Ouisie's Table serves a world-class chicken-fried steak -- without a doubt, one of the best in Texas. But it's available only on Tuesdays, when the Southern-fried specialist makes her weekly appearance. The sides are usually mashed potatoes, a vegetable such as mustard greens and custardy corn pudding. The undulating golden-brown crust is so perfect that the cream gravy is astutely served on the side. For maximum enjoyment, you want to pour the gravy at just the right instant; wait too long and the meat is not hot, pour too early and you'll burn your mouth. When your CFS has cooled to the perfect temperature, don't go overboard and pour out the whole gravy boat -- start modestly with a couple of tablespoons on one corner of the battered steak. That way each bite is not only swaddled in the salty warmth of cream gravy and savory meat juice, it's also still nice and crunchy.

So it's a chichi hotel -- the Four Seasons still makes a mean Bloody, equally adept at killing a hangover as slaking a fierce thirst on a hot day. The house vodka, though a little too carefully measured for our taste, is Smirnoff -- not some generic brand. Made from a homemade mix and served in a tall glass, this Bloody Mary is lively without ransacking your mouth. Flecks of pepper and zesty horseradish accompany every sip. At $6.25, these aren't the cheapest Bloodies in town, but they do come with complimentary olives and nuts. After draining a few, you may be ready to move on to the Beluga Malassol caviar for $75 an ounce.

So your sinuses are stuffed and you can't breathe. You feel like hell, and don't want to cook. Call Niko Niko's and order some lemon chicken soup to go. The steam will clear up your sinuses. The strips of chicken will make you feel like you're getting some protein. The rice in the soup will fill you up. And the lemon -- well, the lemon just adds that magical, antibacterial zest that will wake up your sick, sleepy taste buds.

"You eat there?" most people ask. Yes, we eat there. Most people go to Brasil for coffee or Hawaiian Punch-like hibiscus tea, but we always order the same thing: the spicy chicken salad sandwich. Most chicken salad sandwiches are little more than shredded, mashed-up chicken mixed with mayonnaise. Boring. This one is delicious. They serve it on French bread or focaccia, and add poblano peppers, cilantro, pumpkin seeds and jicama (which Webster's says is "a starchy tuberous root from a tropical American vine). We don't know what they do to it. It's served with crunchy bagel chips (which make you feel healthier) and yummy mini-pickle things (gherkins). We always order a tall bottle of Pepsi (because drinking from the glass bottle makes us feel like we're in the '50s.) Brasil has got a nice shady outside area where you can eat. You can sit there, read the Press, eavesdrop on the freaky people sitting next to you or watch what's happening on Westheimer.

Darkened windows prevent you from seeing inside this tiny storefront restaurant next to the Diho Market in the "new" Chinatown. You might even think it's closed. But open the door and you'll discover a hidden treasure. All dumplings are handmade to order, so it takes a little time. While fried dumplings are available, it is the steamed variety that brings up memories of authentic flavors. First you'll be treated to complimentary hot tea, and then, depending on the whim of the owner, either a bowl of mixed spicy, pickled cabbage and a sweet cabbage slaw with a distinct mustard flavor, or a Chinese bread in the shape of a large Mexican churro with the consistency of a doughnut. Dumpling varieties include pork (ten for $2.95), vegetarian, beef or chicken (ten for $3.95) and shrimp (ten for $4.55). Combination plates also can be prepared. Half the fun of eating dumplings is creating your own sauce from the rice vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil and homemade hot chili sauce provided on each table.:

It's a wonder traffic doesn't grind to a halt as the luxury SUV crowd does a double-take at the competing Starbucks stores at the corners of West Gray at Shepherd. After all, they just need their mid-afternoon java jolt -- not another decision to make. We'll make it easy for them. While chanting, "I brake for coffee," pull into the drive-thru. The very reason for coffee is to get moving, and the reason for a drive-thru is to keep moving, so the choice is a no-brainer. Besides, Starbucks' newest pit stop in its revolutionary road test also sports an eye-opening, nostalgic Jetsons design. Bathed in white and outfitted in chrome, the vintage '60s bank building is the latte of Starbucks, not to be confused with the house blend across the street.

These days the Blue Agave, with its tight T-shirted waitresses, feels a bit like a high-class Hooters. But that doesn't diminish our fondness for the restaurant's cornflake-fried shrimp "pina" that's much better than its name. Adding to the improbability of this dish are the chunks of pineapple and hot sauce. Trust us. It works.

Irma Galvan, the venerable Tex-Mex diva of the Warehouse District, has dished up a mean enchilada for years. Now, her son, Louis Galvan, is betting on the ballpark to score points for his own downtown enterprise, Irma's Southwest Grill. Sure, the grill part of the name specializes in such fancy fare as catfish, trout or chicken breast, smothered in chipotle sauce and placed on a bed of poblano-garlic mashed potatoes. But creatures of habit -- and you know who you are -- will be thrilled to hear that Irma's tried-and-true enchiladas are still gladly offered. Don't leave without taking a swing at the scrumptious spinach, mushroom and chicken version. Rich and cheesy and studded with big smoky grilled chicken chunks, this south-of-the-border comfort food is worth leaving home plate for.

You probably wouldn't know it to look at it, but this tiny Cuban/Mexican restaurant with a drive-thru offers up the best chicken tortilla soup in the city. Walk inside, though, and you'll see the chickens rotating on the old-fashioned rotisserie, some of which, we're certain, are the base of the stock that gives El Rey's soups its extraordinary depth of flavor. With the addition of tomatoes, chilies, chunks of chicken, corn, cheese and tortilla strips, you've got a soup that for sheer absolute deliciousness will stand up against the most elegant lobster bisque in town.

On those days when Houston's summer refuses to end, when your eyes hurt from too much sunlight and your pores are clogged with sweat, when plastic objects melt on your dashboard, when you see squirrels spread-eagle on the ground, panting, and the neighborhood cats droop nearby, too languid to give chase -- on those days, you need a licuado. For those Mexican fruit smoothies, you should go to Nuo Leon, a neon-teal raspa hut on a bombed-out strip of Houston Avenue. All the varieties -- strawberry, cantaloupe, mango -- are concocted from real fruit, milk and shaved ice, and any one of them will restore both your electrolyte balance and your will to live. But be sure to order the smooth, sweet banana version ($3 for a large), which is topped with a whopping spoonful of cinnamon. That touch of mouth-warming spice complicates the cold, simple fruit drink, adding a touch of mystery and interest. Imagine: something you could rouse yourself to care about, in spite of the heat.