Food & Drink

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.

Alligator-skin wallpaper, green. Lots of napkins. And helpful hints: pinch the tail, suck the head. Who'd a-thunk Cajun could be so Freudian? Such is the power of the crawdad. And of the Alligator Café with its long ropes of thick and greaseless fried alligator tail, soothing and swarthy gumbo with rings of fresh scallion embedded in this Cajun lava, plates of fried green tomatoes covered with shredded Parmesan on a bed of lettuce, and the heartiest damn red beans and rice your stomach ever rumbled to. Yes, Alligator, blow my Freudian crater.

We used to be satisfied with the greasy calzones at your standard mall food court pizza joints (Famous Famiglia, Sbarro, etc.), but now that we've sampled the Italian staple at Picasso's, we just can't go back. There are those of us who'd argue Picasso's serves up the best pizza pie in town, but fold the crust over and it's just as good, if not better. You can choose from the normal toppings—pepperoni, sausage, olives, etc.—but Picasso's also gives you the added advantage of "deluxe toppings" (artichoke hearts, feta cheese, pine nuts, etc.) and "gourmet toppings" (steak fajita meat, portabella mushroom, smoked Gouda, etc.), allowing you to take your calzone experience to the limit. We highly recommend the large—not only will it feed you for a couple days, but if some freak snowstorm blew up, you could probably crawl in the thing and survive. It's that big, people.

Dallas Fish Market chef Randy Morgan says his goal is to align food with décor, in this case a modern white glass and metal room with repeating geometrical shapes cleansed into near sterility. Thus Morgan, who resuscitated the shuttered Russian Tea Room in New York, works his food into these cues, sometimes by shaping, sometimes by deconstructing and reformulating. His ceviche reflects this mindset, if only subtly. It's an invigorating mound of precisely minced Hawaiian red snapper interlaced with bits of mango and jalapeño that issues bursts of cumin. Morgan has teased out a workable juice formula—roughly 60 percent lime with 40 percent orange—to flash-cook the fish into opacity while moderating the lime intensity as it annuls the orange sweetness and preserves natural fish flavors and textures—flavors balanced with the precision of the mincing. Geometry never tasted so good.

Not that this truck stop needs any more love. Texas Monthly already called their tacos the Best in Texas, and we once wrote a cover story about the truck stop itself, calling it the best truck stop in the world or something like that. It is a delightfully weird place with a swimming pool, a drive-through featuring bikini-clad girls who will buff your car while you buy beer, and a Tejano singer who sets up shop in the parking lot Friday nights and gets the weekend started right. But it's the tacos that keep us coming back, and Texas Monthly had a point: They are damn good. And cheap. We recommend the picadillo and the barbacoa. Just remember: cash only. And if you have a hard time finding the taco stand, just look for the line.

Starting with the décor, Yutaka is impeccable and authentic. Shelves behind the hostess stand bear beautiful Japanese vases, and walls are accented by bright wooden box frames that hold delicate Japanese maples. This place is the best relief in town from the disappointment of cheap, Americanized sushi. Their fish is incredibly fresh—the salmon and yellowtail unagi melt in your mouth—and the chefs use Binchotan charcoal, renowned in Japan for cooking the inside of the food while sealing the outside to hold in the juices. You'll be hard-put to find a better appetizer than the tuna tataki, bathed in an outrageously flavorful cilantro sauce, and they change up the menu with things like roasted eggplant and seared foie gras. Lunch offers affordable bento boxes, and if you want to pretend you're at a Tokyo bistro, you can order the whole squid.

Glen Kusak's chicken-fried bacon won the award for "Best Taste" in this year's State Fair of Texas food contest, but let's give credit where credit's due. Chicken-fried bacon's been served up for years at Sodalak's Original County Inn, located in the small Texas town of Snook. They even serve it with cream gravy—none of the wussy ranch and honey mustard that Kusak's offering. We do, however, want to thank Kusak for bringing the delicacy to Big D, since we'd like to be as close as possible to our primary care physician after forking over our food tickets. But if you're on a diet, don't fret. Downing a few strips of chicken-fried goodness ain't cheatin'—it's doing your duty as a Texan. After all, as chicken-fried godfather Frank Sodolak once said on Texas Country Reporter, "your own body can tell what's good for ya."

Yao Fuzi Shanghainese style blends in bits of Mandarin and even Japanese, keeping it floating atop the mainstream in North Texas. You can savor fried calamari in curry dust, spicy tuna summer rolls, pan-fried duck in Mandarin sauce, and sweet and sour chicken. For the authentically adventurous, try duck gizzard, beef tripe and cilantro, jellyfish sliced from the head. There is even kimchi. Any of these chosen paths leads to serenity.

For meat lovers, the Brazilian churrascaria is the king of steakhouses, although it doesn't really qualify as a steakhouse, not in the traditional American sense of a slab of meat on a plate with some potatoes to the side. In case you haven't been to one of these places by now, it's caveman simple: meat on a stick. But the wonder of the churrascaria is the many ways that meat—and its many varieties, from chicken hearts to pork wrapped in bacon—can be cooked. By now, there are churrascarias all over the place, but if you have the money, the best of the best is Fogo de Chao. And if you're not a meat lover, the salad bar is superb. It's a pricey treat, but well worth it.

Cookouts are a staple of many holidays, but let's face it—between the picky eaters, the charcoal and the bugs, sometimes they can be a real pain in the buns. Lucky for you, Central Market sets up an outdoor grill on most holiday weekends (and for their annual Hatch Chile Festival), serving up gourmet burgers, hot dogs and sausages all afternoon for a price almost unheard of in this town. Forgo the microbrew beer and two people can eat for less than 10 bucks. And it's tasty too—we're still salivating over the Hatch chile burger on the Hatch chile bun with Hatch chile cheese we had a few weeks back. And remember—it's always better to shop for groceries on a full stomach.

Many a weekday you'll find half the editorial and production staff of the Dallas Observer hunkered down at the Original Market Diner, enjoying meatloaf, a turkey club (forget fries—try the homemade potato chips), or best yet, a scrumptious breakfast of eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy. You see, unlike our other old-school favorite—Mama's Daughter's Diner—the OMD serves the most important meal of the day from open till close, allowing the late risers in our ranks to enjoy the same advantages as the early birds without having to resort to Denny's or IHOP. Throw in the friendliest waitstaff in town and the always-fruitful people-watching and you've got the best diner anyone could ever hope for.

From one of the maybe two French restaurants left in Dallas after the Franco-genocide that followed in the wake of the great "freedom fries" skirmishes comes Watel's escargot, an assortment of Thai snails sautéed in Chardonnay, onions, garlic, tomato, and a lasting touch of cream before they're finished with basil and olive oil. They're rambunctiously plump and earthy, without any of that musty temperament. You're never left wondering what feedlot fodder got them to fatten up just so. A shit-kicking blessing, that.

New Mansion chef John Tesar is the dark horse on the Dallas dining terrain, the diamond in the rough. This outsider could not compete with or build upon the traditions that unfolded from The Mansion through the decades under the Lucchese-booted Dean Fearing. So, he wisely chose to focus on foodstuff and flavor with laser precision as the restaurant received a much-needed multimillion-dollar makeover. Its dusty, cobwebbed Southwestern appointments have largely disappeared, though Mansion tortilla soup remains. The room is richly understated with immaculate lines and lush artworks that whisper of its past formality. And what can you say about Tesar's flavors, a near unclassifiable Euro-Yankee mosaic harmonized with thin threads of Asia? Tesar's flavors are almost universally compelling and articulate—from seared Hudson Valley foie gras with braised rhubarb, to arctic char graced with fennel puree and soy and orange, to roasted Texas guinea fowl with lentil and bacon. Rest in peace, O lobster taco.

Truth is, we could dine on Indian every day of the week—man and woman, we're so totally hoping, can live on samosas alone. And if so, Roti Grill's the place to get 'em hot and fresh once you place the order at the counter...if, that is, you can keep your mitts off everything else on the menu at the joint started three years ago by Pardeep Sharma, owner of the equally delish India Palace, which this place resembles, but without all the pomp and circumstance. The tandoori's to die for; the garlic naan's divine; the biryani's the best we've had anywhere in town. The only thing we tend to avoid is the paneer pakoda; cheese isn't meant to be shoe-leather tough, sorry. Still, one item out of, oh, 100 ain't bad at all.

This year, Starbucks Coffee instructed their cafes to start prominently displaying the date that the coffee beans they are serving as their "freshly brewed coffee" was actually roasted. Helpful for coffee connoisseurs, but the problem is that Starbucks, like most coffee shops, still brews up coffee that was roasted weeks, or sometimes months, before the baristas grind and serve it to their customers. But Dunn Bros. Coffee doesn't think that coffee roasted last month is "fresh" enough. That's why they roast their coffee beans in house every day. So every cup of coffee you order or bag of beans you buy is always freshly roasted. Their seasonal Tanzanian peaberry is exceptional. The food menus differ between the two locations, but the Addison location also serves beer and wine. Oh, and unlike that coffee shop with the frap-a-smoothies, at Dunn Bros. you don't have to jump through any hoops to get your free Wi-Fi on.

The Observer has given this place plenty of attention in the past, but still, after all these years the Texaco service station turned Art Deco restaurant remains the best place to get some authentic fried chicken. Like all comfort food, including its sister restaurant Babe's Chicken Dinner House, Bubba's fried chicken recalls Sunday dinner at home. The batter is gold, thick and crunchy, the chicken tender and juicy. The side vegetables could stand a little more attention, but there's not a whole lot to complain about at Bubba's, which is why we still love it.

There is something so Cape Cod-ish about fried clams—the smell, the tartar sauce, the rubbery taste that rebounds the mouth with each chew—it makes you want to cozy up to a boiled lobster and suck out those green guts without questioning what the hell you're eating. Oh, of course, we have never been to Cape Cod or Martha's Vineyard or anyone's vineyard for that matter. So maybe our memory is more primal, something from our youth—yes, that's it—it's from the fried claims at the Howard Johnson's on North Central Expressway that closed in, what, the early '70s? That's the memory that's triggered when you order fried clams at New Top's, which is the same as the old Top's, only newer, and relocated next to the downtown library after the lease on the old Top's Main Street location was not renewed. Hang the cholesterol count, the clam strips at New Top's are fried but not greasy, likely frozen but fresh-tasting, inexpensive but not cheap-tasting. The owner, who doubles as the order-taker and triples as the cook, will fry just about anything: shrimp, chicken, beef, fish, hush puppies, and her burgers are downright delish. But it's the clams that keep us coming back for reasons only our inner HoJo can comprehend.

So, yeah, on the very same day we stumbled across Savoy Sorbet, we landed knee-deep in La Cuesta Farm's goat cheeses, for sale right across the shed from the sorbet people. And we're picky about our goat cheese: It's gotta be this salty and this spready, which isn't a word until you get your hands on the flame-roasted green chile and garlic goat cheese that's just soft enough to turn a cracker into a canvas and just spicy enough to demand your respect. There are other varieties available as well, including the crumbly goat cheese. But that chili-and-garlic cheese is spectacular, so much so that we found ourselves in a face-off over the remaining two tubs recently; blessedly, The Man from La Cuesta found an extra in the cooler, keeping the peace amongst two men who stuck out their 10s at the exact same moment and hoped, prayed, they'd hit the buzzer first.

Texas Meats Supernatural is a consortium representing several North Texas farms that raise cattle and other animals and crops by organic, humane methods. The consortium sells beef, lamb, pastured poultry, pork and farmstead cheeses at the Farmers Market. But you have to go look for them on Fridays or Saturdays, because those are the only days they'll be there. Grass-fed, organic beef is free of most of the hormones, antibiotics, pesticides and herbicides that work their way into supermarket beef. The meat also doesn't come from the downer cows on fork-lifts that you see on the evening news. But mainly, as most people who eat it will tell you, it just tastes better. And all red meat these days pretty much costs its weight in rubies, so if you're going to eat it, might as well eat the very best.

The closest thing to actually stepping into a time machine for a visit back to the early '80s has to be a trip to J's. It doesn't look like much has changed in the more than 20 years since the restaurant first opened. The seats are covered with sparkly green vinyl, the smoking section is right up front, duct tape is holding a vent together, old water stains are on the ceiling, one of the saloon doors headed to the bathrooms is stuck open, and green and white wallpaper covers the walls. The waitresses know the regulars by name, and most have been working there for longer than they can remember. J's is open 24 hours, and it features a breakfast menu that rivals any other in the area. And no greasy spoon could be the best without outstanding chicken-fried steak, and the one here tastes like home-cookin' at its finest.

That guacamole might be allowable on a strict diet plan seems at best ludicrous, but we have been consuming guac all over town and still losing weight. Might have something to do with the two hours of aerobic activity we do every morning and the fact that we're forced to slather the Mexican munchie on celery sticks, but hey, it's tasty, good for you and most important: no prohibido. So we feel qualified to make the Best Of call on this appetizer, which has gone considerably upscale (read: expensive) throughout the onset of our fat years. Trece's guacamole is every bit as expensive ($12) as it is exemplary, which is evident from the restaurant dedicating several cart-wheeling guacamole chefs to perform its Guacamole Live programming. Avocados are sliced, diced and mushed together with cilantro, serrano and habanero peppers, lime and garlic. Also mixed into the brew are onions and tomatoes, roasted, not raw, which may make the difference in flavor (smoky) from your run-of-the-mill expensive guacamole—also the long, narrow homemade chips—yes, we tasted a few despite violating the sacred covenant of our diet. But it was for the best, right, and 15 extra minutes on the treadmill took care of those crispy dippers—though their memory will never, ever be erased.

How do we know that Celebration has the best home-style cooking in Dallas? Listen, we live with our 86-year-old mother-in-law, a woman who wouldn't leave the house if it caught fire. But let her know we're heading out to Celebration on a Sunday afternoon—with about 70 percent of all the church-going families in North Dallas, apparently—and the old broad fetches her purse and slaps on some lipstick. Celebration's ever-rotating selection of fresh, seasonal veggies—many of them locally grown—crunchy fried chicken, sautéed fish, pot roast and pork chops are served family-style, which means eat all you can. Granted, in her case that's not very much, and eating it takes forever, but she's buying, so we'll let that slide. Celebration—it's like Luby's, only hot, tasty and fresh.

House salads ain't rocket science, yet they're so often afterthoughts—a loose bit of greens and garden things to fill a menu slot with no sense of the house in them. Chef Brian Olenjack takes the house part of the name seriously, making sure a good dose of personality goes into every bowl. It's a simple salad in a curvaceous metal bowl, a nest of greens batted down in tomato vinaigrette, slices of grape tomato and fragments of candied pecans. Elements strike a balanced pose and pique with such uncommon precision, it behaves like an aperitif, the starter equivalent of Manzanilla sherry. And that goes down good.

There's a scene from 1971's Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory in which Charlie and company taste Wonka's new lickable wallpaper while he boasts, "Lick an orange, it tastes like an orange. Lick a pineapple, it tastes like a pineapple. Go ahead, try it!" Ol' Willy Wonka was onto something—not the lickable wallpaper necessarily, but the idea that treats should actually taste like the flavors used to describe them. Enter the mod blue and white frozen treatery of Natalie Nguyen, Henderson's newly beloved Natsumi. Pick a flavor of gelato—we suggest the greens: green tea, avocado or pistachio (flavors vary daily). What you'll taste is the sublime almost-chocolate green tea flavor, a smooth hint of the green fatty fruit or that distinct, unmistakable nutty essence. These dead-on flavors are assuredly a result of Nguyen's use of organic dairy and sugar...and her use of authentic fruits, nuts and spices. The real deal, people. Using actual food instead of artificial flavors might not scream innovation, but it makes for gelato so good it's not only brain-freezing, it's mind-blowing. We all scream for Natsumi.

No doubt about it, the Preston Royal mainstay since 1974 needed a sprucing up; no matter the quality of the food, always high and occasionally top-notch, the place felt and smelled its age. Not even a sneak peek at the plans for the redo could have prepared us for what we found upon the eatery's reopening in late August, following a two-month shutdown. The place feels absolutely modern—marble and steel and glass, all polished to perfection. But even better is the updated menu, which brims with dumpling specialties and tea choices that have turned Dallas' most beloved Chinese restaurant into a dim-sumptuous alternative to our former fave Maxim, way up in Richardson's Chinatown and now off the menu when we need a quick fix of Far East cuisine closer to home. And the regulars have spoken: The place is more packed now than ever before. Thank God there's now a full bar right inside the door, so we can sake before we sup.

In the strictest traditional sense, Bengal Coast is not an Indian restaurant at all. But it is Indian-inspired, and that's close enough when the food's this good. Bengal Coast roasts its own spices and simmers more than 27 distinct sauces and marinades. The startlingly fresh dishes blend Indonesian, Malaysian and Thai influences with an Indian center. The result is not your typical Dallas Indian cuisine—that is, it's not dry and indistinct. Our faves include the Thai lobster samosas, satay-like sticks and kebabs, curries and naan wraps. Or try the fish and chips Masala, fish coated in chickpea-Kingfisher beer batter.

This isn't strictly authentic regional Italian food. Instead, Nonna—carved out of the foyer of The Food Company catering firm—employs a strict Italian approach (freshness, simplicity) while borrowing and combining ingredients and influences and techniques from all over the Italian landscape. House-cured salumi. Fresh-kneaded and -extruded pastas. House-ground and -cased sausages. Wood-fired meats and pizzas and breads. The best inauthentic authentic Italian in Dallas, which means we can finally say goodbye to spaghetti Western dining.

Don't let the kids sidetrack you to the Chili's next door or the Goff's across the parking lot. The real deal in kids' meals is the far pricier Fuji's Steak House and Sushi Bar. Yes, this is one of the best sushi bars in the city, thanks to chef Son Le, formerly of Steel fame—one that you and the spouse could easily enjoy on your get-the-hell-away-from-the-kids date night. No matter. Plunk your antsy kids down at one of Fuji's many teppan grills and prepare to be amazed at them being amazed at the slice-and-dice antics of the knife-wielding hibachi chefs. Maybe it's the oil fire that flares in their warmed faces, the flying shrimp tails that land artfully in the chef's tall hat, the smoking stack of onions shaped like a volcano, the bottle of Ramune (Japanese Sprite) with the marble inside, or the actual food—steak, chicken, shrimp, lobster and calamari—that tastes as good as it looks cooking. Whatever. A good time will be had by all ages. And the kids might not even bitch and moan about eating their vegetables, not with a big honker of a knife pointing the way to health.

Not that trying to locate an Indian restaurant that serves only kosher vegetarian fare is something many people struggle with, but Madras Pavilion offers diners enough options that you can find something savory enough to satisfy within the bounds of any dietary restrictions. They have several sampler-style entrees that make for easy grazing, and there are several safe items to start with, like the flawlessly flaky samosas or the tasty uthappams, which are often referred to as Indian pizzas. But if you want to be sure to find something you'll like, then show up for the lunch buffet, the shining star of the restaurant. Seven days a week, from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. an immense buffet table, nearly the entire width of the dining area, is continuously filled with items from veggie curries and naan to soups and dosai. Everything they serve is prepared fresh daily, and make sure you order their mango lassi. Theirs is one of the best we've ever had and the perfect sip to soothe one's stomach after the spiciness of the food.

Though his namesake restaurant might in time be best known for its lush, smoky prime rib served on Sundays or its "mopped" rib eye slobbered in a slop of molasses, German beer and vinegar during mesquite-firing—a welcome departure from Dallas steakhouse monotony—Fearing's wood-grilled coriander lamb chops might take the cake in some minds, as it does ours. These chops tease with a raciness that never unravels into gamy chaos. They whet with clean juices and deep red flesh and luxurious, silken chewiness. Seasonings and treatments serve only the meat; the meat serves only the tongue. And that tongue is verrrry happy.

Aló Cenuduria and Piqueos serves the sort of street foods sold off carts and from stands along the thoroughfares of Mexico and Peru. Founding chef Taco Borga (La Duni and its offspring) accentuates the Japanese DNA inherent in his Peruvian creations, like his cebiche, diced bits of shimmering halibut tossed into lime and orange juices blended with a fish broth called tiger's milk for just a few seconds and then served immediately. Peruvian sashimi is strips of yellowtail or tuna percolated in a pool of sour orange runoff blended with Peruvian peppers, onion, cilantro and garlic with a squeeze of lime. There are beef picadillo burritos, enchiladas rolled with tortillas in a choice of mole or roasted tomatillo/pinto bean sauce, and crispy tacos with Peruvian pineapple salsa wadded with coarse cabbage shreds and threads of jicama. There are Peruvian brochettes (anticuchos) and the Afro-Peruvian peasant tacu-tacu, a sticky black bean and rice pie served in a cast-iron skillet topped with hash brown-like shreds of radish and tufts of frisée plus a crowning choice of scrambled egg, seafood or a "pork wing."

It's difficult to stay energetic and productive without a bit of something in the tummy and a break from the office. That's why so many people nix the brown bag and spend the cash dollars on the weekday lunch. But those hard-earned bucks don't have to be wasted on greasy grub or even four-star noshes. Luna de Noche has the cure for a bad day and more in its Xochitl soup. The dish is an event from start to finish. A server first presents a bowl of rice, chicken chunks, pico, avocado and tortilla strips. Then comes a shower of white peppery chicken broth over the top. The aromatic effect is exhilarating and enticing. The bites and slurps, however, exceed all expectation. The combination of fresh pico and avocado in the broth amps up spice and richness while the chicken offers an additional level of savory wholesomeness. Sodium aside, the warm and soothing concoction offers a rejuvenation of soul while being healthful, and finishing a bowl makes for a full-but-not-bursting satisfaction. This is what chicken-and-noodles wants to be when it grows up.

In the new shopping center across the street from the old Divino's location, on Gaston between Peak and Haskell a few blocks from Baylor Medical Center, the new Divino's sells a lunch that's one slice with two toppings and a drink for $2.30. How can you beat that? And this is not lukewarm pizza that tastes like it came frozen from Tom Thumb. This is real-deal, oven-baked Italian pizza—rich, creamy cheese on thin, crisp crusts with all the standard topping choices. They also offer a good Italian menu including baked ziti (five bucks), linguini with white or red clam sauce, $5.95, and other dishes, served with salad and bread. That's cheap.

Forget all of the goo-stricken, haute renditions. This mac and cheese is simple: elbows, house-made cheese sauce, basil. That's it. A gooey, muddy-yellow spread of macaroni is tarred in Gruyère and queso touched with finely minced and sautéed purple onions, garlic, and essences of basil and tomato plus sparks of black pepper and an unexplained halo of smoke wafting from the alchemy. This is transcendent rib adhesive.

The main problem with Tex-Mex restaurants lies in the free chips; it's difficult to pace yourself so that you're not already loosening your belt when your meal arrives. Avila's provides a delicious plate that's a perfect-sized complement to three baskets of their delicious chips: the enchiladas de frijoles negros (that's black bean enchiladas for all you white folk). Two corn tortillas are dipped in an ancho chile wash, filled with refried black beans, rolled and topped with Monterey jack cheese. (And a bonus that the menu doesn't even mention is a dollop of guacamole.) Sides of rice and pico de gallo keep it light. Just think of it this way: While your dining companions are painfully stuffed, you still have plenty of room for sopapillas.

Gone are the days of huddling inside the tight quarters of Ali Baba's teensy Lower Greenville location waiting for a table to open up so you can chow down on falafel, kebabs and hummus. But we can't forget those days. No, those old cramped memories make us truly appreciate the spacious new Abrams digs that allow Ali Baba to provide the residents of Dallas with comfy booths and a grand lunch buffet. The sneeze-guarded beacon offers up affordable, eat-to-excess combinations to suit your Mediterranean fancy. For the most part, any regular menu option is steaming and waiting for a tong-grab, giving the opportunity for a little experimentation, which pays off when you return for dinner already educated on the entrees. The newer, bigger kitchen has also proffered better tasting food on the whole—the fried kibbi is crisp on the outside and nutty and nourishing on the inside, the tabouli is bright and clean, the gyro is savory and heavenly with fresh pita. And oh, the kafta kebab. Now, buffets and comfortable seating may not seem like the wave of the future, but for a Dallas staple, it can mean a more satisfying lease on life.

Thank Allah for impatient landlords and generous chefs. Without them Dallas would have missed out on the best food on a stick outside the State Fair. In Pakistan, Afghan Grill chef and founder Asmat "Matt" Pikar paid off a landlord who was hassling an Afghan refugee over two months of late rent. In exchange, the refugee, a former Kabuli restaurateur, taught Pikar the secrets of the kebab as repayment. That was lucky for us. Pikar has brought his learning to Dallas, serving up coal-fired bulanee (fried, leek-filled turnovers); kadu buranee (sautéed pumpkin with garlicky yogurt); and aushak (leek dumplings with yogurt). Saffron and coriander add heady aromas to this Kabuli comfort food. War may be hell, but it has its benefits.

If it was a brave man who ate the first oyster, imagine the cojones on the guy who slurped down the first mussel. Its shell, black and pointy, opens to reveal an orange, amorphous mass of meat. Sometimes the smell ain't so great either. But put enough culinary goop on it, spice it and butter it and let it stew in something saucy, and the result is a feast for the senses. Toulouse Café and Bar offers five—count them, five—variations on the mussel theme, in both appetizer and entrée portions. There is our traditional French fave—marinière—which slathers the little critters in garlic, white wine, butter and shallots. For the more adventurous, there's the Thai—coconut milk, yellow curry, tomatoes, lemongrass, ginger, cilantro and lime. Sopping up the sauce with Toulouse's crispy French bread is a culinary imperative. As is a side order of pomme frites—aka french fries with attitude. Nothing brave about eating the last two items unless you use them to chase the taste of the Green Room mussels—jalapeño, ginger, shiitake mushrooms, Champagne and garlic.

Like its nearby Lakewood neighbor The Lakewood Landing, The Cock and Bull hardly screams high class from its exterior. In fact, you're far more likely to walk on past it and never even know it existed unless you walked this block of Gaston with a watchful eye. When you get inside, there's nothing too fancy about the place either—looks like a dive bar, really. But then you glance to the back of the room and notice the chalkboard: Wow, a steak special...for $22? What kind of place is this? So you ask for a menu, and you look at your dining options. Hey, you think to yourself, some of this looks pretty good! And, boy, is it—although some of it can get a little pricey. For the most taste bud pleasure for your buck, your best bet's the Blue Bell Burger. Trust.

Yes, it tortures us to select a foreigner for this honor—a chain no less, with installments in New York, Las Vegas, D.C., Sonoma, California and Reno, Nevada, among other locales. Chef Charlie Palmer's Dallas increment sits in the Joule Urban Resort in a rehabilitated Main Street building in all of its Texas handsome, breezy-themed glory. So it at least has a Dallas pedigree. Chew on the house-cured artisan salumi or the simply prepared vegetables dripping in brown butter. Savor seared foie gras or spoon bone marrow flan over a dry-aged sirloin. Dine on lentil-crusted monkfish or crisped arctic char. Or duck. No restaurant has brought so much to such a stylishly cozy space.

When fired for power, coal has a bad rep. It's a spitter of soot, a puker of sulfur, a farter of greenhouse flatus. But when firing pizza, it transforms into fossilized sublimity. Founded in East Harlem in 1931 and spread from New York to Arizona, Nevada and Texas, Grimaldi's cooks its pizzas in a coal-fired brick oven—just as the local parlor Coal Vines does. But the Neapolitan-style pizzas Gramaldi's makes are more focused, with chewy crusts that are smoky without the bitter char. They're aromatic pies with slightly cauterized toppings that fuse tenuously with the crust, creating a mosaic of exquisite stink. These are pies you want in your face.

If you're a fan of the Bellini, a mixture of Champagne and peach schnapps, then you must have spent most of July at Patrizio enjoying the $1 Bellini promotion. But even if you missed a chance at Bellinis for a buck, Patrizio offers the right atmosphere to relax and enjoy one. Or two. Or five. The Italian music, the décor and even the neatly dressed waitstaff bring you to Italy, birthplace of the Bellini, which was named after Venetian artist Giovanni Bellini because the drink resembled the color he used in his painting of a saint. So getting toasted on a Bellini is both a religious experience and a form of art appreciation.

If variety is the spice of life and you're feeling the need to spice up your mealtimes, then Penzeys Spices is place to start. With more than 250 different herbs, spices, seasonings and sprinkles to choose from, Penzeys has every standard spice your grandma would've cooked with plus a few to make her purple hair stand on end. For example, their great collection of curry powders, the tart heat from their Turkish Aleppo pepper or the rich, smoky flavor of their smoked Spanish paprika. But even if the spiciest thing you'd ever add to a dish is black pepper, the knowledgeable staff can help you find the right one for the job—after all, they have seven different kinds of peppercorns with an additional six pepper blends. But if tabletop pepper isn't hot enough for you, then try one of their 13 varieties of chili peppers. How about cinnamon? Get it eight different ways. And, seriously, for the best cinnamon toast you've ever had, buy a jar of the Extra Fancy Vietnamese Cinnamon. Selling spices by mail order for more than 20 years, Penzeys opened their first storefront location in '97. And when they finally opened their Dallas location three years ago, we were more than a little giddy.

Avanti is one of the best restaurants in Uptown, and it certainly ranks as the most romantic. The dim lighting, small and intimate dining area and classy look make for the perfect dating experience. The live music also adds to the romantic appeal. It's not a loud, intrusive sound that interrupts the atmosphere, but instead, it adds a soft soundtrack in the background—just right. The menu features seafood items such as yellowfin tuna, pan-seared snapper, Chilean sea bass, pistachio-crusted halibut, crab cakes and lobster. But, for the non-seafood lover, duck, veal, lamb, sirloin and various pasta dishes are available. For dates that go late into the night, Avanti offers a moonlight breakfast from midnight to 3 a.m. on Saturday and Sunday mornings. We recommend the filet mignon sandwich with french fries ($13) because if you've made it this far into the night, you've done something right, so why not reward yourself?

The typical pretzel rarely goes beyond its traditional role as a lager enhancement. Blue Canyon puts a twist in its twist. It's pulverized to powder a trout. The trout is then bathed in whole-grain mustard butter, capped with a crispy fried basil leaf and pocked with a birdshot blast of capers. The pearly sweet trout, delicate and fanned into a slope, blankets a bumpy miscellany of red potatoes and wilted spinach in pesto. Pair it with a Pabst.

What started out as a backyard barbecue for family on Sundays has emerged into the best place to gnaw on a slab of ribs in Dallas. Clarence Cohens just couldn't keep it all in the family, so eventually he began selling it just south of downtown in a two-room dive known as Baby Back Shak. His Memphis-style herb-rubbed ribs are so moist, tender and flavorful you don't even need any barbecue sauce to enhance. Since its recent discovery, the downtown lunch crowd swamps this place, which stays open until 5:45. No dinner done here. There are more than ribs, of course: sliced beef, pulled pork, smoked turkey and ham are all served lean but liberally, portion-wise. And for a bizarre barbecue twist there is grilled Cornish hen. But it's the killer ribs that make lunch and life worthwhile and will draw you back to the Shak.

So you gotta get out of town. The car is packed and ready to go, and now you need fuel and snacks. Don't turn to the usual Fritos and Orange Crush. The Green Spot has even better fuel for the drive. Try some Kashi cookies, Bare Naked granola, a bottled Izze or fountain Blue Sky soda, and don't forget some Seventh Generation paper products just to be on the safe side. Plus, you don't have to feel so bad about the growing bag of trash in the car—the Green Spot's fountain drink containers and straws are all compostable and made from corn. And if you're getting behind the wheel of a diesel, Bruce Bagelman and Alvaro Garza's pumps can supply you with B5 biodiesel, or B100 from a separate straight-to-vehicle pump (they also offer basic gasoline). Add in the vegan options and fresh, gourmet local snacks and you might be in for the healthiest road trip fill-up you've ever had. When it comes to naturals and affordable alt-fuels, Dallas folks can finally stop asking, "Are we there yet?"

We know this guy from Boston. Sort of The Friends of Eddie Coyle meets The Departed. We're not saying he's a wiseguy, 'cause there's a little Fever Pitch thrown in there too, but the dude knows his meatball sandwiches. It's no surprise, really, that he found one at the Greenville Avenue Pizza Company, 'cause whoever runs the place has got a little Goodfellas in him. The restaurant opened last October, and already it has a reputation. More than one person has come up to us and said, "You won't believe this pizza, it's the best pizza you've ever had." And it's nothing compared with the meatball sandwich. Trust our friend from Boston. He knows a meatball when he sees one.

Scones are funny. They're not doughnuts. A good scone has backbone. Scones are morning things. A scone needs to be fresh and hearty. But then, this is America. We don't want scones that taste English—you know, like a mouthful of baking soda. We want some sweets in there somewhere—raspberries, blueberries, cranberries. Give us a break. Something. Once in a while, we might even want a nice, white blanket of sugary icing on top. If the English don't like it, well, they can go eat their own kind of dry, dusty, bitter little scones. Anyway, Whole Foods has got it just right, and at $1.99 apiece, Whole Foods scones are an affordable treat in the morning. An American treat.

Chef Joseph Mahr's diver is a titillating tango of Latin and Southwestern, its veneer seared into a slight, consistent brittleness shrouding buttery succulence that veers into extracted sweetness on the finish. It's bedded down on a knoll of smooth polenta richened in chicken stock, cumin, cream and orange honey, a pool of lobster broth surrounding the island, the spinach floating in the pool like kelp beds. It's a surf and turf that's wonderful in its weirdness and makes the tongue dance.

Fish City is a mid-price to reasonable franchise place, but don't think that it has anything to do with fast food. This is a full-bore seafood restaurant, locally owned and operated, offering a revolving menu of specials including wonderfully succulent salmon dishes, blackened trout and more—everything served by a cheerful, well-trained staff. The decor is informally tasteful. A small patio in front offers a very interesting view of the circus of life in Old East Dallas. This is a neighborhood place you can drop in on without a reservation and enjoy a really well-prepared seafood dinner and great service, all at a relatively modest price. That's a lot to beat.

Funny thing about Mel's Ice Cream: It used to be a Marble Slab Creamery, and the marble slab remains—unlike Mel, who has gone the way of Marble Slab Creamery and is no longer the proprietor. The current owner is Dae Cho, who daily scoops out about 40 flavors of ice cream, many of them overtly delish, especially mixed together with all the holdover slabbish toppings—Oreo cookies, M&Ms, Gummy Bears—you name it. But Cho has added something cool and refreshing—actually cold and refreshing—shaved ice, 40-50 flavors of it, with names like Tiger Blood (strawberry and coconut syrup), Fuzzy Navel (orange, peach and lemonade) and Rock & Roll (blueberry and grape). The fine ice shavings when topped with the sugary syrup of your choice offer a less creamy alternative to the normal, run-of-the-mill Reese's Pieces-infused double-chocolate fudge ice cream fare that can make summer such a dreadful bore.

Sometimes it's hard to know what you're going to be in the mood to read. A fashion rag, a novel, a good nonfiction narrative or just a book of pretty pictures. Thanks to Gachet Coffee Lounge & Books, there's no need to lug around a back-breaking bag of reading materials to ensure a good coffee break. And you don't even have to settle for the discarded sections of someone else's newspaper—they already took the good coupons anyway. No, the Victory Park café not only has a top-notch latte (DRY sodas and other non-caffeinated sips too), but it has a varied and well-stocked book boutique too. The 500-square-foot area boasts faves like Vanity Fair as well as more obscure monthlies, hardbacks, best sellers and coffee table fare. Sip with confidence—Gachet's got a perfect literary match for whatever flavor you're tossing back.

In the late '50s, Joseph Marco Nuccio started serving pizza at his Marco Pollo Lounge on Carroll Avenue. Then in '62, he moved his pizzeria to its current location at Preston Road and Royal Lane. Not sure how much a piece of pie and a cold drink cost back then, but today Pizza By Marco will serve you up a slice of pizza loaded with three topping of your choice and a soda for a measly $2—yeah, you read that right. A family business since the day they served their first piping-hot pie, Marco's doesn't serve up a greasy, cheap-o slice either. Every morning, Joseph's son, Frank Nuccio gets up early to prepare the pizza sauce and dough fresh from a closely guarded family recipe. The slices are amazing, and the crust is perfectly thin and crispy, and they offer all the standard toppings to choose from plus vegan soy versions of cheese, pepperoni, sausage and hamburger. Frank has recently opened two other locations that offer a one-topping slice of pizza and drink special for $2.50, which we still think qualifies as a best deal.

It's nearly ubiquitous in Japanese restaurants, but all too often the fried soft-shell crab is a mushy, spindly-legged blob that at its worst assumes the texture of a sodden sponge that sometimes squirts. At Gui, this cliché becomes sublime. It's called spider on a leaf, a panko bread crumb-coated creature burrowed into a sheaf of greens, its claws bared, its legs folded inward like the predator at rest, sprung to pounce if need be, those panko crumbs fried into perfect spider-pelt mimicry. It's crisp but tender, moist but not slushy. The bite crushes the delicately brittle exoskeleton and in floods a gentle rush of arousing marine funk. This might be the best example of the fried soft-shell crab we've ever tasted. If it really is a crab.

A few weeks back we made the horrific mistake of leaving the ice chest at home; but, hey, we should have known this Saturday would wind up like most—with a trip to the Dallas Farmers Market. Specifically, Shed 1, site of the homegrown goodies. Down toward the end was a table set up for relative newcomer Savoy Sorbet, the result of two years' worth of planning and prep. For the moment, we'll say only this: The sorbets are made entirely with locally grown herbs that are infused into a frozen concoction that, swear to God, tastes like something you pray for but don't dare actually expect when you hear flavors like "rosemary Chablis" or "apple mint" or "chocolate mint" or "rose geranium-raspberry," among the divine seasonal offerings now for sale at Shed 1 on weekends, till they run out. And we'll demand this: Bring your cooler.

If you've ever had the Jimmy's Sausage flatbread pizza at Bolsa in Oak Cliff, you know how perfect the sausage is—just the right combination of sweet tenderness and spicy-hot piquancy. "Jimmy's Spicy" is one of several sausages made on the premises at Jimmy's Food Store, one of the treasures of Old East Dallas. You can get your own frozen pizza dough while you're there, so you can go home and make your own flatbread pizza. You might pick up a bottle of good Italian wine, some bitters and maybe a liter of limonata, as well. But it's that spicy Italian sausage that will stay with you the longest—in a good way.

Face it, you'll never be able to afford tickets to a Cowboys game once the new stadium opens. Hell, a handful of nachos at Jerry Jones' prices will probably run you twice what a pair of Texas Rangers tix might cost. So when you consider that the Rangers' all-you-can-eat-seats promo includes seats in the Lexus Club Terrace and as many hot dogs (and peanuts and Cracker Jacks) as you can cram down your maw all for $34, baseball suddenly looks very attractive. Just make sure you're not too busy putting relish on your wiener when Josh Hamilton hits his 1,000th home run.

Chef Michelle Carpenter turns sushi into performance art with her omakase dinners, which lets her indulge her whims. Such whims may include Southwestern strokes—cilantro, lime, jalapeño—or a specific "market-fresh catch" of the day. The sushi is fresh, smooth and silken: racy strips of Spanish mackerel, bright fluffy tobiko; rich uni over rice. Zen Sushi is a raw fish respite blazing trails in Oak Cliff's Bishop Arts District.

It's hard to know what kind of food we should be the most terrified of. One minute we're avoiding carbs and loading up on eggs and steak; the next minute we're cleansing our cupboards of trans fats. Next thing you know, it's E. coli-laced spinach and bovine growth hormones. And to further confuse us, there are companies like Hail Merry that dare to suggest that some fats are healthy! Developed by Dallas raw food chef Susan O'Brien, the Hail Merry line of treats—including macaroons, granola and chocolate tarts—are raw, vegan and organic and were created under the philosophy that plant-based fats are actually beneficial. Some of the treats may even help lower your cholesterol with oleic acid. So now chocolate macaroons are health food? Bring on the cookie revolution!

Comparing Fuel City's tacos with those from other taquerias in Dallas is like comparing The Dark Knight to any other movie that came out this summer. But Taqueria El Si Hay in Oak Cliff holds its own against the big, bad bully. Though it doesn't offer the heavenly potato-and-beef picador taco that elevates Fuel City into a class all its own, El Si Hay's tacos al pastor, or pork tacos, are even better than Fuel City's version. They're garnished with fresh diced onions and cilantro and presented with a generous cup of green salsa and halved key limes, which will try in vain to extinguish the jalapeño-fueled salsa fire on your tongue. At $1.30 apiece, you can stuff yourself and still have money leftover for a Mexican soda—which complements El Si Hay's tacos almost as nicely as Fuel City's overpriced beer complements its.

Royal Thai, a great place for lunch or dinner, combines a full menu of fresh, elegant Thai dishes with rich décor and flawless service. Most of the time the uniformed waiters here write nothing down when you order and forget nothing when they serve. Pad Thai, the universal favorite, is perfect, with spices blended to just the right savor. Spicy noodle is another treat—wok-tossed flat noodles with ground chicken breast, tomatoes, onions, jalapeño peppers and basil leaves. You may run into a wait for lunch, but Royal Thai provides for that with a comfortable waiting area and bar. Still, it's best to call ahead.

Now that's dessert: The soft, sodden cake easily releases its layers of coffee, marsala, rich mascarpone and chocolate, the flavors radiating outward from the spongy texture like bicycle spokes, reassembling in the mouth, dressing and undressing all the way down. The best? We dare you to find a better one—and then please tell us about it.

Forget the rice or the ribbons of seaweed binding tight around the precious little bands of meat. Loft 610's rolls are loosely bound in long, thin ribbons of cucumber with generous strips of tuna, as dark as a blood blister, woven with slivers of carrot to slip in some sweet. Cucumber is the air conditioner of the culinary canon, thus this composition is cool, moist and revitalizing. Plus it crunches. Use them to smear the dribbles of sweet soy on the plate. Refresh with fresh ginger shavings. Repeat. Lofty.

This locally owned nook in the shops of South Side on Lamar seems an unlikely place for a campaign hub or monument to black political history. Yet the bright orange walls are covered with framed paintings of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X as well as local art that portrays black history. Owner Jan Gore, who was born and raised in Dallas and once worked for Ann Richards, was a passionate Barack Obama supporter during last spring's primary and turned the place into an unofficial campaign headquarters. No matter your political leanings, though, you'll enjoy the inexpensive food in a bright, casual atmosphere. There's a quarter jerk chicken served with salad and side for $8.50, spicy grilled shrimp for less than $7 and smoked jerk turkey legs for $5.50. You can even order whole jerk turkeys and chickens to go, and we can't forget the hallmark of any Caribbean place: the delicious baked plantains.

A staple in Israel and North Africa, couscous has long been a side dish at Middle Eastern restaurants, but now it's making its way onto menus at places like Houston's. The weird thing is, Houston's does it as well as anyone (like a lot of things the restaurant does). With sliced radishes, golden raisins, almonds, tomatoes, green onions and parsley, it's a perfect side dish to a plate of chicken.

The decision to upgrade to sweet-potato fries with your next meal at Jake's Hamburgers is not one to be taken lightly. Not so much because they cost a buck or so more than french fries, but because plain old french fries will never hold quite the same appeal after you've experienced Jake's sweet potato fries. Dusted with a mixture of sugar, salt and cinnamon, they're a wonderful balance of sweet and salty, crispy and soft. They hold up whether you dip them in ketchup, Tabasco, ranch or your chocolate malt, or even if you eat them dry. Sure, Burger House's seasoned fries and Steak 'n' Shake's crispy thin slivers make a case for the traditional french fry. But there's no going back after grabbing a handful of yam at Jake's.

We love seitan. We also love tempeh, tofu and textured vegetable protein. But occasionally, we do feel the need to break out of the stir-fry and pasta dish routine. So we head to New Start Veggie Garden, which offers an all-vegan buffet that's a mix of veggie favorites (fried rice, tofu lasagna) and offbeat Asian food. The lunch buffet begins with "mountain-grown mushroom" tea, and then it's on to miso, veggie sushi, broccoli tempura and two kinds of veggie burgers. The more adventurous will want to try the wild fern, sesame greens and a bibimbap bowl topped with seasoned seaweed and kelp powder (and washed down with sweet rice drink). For dessert, expect fruits, tofu cheesecake or cookies with flaxseeds. And as far as adventures go, this is a pretty inexpensive one—two can eat for less than $20.

Longtime vegetarians are resigned to the fact that, when dining out, they usually have one or two choices on the menu. Lack of excitement washes over you as the server brings your steakhouse selection: a plate of iceberg lettuce with carrot shreds and a cherry tomato. So when you are presented with the abundance of choices at Spiral Diner—everything on the menu is vegan—prepare to feel a little overwhelmed. Sure, they have salads, if that's what you're into, but they also have delicious wraps (the Parmigiana is warm and delicious), sandwiches, burgers, and pasta and other hot plates. Try "The Mitch," a savory tofu club sandwich, or for a heartier entrée, there's Viva Las Migas or Sketti & (Soy) Meatballs. Organic juices and coconut limeade are a delight. Desserts are plentiful, including "I-scream," cupcakes, cookies and brownies on our last visit. Blue Sky natural sodas are on tap, and you can indulge in some reading material while you wait—The Sexual Politics of Meat, anyone?

How do we love Mai's? Let us count the burn scars on the roofs of our mouths from all the times we couldn't wait to dig into our chicken clay pot because it smelled too damn yummy. Yeah, we're stupid that way, especially when it comes to Mai's fiery baked blend of vermicelli noodles, black mushrooms and spicy chicken, which comes out of the kitchen at approximately 875 degrees. We just can't wait. Luckily the burns heal in a couple of weeks, and in the meantime we can take a break from the pain by making a meal on two or 20 of the shrimp imperial rolls, fat tubes of soothing crunchy lettuce, rice noodles and chilled shrimp in rice paper wrappers. A little agony, a little comfort, a lot of spicy deliciousness—a meal at Mai's is like love.

So, we've been on this diet since—oh, what's it been now?—1973, seems like. That means nothing but veggies, and hold the bread. It also means we're very, very cranky at mealtime. The kindly staff at Lucky's understands. They gently wave us to our table and fetch a giant Diet Coke before we've even unrolled our napkin. "Still dieting?" they ask sympathetically with a smile as they take our usual order of nothing but veggies, bringing us the one cheating biscuit we request and promising not to bring another one even if we beg. Truth be told, we think they would give us another if we begged, but lucky for us, the service at Lucky's is so kind, welcoming and friendly that one is enough to take the edge off our 'tude. Someday soon, the diet from hell will end, and we'll surprise them by ordering that gooey cheeseburger and fries we crave. When we do, they won't judge. Shoot, they may applaud.

Prepare for battle. Kathleen's Sky Diner (formerly Kathleen's Art Café) is known for fantastic cakes. Chances are, your dining companion knows this—or can tell from the dessert display—and will challenge your suggestion of the hot chocolate chip cookie. Do not back down. Order the cookie and wait. Be patient though: Each cookie is baked to order. When it arrives, the hot steamy dish of oatmeal, pecans, chocolate chips and a scoop of vanilla ice cream will convert any naysayer. Go ahead and share—for the sake of your hips and ass—but be certain there will be one final duel. You may have played fair for the most part, but that cobbler-like concoction will have taken on melty ice cream and seduced you with rich, absolutely decadent mouthfuls. And when it comes to that last bite, both parties will fight, forks brandished, to claim the final delectable morsel.

It's a new age, when cell phones navigate and home theater experiences can be had on media players barely larger than credit cards. Enter the touch-screen tablet wine list. Charlie Palmer's wine list is an ingenious harnessing of technology to help newbie drinkers overcome their fear of coming off as a vino-imbecile. The Charlie Palmer wine selection experience is self-directed via an electronic touch-screen e-book that permits perusal by bottle, glass, region, varietal and style. Check the boxes next to your curiosities and wrestle over the pros and cons of each with a sommelier, suited-up for upscale battle. Added bonus: Charlie Palmer sells its 700-plus bottle list at markups of just $25-$35 over retail, so you won't get corkscrewed. Added double-plus bonus: The restaurant is fronted by the Next Vintage Wine Shop stocking a third of the wine list, ready to tag and bag for home.

Driving across his ranch in Greenville,Robert Hutchins watches as a hawk swoops down into one of his chicken hoops (no, not coops). Killing the engine of his flat-bed truck, Hutchins waits for the hawk to come back into sight. "I just saw you," he says under his breath. "Look at that dadgum hawk, bet it just killed a chicken."

But Hutchins isn't upset and gnashing his teeth, because at Rehoboth Ranch losing a few chickens to predators like bobcats and hawks is an unavoidable part of the way they do business.

Bucking the trends of conventional agriculture—instead of using confinement houses, cramped cages or feedlots—all the animals on Hutchins' ranch are "pasture-raised" in their natural environment and fed only a natural diet. And the Hutchins family manages the 300 acres of their ranch organically, never using any chemicals, pesticides or synthetic fertilizers. While Hutchins' methods are firmly rooted in the past and may seem counterintuitive in today's work-smarter-not-harder world, farmers and ranchers like him are looking to the past while paving the way for the future of food.

This year the Food and Drug Administration made several controversial rulings, including declaring milk and meat from cloned cattle, goats and swine as safe as conventional meat and issuing new regulations approving the irradiation of fresh spinach and iceberg lettuce. But as more and more genetically modified foods are introduced to the public, and meat and produce recalls continue to be a staple on the evening newscasts, many shoppers alarmed by the practices of modern agriculture are turning to naturally raised, organic products.

So, the future of food is at a crossroads that leads in two utterly different directions. Down one path, our grocery stores' shelves will be filled with genetically modified foods, cloned meats, and irradiated grains and produce. On the other path, wary shoppers will increasingly seek out natural foods produced by farmers and ranchers like Hutchins and his family, who use the traditional methods of the past.

"The only way the consumers can be 100 percent sure what they're eating is to know where it comes from, know the people who raise it and know how they raise it," Hutchins says. "And we don't sell any product where we aren't there handing it over to the customer."

The Hutchins family does all the work on the ranch, from milking the goats and gathering eggs to processing the chickens. Visitors to Rehoboth can purchase the meats, dairy products and eggs in the ranch's store, but the majority of business is done at farmers markets in Dallas, McKinneyand Coppell. The family initially thought that their business could be supported by consumers driving out to their farm, but they soon realized that they needed to get closer to them. And the strategy worked. Hutchins says, "I can plot the weekly sales from all the farmers markets, since the beginning, and the growth is very consistent.

"People are starting to rightfully deduce that there is a definite connection between the foods we eat and our overall health," he says. By eating grass-fed meats, he says, consumers can avoid the antibiotics, growth hormones and other questionable additives found in conventionally raised animals. "Someday I think we'll look back on this period of history and say that we were very ignorant and barbaric about the things we offered to the general public to eat."

Hutchins says whether one believes that animals evolved or were intelligently designed, modern agricultural trends are a problem because either way we're using technology to tamper with the natural order of things.

"We're not opposed to technology," he says. At Rehoboth they use computers extensively, modern electric fencing, and e-mail newsletters to keep in touch with their customers. "We're just for the appropriate application of technology."

One of the biggest problems that farmers like Hutchins faces is that a lot of historical knowledge has been lost over the years. They have to rediscover successful farming methods from the past. "Things that we're trying to do without chemicals people used to know how to do," he says. But over the years agriculture grew dependent on modern innovations. "We have to pick up things along the way. One person told us, 'I remember hearing that you can worm pigs with wood ashes.' And by golly, sure enough you can!"

They use electric fences to enforce rotational grazing. All the grazing area on the 300 acres is divided up into small paddocks. The animals are allowed to graze in one paddock only for a few days before they are moved to the next area, which allows the freshly grazed and recently fertilized grass to rest before it is grazed again.

Hutchins wasn't born into farming. "You'd have to go back to my great-grandfather to find someone in my family who made their living in agriculture," he says. After spending more than 20 years in the defense industry, he decided to leave the corporate world behind. But the first few years on the ranch weren't easy.

"Becoming financially viable was a lot slower process than I would have thought," he says. "And it took a lot more of my savings than I'd imagined. But it is worth it to be working with my family and not have to live the stressful corporate existence."

Each year Hutchins sees more people who are interested in Rehoboth's products. "I think this trend will continue to grow until it significantly damages the established mainstream food infrastructure," he says. "This year, for the first time, we have competitors at the farmers markets. But the whole market grows like a rising tide. The demand and the supply grow at a reasonably balanced rate."

And when asked about the long-term prospects for his business and those like him, he says, "So long as the mainstream food supply remains corrupt, our outlook looks bright. And the government hasn't disappointed me yet." Daniel Rodrigue

Which is worse? Gas station hot dogs that are overcooked, all dried out and leathery like big, fat Slim Jims? Or a gas station that never keeps its hot-dog cooker stocked, so the hot dogs are always back on the part where it says you can't eat them yet? On the Run is one of the city's busiest gas station/lifestyle centers, and they do a great job with the dogs. You have your choice between condiments in packets or from stainless containers, with both yellow and spicy brown mustard—a nice touch! Buns are kept fresh and plump in a steam drawer. OK, the hotdogs aren't exactly made from organic, grass-fed beef. But be honest with yourself. That's not what you were going for anyway, is it? Open 24/7.

Sometimes you don't want snazzy décor or a big dining room filled with fashionable souls. You just want some good ethnic food in a little, low-key joint. If this is you, Star of Siam is your place. The family eatery is small (and so is the parking lot), and it's best to bring cash. The pad kee mao, a signature Thai stir-fried noodle dish, is incredibly flavorful here. The broad, flat rice noodles are mixed with bean sprouts and meat or tofu and soaked in a delicious sauce of lime juice, ground red chili and fresh basil. There's nothing like it, especially combined with the yummy tom kha soup and distinctive Thai/Lao dish called larb, minced chicken with a smattering of delectable spices.

The flatiron steak here is sure to curl your toes. It's a quantum leap richer than most steaks, woven as it is with a harness of fat that melts and leaches into the meat fibers. It relegates the bulk of prime beef to the sub market sector in one clean cut. It's called akaushi beef—allegedly a few cuts above prime, and this meat is so lustrous and rich, so rippled with complex layers of flavor tethered to smooth textures, it's like eating foie gras. It sweats an extracted nuttiness not unlike a dry-aged rib eye—an arresting plate of rich meat that is so creamy you'll want to shuck the steak knife and opt for a straw.

Over at La Cubanita, Alberto Lombardi's new Cuban "concept" restaurant, they're a bit goo-goo over guava. It seems like any time you ask your server, "Hey what's in this that makes it taste so good?" the answer is "guava." You name it: appetizers, side dishes—even La Cubanita's ribs have guava sauce. But it works, so who's complaining? The guava's sweet, juicy innards work best, in fact, in the pasteles de guayaba y queso, a dessert that should never work but does. The recipe starts with a typical Latin pastry, a sort of semi-sweet turnover, which is filled with cream cheese and guava compote. It's heated, so the cheese hits that nice, almost liquid consistency, and the heat brings out the guava's unique flavor. The turnover is then topped with ice cream, making the whole luscious thing a sort of Cuban version of apple pie, but with a guava-y twist. Try one with a café Cubano—a sweetened espresso they make expertly at La Cubanita—and you'll be happy. Fat, but happy.