Who says the real estate crash didn’t have a sliver lining? As we celebrate the news that the planned demolition of the Scottsdale’s iconic Pinnacle Peak Patio has been put on indefinite hold, we’ve got a review of two of the Valley’s fav cheesy chophouses.

Look, we love nothing more than noshing on premium Prime steak at the Valley’s various highfalutin chophouses. From Mastro’s to J&G, Bourbon Steak to the iconic Durant’s, we’ve been there, loved that. But sometimes it’s just as fun to embrace the Valley’s touristy, cheese-a-riffic Wild West heritage. So round up the little buckaroos and pull up yer bootstraps, ’cause we’re hitting the trail to visit two of Scottsdale’s classic Cowboy steakhouses, pardner.

Let’s start at the historic Reata Pass Steakhouse in north Scottsdale. Founded in 1882 as a stop on the 100-plus-mile stagecoach trail connecting Phoenix/Scottsdale to Fort McDowell and Prescott (Arizona’s original capital), Reata Pass was little more than a rough-and-tumble watering hole for thirsty horses and passengers, alike. However, as the stage coach was replaced, first by the railroad and then by automobiles, even this small trickle of traffic dried up, and Reata Pass seemed destined for the dustbin of history. Fortunately, in the early 1950s, George “Doc” Cavalliere purchased Reata Pass and turned it into a Western-themed “town” and steakhouse. Today, you can still rustle up traditional grub such as “buckin’ burgers” and barbecued “ranch-hand-wiches” or simply savor the traditional Western atmosphere that has made Reata Pass the star of shows such as “Bonanza” and the movie “Raising Arizona.” (27500 N. Alma School Pkwy., 480-585-7277)

Now let’s mosey a mile or two on down the road to another Arizona icon, Pinnacle Peak Patio. Sprawling across the base of its namesake peak, this huge eatery (seating 1,800 inside and another 2,000 across the expansive patios) delivers an authentic Western experience, right down to the mesquite-grilled, perfectly-greasy steaks that drew rave reviews from BBQ maestro, Bobby Flay. Two quick caveats: don’t order anything well-done or you’ll be served a charred cowboy boot (seriously), and leave your tie at home unless you want it to join the world’s largest collection of clipped ties hanging from the ceiling. (Rumor has it the tradition started when a local businessman refused to doff his tie, so the owner removed it for him—with a butcher’s cleaver.) These days, though, most of the tie-wearers are young children wearing dad’s old throwaways, who practically beg the waitress to break out the oversized shears. (10426 E. Jomax Rd., 480-585-1599)

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