Why wings? Simple answer: Because it's the only part of the chicken that still tastes like chicken. We've had enough of boneless, skinless, lifeless, loveless chicken breasts; of chicken parts larded with slimy globules of yellow fat. So we've developed a taste for wings. We kind of get a kick out of pulling little strands of meat and crispy skin off the bones, as long as no one is looking. And while the Dallas area has some respectable wing outlets, such as M.D. Plucker's on Upper Greenville, where people actually wait your table, we settled on Buffalo Wild Wings in Grand Prairie, mostly because of the zingy sauces. Our favorite was a hot-and-spicy Caribbean Jerk sauce, but other winners included the super-hot (but edible) "blazin'" sauce and a mild teriyaki. They also serve up an excellent charbroiled hamburger and something called "boneless wings"--basically, small chicken tenders that kind of look like wings.

The Green Room, a small and very loud dining room tucked behind a Deep Ellum saloon, offers a variety of excellent fare, including the very best crème brûlée in Dallas. The perfectly balanced, deep smooth pudding beneath a crackly caramelized surface can make you oblivious to any amount of hilarity and mayhem around you.

This exotic confectionery serves up lots of enticing and imaginative flavors of ice cream such as rose geranium blossom, French lavender, red ginger and red port, and orchid vanilla. Palate-cleansing sorbets include margarita; peach and champagne with mint. Available at Whole Foods Markets. Go ahead. Lap a bloom.

So we're having lunch at Taco Diner in the West Village. One in our party--the one who is washing down his lunch with shots of Patron and bottles of Negra Modelo--says, "OK, who wants dessert?" We all shake our heads and moan. Who eats desserts these days? They're full of carbs and sugar and sin. We all want to be skinny when we die. Look good in the casket. This gentleman then likens us to female genitalia--not in a complimentary way--and proceeds to order slices of the pastel des tres leches (cake of the three milks) for the table. Not to go all metrosexual on you, but oh...mah...gawd. Moist, slightly sweet, creamy. With a cup of coffee, to die for. And he almost did, on the way home, but that's another story.

Late Pulitzer Prize winning journalist Westbrook Pegler once said that a martini was the meanest, no-damn-goodest mess of rancor ever concocted. More fights and more people get their glasses broken and arrested and divorced on account of martinis than for any other reason. So head on down to Parigi and recoil at one of life's great splashes of rancor. Parigi's martinis are smooth, balanced, and shivering cold with a barely perceptible layer of slush lurking just below the surface. Just make sure you have a good optician, a good lawyer, and enough money to post bond before the shaking starts.

Veggie Garden is Chinese food without livestock or pets. This restaurant serves fare void of animal products, preservatives, food coloring or MSG. Veggies are stir-fried, sautéed and otherwise cooked and sauced with simulated scraps of beef, chicken, pork, shrimp and fish made of soy proteins. Yum yum.

Sliced in smallish rounds, lightly breaded, served on a sour cream sauce sprinkled with diced chives, these fried green tomatoes offer exactly the right combination of garden freshness with batter-fried flavor. Somehow, in spite of all that preparation, these succulent mouthfuls manage to stay firm at the core. They are a perfect expression of the South--juicy but fried--with a sophisticated Bishop Arts flair.

Cuba Libre had its gears ground from the outset with the objective of pulling in and lubricating Dallas' stylish throngs into sultry swarms. The look and feel is addictive. And to keep them there, Cuba Libre has enlisted former We Oui chef Nick Badovinus to seduce the flies with stuff like grilled achiote pork chops on camote-corn hash and roasted banana curry sauce, and citrus tempura battered fish--because nothing's worse than being malnourished when you're trying to do the bar bump.

If you're going to eat ice cream, then damn the health concerns: Head to Marble Slab, which never disappoints. Pimply teenagers scoop the thick, rich ice cream onto a marble countertop, where the customer has a choice of ingredients to have mixed in. The hands-on process is slow but worth it. Lines of enthusiasts can stretch out onto the hot sidewalk--teenagers, stoners, and elderly couples brought together by their love of ice cream. Once you get there, try the coconut-banana flavor. This combination, fairly common in Mexico, is impossible to find anywhere else except this Southwestern chain. What makes it so special is the way the fruit flavors lighten the heavy texture of the high-butterfat ice cream. In other words, it's just the right amount of a good thing.

Yes, the martinis are big and tasty, full of liquid courage that would make Sinatra proud. But that's not all that makes the Ranch worthwhile; it's the incredibly hot cheese that high-heels its way in and out of the Ranch's doors. You've probably often heard of the stereotypical, plastic Dallas look. Go here to see it. Not long ago, we were enjoying a few responsibly consumed adult beverages when a white limo pulled up and let out two big, blond bims and their escort: a balding old man who stood a good foot shorter than the ladies. Maybe it was the 'tini, but we've never laughed so hard. Entertainment that real you can't get from Survivor.