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.

If the ladies talking in thick accents aren't enough to convince you that this place is the real thing in German meat-eating cuisine, just take a look at the extensive menu. It includes things like Schinkenwurst, Kalbsleber and Grobe. We have no idea what any of those things are, but we can salivate over kielbasa, sweet and hot Italian sausages, veal and fresh-baked ham that tastes the way grandma from Slovenia used to make it. There is also the standard selection of pork chops, T-bones and whole chickens sold at prices that compete with Albertson's. This old-fashioned market may be small, but it also carries a selection of hard-to-find items, such as basil pesto mustard and a vast array of French, Italian and Spanish olive oils. For dessert, don't pass up the chance to buy the original Haribo gummi bears and Ritter Sport chocolate bars.

Their motto is "eat like a sultan," and if sultans had to pick up their own trays and silverware, we'd believe it. Start at the beginning and work your way through this beautifully presented buffet of fresh Mediterranean specialties: salads and appetizers such as tabbouleh, fattoush, hummus and baba ghanouj; vegetables such as cilantro zucchini, coriander potatoes, pomegranate eggplant and balsamic mushrooms; and main dishes including beef and chicken shawarma, broiled lamb shank, roasted chicken and kababs. For $10.99 you get Fadi's Ultimate Sampler: a sample portion of all dips, salads, vegetables and one main dish. It's all prepared to accommodate low-fat, low-carb dieters, using no dairy, lard, butter or margarine. Of course, add a piece of baklava or a pistachio cookie and they'll have to roll you out in a wheelbarrow.

The cuisine here is from Northern India, so the flavors are a little subtler than some other establishments. At lunchtime, the buffet is priced right ($5.95), and the food is cooked fresh. The raita (yogurt salad), the nan (puffed bread), the tandoori chicken, the vegetable paneer dishes and the gulab jamun for dessert all make a meal you'll find hard to resist every week. Splurge sometimes and get a cup of the spiced tea, and your bill will still only come to about $8 per person.

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.

Much ado is made of barbecue in Dallas, and it's true that a lot of places roll out a tasty rib platter, but none comes close to the culinary sensations being served up at Peggy Sue BBQ. The spareribs, rubbed in spine-shivering spices and cooked to tender perfection, are a good choice. However, the showstopper is the baby backs, which are cooked in an oh-my-God-this-is-so-sweet-I-have-it-on-my-ears-and-I-don't-care sauce made of maple and brown sugar. Combined with the salty taste of the meat, which falls from the bone, these ribs are as good as it gets.

Any reason to go to the Four Seasons is a good one, unless it's for the Byron Nelson, in which case, ugh. The resort's restaurant, with its towering windows letting in an endless supply of sunshine, gives us the feel-good vibe of getting out of town; it's like being in the Hill Country without the drive and all those damned hippies. We're also partial to the Sunday-morning meal that lasts till noon, and with a spread like this--seafood and sushi among the normal eggs-and-bacon-and-biscuits fare--there's no reason to leave the table till you've had enough to last till Monday; no need for dinner, that's for sure. Also, you don't even need to get a room, unless you've had a few too many Bloody Marys and need to sleep it off. Or you could just go watch some golf downstairs and fall fast asleep, your belly full and mind empty, like you've just been on vacation without having to leave the area code.

Readers' Pick

Blue Mesa Grill

Various locations

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.

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 hamburgers are perfect, throwbacks to the burgers we once bought at a family-run drive-in where everything was made to order--and to a real human being's exacting standards of quality, not a corporate entity that simply ships frozen goodies to a franchisee and its careless staff of teen-agers. But that's not all Culver's, a Wisconsin-based chain, has to offer. There's creamy, freshly made frozen custard, a Midwestern mainstay, available in several flavors (try the peach) and with a couple of dozen toppings, including blueberry, raspberry, blackberry and peanut butter (better than it sounds). The fish and chips ($6.79) tops what you'd get in most sit-down establishments, and Culver's also offers fried Norwegian cod fillets, fried chicken and several sandwiches. Culver's is a little more expensive than your average fast-food joint, but the difference in quality is remarkable.