Boston

We're at the popular "funky indie diner with interpretations of Chinese, Taiwanese, Thai and Vietnamese specialties." It's Myers + Chang in Boston's South End, a place we've been wanting to try. Friendly help seat us at a sunny table overlooking Washington Street. It's cozy, evoking a nice diner, and we like the zippy tunes. The bar shows lots of sake and Asian teas.

I'm up for Chinese chicken salad which now makes all other salads with mayo ho-hum. Who doesn't love cashews, orange and crispy wontons piled high with citrus vinaigrette? It's nuo'c cha'm sauce with heat. Our wait person is pointing out which items are three star, meaning really hot. The health coach wants Thai chicken salad with lemongrass, mint, cilantro and rice noodles tossed in fish sauce and lime dressing. This one has toasted rice, nothing like breakfast cereal because it's very crunchy. Both salads carry one-star heat and they're just hot enough to be fun.

It's Thursday, it's late and we parked blocks away because the lot is full at Steel & Rye. We're good though; one of us thought to make a reservation so we're seated right away. The room, formerly a warehouse with 20-foot ceilings and huge windows in 7,000 square feet, is noisy and fun. This is a light supper night in an eclectic American setting and we're casual, having come from dance classes, but it doesn't matter at all.

Hungry as hippos after a big tap-out, now we have our menu and we're breaking out the flashlights. It's weird because you can't call it dark exactly and you better not call us old. I should have taken the menu because what's online is a "sampling of our offerings" since the selections change nightly.

We start with Domaine Pichot Vouvray. It's light and raisin-y with a tart apple finish. Good choice because now we're digging into cream-based squash soup with pomegranate. I'm finding ginger, maybe pumpkin, and apples. No clue what's making it so light and fluffy. (You'll see mushroom soup with duck and eggs for $11). We use brown bread to mop up; it's what they call in New England anadama bread which usually means wheat flour, cornmeal and molasses. Anadama bread turned up in Rockport, MA in the mid-1800s. Smooshed along the steel plate, the butter's filled with salt crystals and from the bottom of my heart, thank you, Steel & Rye for no olive oil, no honeyed spread and no hummus - it's just butter.

Boston's City Landing is across from Marriott Long Wharf and down the block from ferries that will zip you to P-Town. Outside, miss not a minute of tourist central with concierges, ferry blasts, street vendors, the Rose Kennedy Greenway, Aquarium sharks and views of other people's boats. Inside, according to Worth.com last year, the aptly named City Landing is a power lunch stop. It's Sunday, there don't seem to be any deals in the making but if you want to show me the money, I'm in.

We understand you're sightseeing at Faneuil Hall but eschew fast food and come over for real lunch. This is summer in the city fine dining even in sneakers. We're at the window with an eye on street drama of which there is plenty and though we cannot hear, we can read lips. We're having lunch: Roseanna's crab salad is topped with avocado, egg, fennel, bacon and tomato. It's easy being green here. She's clever, ordering a side of sweet potato fries. It turns out fries are the best and there are almost enough of them.

When I don't know what to have, which actually happens a lot, you can always get my attention with soft shell crabs. We had them as kids and then it was a short season, just August. Now they're served all the time and since I'm never going to make them at home again ever, what I want is a crab sandwich from someone else's kitchen. I remember them as being lunch but they're a snack. Yes, the crab is fine and yet I'm still hungry.

A long time ago, in the previous century before sushi was ubiquitous - although it was making headway piece by piece - I was introduced by my friend Liz to an up-and-comer named Jae who was doing Korean with sushi on Columbus Avenue in the South End. He then took it to the suburbs, similar but not matching, at the Atrium Mall in Newton where the crowd was nothing like Boston's. My friend Eddie, who was the Atrium store manager, would tell me about people who came without reservations and when they heard it was a 45-minute wait, were sad. But they waited, all right, yes, they did.

We had many meals at Jae's Atrium. It's where we learned how to drink as bartenders coached which wine went with everything. It's where we had our first bibimbap and kimchi. If we had colds we downed their radish, cabbage, cucumber, spinach, bean sprouts, scallions, garlic, chili peppers, seaweed, mushrooms and lotus root soup. My mother and I were there one Sunday at the bar eating sushi and just as she's asking for a fork, who walks in but Jae.

They're still rolling up fine fish on Columbus Ave. Julie and I are here for lunch. Everything is as we remember: artwork, aquarium, maybe Brazilian jazz, and bottles of Champagne along with smart, smart help. It's 90 degrees so we pass on the patio and eat ourselves silly inside by the window.