One man’s fancy might be another man’s yawn. That‘s pretty much how I felt when I left the table at Ribollita. It’s a perfectly pleasant place, to which most Portlanders can attest. The food is perfectly nice, too. In perspective it’s wholesome and good.

I hadn’t been there in a long time. I first went to Ribollita many years ago, before I lived here. I liked it for its tasty, zesty fare and marveled at how so tiny a dining venue managed to operate in such tight quarters. Ultimately I tire of diminutive restaurants. I’m not a phobic per se, but sometimes nooks and crannies make me edgy. I ache to break free.

I went the other night because I was invited. The eight of us had a large round table that took up most of the front room.

The occasion didn’t allow me to concentrate on the food as I would at other times. Indeed I was not there for that purpose.

When I looked at the menu the choices seemed so familiar, as though the list hadn’t changed in years. The chicken, the fish, the pasta dishes….Even the onion- tart appetizer, which I remember as being wonderful, fell off the page.

I’ve had all this before, I thought, here and elsewhere, like the confluence of a catered buffet table.

This week is a big one for dining out. But last night the plan was to eat in.

I had prepared beef stew the other day for dinner. As the dinner hour approached, its charms were fading fast. Feeling a bit melancholic from too much winter weather, the notion of a hot dining spot on a cold nigh tseemed like a better idea.

That's it. Chuck the beef stew. We're going out to eat, an opportunity that I don’t often pass up.

What I really wanted was a cozy place with good food.

I thought of Mim’s, 555 or Café Uffa because they would be cozy and good. I made a few calls. Portland restaurants were not busy last night. It's a holiday week of sorts, people away skiing or sunning somewhere south.

As it turned out, Uffa and Five Fifty-Five are closed on Tuesdays. And I had had lunch at Mim’s a few days ago, so I’d reserve dinner there another time.

The concept of cozy dining is not hard to achieve in Portland. We seem to specialize in the intimate. And and number of places would have worked.

Where haven’t we been for a while? Cinque Terre.

If Fore Street is as much a symbol of Portland as the Portland Head Light, what’s in it for us lesser, local mortals who want to participate unabated? Mightn’t we be allowed to marvel over Chef/owner Sam Hayward’s award-winning cuisine as readily as we might buy a picture post card? To what extent should we cherish such an exalted presence if we can’t get in, as though we were the home team banished to another state?

There’s some consolation in knowing that we have such a legendary star in our very own galaxy. But, it’s no longer the only game in town. Witness the prominence of the other big guns who’ve garnered respectability and a share of the spoils: Hugo’s, Five Fifty-Five, Back Bay Grill and Bandol.

Still, if only Fore Street could be our local hang out life would be sweet. Instead, to earn the privilege of a 7:30 reservation, you need a nod of divine intervention.

It’s their annoying reservation policy that keeps us at arm’s length. On a nightly basis, 36 percent of the tables are reserved for no-reservation walk-ins. As far as I can tell I see no one walking in who isn’t already seated.

Walk- ins indeed. Who are these mystery perambulators supposed to be anyway? No one that you or I know.

Have you ever walked in and gotten a table at Fore Street without fuss?

It's been another week of dining delights and blights. From a streetside sandwich parlour that I went to, upon a recommendation from a friend, only to learn that I was in the wrong place (thankfully) to an extraordinary Valentine's Day dinner at Bandol, to an interesting experience sampling the new menu at Fore Street.

I went there last night for dinner and will report on it by tomorrow. They've made a lot of changes--some good, some questionable.

Today I'm in Boston on business, but not without going to No.9 Park for lunch, my favorite Boston restaurant.

Pending storm, ice and snow and every other inclement weather element on the horizon for this evening--all of which made me think that I could go to Fore Street and snare a last-minute reservation.

Mondays are generally slow nights at restaurants. Bad weather surely keeps people from venturing out. What better night than tonight to get the toughest table in town?

I haven’t been to Fore Street in ages. As you know I’m a big fan of the place. But all the other restaurants in town have kept me busy.

I called this morning for a reservation.

“Can I reserve a table this evening?”

“Sorry,” I was told. “We’re all booked up.”

“What’s your prognosis for walk-ins?”

Silence.

I will sing the praises of Café Uffa as long as Chef James Tranchemontagne is at the helm. Here is a young man so dedicated and relentlessly talented that he deserves much more attention than he gets. Right now he’s on a mission to perfect his art, so that each day is a new culinary challenge.

Tranchemontagne could easily belong to Portland’s elite group of chefs, such as it is. But he prefers to leave self-proclamation behind for now and do what he loves to do best— to cook with passion.

It’s not that he doesn’t already draw from a sizable pool of followers. Often when I’m there I notice how most everyone in the room is bent on a single purpose: to delectate over Tranchemontagnes triumphant rustic French cooking.

Local 188 has been in Portland much longer than I have. It enjoys a loyal neighborhood patronage--from up-and-coming artists sprinkled around the West End to the affirmed swells of the Western Prom.

It has survived whim, fancy and transiency unscathed.

When I went to Local 188 a few nights ago I was taken aback by its shabby, rundown appearance. I suppose it’s always been a laid-back sort of place. But on that night it looked so unkempt I felt like I would have to wash my hands after each course.

Restaurants that espouse a cool, hip, retro mood—this one seems mired in a 1950s-1960s dead zone—are an immediate turn off to me. Maybe I’m too old, or not old enough. Either way, I’m not impressed. Youth belongs to the young, and to those with ageless vigor and hope. I would mind it less when it’s done with style. But shabby without the chic is no less tedious than riches to rags.

We went to Local 188 last night. But I'm still collecting my thoughts--which are many--about this very curious long-time Portland favorite. I'll finish it tomorrow.

I hemmed and hawed about going, though, thinking of all the other places I'd rather be. But I was resolved to try it. I'm glad I did. Was I one over by its elusive charms?

You'll see.

Tonight we're going to Dogfish Cafe, sort of a pre-snowstorm dinner out. I always like it there.

I assume that tomorrow night we'll all be shut-ins, if we get this blizzard that's forecasted. For fortification to stay in, I bought some haddock which I'll make into a chowder for lunch tomorrow. And I have all the fixings for my favorite meatloaf dinner. It includes sweet potatoes, red cabbage and some glazed carrots.

All that should be hearty enough to keep storm chills at bay.

Well, we survived the pork chop fiasco. The good ones were delicious. The bad ones are in the garbage can, tightly wrapped in a zip-lock bag to keep the odors at bay until trash day tomorrow.

I think I’ll eat out tonight. Cooking at home hasn’t gone well lately. While it was nice to have a few home-cooked meals, I’m ready for a dinner out.

The problem is I’m not really sure where to go tonight. One of my readers suggested that I try Local 188. That might be a good idea. I went there about a year ago but left under whelmed.

The food was OK. What really got me was their practice of serving bread piled high on a plate, torn to pieces. I just didn’t get it. If it’s meant as a signature dish, I didn't sign up.

I'll report back soon.

For dinner tonight that I’m serving to four friends (it was originally three), I was short one pork chop. I already had four beautiful double-thick chops that I bought over the weekend at the Spring Brook Farms store in Cumberland.

For my fifth chop, I went to Pat’s market, which is closed on Mondays. I didn’t want to hassle with Hannaford’s so I went to the Forbes Meat Market at the Public Market. I asked for one double pork chop from the loin.

I’m stuffing the chops, and a double thick one is best.

Forbes didn’t have any chops on display, but the butcher had a whole loin in the back and cut me one double chop.

I then went to Scales for a quick lunch at the counter, pork chop in tow. I ordered the oyster stew, which was fantastic. In fact, the menu of daily specials is getting really extensive. Offerings like Maine shrimp over angel hair pasta, marinated blue fish with wilted spinach, pan seared swordfish, hamburger with onions and Dijon made from freshly ground meat from Forbes are all under $10, a veritable bargain when you consider that you’re getting Fore Street quality cooking at a discount.

If I’m a creature of habit, then I’m all for self-indulgence--that is, to indulge in my favorite restaurant meals. It’s no wonder that I’ll go to the same places over and over again because I want a particular dish that the establishment does so well.

I was thinking about that when I came back from vacation. I had been in southern Florida, enjoying the warmth and sunshine, but the dining out experience was erratic. Some of it was very good, and other places fell short of hyped-up expectations.

So it felt good to be back on home turf and know where to find the “best bites” in town.

I’ve made a list—by no means definitive, and still a work in progress-- of some of my favorite dishes from various dining halls in the region.

Rachel’s. When I’m in the mood for a really heart-warming, soul-satisfying pasta dish I’ll head here to ingest with abandon their meat ragu and rigatoni. It’s one of the best versions in town and truly evokes the flavors of Italian cooking at its finest.