For the past decade, my husband and I seem to find ourselves in Scottsdale Arizona every Spring. Most years it's to celebrate the arrival of another baseball season by talking in as many pre-season games and hotdogs as we can pack in in a week. Others, it's to celebrate Mardi Gras with our Louisiana-born-and-bred friends who carry on the traditions of their home state despite the desert locale of their adopted home.
We made the trip, just for the weekend (too early for baseball), to take part in their Krewe of Helios bash. You would too if you had ever had their gumbo or red beans and rice. They throw a parade on their block where you get to catch as many beads as you can before stuffing your face. (Nudity is strictly discouraged. As our bodies attest, we are not in college anymore.) We had some time to kill before the reverie began and needed a place for a quick drink and a nibble. Since it was a gloriously sunny day, if it had a view of Pikes Peak, even better.
We wanted a glass of wine and antipasti on the Sassi patio, but they're only open for dinner. (Bummer.) When I suggested Greasewood Flat, which is right down the street and a complete 180-degree stylistic turn, my husband was a bit wary. We'd driven by the sign – which looked a little too "cowboy" to us city slickers – a few hundred times over the years and I had always wanted to go.