That tells you it was 100 years ago,” Walker said.

For the past 11 years in her role as lieutenant governor, Walker has visited Utah’s smaller towns carrying her soapbox of literacy and affordable-housing programs. She takes advantage of those visits to eat at the local cafés and restaurants.

She knows the locations, remembers the great eats, but in many cases has forgotten the names. “There’s this place in Escalante,” Walker said before pausing in vain to recall the name. “And in Helper you can get the best hamburgers in the world. What is that place called?”

Other restaurants topping her list include The Bluebird Cafe in Logan, Café Rio in St. George, Maddox in Brigham City, Mandarin in Bountiful, Ruth’s Diner up Emigration Canyon, and Salt Lake City’s Hires Big H. “There are many others, too,” she said.

With her busy schedule, Walker’s usual lunch—if eaten at all—consists of a sandwich or salad she wolfs down before running to her next appointment.

On the weekends, when her family comes over, it’s something easy that can be thrown in a crock-pot: roasts, ribs, pork chops. For dessert, she hires “Chef Costky,” of Costco, to do her baking.

“I don’t have the time I used to,” she said. “But I used to spend a lot more time cooking.” At potlucks, it’s a given Walker brings the chips. “I don’t have time to prepare much, but when I do, I make a mean lasagna.”

Walker’s life has grown increasingly hectic with age. At 50, after raising seven children, she completed a doctorate at the University of Utah. Shortly thereafter, she ran for the state House of Representatives where she served as majority whip. She ran for the 2nd Congressional District and briefly served as executive director for the Utah Department of Community and Economic Development for Gov. Norm Bangerter before becoming lieutenant governor.

Despite her “full plate,” she manages to take time for everyone she comes across. Her friendly demeanor might have a lot to do with the grandma in her—25 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. Other patrons who interrupted our lunch were met with the same bright eyes and smile she gave her personal security team and me.

Simple, homestyle food fits her easygoing personality. As long as nobody tries to make Walker eat cold oatmeal or cooked turnips, she’s happy. Give her a burrito from El Prado, and she’s good as gold. If only all elected public officials were as gracious.

Life in the Fast Lane

From sushi to shakes, here’s your guide to good food on the fly.


So many restaurants, so little time. As the world seems to spin at a faster and faster pace, we often find ourselves faced with eating on the run. Sure, we’d rather sit down with friends and family for a leisurely repast. But when the clock is ticking and the kids are ticking you off, it’s good to know that you’re no longer limited to joints like McDonalds, Pizza Hut and Burger King for fast food.

Just because you’re harried doesn’t mean you can’t eat quickly and well. The key is finding eateries with easy access and great grub to go. In the fast lane, things like parking and rapid service matter. Here then, are my top picks for food on the fly.

Piñon Market & Café, 2095 E. 1300 South: Victoria Topham might just make the best macaroni and cheese in town, so get some to go. For those with more exotic tastes, the Thai curry noodle salad is sensational too.

Rico Mexican Market, 779 S. 500 East: Muy autentico! Jorge Fierro began by selling beans at the Downtown Farmers Market. Now he offers up the best homemade tamales in town, not to mention sensational salsa, chips, burritos, and everything else you need for a Mexican fiesta at home. If there’s posole available, grab some to go.

Brick Oven Pasta and Pizza, 111 E. 800 North in Provo: When it opened as a corner pizza shop in 1956 it was called “Heaps of Pizza.” Now Brick Oven serves not only the best pizza in Provo, but the best in all of Utah. Pick up an extra-large pie for the road, and I guarantee it’ll be gone before you leave Utah County.

Sonic Drive-In, various locations: Sure the burgers and fries are good and delivered directly to your car. But I pull into Sonic for one reason and one reason only: the bodacious banana shakes! Service at the speed of sound for 50 years.

Mazza, 1515 S. 1500 East: Ali Sabbah’s Middle Eastern eatery is a godsend when you’re looking for an alternative to burgers or pizza to take home for dinner. His falafel is the best around. And don’t forget to ask for a yummy side dish of the Mazza special rice.

Wasabi Sushi, 865 E. 900 South: For sushi on the fly, Wasabi is the place to fly to. I love Laura Lee Lewis’ Scallopeño roll and the unique Magic Mushroom is a ’shroom lover’s delight. Walk, or ride your bike, since parking can be a hassle.

Dairy Keen, 199 S. Main St. in Heber City: I get giddy just thinking about the Dairy Keen’s ranch burger with bacon and cheese. Washing it down with a fresh raspberry shake is definitely the right way to go.

Brazil Brasil, 4031 W. 4100 South: Albverto & Sueli da Silva’s unassuming little café is a great place to take away an assortment of Brazilian stuffed pastries: “coxinhas,” “esfihas,” “risolis,” “kibe,” and “pastels.” The latter is a thin dough turnover filled with ground beef, chicken and cheese, pizza, shrimp, hearts of palm or ham and cheese.

Fazoli’s, at various locations: The only thing difficult about take-out dining at Fazoli’s is deciding between the spaghetti and meatballs or fettuccine Alfredo. Thankfully, there are free breadsticks to chew on while you ponder your decision. The kids love that, and so will you.

Little World at 1350 S. State: The lack of décor makes the decision to take home Little World’s authentic Chinese cuisine an easy one. Get a Peking duck to go and an order of Little World’s fantastic steamed dumplings for the price of a hoity-toity restaurant appetizer.

Silver Summit Café, Hwy. 40, Exit 2 (Silver Summit): Next to the shiny new Chevron is one of the best eateries in Summit County. The Silver Summit’s wood-fired pizzas are great. But feed the pizza to the kids, because you want the lip-smackin’ wood-fired chicken to go. Really good carnitas, too. Because the place is so popular, service can be a bit slow during busy hours.

Curry in a Hurry, 2020 S. State and 210 S. Main: The Pakistani chicken korma curry at Curry in a Hurry is sublime. Best of all, it travels well. It’ll be as delicious on your table as theirs. Whether you’re in a hurry or not, Curry in a Hurry delivers the goods.

Gandolfo’s, at various locations: Serving some of the best sandwiches in the state, a Reuben, Philly cheesesteak or hot corned beef from Gandolfo’s deli will put a guilty grin on your face. This is the reason “delicious” begins with “deli.”

Can Do

Meet champion canner Jeanne Pulliam, a woman who cultivates taste—and family health—from garden to lid.


It’s a home that could easily pass as a Mor

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