It's a dead ringer for a sculpture garden, this cluster of roasted gold and blackened blood-red beets, carved into silos and cubes and slithery rectangles, resting near dunes of sea salt. Bullet dabs of oil, suspending pulverized basil, chive, parsley and garlic hug the plate edges, while tufts of amaretto crème frâiche fill in spaces between the silos and delicate pelts of warm Camembert. These little points of intensity counterpoint and compete with the earthy beet—a contemporary cultural expression of this historic foodstuff as much cogent commentary as it is tasty thrill. Or so an art critic might say before he's pummeled with an artichoke.

Wikipedia defines the local food movement as a "collaborative effort to build more locally based, self-reliant food economies—one in which sustainable food production, processing, distribution and consumption is integrated to enhance the economic, environmental and social health of a particular place." Bankruptcy lawyer Dale Wootton probably had no idea that was what he was participating in when he decided to grow his own vegetables in his own garden in the back of his own restaurant. At his Garden Café in East Dallas, you can get okra, cucumbers, tomatoes, black-eyed peas, sprigs of rosemary, oregano, fennel, sage, mint, parsley—or whatever he happens to be growing and adding to the tasty meat and potatoes menu at his restaurant. Some within the local food movement want you to travel no further than 25 miles to satisfy its agricultural tenets. Wootton has got that beat: He only has to truck into his backyard, harvest his veggies and herbs, transport them a few feet to his restaurant, prepare them in the kitchen and serve them to customers, many of whom consume them on the pleasant patio in the same garden where they were grown. The bankruptcy advice he dispenses is local too. His law office is only a few yards from his restaurant.

If you've ever spent time in Austin then you know it as well as we do—Dallas just can't do queso right. Sure, our fair city is full of decent Mexican food joints, maybe even a couple of great ones. But let's face it—even El Ranchito, Mia's and La Calle Doce serve up a substandard bowl of the yellow goodness compared with our Central Texas neighbors. Thank God for Matt's Rancho Martinez then, an East Dallas institution sprung fully formed from the nurturing bosom of an Austin institution some 20 years ago. Their renowned Bob Armstrong dip takes a perfect, cheesy consistency—not too thick, not too watery—and combines it with ground beef, guacamole, sour cream and pico de gallo to create a dip so kick-ass we've seen fights break out over the last chip.

We must confess: In our childhood, we ate quite a bit of Easy Cheese. And we've been trying to make up for that ever since. We enjoy fresh mozzarella, Tillamook cheddar or creamy chèvre any day. But we have hesitated to enter the realm of real artisanal cheeses. That's why it's kind of intimidating to walk into Molto Formaggio—where do you start? Will our Philistine palate be able to tell the difference between an Idiazabal and a Manchego? Should this cheese be proud that it's "cave-aged," or does that mean bats have been pooping on it? Fortunately, since the Molto Formaggio store policy permits—nay, commands—you to sample their cheeses, you can rest easy that you won't end up with a pound of cheese that, once you get it home, you find tastes like baby vomit. The display case makes it easy to select a cheese by name, origin and maker, and the friendly staff dishes up the samples with a smile. And you can even outfit a whole tasting party: They also stock raw and varietal honeys, crackers (ooh, charcoal crackers?), preserves, bulk olive oil and fondue sets.

This European pub's atmosphere is as cool as its beer selection, which includes a wide range of Belgian ales, rare stouts and ambers, and organic brews. Then there's the food. Here, pedestrian bar fare is nowhere to be found. Instead, there are delicious sandwiches like the grilled cheese; the Cuban, shredded pork with artichoke hearts, roasted peppers, jalapeños and olives; and a wood-grilled flat-iron steak with port wine reduction and shallots. The Hog Wings, with meat falling off the bones and a scrumptious poblano pepper sauce, are not to be missed. You can't really go wrong here. No wonder, since the place was started by the founders of the Meridian Room.

Its pedigree is lengthy. For more than 40 Dallas years this 'cue post was Howard & Peggy's and then Peggy's Beef Bar before it shuttered in the late 1980s, the original menu still adhering to the window glass. The room is well-stocked with cowhand memorabilia (horseshoes, buck heads, boots). It was reanimated a short time later as Peggy Sue BBQ, with all of the smoke and spicy-sweet that slow-cooked meat deserves. Hearty brisket. Moist turkey. Rib racks that shed their bones even as they maintain their sticky sweetness. No paper towel columns rising over the white and red checked table coverings, but the cloth napkins can be replenished along with the icy lemonade.

It's kinda Big Brother, but it's really cool too. Ever want to see exactly how your food is made? Lemmon Avenue's Yumi To Go satisfies not only a yen for tasty Asian cuisine, but your inner voyeur as well. Place an order for R and G beef or sweet-and-sour pork and, OK, maybe some ahi tuna spring rolls. Then cruise (figuratively speaking—no gas necessary) on over to yumitogo.com. Click on the Yumi Cam button and watch a swift, clean and efficient kitchen get to wokin'. It's a little like watching your own personal chef...except completely affordable and you never have to get that fry smell out of your curtains.

This is one of those hotly contested categories that people are willing to go to the mat over, so it's never easy coming up with a winner. You've got your biscuits-and-gravy crowd of the Mecca and Metro variety, who swear on the beehive of their favorite waitress that their local diner holds the true secret to the egg well-fried. You've got your breakfast-as-brunch set of Lucky's, Cliff Café and Breadwinners fame where pancakes and French toast rule, and the infusion of Mexican accents into the early morning meal is a gastronomic necessity as well as a delight. But for our money, which is not much these days, we choose Cindi's NY Deli (Central Expressway location), where a bagel and lox are still among the pleasures of the flesh, and eggs any which way you like 'em—fried, scrambled, omelet—are reliably good. Coffee pots remain on the table, hot and ready to pour. Hash browns are just the right shade of brown. Waitresses are sweating from orders short and long, patrons old and young. And the Vietnamese owner has the good sense to employ the former owner of the now defunct Gilbert's Deli to get a bit of Jewish cooking into their menu so that the name delicatessen never becomes a misnomer.

A self-described "urban retreat serving wholesome global cuisine," this eclectic and artfully decorated restaurant offers healthful and delicious lunches and dinners, but we'll focus on the breakfast and weekend brunch. The "cloud cakes," made with ricotta cheese, are the perfect consistency—light and fluffy with just the right amount of sweetness. Those and the granola-encrusted French toast are topped with fresh strawberries and crème fraîche. If you're choosing the egg and meat route, there's the "dream Benedict" with wilted spinach and cherry tomatoes that almost cancel out the calorie-rich hollandaise. The huevos rancheros are also excellent, with fresh ancho and tomatillo sauce, red corn tortillas and brown rice. Who says you can't combine healthy with delicious? Besides everyone, we mean.

We still don't understand the purpose of the tapioca balls in the bottom of the bubble tea: They just get stuck in the freakishly wide straw. And yet we're still attracted to this weird concoction, a kind of milk slushie. At Tempest Tea, they improve on the regular bubble tea by offering a variety of quality teas as the base. If you are new to bubble tea, they are glad to make suggestions too; for us they prepared a delicious, cool mix of apricot white tea, vanilla flavoring and soymilk. If bubble tea is not to your taste, you can relax on their plush benches with a hot or iced tea chosen from their selection of more than 75 varieties.

It's hard to frequent any culinary establishment with the word "fat" in the name, but this fabulous slurp-fest is made possible and palatable only by the fat straws used to suck up the big, chewy tapioca balls at the bottom of the delicious and nutritious teas, slushees and smoothies the place has to offer. The tapioca balls—bubbles in Fat Straw parlance—are pearls of chewy carbs and aren't so much flavorful as they are textural, providing the slurper with a unique sip, chew, swallow, eat experience. The Dallas location we visited near the Galleria is a slight, sleek ultra-modern venue, and the menu boasts a vast array of post-modern beverages such as a green tea milkshake, passion fruit jasmine tea and mango slushees. This is definitely not your father's Starbucks. Nor does it pretend to be.

This Deep Ellum gem is known for one of the best hamburgers in town, along with its famous homemade root beer and milkshakes that can be ordered with Bailey's or amaretto. But for those hoping to avoid a future of getting drunk on milkshakes and packing on calories from hamburgers, the turkey burger is a way to satisfy your craving for meat without all the guilt. Unlike most places that use ground turkey, Twisted Root serves up a slice of moist turkey meat and places it on a wheat bun. And, like everything else on the menu, they are happy to customize it any way you like it. We like a slice of Swiss cheese and bacon, but then we're just extra health-conscious.

Sadly, the word "burrito" conjures up the idea of a bland, paper-wrapped item purchased in a drive-through during the "fourthmeal" time of night. Chuy's has shown us it shouldn't be that way. Their "Big as Yo' Face" burritos live up to the claim; we can usually make two meals out of one. This is what a burrito should be: stuffed, not limp; hearty, cheesy and spicy, not mushy and pasty. And, oh yeah, you're definitely going to need that knife and fork that Chuy's provides in a prayer-printed glassine envelope. This monster comes topped with lots of sauce of your choice: We suggest the deluxe tomatillo. Yum.