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.

Garland may not be so small-town anymore, but it still knows comfort food as well as any farming town. More specifically, the GoldMine Family Restaurant knows its "chicken fry." Fried chicken? Sure. Fried okra? Of course. But the real gem of the golden battered is the chicken-fried steak. These babies aren't frozen wholesale steaks; they're fresh cuts dredged in a homemade batter that allows for an outer crispiness, while the steak inside is fork-tender. The cream gravy is smooth, not too thick and doesn't overwhelm the meat. The partnership is perfect--both gravy and steak are flavorful, achieving a grand and comforting harmony on the tongue.

One of our fave joints in the "window to weight gain" category. (Simpson's joke. Sorry. We're weak.) A neighborhood treasure near Southern Methodist University, Bubba's serves fowl that is by no means foul. (We can't stop with the puns, though!) When we attended SMU, we used to go there to watch the co-eds pound down the meaty chicken, the huge rolls and the accompanying gravy, then wonder how many years it would be before that all showed up in their thighs. All our guesses proved wrong. Liposuction, you know. But we digress. This excellent chicken joint is the place to go when burgers get dull. The side veggies don't always stand up to the winged bird they serve, but if it's chicken you're after, Bubba's does it right.

No, we're not talking about the icky-sweet stuff in iridescent colors that we pulled from wooden crates at the family reunion when we were kids. This is the adult version of cherry soda: not too sweet, just the right amount of carbonation, sold in real bottles, with a luscious, deep-purple hue and flavor that bears some resemblance to an actual fruit. Though IBC, better known for its root beer, has its roots in St. Louis, its sodas are now bottled right here in Plano, and IBC black cherry flavor is so much better than the mass-market brands' cherry concoctions. If you haven't had cherry soda since you were 6, it's time to reacquaint your taste buds.

Back in the day, before we had spouses and 'sponsibility, the Metro was our home-away-from; we gave out its number as our own, the way old New York journos in the '50s passed off a bar's digits whenever they needed to be found in the wee small hours of the morning...or midafternoon. We lived beneath the dim flicker of the Metro's fluorescents; we puffed upon our coffin nails and choked down our caffeine while the jukebox murmured the bruised blues of Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf. We scarfed down our scrambled eggs and toast and crisp bacon and hash browns at 3 p.m., usually at 3 a.m. We watched our colleagues and friends and absolute strangers (they who live at the counter, propping up their weary frames after a likely trundle over from nearby Baylor) dine upon grilled-cheese sandwiches or pecan waffles or chicken-fried delights. We read, we wrote, mostly we all just talked till the cigarettes ran out or the coffee pot went dry. That was before the redo a few years ago, before they cleaned up the joint--which, as far as we're concerned, is like polishing the Hope diamond. We may be more settled (or maybe some of us just settled), but still the Metro beckons. We may not go as late or as often, but we go when we can--during that witching hour, usually, when the sky looks overcast even on a cloudless day. We'll be against one of the windows, smoking and drinking coffee and dipping biscuits into running eggs as we watch the world hustle to a crawl. Join us, yes, but leave us alone. We shall return the favor. It's the Metro's way.

Politics and food are inextricably entwined. Food is the staff of political oratory, the mother's milk of stump rhetoric, the fruit of floor harrumphing. The French recognized this intimate relationship more than two centuries ago when Marie Antoinette famously remarked: "If the people have no bread, then let them eat cake." Historians doubt she ever said this, but she lost her head over it anyway during the French Revolution. French President Charles De Gaulle remarked on this intimacy more than a century later. "How can you govern a country which has 246 varieties of cheese?" he asked. Even the Germans, not known for their culinary deftness, felt the need to comment on the linkage. "To retain respect for sausages and laws, one must not watch them in the making," Chancellor Otto Von Bismarck said.

This synergy isn't lost on Americans either. "Now I'm president of the United States, and I'm not going to eat any more broccoli," President George H. W. Bush promised after his election in 1988.

In Dallas, perhaps no one understands the relationship between food and politics better than Mark Maguire, founder and operator of Maguire's Regional Cuisine and M Grill & Tap. Maguire, who has toyed with the idea of running for public office, is deeply enmeshed in the political processes on all levels: federal, state and local. "When I see opportunities to make things better, I get more fired up about getting involved," Maguire says. "Every single thing that happens with regard to regulation or ordinance has a more powerful effect on our business because of the way we are set up."

From health and environmental regulation, to employment law, to "sin" regulations, to zoning and signage ordinances, virtually everything government does can give restaurateurs indigestion, Maguire says. The reason: Restaurant operations are profoundly labor intensive, requiring a greater number of employees to generate a given level of income than most other businesses.

But while he visits Washington on a regular basis, he says restaurant issues on the national level are under control in the fists of the National Restaurant Association. "My involvement really is directed at trying to strengthen our industry when it comes to being at the table with the city and state folks," he adds. Sort of. In Austin, Maguire says, restaurateurs make up one of the three most powerful lobbies in the state. In Dallas? "Obviously there are a lot of frustrations," he admits. Even though the restaurant industry is one of the top contributors to local tax coffers and the largest employer next to government, restaurateurs are routinely dissed by City Hall, he maintains. "It's not necessarily about what you provide to the city; it's about how big a hammer you bring to the table," he says. "They have a perception of our industry that it is weak and disorganized."

Maguire doesn't dispute this assessment. He says the industry in Dallas lacks cohesion and focus, but he attributes it to the nature of the business, with its long hours and slender margins.

This lack of a united front was most conspicuously evident in the industry's fight against the Dallas smoking ban, a move Maguire insists cost him and his fellow operators thousands of dollars in revenue as smokers headed to outlying areas where they could puff freely. "We have to fight much harder on the city level," he laments. "It's more intense. I don't mind saying that I think the way our city government is set up is an absolute mess." The mess, he says, stems from a structure that produces a relatively weak mayor and a moribund city council profoundly absorbed with infighting and vote-trading to shore up individual fiefdoms. The big Dallas picture gets lost.

Maguire even hints that City Hall is infected with duplicity. "They will look us in the eye and tell us one thing and then do something completely different," he says. "It's gotten to a really negative situation here in Dallas. I don't think they care about us...Laura Miller is on her high horse looking down at the restaurant industry."

On the national level, Maguire says, his colleagues largely toe a pro-business line, not surprising as the intensive nature of the business means tighter regulations and steeper taxes almost always inflict pain on existing operators while they raise entrance barriers to fresh blood. "An extremely large majority of our industry is more leaning toward Bush and the Republican side just for that reason," he says. Maguire worries a Kerry administration might give a significant boost to living-wage proponents, who wish to set the minimum wage well above $10 per hour. "That would be devastating to our industry," he says.

Albert Einstein once said an empty stomach is not a good political adviser, which is why hotel and restaurant lunches and dinners are the bread of political campaigns and political action committees. Maguire hosts many of these events. And it's a safe bet he keeps the menu clear of French cheese.

Yeah, it's a chain, but the brothers have bagels down. Besides having a wide assortment of bagels made the way a bagel should be made (not dried out and airy, but moist and chewy), they also sell great breakfast and other bagel sandwiches. Our fave on a Sunday morning: an "everything" bagel loaded with cream cheese. Salty goodness along with strong coffee and a fat Sunday newspaper. Suh-weet.