Cucumber Sauce — The Cool Side of a Phoenix Summer Kitchen

A hundred and fourteen degrees on Wednesday. Phoenix in late June is not a city — it is an argument between humans and the sun, and the sun is winning. The restaurant runs different in summer. The customers come earlier, eat faster, leave before the parking lot becomes a skillet. The patio seating closes at eleven AM and does not reopen until the sun drops behind the Estrellas. The kitchen becomes a furnace inside a furnace — my pit crew works in conditions that would make a firefighter flinch, and I know this because I was a firefighter and I am flinching. We go through forty gallons of water a day. Tom├ís drinks a gallon himself. The boy sweats like he is being wrung out by God.

I adjusted the summer menu this week. Lighter sides — a jicama and cucumber slaw with chile-lime vinaigrette, a chilled elote salad that Sofia suggested after seeing something similar at a restaurant in Tempe. The brisket stays. The brisket always stays. You do not remove brisket from a BBQ menu because it is hot outside. You do not surrender to weather. You adapt around it. The slaw sold forty-two portions on Saturday. Sofia's elote salad sold thirty-seven. The girl has instincts. She does not know it yet — she thinks she is just eating and observing — but she has the palate and the curiosity and the willingness to suggest. The willingness to suggest is the beginning of the willingness to create. I am watching.

Diego started summer soccer camp this week. Two hours every morning at a field in Chandler where the grass is watered so aggressively it steams. He comes home sunburned and ecstatic and ravenous — the boy eats like he is storing food for winter, which in Phoenix is a concept so abstract it might as well be mythology. I make him lunch every day he comes home from camp: smash burgers on the flat-top, or chicken quesadillas, or leftover brisket sandwiches with pickled jalape├▒os. The boy eats. The boy grows. The boy is nine in August and already taller than Sofia was at nine, which Sofia finds personally offensive.

Thursday night I wrote chapter seven. The competition chapter — the Glendale Smoke-Off in 2016, the first trophy, Roberto standing in the sun for four hours to watch me cook pork shoulder for strangers. The recipe at the end: the competition pork shoulder rub, the rub that won the amateur division, the rub that started the trajectory from hobbyist to competitor to restaurant owner. I wrote the chapter in two hours at the mesquite table after the kids went to bed. The desert was quiet. The smoker was dark. The words came fast, the way they come when the story has been waiting long enough. Seven chapters. The book is halfway. The fire is being written.

Sofia is twelve, Diego is nine. The small Rivera-kids occupy the small Phoenix-house with the small two-parent-household-stability that the small Jessica-and-Marcus partnership has built. Sofia is at the small middle school and is the small soccer-and-studious one. Diego is at the small elementary and is the small dinosaur-obsessed wild one. Both small kids have small activities (Sofia on the small soccer-team, Diego on the small Little League team Marcus coaches).

The small Mexican-American heritage runs through the small kitchen. Roberto and Elena’s recipes are the small family-cooking-spine. The small carne asada, the small pollo asado, the small tamales-at-Christmas-with-Jessica’s-mom’s-cinnamon-rolls are the small heritage-anchors. Marcus’s parents Roberto and Elena are from Sonora-via-Maryvale-Phoenix. Jessica is from Duluth Minnesota. The small cross-Mexico-American kitchen draws from both.

The small firefighter-brotherhood continues. The small Station 19 crew has been the small extended-family for years. The small fire-academy-class-of-2005 brothers have been the small lifelong-network since Marcus was a small probationary. The small annual-charity-cookoff in October raises the small operating-budget for the small Phoenix Fire Foundation. Marcus has been the small head-pitmaster the last four years running.

The jicama-cucumber slaw was Sofia’s idea as much as mine — I handed her the credit and I meant it — and what made it work was the same thing that makes any great summer side work: cold, acid, and crunch against the heat. This cucumber sauce is the backbone of that thinking. It comes together in minutes, it lives in the cooler during service, and on a 114-degree Wednesday in Phoenix, it is not a garnish — it is a survival strategy. Make it for burgers, make it for whatever comes off your grill, make it because the summer is long and the kitchen is hot and you deserve something that fights back.

Cucumber Sauce

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 large English cucumber, peeled and grated or finely diced
• 1 cup plain Greek yogurt
• 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 1 lime)
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, chopped
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/4 teaspoon chile powder or cayenne, to taste
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1 tablespoon olive oil

Instructions

1. Prep the cucumber. Grate or finely dice the cucumber. Place it in a clean kitchen towel or several layers of paper towels and squeeze firmly to remove as much excess moisture as possible. This keeps the sauce from turning watery as it sits.
2. Combine the base. In a medium bowl, stir together the Greek yogurt, lime juice, olive oil, and minced garlic until smooth.
3. Season. Add the cumin, chile powder, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine and taste — adjust lime juice or salt as needed.
4. Fold in cucumber and herbs. Add the drained cucumber and chopped cilantro. Fold gently until evenly distributed throughout the sauce.
5. Chill and rest. Cover and refrigerate for at least 20 minutes before serving to allow the flavors to develop. The sauce keeps covered in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.
6. Serve. Use as a dipping sauce, burger condiment, taco topping, or alongside grilled meats. Stir before each use.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 45 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 2g | Carbs: 4g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 160mg