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I want to start this article by briefly expressing a concern I have for all restaurants in Arizona who pride themselves on their interpretation of French cuisine. I feel it’s my duty to lounge on my cloud of culinary righteousness and hand down judgments to everyone in the business. So here it is: What is it about Foie Gras with you people? No one seems to really nail it the way it should be nailed. I love Foie Gras and I always end up ordering it when it’s available, thinking it is going to be like, you know, Foie Gras. But it always comes out different. It never seems to be about the Foie Gras itself, it’s about the treatment, the gastrique, the poached pear, the orange glaze, the flaming pool of vodka. And it never seems to complement it. It conspires against it; it sneaks its way on to the menu looking clever but then at the last moment, voila; your dream of succulent Foie Gras is a childish fantasy—a shroud of false hopes. The first time I had it is the same way I would want to have it again. I was dating this French girl in California. Her mother was very traditional, and they ate it every Sunday. It had been sautéed briefly in a small amount of butter and it came out sizzling in its small worn skillet with a plate of toasted bread that had been given a little brush of olive oil, some cracked black pepper and salt. (I guess we call that a crouton.) It was summer time so there was a cold bottle of chardonnay on the table. That’s all I remember, oh yeah, they served the salad last. (Mindless foreigners.) Whatever sins the Méthode Bistro has to answer for have already been absolved. They do too many things well and enough things differently to get foodies excited that they are in business. Once we had dropped off our two year old zoo animal at Gramas, Rosie and I were ready for some serious R&R. I wasted no time sliding the car keys across the table and ordered a very cold very good glass of chardonnay. All it took was one sip and the summer heat had been ordered to the time out room indefinitely. The tapas menu offers eight different items at the generous price of $5 each. We started off with two of them. The Medjul Dates with Merguez Sausage wrapped in sugarcured Bacon and the Rock Shrimp and Sweet Corn on Brioche. Both of these were great, my favorite was the shrimp. My tightwad wife wanted us to fence ourselves in to the tapas menu but I wasn’t having it. The reckless brute in me ordered more wine and began rambling off the story of how my smartmouthed Uncle Ricky took me fishing when I was a kid at four in the morning on Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. After two hours of nothing, I caught a Walleyed Pike; Ricky reeled it in. It was huge and by the time we had beaten it to death with our bare hands, the boat was in shambles, the quad barbed hook seated in my shoulder blade was drawing blood and screams and the aluminum bottom of the crowded trout boat was covered in the bricabrac of the dumped tackle box which slid about over a thin layer of foam from Ricky’s last can of Hamms. I don’t know how Matt McLinn, Chef Owner of Méthode came about his Walleye Pike featured as a special ($17) but I like to imagine it was more dramatic than a phone call to one of his vendors. Méthode did a great job featuring this tender fish by giving the skin a crisp bite and serving it with fingerling potatoes, string beans, Red Bell Pepper and Onion Jus. One thing which Méthode offers that most bistros won’t is quite a bit of choice. Eight different entrees offer Seabass, Halibut, Wood Oven Roasted Lobster, Prime Rib, Hanger Steak, Filet Mignon and Roasted Chicken. Our server was ordered to refuse my dessert request so that we could share a dessert of my wife’s choosing. A trio of homemade sorbets ($5) soon arrived and as always with this type of thing, she quickly sampled each one, decided which was the best and then blocked my access to it. History has taught her nothing, and I predictably responded by seizing the remainder of her wine for myself. “Say ‘tata’ to the rest of this silky, long legged red!” was my remark as I jerked its stem to my side of the field. Méthode’s bar is a luxedout, cozy place for tapas and drinks and is hosted by Dave Berntzen who has never short poured anyone in his life. The staff are quick and know the wine list. The glassware is A+ which doesn’t happen enough these days. Seriously, great wine needs great glasses and Méthode has both. Dinner is served at Méthode Bistro from 5 p.m. to 10 p.m. (lounge opens at 3 p.m.), seven days a week.