Two veterans of Per Se are cooking up a Thai family legend at Uncle Boons.

          If you hit the InsatiableCritic link every Monday to find out what dishes I’ve swooned over or, at least, couldn’t wait to taste again, you’ll know I fell for the feverish chicken and banana blossom salad at Uncle Boons (7 Spring Street). You might remember excessive murmurs and moans for the foie gras gyoza and shrimp almondine that drew me back for an encore at Cherry. The unexpected sensuality of red walls and low-slung velvet chairs won me too. Not a lot of new spots strike me as that sexy (355 West 16th Street).

          At Saka Mai, a blur of uni and caviar on creamy scrambled eggs along with fried chicken in a splash of lush sauce and unusual crudi, helped me forget the torture of the backless bench the hostess chose for us (157 Ludlow Street).  I’ve been all the way to Spring Street twice to eat crudi and beef at Costata twice. I guess I must like it (206 Spring Street).

          Those were reviews meant to get you out of the comfort zone of your own zip code and on the road, in some cases -- but worth the detour. I expect to return myself. Alas, the nature of my self-appointed task means I am forced to keep wandering like a hungry pilgrim, checking out what’s new. But I can only take so many indfferent meals in a row. About once a week, I need a spot nearby for a meeting, or a restaurant for friends who have already put up with a few too many strikeouts.  Then I choose a place I love that I know I can count on.

          Sometimes, one of my early discoveries gets a few Times stars and instantly becomes too difficult to book. Or the price of the commute is ridiculous.  I can’t just slide into Saka Mai as easily as I do Salumeria Rosi (283 Amsterdam at 73rd Street), a block from my office on the Upper West Side. It can cost $60 round trip for a taxi, or two subway changes to reach the Lower East Side.

          But perversely, I don’t think about the taxi toll or the crush when I’m headed to ABC Kitchen (35 East 18th Street, 212 475 5829). I confess I use my name to reserve, although I’d consider walking in for a seat in the bar. Depending on my mood, I might favor a ginger margarita or a glass of Spanish red. I persuade my friends we need a pizza and a crudo. I never cease to be amazed by what chef de cuisine Dan Kluger is doing with market vegetables. After two or three waves of small dishes, I’m not interested in an entrée. But I’m never too full or too jaded to skip the salted caramel sundae with popcorn, peanuts and midnight chocolate sauce. A double or triple size bowl is perfect for four of us. 35 East 18th Street. 212 475 5829

          I need a Red Farm fix at least once a month. Again, terminal taxi woes are forgotten. A need is a need. I know there may be dozens of fans, even a hundred or more stashed in nearby bars waiting for tables to turn.  Co-owner Eddie Schoenfeld has said he tries to treat everyone the same, though he treats friends a little bit better. What can I say? I reach for the plum.

          Inevitably I’ll share the eggplant and smoked salmon bruschetta, and three or four or five of dim sum wizard Joe Ng’s inventions.  Then, depending on the whims of my companions, I might order the Chinese chicken salad, rice noodles with grilled duck, the sizzling steak rare or eggplant and okra curry if I’m with my vegetarian niece. Last week Eddie urged us to try crusty shrimp-stuffed chicken, a new dish. It’s now a must-have.

          At any moment, Red Farm upstairs will close for a kitchen rehab, moving the action downstairs to even smaller Decoy in the former laundromat. Best call first. 529 Hudson Street. 212 792 2900. No, I don’t know when Red Farm will open on the UWS. Eddie insists he doesn’t know either.

          When I’m plotting to impress and excite sophisticated friends, I manage to get myself to Empellón Cocina on the Lower East Side. I start with a house margarita because it’s guaranteed to be simple and perfect, unlike the weird mezcal offerings dosed with exotica I have never heard of. I can’t imagine an evening here without the haunting roasted carrot salad with mole, and the pistachio studded guacamole to pile on unusual, almost tweedy crisps by Lauren Resler. I might want the run of Chef Alex Stupak’s thrilling salsas, even if I’m the only one at my table brave enough to pile on the hottest habanero. Then, I’ll look for a dish I’ve never tasted before. There’s always something new. 105 First Avenue.  212 780 0999

          After too many mediocre research meals, I head for Wong, the small storefront for Asian roaming dreamed up by Chef Simpson Wong after many months of globe-trotting. What emerges from this small open kitchen has never failed to excite me. I’m in a rut, a joyous rut actually. I always start with the shrimp fritters, turnip cake, and duck buns. I usually finish with the lobster egg fu yung and gummy rice noodles with pork and sea cucumber. In between I let chef de cuisine Blake Joyal send out whatever’s new.  Saturday was Joyal’s last day before returning to Charleston, where he hopes to set up a place of his own. Soon enough, we’ll see what that means. 7 Cornelia Street. 212 989 3399

          It’s rare that a restaurant goes from just okay to shockingly good.  More often rave reviews and indifference take a toll. But En Japanese Brasserie is that miracle. What launched as a Japanese pub is now a celebration of kaiseki ambition. It’s the same young chef in charge, Hiroki Abe. He has come of age on this dark, dramatic, glass-wrapped corner.  Six of us discovered the new ambition one evening at dinner and a friend and I returned for the chef’s special tasting, the last Tuesday of every month: Just-made tofu. Lobster steaming in parchment paper for a shabu shabu. A small river crab smoked before our eyes. Live scallops doused with lime. Another friend and I rode the roller coaster two weeks ago, just ordering off the menu, starting with spring vegetables in gell…sipping sake…feeling transported to Tokyo. 435 Hudson Street 212 647 9196