Food

The entire staff is from Turkey, and Turks not only know food, they have atmosphere nailed. Unique and authentic hookahs, rugs, and wine bottles adorn the walls and shelves. There is a library feel to this place in that everything feels so well-placed and so…cultural. They have a belly dancer who entertains while you eat, and scares the hell out of your children…especially your pubescent male ones.

It’s unremarkable, yet it works. A wide tongue of catfish with a crisp golden coating is slipped between a cleaved roll and crowned with fresh ruddy tomato slices and a smear of Creole rémoulade. The fish is greaseless, crisp, and moist with stratified flakes of flesh and not a hint of river silt.

Curved leopard-print banquettes, sequestered in gauzy curtains, resemble a sheer negligée over cat-pelt bloomers. Black lacquered chairs are cushioned with leopard-print padded seats, and tables are cloaked in black tablecloths, like a black slit skirt over shiny black stilettos. The focal point of the back bar is a dramatic pair of narrow, triangular shelves bathed in the kind of neon orange favored by those who like folded greenbacks slipped into their underwear. This is the fine-dining version of a minx in homicidal regalia. Be careful how you use it.

Most beer gulpers don’t have a palate that ventures much beyond leftovers found between the couch cushions. But Trappist monks have always enjoyed good food to go along with their beer brewing–or so we’ve been told. That’s why the Old Monk, a pub rife with Trappist monk imagery, has a range of good nibbles such as delicious mussels steamed in beer spiked with garlic and herbs, cheese boards, and fried calamari sleeved in a light, airy batter. What we want to know is, do monks pray before the same altar the rest of us do when the brew gets out of hand?

Short of hopping a plane to India, you won’t get a better gulab jamun–cake-like fried milk balls in scented syrup–than at India Palace Restaurant. They make it to the proper consistency and temperature to prevent the mushiness that often mars this Eastern standard. A refreshing dessert after a heavy meal.

Maybe this ’50s soda fountain-diner-burger joint with a purple train chugging along the ceiling with a preening purple cow in a freight car is a little much for those of us who act 6 but aren’t. Yet this place is clean and bright, the food is good, and kids love it. Plus, they’ll spike your milkshake with hooch, so you’ll love it too. Just be careful not to confuse your shake with the one the kids are slurping, or you’ll never get them to come down off the train tracks.

It’s topped with diced tomato, cheese, and cream. It’s smooth. It’s creamy. It’s got a little tang in there. Plus a little smoke. And the horns won’t start for at least an hour.

They’re golden, crisp, well seasoned, moist, ample, and they make a terrific palate prelude to the “kiss of mint” condoms this place passes out at closing time.

What could be better than sipping your Shiner Bock with a piping hot bowl of this delicious concoction? Served in a large bread bowl with a convenient lid for dipping, this is perfect for chilly winter evenings on the couches in the beer garden. If you feel like being social, ask for a chess set or checkers. We promise they won’t laugh at you.

This restaurant gets the nod because of great food at even better prices. Owner Mark Serrao’s second restaurant (the first being the flagship store Vitto’s in Oak Cliff) has been open only nine months, but it’s already made a big splash with Oak Lawn-area patrons. The mood is cheery when you enter, with a friendly and competent staff. (The background disco music made us feel like we were in high school again.) We really loved the spinach-and-cheese tortellini; the various styles of pizzas were similarly gooey and loaded with sauce. The chocolate cake was creamy, smooth, and sinful. The wine list comes highly recommended. What’s really amazing is that a meal at this place won’t break the bank in comparison with establishments of similar quality and atmosphere in town. Head for this little jewel and discover why so many Oak Lawn dwellers start off their nights here.

The Green Room, a small and very loud dining room tucked behind a Deep Ellum saloon, offers a variety of excellent fare, including the very best crème brûlée in Dallas. The perfectly balanced, deep smooth pudding beneath a crackly caramelized surface can make you oblivious to any amount of hilarity and mayhem around you.

Late Pulitzer Prize winning journalist Westbrook Pegler once said that a martini was the meanest, no-damn-goodest mess of rancor ever concocted. More fights and more people get their glasses broken and arrested and divorced on account of martinis than for any other reason. So head on down to Parigi and recoil at one of life’s great splashes of rancor. Parigi’s martinis are smooth, balanced, and shivering cold with a barely perceptible layer of slush lurking just below the surface. Just make sure you have a good optician, a good lawyer, and enough money to post bond before the shaking starts.

If you’re going to eat ice cream, then damn the health concerns: Head to Marble Slab, which never disappoints. Pimply teenagers scoop the thick, rich ice cream onto a marble countertop, where the customer has a choice of ingredients to have mixed in. The hands-on process is slow but worth it. Lines of enthusiasts can stretch out onto the hot sidewalk–teenagers, stoners, and elderly couples brought together by their love of ice cream. Once you get there, try the coconut-banana flavor. This combination, fairly common in Mexico, is impossible to find anywhere else except this Southwestern chain. What makes it so special is the way the fruit flavors lighten the heavy texture of the high-butterfat ice cream. In other words, it’s just the right amount of a good thing.

Ah, New Orleans–capital for all things salacious, sodden, and spicy. For a slice of that easy-livin’ place, go to the Crescent City Café in Deep Ellum, where the food is Cajun and the risk of heartburn is high. The food is the gastronomical culprit, not only because it’s spicy but because it’s so damn good that it’s hard to eat it slowly. The key to a divine muffaletta is in the bread and in the spices, both of which are perfect at Crescent City. Take advantage of the specials offering a quarter or half a sandwich with a side of crawfish etouffée, gumbo, or soup. Take a bite and project yourself to the bayou, where the cheap drinks flow easy, the catfish leap out of the muddy river in a spastic dance, and the police can be paid to ignore virtually any heinous crime.

Four large, shimmering silver spoons are fanned over a reddish square plate. The spoon bowls hold fried oysters with daikon and a dab of wasabi cream topped with a sprinkling of tobikko caviar. They are cleverly presented, tightly packed bombs of explosive flavor. Pray that you’re born with one of these in your mouth in your next incarnation.

This will get your mojo working in no time flat. A luscious, not-too-sweet concoction of pineapple, coconut, and four kinds of Baccardi rums that makes you yearn for a beach and a turn at getting your groove back.

It seems the height of cruelty to pull the liver out of a duck, leaving the bird with nothing to filter its Scotch, but it sure tastes good once it’s out. Voltaire’s sautéed Hudson Valley foie gras is a mean organ. It’s scored with repeating diamond patterns across its surface, folded, and settled atop a cushion of light mashed potatoes. Around the plate is a large fan of green apple slices messed with currants bathed in a clean, mandarin emulsion. Unlike most ornithological livers found in Dallas, this one is firm with a rich, nutty flavor that unfolds in the mouth.

The adjective “vegan” usually evokes visions of plates full of gray, squishy substances or tasteless products designed to resemble meat, not a big hunk of chocolate cake or a large, gooey brownie. But at Cosmic Café, the yummy Indian-style meals can conclude with desserts sans dairy products. The cakes, which don’t scrimp on the frosting, may also be bought whole and taken home to celebrate the birthday of your favorite herbivore. They go great with Cosmic’s mango, coconut, and banana ice creams. Sorry, those are for non-vegans only.

The folks at Mis Cazuelas know all the hot and spicy stuff (in the right proportions) to make their salsa easily the best in the city. The key ingredient is the cilantro, which other restaurants around town skimp on (or omit entirely) in their salsas. At Mis Cazuelas, there’s just the right blend of herbs, tomatoes, and peppers.

Salve’s Tartufo is a double-chocolate gelato truffle with lively brandied cherries that spark its creamy heft out of cloy range. This tight little dessert will arouse any set of sweet teeth.

Spiced and fried balls of ground chickpea paste sounds less than appetizing. But for the aficionados of this Middle Eastern treat, any traveling distance is worth it for a bite. At this family-operated restaurant tucked into a Richardson shopping mall, the $7.95 platters of falafel satisfy even the newcomers from the oldest part of the world.

There are a many things to love about this tiny room with an open kitchen and an ice pit where live lobsters twitch and quiver. First, there’s the cozy bar with odd, sloped couches and great martinis made with sake. Then there’s the chalkboard where all kinds of exotic specials are posted, depending on the catch of the day, which may be sea urchin wrapped in sheets of raw flounder or whole sardines scorched on the robata grill, or any number of swimmy things. Beer-guzzling things too. Tei Tei features Kobe beef, meat that comes from the rare wagyu cattle. Wagyu cattle spend their lives getting massaged with sake and fed a diet that includes copious amounts of beer. The more expensive cuts of meat come from wagyu, which are known for watching sports on big-screen TVs, belching, and telling lewd Holstein jokes.

The $5.95 lunch special at Nuevo Leon, a Mex-Mex mini-chain, is not for the feint of appetite. Nuevo Leon’s eight selections on its daily lunch special menu are nicely prepared with fresh ingredients, sauces that go well beyond the ordinary Tex-Mex glopfare, and generous portions. The plates here are huge. A hearty eater is hard-pressed to get through, say, the No. 8–two beef enchiladas, one pork tamale with chili con carne, rice, beans covered with cheese, and the usual basket of chips–without expecting a little siesta back at the office. The solution: split. At $3 each, you and a friend can be well taken care of. Tax, tip, and Coke and you’re out the door for $5 a head. Now that’s cheap.

If you can keep your mind and your lunch plans open, you will certainly enjoy the gourmet goodness and styling of Monica Greene as she opens up her Mexican kitchen to power-lunchers looking for the best bargain in town. Five bucks can buy you hefty portions of enchiladas, tacos, and burritos, but don’t look for traditional Tex-Mex here. We are talking about fare with flair, Mexican food prepared and presented with thought, delicacy, and whimsy–whatever that means. The noise level here gets way over the top, but what did you expect? This is Deep Ellum.

Tapas and tarps have a lot in common. A tarp is a waterproof cover designed to keep things from getting wet. Tapas, which means “covers,” came into prominence in Spain in the 19th century when barflies began topping the mouths of little sherry glasses with slices of cured ham or sausage to keep out the dust and flies. Flies apparently are as fond of a chilled glass of bone-dry sherry as anyone. Though why a Spaniard would prefer flies socializing on a slice of cured meat to drunk and sterilized in a glass of fino is anyone’s guess. Anyway, you can relive this 19th century appetizer tradition at Café Madrid. With a cozy dining room furnished with old wooden tables and chairs, Madrid’s little plates are always fresh and intriguing, from chopped octopus salad to anchovy filets in garlic to chewy marinated quail. Café Madrid has a broad Spanish wine list organized by regions and a splendid selection of sherries.

Yes, the place gets a bit pricey as far as pricey places go, and, yes, it has a history of being a bit snobby as far as snobby places go, but look around and see what everyone is eating at Star Canyon. It’s a big, fat, juicy hunk of rib-eye steak, and its been cooked with a tangy Southwestern sauce, and it’s heaped with these amazingly thin onion rings, and the sauce and the rings mix and meld into a splendid goop of their own making. What can we say? It’s just a great piece of meat that’s worth the bucks and the attitude.

Everyone now knows that real Mexicans rarely eat a steady diet of nachos, burritos, stiff tacos, and Mescal worms. Real Mexicans eat limp tacos and veal short ribs braised in red mole–at least the haute ones do. Monica Greene’s Dallas interpretation of Mexico City cuisine is at once intriguing, dazzling, and soothing–from the clay-pot fish entrées to the chicken tacos. Maybe they’ll even drape a couple of Mescal worms on a salad every now and then.

In Lakewood, Deep Ellum, University Park, and elsewhere, the groovy diners of Café Brazil add character to neighborhoods and make for a great place to get everything from empanadas to blackened salmon and smoked turkey migas. Breakfasts are similarly excellent, and the French toast is a must. It’s also not a bad place to snack on artichoke spinach dip or simply enjoy coffee. Though Café Brazil is multiplying in number, it has not yet lost its authenticity or neighborhood feel. It also has an excellent (and tasty) vegetarian menu.

Sometimes it’s hard to find a piece of catfish that doesn’t taste like rank pond scum, or if it’s farm-raised, like pond scum that’s been to finishing school. That’s why feline fish must be brutally abused and coated with assorted mixtures of grit such as granola or spicy birdseed before you boil it in 30 weight. We’re not sure if this is the exact recipe at Texana, but their cornmeal catfish fillets are sure good: crisp, moist, and flaky. They take your mind off the sun-dried cow patties under glass positioned at the entryway.

As legend would have it, the Bob Armstrong Dip at Matt’s was christened after the former Texas land commissioner of the same name because he came up with the recipe for the specialty item during his frequent visits to the original Matt’s in Austin. Also known to insiders as Bob Dip, it is a tasty appetizer chock-full of hot melted cheese, guacamole, sour cream, and taco meat. Choose only the strongest of chips, because the thickness of this queso can weigh them down. Of course, it can do the same to you if you get the bowl rather than the cup. We recommend the bowl.

Never could a college student afford so much seafood as at Rockfish (maybe that should be a bumper sticker). This laid-back establishment has friendly, easy-going waiters, fast service, and good portions. Since its opening a year ago, the place has caught on with Richardson residents and students, so expect a wait. For a quick meal on the go, order the fried shrimp basket. These good-sized shrimp have a tasty batter that doesn’t overpower and tangy cocktail sauce that’ll clear your sinuses. Ask for more horseradish if it doesn’t have enough kick for you. Grab a bucket of peanuts and throw the shells on the floor. Just don’t throw them at other customers. They don’t like that.

There is something horrifying yet natural about seeing vultures and hyenas fight over the scraps of meat clinging to a zebra carcass. It highlights the animals’ desperation for survival in the hard African landscape. What’s our excuse for the skirmishes that occur at eatZi’s? Sure, the food is great and pre-prepared for modern convenience. But, my God, are we savages? Go there to witness grown men and women fighting for pasta salads and sandwiches like Stalin-era Ukrainians fighting for scraps of horsemeat. The peak time for the food scramble is 9 p.m., when the closeout stickers are applied to the least fresh food, designating them as half-price.

A bell pepper generally is about as sexy as a bunion, but Raneri’s version is one mamma of a little appetizer. Sheets of green bell pepper are spread with fragments of ground meat, grains of rice, specks of onion, and gooey knots of cheese anointed with a rich tomato sauce. The flavors are simple yet profoundly robust. Sometimes all a bunion needs for respectability is a nice toe ring.

Though it seems impossible, fried dough with a sugar glaze becomes an ethereal treat of subtle nuance. Even the chocolate cream doughnuts rest so lightly in your tummy that you can eat two–or six, if you’re like us. People-watching is especially amusing on Sunday mornings when the getting-over-Saturday-night crowd runs into the on-the-way-to-church crowd.

We are not sure where the “grocery” is in this place, but the sandwiches sure are good, as is the pizza. You can get a regular meatball sandwich, but we recommend one of the more creative concoctions, such as the Cubano, a zesty, packed sandwich featuring beef, turkey, provolone, peppers, Cuban relish, and more. Also, if you are trying to dodge the yuppie lunch crowd that overruns Deep Ellum at noontime, this is your place. Lots of artist-types from nearby galleries frequent the joint, so don’t be caught wearing a tie or a button-down oxford.

You say New York pizza doesn’t exist in Dallas? You say it’s all in the Manhattan tap water, or in the way Italian-American males, who act like they are right off the set of The Sopranos, fling the dough high over their heads and beat the hell out of the crust until it surrenders its thickness? Or maybe it’s in the tomato sauce, Mama’s own sweet family secret. Well, the closest approximation to the mozzarella dream cake in Big D can be found at Brother’s Pizza on Montfort. Sometimes greasy, always tasty, it strikes the right New York ratio of crust to sauce to cheese. But order it to go. The confines are small, and the cigarette smoke gets in your eyes and stays there.

Brunch is a weird word, a mutant merging of successive events (breakfast and lunch). It’s like merging beer with gut and coming up with butt, which is what years of beer guzzling will grant you, only it emerges in the wrong place and makes your belt fit funny. The brunch assortment at Ziziki’s isn’t as broad as a beer gut, and it isn’t as cheap as Haggar Sans-A-Belt stretch slacks. But it’s fresh and tight with bottomless mimosas. Everything is supple and speckled with imagination. The bar is spread with platters of fresh vegetables and fruits and smooth feta cheese, plus the steam tables are packed with delicious scrambled eggs flecked with basil and thick fluffy pancakes pocked with beer gut-sized blueberries. There are pasta dishes, dolmas, baklava, and hearty spanakopita (spinach baked with onions and feta cheese and wrapped in delicate phyllo pastry). It’s enough to give you a brunch gut.

The last time we went out for pizza, we rang up a $30 tab splurging on four toppings. The price of cheap eats is going up, except, that is, at Bangkok Inn. Nearly everything on the menu is $6.95, and their curries–from mild yellow to spicy hot red panang–are some of the best we’ve had. How do they do it? Well, let’s just say they didn’t break the bank on decor, which hasn’t changed in the decade we’ve been going to this East Dallas mainstay. The lighting is bright, direct, and sort of weird, which sets a certain mood: cheap and good.

Maybe this place sounds like a happy hour hovel for the Pokémon set, a spot where udders serve as taps. But Milkbar is a take on the watering hole in A Clockwork Orange, which is why it has fake fir banquettes (they cause nasty hairballs), zebra-striped walls (they cause more dizziness than tequila shots), and mannequin limbs (they make terrible buffalo wings). So skip the interior and head straight for the roof, where you’ll find the most imaginative rooftop patio in Dallas, with potted trees, a stone fountain, and ottomans for lounging around. Just don’t spill your milk on the fabric.

This thin-air refuge of exceptional cuisine is perched on the 38th floor of the skyscraping Adam’s Mark tower. Here, it’s easy to mingle among the shimmering mirrored and green luminescence of Dallas’ skyline–a welcome respite from the Cheesecake Factory gothic-inspired architecture in Plano, which you can also see from this perch. Peering through the Chaparral Club’s expansive floor-to-ceiling windows is heart-pounding, especially when you aim your telescope at the non-reflective windows.

We’ll give you the onion rings at Sonny Bryan’s. We’ll spot you the cole slaw at Solly’s. We’ll even throw in the beef at Red Hot & Blue. But put them together and what do you get? A helluva lot of driving around. Make one trip to North Main Bar-B-Q, the belt-busting, rib-hugging, reflux-inducing pride of Euless. For a 10 spot (tax included), you get tasty ribs, chicken, pulled pork, beef (sliced and diced), slaw, potato salad, beans, etc. Go back for seconds if you have a mind to, thirds if you’re downright suicidal. The place, which has a colorful history (started by some hungry auto mechanics who couldn’t wait to go home for supper), is only open weekends. Of course, you can eat enough to keep you satisfied the entire week.

The cuisine at this bowling alley-sized Indian dining room is lush, colorful, and laced with clean flavors. Virtually everything, from the spinach pakora (batter-fried spinach leaves) to the shrimp birani (shrimp with basmati rice) to the chutneys is brisk and tasty. Plus a huge TV screen surrounded by assorted monitors beams in programming from India: a cornucopia of televised entertainment such as action chase scenes featuring steam locomotives and grizzled criminals who sing and dance. Must be the lentils.

Even if you just order a cup of coffee, you can enjoy the lovely indoor flora and open ceiling at this place. The room is just the right size, with seating for about 25. A table for two in the corner can be quite a romantic affair.

It’s a hideously decadent thing, and so delicious you can skip the prolific and endless skewers of red meat plus some paler varieties served here. A sprawling black marble bar in front of this restaurant’s Brazilian grills contains some of the freshest, most sumptuous spreads of leafy, seedy, and rooty food in Dallas. Big bowls of fresh salads. Tabbouleh. Hearts of palm. Bright, juicy tomato slices. Supple artichoke hearts stuffed with tuna salad. Asparagus. Mushrooms. Even those vegetables that as children we would scrape from our plates and hide in the potted African violets take on new luster here. Brussels sprouts, for instance. Meat even creeps in. On an island in front of the salad bar is a hunk of prosciutto that sits behind cutting boards blanketed with thin slices of the stuff, along with a little salami. It’s not entirely healthy, but at least the cholesterol won’t leak from your tear ducts as it does after filling up on the glistening meat impaled on those skewers.

Are you looking for a briny sweetness from your mussels, as our food critic always does? Or is that a sweet brininess? Your sacred seafood quest has ended. Daddy Jack’s in Deep Ellum serves these mollusks up right. Besides being tender and, yes, chewy, each little fella is coated in a tangy garlic-tomato sauce. When this appetizer is placed on a generous slice of sourdough bread, you can make a meal of it, unless you are forced to share with others, which makes eating alone an attractive alternative.

If chef Kent Rathbun’s brilliantly orchestrated Abacus is anything, it’s fancy. Its rich elaborateness is accomplished in thoroughly fresh ways, both on the plate and in the dining room. The food is complex with lots of influences meticulously merged in a loud, well-creased ascot sort of way. The décor is…well, it’s a futuristic rendering of poshness. The interior is filled with dramatic angles, jarring plunges, and hard surfaces softened by sloping ceiling soffits and rounded points. It’s rich with deep, bright reds and dark wood and lighting that add delicate sparkle. If the Starship Enterprise were retrofitted in red velvet and paneling, Bones wore a corset, and Kirk was called madame instead of captain, the bridge would look like Abacus. Warp speed.

The pasta is firm and tender. The sauce is tangy and rich. The meatball, shaped like a downed sparrow, is bulging with flavor. When you eat it your face gets messy, as messy as it does when you spill too much Chianti down your throat.

JD’s cookies are big, crisp on the outside, chewy on the inside, and warm from the oven. One of these suckers can keep you going on a sugar rush for an impressive stretch. Then, in the throes of a nasty jones, you’ll come back and buy another one. The snickerdoodles aren’t bad, either.

The Great Harvest Bread Co. gets our nod for “best” because of their huge cookie size that’s bursting with chocolate. It makes other cookies paltry by comparison. This is a chocolate chip cookie specially designed for chocolate lovers.

This ivy-covered frame cottage with mustard-colored walls, handsome wall sconces, and hardwood floors has the feel of an aging domicile embracing all of its coziness and lyric sparkle. Not only does Lola dish out inspired New American cuisine and well-priced wines, it does it in a collection of snug, intimate dining areas woven throughout. If this isn’t the perfect place to seduce or propose, it’s at least the perfect place to hammer out a prenup.

Though it’s written in French, the list at Jeroboam is one of the most intelligently organized and readable we’ve seen. The first eight pages serve as a table of contents, with wines categorized under regional headings along with bottle and by-the-glass prices. There is also a bin number that cross-references to pages in the list with regional descriptions, tasting notes, and wine specifications. Fifty-six pages of maps showing districts and villages help describe the wines’ origins. The prices aren’t bad either.

We’re constantly amazed to discover how many of our so-called friends have yet to eat at this charming restaurant, located next to Texadelphia. It really is one of the best restaurants in town, and one of the most cozy; it’s one of those converted old homes that’s lost nothing in the translation. And the food is exceptional: We’re always torn between the buttermilk-fried chicken and the macaroni and cheese, the latter of which is served in the skillet in which it’s baked. The former is soft and tender, the latter is smooth and creamy, and combined, they made us wish Mom had learned how to do more than turn ground round into a ball of “meat loaf” when were kids–how much we missed out on. The sugar snap peas made for an exceptional side dish, the mashed potatoes are a dollop of southern-fried heaven, and we’ll even take a side of wilted greens when the mood hits us. And there’s always dessert: The crème brûlée is the best in town. Try it. It’s all the proof you’ll need.

It’s hard to resist licking off the decadent half-inch of real butter cream icing before taking a bite of the dense, rich, cinnamon-infused pastry the size of a saucer. But resist you must to get the wicked, out-of-body experience when the icing fuses with the pastry in your mouth.

Love raw fish? We mean, do you really love raw fish, the kind so fresh it still wants to school? The sushi at Sushi Yokohama is so cool, silky delicious, and fresh, your neck will start fluttering like gills as it goes down. The tuna and hamachi lay across the rice pads like thick little wet tongues, and if you squint real hard, they’ll flick at you, which makes them doubly good. The octopus is firm, tender, and tasty. For the heartfelt sushi lover, this is the stuff. The California roll-loving faint of heart will just faint.

Sometimes a pint of warm, thick Guinness is hard to get down without the aid of a raw egg. This is especially true in the sweat-hog thickness of Texas summer, when the sky steadfastly refuses to tinkle on our heads. But when it’s simmered for hours with some beef, carrot, and potato, Guinness takes on an air of smooth exuberance. This is the kind of hearty dish that makes fall and winter more bearable. Since North Texas never gets those seasons, see if you can get a bowl to go and enjoy it in an empty morgue drawer downtown.

You’ve got to taste them to believe them. No mixes used. Fresh-squeezed limes, top-of-the-line booze, ample servings and reasonably priced. The food’s not bad, either.

Citizen’s glazed duck is nothing short of stunning, which normally is hard to do with a duck unless you dress it up in a sequined gown, fishnets, and stilettos, and watch it doze off on one foot. Instead of garters, Citizen uses a dazzling soy plum demi-glace over slices of moist duck breast tucked near a set of duck landing gear. The sauce’s gentle sweetness meshed seamlessly with the meat. It’s enough to make you dine duck-like by tossing your tush in the air and diving for the main course.

It comes paired with potato-crusted calamari. But in this case the dunking medium is better than what’s dunked. The dip is robust, rich, and lively with smoothness rippled by big chunks of blanched tomato. It’s so racy, you could make lingerie out of it.

There’s a curvaceous bar with a top made of stained concrete. The sector containing the bar is separated from the dining area by a screen made of chain mail, which kind of makes you wonder what the staff does with the cutlery when the barflies get riled. Chow Thai Pacific Rim also has a natty little entrance chamber, a kind of acclimation zone to help your body transition from the stylized asphalt strip-mall wasteland into this fusion fashion. Chow Thai Pacific Rim is a mishmash of Asian influences embellished with…God knows what. Slipped in there with the Pacific Rim rolls, ahi tartar, miso soup, and Hoisin-marinated chicken are New American dishes such as grilled lamb chops and frog legs with chilies. What’s surprising is the number of thrilling risks they’ll take.

This is hands-down the best bowl of lime-seared seafood in Dallas. Scraps of tender, firm octopus, conch, and shrimp are crammed into a margarita glass with key lime, cilantro, diced tomato, papaya, pineapple, and mango. The flavors are prodded with vanilla and a little clump of pickled onion that adds a jagged edge of raciness. It’s as sexy as it is satisfying.

Want the best pancakes? You’ll have to go to a four-star hotel to get them. The 92-seat, award-winning Landmark Restaurant in the Melrose Hotel serves the best stack–tall, fluffy, and never mushy, with indescribably light and aromatic fruit flavors. To those further inclined, check out the restaurant’s breakfast, lunch, dinner, and Sunday brunch, featuring foods from Asia and the Americas.

Nothing fancy here, just basic ocean livestock. It’s fast, simple, and indelicate. But it’s the best fast, simple, and indelicate you’ll find. The oysters–at just $6.95 a dozen–are clean and firm. Servers whip up a sauce right at your table with ketchup, horseradish, Tabasco, Worcestershire sauce, and a squeeze of lemon. If we tried that, we’d end up with a batch of Braveheart special effects. Peel-and-eat shrimp are succulently lush. Broiled fish is extraordinary: fresh, moist, and well seasoned. Plus, they have gumbo and oyster loaf sandwiches. Tip: Mix in a little tartar sauce and Tabasco with that oyster loaf, and you’ve got a swell hair gel.

The best thing about a wrap is that they are healthy (or so goes the perception). Bread has somehow become the enemy for dieters, and the flour or spinach wrap has taken its place as the vehicle for sandwiches. No one makes wraps as tasty (and, if you like, unhealthy) as Wall Street Deli, which boasts a dozen stores in the metroplex. Some staffers call the wraps “belly-busters,” and with good reason. The chicken caesar features meaty chunks of processed fowl cubes resting in a soupy bed of ranch dressing and feta and mozzarella cheeses. A roasted veggie wrap is a healthier, but not smaller, option. Of course, Mexican food has dominated the wrap world for centuries. Fajitas and burritos cornered the gastronomical market until people renamed tortillas “wraps.” But why complain? Since when has wrap been limited to one language?

In most places they come out like little gum grommets–or transaxle grease curds. But at Mangia e Bevi, they look like green little scallops (they’re drenched in pesto). These potato dumplings are tender, fluffy, and consistent–like a brood of cloud puffs. Plus, they’re safe for most dental work.

The city keeps meddling with its venerable Farmers Market, trying to figure out ways to fix something that ain’t broke, but those trusty farmers from East Texas and South Texas and Oklahoma just keep on truckin’ in, bringing those great tomatoes, fresh-shelled pintos, pattypan squash, peaches, and watermelon. Shop there often enough, and you’ll get good at picking out the choicest stuff. Prices are often good to great. You may forget what vegetables ripened under a chemical spray in the refrigerated trailer of an 18-wheeler taste like.

As if to prove all the skeptics wrong, Dallas-based Internet food retailer Grocerworks.com apparently insists on making sure its customers get produce from the Web as high-quality as if they squeezed the little peaches and plums themselves at the store. The first time you place an order with Groceryworks.com, you get a bag of produce gratis. And after that they only deliver fresh, plump, and ripe vegetables and fruits. Go ahead, try it, the delivery staff won’t even accept gratuities. “We aren’t allowed to accept tips,” they’ll explain. “Our company doesn’t want buying from us to cost any more than the grocery store.”

This restaurant serves inspired saj (a thin, flaky tortilla-like bread), smooth hummus, refreshing tabbouleh, and tangy labni. Plus there’s the “tent room,” where you can sit on a low couch and stuff yourself with kabobs or maybe some sautéed lambs brains. Think about that.

Now that we think about it, it might not be fair to call what Chipotle Mexican Grill serves as “burritos.” It just seems to diminish the restaurant’s bigger-than-a-baby’s-leg concoctions, full Mexican dinners wrapped in a flour tortilla. Too-big portions of rice, black beans, steak or chicken, guacamole, sour cream, and hot sauce that’s actually hot–all assembled in a few seconds while you watch. We’re getting hungry just thinking about it.

In Dallas, restaurant patios are usually the places where the natives go to watch Michelins kiss parking-lot abutments. You can do that at Patrizio’s too, if you squint. Furnished with marble-topped tables and padded wrought-iron chairs, Patrizio’s patio is more inviting than the typical cement slab. It’s cordoned with an iron gate tangled with ivy. A big tree grows from the center of the space to create shade and target-practice perches for birds. It’s well-equipped with heaters in the cool months, fans in hotter months, and other little details that make you feel like you’re someplace else, yet enough Highland Park Village energy seeps through to keep things interesting.

That ubiquitous brown goo that’s found on most of what passes for Chinese food is not welcome at Caravelle. Vietnamese firepots, whole baked fish, and beautiful spring rolls, all freshly prepared and served by the gracious staff, are what you’ll find. Great for large groups, and when the kids get bored, they can hang around the huge fish tank.

For those who like their ethnic food authentic, Tong’s House is where you want to go for Chinese cuisine. Check out their delicious hi sang su jin soup, which combines pork with seafood and vegetables. The gung sow sha sweet-and-sour shrimp was also tangy and delicious. Since many of the Chinese nationals who reside in Dallas bring their friends to this restaurant, we believe that it has earned the highest seal of approval.

The thing you want to do most when nibbling late into the night is look. And here, there is a much look at, from the stylish nocturnal nuzzlers linking and languishing in lust at the bar, to the big red doors at the entrance, to the row of TV monitors rolling Japanese movies. (OK, maybe we don’t want to read subtitles past midnight when our brains are marinating in stuff served with little umbrellas.) Fishbowl is a good place to gaze into the wee hours. Plus, this retro Asian lounge has great munchies such as sushi, mu shu pork tacos, and Szechwan shrimp stir-fry. Wash it all down with drinks called blazing Bangkok punch and chocolate Monchichi monkey, so even if you’re sober, you won’t sound that way ordering a nightcap.

It’s big, smoky, voluptuous, and colorful–too pretty to be a cowboy. It’s filled with typical stuff like egg and lettuce, but it also has roasted peppers, charred tomatoes, and bright, clean, creamy avocado. The whole thing is smoked and spiked with bacon, smoked chicken, and jalapeño jack cheese before it’s stiffened with some tortilla strips. It’s an articulate confluence of flavors and tastefulness, despite a color scheme worthy of a punk golfer.

Saturday morning at John’s Café is a longtime tradition to nearly everyone in Dallas with basic motor functions. But it still deserves recognition from our panel of expert imbibers, who eschew Mueslix (doesn’t mix well with a Crown and Coke aftertaste) for large helpings of eggs and sausage. The menu-board here bluntly advertises “omelets with meat” (why not just call it “animal carcass” and be done?), but what you really want is the breakfast special (a biscuit, sausage or bacon, eggs, and grits) or pancakes. It’s the kind of place where hangover victims can amicably share space with sober families and older couples while poking over the morning paper.

This small casual upscale chain from Iowa with clean, fresh food is a big culinary mutt of influences including Mexican, Italian, Asian, and New American. It’s all generated from a two-story kitchen consuming roughly half of the restaurant’s 17,500 square feet, and it prepares everything from scratch including breads and pasta. Service is efficient and briskly gracious. It isn’t the best food on the face of the metroplex, but the dishes are all priced in 99-cent fractions, so the menu has that Ben Franklin dime store feel to it.

This Greek café is unpretentiously cozy and distinctively romantic with a roster of authentic Greek cuisine that’s fresh, flavorful, and paraded past the nostrils via a host of sampler plates. This food is more comprehensible than…well, Greek.

Believe it or not, that’s BLT as in bacon, lettuce, and tomato. The creamy dip (based on mayonnaise and sour cream) is smoky with bacon and piquant with sun-dried tomato. Grab a few packages of toasted bagel bits, and you’ve got an hors d’oeuvre that puts the old onion dip out to pasture.

Sometimes it’s hard to figure out what to do with the assortment of organs tucked into the cavity of fresh chickens. Do you make a hen gut tapenade for your pet ferret, or do you freeze them to use as accessories on this year’s Halloween costume? No. You do what Charolais Steakhouse does and craft chicken liver mousse. Three spokes of grainy glandular purée spread out over the plate. It’s smooth and decadent–pretty good for a chicken giblet. Nearby, a crisp simple dressing laps a sheaf of supple greens and clean rings of red onion. How old do you have to be before you don’t have to eat liver and onions?

With a name like Best Thai, you better be great. And this place is: The fried corn patties are superb (never rubbery, never oily). The chicken dumplings are delicious (as is its accompanying sauce), and the shrimp pad Thai is spicy but never overwhelmingly so. We’ve never been disappointed by a single dish, the price is right, and despite the cramped and sterile ambience (this place is sandwiched in a fancy strip mall, between a beauty salon and a post office–it’s no Royal Thai), we’ll eat here before any other Thai restaurant in town (and there are some excellent ones, especially Chow Thai in Addison). We’ll even call ahead, leave the house, and pick up an order for some in-home dining–to hell with the lack of delivery service. When we want to Thai one on, leave the driving to us. Give them 15 minutes, and they’ll give you Thailand to go.

This fine restaurant, well known to City Hall workers and other downtown denizens, strives to recreate diners of old with its early 20th-century menu and ethos. The daily lunch “blue plate specials” range from pork loin (Wednesday) to lamb patty with mint jelly, but Guthrie’s also has salads, pasta, and burgers. The desserts are delectable, especially the pecan pie that perches temptingly atop the deli counter. But regulars are also well aware of the house’s beer-battered fish and chips specialty. We hear they also have a good dinner menu, and if we ever venture downtown at night (that is, if the city planners finally deliver on their promise to give us cause to venture downtown at night), then we’ll be sure to check it out.

Given as we are to indiscriminate corporate-bashing, it would have been a great joy to announce that the Smoothie King has not earned its crown. Alas, the good regent does sit best, if not cheapest. Smoothies, for the uninitiated, are tasty ice-based treats for those who crave sweetness but are scared of what ice cream will do to the ass. Anyone with a blender, an ice machine, and time to stop by the produce section of the grocery store could make them at home, but curiously, few people do. Enter the Smoothie King, which despite annoying names given to the drinks, serves up smoothies thick and delicious. For the exercise-conscious, protein shakes are available, and they’re pretty tasty too. Warning: A medium size cup is enough to slake the thirst of a healthy pony.

This little dish is a magnum opus in a bowl. Three little pork-stuffed pillows soak in a puddle of brisk citrus-sherry soy broth. The dumplings are plump and tender with well-seasoned specks of pork meat. They’re covered with a delicious relish of leek, sesame seeds, and orange zest. This is a tight, well-orchestrated little dish. With little pillows so plush, it almost makes you wish you were a sleepy lab rat.

The clubby, old school décor, the sophisticated tunes from the piano player, and the, um, of-a-certain-age crowd, demand that you order something other than “another cold one” or a Run, Jump, Skip, and Go Nekkid. Generous pours of first-rate bourbon in elegantly muscular glasses with the perfect amount of vermouth and one cherry, mmm…it just doesn’t get much more tasteful than that. But don’t try tying the cherry stem with your tongue and still expect to get laid.

We once worked at a restaurant that hosted a weekly half-priced burger night. As a result, for months we could not stomach a burger and came dangerously close to vegetarianism. Luckily, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and soon enough we were eating burgers again, doing our part to help out the national beef industry. Most of the time for lunch, we just go get a deli sandwich. But every so often, our stomach rumbles and angrily demands: “Burger! Burger!” So we motor down the street to Angry Dog, where the burgers are thick and juicy and the service is fast and friendly. A craving is a terrible thing to waste.

Juicy double-beef burgers with cheese and Thousand Island dressing, which they call Thousand Island, not “secret sauce.” Beer to go or stay. You can smoke in part of the dining room. The jukebox has plenty of C&W. The ladies behind the counter know how to take an order and chew gum at the same time. And the cell-phone-per-table ratio is lower than any other spot in a 20-mile radius. Everything is jake at Jake’s.

No fast-food assembly line or heat lamp warming here. Manager Don Oates doesn’t buy frozen chicken, so everything’s fresh. The crunchy crisp breast, wing, drum, and thigh that come with the dinner have been marinated for 24 hours before being battered and cooked. Forget the calorie count and plan to go away full and happy since the side dishes include a choice of five home-style vegetables, a salad, and hot biscuits.

Sweet Temptations’ wonderful crab cakes are served over salad or pasta in an intimate European setting. Their dessert selections are also awesome, including the Lake Highlands rock cake or the Godiva cake.

If you’re sick of the smog, the ozone alert days, the heat, and the general misery of a Texas summer that lasts into February, head over to La Madeleine for some freshly squeezed lemonade. Not too tart, not too sweet. As the immortal Tammy Faye Bakker once sang, “When life throws you a lemon, make lemonade.”

Pho is a little like Buddha: It invites nourishing contemplation. A Vietnamese beef-broth soup, pho is often described as the national dish of Vietnam. It’s a fundamental part of the day, a mind-clearing tonic steeped in ritual, often served for breakfast. It’s an arduous, labor-intensive thing created by simmering meat and bones for roughly eight hours to extract that soothing richness. To this are added long rice noodle strands, meat, scallions, and herbs. It’s often floated with cuts of beef such as brisket, eye of round, and flank steak, as well as meatballs. But there’s more yummy stuff to toss in. You can add gelatinous and chewy soft tendon (not so much a cabled ligament as a piece of knuckle) or bible tripe, a piece of ox stomach. The wide, steaming bowl arrives with a plate piled with knots of bean sprouts, Asian basil, a lime wedge, and tiny slices of green chilies that look like mag wheels, all for tossing into the soup. Pho Kim’s pho is delicious: freshly light and perfumy with tender, separate noodles and chewy sheets of beef. There’s nothing better to endulge in as the briskness of fall sneaks upon us.

How many times have you ogled the layer cake at your favorite coffee shop, ordered a slice of the vertical wonder, and then sunk in disappointment at its day-old taste and fridge-ridden frosting? Cake by the slice is a risky choice, but not at Dallas Affairs, the Lakewood-area bakery known for its stunning special occasion cakes. At the counter, Dallas Affairs keeps two cakes on hand for by-the-slice orders. One is an Italian cream with cream and pecan frosting; the other, a chocolate fudge with chocolate cream filling. For $3 a pop, it’s a little slice of heaven–thick, heavy with flavor, and most important, fresh, fresh, fresh.

We hate to do this, if only because it seems so unfair giving this award to a chain (though that doesn’t stop readers, who, until recently, were convinced that the best burger in town came from the Burger King “grill”) when plenty of local coffeehouses serve their own brand of bean brew. But having lived here our entire lives and having sampled a good amount of coffee around this town, we keep returning to the cup of joe served at this bagel chain. (Speaking of which, the Bagel Chain on Inwood Lane serves a tasty brew, though they recently took away our favorite, Double Chocolate Chip, which is why it doesn’t make the top of the list.) Einstein’s is big on the seasonal flavor: Last week or so, it resurrected the autumn brew, which has a chestnut scent and very little acidity; it went down smooth. We’re equally fond of the vanilla hazelnut: Unlike most other flavored coffees around town, the Einstein’s variations aren’t overwhelming–neither too sweet nor too strong. They are, in a word, perfect. When’s the last time you saw someone get this worked up over coffee? (Maybe we had too much this morning: We stopped at Einstein’s and had two large cups. We’re still buzzing.)

Stadium food is a blessing and a curse. The best things about turkey legs at a ballgame are: 1. They are self-contained and easy to transport down steep steps; 2. They disgust large segments of the population, who are too squeamish to watch someone tear the meat on the bone like a cur, not to mention try it themselves; 3. There is no way to spill it on the people sitting in front of you; 4. They somehow make the overpriced canned beer taste better.

Yes, it’s a chain. But when the quality control, selection, and freshness are this good, screw mom and pop. The blueberry and cinnamon-raisin varieties are some of our favorites–sweet and chewy, great smeared with copious amounts of butter. The coffee is on par with the garden varieties offered by those Seattle guys too. The one in our neighborhood is always packed on the weekends, but these kids are so well trained, the line is never as daunting as it looks.

Bagel chains come and go, but Gilbert’s Delicatessen has weathered the onslaught, holding firm to its New York traditions and its conviction that Jason’s will never be a deli. The Gilbert family runs this North Dallas institution with a sweet-and-sour sauciness, but their bagels cannot be denied. They’re big, hot, doughy, plain, egg, wheat, sesame-seed, poppy-seed, onion-garlic, everything bagels. Try them with the scrambled eggs, lox, and onions. Or for the less Jewish, the link sausage is the best in town. What more could you ask for? Nothing, so eat.

A mojito is an exhilarating blend of lime wedges and mint leaves bathed in rum, with a splash of soda and a stalk of sugar cane for garnish. It’s the kind of drink that will turn even the most uptight WASP into a samba-dancing Latin lover.

As good as the food is at East Wind–and it is good, possibly the best Vietnamese cuisine this side of a day-long plane ride, or maybe just Mai’s–the Vietnamese coffee is even better, 8 ounces of happiness disguised as coal-black coffee and sweet, thick cream. A liquid heart attack? Probably, but it’s worth it. One day, the Drug Enforcement Agency will wise up to its, uh, medicinal benefits. Until then, enjoy.

For roughly 10 bucks you can experience Fishbowl’s sizzling whole catfish in sweet chile sauce. Though this sounds like a bottom feeder dolled up in a sequined corset with tassels gyrating from its underbelly, it’s actually a fish covered in a sternly crisp sheath, seemingly deep-fried in the midst of a swim shimmy. The meat is tender, sweet, and moist. Knots of crisp bok choy surround the colorful oval platter like aquatic weeds. Just don’t get the garter straps caught in your bridgework.

Its cool, slick Milano-inspired décor may be a bit much for some in Dallas to stomach (we think it’s stunning). OK, although it looks like a cross between a bank lobby and a Shriner’s dinette set, we admire successful crossbreeding. The food is even more stunning. With Salve!, restaurateurs Phil and Janet Cobb have created a marvel featuring “Tuscan-style home cooking” such as delicately delicious pastas and risottos, briskly fresh appetizers, and heartily savory entrées. Plus the all-Italian wine list is broad and comprehensive, with selections organized by region. And it has an interior piazza, just in case you want to let your hat tassels flutter in the wind.

It’s lodged in a circa-1946 duplex cluttered with family photos, stained-glass windowpanes, and antique furniture (all with little Minnie Pearl price tags dangling from them). It features delicious Southwestern-inspired items (lobster tacos) and dishes of other influences (Muscovy duck, seared pork steak ravioli), all at prices that won’t force you to tie Minnie Pearl price tags on the kids and park them next to those stained-glass windowpanes. Casa Del Lago is owned by former Landmark-Mansion-Nana Grill chef Hector Angeles, who has done quite a job fashioning a respectable restaurant out of a space that could just as easily have been a wig salon.

Why would a Houston-based grocery store chain have good sushi? For that matter, why would 7-Eleven announce it has entered the bait business or expect to compete in freshness? We don’t know the answers, but check out Tom Thumb’s selection. For about five bucks, you can acquire a sweet little package of the sticky rice and seaweed concoctions. In summer months, with an abundance of caution, we stick to the California veggie offerings, because we’re never quite sure about any fish that has traveled any distance in the Dallas heat in allegedly refrigerated trucks.

OK, so this little restaurant is tucked into a strip mall. But it’s outfitted to resemble a sophisticated country café, with lacy curtains that delicately refract light in a cozily assembled dining room that’s tight but comfortable. It’s casual but sharp, with a sweet caviar-in-the-rough feel. Plus, the kitchen is directed by chef and owner Gilbert Garza, whose grasp of Tuscan cuisine adds a lyrical thread.

Sometimes putting your money where your mouth is…doesn’t taste very good. But not all the time. Sure, multimillionaire Scott Ginsburg has used his considerable shekels to assemble a world-class wine list (1981 Chateau Haut-Brion is served by the glass in the bar) and a stunning array of knickknacks. (They include an exploding dish chandelier by lighting designer Ingo Mauer and a bullet-proof glass case cradling a collection of Dale Chihuly glass sculptures.) But if great bottles and swell gimcracks made great restaurants, Woolworth’s lunch counter would not have faded away. You gotta have tasty hors d’oeuvres to go with all that eye candy. Or at least tasty liver sans onions (which Voltaire does, only they call it foie gras). There are those rare moments while dining when you slip a forkful of food into your mouth and time stops, or least your Hyundai payments do (Voltaire isn’t cheap). This is what eating at Voltaire was like on two occasions months ago. The food was perfectly prepared, the sauces well orchestrated, and the plates brilliantly assembled. But then the restaurant was afflicted with serious stumbles, most notably with service. Missteps spread to the cuisine when Executive Chef George Papadopoulos diverted his focus from the kitchen to grease the gears grinding in the front of the house. All those shortcomings have been smoothed over, however, and Voltaire is once again as good as it was. Now if we could only find some money to put this tasty cuisine in our mouth.

A couple of these sly concoctions of Crown Royal, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice will turn a mousy brunette into a scarlet temptress. The pinkish red color and the deceptive sweetness hide the puissant punch that quickly brings out the tart in anyone. Drink at your own risk.

Il Solé’s pan-roasted bobwhite quail with a truffled taleggio risotto cake is plump, juicy, and bursting with delicate flavors. The risotto cake edged the bird in racy cheese sharpness, putting the game in this game. It makes you wonder what kind of miracles they could perform with a parakeet.

We like our alcoholic beverages the same way we like our panty hose, perfume, and boyfriends–strong and cheap. The process for making this barroom staple isn’t hard to master. Put ice in a plastic cup. Pour in Jack Daniels. Hose in some Coca-Cola. Sure, it happens all over town, but here it will cost a least a buck or two less per drink than other places. And with the potency, you’ll save even more in the long run.

Now that the weather’s cooled down–oooh, that 89 degrees gives us goose bumps–what better way to bring in the morning than by sitting on the Bread Winners’ patio drinking a little java, eating some French toast (a real highlight), and reading the morning paper (we take The New York Times, which makes it easier to digest)? The food’s always excellent here (so it tastes a little better on Sunday mornings), and the ambience puts the exclamation mark at the end of the experience. The first time we took our wife here, she thought she had moved to another city–like, a really nice one that had some ambience.

Jerome Hunter’s family farm in Gilmer produces the best peaches around–far better than those California croquet balls masquerading as fruit at the supermarket. Each of Hunter’s beauties is a globe of tender, meaty pulp that virtually explodes when you bite it. Take a towel for your wrists, which will be slimed by waves of peach juice pouring from the bite mark. Hunter’s hangs its shingle in Shed 3 at the Farmers Market, where it is flanked by other delicious fruit vendors. They’re good, but Hunter’s peaches remain the Elvis of the shed.

The tables are filled with them: lone gnawers, grazers, and nibblers fiddling with cell phones, flipping through newspapers, or fumbling with Palm Pilots. With so many solo gourmandes taking down plates of Caesar salad, soups, sandwiches, rotisserie chicken, and daily specials (all obtained cafeteria-style so you don’t have to feel like a lonely shmuck while a server takes your order with one of those ridiculing gazes), no one will notice you. Which, for once, is just what you want.

What do you want? Bulgarian, French, or Greek? For those who make such distinctions, the differences are obvious, with the Bulgarian being the richest and creamiest. At this import shop, you can have your choice, and the proprietors will reach down into the water- and cheese-filled containers and pull out a chunk of bright white cheese that, when served with watermelon–the way the Bulgarians eat it–is unbeatable.

Strip and rib-eye steaks at Pappas are dry-aged prime, and it shows, though not on the plate. You won’t find any vertical architecture emerging from the meat; no swirling threads of brightly colored, pleated sauces. The preparation here is unapologetically minimalist, with just a sprinkle of kosher salt, a dash of pepper, and a little butter to pull out the richness. A dusting of chopped parsley completes the presentation. This is the brute force of beef in all of its firm, juicy, tender, bold glory. We’re waiting for the Pappas Bros. triple-bypass quick mart to round out the experience.

If you’re looking for a quick, inexpensive meal, check out the Corner Bakery in North Dallas. Take-out or eat-in, pasta is prepared fresh as you wait. Entrées include fettucine Alfredo, pasta with pesto, pasta with tomato, pasta with ragu, and pasta with marinara sauce. Each dish is served with a salad of your choice, and a fresh assortment of bread–all for less than $10.

Finely fluted layers of delicate pastry encase a juicy apple stuffing far removed from the leaden, tough-skinned clumps on most bakery shelves. Do not attempt to eat while driving, or you will emerge a pastry-flecked frump. Better to have a seat in the small café and check out the collection of vintage baking tins and eggbeaters while indulging.

It’s searingly potent. Sewn with thick sheets of tender, supple rice noodle, Royal Spice Thai Bistro’s bong bong chicken contains a simple combination of ground bird and Thai basil in a clean, spicy oyster and Thai bean-sauce blend. Yum, yum. Cluck, cluck. No smelly water to chuck.

The typical wait staff team has a range of characteristics: Either they are indifferent, dim, perfunctory, or overbearing, or they’re dressed like pee-wee golf caddies. Maguire’s gaggle of servers is so professional and self-assured, they’re able to cloak their brutal efficiency in an air of graceful sincerity. Plus, they know the menu and perform their tasks with mindfulness. Restaurants charging gobs of green more than this place rarely perform as well; the staff doesn’t even wear pee-wee golf cleats.