There’s a lot to love at Matt Carter’s French bistro in Kierland Commons, including a duck confit sandwich, Parmesan-truffle fries, a sidewalk patio perfect for people-watching, and a dreamy, labor-intensive chocolate soufflé (which could be classified as an endangered species). Made with premium Valrhona chocolate and dusted with powdered sugar, it’s an intensely chocolatey puff of air, which the server deflates at the table with a spoon, filling its molten core with rich, creamy sauce (chocolate or Grand Marnier, take your pick) poured from a tiny pitcher. The larger, shareable soufflé takes 30 minutes to bake, so plan accordingly, or order an individual size, which is ready in under 20 minutes.

Valley barbecue buffs flock to Little Miss BBQ an hour before it opens to get in line for Scott Holmes’s Central Texas-style smoked meats pulled from thousand-gallon offset smokers. In truth, every meaty option — whether pulled pork, pork ribs, turkey, sausage, or even specialty pastrami — is exemplary, but the biggest draw is the fatty brisket, an ivory-webbed thing of beauty that jiggles on the plate and dissolves on the tongue in a burst of salty, rich, robustly beefy flavor. Eaten with ranch-style beans and cheddar-jalapeño grits, it’s barbecue bliss.

After a day in the desert sun, an original tequila sunrise can bring fresh life. Way back in the Arizona Biltmore’s 91-year history, a bartender named Gene Sulit invented the classic cocktail of tequila, crème de cassis, club soda, and lime. Ice packs through the tall thin glass and mounds past its brim, tight walls bowing inward slightly, almost like an hourglass. A wistful shade of red colors the bottom and fades to a near-white at top, mimicking the ombre shading of a sunrise. 

Thanks to a new wave of suppliers and a base of skilled and creative chefs, seafood in the Sonoran Desert took a few giant leaps forward in the last decade. One eye-opening example: hiramasa crudo from Valentine chef Donald Hawk. When Hawk left the Gladly, he took his cult-favorite dish with him, adding a few flourishes in the process. Opalescent slips of fish rest in a puddle of lime vinaigrette enriched with fish sauce and brown butter. It’s an umami bomb gilded with I’itoi onion, mint, and golden raisins for a sweet counterpoint.

For more than 25 years, Cecelia Miller’s hit restaurant has served foods mostly from the Tohono O’odham tradition. The green chile stew, however, with lengths of pepper twisting through it, has Puebla roots. For preparation, Fry Bread House gives Hatch chiles an extra-long simmer. To the side of the fiery, beef-studded stew rests a foil-wrapped fold of ceme’t, a toasty, tortilla-like, flour flatbread.

As her frequently changing farm-to-table menu suggests, chef Charleen Badman is a vegetable fanatic, nicknamed “Veggie Badman” for good reason. That said, she’s not above making downright sinful desserts. In fact, she’s famous not for her squash or her turnips (although they’re terrific) but for her butterscotch pudding, an umber-colored cup of silk so rich and luxurious that sharing it is nearly impossible. Caramelized brown sugar gives it smoky depth, while a cloud of whipped cream, sprinkled with freshly grated nutmeg, serves as light, fluffy counterbalance. It’s the perfect pudding.

Chef and owner Eugenia Theodosopoulos was the first person to introduce French macarons to Phoenix nearly 30 years ago, and no matter how many competitors enter the ring, her macarons invariably take the prize . . . literally. They’ve won countless awards, which is not surprising considering that Theodosopoulos went to culinary school in France, then worked there for years before coming to Phoenix to open a bakery and cafe that also turns out beautiful pastries and faultless croissants. Her pretty macarons, offered in two sizes, are delicately crisp yet moist and a little chewy (never dry or crumbly), and they come in a rainbow of colors and flavors, including raspberry rose, pistachio, key lime, Meyer lemon, pink grapefruit, espresso, French chocolate, and caramel cream.

Sure, it sounds counterintuitive — a fantastic lobster roll in Phoenix, a city situated smack in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. But owner Chris Nelson, who is fastidious in everything he does, sources 14 dozen lobsters from Maine each week, which are flown in on Tuesday and prepared for Wednesday’s lobster roll special. His recipe is blessedly simple: firm chunks of sweet lobster meat, minced celery, and chives, tossed with mayonnaise, lemon, and a dash of Old Bay, the luscious mixture tucked into a buttery split-top bun custom-made by Noble Bread. Running between $27 and $32, it can feel like a splurge, but it’s worth it. It’s as good as any “lobstah” roll in Maine.

A humble beef frank can do no better than when it’s dressed up as a bacon-wrapped Sonoran hot dog, the best of which El Caprichoso lavishes with toppings like beans and pico de gallo, guacamole, crema, and a blizzard of cheese. Don’t overlook the bun, ample, chewy, soft, and lightly kissed by the griddle.  

At this pioneering cafe on 16th Street, Silvana Salcido Esparza slow-roasts and smokes pork to make a cochinita pibil that emulates the flavors of the pit-cooking method common in the Yucatan’s iconic dish. She heaps the shredded pork onto a banana leaf, with crimson dripping juices into a vivid crimson pool. Flavors of smoke, bitter orange, and achiote roughly harmonize, a soulful keynote from one of town’s essential chefs. 

For over 70 years, generations of Phoenix’s movers and shakers have ducked into Durant’s, a sterling example of the classic American steakhouse, where the lighting is dim, the booths are red leather, and the martinis flow clear and cold. It’s all in service to the steak, which comes in loads of cuts. The luxurious, broiled filet mignon rises above the rest.

At his tiny pizzeria in Heritage Square, America’s best pizza maker Chris Bianco makes a half dozen splendid pies, but the standout is the Rosa. It’s a white pie, strewn with crushed pistachios,

Parmesan, rosemary, and red onion. This white pie is quintessentially Bianco: Strewn with crushed pistachios, Parmesan, rosemary, and red onion, it’s a genre-bending that nods to the flatbreads from which pizza evolved hundreds of years ago. It’s beautifully crusty and wondrously chewy.

It’s hard to get more “old-school Arizona” than a platter anchored by machaca — dried and rehydrated beef. The version at El Horseshoe restaurant has long been considered one of the most satisfying in town. At simple red tables in an unadorned room, diners tuck into what’s considered the best plates of machaca in town, alongside eggs, potatoes, or vegetables. Another great way to experience the shredded beef here is with rice and beans wrapped into a flour tortilla.