Home for the holidays. An image that conjures up either nostalgia or terror, and sometimes both. For those who are off to visit the sites of childhood, parental retirement, or sibling settlement, I wish you well, peace on earth, joy to the world, etc., etc. For those away from home who remain behind in the Big Apple, I wish you a season safe from marauding tourists and roving packs of Kris Kringle Klones.

Although I would normally refrain from connecting food and illness, one malady seems fitting at this time of year. An infirmity which strikes when least expected – homesickness. The cure is not to pack your bags and hop on the next bus to the family estate. The reality of home has little to do with the imagined version. Better to hike yourself over to the closest “home-cooking” establishment and inhale the aromas of food that your mom never really did prepare, even though you’re quite sure you remember it that way…

I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to round up the gang and head over to a place called Miss Elle’s Homesick Bar and Grill. It’s not often that we venture to the Upper West Side, but I figured we could always drop in for a set at Stand-Up New York after we dined.

Let me just say I really do mean the following as a compliment. Miss Elle herself greeted us, and as she guided us through the eclectically southern kitsch bar and dining areas, I found myself having visions of Miss Mona and The Chicken Ranch. There was a homey, easy quality about the room that, without being elegant, defines southern charm.

We came in with the expectation that the menu would be loaded with southern fare. While Miss Elle’s certainly serves southern dishes, especially side dishes, the menu is an interesting selection of cross-country entries, plus an entire section devoted to Italian pastas. Although peanut butter and banana (or jelly) sandwiches, chips and dip, beaners and wieners, and the “left-over sandwich (ask!)” provided us with amusing conversational ice-breakers, we decided on slightly more sophisticated sustenance.

Fried calamari was crisp and light, though just slightly over-cooked. Its mild dipping sauce was a nice change from the sweat-inducing condiments generally served with this dish. Cream of mushroom soup was hearty and tasty. And Aunt Sadie’s Chopped Liver was just as I imagine Aunt Sadie made it. Although good, it could have used a little seasoning.

We passed on the Italian fare, which seemed fairly simple, ranging from basic spaghetti and meatballs to fusilli with broccoli and mushrooms in garlic butter, after passing through “Oo-La-La-Lasagana”. I recommend the chicken dishes and the Chicken Française in particular. Lightly breaded and sautéed it was topped with an unusually intense lemon and butter sauce. A butterflied rainbow trout was topped with capers the size of marbles and bits of lemon pulp that, while delicious on their own, overpowered the delicacy of the fish. A grilled tuna steak was simply prepared, and cooked medium – slightly more than we generally like it, but not overdone. Accompaniments incline toward the south with light and fluffy mashed potatoes, carrots slightly candied with cinnamon, sweet potato fries, macaroni and cheese, and fried cauliflower among the offerings.

The dessert list was pure indulgence. Peach pie, berry pie, cheesecake, and banana cream pie all peaked our interest. Our chocoholics opted for the fudge cake, and deemed it a hit. My personal favorite was the harvest pie, a composite of apples, pears, and apricots in a flaky crust with a crumble topping. Warmed with vanilla ice cream on the side, the pies are definite musts. If, for some inexplicable reason, you find yourself on the Upper West Side, Miss Elle’s makes a nice home away from home.

Miss Elle’s Homesick Bar and Grill, 226 West 79th Street (near Broadway), 595-4350. Open 7 days a week for lunch, brunch and dinner. All major credit cards. Lunch $5-15, Brunch $10-15, Dinner $15-25. Free delivery to the Upper West Side.

I wanted to continue our venturing to the far reaches of the East Village, so when I spotted “home-cooking” in a Zagat guide description, we headed for the border of Alphabetland. Billing itself as German-Swiss with a touch of French and Italian, Roettele A.G. conjured a vision that it lived up to. We entered through a narrow foyer with pastry display case and take-out counter. Two long rooms, barely wider than the foyer are dark, with heavy wood beams and paneling. A string trio in traditional suspenders contrasted with dangling silver earrings played bas, fiddle and hammered autoharp in the corner.

A beer and wine list was presented first and included a small but very select group. German beers and wines top the list, a few French and Italian selections follow. We promptly ordered a round or two. The all-around favorite at the table was a Doppel Bokk beer with a name longer than a stretch limo and a rich, smoky and slightly sweet flavor that impressed even our non-beer drinkers. We were also presented with a “fondue” menu, with prix fixe mega-cheese dinners in three varieties. We passed and turned to the regular menu, which changes weekly.

The polyglot menu is a trifle disconcerting with German, French, and Italian lined up in random order, but at least they relate to the origins of the particular dishes they title. English translations are scripted below each. The “vorspelsen”, or appetizers this week covered a mixed salad, a frisée salad with bacon and sausage, a herring and potato salad, onion tart, lentil soup, mozzarella with tomato coulis, duck liver mousse, dried Swiss beef, and melted Belsano cheese with cornichons and boiled potatoes. My personal favorite was the Stuttgarter Zwiebelkuchen, or classic Stuttgart onion tart, which was beautifully presented and savory with sweet onions. Appetizer portions are a bit small given their prices, but the entrées more than make up for the missing volume.

“Hauptapeisen”, or main courses were divided by country, and were more evenly divided among the cuisines. The German dishes were a perfectly cooked, yet very simple, Jagerschnitzel, or veal cutlet with mushroom gravy, a sautéed red snapper in Champagne sauce, and roasted brook trout in Riesling sauce. The Swiss entrée was roasted veal in a white wine cream sauce. Italian fare consisted of a wild porcini risotto and spaghetti with pancetta and peppers in a spicy tomato sauce. From the French came a leg of lamb with sweet garlic flan, a filet mignon with Pinot Noir sauce, and roasted baby chicken with Calvados and cider. Everything we sampled was well cooked, simply presented, and not exceptional. But then that’s what good home cooking is.

We were almost too full for dessert, but managed to nibble at Linzer and Sachertortes. Both were dense and rich, almost to excess, but somehow, just the way I’d want them made at home. Put Roettele A.G. on your must visit list this winter.

Roettele A.G., 126 E. 7th Street (near Avenue A), 674-4140. Closed Sundays.

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!

The world didn’t end. We know that because you’re reading this after October 28, 1992. The Rapture. Judgment Day. With life continuing on, I, for one, am breathing heartfelt sighs of relief. It’s dinner time.

Where to venture, knowing that we just barely squeaked by my final reward? We immediately eliminate any place where the clientele think a budget is something for Congress to play with rather than a personal amusement. Even at the end of the world we have principles. Our favorite cuisines come to mind. French, Japanese, and Italian. All three will have to do.

French restaurants in New York are often so stuffy you just want to yell “Fire” to see if anyone reacts. We prefer somewhere with a little life. Just off Sheridan Square, its awning enclosed by a gaggle of geese or brood of ducks (I’ve never been quite sure which), is La Metairie.

The name translates to something like “sharecropper farm,” which definitely fits the look. The rustic farmhouse guise is encouraging from moment one. The tables are packed a trifle close, which can turn an intimate dinner into a group affair. If you don’t mind sharing airspace with your neighbors, you’ll love it.

There is something to be said for haute cuisine with delicate portions and dainty sauces. Admittedly, I’m generally not the one to say it. I like food with flavor and substance, and La Metairie’s kitchen delivers. Whether you want a galantine of duck with a bright fruity sauce, tuna and salmon carpaccio with garden herbs, or seafood sausage, start with anything from the appetizer list. If you’re like me, you’ll order the garlic flan with wild mushrooms. Heaven on earth.

For your main course, I always find it difficult to decide. There’s a grilled poussin (young chicken), roast chicken breast, salmon with ginger and star anise, or provençale style rack of lamb. My personal favorite is the duck breast, which is served with a different sauce each day. Raspberry takes the top of my list.

Desserts vary from time to time. I’m not a big creme brulee fan, but for those who are, my friends tell me La Metairie’s is exceptional. When they have it, the pommes glace is topnotch. If you love French food, don’t pass up an opportunity to savor the moment here.

La Metairie, 189 West 10th Street (at West 4th), 212-989-0343. Open for dinner 7 days a week. All major credit cards. Reservations a must. Dinner $35-40 per person.

Down in that Triangle Below Canal (you did know TriBeCa was an acronym, didn’t you?) is the first place where I first sunk my eyeteeth into a sliver of shimmering fish on sweet vinegared rice. Zutto. The best sushi bar in New York City. Every time I say this, someone is sure to ask, “How can you tell?” I can’t, it’s just a gut feeling. The sushi is always wonderfully fresh, perfectly prepared, and simply yet elegantly presented. Maybe it’s like your first love, the one you never forget and no one every compares with.

There is a modest reserve to the decor, with exposed brick, polished wood, a casual scattering of plants, and Japanese art works. A glass case displays traditional tea service and pottery. The shiny hardwood sushi bar beckons from the back. We traipse our way over and settle down to splurge. Initially formal and correct, the sushi chef loosens up when he realizes we know what we’re looking for.

Everyone has their favorite selection of sushi. While you’re certainly welcome to sample a preset combination plate, I recommend selecting from what looks good right in front of your eyes. Start with a steaming bowl of clear soup, a flavorful dashi (bonito broth) decorated with sea vegetables and crab meat. Green tea or a flask of sake on one side, and it’s time to choose from the array of glistening fish fillets mere inches away.

My personal selection can be counted on to include rich and unctuous hamachi (yellowtail), toasty, seasoned unagi (eel), crunchy and tangy kappa-maki (cucumber and plum roll), and the true test of the sushi aficionado, that quivering bubble of uni (sea urchin roe). Take your chances, and ask the chef to include a few of his own favorites. You won’t be disappointed.

If you simply mush have something besides sushi, Zutto also has a wonderful kitchen. The nega-maki (rolled beef and scallions), the shumai (shrimp dumplings), and hijiki (dark seaweed) with sake sauce are without peer. The broiled salmon teriyaki is one of the finest fillets you’ll find.

For dessert, there is the ubiquitous selection of ice creams; ginger, green tea, and red bean. For something a bit more traditional, try the yokan, sweet red bean cakes.

Zutto, 77 Hudson Street (at Harrison), 212-233-3287. Open for dinner 7 days a week. All major credit cards. Dinner, depending on your appetite for sushi – $20-50 per person.

For those who’ve never ventured into Alphabet City at the far fringe of the East Village, it’s time to check it out. For a first trip, you may want to penetrate just barely over the line, to Avenue A and 6th Street. Ci Vediamo bills itself as “an Italian eatery underground.” And it is. Underground.

New York has more Italian restaurants than we need. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out it has more Italian restaurants than Italy. Yet few of them are worth the trip. When a friend told me about Ci Vediamo, I promptly forgot about it. When a patrol officer on her scooter told me, I went. It was worth the trip.

We walked down the steps into a gleaming space in bold black, white, and red. A wall of mirrors doubles the visual space. The kitchen, which is one of the cleanest I’ve ever seen in a restaurant, is framed by shelves of Italian goodies like pasta, vinegar, and olive oil. The hyperkinetic staff is friendly and cheerful.

Try the garlic sautéed wild mushrooms, a decent mozzarella and plum tomato salad, or mussels simmered in a tasty marinara sauce. Pass on the Antipasto Rustico, lackluster at best. The polenta was topped with a great mushroom sauce, but could have used a little seasoning itself. The top choice has got be the toasted Italian bread in basil pesto. Richly mingled flavors of garlic, parmesan, and basil had us mopping up every last drop.

For our secondi piatti, or second and main course, we had the chance to sample from ricotta and spinach stuffed canelloni in fresh tomato sauce, zucchini and asparagus ravioli with artichoke purée, risotto primavera, bowtie pasta in vodka cream sauce, grilled salmon. The linguini with a rich puttanesca sauce; capers, anchovies, green and black olives is outstanding. The waiters regularly recommend against the individual pizzas. Surprisingly, everything a Ci Vediamo is inexpensive, with no item on the menu over $10.

Desserts are a trifle overly sweet, though acceptable, and change regularly. The ricotta cheesecake is my personal favorite, and the chocolate mousse cake is pretty tasty. The tiramisu, which would classically by filled with a marsala tinged mascarpone, is filled with whipped cream. The fruit tart is delicious, though the puff pastry is a little heavy. On the other hand, the espresso was among the better cups I’ve had in New York. The complimentary glass of port is a nice touch. Time to check out the far reaches of the East Village. Wonder what’s happening at the Pyramid…

Ci Vediamo, 85 Avenue A (at 6th Street), 212-995-5300. No reservations. Open for dinner 7 days a week. Cash only. Dinner $20-25 per person.

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!

If you have been following this column over the last couple of issues, I have no doubt that you now picture me in bursting, rotund glory, oil dribbling down my chin, gingers sticky with grease and barbecue sauces of varying hues spattering my formerly gleaming white linen shirt like bad tie-dye. While I number such companions among my friends, I concede to none of the above. Yours truly stands just five and a half feet in height and weighs in at a mere one hundred and twenty-five pounds – soaking wet. But, cholesterol-laden feeding frenzies are an occasional part of my life, not unlike shopping sprees.

I promised several friends to point my pen in a lighter direction for this back-to-school column. I cannot lay claim to being vegetarian in any of its aspects. I am not classifiable as ovo-lacto-, ovo-, lacto-, or pure vegan. I am, by nature and habit, an omnivore. If it is presented as food, I am quite willing to taste, to nibble, to consume. Nonetheless, I and my dining companions regularly find ourselves seated in the company of those who decline to ingest nervous systems.

We begin one evening, as we often do, in the West Village. My favorite lane is close at hand, with its trees, its row houses, its mews and theater. Strolling peacefully down Commerce Street, we round the bend. Halfway down the block we arrive at Shojin, our destination for the evening’s repast. A simple wood and glass exterior greets us, a somewhat bare white interior dotted with plants awaits.

The atmosphere is perhaps beyond relaxed. It is not unusual to find someone occupying a table solo for many hours, as they peruse the pages of some tome or another. Conversations throughout the dining room are engaging, and we often participate, table to table. Both the staff and fellow patrons are friendly, and we have seen groups from neighborhing seating join each other to complete a meal, and leave together for further festivities of the evening.

The menu is likewise friendly and simple, and states “Strictly Vegetarian Foods for Your Health of Soul”. The Japanese-style dishes are explained in easy terms. Questions are quickly answered and concerns are resolved by the chipper staff. The selection is varied, with something for everyone’s tastes.

Start with a soup, either the miso or the daily special, which ranges far and wide in the quest to whet your appetite. Follow it up with vegetable spring rols, soba noodles, deep-fried eggplant, or my favorite, the hijiki (seaweed) sautéed with carrots. The whole wheat bread with peanut-tahini spread is wonderful, especially dunked in the soups.

Tofu shows up in several guises, from a delicious teriyaki marinade to the tasty sauté with ginger-miso and vegetables. Gluten, often used as a meat substitute, shows up in cutlet form with vegetables, with curry, in sweet soy-broth, or my personal choice, barbecued (well, I can’t completely escape my past). Buckwheat soba noodles are somewhat bland, but for those who simply must have pasta… My favorite is the tempura, a heaping platter of fresh vegetables, deep-fried in whole wheat batter, with a ginger dipping sauce.

For dessert, there is, of course, the staple of vegetarian cuisine; carrot cake. It is good, but Shojin has a dessert that is a must-try – the tofu pie, with fruit topping, or blended with pumpkin, or even my personal favorite, plain. It easily rivals the cheesecakes served at most eateries in the Big Apple, without the cheese. Definitely drop in here when it’s time to clear out those arteries.

Shojin, 23 Commerce Street (near 7th Avenue), 212-989-3530. No credit cards. Open Monday through Saturday for dinner. Takeout available. Dinner $15-20.

Among my favorite cuisines are those of the Middle East. I can’t claim it’s because my people are desert people; as far back as the dark ages, we’re Eastern Europeans. Maybe it was watching Lawrence of Arabia, or Casablanca – I’m fairly sure it wasn’t Ishtar. Most Middle Eastern cuisines lend themselves well to vegetarian cooking, and I was thrilled ro find someone specializing in doing just that. Moving a bit towards the center of the Village, we wandered our way down MacDougal Street to Boostan.

It would be easy to describe this little cafe as a hole-in-the-wall, though that conjures up images that are not conducive to eating. Nonetheless, clean and bright as it is, hole-in-the-wall is a good description. We opted for the outdoor tables, which, likely, are limited to the summer months. The floor staff is friendly, though tend to be forgetful, and you may have to reorder items you were quite sure were on the way. But the wait is worth it.

From the miniscule kitchen in the rear, a parade of mouthwatering, hearty and healthy dishes emerge. I cannot begin to recommend the Potato Mushroom Pie highly enough – layers of mashed potatoes with savory mushrooms, onions, and walnuts. The grape leaves stuffed with brown rice, onions, herbs and lemon have a bright zip. The fava bean salad with tomatoes, cucumber and mint makes a meal in itself.

The best bet if you want to try a little of everything is the Combination Delight; a little falafel, baba ghannouj, hummous, fava beans, stuffed grape leaves, and other delights. You won’t miss the traditional lamb in the potato and eggplant moussaka topped with homemade mozzarella and almonds. Spinach, fava beans, chickpeas, eggplant, cauliflower, okra, couscous, and brown rice all show up in a profusion of entrees. Pasta dishes are simple, from Fettucine Alfredo to Semoline Penne with pesto. And if you simply must have a meat, Boostan concedes with one dish, a choice of baked salmon or sole with garlic, lemon and almonds.

Desserts range from pudding and yogurt to traditional Middle Eastern specialties like baklava and halvah. In between are a selection of cakes and pies, from the ever present carrot to chocolate, amaretto cheese and tofu. Who can pass up baklava when it’s offered?

Boostan, 85 MacDougal Street (near Bleecker), 212-533-9561. No credit cards. Open 7 days a week for lunch and dinner. Takeout and delivery available. Lunch $5-10, Dinner $15-20.

Given that I, and several of my dining companions, are trained chefs, we have actually been known to cook meals at home. As in, not eating out, dirty pots, plates and cutlery notwithstanding. One of my favorite weekend tasks is heading off into the nether reaches in search of obscure ingredients, exotic produce, and essential cooking tips.

En route one recent weekend to a housewarming party, I found myself wending my way down Sullivan Street to that limbo region of the central Village. There, like a beacon on the rocky shores, was my culinary equivalent of the holy grail; Hot Stuff, the Spicy Food Store. Genuflecting quickly and thanking the chilies that be, I poked my head in and looked around. A small but well laid out emporium of piquancy greeted my eyes. The aromas wafting through the air said, in a word, “hot”.

Quietly careening from shelf to shelf, I quickly loaded the checkout counter with smoked chipotle peppers, chili peanut butter, hot sesame oil, lime pickles, and the hot sauces from all of Dante’s hells (my favorite, for those who must follow the leader, is El Yucateco Salsa Popular de Chile Habaneros; green).

For those who just can’t make it, Hot Stuff prints a mail order catalog. But it’s worth the trip. How can you miss with a place where the owner and top tamale says, “Life is just a bowl of chilies!”?

Hot Stuff, 227 Sullivan Street (near Bleecker), 212-254-6120. If you like spicy food, bring a well-packed wallet. Checks, money orders, Visa and Mastercard accepted.

CaB magazine was one of the first publications I ever wrote for. Published by my dear friend Andrew Martin, it covered the Cabaret, Theater, Music and Dining scene in New York City, long before slick publications like Time Out NY and Where NY became popular. We had great fun writing it, and some wonderful writers contributed to its pages. When the magazine folded in the mid-90s, Andrew disappeared from the scene, and rumors had it that he departed from this existence not long after. I was thrilled to find out in mid-October 2005, a decade later, that the rumors were just that. Andrew contacted me after finding my site via that omnipresent force, Google. He’s alive and well and a member of a comedy troupe called Meet the Mistake. Somehow quite fitting!