Monte Carlo Liquors & Steak House is a lone brick island in a large asphalt lot that sits just over 100 feet from the Central Avenue Bridge that stretches over the Rio Grande in Albuquerque.

Stories, photos and travel recommendations from America’s Mother Road

The business’ name says everything: The front of the building lodges a liquor store selling the basic brands of spirits and beer. Around back, an arrow, painted garnet against an otherwise beige facade, points toward a red door sheltered by a small, domed awning. The words “steakhouse entrance” have been stenciled above in letters big enough to be seen two blocks away.

The 56-year-old throwback is often my first stop after landing in New Mexico. I have been traveling to the state regularly since the summer of 1999, when I attended my first of many writing retreats led by Natalie Goldberg, author of “Writing Down the Bones” and many other books. Its northern topography — the enormous sense of space, the way the light moves and colors shift against the mountains and desertscapes — keep me returning.

The 56-year-old throwback Monte Carlo Liquors & Steak House is often my first stop after landing in New Mexico.

Albuquerque, home to the state’s largest airport, is a gateway. It’s also the city with the longest continuous urban stretch of Route 66, named Central Avenue and running nearly 18 miles through its core. Two of my very favorite restaurants in New Mexico reside along this zagging sweep, both quirky and atmospheric and also grounding in their sense of place.

I return to Monte Carlo for two reasons: the honky-tonk atmosphere and the green chile cheeseburger.

Beyond the red door lies the platonic ideal of a Midcentury dive. The windowless dining room remains perpetually dim. Crimson pleather booths line the walls, which are covered with vintage beer signs and framed portraits of Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe … and Guy Fieri, who visited in 2008. A collection of model cars sits behind glass in one corner. It is easy to imagine a near past when cigarette smoke hovered like low cloud cover.

I cannot report on the fried appetizers or char-broiled steaks that comprise much of the menu. Occasionally I order a Greek appetizer — a nod to the heritage of Michael Katsaros, whose family still runs the place — which includes a block of feta sprinkled with oregano, olives, a single rolled grape leaf, slices of tomato and cucumber and, uniquely, thick blocks of salami.

Here’s why I return to Monte Carlo: the honky-tonk atmosphere and the green chile cheeseburger.

Chasing green chile cheeseburgers through New Mexico is sport for food obsessives. Cheryl Jamison, a longtime food writer who lives in Santa Fe, steered me to Monte Carlo years ago.

The staff grounds the beef sirloin daily, a crucial step. Seeds are visible among the chopped roasted chiles, smoky and vegetal and bringing some heat, overlaid with a single square of American cheese melted into place. The sting of a dry gin martini is exactly right between bites.

Is this the best green chile cheeseburger in Albuquerque? Impossible for me to say, but it is an excellent gauge from which to begin a survey.

The dining room is perpetually dim, and crimson pleather booths line the walls, covered with vintage beer signs and framed portraits.

The chile cheeseburger at Monte Carlo.

Wherever you’re headed from Monte Carlo, it’s worth a quick stop to admire the twin Route 66 Rio Grande markers that stand on either side of the nearby bridge. Their adobe color blends so seamlessly into the landscape that you could speed by them without much notice. They were installed in the early 2000s as part of the city’s public art programs. Their tiered form nods to the cloud terrace motif that appears repeatedly in New Mexico’s indigenous Pueblo art and architecture. It’s easiest at night to spy their subtle Route 66 logos lit up in red and green neon.

Red and green are the unofficial state colors of New Mexico, as you’ll see again and again on plates delivered by servers at Duran Central Pharmacy, the finest destination along Central Avenue for immersion into regional cooking.

Indigenous ingredients (corn, beans, squash, game meats, berries and piñon among them) and heavy Spanish colonial influences (chiles were said to have been brought to the area as early as the late 1500s) help define New Mexican cuisine.

Modern restaurant menus, with the familiar enchiladas and tamales and hard-shell tacos, can resemble Tex-Mex, but never say that to a New Mexican local. The chiles delineate culinary borders. “Red or green?” customers will be asked repeatedly. Meaning: Do you want your dish smothered in sauce made from roasted green chiles, or a simmered counterpart fashioned from dried red chile pods?

The combination plate, Christmas style, at Duran’s.

If you want both, as many of us do, the answer is “Christmas.”

At “Duran’s,” as locals call it, see and taste the distinctions on Duran’s combination plate, which includes one beef or chicken taco, one pork tamale and one rolled cheese enchilada with a side of pinto beans. Green has a toothier texture and fresher flavor; red is saucier with dusky, earthen undertones. Try the duo over a hefty knife-and-fork breakfast burrito filled with chorizo, chilaquiles, a bowl of chili or, a special on Wednesdays and Fridays, sopaipillas (pillows of fried dough) blanketed in cheese.

Founded in 1942, Duran originally had a soda fountain that converted to a sit-down restaurant in the 1960s. Touches of Midcentury Modern kitsch, especially a starburst clock on the restaurant’s roadside sign, marks its place along Route 66.

Touches of Midcentury Modern kitsch include a starburst clock on the restaurant’s roadside sign, marking its place along Route 66.

And yes, this building also pulls double duty as a thriving pharmacy. On return visits when I’m feeling too excited about jumping back into New Mexican foodways, I start at Monte Carlo for a cheeseburger and martinis before a second lunch of sopaipillas, “Christmas-style,” at Duran, knowing I can pick up ibuprofen and calcium carbonate for dessert.

Monte Carlo Liquors & Steak House is located at 3916 Central Ave. SW, Albuquerque, (505) 836-9886, monte-carlo-liquors.hub.biz

Duran Central Pharmacy: 1815 Central Ave. NW, Albuquerque, (505) 247-4141, duransrx.com

Brace yourself, Coronado. The hospitality maven who brought San Diego its most over-the-top maximalist hotel — the Lafayette in North Park — is back with another glitzy project, this time in the wealthy island city known for its traditional bent.

Opening Thursday, Baby Grand includes a 35-foot faux rock wall, a 20-foot waterfall, a Mediterranean restaurant that feels like a Greek ruin being consumed by a jungle and a hidden oyster bar full of crystal and mirrors. All of this, including the Spanish statuary, Moroccan fixtures and Murano glass, is squeezed onto an Orange Avenue lot that once held a 1950s motel. If Liberace had run away with an art historian, they might have landed here.

The idea was “to create this little mirage within the mirage that is Coronado,” said Arsalun Tafazoli, founder of CH Projects, the group behind a multitude of design-intensive establishments across San Diego including the speakeasy Raised by Wolves, the hi-fi listening bar Part Time Lover and the Middle Eastern restaurant Leila.

The patio dining area of Coronado’s new Night Hawk includes seating for about 150.

Baby Grand’s high-density, high-gloss environment, which cost about $17 million and took about five years to complete, will come as no surprise to those who have followed Tafazoli’s earlier ventures.

Asked about the design philosophy behind the 2023 renovation of the Lafayette — the company’s first hotel — Tafazoli had a simple answer: “More is more.”

The Baby Grand project, put together in collaboration with design studio Post Company, is cut from the same cloth, describing itself as a “polychromatic pastiche” on its website. The goal, Tafazoli said, is to enrich Coronado’s culture and give people a respite in an anxiety-ridden time. But “it is different,” he said. “I don’t know if it is going to be embraced.”

Getting the necessary city permissions “was definitely a struggle,” Tafazoli said. “Had I known how difficult this was going to be, I don’t know …”

In the days before the hotel’s opening, Tafazoli, 44, led a tour of the site. The entrepreneur, whose heritage is Persian, wore his hair in braids and a button-down Supreme shirt featuring Barack Obama.

The Baby Grand hotel’s guest rooms feature separate tub and shower.

“I have a very one-dimensional existence. I’m single. I have no kids. This is what I do,” said Tafazoli, who grew up in San Diego and studied at UC San Diego. He lives now in downtown San Diego’s East Village, where his company is based and where his first CH venture, Neighborhood, opened in 2007.

Though his company started with eating and drinking establishments, Tafazoli said, his goals were always to create and run hotels, “the pinnacle of hospitality.” As a child of divorce, he said, he may have a heightened awareness of when the energy feels right in a room and when it doesn’t. Creating social environments, he said, gives him some control over that. Moreover, he added later, “beauty is important to me, because it conveys care.”

To make the most of Baby Grand’s compact location (2/3 of an acre), the CH team has exported parking. Instead of leaving their cars on site, guests will hand keys to valets who will deposit vehicles in a Bank of America parking structure a block away. That move freed up space for not only palm trees, torches, tables, booths and 21 pieces of statuary from Spain, but also a little faux beach with a 4-foot-deep wading pool that can hold a handful of people.

“I can’t tell you how many iterations of sand were brought in and taken out,” Tafazoli said. “Sand is its own universe. You want local sand. But local sand was not conducive to that feeling.” So the sand is from Turkey.

The property’s main restaurant, Night Hawk, is Mediterranean, with cooking by open fire, a Greek ruins vibe and seating for about 150. The second restaurant lurks behind the lobby — a hidden oyster-and-Champagne bar that holds about 35 people, reservation only. The space, called Fallen Empire, features red mohair booths, built-in Champagne buckets, mirrored walls and chandeliers, sconces and lamps from the Italian glass-blowing island of Murano. The floor is a custom mosaic of sea creatures.

There are 31 guest rooms, beginning at $350 per night. Each is dominated by a custom-made clamshell headboard (fiberglass). Beds are surrounded by animal-print seating, parquet oak flooring, marble tables, mirrored cabinets and custom wallpaper. The rooms measure roughly 300 square feet each, nearly half of that space taken up by their elaborate bathrooms, each with separate tub and shower, sinks from Morocco.

Now picture all of that placed in the heart of Coronado (population 20,192), which sits next to Naval Air Station North Island and is known for attracting well-heeled retirees. The median home value is $2.5 million.

Up the block from the Baby Grand is the grand dame of San Diego County tourism, the Hotel del Coronado, which went up in 1888, completed a $550-million renovation last year and starts its rates north of $600. Another option is the Bower Coronado, also a dramatically upgraded motel that reopened in 2025 with prices similar to Baby Grand’s but a much more buttoned-down style.

This view from above at the Night Hawk restaurant space shows a stone booth, elaborately patterned cushion and table top.

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All of those properties stand close to Coronado’s wide, sandy beaches — which means they all face challenges as waters are often fouled by the northward flow of untreated sewage from greater Tijuana. The longstanding problem has worsened in recent years, and Coronado’s Central Beach was closed to bathers on 129 days in 2025 because of unsafe bacteria levels. The U.S. and Mexican government say they have sewage-treatment projects in progress, with improvements expected by the end of 2027.

“We are, unfortunately, not marine scientists just a group of deeply overcaffeinated hoteliers with strong opinions about lighting, linen textures, and good design. So please check local water conditions before swimming,” Tafazoli wrote in a statement.

Asked his target market for the new hotel, Tafazoli said he was looking close to home.

“I see this as a staycation for locals” from San Diego County, Tafazoli said. “The big risk is that we don’t get locals and it doesn’t resonate with tourists who like the status quo.”

That said, Baby Grand and Coronado might be a better match than some imagine. Christine Stokes, executive director of the Coronado Historical Assn. and Museum, sees at least a few parallels to Baby Grand in local history, beginning with the historical association’s own building. From the 1950s into the 1990s, Stokes noted in an email, Marco’s Restaurant operated in the space, with a “Roman Room” bar — “a dark and immersive hidden gem where bartenders performed sleight-of-hand magic tricks.”

Guest rooms, including No. 103, are labeled with inscribed brass clamshells.

Then there was the Hotel del Coronado’s Circus Room restaurant, open from the 1930s into the 1960s. That was “an immersive environment, using specialized murals and striped tents on the walls,” Stokes wrote. It’s also where, in 1950, the manager of an L.A. TV station spotted a promising young piano player and decided to give him a chance on screen. The pianist’s name was Liberace.

However people respond to the particulars of the new hotel, Tafazoli said, he knows that the larger setting of Coronado is a special place.

From his office in San Diego’s East Village, “it’s a six-minute drive,” he said. “I come off that bridge, and I feel like I’m in a different place.” It’s amazing, he said, “to be so close and feel so far away.”