Most people think the key to a perfect chicken salad has to do with the chicken. Most people are wrong. It's the lettuce. We don't really care what kind of lettuce you use, but it must be finely shredded. Not too fine, just make it about the consistency of coleslaw. Kona Grill has that down pat, and it tops the salad with macadamia nut chicken, a handful of crunchy noodles and a very light dressing. Perfection.

Why is something so apparently straightforward as a Caesar salad so difficult to obtain these days? The classic dish, invented in Tijuana, Mexico, in 1924 by Italian restaurateur Caesar Cardini, should ideally be tossed at tableside, using fresh romaine, grated Parmesan, croutons, a dressing made with lemon juice and Worcestershire sauce, and sometimes anchovies, either on the side, or ground into the sauce. Good luck getting it tossed at tableside in the 21st century, or even with romaine, instead of its ubiquitous and horrid iceberg cousin, the bland bane of foodies everywhere. Usually what you get in restaurants is some bizarre variation on the original, with anything from nachos and corn to seared ahi and "Southwest-style dressing." (Blech!) The one place in the Valley that you can rely on to deliver a solid Caesar is Durant's, the dark, red-velvet-lined chophouse, which since 1950 has fed everyone from John Wayne and Marilyn Monroe to the late senator Barry Goldwater, and the still-kickin' Senator John McCain. At least Durant's uses romaine, and the waiters won't look at you funny if you ask for anchovies. Is that so much to ask from other eateries, we wonder? Apparently so. Readers' Choice: Oregano's Pizza Bistro

We slither all over the Valley, looking for the very tastiest snails -- and always leaving a moist, weary trail of disappointment behind. Or at least we did, until Gregory's World Bistro began serving its mind-bendingly delicious escargot phyllo purses. There's nothing freeze-dried about these garden bandits, which are wisely served with tender wild mushrooms and spiced with tasty basil pesto, then swaddled in garlic butter and wrapped in a teeny clutch of phyllo. At only 10 bucks a pop, we're tempted to make them an entree. Usually, we settle for pairing them with Gregory's seared foie gras and a glass of Pinot and calling it supper.

We confess that we dine at My Florist Caf almost more often than we do in our own home, in part because we find its version of comfort food so, well, comforting. And we're profoundly comforted every time we dip into a plate full of My Florist's tasty baked oatmeal. Who knew that rolled oats, brown sugar, and a pinch of nutmeg could make for such a flavorsome, almost dessert-like breakfast food? Topped with sour apple slices and swaddled in a tart, creamy yogurt sauce, this is a morning meal that puts the rest of the day to shame.

My Florist's baked oatmeal is even better than Mom's. Or would be, if Mom had ever made the attempt.

The status of appetizers has changed in American restaurants. It used to be that most starters were mild-mannered offerings, designed to keep diners quiet while the kitchen had time to work on the main event. Appetizers used to be little more than tossed salad, soup, deep-fried veggies and, in a nice place, perhaps a shrimp cocktail.

Today, in good restaurants, appetizers are works of art. They're prepared as meticulously and creatively as entrees -- sometimes even more so.

At Ridge Cafe, however, appetizers aren't just as elaborate as entrees, they're almost as big -- at half the price of a full dinner.

The chefs here serve up a generous asparagus and shrimp combo, with beautiful veggies served cool and crisp under two truly jumbo shrimp in a tidy, red onion and dill vinaigrette. What could be better than a massive chile relleno, a pristine pasilla pepper in lacy batter stuffed with whole mushroom, chicken breast and jack cheese? And how about a mussel appetizer, bringing a generous baker's dozen of bivalves in a savory white wine, tomato, garlic and fennel broth?

A few slices of bread, a glass of wine, and there's simply no room left in our bellies. Change is good, we've been told. We have to agree.

It's all a matter of priorities. Do you want to live 90 years eating Dairy Queen, or 40 years eating Ritter's? When given the choice to Live (fat) Free or Die, we and our Dionysian fat friends invariably choose the latter. Ritter's gourmet custard (glorified ice cream) is sumptuous, voluptuous and fat on rich flavor. This strangely retro little malt shop in Gilbert offers daily specials that, cumulatively, are now referred to by area residents as "Murderer's Row."

All couscous is not created equal. Some are achingly dry, like herby dust. Some are sadly sodden, like seasoned moss. Some, like the kind served at Bravo Bistro, are spectacular.

Bravo's couscous is Moroccan, which means it's larger and moister than the tiny seffa variety served around town. These caper-size beauties pop in the mouths, exploding with wholesome, grainy goodness. Bravo serves this dish with sautéed grilled chicken and fresh vegetables in an aromatic herb broth.

It's the couscous we choose.

Why are pizzas in New York so insanely large? It's not like there's a lot of spare room in this crowded city. The typical Gotham City pie is so immense that even someone the size of the Statue of Liberty would have difficulty scarfing down more than a few slices.

But the real head-scratcher is why many of the pizzas found in the Valley are such dainty little numbers. This is the land of wide-open spaces, where tough-talking cowboys cuddle with rattlesnakes and keep company with scorpions. Yet here, thin crust rules, slices require just one hand, and many places top their pizzas with -- gasp! -- designer stuff like barbecue sauce, feta, goat cheese and shrimp.

When we're craving good, old-fashioned New York-style pie, we pick Pizzafarro's. There's nothing shy about these servings -- the 16-inch large is enough to feed a family of four. Pillowy-crusted slices are enormous. We can fold them for easier eating, but if we don't want delicious pizza oil dripping down our fronts, we're looking at using a knife and a fork.

Pizzafarro's doesn't believe in frou-frou, either. All our favorite toppings are there (even fresh anchovies), but the only nods to contemporary cuisine are artichokes and green chile.

Back up the SUV and fold down the seats. We're going to pick up a pie from Pizzafarro's.

Readers' Choice for Best Gourmet Pizza: Pizzeria Bianco

Readers' Choice for Best Classic Pizza: Pizza Hut

This primo pie is not for wimps. The large pie (18 inches) is about two and a half inches thick, and weighs almost 20 pounds. The big and tall men among us may be able to wrestle the huge slice into their mouths, but the rest of us are forced to use utensils to avoid muscle strain in our elbows.

At Western, there's no skimping on toppings -- bubbly-crisp dough groans under the weight of barbecue chicken breast with pine nuts, or spinach, feta, olive, sun-dried tomato and pesto. The best seller is the Western Round-Up, with mushroom, pepperoni, salami, ham, peppers and onions (the meat is layered high and thin like a hoagie, then buried under a truckload of mozzarella).

And we like Western Pizza for its hours. It's not only open until 3 a.m. Thursdays through Saturdays (1 a.m. other days), it delivers until then, too. That's pretty macho.

After eating too many fair-to-middling versions of this Greek standard to remember, we were inclined to agree with Tina Turner when she sang. "We don't need another gyro."

Or something like that.

Of course, that was before we discovered the Hellenic heroes served up at Super Gyros. A two-handed feast of Olympian proportions, the generous mound of pressed lamb and beef is so juicy, we actually forget there's a side container of wonderful yogurt dressing until we're halfway through.

But don't you make the same mistake: As the sauce succulently soaks into the hot pita bread, it lends a tangy kick to the feta-topped meat that's fit for the gods. Super Gyro? Don't myth it.