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.

This exotically erotic gulper is a libido depth charge with a little proof pumped in to facilitate heady reflection. The potion consists of uni (sea urchin roe), ponzu sauce, tobiko caviar (flying fish eggs) and either Hennessey or Rémy Martin XO cognac kicked with lime juice. The ingredients are layered in a cordial glass and topped with chopped scallions. Throw it back, swallow hard and smile.

If you don't lurch for this one, you'll certainly lurch afterward if you're still conscious. Hurricanes are terrifyingly furtive beverages, unleashing their rum pestilence long after you've removed your socks to keep your drink tally straight. But the Hurricane Grill multiplies this unseemly horror with the Category 5: a 45-ounce hurricane served on the rocks or frozen. They say it's designed for two or more, but we know that once the wind kicks in, it usually blows this rum jumble up one straw and into one mouth. This violent tropical quencher in pinkish fruity hues is enough to make your head hum like an old transformer. It's smooth, balanced and refreshing, so it coddles you while it messes with your brain cells, the ones you need for remembering your name and address for instance. Just pray there's an eye in this Category 5 so you can remember where the rest room is.

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.

Give us no doughnuts, bagels or bear claws. It ain't breakfast without at least one chicken ovum. We prefer a large meal of eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes and other artery-clogging dishes, but most days, time constraints demand a meal that demands no flatware. To other one-handed breakfast eaters, we recommend the Meeker--an egg, juicy ham, cheese, a slice of ripe tomato, firm cucumber and a sprinkling of scallions on a puffy croissant. It's tasty but not time-consuming, early-morning heaven. Named for a frequent breakfast-sandwich patron, the Meeker Special has become a favorite of downtown denizens.

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.

At some restaurants, the aromas of the cuisine being prepared inside slap you in the face when you walk through the door. But Baker's Ribs is different; the odors of this barbecue joint sneak up on you. Sure, you can smell the various meats being carved and chopped and sliced, but it's not an assault. It's an inviting, appetizing scent that gets the lips a-smackin'. What you don't realize, however, is that as you sit in Baker's Ribs, enjoying your beef and sausage with two sides of your choice, every fiber of your clothing is soaking up the aromas inside, so that by the time you've finished off your complimentary ice cream cone, you smell as if you've been slow-smoked for days and dipped in a vat of barbecue sauce. It's worth it, though, 'cause this is damn fine barbecue.

Younger sibling to Sol's Taco Lounge in Deep Ellum and older kin of the Sol's Cocina in Plano, this Mockingbird outpost bags brawny tacos, enchiladas, tostadas, tamales and burritos with lots of refried beans and tri-color chips to help chalk the entrées to your gullet. The food is always hot, ample, done up right and quick.

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 spicy Greek pizza at this takeout-only spot near Lakewood is the best excuse to forgo pepperoni in town: crisp crust with a garlic-olive oil base, mozzarella, seasoned chicken, kalamata olives, tomatoes, red onions, pepperoncinis and feta cheese. Owners Omar Dibe and his wife, Sadie Ayers, opened shop last spring and offer traditional Italian pizza as well, but their Lebanese-inspired pies are standouts: Try rosemary chicken, margarita and ardalino with baked eggplant slices. Dibe and Ayers are beefing up their imaginative menu all the time. They've just added oven-baked paninis, subs, pita wraps and gyros. Order and take home, or slip into Lota's Goat next door for some liquid and musical accompaniment.