After launching the first full season of programming with B Is for Beckett, a mélange of three iconic pieces by existential minimalist Samuel Beckett, Balagula Theatre continues its foray into the theater of the absurd with Eugene Ionesco's The Bald Soprano.

Inspired by his struggles to learn English with the Assimil method, a British-centered method that dominated English language instruction during the mid-20th century, the Romanian playwright cleverly turned his frustrations and insights with the non-sequiturs of language and idiom into an artistic commentary on the disjointed nature of communication inherent in modern society.

At least, that's what it appears to me to be about. Witnessing absurdist theater is not a familiar experience for most theater-goers, and the absence or radical alteration of common conventions like plot and realistic character development leaves the experience more open to individual interpretation than most conventional shows.

Director Natasha Williams' take on The Bald Soprano comically revels in the extreme Britishness of the play's inspiration while carefully pacing the comedy's thematic devolution into nonsense. The ensemble cast — infused with the fresh blood of two promising actors new to the region — displays a tight sense of timing and deserves praise for thoughtfully drawn, if abstract, absurdist characters. The result is an offbeat, thought-provoking show that will elude and baffle some and entertain and challenge others.

Lynn Hungerford and Randy Hall open the production as Mrs. and Mr. Smith, a quintessentially British couple who with their guests, the Martins, engage in an evening of typical British socializing. Except that nothing about it is typical. The Smiths live a pedantic life dictated by tea times and clock dings and empty conversations void of connection and meaning. The Martins, too, are hyper-realized versions of empty-headed but well-meaning people whose words and deeds never quite match up. The Smiths and the Martins are versions of textbook families whom English-language students around the world once knew all too well (kind of like Dick and Jane).

Pete Sears and Vanessa Baker share particularly sparky chemistry as the Martins. Sears, who last appeared in B Is for Beckett's Endgame, shows an impressive emotional grasp of his characters' predicament, and recent Lexington transplant Baker's opening-night entrance onto the stage breathed new life into the show just as its momentum was starting to sag.

Later arrivals James Hamblin and Robbie Morgan further ramped up the escalating momentum that is a hallmark of the show. Hamblin mercifully relieves the show of its occasional pretense, infusing gobs of humor as the roving fire chief intent on putting out all fires in England, including those in the hearth. Morgan, a Lexington newcomer, makes mountains out of molehills in her small but spirited role as the maid.

By curtain, the show's playful but empty banter accelerates to a mishmash of rapid-fire, overlapping non-sequiturs that sound like a jumble of noises. The Martins take the place of the Smiths, the dialogue is reversed, and the play ends by looping back to the beginning, underscoring the cyclical nature of how we try, and often fail, to truly communicate.

The heavy artistic wallop that Balagula's more ambitious shows are sometimes known for is certainly present in The Bald Soprano, but a colorful, textbook replica setting, complete with vocabulary labels and the pre-show sounds of the Beatles wafting through the café, not to mention a creative and hilarious pre-recorded curtain speech, lend a playful levity to the evening.

VERSAILLES — The newly christened Woodford Theater, formerly the Woodford County Theatrical Arts Association, opens its 2009-10 season with a Victorian flourish and an homage to one of the wittiest, and most infamous, playwrights of all time.

Beth Kirchner directs The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscare Wilde’s famous farce poking fun at the very London high society circles he himself frequented. Full of ribald characters with vacuous motives, the hallmark of the show is Wilde’s unapologetic, lavish play with language, a linguistically Victorian aspect of the play Kirchner hopes to translate to modern audiences. Her director’s notes lament our culture’s atrophy of language; she points to the theater as a vehicle for preserving the “art form of conversation.”

Nine actors prove more or less up to Kirchner’s lofty task. At evident at Saturday night’s performance, they largely wield the language to potently comedic effect, but a few times, the language wields them, causing them to fall into the trap of caricature over character. These instances do little to disrupt the overall flow and fun of the show, but do prevent the ensemble effort from reaching its highest level of accomplishment.

Set alternately between London and an English country manor in 1895, the play follows Algernon and Jack, a pair of high society bachelors fond of “Bunburying,” Algernon’s term for adopting an alter ego to freely adventure outside London. Bunbury is Algernon’s fake name, while Jack admits to pretending to be Earnest in the city and Jack in the country. Enter a beautiful young girl of marrying age intent on wedding a man named Earnest; her domineering mother; and another beautiful girl intent on marrying a man named Earnest. With that combination, you have a plot ripe for hijinks, confused identities and social parody.

Chris Williams’ Jack is refreshingly drawn and makes some interesting choices that pay off in laughs, like his hilarious mini-breakdown while asking the vicar (played with subtle panache by John Broderick Lynaugh) to re-christen him as “Earnest.” Ryan Briggs is largely responsible for the delivery of the bulk of the play’s most famous satiric lines, lines like, “The amount of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous.” Replete with the ostentatious dress of a dandy, Briggs is sufficiently Wildean as Algernon but occasionally fails to connect with the audience as well as other cast members, perhaps out of his character’s perceived intellectual aloofness and commitment to utter foppishness.

While the male duo sets the plot in motion, it is the female characters who bring real color and vivacity to the show, both in costumer J. Darrell Maines’ jewel-toned frocks and the relish with which they embrace Wilde’s hyperbolic parody of high society women. Gina Scott-Lynaugh is tyrannically haughty, wretchedly domineering and love-to-hate-her loathsome as Lady Bracknell. And Dara Jade Tiller and Christina Ritter nail passive-aggressive faux formality when their characters, Gwendolen and Cecily, discover they are rival fiancées to Earnest.

Kirchner teamed up with her lighting designer, W. Todd Pickett, to design the set, an impressive revolving stage that drew a few gasps when a surprised audience saw the first rotation.

Speaking of the audience, the Saturday night crowd I was a part of did not react much to the funnier moments in the script. The first laugh-out-loud moment came not after one of Wilde’s famously wry, sardonic quips, but only after one of the main characters sat on top of another one in a bit of injected slapstick, indicating that despite Kirchner’s best efforts, the audience just may not be that into 19th-century period pieces. Audience speculation aside, the show remains solid, fun, and most important, Wilde.

“We’re still here!” Actors Guild of Lexington managing director Kimberly Shaw exclaimed in her curtain speech on opening night of Beguiled Again, a musical revue of the songs of Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart. Yes, Actors Guild is still here — but just barely.

AGL has had a rough summer of financial troubles and personnel changes, but the season opener feels like the kind of show that is held together with blood, sweat, duct tape and a lot of crossed fingers. Technical elements seem hurriedly and thoughtlessly assembled and while the six-piece ensemble of performers has the pipes to do the music justice, they falter as actors, lacking the necessary verve and charisma to effectively sell the show to the audience.

Featuring more than 50 Rodgers and Hart selections that span the duo’s Broadway and Hollywood career, Beguiled Again’s greatest challenge is its very format: the musical revue. With no plot, no back story, no real characters even, the show relies on music and spectacle alone to make its case. A few cheesy skits serve as transitions from one song grouping to another, often linked by theme. Because a musical revue does not have a storyline to keep the audience engaged, to succeed it must rely entirely on a strong directorial vision, flawless technical design and performers who really know how to work a crowd. As of Friday night, none of these elements had begun to jell.

Stephen Currens’ directorial vision lacks polish and originality and fails to compensate for obvious weaknesses. For instance, knowing that the performers cannot carry the thrust of the show themselves (a bright and captivating Sarah M. Matthews being the notable exception), why not indulge in some glamorous spectacle to keep the audience entertained? How about sparklier costuming or more visually engaging set and lighting design? Eric Seale’s set design offers a simple enough premise: A three-piece band is flanked on either side by suspended large mirrors that smack of Broadway dressing rooms. I am no carpenter, but something in their construction seems largely unfinished, a trait that intermittently plagues other aspects of the production. For example, there is more than one instance in which the performers simply stand and sing with their arms to the sides, indicating to me that perhaps some choreography remains to be added.

Speaking of things to be added, I was flummoxed by the presence of a large projector screen suspended behind the band. The words “Beguiled Again” are brightly displayed in a funky, neon-sign font. I was expecting visual images to be projected during the show, perhaps some New York scenes during Broadway skits or whatever might correspond with the show’s shifting themes. But there was never anything else projected onto the screen except for the word “intermission.” Why go to the trouble of adding this element without using it? Why not just make a real sign instead?

The show is not all bad, just wildly uneven, with peaks and valleys that range from soaring vocal harmonies and solos rendered with aching tenderness to stilted choreography and ho-hum filler pieces that are executed without confidence or heart. Some scenes, like the show’s opening number, seem downright student-y. Perhaps it was David Probus’ washed-out lighting in the opening numbers, but a few of the actors had the deer-in-the-headlights look of stage fright and seemed to be literally just going through the motions. Their stiff nerves seemed to thaw as the show gained momentum, and by the second act, scenes like the show’s rousing finale elevated the production to more professional levels.

If Currens and company can get the remainder of the show, which runs through Oct. 4, on par with its better moments, Beguiled Again might experience a revival. Otherwise, it is a rough but tenacious testament to determination. Yes, despite a host of obstacles, the show did go on. That's about it.

There's one thing you can definitely say about the folks at Balagula Theater: they are not afraid to take on challenging material.

The debut production of the theater's first full scale season features the work of a playwright who most artistic directors shy away from: Samuel Beckett. A noted existentialist whose dramatic works have been billed "Theater of the Absurd," Beckett's approach to play writing includes long strands of silence, trailing fragments of words, potent symbolism, minimalist settings and a disconnection from the usual precepts of time and place.

Beckett's unusual approach to theater may have earned him a Nobel Prize, but that does not mean it is easily accessible for audiences or theaters. As such, mounting any production of Beckett is a considerable creative and financial risk, but Balagula Theater proves up to the task in its latest production, B for Beckett.

The production is actually a series of three plays that, according to the program notes, are "meant to be viewed as a single show that runs without intermission to preserve the integrity of Beckett’s world." Two short plays, Play and Not I bookend the lengthier, meatier Endgame, widely considered one of the playwright's most important works.

Keen direction, carefully executed acting, and sensitivity to the material's weighty themes are hallmarks of this show. Whether anyone understands what is actually happening in the plays is another matter.

Beckett's work is made to be experienced more than understood. The plays' themes and emotional impressions endure long after their specifics have evaporated. So, perhaps it is best to judge this production of Beckett by his own criteria. He hoped that his plays would "work on the nerves of the audience, not its intellect," and in Balagula's case, they certainly do.

Each of the three shows has a different cast and director, but themes and emotional tones are consistent from one play to the other.

The futility of meaning, of striving towards meaning and even love, is explored in the first piece, Play. Directed by Ryan Case, three actors – one male and two female – are placed within oversize, misshapen, ashen urns. The audience sees only their faces, also grayed and ashen in appearance. The three faces, all of the actors' bodies that we can see, suddenly begin talking all at once, similar to a Greek chorus, but more discordantly. They begin to speak separately, each taking a turn to speak only at the exact moment that a spotlight shines directly on the face.

Turns out, the trio is linked through adultery. The man and two women, one his wife, the other his mistress, each tell his or her part of the tale in quick, gasping fragments of dialogue. The man tried, at different times, to be with each woman, and each attempt failed, leaving all three disappointed and empty. Missy Johnston, Robbie Morgan, and Christopher Rose do an excellent job with the dialogue and deserve particular praise for sharply timing their verbose delivery with the quickly shifting spotlight. Once or twice though, the lines and the spotlight did not match up, a noticeable but minor distraction.

Case's emphasis on the death of their relationships, of the decayed attempt to sustain meaning and connection, provides a fitting segue into Endgame.

Directed by Adam Luckey, Endgame is the longest selection of the evening and what most theater goers will probably find the most satisfying – if for no other reason than that it is more traditional theater. Set in what seems to be a post-apocalyptic future, Endgame focuses on one of humanity's few, perhaps only, survivors. Hamm is a blind, homebound man who orders around an assistant, Clov. Hamm’s parents, Nagg and Nell, do not have legs and live behind him in two trash cans. The world as we know it no longer exists. There is no sun, no waves on the ocean, no animals or people, nothing of life beyond the walls of his home. Actors Pete Sears and Nick Swarts develop palpable chemistry and tension between Hamm and Clov respectively. Though the pair's relationship has long since turned from fondness to reluctant toleration and indifference, they are psychologically interdependent on one another. That is, until Clov finally leaves him.

Luckey's interpretation of Endgame definitely "works on" the audience's nerves and emotions. An escalating sense of desperation, futility, and loss permeates the show. Gareth Evans and Natasha Williams set design underscores the desolation of someone, in this case, Hamm, barely hanging on in a world that has largely moved on. Windows are covered with dilapidated old lace and burlap. Tree branches are held together with chains, suggesting humanity's strangling of nature.

Sears delivers some of the finest monologues of the evening and Endgame’s quiet exit proves a welcome entrance for the show's final installment, Not I.

Natasha Williams directs Ryan Case in this short play that is perhaps the most challenging material of the evening. Case plays a character simply called Mouth. Draped in a black robe, only Case's hands and mouth are visible, shining glow-in-the-dark bright under the strobed blacklight that pulses throughout the monologue. Mouth is a character, likely a woman, who has lived most of life alone and in silence, except for key memories and events that she attempts to trace back via memory. With only the mouth illuminated, Case emphasizes the frenetic pacing of thoughts and memories, the desperate gasping for self-understanding that is, if nothing else, deeply troubling.

Like the disconnected, floating heads of Play, Not I emphasizes Beckett's insistence that modern humans are fundamentally disconnected, not only from one another, but from themselves. Language, meaning, life itself is fragmentary and confusing at best. There is no cure for this in Beckett's world, just resignation and latent acceptance.

Studio Payers opens its 57th season with a classic staple of community theater: an old-fashioned parlor-room murder mystery.

It starts like so many other similar tales: on a dark and stormy night. Well, actually, it isn’t stormy, but thick with fog. A stranded traveler looking to use the phone walks in on a fresh crime scene. A man has been killed, shot in the head, and his wife is holding the gun. The woman immediately confesses to the murder, but something about her story doesn’t check out.

If that sounds like something straight out of Agatha Christie, that’s because it is.

Director Gary McCormick’s vision of Christie’s The Unexpected Guest is a production that knows where it’s bread is buttered. Despite occasional hiccups in momentum and bouts of uneven acting at Friday night’s performance, the production succeeds by delivering the audience Christie’s tried and true tricks of the genre.

A spate of characters with potentially underhanded motives, a distinct flavor of stuffy Britishness (the play is set in Wales), competing versions of the truth, and more red herrings than you can shake a stick at are the hallmarks of this show, ones that spur the audience to guess and guess and guess again at the killer’s real identity.

In this sense, the show does what it is supposed to do: entertain the audience, get them guessing “who done it,” and have them leave surprised by a final plot twist.

On the whole, though, the ensemble cast’s individual performances lack cohesion, displaying a disjointedness in delivery that disrupts the natural flow of scenes. Maybe the timing will tighten as the show, which runs through Sept. 27, gets on its feet, but currently it seems like the cast is not functioning as a unit but rather a series of individuals waiting for their cue.

Despite the pacing issues, a few performers stand out for their efforts to develop largely stock characters into multifaceted, meatier roles. Scott Turner turns in a promising performance as Jan, the mentally disabled youngster who becomes unhinged after his brother’s murder. His burgeoning obsession with violence and guns, backed by the fresh memory of his brother’s constant abuse, indicates that he is capable of murder, even if he doesn’t understand the full weight of its consequences. Did he do it? Maybe.

Leif Erickson Rigney turns in a sharp performance as Scottish detective Inspector Thomas. Assisting him in the investigation is Sgt. Cadwallader, portrayed with quirky mannerisms and a peculiar Welsh accent by Randy Hall. Debbie Sharp’s role as the elderly family matriarch is a nice departure for her that she plays well. Her cryptic conversation with the unexpected guest leaves you wondering, did she do it? Maybe.

Despite some uneven performances, including meandering accents, the show as a whole stands up by holding the audience’s curiosity until the last possible moment, when the true killer’s identity is revealed. And yes, it is a shock, though one a savvy mystery reader might see coming. Even so, you cannot help but be intrigued by Christie’s plot devices, and McCormick’s very British rendering of them will more than satisfy fans of the classic mystery murder genre. Judging from the packed house at the Carriage House theater Friday night, there is no shortage of them.

Consider Mexican food. This fabulous cuisine, with its seemingly infinite regionalisms, complex spices and sometimes deceptively simple preparations, has, like all imports, morphed in its immigration to the United States to accommodate the sensibilities of its new home. Especially in restaurants.

It has long occurred to me that Lexington has two distinct types of Mexican restaurants, usually dictated by where you live or work. One category caters to Americanized tastes, reducing unfamiliar seasonings and adding lots of cheese and fat. Nothing wrong with that necessarily, but it's not the whole story.

The other category requires a bit more sleuthing — or at least driving. There are late-night taco stands scattered around the city and some good taquerias and supermercados along New Circle Road, but the mother lode of authentic Mexican restaurants is in Cardinal Valley's small enclave around Village and Alexandria drives off Versailles Road.

To sample the real deal, I recently visited Lulu's and Restaurante Aguascalientes. I recommend that you do, too. Both are inexpensive, and they capture flavors and textures that their competitors outside of Cardinal Valley do not.

Of the two, Lulu's corners the comfort-food niche. If it weren't for the large dining room, you could be at someone's home, complete with family members watching television and cheering on their favorite futbol team.

The kitchen, I was told, is run by Lulu herself. Her buffet ($7.99 on weekdays, $9.50 on weekends) has about a dozen items. Some are incongruous, such as spaghetti (I guess no matter where you are, everyone loves pasta). Others, notably pork chops, suffer from too much time on the hot table. But most are delicious and muy auténtico.

There is great pozole, or spicy hominy grits, and cactus strips in a hearty chili sauce. I liked the tender pork belly, and they say that if you have a hangover, menudo, aka tripe stew, will restore your balance. In Lulu's hands, when long-simmered and brightened by lime juice and cilantro, tripe is more than merely medicinal.

Every bite will be enhanced by three wonderful salsas — a zingy tomatillo, a dense and spicy tomato and jalapeño, and a cooked red salsa with plenty of heat — as well as a bowl of chunky, rustic guacamole ($2.50) with chopped tomatoes, white onions and cilantro.

But I still prefer choosing from the menu, caring less about how much and more about what I eat.

Five enchiladas ($7.99) were lightly coated with almost a glaze of cumin and chili rather than a heavy sauce and stuffed with poached chicken, all served with lots of boiled potatoes and a handful of lettuce and sour cream. Real country cooking, Mexican style.

Because prices are so reasonable, I decided also to sample some ahuichile ($5.99), or seviche with chili. A generous pool of lime juice "cooks" the shrimp and creates a lovely citrus bath for shredded carrots that make this dish not only healthier but attractive.

Restaurante Aguascalientes, on the other hand, feels more like a restaurant — less personal, but the sort of place one goes for an enjoyable lunch or dinner and, of course, the best of Spanish-language music videos and talk shows.

There were dishes here I liked, including the simple soft taco al pastor ($1.25) stuffed with grilled pork, the good guacamole much like Lulu's (99 cents — really!), and three seviche tostadas ($5.99), made here with a delicate whitefish.

But then there were dishes that I loved, loved, loved!

Don't miss out on the nopales gorditas ($2.59 each), plump pockets of fried masa, or corn flour, with a buttery mouthfeel to die for, stuffed with strips of cactus having a peppery punch that will warm up your taste buds without searing them.

And I could probably eat Aguascalientes' mole poblano ($6.99 with rice and beans) once a month for the rest of my life. Two pieces of snow-white chicken, fork-tender, were served under a dark pool of savory, spicy and rich chocolate sauce. A beautiful contrast. However, whereas many Mexican restaurants turn out a sticky mole paste, Aguascalientes' version is suave and smooth as silk, a slip of a coating with layers of flavor — of course, ancho (and other) chilies, but also a hint of clove, a touch of cumin and a sprinkling of sesame seeds on top.

I am sure I will continue to patronize my local spots, inertia being what it is, but when I truly want to go south of the border, I will always be, like, totally a (Cardinal) Valley girl.

Consider Mexican food. This fabulous cuisine, with its seemingly infinite regionalisms, complex spices and sometimes deceptively simple preparations, has, like all imports, morphed in its immigration to the United States to accommodate the sensibilities of its new home. Especially in restaurants.

It has long occurred to me that Lexington has two distinct types of Mexican restaurants, usually dictated by where you live or work. One category caters to Americanized tastes, reducing unfamiliar seasonings and adding lots of cheese and fat. Nothing wrong with that necessarily, but it's not the whole story.

The other category requires a bit more sleuthing — or at least driving. There are late-night taco stands scattered around the city and some good taquerias and supermercados along New Circle Road, but the mother lode of authentic Mexican restaurants is in Cardinal Valley's small enclave around Village and Alexandria drives off Versailles Road.

To sample the real deal, I recently visited Lulu's and Restaurante Aguascalientes. I recommend that you do, too. Both are inexpensive, and they capture flavors and textures that their competitors outside of Cardinal Valley do not.

Of the two, Lulu's corners the comfort-food niche. If it weren't for the large dining room, you could be at someone's home, complete with family members watching television and cheering on their favorite futbol team.

The kitchen, I was told, is run by Lulu herself. Her buffet ($7.99 on weekdays, $9.50 on weekends) has about a dozen items. Some are incongruous, such as spaghetti (I guess no matter where you are, everyone loves pasta). Others, notably pork chops, suffer from too much time on the hot table. But most are delicious and muy auténtico.

There is great pozole, or spicy hominy grits, and cactus strips in a hearty chili sauce. I liked the tender pork belly, and they say that if you have a hangover, menudo, aka tripe stew, will restore your balance. In Lulu's hands, when long-simmered and brightened by lime juice and cilantro, tripe is more than merely medicinal.

Every bite will be enhanced by three wonderful salsas — a zingy tomatillo, a dense and spicy tomato and jalapeño, and a cooked red salsa with plenty of heat — as well as a bowl of chunky, rustic guacamole ($2.50) with chopped tomatoes, white onions and cilantro.

But I still prefer choosing from the menu, caring less about how much and more about what I eat.

Five enchiladas ($7.99) were lightly coated with almost a glaze of cumin and chili rather than a heavy sauce and stuffed with poached chicken, all served with lots of boiled potatoes and a handful of lettuce and sour cream. Real country cooking, Mexican style.

Because prices are so reasonable, I decided also to sample some ahuichile ($5.99), or seviche with chili. A generous pool of lime juice "cooks" the shrimp and creates a lovely citrus bath for shredded carrots that make this dish not only healthier but attractive.

Restaurante Aguascalientes, on the other hand, feels more like a restaurant — less personal, but the sort of place one goes for an enjoyable lunch or dinner and, of course, the best of Spanish-language music videos and talk shows.

There were dishes here I liked, including the simple soft taco al pastor ($1.25) stuffed with grilled pork, the good guacamole much like Lulu's (99 cents — really!), and three seviche tostadas ($5.99), made here with a delicate whitefish.

But then there were dishes that I loved, loved, loved!

Don't miss out on the nopales gorditas ($2.59 each), plump pockets of fried masa, or corn flour, with a buttery mouthfeel to die for, stuffed with strips of cactus having a peppery punch that will warm up your taste buds without searing them.

And I could probably eat Aguascalientes' mole poblano ($6.99 with rice and beans) once a month for the rest of my life. Two pieces of snow-white chicken, fork-tender, were served under a dark pool of savory, spicy and rich chocolate sauce. A beautiful contrast. However, whereas many Mexican restaurants turn out a sticky mole paste, Aguascalientes' version is suave and smooth as silk, a slip of a coating with layers of flavor — of course, ancho (and other) chilies, but also a hint of clove, a touch of cumin and a sprinkling of sesame seeds on top.

I am sure I will continue to patronize my local spots, inertia being what it is, but when I truly want to go south of the border, I will always be, like, totally a (Cardinal) Valley girl.

What business, I asked myself, does an AARP-eligible wine lover have intruding on a 20-something bar on a busy Wednesday at 10.30 p.m.? Well, mainly, I was curious, because the Fishtank's reputation preceded it: rowdy University of Kentucky students, sourpuss bouncers and a glaring absence of snacks to balance the booze — in spite of "grill" being in its name.

What I found, however, besides two massive aquariums, was a friendly college crowd, their faces illuminated by the lights of cell phones and BlackBerrys. Everyone was drinking, laughing, talking and, of course, texting. Not a shove or attitude in sight. I'm sure, as the night wears on and the inexpensive beer and "Fishtank love" cocktails (see recipe at right) take effect, the mood gets wilder, but my pre-midnight experience was hardly the stuff of dives or mosh pits.

It's really not all UK students, either. Employees from downtown restaurants might turn up to chill out after a long shift in the kitchen, or even former regulars, now married to people they met here one night, might stop by to revisit the memories.

As for bouncers, the guy watching the door cracked me up when he commented that there was no need to stamp my hand, because my gray hair stood out "in a sea of blonde." LOL! And, should anyone need a sobering bite to eat, across the street are the reliable sandwiches at Subway and the locally famous burgers at Lynagh's, whose focus on country rock is a compatible rather than competitive presence.

"If we can bring people to this corner, it's better for everybody," Fishtank owner John Tresaloni says.

You also get the sense that things are under control. Because 90 percent of these patrons live within walking distance, you don't find the lethal mix of drinking and driving, but a cab will be called for those who live farther away. In addition, the bar is compliant with all state rules and regulations, paying for its bartenders to go through S.T.A.R., a training program required by the Kentucky Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control.

In short, Tresaloni and general manager Matt Pope have created the quintessentially successful neighborhood hangout.

What really struck me, though, was the well-kept secret of the diverse demographic appeal of this ramshackle little place.

For children of the '60s, there are touches of tie-dye and posters from head shops. From time to time, a disco ball lights up and twirls around on the ceiling for those who remember the '70s fondly. I am sure that those whose defining decades were the '80s and '90s immediately spot something heart-warming and familiar in the mishmash of memorabilia.

And that same eclecticism applies to the music, which is the main draw here. As Pope puts it, "The music thrives us." Many local bands perform, but out-of-town bands do, too. They hear about The Fishtank, post or tweet them on one of the online social networks, hook up with Pope and travel miles for a gig and the proceeds from the door.

Check out Kentucky's Grateful Dead-inspired band Born Cross-Eyed. Closer to jazz, funk and fusion is Sexual Disaster Quartet. The Other Brothers, who describe themselves as "rockabilly" (although their roots are reliably rock) are regulars here, as are the serious rockers Moon Taxi, who drive all the way from Nashville. In this select sampling, "jamgrass" is played by the Rumpke Mountain Boys.

And, as if this weren't enough, on May 23, the bar will have a tribute to Tom Petty — talk about spanning generations!

So, although I admit that I didn't close the place, I intend to pop by some other time to catch these groups I have heard only on MySpace, and to remind myself what goes down at 3 in the morning.

After all, as Pope said: "No matter where you started out, you finish the night at The Fishtank."

School, Lexington's innovative Franco-Japanese restaurant, is giving diners a graduate-level course in Japan's fusion response to the post-modern culinary era.

The ambience is minimalist and cool, with wasabi-colored walls. The music refuses to be mainstream.

But most of all, there is an inspired blending of cuisines. Filet mignon in a madeira wine sauce shows up alongside noodles and rice bowls, and sometimes the two countries meet in such hybrids as lamb chops with miso, basil and sesame seeds ($30). Peppercorns might appear as a companion to julienne of shiso leaves over eel ($15).

School is the ideal place for the gastronomically bored to get reinspired while bringing along friends who prefer fried chicken ($5 for an appetizer) or shrimp breaded with panko ($6).

I'm jazzed to see sweetbreads ($15) on the same menu with luscious curry udon ($12), especially when the former is topped with sautéed foie gras and a light yet rich marsala sauce ($15).

It's been a while since I've had nameko mushrooms, the slippery little buttons that add a fun mouth-buzz to deep-fried tofu in sesame oil ($6). There is a duck tartare ($12) that riffs off the classic with capers and citrus notes.

All the salads are wonderful, too. School's chef salad ($12) is made elegant with prosciutto and fontina but turned slightly Japanese with breaded quail eggs. They also do a mean shrimp salad topped with surimi (faux crab) and small grilled ebi (sweet shrimp) with mixed greens tossed in a creamy vinaigrette ($12). And definitely sample the Japanese salads, oceany hijiki ($4) — seaweed and shredded carrots — or kinpira gobo ($4) — more carrots but this time with earthy burdock; both come seasoned with soy sauce, mirin and sesame oil.

A daunting task might be choosing what to order from the four pages of French and Japanese dishes, a list of about 50 sushi items, and the ever-changing daily specials that include French desserts.

Another first for Lexington is the "culinary cocktail" concept. Fruit juices are freshly squeezed at School's beautiful bar, a backlit still-life. Many of the mixers for top-quality spirits have anti-oxidant properties — why not drink your blueberries, especially when they come juiced into a martini glass and garnished with chocolate on a toothpick? It sounds offbeat, but we need more of that.

At $12 a pop, drinks are expensive, but anything gourmet and hand-crafted is usually pricier. There also is an extensive selection of less-costly Japanese beers, ales, shochu and sake, as well as wines by the glass.

But the main attraction at School is most certainly kaiten-zushi, a "sushi-go-round" that delivers sushi, priced on color-coded plates at $2.75 to $6, to the bar and several booths via conveyor belt. A ginger pot, a little jar of wasabi and plenty of soy sauce are on every table, so there is no need to go hungry while waiting for menu orders. Just select a roll — from a simple California ($2.75) to an elaborate fire scallop with spicy sriracha sauce and a dusting of bonito flakes ($5) and everything in between — off the shiny, temperature-controlled slinky snaking past you to ambient techno sounds.

My only gripe is on-the-job training. Whether from the bar, at the booth or behind the sushi counter, diners expect consistency, and the apprenticeship model here is hit-or-miss. For instance, one evening our server was being shadowed by a trainee. One of the sushi chefs is just learning the ropes, and another time I had a lemon southside cocktail that was so sludgy, a beginner must have made it.

That said, I like this place so much that I am willing to overlook the occasional service gaffe, poorly mixed cocktail (which I am never shy about sending back) or slightly rustic appearance of sushi created by novices.

If you want an education in what great food and contemporary restaurant design are supposed to look like, go to School.

A light sushi meal without drinks can cost as little as $10 a person, but you can run up a dinner tab to three figures with cocktails and wine.

Long live the problem of choice.

They say Five Guys has a cult following, but when the president of the United States himself leaves the Oval Office for Five Guys to pick up lunch for his staff and NBC News anchor Brian Williams, as well as a cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, jalapeño peppers and mustard for himself, well, we might need to find a new word for "cult."

Lexington might not have such celebrities driving down Nicholasville Road to get burgers and fries — the Washington-based chain's claim to fame since 1986 — but the recently opened joint seems to be an instant hit with locals. Lunch lines start snaking out the door by 11:30 a.m., and they build up again about 6:30 p.m. for dinner.

One of my Facebook friends waxed rhapsodic after Five Guys' soft opening a couple of months ago. Another friend, however, just doesn't get the buzz. Maybe that's because the mood is admittedly manic (the queue moves quickly enough to get a commander-in-chief out pronto). Or maybe it's because there is a messy edge to eating here: Peanut shells, from large bags of complimentary nuts, are scattered on the floor; huge sacks of potatoes are piled up in the middle of the dining room; and the burgers overflow with as many of the 15 free toppings as you can handle.

Either way, no one is neutral about these inexpensive staples of the American diet. With so relatively few trappings, rather than get on my high horse and write a "review," I will simply report my brief experience and you can decide whether, at the ridiculously low cost of about $12 for two, you want to joint President Barack Obama in Five Guys mania.

My first visit was on a rainy evening. I snagged a table for our party of four because other soaking fans were also vying for a sit-down, and turnaround, as I have said, is fast. We then made a beeline to the ordering station.

There is a lot to choose from and a lot going on, with the rock 'n' roll thumping and an open kitchen of several line cooks flipping burgers, submerging fries and shouting, but the result of this assembly line is a speedy meal produced in probably less than five minutes.

A few things to know: The beef has never been frozen; a "hamburger" ($4.39) comes with two patties, but a "little hamburger" ($3.29) means (only!) one patty; and they are all cooked well-done, a little crusty on the outside and juicy inside. Additions of inoffensively bland American cheese or crunchy bacon run 60 cents each.

Kosher-style hot dogs — yum! — also are served. Vegetarians can get a bun full of grilled mushrooms and onions, along with tomatoes, lettuce, pickles and green peppers and more ($2.29); just take extra napkins and be prepared to grip the slippery sandwich firmly.

My grapevine, and my own taste buds, tell me the fries are the way to go. They are cooked in peanut oil ($2.49 for a regular portion that serves at least two, $4.19 for a large, which is an understatement). They arrive in a brown paper bag.

If you like loads of slightly spicy seasoning salt, try the Cajun-style fries, but I think there is no reason to muck up perfectly fine potatoes.

I went back to Five Guys about a week later for lunch on an afternoon as hot and humid as the evening had been wet and sloppy. Same long but quickly moving line. Same '60s and '70s tunes. Same lively energy. Same obvious passion among diners. And same food — consistent quality in one of America's favorite meals.

I think I'd prefer to enjoy Five Guys in the serenity of the Oval Office, but if the menu works for my president, it certainly works for me.

Burnfield is a town like any other, perhaps like every other. It is 1994, and a half-dozen or so middle-class white kids are struggling to carve out some sort of meaning and sense of identity beyond the homogenous land of shopping malls and restaurant chains that is their cultural inheritance. Mostly, they loiter outside the Food Mart drinking beer on a park bench, waiting for something to happen.

Such is the premise of subUrbia, Eric Bogosian's play about the dark struggles of seemingly ordinary early twentysomethings from an ordinary town. This angst-ridden, post-high school, complex coming-of-age tale is the latest offering by Apprentice Players, a young theater troupe with a history of tackling edgy material, all under the tutelage of established theater mentors.

Produced in conjunction with Actors Guild of Lexington, subUrbia represents a milestone for Apprentice Players, whose previous productions triumphed in spite of the technical limitations of former performance spaces. With subUrbia housed at the Downtown Arts Center, the troupe has graduated to fully realized productions, complete with period-accurate sets and their own box office, not to mention artistic input at every level of production.

Directed by recent Lafayette High School grad Brandon Moore — who is bound in the fall for DePaul University, where he will study theater — subUrbia is '90s noir. The individual components of Moore's vision satisfies on several levels — particularly in the creative choices of individual actors and designers — but the play suffers from sagging momentum enough times to jeopardize the audience's attention span. The long pauses and creeping silences have a place artistically in this show — after all, the alternating tedium of listlessness and longing is a major component of the characters' psychological landscape — but they could be reined in now and then to move the show along and offer a greater sense of urgency.

Another facet of the show that I could feel the audience bracing against is the copious vulgarity, not limited to garden-variety cussing. Here I offer not a criticism to downplay the vulgarity, but a suggestion to own it further.

The nine actors, culled from area high schools and college undergrads home for the summer, were particularly well cast. Grayson Wittenbarger combines a semi-oafish physical comedy with goofy enthusiasm and a penchant for tall tales and hyper-vulgarity as Buff, the play's chief comic relief. His awkward, bare-bones seduction — and later dismissal — of friend Bebe (Susan Creech) lays the groundwork for the show's tragic twist.

C.G. Niquette, one of Apprentice Players' founders, bravely takes on the meaty role of Tim, an Air Force veteran who talks a tough game but whose insecurities manifest themselves in increasingly violent, cruel and bigoted ways.

Casey Snipes hits just the right notes as Pony, the one kid from school who managed to get out of Burnfield. Not only that, he has become a rock star. His success — the limo, the money, the recognition — sparks deep jealousy and resentment from old friend Jeff (Mathew Leonard), a wannabe writer and college dropout attempting to salvage some dignity or purpose. Jeff's girlfriend, Sooze (University of Kentucky junior Joe Elswick), a feminist artist who wants to move to New York despite Jeff's reservations, is drawn to Pony's commitment to his art and sense of possibilities beyond Burnfield.

Jeff and Sooze's turmoil over the impending move is established in the play, but what is not clear is why the couple is together in the first place. Their few moments of shared affection are fleeting.

Greg Levrault's portrayal of Norman, the Pakistani man who runs the corner convenience mart where the youngsters all hang out, is one of the play's strengths. His small role packs a punch, from calm lectures about his home life to violent self-defense in his new homeland. He represents the active American Dream, something the young adults don't seem to understand.

Another small role with a major impact is Creech's portrayal of BeBe. Quiet and reserved, BeBe doesn't drink or engage in loud, tawdry pontifications like her male counterparts. When we finally do hear her confess her back story, she does so with a kind of captivating grace and understated sorrow, a sophisticated take for a high school senior.

Her long silence in the second act (hers is a silence that works, in a way that is both riveting and haunting), followed by her ascension to the Food Mart roof to drink alone under the stars, is one of the more poignantly directed moments of the show, made more poignant by scenic designer Katie Bosomworth and technical director, scenic and lighting designer Alex Joans. From the streetlamp with the old-school pay phone to the Ms. Pac-Man game inside the convenience mart to the canopy of stars above, the troupe's technical elements soundly supported Moore's directorial view.

This show is not devoid of a few hiccups, some of which could be tightened up during the course of the run, but it remains an impressive display of artistry and underlines the potential of our community's up-and-coming theater artists. So long as Lexington is nobody's Burnfield, we can look forward to watching these talented young people grow.

It would have been enough for Heather Parrish to come out and deliver a spot-on, genial performance as Patsy Cline.

With a neat wig, big black eyelashes and ­costumes topped off by a red ­cowgirl outfit, Parrish looked every bit like the pride of ­Winchester, Va. And then she opened her mouth.

Parrish has turned the heads of local theatergoers before with performances such as Mary Magdalene in the Lexington Shakespeare Festival’s Jesus Christ ­Superstar. But she has never had a stage like this or ­material more suited to her voice than Cline’s big, belty ballads and barn burners.

Give Parrish a couple of hours to sing I Fall to Pieces and You Belong to Me, and you have a great night.

But she is only half of Studio Players’ production of Ted Swindley’s Always … Patsy Cline.

The other half is ­Melissa Rae Wilkeson as Cline’s ­biggest fan, Louise Seger. She is what turns this show from a night of music into a night of theater, and ­Wilkeson’s performance makes the show a hoot and a heartbreaker. She’s also what makes this show a must, even if you aren’t a big Patsy Cline fan.

Imagine if your favorite music act came to town, and you ended up hanging out backstage, getting pulled onstage during the show and going home with them for some late night breakfast and a heart-to-heart. You wound up as BFFs.

That’s the story of Seger, a Houston woman who first saw Cline on Arthur Godfrey’s show and then ­harassed the disc jockey at a local country radio station into playing Cline constantly. Seger met her idol when Cline came to play a Houston honky-tonk, and they formed a bond that lasted until Cline’s untimely death in a 1963 plane crash.

“She was 30 years old!” Wilkeson’s Louise screams, slamming a kitchen chair into the floor in a moment of pure anguish.

It is a moment born of an hour and 45 minutes of Patsy and Louise bonding over music, motherhood and the mutual heartbreak of failed relationships. The key ingredient to Wilkeson’s ­performance is a complete lack of self consciousness as she throws herself into ­delirious fandom, dancing around, telling her story and driving her car, which calls “sexy dude,” to the beat of Rick Hudson’s drums.

The five-person band, led by pianist and music ­director Jon Grossman, added a tight, authentic sound to the show, and there was ­essential ­support in Bob Kinstle’s set design, Craig King’s ­thoughtful light design and the team of costumers.

But what makes ­director Tonda-Leah Fields’ ­production one of the best nights of Lexington theater in recent memory are Parrish and Wilkeson giving career-topping performances in roles that play to their strengths.

They give you more than enough reasons to see this show.

Soundbar, the new watering hole on South Limestone, combines, modifies and elevates elements of many watering holes, from basic to beautiful, into one venue.

You want a granite bar with elegant wood paneling? You have it, but with the slight rough cut of a San Francisco saloon. Chandeliers more your style? All right, but you have to take them against the backdrop of plasma televisions, and the shimmer, shock, color and splash of the best light-and-fog show in town. Can't sit still when there's a backbeat? Fine, dance, but there are bar tables and stools lining the room if a chat with a co-worker, best friend or lover is more appealing.

The outdoor patio has similar charming contradictions. Lounging against the cement wall, slightly cracked but surprisingly comfortable, you'll notice to your left the delicate curtain of bamboo; off to the right the healthiest fuchsias in Kentucky are lushly draping over the side of a pot. This could be Provence, Hawaii or Seattle.

Not only is the environment eclectic, but so is the clientele: from 20-somethings to pushing-70s, ethnically a patchwork quilt, gay, straight and everything in between and around the edges. This is a bar for all seasons.

Of course, style and atmosphere are the obvious reasons that Soundbar (the sister spot Blu Lounge comes later, when the upstairs is ready) has zoomed so quickly to its enormous popularity — its soft opening was May 8 — but I am here to praise another, perhaps more subliminal but equally crucial, virtue: attention to detail.

Owners David Jones and Isaac Kurs, throughout their extensive travels, have made mental notes about the best bars they've seen, what they have enjoyed, places they would go back to. Soundbar brings those notes to life.

Everyone talks a good game of customer service, but here it really happens. Surfaces are cleared efficiently and unobtrusively. The restrooms are clean and tidy. Drinks are served in pretty and proper glassware. But most remarkably, somehow this gets done without stiffness, formality or compulsiveness. Yes, it is possible to have a rollicking good time against serene feng shui.

"I think people appreciate a beautiful space," Jones says. "And we try to anticipate every need. We will be happy with nothing less than 100 percent."

Of course, it's easier to keep things in order without the responsibilities of a full-scale kitchen. So Soundbar has struck an arrangement with Bombay Brazier, its neighbor across the street, to provide, on order, a select menu of bar snacks, including naan or vegetable pakoras. Nothing costs more than $10. The bar's substantial wine list — almost everything is available by the glass — harmonizes well with good food, so you can have a nice, light dinner here.

From a drinker's point of view, however, probably my favorite detail is what they dub "the art of the cocktail." Bourbon standards, including the old-fashioned and the Manhattan, are on the list. There also is a selection of martinis, including the LOL, made with Ketel One Citroen and lemon and lime; it was invented in-house.

And the revival of some wonderful and now obscure classics is particularly welcome.

Try a bracing Moscow mule, in which bitters and ginger beer spice up the taste of Ketel One, the house vodka. My personal favorite is the French 76, a variation of the gin-based French 75, with its lemon juice, simple syrup and Champagne but updated with vodka. If memory serves, the name implied a metaphoric punch akin to the World War I 75mm howitzer. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Much is being made of the street work along Limestone, scheduled to begin soon, that will go by Soundbar's doors. This is the time for Lexington to show that we can be a downtown, pedestrian-friendly, park-and-walk city. Check out the city's Web site, www.lexpark.org/find-parking.html, for parking information, or ask Jones or Kurs where the best parking is. No one should be drinking and driving anyway.

Honestly, there is no reason to let messy urban improvement or a simple two-block stroll keep you from checking out Lexington's newest cool nightspot with the most exemplary service in town.

For more than a decade, Asian and Pacific Rim cuisine have had a presence in Lexington. In general, quality has ranged from superior (Japanese) to good (Thai and Korean) to tragically underwhelming (Chinese). But while waiting and watching for a higher bar, one reflecting the exotic diversity of regionalism, technique and ingredients from that part of the world, I was caught entirely off guard by Orchid Flower, Lexington's and perhaps Kentucky's first Indonesian restaurant, complete with a competent sushi bar.

It would be unrealistic to cover, under one roof, the complex cuisine of the Indonesian archipelago's many thousand islands; thus, some classics are absent, including the labor- intensive but spectacular nasi kuning lengkap, a towering inverted cone of yellow rice, ringed with a rainbow of nuts and shrimp, vegetables and eggs, and whatever else pleases the chef; and gado-gado, what satay might be if it were a full-on composed salad.

Never mind. There's sufficient pleasure in the simpler samples of Indonesian finger food, as well as salads, noodles and grilled meats, all at bargain prices.

Start with bala-bala ($5 for four pieces), crisp fritters of mixed vegetables with onion and cabbage in a salty-savory batter. Also fried, but somehow not heavy, are krokets ($6 for two pieces), savory sautéed ground beef amended with carrots and encased in a goose egg-size coating of mashed potatoes. For something even lighter, try martabak ($5 for three pieces), packets of won ton skins stuffed with sautéed ground beef and scallions. Easy to eat and almost dainty.

Because the traditional hot sauces add authenticity and excitement to all these flavors, be sure to request dishes of the fiery sambals made by owner Wiwi Harrison. They give me an extra reason for living.

Two of the three entrées I tried are familiar around Lexington, but the renditions here have an Indonesian flair and are, well, better.

One of them is satay, which is usually stringy meat plastered to a stick. At Orchid Flower, you get five skewers of fork-tender chicken — salty, sweet and tangy with lime juice and peanut sauce — that melts in your mouth. This dish ($8) is served with miso soup, a simple and probably superfluous salad, and eight lontong — rice cakes steamed in a banana leaf and sliced into small discs.

I think the perfect accompaniment on the side was kecap manis, a slick, sweet soy sauce that some consider ketchup's precursor.

Kecap manis also transforms the enormous Yamien noodle bowl ($10) from oily lo mein into a complex, hearty meal with a sautéed julienne of chicken and mushroom slices, topped with caramelized fried shallots and zesty cilantro. Believe it or not, this dinner dish includes a soup of gossamer-light shrimp and chicken dumplings with dense meatballs. Talk about two meals for the price of one.

The vegetarian option, lotek ($7.50), will be new to most diners. Prepared tableside, this Indonesian "coleslaw" of steamed carrots, squash, cabbage and green beans is tossed in a dressing of peanuts, ground in a stone bowl before you with pleasant conversation on the side, and whisked together with kencur powder (like a mild ginger) and lime juice until creamy. After lotek, the mayonnaise version of coleslaw will seem pretty bland.

Primed for Indonesian food, I hardly noticed the sushi bar, but if my brief encounter with tuna tataki ($7 for six slices) was representative, it's worth a go (although I really want nasi kuning lengkap). The meaty fish was served with an inventive relish of olives, avocado and dice of pineapple that was a little unfocused for my taste but at least gets credit for gumption.

The restaurant's selection of sake, good Asian beers and fruit drinks all go well with the menu. There also are some local house wines, but they don't hold a candle to the ideal partner for this food, Bonny Doon's Pacific Rim Riesling (a reasonable $5.50 a glass).

Orchid Flower has given Lexington a wonderful introduction to Indonesia's rich table and I, for one, can't wait for more.

An abundant lunch for two was about $22, an equally abundant dinner for two was about $44.

While the Central Kentucky theater community might be too small to produce bona fide "stars" a la Broadway, it is likely even the most casual local theatergoer has stumbled upon a performance or two of Ryan Case or Adam Luckey, two of the region's most celebrated, and consistently working, actors.

For those who haven't caught a show featuring them, now is your chance. They co-star in a must-see revival of Larry Larson and Levi Lee's religious satire Some Things You Need to Know Before the World Ends (A Final Evening With the Illuminati), produced by Balagula Theatre Company.

Formidable as individual performers, the duo is electric, entertaining and unabashedly professional when they combine forces. They make each better.

Directed by Balagula founder Natasha Williams, the pair take the audience on a scintillatingly funny ride through the absurdities of overly organized religion while probing the darker side of a faith turned in on itself, growing sick with paranoia, self-inflicted suffering and fear.

The play — first produced at Balagula, with the same stars, in 2005 — follows the Rev. Eddie (Luckey), a well-educated clergyman slowly descending into a religious-themed conspiracy theory as he composes his final sermon ("Life Is Like a Game of Basketball") and his faithful and ostensibly less enlightened assistant, resident hunchback Brother Lawrence (Case).

When Lawrence claims to have visions, the reverend dismisses them in a fit of comical spiritual arrogance.

Of course, the fact that Lawrence's vision was a woman in a silver lamé jumpsuit who exited via spacecraft does not help his case.

Further visions follow, some as ridiculous as the first, while others are patently sad. And then funny again — punctuating the cast's remarkable timing. Case and Luckey are able to switch thematic gears at break-neck speed, all without compromising the play's sense of pace and continuity.

In fact, the hallmark of this production is its ability to elicit multiple emotions at once — gut-busting laughter is just as likely to be sparked by some intellectual quandary of the absurd as it is to embrace slapstick physical gags, monologues of heart-wrenching tenderness or lightly sprinkled pop culture asides.

It is not a dark tale with a few laughs scattered in to make it palatable, and it is not a light romp with heavy themes thrown in to appear meaningful. Rather, in this production, the two are often one and the same, with the show's signature scenes ringing with fused elements of scarred tragedy and sublime humor, like when the Rev. Eddie challenges Death to a game of basketball.

Yes, there is basketball. There is even a mention of new University of Kentucky men's basketball coach John Calipari, one of the locally flavored jokes Williams slips into the script.

Williams, in the playbill's "director's sermon," asserts a conviction that faith and humor, including poking fun at the absurdities of one's beliefs, are not mutually exclusive. In directing this production, she says she frequently asked herself during rehearsals, "What would Jesus laugh at?"

According to Williams' directorial vision, Jesus has a well-developed sense of humor. Each scene pulls at a thread of over-produced theology until the reverend finds himself in a full-on crisis of faith. It is revelatory of Williams' wry irreverence and loyalty to deeper examinations and cross-examinations of truths that are not always comfortable.

Balagula first produced this play four years ago in much more limited space and with a different directorial vision. Not unlike the theater itself, which continues to expand its programming and arsenal of technical bells and whistles (the current show is artfully lighted by designer Gareth Evans), this production represents a significant leap in the organization's evolution, one that will have you saying amen.

Actors Guild of Lexington is wrapping up its 25th anniversary season in style — with a world premiere of an original play by celebrated Kentucky author Silas House.

Author of the critically acclaimed novels Clay's Quilt, A Parchment of Leaves and Coal Tattoo and the play The Hurting Part, House is best known for his stirring portrayals of rural life in Appalachia.

Long Time Traveling continues in this vein, bringing hauntingly familiar yet often overlooked aspects of the emotional lives of its characters to the forefront as a family struggles to reconcile their individual inner lives with one another's, while also enduring the "real life" restrictions of their outer lives.

Rather than limit the scope of the play's setting to a specific area, the playbill simply reads that the setting is "rural America." And where does all the great drama of rural America take place? The back porch, of course. There, we first meet Adam and Lora, a couple who married young and who experience growing tensions when Adam (Josiah Correll) decides he wants to be a poet. Still reeling from the death of her father a year ago, Lora (Hayley Williams) is threatened by everyone and everything changing around her, including Adam's fascination with writing and reading.

Even her own mother, Chatty (Missy Johnston, brilliant), appears to be undergoing changes too radical for Lora to accept. After 37 years as a minister's wife, Chatty begins rebelling — in her own comical but nonetheless poignant ways — against the church that was the rock of her husband's life and that carved its penetrating influence so deeply into her children's psyche.

Refreshingly original, this show's strength is its natural rhythm and richly authentic technical and cultural details, all punctuated by the organic unfolding of truths both beautiful and unsettling. Still, on opening weekend, when I saw the play twice, the experience fell just shy of perfect.

To borrow from computer lingo, the performers and material have yet to sync up properly. As an Eastern Kentucky native who was baptized in the Ohio River the old-fashioned way, I can attest to the haunting accuracy of House's language and the little, exacting cultural details that accompany it.

In fact, perhaps nothing is more pleasing to native Appalachian ears than to hear our language finally rendered with accuracy, aplomb and respect. Who hasn't winced at the treacherous Hee-Haw-isms that are still widely accepted in less sophisticated works?

Thank goodness this production isn't like that. How rare and welcome!

It is clear that director Richard St. Peter and his cast considered this challenge carefully. However, there are brief stretches in the production when the actors haven't quit caught up with the language, when it wields them more than they wield it. This is particularly true in highly emotional scenes when drawls wane or the musicality of the language wobbles.

That said, Long Time Traveling is the most accurately rendered regional play I have seen.

Other technical details complement the performances — like the slam of the porch's screen door, the one or two missing threads of lattice along the porch's base, the wafting sounds of children playing while Lora hangs clothes out to dry.

And then there is, of course, the meaning of it all, the exploration of how and whether any of us can become the person we want to be, or think we already are.

House does not pound anyone over the head with obviousness to his themes or even conventional plot structure. In fact, by theater standards he could afford a bit more head-pounding drama, but that is not his style. Instead, the play's meaning sneaks up on the audience stealthily. It is easy to get caught up in the back porch-isms, to feel less like audience members at a play and more like kinfolk sitting on the stair steps as conversations realistically wax and wane from jokes to family secrets to accusations and defenses to near-violence to singing to stringing beans and screwing up dinner.

Deep life happens — that is to say, deep change — amid this unglamorous regularity. And that is all right.

The concept at Brontë, the restaurant inside Joseph-Beth Booksellers, is simple really: Put a cookbook-themed café inside a bookstore where, perhaps not coincidentally, some of those cookbooks are sold. But, as anyone who has ever used a cookbook knows, there is almost infinite variation, depending on skill and commitment, between the page and the execution; the truth of this was confirmed by my two visits to Brontë.

I'm open-minded, and while the theme seemed a little gimmicky and cute for my taste, I believe in borrowing from the best.

So it was disappointing one evening when almost every dish I tasted was flawed.

At that particular dinner, for example, an appetizer of two Southwestern-style crab cakes ($8.99) with corn and chopped bell peppers was soggy and had very little crab. They were served with a spinach salad and a small cup of "soy aioli" with hints of ginger and sesame oil. Southwestern and Asian fusion don't mix. The inspiration for this dish was not attributed to any particular cookbook.

An entree of zinfandel pot roast ($12.99) was adapted from The Joy of Cooking. Checking my copy afterward, the recipe called for salt "to taste." But at Brontë, I definitely could taste the generous dose in this dish, as well as in the sides: buttery and sweet carrot slices and a scoop of chunky mashed potatoes slathered with dark brown gravy.

Supposedly from one of Ina Garten's cookbooks, apparently The Barefoot Contessa at Home, Eli's Asian salmon ($15.99) had a light whisper of soy sauce and sesame oil. But I didn't detect any of the recipe's scallions or chili paste that would have added a "wow" factor. It was also heavy with greasy panko, or Japanese bread crumbs. Zucchini, yellow squash, cherry tomatoes and red onion slices added color but had a faint burnt odor that was unpleasant. The "green" rice had nothing green in it.

Add to all this a small glass of pinot grigio ($7) and a Boddington's ale ($4.25), and the best thing I can say is the service was outstanding.

One meal, however, does not a restaurant review make, so I went back for lunch, one that turned around my opinion of the kitchen.

Brontë's baked chicken avocado wrap ($8.99) might be the best wrap I have ever tasted: bite-size pieces of smoky grilled chicken, black beans, a diced avocado salsa with corn and bits of red onion, a little cilantro and lots of jack cheese that melted inside the piping hot tortilla. The tortilla's texture was exceptional; rather than the rolled-up cousin of cardboard we've all confronted, this one was supple, tender and just right to the bite. It's lovely when something so simple can be this satisfying.

I ordered a slice of peanut butter pie ($4.99) because I was told it is made in house. It's a must-try, even if you can only finish a few forkfuls. The bottom was a light graham cracker crust; the peanut butter filling, as fluffy as mousse, was probably 2 inches high; and the layer of frosting on top was like a chocolate ganache. It was the definition of dessert decadence.

Given the wide disparity between the two experiences, I am worried about Brontë's ability to deliver consistency. But I'll give it a hopeful three stars on the strength of some fine service and a very delicious lunch.

Dinner for two was about $65, but I recommend lunch at $18 or so per person. And if you happen to end up there solo, you can always get a good book to read.

BEREA — Way back in the 1930s — before Interstate 75, before cell phones, before Berea was the Artisan Capital of Kentucky, when the highways weren't always paved and driving was a true adventure — a traveling salesman from Chicago pulled into Berea and stopped at the Boone Tavern Hotel.

After a hard day of driving, the hotel must have looked like the Taj Mahal — a huge, gleaming white building in the middle of a sleepy town. That salesman was Bowling Green native Duncan Hines, the nation's first "restaurant critic" and the man who put Boone Tavern Hotel and Berea on the map.

Before he was the cake mix mogul most know him as today, Hines started his critiquing days by compiling a list of places to stop for good food and clean accommodations. Back then, road food could kill and overnight stays could be less than restful (say, in a barn next to railroad tracks). His list was shared with friends and colleagues as Christmas presents. It became so invaluable and popular that it evolved into a book series, Adventures in Good Eating.

Boone Tavern Hotel and another restaurateur on U.S. 25, Col. Harland Sanders in Corbin, were in the book. If Hines liked a place, you were "in." If Hines didn't like you, your place wasn't mentioned. But then in the late '50s and early '60s, I-75 was built, Berea was bypassed and Boone Tavern Hotel waned.

In the '90s, my brother-in-law took my entire family to Boone Tavern for Thanksgiving and I considered doing a review. But the flower had turned to seed. It was neither the lovely place Hines visited in the '30s and '40s nor the nice restaurant my parents took their four, well-dressed brats for spoonbread and "chicken flakes in a bird's nest." No, no, had I reviewed it in the '90s, it would have been more like, "Run for your life, don't pass go, what a dump!"

Welcome to the 21st century and oh my, how things have changed at Historic Boone Tavern Hotel & Restaurant at Berea College. It's celebrating its centennial this year, it's on the National Register of Historic Places, and, with the World Equestrian Games coming next year, the powers that be decided it needed a facelift, a new chef and a return to its pre-eminence as a destination restaurant. It's well on the road.

The new dining room is powder blue, crystal chandeliers reflect in its highly polished wood floors and its well-napped tables have Chippendale-style chairs. But the tavern hasn't fully realized its decorative potential yet. The sofa art has to go. And surely with all the wonderful art galleries in Berea, something can be arranged to get good stuff on the walls.

The food has been brought into contemporary times, as well. While Boone Tavern has kept a couple of old favorites like those chicken flakes in a bird's nest ($17), its menu reads like a better Lexington restaurant's. There's good reason for that. The chef, Jeffrey Newman, is a Lexington native, and he studied at the Culinary Institute of America in New York.

Another welcome change: Our server was a professional and not a student. The restaurant used to be staffed by Berea College students. Tipping wasn't allowed, either, but 'tis now.

If you visit Boone Tavern, you will try the spoonbread. You must. Berea has built an annual festival around it. The cornbread soufflé, the hotel's signature dish, is offered by roving servers. It was one of my fondest memories from Boone Tavern (that and the skittles game), and on this visit, it was exactly as I remembered: hot, a bit eggy and luscious.

Another starter you must try, the pimento soup ($3 cup, $4 bowl), made the trip from Lexington worth it. It was sweet, creamy, lightly flavored with the tang of pimentos, warm and perfectly smooth.

The Tavern Creole crab cake appetizer ($10) was excellent. Lump crab was mixed with Creole spices, topped with a dollop of green chile pesto, served on fennel salad and surrounded with a tasty sauce made of peanut powder. It was an exceptional crab cake and certainly not typical of the Boone Tavern of old.

The roasted beet salad ($6 with entree) was another hit. Sliced roasted beets shared a platter with pickled pepper goat cheese and, most notably, braised walnuts. They were like boiled peanuts, very soft and tasty.

Entrees included soft shell crabs ($24). Two large crabs had been dipped in egg, dredged in seasoned flour and then sautéed. Served on top of both crabs was a dollop of lemon-truffle-chive tartar sauce, which my companions and I didn't like. It tasted just like regular tartar sauce and would have been better served on the side. Still, the crabs were delicious and came with a medley of glazed spring vegetables (including baby lima beans) and new potatoes.

The other entree was the night's special: tenderloin of beef topped with crab meat ($33). We asked that it be cooked medium rare, and thanks to the kitchen, that's the way it came. It was a fine cut of beef, and the crab meat didn't hurt it a bit. A few fried, breaded coconut shrimp were served as a bonus. Intensely coconut flavored, they were like eating a piña colada. I'm not totally sure how they were created because there wasn't that much visible coconut (maybe coconut flour?) but they were interesting.

Boone Tavern is proud of its spoonbread, and rightfully so. However, its dessert version, a chocolate spoonbread ($5), needs to be rethought. All the whipped cream in the world couldn't moisten this chocolate cornbread tart. Dry as dust.

Boone Tavern's version of chess pie ($4), however, was scrumptious. (We were told it was originally named Jefferson Davis pie.) Eggs, butter and sugar were the base, but it was spiced with either mace or nutmeg and lemon. Dollops of whipped cream came with it. It was a big hit.

Service was exceptional — and tippable.

Dinner for two, including two iced teas ($1.50 each) and tax (state and city tax equaling $7.47), was $90.47.

The food and hospitality at Historic Boone Tavern Hotel and Restaurant are well on the road to recovery. I have no doubt that Duncan Hines would be proud. This is my last review for the Herald-Leader, and I'm proud, too.

Lunch was long, but that's OK, because it was close to perfect. This week, during the University of Kentucky's spring break, the Hilary J. Boone Center, the members-only faculty club, opened its doors to non-member UK faculty and staff and their guests.

To see what this exclusive dining spot is all about, I finagled an invitation from a UK staff member.

Growing up in Lexington, I have vivid memories of the Boone Center's location, at Rose Street and Columbia Avenue. It used to be the home of the Campus Corner restaurant, with its big cheeseburger painted on the window and its less-than-delicious food

The Boone Center was built in 1986 as a faculty club, but it closed in 2004 after complaints of mediocre food, drab decor and budget woes. It reopened last June after a $6.2 million renovation, expansion and upgrading. With numbers like that and this week's rare opportunity, I had to get a look-see. Based on my experience, the makeover was a good one.

There were four of us, including a non-member UK staffer, at this memorable midday meal. We weren't used to such finery for lunch.

The Boone Center is much like a chic boutique hotel, sans bedrooms. After coming in through imposing gates (on the south side of the building), we entered a hushed lobby area, where a maître d'hôtel showed us to our table. Around the lobby, we noticed small, glass-enclosed dining rooms (very Chippendale), but were taken to a much larger, hall-like dining area, where the walls were hung with a neutral wall covering and woodwork was dark brown. Our table, beautifully napped, looked out onto an enclosed courtyard with a fountain.

One of our table mates was late, so our server suggested we try the beer cheese, one of the appetizers. It's something rather common in these parts, but here the beer cheese was excellent and actually tasted like beer. It was also garlicky and not too heavy with cayenne.

For my lunch, I sampled the soup du jour, a cup of carrot and ginger soup ($3.50). Creamy, orange-colored and garnished with lemongrass, it reminded us of a Thai soup. Delicious.

For the entree, I ordered lamb empanadas ($9) from the appetizer menu. Three or four small crescent-shaped pies — perfect for a light lunch — were filled with barbecued lamb and buried in a heap of frisée. For garnish, there were dollops of sour cream and a citrusy salsa verde made with tomatillos.

A companion ordered lobster-mushroom cakes ($13), an entree I had had my eye on. But that's OK: Lunch went on my credit card, so I got to taste it, too. I was sorry I got just a nibble. Heaven on earth. I didn't notice mushrooms in my small helping, but who cares. Yummy lobster was all I tasted. The presentation was beautiful, as well: The lobster cakes were topped with matchstick-cut slaw made with cabbage and maybe jicama.

Another selection was vegetarian: squash ravioli ($10). Four or five large-ish ravioli were stuffed with winter squash — acorn, butternut, buttercup — and served in a light broth.

My least favorite of the selections was quiche Lorraine ($8). All I could taste in the savory egg and cream pie was ham. Classic quiche Lorraine is made with bacon and onion.

All of the desserts we sampled were delicious. I tried chocolate torte ($6), one of those flourless things that comes out like loose fudge. It held its round cakelike shape, cut like room-temperature butter and was topped with chocolate sauce and garnished with more dollops of chocolate sauce. No one complained.

Of the trio of crème brûlées ($6), the table's favorite was chocolate. Classic vanilla and raspberry — all cooked and served in tiny ramekins — were also on the plate. The other desserts we ordered were lemony chess pie ($3) and a tasty walnut-cranberry galette ($6) that looked like a fruit Danish.

Lunch for four, including iced tea, soda, coffee and tax but not tip, was $82.15 — a tad more than $20 each.

Before we left, the maitre d' allowed us to check out the bar and wainscoted library. He also mentioned that we, John Q. Public, could come by for free coffee in the library weekday mornings. Coffee in the morning at Rose and Columbia — just like it was decades ago at the Campus Corner.

On a makeshift stage area at Shangri-La Studio, Chico Fellini is ripping through a taut pop and rock tune titled Despite the Mix Up. There's no audience, save for a few friends, photographers and studio hands. And the performance time, by rock 'n' roll standards, is ungodly early, about 6 p.m.

Yet within three minutes, the tune has offered a primer on the Lexington band's new album, a glimpse of its pop preferences and even, despite the largely unpopulated room, a healthy view of its performance smarts.

Despite the Mix Up, as it turns out, is something of a calling card for the band. As the lead song to a self-titled debut album that Chico Fellini recorded at Shangri-La during the past 16 or so months, the music is ripe with a guitar/drum stutter and melodic drive that modestly suggest '80s post-punk pop. But there are also fat bursts of bass that beef up the fun, and vocals, as well as ensuing harmonies, that present its pop confidence with a nervously operatic and unapologetically melodramatic flair.

Lyrical. Loose. Anthemic. Confident. Restless. These are the seemingly contradictory virtues of a band that has established a local presence with a surprisingly limited number of performances. But with a commanding new album, coming out Tuesday, and a tour that initially will take it to Chicago before a huge local celebration this weekend at The Dame, Chico Fellini is sending out an assertive invitation on its music to audiences at home and, hopefully, way, way beyond.

"The thing this band tends to do really, really well is evoke a release of a particular emotional element," said Chico Fellini guitarist Duane Lundy, who operates Shangri-La. He also served as producer for the album Chico Fellini. "I'm not concerned with any sort of pristine quality in how we play live. All I want to do is bring as much emotional and entertainment content as we can to what we do.

"But it's not some sort of carny element or some obvious kind of rock thing. I want people to come to the shows and base their night around this, where they're not just stopping in to watch a couple of songs."

Meeting Chico

Chico Fellini isn't a band whose four members came together at once. Lundy heard singer Christopher Dennison singing in the Lexington band King Friday and started searching for a project on which they could collaborate.

"I actually grew up listening to gospel music," said Dennison, 36. "That taught me a lot about harmony. That taught me how to listen. But I've always had a love for all kinds of music, from opera to Broadway to rock."

Once joined by drummer Brandon Judd, 30, who was part of the team that established the original location of The Dame on West Main Street, the band began to perform sparingly in local clubs as a trio.

One of the initial suggestions for a name was The Fellinis, which Lundy saw as a Ramones-like moniker where members would adopt stage names that ended with Fellini. The idea was jettisoned when it was discovered there was an established jazz band called The Fellinis in New York.

"My name as a potential Fellini was going to be Chico," Lundy, 40, said. "So that stuck."

One of the band's first shows as a trio caught the attention of Emily Hagihara. An established presence on the local scene through her own recordings (including 2007's Marbles, which Lundy produced) and collaborative projects (most notably, recordings and remixes with Lexington's Sexual Disaster Quartet), Hagihara was finishing studies on a music performance degree at the University of Kentucky when the offer came to join Chico Fellini.

"I saw a show of theirs at The Dame. I was immediately taken with Uli," Hagihara, 26, recalled, referring to what became the closing song on the band's new album. "It had this really sleek guitar line. But what really struck me were the vocals.

"It took me a little while to decide whether it was something I wanted to do because I was still involved with several other projects. But I liked the band so much that I gave it a try. We ended up hitting it off."

In the studio

Recording was a priority for the quartet version of Chico Fellini.

"The original intent was to record, be very direct about it and get the album done in three or four months," Lundy said. "But I didn't think that was possible.

"It was a long time in the making," Hagihara said of the album. "But I think that was really healthy. We went into it really headstrong and then took a break. We came back with fresh ears and a more definitive idea of where we wanted to go and how we wanted it to sound.

Dennison's summation of the recordings sessions: "A lot of fun. A lot of humor. A lot of hard work."

Lundy said doubling as producer and band member presented numerous challenges, especially when it came to mixing the album. But the other Chico Fellini members said his dual role was vital to the overall sound of the album — and, for that matter, the band.

"Through a lot of the writing of the songs, Duane would have his producer thing going on in the back of his head," said Judd. "There was always this idea while we were writing of, 'How is this going to translate on tape?' Like, when Emily brings in songs, I'm automatically thinking, 'What is the studio side of this going to sound like?'

"But I didn't have to worry about that or about how I was going to translate drums in the songs. It has helped me out tons just to be able to write with a producer in the band."

Said Lundy: "The hardest thing was trying to decide what kind of a wrapping the songs would get. We would wave a pretty critical wand over anything that was too literal. So that's what we tried not to do.

"There can be a certain level of cheese under something that's really special. The trick is to avoid that layer and make sure what is delivered is not going to be fluff or trite."

The next step

Chico Fellini has had opportunities — sometimes significant ones — to play outside Lexington. It has performed at the massive and prestigious South by Southwest festival in Austin, Texas, and will play next week, for the second time, at the Mercury Lounge in New York.

But local gigs have been far from plentiful. A disastrous 2008 — The Dame closed in its original location then reopened months later in a new one, and the economic downturn — hasn't helped.

"Part of the problem, as in any college town, is that Lexington is a kind of jumping-off point," Judd said. "People go to college, they form a band and maybe make an album. Then, just after the album comes out, they get that magazine gig in New York, they leave and the band breaks up. I've seen that happen a couple of times."

Said Lundy: "It just hard to be in a band where you play once every four months in your hometown. Those are the only opportunities we've been given. That's not to say venues haven't been nurturing for us. But it feels like we're restarting everything every single time we play."

Helping keep the band visible locally this year will be monthly performances at The Green Lantern on West Third Street. Beyond that, what lies ahead for Chico Fellini the band might well be determined by Chico Fellini the album.

"We definitely have more confidence now under our belts," Hagihara said. "Getting past the first album and all the time we put into it ... we're just more driven now."

Lundy said, "The band instantaneously got better as soon as the masters (the album's master recordings) came back. When the mastering process was done, it was like a release. That portion of that chapter was behind us. It was time to rediscover the songs."

Remaining consistent before, during and after the recording process has been Chico Fellini's sense of band spirit. You hear it readily in the simpatico of its more immediate songs, like Despite the Mix Up and No Strata. But as the four members talk outside the Shangri-La studio a day before hitting the road for a show at Chicago's Double Door, what is communicated isn't so much a formal band spirit as a simple but very obvious friendship.

"Honestly, I'm so grateful for the people in this band," Dennison said. "We're all great friends. I love just hanging out with them."

"We all enjoy being around each other," Hagihara said. "Even outside of rehearsal. Any night of the week we're having dinner or just hanging out. Coming to rehearsal is something I look forward to every week.

"Writing, performing, recording — all those other things are secondary to the fact that I just want to spend time with these people. I can't see any long-term relationship for a band without the origin being anything other than that."

The Penguin Dueling Piano Bar, whose name evokes the black and white of piano keys, is a rambunctious and bawdy place. The public might be clamoring for more — the crush at the entrance after 10 p.m. is pretty tight — but it's probably a good thing that it has limited hours at the moment: Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights only. Otherwise, people would just be worn out.

If you arrive at 8, you almost have the place to yourself, exposing the current renovation, which probably will be complete by the time this story goes to press. But one hour later, all that's invisible. The dueling piano players arrive; by 10:30 there's a drummer, and you no longer see the dry-walled posts or the half-finished ceiling. That view has been replaced by a crowd of faces, a wall of bodies, a ground floor and mezzanine of packed tables and attractive backlit bars that serve draft beer, wine and spirits, and where, if you are lucky, über-professional bartender Al Kokwaro will pour your drink.

Unlike venues where music is a mere spectator sport, The Penguin is all about interactivity. There are not one but three piano players on any given evening, coming sometimes from as far away as Nevada. They rotate, playing two at a time, and riff off each other on the baby grands, facilitated by the joy of standards spanning decades — and slugs of Red Bull.

And the audience gets involved. Every table has a pile of blank request cards to be filled in with a song, the artist and comments (include a tip when passing these to the entertainers). It is not uncommon for patrons to go onstage, from a silent presence on a piano bench to uninhibited tail-shaking. In general, however, most involvement comes in the form of sing-along and call-and-response.

The original Penguin was started 4½ years ago in Columbia, Mo., by a group of University of Missouri graduates, including co-owner Craig Hays, who earned his bachelor's degree in economics there.

"When we first looked to expand from the Missouri location, we were looking for towns with 250,000-plus people that had a college," Hays said. Homecomings and basketball, football, fraternities, sororities, parents weekends — all create a destination for large groups. But they also wanted a strong presence of young professionals, their target audience.

"We felt that Lexington fit those criteria well," Hays said.

Probably the most remarkable thing about The Penguin is the range of music. Regardless of your demographic, you won't feel cheated. These players know seemingly every hit that ever made the charts in the past 40 years: Neil Diamond and John Mellencamp, Jimmy Buffet and Randy Newman, and whatever else you can conjure up.

Apparently, the rule of thumb is that these artists should know a minimum of 1,200 songs by heart; the majority know more like 3,000.

It's mind-blowing.

On the Web site, the Penguin's concept is billed as "your personal jukebox." But that's a machine. Here it's all live. All good. All fun.

It's been a while since I've been to Mulligan's Gardenside Café, but with new owners at the restaurant, which features Irish fare, and St. Patrick's Day next week, it was time for another visit.

Despite the change in ownership — Larry and Leann Cornett are now in charge — nothing has really changed at this eatery in the Gardenside neighborhood. The former gas station isn't the prettiest restaurant in the world, but it is one of the friendliest. And the food is good.

Mulligan's offers Irish cuisine, but it also has a full menu of usual fare, including soups, salads, and entrees of beef, chicken and seafood. It also serves nightly specials. The night of one of my visits, it was meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and flat-iron steak (while I was waiting for my dinner companion to arrive, a woman at the next table told me to get it, because "it's really good").

Despite the suggestion, we wanted Mulligan's Irish fare, some of the heaviest and richest food on earth. You can't eat this food every day.

Our dinner started with yeast rolls and biscuits — hot, hot, hot — and real butter. Mulligan's uses copious amounts of butter for most of its Irish food.

We ordered one non-Irish appetizer, stuffed mushroom caps ($6.95), a favorite of my dinner companion. The huge caps were stuffed with shredded chicken, Cheddar cheese, herbs and spices, then broiled. With a spike of cayenne, they were wonderful and a bit spicy. But my friend thought them too spicy. If you like them hot, you'll love them. If you don't, the kitchen will leave the cayenne off, according to our server.

Among the entrees we tried was the Dublin potato hot pot ($8.95), a popular choice, our server said. A shallow gratin dish was overflowing with a mix of buttermilk-mashed potatoes, bacon, green onion, Cheddar cheese and slices of chicken. Heavy as lead, the dish resembled a loaded baked potato that had been mashed. Yummy.

We also sampled cabbage-and-bacon-stuffed chicken ($12.95). They should called it cabbage-and-bacon- smothered chicken. A very moist chicken breast (the menu says it doesn't need a sauce) was covered with coarsely chopped cabbage that had been braised with garlic and bacon. It came with a side of those buttermilk-mashed potatoes. We were packin' on the pounds.

I also had to try boxty ($7.95), one of my favorites from long-ago visits to Mulligan's. They're Irish potato pancakes in which mashed potatoes are mixed with a bit of flour, bacon and green onion, formed into patties and fried. Mulligan's served us two big boxty in a rich Mornay sauce. It was basically potatoes — again, made with buttermilk — and gravy.

The boxty would have been enough for dinner, but we needed some greens with our starch. We went for the most Irish of side dishes, colcannon ($7.95). Coarsely chopped cabbage had been braised with garlic and leeks, then mixed with more buttermilk-mashed potatoes.

We couldn't finish any of the huge dishes, certainly not because they were bad, but because it was overload.

Our server offered us blackberry cobbler for dessert, but we declined.

We paid the $57.86 tab — which included two Irish beers and a soft drink — and then, needless to say, rolled to our vehicles.

Back in the spring, I ran into restaurateur Wayne Masterman at a Derby Eve party. He told me that he had taken the lease on Emmett's Restaurant on Tates Creek Road and that he would rename it Summit. Well, it seemed that we'd meet again real soon. And so we did.

I have been to Summit twice. The first time was not long after it opened in May, when hardly anyone was there, and I sampled some delightful mussels ($10) and some wonderful fried rabbit ($28). But that was a sneak peek, not a review.

I went back last Friday for the review and I came away impressed.

Summit, just beyond Man o' War Boulevard and just off Tates Creek Road, is in an old house that has been transformed into a trendy, chic and expensive place to dine. The restaurant has several areas, including a bar room and patio, in which to dine. We were seated in the bar room, which has a clubby feel with its stone fireplace and French doors.

Summit's menu is wonderful. It offers large and small plates (large appetizer size), salads, pastas, Angus steaks and assorted sandwiches, including burgers.

For this review, we stuck with the small plates, which turned out to be plenty for everyone. We started with the appetizer special, soft-shell crab with chickpea fritters, and salad ($10). There aren't many things better than sautéed soft-shell crab, and this one (only one) was medium-size and delicious. The chickpea fritters were much like fried polenta (corn meal).

The next appetizer was fried calamari ($11). Tiny squid rings were dipped in a light batter and deep-fried. It was very much like tempura, and the squid rings were not overcooked. They were served with what seemed to be a very spicy remoulade, but I was told it was aioli with red chilies.

The soup of the day was dreamy: watermelon gazpacho ($5). Unlike tomato gazpacho, which is a chunky soup, this soup was thin and refreshing with watermelon flavor, and it had a kick.

The salads weren't bad, either. I had the spiced pecan/blue cheese salad ($9). This was a large salad of mainly leaf lettuce, but it was covered (not just sprinkled), from rim to rim with toasted spiced pecans. Inside were crumbles of Danish blue cheese and sun-dried cherries. It was lightly tossed with a mustard vinaigrette. I should have stopped here, but we also sampled the pizzetta ($9). This was a rosemary and Parmesan-rich flatbread topped with a roasted garlic head (they brought a cocktail fork for digging) and a wedge of cambozola cheese. It was much like a Camembert with a touch of blue mold. Very nice.

To wash all that food down, we ordered the Cigarzin zinfandel ($13 a glass), which was rich and almost chewy. It was a bit pricey but a wonderful wine.

Dessert included a pound cake topped with macerated peaches ($7). I'm not exactly sure what the peaches were macerated with other than sugar (maybe peach liquor), but it was a dreamy dessert. The peaches were perfect.

The second dessert, crème brûlée ($7), we took issue with. The flavor was fine, but the texture kind of threw us. It was stiffer than most I've had ... maybe overcooked. Texturally, it was more like a flan made with evaporated milk. Most people wouldn't have noticed, but I showed up. Shucks.

Summit has an excellent wait staff. Our server was very good. For the most part, he was Johnny-on-the-spot.

Dinner for two, including two glasses of wine, was $88. But remember, we had the small plates. If you order the large plates, you'll reach the summit before you know it.

Masala Fine Dining, a second location of the Masala in Beaumont, is tucked away on an access corridor off Nicholasville Road, on the former site of Kentucky Hot Moon, a quick bite spot known for its labyrinthine interior with funhouse mirrors and a phenomenally purple ladies' room. Its reinvented Indian self is still a maze, especially in the dark, but the décor has intensified: The walls are now black and red, and painted with elaborate designs, creating a more fearless impression than its predecessor did.

The fare, too, is a far cry from pastries and cappuccinos and puts its best foot forward when dishes are made to order.

With that in mind, I would skip the uninteresting buffet, even though it's inexpensive ($7.99). Few foods benefit from long visits with a steam table. The soupy dahl makni of curried lentils is good, as is the palak paneer (creamed spinach with chunks of cheese). Otherwise, I mostly remember sauce — resembling overly rich cream of tomato soup — coating everything from cubes of chicken tikka to potatoes, as well as lukewarm naan, unpleasantly greasy wadas (like doughnuts) and a few nondescript salads and curries.

But, in a pleasing about-face, dinner was entirely another story.

The assorted vegetable appetizers ($5.95) were delicious: two greaseless pappadams with golden onion chutney and minty cilantro dip, two samosas stuffed with turmeric-laced potatoes and peas, and light tangles of pakoras — savory battered strands of spinach and onions.

Goat curry ($13.95) arrived in gravy thick with the warm glow of ginger and onions that had cooked down. The chunks of stringy meat were still on the bone, extracting extra flavor from the marrow, but requiring mindful eating from the diner.

Shrimp dansik ($15.95) with lentils is India's version of a sweet (honey) and sour (vinegar) dish. Ordering it medium-spicy adds a third, and essential, layer of heat. Because the shellfish were sweet and the lentils mild, I thought it needed more vinegar (or a squirt of lemon) to keep it from being cloying.

Those enamored of cream and butter should always order a korma, especially with vegetables ($11.95), a standard mixed medley heightened by the occasional surprise of a yellow raisin here, a cashew there.

Rice comes with the entrees, but this night it seemed old, as if it had been on the buffet earlier that day. The garlic naan ($3.50), on the other hand, was perfect: piping hot, blistered, tender and chewy.

So the best approach to Masala is to order off the menu, which also is more in sync with the fancier ambience and allows the chance to appreciate the friendly service.

An enormous dinner for two, including beer and tax but not tip, came to about $68.

GEORGETOWN — When it was announced a couple of months ago that three new restaurants would be opening in Georgetown, I was surprised. Lexington rarely has that many openings in a month. But it appears that the sale of liquor, wine and beer by the glass has opened the door for many entrepreneurs in the Scott County seat. The last upscale restaurant without wine or beer in Georgetown was Elijah's, and it didn't make it. This time, Two: Twenty: Two Restaurant and Events, at 222 North Broadway, has wine, beer and liquor and a good chance of succeeding — with a little tweaking.

Two: Twenty: Two — the peculiar punctuation is on the menu and the signs — is an upscale but casual restaurant in an old Greek Revival mansion at North Broadway and East Jefferson Street. Inside, it's minimalist, mainly just an entrance foyer with a hostess and big double parlors with nicely napped tables and chairs.

Two: Twenty: Two's menu is small, not complicated, but adequate. To me, as long as everything is done well, it doesn't matter how small the menu is. In addition to the menu offerings, we were offered two evening specials, fried quail and walleye pike.

We started with "Tastes," or appetizers. From a selection of crab cakes, fried green tomatoes, goat cheese crusted with walnuts, and fresh mozzarella and tomatoes, we chose the crab cakes with lemon-lime aioli ($9) and the soup: basil tomato bisque ($5). The crab cake was the best I've had anywhere in the region. It was so simple. Hardly anything, possibly mayonnaise, held the patty together. It was pure lump crab and no Old Bay Seasoning. Hallelujah!

Still, there was a problem. The aioli wasn't aioli at all. Broken down, aioli means garlic and oil. Here, there wasn't a hint of garlic in the mayonnaise served with the crab cake. It was just mayonnaise.

The basil-tomato bisque was a cream soup served in a large soup plate. It had great top notes of fresh tomato but lacked a finish. Although I could see bits of basil, it was barely noticeable on the palate. And on the way down, it lost all flavor (that's a problem with vegetarian soups). Tweaking with herbs or other seasonings could help.

For salads, we tried the watercress and arugula Caesar ($6) and the wilted lettuce ($6). Both were delightful. The mix of watercress and arugula was very fresh and topped with large, baked garlic croutons. If you like anchovies, this salad dressing had them in spades.

The wilted lettuce salad was a classic. A lettuce chiffonade was doused with a hot bacon vinaigrette. Anything with bacon is wonderful, and so was this.

You don't see quail served very often, so we ordered the fried fowl ($21). The special certainly did not disappoint. The two birds, had been butterflied, dredged in seasoned flour and deep-fried. They were served with a wild and brown rice mixture. There isn't much to a quail except bones, so we had to work to get every delectable morsel.

The other entrée came from the menu, a rack of lamb bean cassoulet ($24). This one intrigued me. Cassoulet is usually a hearty winter dish, and here it was, in the heat of late summer. It's a classic French stew or casserole made with white beans and an assortment of meats — lamb, duck, pork — and the fat from them. But when our server asked me how I wanted the rack of lamb cooked, I was beginning to sense that I wasn't getting true cassoulet; the lamb should have been cooked in the pot with the beans. What I was served was a delicious rack of lamb — tiny lamb chops — wonderfully grilled and served with a side of white and lima beans that had been stewed with bread crumbs. That's not cassoulet. As with the aioli, terminology is flawed here. What we got was an excellent rack of lamb with beans on the side.

We washed down our appetizers and entrees with a nice Bohemian Highway California cabernet sauvignon ($5 a glass).

Desserts were offered without a menu. We chose the lemon tart ($4) and lemon cheesecake ($4) to go with a couple of good cups of coffee ($2 each).

The tart was light and not too satisfying. I suppose my mama ruined me on lemon tarts, tart being the optimum word. It wasn't bad; it was just too light — sweet with a lemonesque taste.

And speaking of light, the lemon cheesecake was a lot of fluff. It was reminiscent of an old restaurant standby, the French silk pie. Not a lot to it.

Two: Twenty: Two has the potential to be a Bluegrass classic. It has a great wait staff. But the chef needs to check the recipes, tweak a few things and rename a couple of others.

Dinner for two, including four glasses of cabernet sauvignon and tax, but not tip, was $109.18.

When writer Joel Stein recently announced in Time magazine his favorite wines among representatives from each of the 50 states, Equus Run's commemorative Celebration White (a blend of chardonel and viognier) made the cut. Stein was delighted with the wine, which he compared to a pinot grigio or an orvieto, and almost equally with the other tasters' surprise at its provenance.

Actually, Kentucky's wine traditions go back hundreds of years, but history and politics had interrupted them until late in the 20th century. In the past couple of decades, however, the industry has re-emerged, and Equus Run has been among its leaders.

The property opened in 1998 with owner/winemaker Cynthia Bohn at its helm. Since then, she has overseen the development of 7 acres of rootstocks; the import of grapes from within and without the state (although her preference is to stay close to home); the creation of a winemaking facility, amphitheater and a tasting room on the premises; and tours. By using her boundless energy and assembling a top-notch group of employees, she has created not only a successful business but a winery that offers a total experience.

Visit Equus Run on a pretty day. Fall is the perfect time, with the cabernet sauvignon fruit a deep midnight blue, the sky several shades lighter, the rolling hills soft green but on their way to becoming burnished, and the rows neatly waiting for harvest. A self-guiding brochure with a map explains the vineyard's layout.

After a walk (or before), there is nothing like having some wine and recording impressions. Isn't that part of what a winery is for? (Well, at least it is for me.)

For $2 you may sample six 1-ounce pours from the 12 to 15 bottles available at any given time. Staff members have been trained for at least four weeks before working with customers, including how to field a battery of questions ranging from the basic to erudite.

Chardonnay, cabernet sauvignon, merlot and a sweet riesling are among the choices, but there are some, perhaps less familiar, varietals such as viognier (pronounced "vee-oh-nyay"), made into a dessert wine. Australia is making a rosé sparkling wine with shiraz grapes, but to my knowledge, only Equus Run is making the cabernet sauvignon "blanc de noirs," a dark still rosé.

It seemed to me that the major challenge might be how to coax tasters to imagine matching some lesser-known hybrids with food. When I asked Bohn about that, she explained:

"Tasting sheets describe the wines, and the foods are recommended with each new wine release based upon our 'test kitchen' of experiences. We do not first build a palate image for the client, but rather we facilitate the wine tasting experience to encourage client feedback and help them take a leap towards experiencing their own palate first."

No wonder the motto at Equus Run is "Visit the vineyards, taste the experience," and no wonder Stein concluded his article with "Kentucky, you charmed me."

GEORGETOWN — Around the Bluegrass, a vast majority of Thai restaurants Americanize their curries, noodles and soups. The result is a hyphenated set of compromises, American-Thai, that eliminate surprise and substitute safety. Financially, that's rational, but gastronomically, some diners want more.

Thai Garden is a small, sweet and fun dining spot that has great service but also is making the case for pushing the envelope.

The least-pleasing dishes were those most generically Asian and the least Thai, lacking the thrill of chilies, lemongrass or doses of fish sauce typical of authentic Thai cuisine. Examples include the Thai roll ($4.99), a fried egg roll that could easily be found at a buffet; and steamed dumplings ($5.99), fabulously light won tons encasing a predictable filling of pork and cabbage. Also, the yum woon sen salad ($8.99), with lots of clear noodles, shrimp and squid, sliced onion and iceberg lettuce (but no pickled garlic), was not more exciting than that.

Now to the ones we liked.

Everything sauce-based at Thai Garden was rich yet light. The excellent tom yum soup with chicken ($7.99), warm with galangal (mild ginger root), bright with lemongrass and lime leaves and judiciously spicy, hit the mark brilliantly. Red curry with tender beef, zucchini and peas ($7.99) got the coconut milk ratio just right: silky but not too thick.

Pineapple's presence in the pineapple fried rice ($7.99) with pork and eggs, peas and corn, gave it its Thai personality. Chicken pad thai ($7.99), although in need of more scallions, was generous on the chopped peanuts. Pad cashew with tofu, a simple stir-fry with bits of pineapple ($7.99), did a nice job of balancing sweetness and salt.

On the whole, it was a good dinner. But, shortly before closing time, curiosity got the better of me and, emboldened by staff friendliness, I asked whether the kitchen would make us something they and their Thai friends and family might eat, something not on the menu.

Eureka!

We were brought salty and sour chicken tenders ($7.99), sautéed but not breaded, with a small side of sticky rice (a textural treat), lettuce leaves to make wraps and a dipping sauce for chili flavor. Seeing our enthusiasm and interest, a warm dessert ($4.99) arrived, consisting of sweet sticky rice, the best mango slices anywhere and a gentle sweet coconut sauce on top. Both were delicious, and both are not found elsewhere.

The moral of the story? There are two: Give Georgetown's Thai Garden a chance, and it never hurts to ask for what you want.

Dinner for four, consisting of nine dishes, with tax but not tip, was about $75.

Lexington's approach to growth recalls John Lennon's memorable insight that life is what happens while you're making other plans. As our downtown works to reinvent itself with ideas and strategies, fresh energy is happening right now on North Limestone, pioneered and exemplified by Al's Bar.

In less than 18 months, this revived neighborhood watering hole has evolved into a culinary destination and a full-frontal music venue, broadening exposure to local jazz, indie and especially bluegrass talent, as well as sponsoring art classes, movie nights and the "holler poets" series that showcases the art of words.

Eat healthy and delicious here in these lean times for less than $5: Bison and lamb burgers, superb sweet potato fries, tender black-bean burgers and updated fried green tomatoes with basil mayonnaise are among the treats. Each item is prepared with a fine and unpretentious sensibility.

But what really impresses me is the beautiful social tapestry of the place, woven by an eclectic clientele encouraged to be themselves. Only troublemakers are not tolerated. Go at 6 on Friday evening and your bar companions might be speaking Spanish. Show up for dinner at 9:30 on a Thursday night; by 10 the (affordable) jukebox is playing Amy Winehouse, followed 30 minutes later by fiddle music and percussive food-stomping.

Holler poet and Northside resident Eric Sutherland has witnessed Al's development firsthand.

"It is a community hub that perfectly reflects the social dynamics of the neighborhood," he says. "On any given night, you will see African-Americans, Latinos and whites all mingling together at the bar or around the pool table. The décor hasn't changed since the changeover, which gives it a very low-key and humble charm; you have your framed unicorn and eagle prints along with beer signs and show posters.

"They have worked tremendously hard to be a good member of the community they are situated in, when they could have just as easily changed the whole dynamic of the place from the beginning and really alienated a majority of the neighborhood," he said.

A fresh mural on the side of the building, funded by LexArts and painted by Michael Burrell, reflects Sutherland's observations.

Credit for encouraging this unique ambience goes to the excellent servers and staff, and to the wise, warm and fun personality of part-owner and manager Josh Miller, who gravitated here after 10 years in professional kitchens, a stint of teaching English in China and a degree in law. He recognized early on that a law practice was not for him, but he finished school anyway because, as Miller says, "I'm not a quitter."

That's for sure.

Coming at the end of this month is Al's Side-Car, next door at 607 North Limestone. It will have a magnificent bar restored by a historic preservationist, drinks, Cajun fare and no cover charge. (Side-Car shares its address with Cultural Preservation Resources, a new music venue, that will feature the band Vox Arcana this weekend; see Page 6 for details.)

Vague comparisons with Casablanca, Bogart and Rick's Café Americain come to mind. For sure, Miller is sweet and Bogie was acerbic, pool and ping-pong take the place of roulette, and we are not in North Africa, but Miller understands bourbon and the same fundamental principle of a successful bar:

"In this business, you 'provide a place' and see what people do. You are who you attract, and you know the bartender who will be there. Consistency is important.

"The crowd is a big part of what you go for."

Bellini's building in the center of downtown Lexington is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Its tile floor, with rich deep blues, and pressed metal ceiling are magnificent. As a restaurant, it projects fine dining, from long-stemmed roses to pristine white tablecloths to the opulent carved wood bar. (There is also a separate bar next door.) Only interested parties might notice the door's chipped paint, the theatrical drapes, the unsightly red runner and myriad other touches that seem less fine.

It's true that much is asked of upscale spots, especially in recessive times. After all, wonderful food doesn't require a lovely atmosphere, indulgent service or the elusive magic of je ne sais quoi. But those extras go from optional to essential as the tab edges upward.

The question of value is highly subjective, but here's what I know from a recent meal at Bellini's.

A welcome start was the lovely bread from neighboring Sunrise Bakery, served with good green olive oil, heavily splashed with balsamic vinegar, for dipping.

Then came two cheesy grilled portobellos ($10). They were pleasant and great for vegetarians, but the bread crumbs were charred and again, there was far too much balsamic on the plate.

Bellini's caesar (included with pastas, or $6 a la carte) was almost perfect, certainly the best I've tasted in Lexington: a cold plate for crisp, cold, perfectly bite-size pieces of Romaine and the ideal whisper of anchovies in the delicately creamy dressing. Someone had forgotten to rub the bland croutons with garlic, but even so this was a great salad — and reasonably priced.

Tonno fresco ($33) — two small pieces of sashimi grade tuna — with a delicious, fritter-like potato crust got zest from a drizzle of lemony aioli. It arrived medium rare, thus a little dry around the edges. A side of cauliflower risotto was gummy and skimpy on the cauliflower, but the big handful of haricots verts, lightly al dente and emerald green, sparkled.

A mountain of tagliatelle Bolognese ($25), fettucine's wider cousin (yes, I am a pasta nerd), was light, homemade and outstanding. I loved it in spite of the high price point. The "Bolognese" perfectly balanced sausage and ground beef but was really a meat sauce with fresh chunks of tomatoes rather than a rich, long-simmered ragù in which every ingredient melts together over time.

Finally, dessert was a slice of almond tart ($8), a fluffy filling of almond paste encased in a short, tough crust; a little pool of peach purée and crème anglaise were accompaniments.

Bellini's is a high-end restaurant whose high points are really high. It needs only to concentrate on details, both of décor and cuisine, to get another star. While this might sound overly exacting, in today's tense economy the critic has an increased responsibility to emphasize the relationship between experience and cost.

Dinner for two, including a glass of Volpi Barbara d'Asti ($8) and of Placido pinot grigio ($8), was about $105, including tax but not tip.

VERSAILLES — Consider the origins of the sandwich.

In the 1700s, the Earl of Sandwich was reputedly more interested in gambling than food, refusing to leave the gaming table long enough to eat. For sustenance, he was brought straightforward, portable finger food — two slices of bread with meat between them. Little did he know, or presumably care, that a culinary tradition was being born.

These days, we too eat sandwiches, often as though we were distracted by something else and indifferent to the quality of the individual ingredients, aroused only by the primary flavors of salt, a spread or condiments. It's easy to forget that a superior sandwich can be almost miraculous, transforming simple yet fine building blocks into a meal far greater than the sum of its parts. So dependent on essentials, this basic "dish" reveals much about the character and values of its creator.

Using that measure, few around here care as much about quality as Wallace Station, a casual little Woodford County diner whose sandwiches make a big statement.

For one thing, the inch-thick slices of homemade bread — white, whole wheat or rye — with the crisscross brand of the grill, are crisp outside yet supple. How often is bread of star caliber?

Then there are the fillings, a far cry from the earl's unidimensional meat.

On Paige's veggie cheese ($7.95), which I ordered on whole wheat, there was a lovely mix of soft and sharp cheeses, the crunch of toasted almonds, a bit of horseradish for bite, bourbon mustard, refreshing sprouts, yellow tomato that tasted right off the vine, onion, local lettuce and roasted red peppers.

The Santa Anita club ($7.95) has more personality than a standard club that is essentially bacon, turkey, lettuce and tomato. This version ramps things up by adding pepperjack cheese, guacamole and spicy chipotle mayonnaise.

A cup of creamy coleslaw is a light accompaniment, made with sweet young cabbage, not the tough or bitter kind beyond its prime that is merely masked with mayonnaise, sour cream or both.

And now that the temperatures are cooler, it's the perfect time to try one of Wallace Station's soups, made in-house, of course. I loved the chicken and mushroom with carrots and celery ($3.50) that had the texture of chowder and lots of fresh verve. There was nothing watery, sludgy or hydrolyzed about it.

The display case houses a world of freshly baked bars and Frisbee-size cookies — OK, that's a slight exaggeration, but I bought a peanut butter and a molasses, each $3, and took three-quarters home.

No matter which road you take, the country drive is beautiful, as are the surroundings — and the sandwiches — once you arrive.

How much better is that than the gaming table, I ask you?

A generous lunch for two, including sides and dessert, was about $26.

The Dish doesn't have every dish you wish for, but we did seriously wish for every dish it has.

On my first trip to this newish "modern American"-style Chevy Chase eatery, which opened in July in the former Le Bistro space on South Ashland Avenue, my companion and I couldn't get past the appetizers. We ordered five of the six offered and made a meal of small plates.

The duck egg rolls ($11), three or four of them, were fantastically rich, with bits of Peking-style duck, carrot and cabbage wrapped in a thicker-than-normal won ton skin. It was crunchy and topped with an orange vinaigrette. They were heaven.

The carpaccio ($10) was a slight disappointment only because it was too thick. It's been my experience that carpaccio should be paper thin — sliced thinly and pounded even thinner — but what we had was still delicious. The raw beef had been rolled, garnished with arugula and horseradish cream, and served on toasted crostini. Excellent.

The "scallop potatoes" ($12) were a slam dunk. Scallops are tricky and a good test for any kitchen — just a minute to cook and a minute to turn into a hockey puck. Huge sea scallops had been pan-seared perfectly, beautifully browned on the outside and translucent on the inside, with hardly any tooth. They were placed on a thin slice of roasted potato, then served in a very light smoked Gouda cream. This was fabulous.

The shellfish steamer ($8) was one of the best I've had in Lexington. Mussels and clams had been cooked in and served with garlic, herbs and wine. Did I mention garlic? The clams and mussels were very tender and served with dry-grilled crostini for sopping the exquisite liquid.

For dessert, we sampled pumpkin crème brûlée ($6.50) and apple pie ($6.50). Both were brilliant. The crème brûlée was two-toned, with a very light vanilla custard on top and light pumpkin-flavored custard on the bottom, both smooth as silk and yummy. The pie, filled with apples and caramel, had an exceptional crust: very light and flaky flour- and shortening-based.

Also worth mentioning is The Dish's full bar service. They were pushing martinis that Monday night, but I wanted a glass of wine. Luckily, the restaurant offers an extensive list of exceptional wines. I found one I had tried during a review in Nicholasville: Hall cabernet sauvignon ($10.50 a glass), rich, chewy and berrylike.

That dinner for two, including tax but not tip, was $80.83.

On the second trip, we concentrated on entrees — chicken and dumplings ($18) and grouper on pumpkin ravioli ($22). The grouper was roasted and wonderful, and the savory pumpkin purée-stuffed ravioli (one huge one) was an unexpected treat. The pasta's intense pumpkin flavor was quite a contrast to the fish's sweetness. The sauce — browned butter and sage — didn't hurt a bit either.

The chicken and dumplings were a complete change from the traditional version of the dish that I ate at home growing up. Chicken tenders and turned parsnips were mixed with potato gnocchi — the lightest I've had in a long time — and a shiitake mushroom sauce. It was good, but it was just so strange that The Dish called it chicken and dumplings.

For dessert we had an interesting "hot" chocolate cake ($6.50) that was a play on the "hot chocolate" in the movie Chocolat. The folks at The Dish added hot chili pepper to the chocolate mousse garnish on top of a rich chocolate cake. The chili didn't make the topping any spicier, just brighter.

The other dessert, which we were told was experimental, was Frangelico ice cream ($6.50). More experimentation is in order. The hazelnut flavor was excellent, but the texture was pasty and grainy.

Dinner for two on this visit, including tax but not tip, was $93.55.

Service on both nights was quiet and professional.

The Dish isn't the cheapest place I've been, but with a few tweaks, it could become the best place.

Ever since Phil Dunn closed his very popular Phil Dunn's Cook Shop at 431 Old East Vine Street, the restaurants that have moved into the space haven't been nearly as successful. Now, the space is occupied by Annette's City Café.

I've yet to see it crowded at night, but Annette's is a catering business first. It is open for dinner on Fridays and Saturdays only, lunch on weekdays (when it can be crowded) and brunch on Sunday. I've been there multiple times during the past month or so, sampling Annette's wares.

I had lunch with colleagues at Annette's about a month ago. It wasn't a review meal by any means, but if you think I wasn't watching, think again. I had the quiche of the day, which turned out to be exceptional. Annette's made it with blue cheese — not a lot, but enough for me to say “wow.” Everyone at the table got a bite. They loved it, too. It was incredible, but it was the “quiche of the day,” which means not every day.

Earlier in the month, I ate at Annette's with a friend. We both had the same entree, beef tenderloin medallions encrusted with cracked black peppercorns ($25). You can't go wrong with beef and pepper. The two were made for each other. We wanted the beef rare, and that's the way it was served. With the cracked black peppercorns and a bourbon mushroom demi-glaze, it was fantastic. I couldn't wait to do an “official“ review dinner.

That review came last week. Still, no crowd on Friday night. Annette's is an upscale restaurant, nice and roomy, with live music every Friday and Saturday night. It offers a somewhat limited menu and rarely any specials.

We started the review dinner with drinks — an O'Doul's alcohol-free beer ($2) and a glass of Rodney Strong cabernet sauvignon ($7). From there, we ordered appetizers from a list of four. We sampled the country ham and Gruyère quesadilla ($7). Delicious. The ham and cheese were placed between two flour tortillas and grilled, then cut into wedges and served with a coarsely ground mustard. We were delighted.

The other appetizer was vegetable tempura ($7). The veggies (zucchini, yellow squash and carrot) had been dipped in a very light batter and deep fried. The end result was just a wisp of crispy crust around al dente vegetables. Japanese restaurants don't do it any better. They were served with a nice horseradish sauce.

Salads (only two listed) were, as expected, nice. I tried the “Lexington Best,” which was Bibb lettuce and other mixed greens tossed with candied pecans, Mandarin oranges and crumbled blue cheese. The bourbon-citrus dressing that was served on the side, however, lacked any taste. I had to ask one of the servers what it was. If there was bourbon in it, I couldn't tell. The salad was good without the dressing.

The Caesar salad ($4) was good but nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn't as anchovy- laden as we would have liked (some people might like that better), but the Romaine lettuce was fresh and the Parmesan cheese on top was good. The croutons were very garlicky.

Of the seven entrees offered (no specials), we ordered lamb ($26) and apple-glazed pork tenderloin ($21).

We were disappointed with the pork tenderloin. It was very dry and tough. These days, pork is a bit tricky. Hogs are bred to be leaner. If the meat is cooked at too high a temperature, it gets tough. I don't think the pork would have impressed a soul that night.

However, the lamb was absolutely delicious. It had been advertised as lamb chops, but we were notified early on that they had been switched to rack of lamb (at least four double ribs). I don't recall telling our server how we wanted them (rare, medium or well-done), but they came medium-rare and were perfect. The lamb had been roasted with rosemary, which produced a lovely flavor and an aroma that was noticeable when they were served. Fantastic.

The sides — we ordered potatoes au gratin and grilled asparagus — were heaven. The potatoes were made with blue cheese (not too much, but detectable), and the fresh asparagus had been grilled and lightly charred. Both were exceptional and absolutely made the dinner.

Lastly, a dessert tray was brought to the table. The cakes and pastries are made from scratch at Annette's. We sampled carrot cake and lemon chess pie ($4 each). The carrot cake was rich, moist and topped with cream cheese icing. The lemon chess pie looked very similar to Magee's Bakeries' transparent pie, but unlike Magee's it was full of lemon flavor. Both desserts were washed down with rather standard cups of coffee ($2 each).

Dinner for two, including tax but not tip, was $96.46.

Every visit to Sav's — I have made three — has been a pleasure. Maybe it's the muted tropical shades of paint that portion out the walls into panels of color. Maybe it's the bop in the music that's like a calming heartbeat. Or maybe it's because the multiple flavors of Guinea, the America South and soul food are just so fresh, special and delicious.

There is even a standout Jamaican beverage selection, with Ting, a grapefruit soda, and a bracing and piquant ginger “beer.”

Owner-chef Mamadou Savane hails from Guinea in West Africa, where root vegetables, grains and stews are staples. At his restaurant, he is introducing Lexington to some of those, and giving us more regional favorites, including chewy, smoky, grilled baby back ribs in the “Victory platter” ($11.75 with two sides), a plate of grilled Cornish hen ($7.45 with two sides) — a bit dry for my taste — or a dish of buttery cheese grits ($2.99).

But it is really his home continent's fare that should excite our interest.

Key ingredients that make those dishes special are palm oil, which provides a richer flavor (and more saturated fat), and attiéké (pronounced “KAY KAY”), a grain impersonator transformed, through grating, soaking, drying and fermentation, from the root of the cassava bush into a moister, softer version of couscous.

Palm oil appears in the deep African rice bowls, giving these stews, atop perfectly cooked rice, their luxuriously smooth texture. I've sampled them all.

When I want to go meatless, I might get a bowl of vegetable stew with “leaf” sauce — think spinach and greens — or Sav's sauce, which resembles silky peanut purée (both $4.49). For 50 cents more, you can add a protein: beef to the leaves, or chicken or beef to the Sav's sauce.

Being a newly minted attiéké addict, I would never order a salad here without it. For $4.99, not only is there plenty of crisp romaine, seasonal tomatoes and cucumbers, and onions, but also the tart bite of Sav's homemade vinaigrette and the appealing mouthfeel of tiny attiéké beads.

The courteous and helpful staff will probably offer some piment, a hot sauce made by the chef from habanero peppers. With habaneros ranging between 200,000 and 580,000 Scoville units on the pepper heat index (jalapeños are usually 25,000), that decision is between you and your mojo.

Finally, although Sav's culinary experience began far, far away from the United States, you can finish your meal with some wonderful Valentine's ice cream, made right down the road in Winchester.

Lunch for two, including drinks and dessert, would run $20 to $30.

Dining in gas stations has never been at the top of my list, but after some creative rehabilitation, some spent gas stations have been turned into some nice restaurants.

Billy's Bar-B-Q used to be a Sunoco station (I know because I used to get gas there and, in some instances, I still do); Mulligan's Gardenside Café and the Donato's Pizza on East Main Street used to be Ashland Oil gas stations (we used to get a smoked-glass goblet or tumbler with every fill-up); and Charlie's Seafood on Winchester Road used to be a gas station.

The latest entry into Lexington's restaurant scene, Doodles, I was told, was an old gas station, but I remember it as a liquor store.

Doodles is a beautiful rehab and looks like a brand-spanking-new gas station, circa 1940, with a rooster on top. Inside, it's simple, with bare two- and four-top tables that are too close together.

Doodles is a breakfast- and lunch-only diner. But, unlike with diners of old, you won't get a waitress named Mabel or Flo coming to your table and calling you "Honey." No, no, you have to wait in line at the counter and decide what you want from a big menu on the wall in the entrance or from a few menus at the cash register. Then you pay up front. There's something wrong with this format.

Coffee was self-serve unless you ordered a French press pot ($8). My companion and I ordered that for brunch, and it was brought to the table.

After you pay, you're given a tag with a number that you attach to a display holder at the table of your choice so the kitchen staff can find you. What happened to the Harvey Girls, with starched uniforms, caps and sensible shoes? I'm saying this because Doodles isn't cheap.

Doodles has an interesting menu until you get the goods. I'll start with the johnny cakes ($2.50 for a short stack, $5.25 for tall). It's probably the oldest recipe from the New World. Starving Pilgrims supposedly were taught by Native Americans how to make johnny cakes: cornmeal, salt and boiling water. White Lily wasn't invented yet. Books have been written on this subject. Rhode Island has johnny cake festivals. It's griddled corncakes, plain and simple. The "johnny cakes" we were served at Doodles might have had some cornmeal in the mix, but I couldn't tell them from ordinary flour pancakes. Maple syrup served on the side was a nice touch, though. Sorghum molasses was an alternative.

The oatmeal brûlée ($4.50), made with steel-cut McCann's Irish Oats, was nice but was just oatmeal covered with sugar and then run under a broiler. After I thought about it, a microwave oven could have achieved the same results. Not difficult at $4.50.

Strata, an egg, bread and cheese casserole, is a brunch favorite. We ordered the Kentucky hot Brown strata ($6.50). And, indeed, it did have turkey and bacon. Unfortunately, ours had a very eggy, even a burnt-eggy, flavor. This is something that can be made in advance, kind of like lasagna. I suspect the kitchen didn't use enough milk in the mix, and I suspect it was cooked too quickly.

The omelet ($6.75), made with fresh spinach and bacon (you have many choices of ingredients), was exceptional. It was the best dish we had for brunch that day.

Brunch for two cost $28. We got two extra cups of coffee ($2.25 each) and had to get them ourselves.

I went back for lunch. I ordered the po-boy salad ($8.50). It was revolting. Iceberg lettuce had been dressed with something — ranch, maybe the caper dressing they put on the salad Doodle, it was hard to tell. But one thing I know, it had been dressed hours earlier or longer. The lettuce was room temperature and so limp it was close to mush. It was topped with strips of fried chicken and garnished with pickles and cherry tomatoes. I was amazed that Doodles would serve it.

Doodles offers two soups — chicken Doodle soup and Doodle noodle soup. I ordered a bowl of chicken Doodle ($4.90). It had chunks of dark chicken meat, carrots, onion and celery and a slick of oil and parsley on top. It didn't taste like any chicken soup I've ever had before. As a matter of fact, it didn't taste like chicken soup at all. It was a darker-than-normal clear "chicken" soup, and the flavor was heavy. Maybe it had been on the stove too long.

Lunch, including self-serve iced tea in a plastic cup, was just under $15.

On the outside, Doodles has the look of a retro diner. But once you're inside, it's anything but. It will be a thing of the past if it continues its tiresome format.

There comes a time when even the most willing hedonist decides to give it a rest. The body demands care, and any nutritionist will tell you that one simple approach to revitalization is to take sustenance through juice.

A good juicer costs a bundle, takes up space in the home kitchen and can be time-consuming to clean, so for the detox without the mess, Good Foods Market and Café offers an organic juice bar. Here vitamins, minerals and enzymes come in bracing and sweet flavors, freshly extracted from their original packages. The juice bar opened in 2002, a recent addition in the Co-op's 36-year history.

After so long, what inspired it?

"We got suggestions from customers," said Crystal Stites, the co-op's marketing manager. "People would go to other towns and other co-ops and asked us why we didn't have one here. Some of our best ideas come from our customers."

So a humongous juicer from Miracle Exclusives — the Miracle Pro MJ800 — was bought and set up in a little room evocative of the Wizard of Oz's furtive workspace, from which emerge a variety of blended juices using carrots and beets, ginger and apples, spinach and celery, parsley and lemons ($2.99 to $4.49 for 12 ounces, $3.49 to $5.29 for 16 ounces).

I really like the shots ($1.29 to $1.99) — perhaps because of the bar-like nomenclature? — that are "chased" with a wedge of apple, reminiscent of tequila and lime.

These pure delicious beverages provide enough energy for a natural high, enough beta-carotene for sparkling eyes, and enough nutrients to wash away, or feel as if they wash away, the consequences of any recent indulgence.

One can only hope.

There also are smoothies ($3.99 to $4.49) created from bananas and berries, apples and peaches, milk and honey, even peanut butter — organic when possible — that might be sweet or rich, tart or tropical, and for a small extra charge (50 cents to 99 cents), they can muscle up with a jolt of healthy esoterica such as spirulina and echinacea.

The staff is careful to avoid making medical statements, unfounded claims or guarantees for juice's benefits. Rather, Stites and colleague Cathy Burnett, coffee bar (and juice bar) manager, communicate the conventional wisdom about the efficacy of juice in getting vitamins and minerals into the body and the accelerated metabolization of their concentrated form.

"Juicing breaks down elements to make fruits and vegetables more digestible and allows quick absorption in nutrients. You get a lot in one cup," Burnett said.

But there is no need to undersell the flavors. Carrot juice is luscious. Wheatgrass is like chugging a liquefied but clean front lawn, or so one imagines. A ginger lemon jolt is welcome for its sunny citrus notes and its spicy heat in the damp winter months, and who has to be persuaded to enjoy berries?

Drinking garlic might be a little intense — I haven't graduated to drinks with that ingredient — but during the holidays, as we delight in baked goods and toddies and unbridled indulgence, the value that any juice provides allows you be good while you're being bad.

Who doesn't love Mexican restaurants? For the most part, they are festive places eager to please their patrons. El Mariachi Mexican Restaurant & Cantina, the latest addition to the restaurant scene, is certainly that.

El Mariachi is in the space that had been what seemed like the largest Fazoli's on earth. It's spacious, bright and well staffed. The menu is pretty standard, but what El Mariachi offers, with one exception, was good.

I have my personal tests for every Mexican restaurant: guacamole and carnitas. Both were on the menu at El Mariachi.

We might as well start with the bad. I've been to El Mariachi twice. Both times, I sampled a side of guacamole ($3). The first time, I thought it a bit green (unripe) but otherwise very nice. On the second trip, we had to remind our server that I had ordered a side of guacamole, so it came to the table late. It didn't taste at all like the guacamole I had a few days earlier. It was so salty, it tasted like someone dumped a whole box of salt in the vat. I think someone in the kitchen forgot or scrimped on the lemon juice. It didn't take long for the guacamole to oxidize and turn brown. Citrus juice would have slowed that process. So beware, there's an inconsistency with the guac.

The carnitas ($10.99), however, were lovely. The pork tips had been fried and were a bit dry, but otherwise were full of flavor. The plate was finished with the obligatory Mexican rice and refried beans, which I thought were standard, and a small guacamole salad. (Had I gotten the carnitas on my second visit, I could have used the guacamole to salt the pork.)

On the second trip, my one companion and I kind of threw caution to the wind. We ordered way more food than we should have. Of course, it started with warmed tortilla chips and salsa. El Mariachi's salsa is darker and spicier than most. I loved it. And, they bring what they call El Mariachi salsa, a white salsa — mayonnaise, ranch dressing and spices (lots of pepper). It was certainly a nice touch.

El Mariachi also has Dos Equis beer on tap. We ordered two large ones ($4.75). We didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. I've had beer in beer gardens in Munich (the ultimate beer experience), so I thought I'd seen it all, but never have I seen steins the size of El Mariachi's. They were as large as pitchers. Neither one of us finished the beers (besides the size, there was a state trooper at the next table).

On the big trip, we sampled the choriqueso ($6.75), a chorizo and cheese dip. It was good enough to eat with a spoon, but anything with chorizo usually is.

We also tried the tamales ($2.75), which neither of us was thrilled with. The flat tamales were covered with so much ground pork and sauce they were almost hard to find. We also found a little shredded pork inside. They were pretty standard.

For entrees we sampled the Texas fajitas ($12.99). Generous amounts of shrimp, chicken and beef, along with onion, green pepper and spices were brought to the table sizzling on an iron plate. It sizzled for 15 minutes. Warm tortillas and pico de gallo, guacamole (the too salty batch) and sour cream were served on the side. Certainly, these fajitas were as good as you could get anywhere.

The chilies poblanos ($10.25) were a delight. Two huge poblano chilies (very mild and with the stems) had been stuffed with a white cheese — maybe Oaxaca, which is very much like mozzarella — dipped in a light batter and fried. The menu said one would be stuffed with cheese and chicken, but I found only cheese in both. Pulled or shredded chicken and sauce was used as a topping. Sans chicken, they'll be a favorite with vegetarians.

Desserts were delightful, as well. Flan ($3.50) is on every Latin-inspired menu from Asia to the New World. El Mariachi makes its flan, or baked custard, with evaporated milk, and it was rich, rich, rich.

Also on the menu was a dessert I'd never tried: xango ($4.75). I begged for an explanation. I was told it's a cheesecake-stuffed burrito. Well, bring it on. And, indeed, a large burrito had been stuffed with cream cheese and cinnamon filling. It was sinfully rich, and the light cinnamon flavor didn't hurt, either.

Dinner for two, including tax, but not tip, was $49 and change. Not too bad for a feast.

Thai Orchid's name communicates a theme: walls in muted shades of rose and violet, close-up nature photos of everything Orchidaceae and a fresh and clean version of a cuisine both delicate and hearty.

Oversight, that sine qua non of a good dining experience, is ensured by the fact that (at least one of) the owners from the Veerasethakul family, i.e. the stakeholders, always seem to be there, checking diners' enjoyment while making sure that the standards that earned the restaurant a 100 from the health inspectors are maintained.

And there is lots to enjoy.

On two separate visits, only a couple of dishes left me indifferent. One was the mini shrimp straws ($5.95), deep-fried won ton cigarillos stuffed with minced shrimp that resembled po' boys in taste, egg rolls in texture. Even the attractive presentation in a martini glass didn't justify the price. The other was the golden pockets with curried chicken ($2.95). Although tasty, they merely reminded me of a smaller, lighter samosa, India's famous turnover.

Instead, make lettuce wraps ($7.95) your appetizer, a simple riff on larb that had more ginger than the expected mint and whole peanuts, not ground ones, which would have harmonized better with the spicy ground chicken. Nevertheless, this do-it-yourself appetizer with iceberg lettuce leaves is a lovely light start.

Forgo any complimentary soups that might be good but can't hold a candle to tom yum. Thai Orchard does a fabulous version. It's slightly spicy, tart and bright with lemongrass and mild ginger root, and substantial with fresh mushrooms and tofu ($4.50). Seafood and chicken additions also are available. “Yum” is right!

Break out of the pad Thai rut (if there is such a thing) with pad see eiw ($7.50), a sweet dish of thick, almost sticky noodles. Egg makes this stir-fry rich, and broccoli adds crunch (perhaps a little too much — al dente and undercooked aren't the same thing). They add Chinese cabbage and bean sprouts, and snow peas for texture and color contrast. As with pad Thai, ground peanuts are sprinkled on top.

New to the menu is the Thai deluxe omelet ($9.95), a dead ringer for egg foo yung — translation: Asian/American — with chicken, onions, Napa cabbage, bean sprouts and scallions. Because there is an addition of sweet soy sauce, this is probably a good way to start children on Thai food. There is, however, a limited children's menu.

The classic seasoning duo of basil and chili appear with beef ($8.50) in a fork-tender dish made with flank steak. There are plenty of smothered sweet onions. Visually, the result is a bit monochromatic, but on the palate, just delicious.

Last but not least, don't leave Thai Orchid without having a curry — specifically, green curry with shrimp ($9.95). Green curries are traditionally hotter, balancing saltiness and the sweet that comes from coconut milk. The helping of plump shrimp that tasted ocean-fresh was generous, and somewhere, somehow, Thai Orchid found the most tender julienne bamboo shoots. Those, along with peas and green beans, created a balanced, beautiful and delicious meal, served, like all entrees, with steamed rice.

These samplings made only a dent in the abundant menu selections.

Well, who says I'm done?

Large lunches for two with plenty to take home about $31, dinners about $48, including tax and Thai beer.

If indeed good things come in small packages, then Metropol restaurant should have been good. Lucky for us, with one nagging exception, the place was magnificent.

Metropol is a tiny, chic bar and restaurant on West Short Street. It is in a building that once housed the Lexington Post Office and is on the National Register of Historic Places. Upon entering, it's clear how small the place is: stairs to the right, three tables on the left and a bar with maybe five or six stools in the back. Most diners are seated upstairs in one of two dining rooms — one in the front, one in the back. With lights on dimmers, both rooms were restful spaces of light and shadow, and the tables were beautifully napped.

On my first trip, we were seated in the back dining room (less formal, an under-the-eaves kind of space) at a table that was barely big enough for a gnat to land on. I was offered a larger table, but I thought it would be interesting to see how they handled the tight situation. Everything went well.

The meal was a five-course dinner — we tried a little bit of everything and blew the budget. We even ordered braised rabbit ($30). It had been dredged in flour, browned and braised in broth. It was succulent and rich, served with a light Dijon mustard-based cream sauce.

Our other entree was seafood fettuccine ($26), with tiny bay scallops, crab claws, shrimp and a spicy lobster-tomato sauce. The fettuccine was perfectly cooked al dente. The sauce might have been too spicy for many, but I loved it.

Our appetizers (both $10.50) were coquilles St. Jacques — a gratin of tiny bay scallops in a rich beurre blanc topped with Gruyère cheese — and steak tartare with onion and capers. It's not hamburger, but a filet of beef scraped (with a spoon) and blended with egg, onion and capers. It's never been one of my favorites, but my dinner companion loved it.

We didn't think Metropol could get any better, but it did on the second trip.

We were seated in the front dining room (more formal, with high ceilings) at a six-seat table. The food was extraordinary.

The only appetizer we ordered was a rich pâté de foie gras, served with toast points and what, under dimmed lighting, looked like chopped onion. We skipped the pile of onion — I didn't want such a harsh flavor with something so delicate as the very mild pâté.

But after we had finished the pâté, I tasted the “onion.” We couldn't figure out what it was. It had an extraordinary fruity, perfumey flavor. We asked and were told it was Granny Smith apples with the chef's special (and secret) ingredients.

Like a good chef, Mo Mouktafi made his rounds to the various tables. We weren't going to let him get away until he told us what he did to the apples. Mouktafi, clearly a supremely talented chef, insisted it was a secret, but then he relented. He said he added just a touch of orange flower water. It changed apples into ambrosia. I can't tell you how much this dish cost, because it didn't make it on the bill. But it was a special New Year's appetizer and probably won't be available when you read this.

It didn't stop there. We also split the crab and avocado salad ($10.50). Lump crab and chopped avocado were piled high, but there were other ingredients playing on our senses. The menu said it had a roasted bell pepper vinaigrette, but there was something else — cumin, maybe? Mouktafi confirmed that it was cumin. But it was so light, it wasn't screaming cumin. It added another facet to a complex dish of marvelous flavors.

Entrees were better than those on the first trip. We ordered the only true vegetarian dish on the menu: pasta bella ($21). Fettuccine, again perfect al dente, was mixed with mushrooms, artichoke hearts, kalamata olives and sun-dried tomatoes. A pesto sauce made this dish. Pesto is another screamer and tends to overwhelm anything it's near, but it had been blended with white wine and God only knows what else, lightening it so much that the pesto became a background flavor. We could taste the mushrooms and artichoke hearts. It was marvelously fresh tasting.

The other entrée was Chilean sea bass perigourdine ($28), served with slender haricots verts and new potatoes. The Chilean sea bass, perfectly pan-seared, is a marvelous albeit politically sensitive fish, but the rich truffle sauce elevated it to greatness. They could have ladled the sauce over shoe leather and made that taste good.

We tried all four desserts, but our favorites were crème brûlée ($7.50) — huge vanilla-flavored custard — and apple bread pudding ($7.50). The pudding was less sweet than most, but most are too sweet. Wonderful.

Now, the nagging problem with The Metropol: On both visits, we were served old coffee at the end of dinner. Both times, it had been on the burner way too long. An easy fix, but still a blemish on two otherwise extraordinary meals.

Dinner for two on the first visit was $175, including two glasses each of Leatherwood cabernet sauvignon ($9 each) and tax but not tip. The second visit was $117, including two glasses each of the same wine and tax but not tip. The pâté was left off the bill; that would have added $15 to $18.

If you can stand the tab in these tough times, you'll love Metropol.

Debbie Long's tenure as a restaurateur has been an educational journey, particularly regarding wine. When Dudley's opened in the early 1980s, the choices were primarily house white, red and rosé, with perhaps a carafe of this or that now and then. Time, the input of collectors and personal travel have transformed a tiny ordinary collection into one of the best in Lexington.

Initially, a liquor license had been out of reach; the limited, non-transferrable number that existed came at a high cost, almost onerous for a start-up. But timing is everything: In November 1981, the General Assembly in Frankfort passed retail drink license legislation, loosening restrictions. Restaurants that sat at least 100 — at the time, Dudley's capacity was 101 — and made at least 70 percent of their revenue from food were issued permits and charged only the less expensive city and state licensing fees.

Another stroke of good luck in the early days was the acquisition of a small number of fine Bordeaux for the restaurant's “cellar” — more like a temperature-controlled room. This coincided with the horse sales, when European crowds who knew wine and loved cabernet sauvignon discovered Dudley's. The finest of these bottles, the 1982s, sold out almost instantaneously, sending the message that a market existed for the good stuff.

What began as an experiment has evolved over more than 20 years to an identity: Dudley's is now known as a spot for fine dining, and all that that entails.

The restaurant's wine list and menu have developed side by side, creating a style and sensibility that one might loosely term “loca-Cali-Bordeaux-centric” if one could tackle the pronunciation.

Dishes, many using Kentucky Proud produce, are matched mainly with California chardonnays and cabernet sauvignons, and red French Bordeaux, i.e., cabernet sauvignon and merlot. Prices range from $34 for a 2006 Liberty School cabernet sauvignon from Paso Robles to $495 for a 1996 Château Cheval Blanc Premier Grand Cru Classé (also cabernet sauvignon).

Dudley's selection of sauvignon blanc and pinot noir, small at the moment, is growing, and it has a few mighty representatives, like the 1990 Vosne-Romanée Les Brulee Domaine Leroy, a pinot noir from Burgundy, for $650.

Long says her choices have been influenced by her travels.

“I've been to California, I've been to Bordeaux, also to Italy and Chile. I have to experience wines in a context to know what I like,” she says.

An upcoming trip to Argentina probably means we can look forward to interesting malbecs, wines that are delicious and a bargain.

Dudley's has a well-earned reputation for being a horse-industry magnet, but the truth is that the ambience is essentially casual. A broad cross-section of clientele can be found on any given night, and some of the most prestigious bottles are ordered by the least-assuming diners.

In addition to the slightly more formal dining rooms, there is the patio — a great quaffing venue in warm weather. The high-ceilinged, memorabilia-strewn bar itself is a personal favorite for having a light meal in a drinking atmosphere. It is my sentimental favorite, too, having been my introduction to Lexington's watering holes when I moved here in 1994. Finally, there is a separate “wine room,” generally used for private parties, where backlit glass cabinets display bottles that are sold by the glass.

These single servings have created a focal point for training wait staff in wine service. Long figures that, if they nail the eight varietals and differentiate between drier and sweeter, they can better assist diners in making a good match with their meal.

And, for the record, my server suggested the perfect pairing at a recent lunch of pan-seared salmon and rich polenta: a 2007 Willlamette Valley pinot noir from Oregon.

The original Jalapeno's Mexican Cuisine, on New Circle Road, remains among the most colorful, albeit dimly lit, fiesta atmospheres in town. It's almost like being inside a mural, with lots of splashy sensory overload. And the menu, unlike its numerous successors, stretches its range a bit beyond Tex-Mex, broadening the palate and making for a more interesting dining experience.

There are also some attractive touches in presentation.

For instance, when you order a shot of tequila, they bring it in a coupe glass with a slice of lime. Pretty and festive. In addition, the guacamole — rich with avocado, scented with onion and bright with cilantro — arrives not in a lackluster white cup but on a lettuce leaf inside a three-legged stone molcajete ($4.75).

Another pleasant detail is chips that are nice and toasty. Jalapeno's salsa picante is a fine-textured green purée of tomatillos, chili peppers and cilantro.

Soups are delicious. Try the simple, sweet sopa de elote ($3.50), a light milky brew made with corn, missing only the advertised avocado on my visit. I don't recall seeing this on other Lexington menus. The hearty caldo tlalpeño is a spicy chicken soup with big chunks of avocado and chicken breast, and a squirt of lime ($3.50 for a “cup,” which would easily feed two). It would probably cure a cold but is best appreciated when you're well.

Some entrees further reflect the pan-Mexican sensibility of Jalapeno's.

The Yucatan fuses with El Norte in cochinita pibil ($10.50). In the authentic version, the pork is baked in a banana leaf and fragrant with orange, but here it is more like a braised pulled pork. I must say I miss the old version. What it lacks in authenticity, however, it makes up for in approachability. The presentation still comes close to the real thing, though, with sides of black beans sprinkled with white cheese, and pink pickled onion slices. The only true gaffe was the mushy Mexican rice.

Moving west, there is seafood: camarones Acapulco ($13.75). I admit I don't know what makes this dish Acapulcan, and, again, certain things were missing, notably the poblano pepper stuffing the menu promised. The “house sauce” was just a dead ringer for ordinary barbecue sauce. Nevertheless, shrimp wrapped in bacon — like this — is usually a winner. Along with the shrimp was rice, a dollop of guacamole, charro soup beans with diced pork, and a salad of lettuce, tomato and cucumber with ranch dressing.

For dessert, I sampled vanilla amaretto flan, bathed in caramel ($3.50). I enjoyed the decadent flavors, even if on this visit the flan was a touch overcooked.

Jalapeno's longevity in Lexington — it opened in 1990 — confers a certain authority. Yet, to its credit, the restaurant has not rested on its laurels. It has experimented here and there, refreshing when it would be so easy to play it safe. And the very best part of dining here is when the kitchen, rather than Anglicizing Mexico's world-class cuisine, gives us glimpses of the country's style and variety.

A four-course dinner for two, including beers and margaritas but not tip, was about $64.

NICHOLASVILLE — I've been to lots of restaurants in old gas stations that have been refurbished as places to eat but are no longer active fill-up spots. But there is a new place in Jessamine County that serves food — and indeed gas.

In the dead of winter, after an ice storm and in the middle of a small blizzard, Nicaraguan Latin Grill sounded pretty good to me. I was expecting self-service (food, not gas), but I found a full-service restaurant with about 20 tables covered with white tablecloths — in a Shell gas station. It was a little surreal.

The grill is a family-run restaurant. Owners Luis and Socorro Vanegas, originally from Nicaragua, came here from Miami, where they had 25 years' experience in Latin-style cooking.

The food at Nicaraguan Latin Grill is good: fried plantains, seviche, sopa de res (beef bone soup), carne asada (grilled beef), Nicaraguan fajitas, Cuban sandwiches — and huevo de toro (bull testicle fritters). Well, it looks like they're authentic.

But there's a shortcoming: With only one server, one of the grown Vanegas children, and Mom and Pop Vanegas cooking in the kitchen, service gets slow. In fact, our server has a second job and had to leave for a moment. Mom and Pop served our entrees. But if you can stand the wait, the food is worth it.

Our server suggested that we try the fritanga Nicaraguans sampler platter ($14.95). Indeed, it was a serving platter filled with almost every appetizer on the menu. The sautéed sweet plantains were wonderful; the fried cheese had a bit of age to it (we detected a slight ammonia taste); bits of beef tenderloin were very nice, as was the fried pork; the hard-boiled eggs were topped with a dab of ketchup; the red beans and rice were blander than I had anticipated; and the pork rinds didn't come out of a bag.

Another appetizer we sampled was seviche, a South American creation that "cooks" fish in highly acidic citrus juice. Here, bits of raw fish had been marinated in grapefruit juice and served. I loved it, but my dinner companion didn't. Seviche is normally marinated in lime or lemon juice, so the grapefruit juice was a curve we hadn't expected.

Our entrees were delightful. The tipitapa whole fish ($11.99) — Mama served it, head and all, and said it was red snapper — had been dredged in cornmeal, fried and served with an onion-tomato sauce. Wonderful.

We also sampled lomo de cerdo asado ($10.99). Pork loin — marinated in achiote, a combination of finely ground seeds from the annatto shrub, vinegar, salt, garlic and other spices — was covered with grilled green pepper and onion. The pork was a bit tough but otherwise highly flavored. Served on the side (an additional $2) were black beans and rice. With more seasonings, they were much better than the red beans and rice.

We drank beers ($4 for Corona) with the appetizers. But for our entrees, we switched to horchata, a milky concoction of ground rice and water that has been sweetened and flavored with cinnamon. It's common south of the border, and it was yummy.

Finally, we sampled the two desserts offered (the menu has three, but the restaurant was out of atolillo, a pudding made with rum and cinnamon and topped with raisins). The flan — a rich custard made with evaporated milk, eggs and sugar — was as good as you can get anywhere. The arroz de leche — a thick pudding of rice and milk that I think had been thickened with cornstarch, flavored with cinnamon and topped with raisins — was extremely sweet.

Nicaraguan Latin Grill is an interesting place to stop for lunch or dinner, but if the place gets crowded, you might have to wait until the cows come home before you are served. The one waiter, although very helpful explaining the dishes, won't be able to handle a crowd.

Dinner for two, including tax but not tip, was about $65, give or take a couple of incidentals.

MIDWAY — I've always said that no restaurant will get five stars (it would have to be faultless, perfect, to get that). I'll stick to my guns, but The Black Tulip comes very close.

I've dined here a few times before, but always on the terrace, never inside. Last week, without reservations, I visited this classy Midway cafe. The terrace, partially hidden from the street by a wall of roses, was crowded. I got my first glimpse of the restaurant's interior. With lights on dimmers, the red-painted wainscoted walls made it warm and cozy. It was a feast of light and shadows. Our table was just inside one of the opened French doors. We had the best of both worlds.

Our server said they had just opened a Trefethen Double T Red, a Bordeaux-style wine made mainly of cabernet sauvignon, blended with smaller amounts of merlot, cabernet franc, petit verdot and malbec. That sounded good, so I got a glass ($14). This was a fantastic wine — heady aromas, chewy texture, ripe fruity flavors. I thought $14 was a bit much, considering that a bottle retails for $25, sometimes less.

Our dinner started with soups. I had tried the mussels ($10) on a previous visit, so I went for the she-crab ($8). This was a rich, cream-based soup made with lump crab, crab roe, sherry and mace. The folks at The Black Tulip added a dollop of caviar on the side. I've tried this soup in Charleston, S.C., where it was created. There, the soup sometimes gets a bit heavy with mace (the similar-tasting membrane that surrounds nutmeg). The flavors of this soup were cream and crab. It was a crab bisque at its best.

My dinner companion sampled the gazpacho ($7). This rich tomato soup was heady with cucumber, carrot and onion. It was a liquid salad and perfect for that warm night.

In the past, I had the privilege of trying The Black Tulip's coq au vin, but it is off the menu in summer. I was hoping we were far enough past summer that it would be back, but no such luck. If you see it on the menu, snatch it up, order two — it was that good. Since it wasn't on the menu, our server offered a couple of things worth trying — sea scallops ($26 and easy to ruin) and duck breast.

The scallops I got, three or four of them, were huge. They take only a minute to cook properly and a minute to ruin. These were perfect — seared on the outside and just warm on the inside. They were topped with a slightly spicy chili oil.

Our other entrée, Hudson Valley duck breast ($31), was one of the night's specials. Because duck breast is dark meat, it can be treated just like beef and cooked rare. That's how we ordered what the French call magrets de canard. It was wonderful — seared on the outside and red on the inside. It had a beefy texture and taste. We were dazzled by both entrees.

For dessert, we ordered espressos (oops, they forgot to charge us), panna cotta ($7) and the chocolate mousse cake ($7).

Panna cotta is kind of like Italian flan, but it isn't made with eggs. Milk, sometimes cream, sugar, vanilla and gelatin are cooked together, then cooled and set. This was a very light flanlike mixture — creamy and luscious — and served with a light fruit sauce.

The chocolate mousse cake was really a tart-size torte, and it was wonderful — rich ganache on the outside and heavy chocolate mousse on the inside. It was topped with a strawberry garnish. It went beautifully with the espresso.

Dinner for two, including one glass of wine and one bottled water ($4), and tax but not tip, was $110.24.

MIDWAY — The Black Tulip is an elusive and beautiful flower, the name of a novel by Alexandre Dumas and a 1937 film. Utter the term around here, however, and the first association that comes to mind is one of Midway's premier food spots. The bistro-style restaurant is known for casual elegance, local ingredients and fine gourmet meals.

But it also has a small, romantic bar that serves a well-chosen selection of beer and wine, and is poised to receive a full liquor license before long, possibly by the time of this article's publication. Its history has earned its wine props.

In 2001, between years working in the Thoroughbred industry and becoming a restaurateur, Bill Van Den Dool opened Bacchus, a seriously intelligent wine shop. Four years later, Bacchus had moved to the other side of the railroad tracks, and Van Den Dool had built The Black Tulip. Bacchus shut its doors last November and is being renovated to become an additional dining area with a wine-tasting room.

Bacchus was among the first stores to revitalize Midway's Main Street district. The shop established its reputation on a formidable stock of reasonably priced wines not available elsewhere — I still remember the New York state Rkatsiteli — and oenophiles in Lexington thought nothing of driving the distance to Midway to see and buy what was on the shelves.

“I always look for wine that is affordable, tastes good and that I can get a stock of,” Van Den Dool said. That last is sometimes a challenge; it's one thing to have the odd bottle in the retail business and quite another to develop a menu in concert with too many strays.

One solution was to conceptualize a dedicated quaffing section at The Black Tulip where food is available but not the main focus. So a bar was added. The bar seats about eight, giving a cozy feel, and having those seats face away from the dining area further suggests privacy. Perfectly muted lighting warms things up while you're enjoying special wine. It's a good formula: smaller and cozier, added to warmth and intimacy, automatically equal romantic.

The bar's success is a credit to three people.

Van Den Dool gets kudos for his collection of jazz CDs that set the mood — doesn't music make the place? — and his wife, Deborah, gets credit for adding the love, the warm cranberry- colored walls, the glass and mirrors that reflect candlelight from nearby tables, and the minimalist brushed-chrome racks displaying the many bottles. She is modest about her contribution.

“I wanted it warm and comfortable,” she said. “The red was a color that I had custom-mixed. I already had the oriental rugs and actually used them to soften the noise. Many people see a European influence to the interior, and although it wasn't intended, we do have family living in the Netherlands.”

Summer Cooper, the general manager, who does a bit of everything, plays a vital role in The Black Tulip's wine selection.

“We have responded to customer demands for a broader spectrum of varietal differences in tastes, growing regions and price points,” she said. “Bill and I constantly work on improving the palates of our clientele with wine varietals from different parts of the world, such as torrontes from Argentina. We are always looking for a new addition to our list that displays a beautiful wine of good value that we can pass along to our guests.”

Seventeen wines are available by the glass. The whites progress from a light German sparkling wine to an Italian pinot grigio to a couple of bold Napa chardonnays. The reds, too, move from California and Chilean pinot noirs to an Argentine malbec (seemingly everyone's current love interest) to heavier-bodied cabernet sauvignons from Napa.

If a romantic occasion calls for a bottle, the list has three pages of choices from all the right places: pinot gris from Oregon, sauvignon blanc from New Zealand, pinot noir from Oregon and California, about 10 Bordeaux and lots of Australian and West Coast reds. What is especially considerate is that, within varietal category, the bottles are ordered by price, from the most to least expensive, making value-seeking quick and discreet.

Beer, the other bubbly, is available on tap and in bottles from the United States, United Kingdom and, of course, Holland, tulip capital of the world.

A former editor of mine who had worked in Owensboro, the barbecue capital of Kentucky, gave me a piece of advice that has stood in good stead for about two decades: If a barbecue joint doesn't smell like a smokehouse, it isn't any good.

Old Kentucky BBQ on New Circle Road has managed to turn the original McDonald's location in Lexington into a smokehouse.

Old Kentucky serves three things: smoked brisket, smoked pork (including ribs) and smoked chicken. It smokes the meats in contraptions in the parking lot. Once the smoked meats come inside, they are used to create sandwiches, ribs, a burgoo/Brunswick stew-type soup called Q-Stew, something called a Tater-Q, chili and barbecue spaghetti.

I went to Old Kentucky BBQ twice, for supper and lunch, and tried just about everything the place had to offer.

On the lunch visit, I took a colleague who hails from Western Kentucky and is well versed in the ways of barbecue. In the western end of the Bluegrass State, the people live and breathe barbecue. I think that's all they eat. For the most part, my colleague and I liked the barbecue at Old Kentucky, but the sauce got in my way.

The restaurant itself was very cold. We were there about 1:15 p.m. and had to wear our coats. Customers place orders at the counter — even though this is considered fast food, it is not my favorite way to order — and servers bring the food to the table.

Our lunch started with a pulled pork sandwich combo with a large soft drink ($8.02). The pork sandwich was served on Texas toast, not a bun, and piled high with meat (Old Kentucky is generous), topped with a few raw onion rings and a slathering of the mild version of the restaurant's only barbecue sauce — a thick, sweet molasses-based concoction (a hotter version contains chili pepper flakes, and Tabasco is on every table for added heat). I lean toward vinegar-cayenne sauces, so neither of Old Kentucky BBQ's was a favorite, but my Western Kentucky colleague liked them.

The side we asked for with the combo was baked potato salad. It was a sound mayonnaise-based potato salad combined with all the fixin's for a baked potato: bacon bits, chives and … pickle juice? Two schools of thought with pickle juice: love it or hate it. I'm of the latter, but my companion is of the former. Besides, when did people start putting pickle juice (or brine) on baked potatoes?

The Tater-Q ($5.19), which I tried for lunch, is a large baked potato topped with my choice of barbecue. I chose pulled chicken. The meat was dry, but with a healthy dose of barbecue sauce and Tabasco, it was good.

The Q-Stew ($2.83 for a cup) was a watery concoction similar to burgoo or Brunswick stew. It contained everything that Old Kentucky BBQ smokes, plus lima beans and corn (you know, succotash). It would have been better, though, had it been reduced more.

That stew had potential, but we didn't like the chili ($2.12) at all. Cubes of beef and pork were swimming in Old Kentucky's sweet barbecue sauce. It was too much. The barbecue spaghetti ($3.77) was similar to the chili: cubes of smoked beef and pork in a lighter version of the sweet barbecue sauce and served on waterlogged pasta.

Now some good news: The corn muffins at Old Kentucky BBQ are standouts. Good, not dry (as most muffins are), a bit sweet but barely, and mixed with whole-kernel corn and bits of jalapeños. Perfectly delicious.

Lunch for two was $25, including tax, but remember, we tried much more food than most people would get for a typical lunch.

Dinner was a similar affair but cheaper, because we didn't try nearly as much food. My companion and I had a half-rack of pork ribs ($7.55), which were falling off the bones. Of course, the sweet barbecue sauce was the only way to moisten the dry, smoked ribs. A side of baked beans seemed straight from the can, with a bit of smoky flavor. The coleslaw, though, was exceptional. Rather than being sweet, it had a tangy dressing on coarsely shredded cabbage.

The other entree was a dinner combo of two meats. I had smoked beef brisket and smoked pulled pork. The flavor of the smoke and the meats was wonderful, but the meats were dry. The only way to moisten them was, again, the sweet barbecue sauce (with a hefty dose of Tabasco for me).

Old Kentucky BBQ had only one dessert: bread pudding ($2.50). It was the least sweet thing we ate. Made with light bread and topped with canned apples (possibly apple pie filling), it was closer to a palate cleanser than dessert. Dinner was $23.15 including tax.

Old Kentucky BBQ has some really good smoked meats, but if your preference of sauces isn't sweet, you won't like it. Some variety in sauces would help. Other dishes could use some rethinking, too, but the corn muffins are fantastic.

The whole, they say, is greater than the sum of its parts.

Restaurateur Lucie Slone-Meyers' numerous ventures have been proof positive. Soaked in an easily identifiable, good-times atmosphere — ornate furniture, ubiquitous knickknacks and slightly decadent touches like swags and beaded lampshades — every venue has reflected her personality. The total experience far exceeds any of the individual elements.

The latest Slone-Meyers venture is in the former home of Woodlands Grill, once a force for ladies who lunched, in The Woodlands. Now, the space's east end is The Julep Cup, heavily colored in puce, with tables, booths and seemingly countless equine touches. The west side of the space houses Seahorse Lounge, a bar as blue as the Julep Cup is red, where abundant seashells create a maximalist marine effect.

Behind the scenes, executive chef Lindsay Brooks, whose culinary style is at one with the concept of casual Southern hospitality, oversees the kitchen. Her diplome from Le Cordon Bleu is displayed at the entrance. The menu offers everything from beer cheese to Jell-O salad, shrimp and grits to veal liver and onions, green tomatoes to mac and cheese.

I have eaten in both settings, with some good and some great moments, a few less than great. While it is hard for me to overlook errors like sloppily edited wine lists and intermittently slow service, it also feels inappropriately exacting in this setting to sweat what many would consider the small stuff.

The Julep Cup's Sunday brunch ($12.95) is a welcome addition to the neighborhood. Its buffet offers sensible oatmeal and fruit that are overshadowed by perfectly cooked applewood smoked bacon, savory sage sausage and pearly grits. I would pass, however, on the startlingly yellow but simperingly bland scrambled eggs and the limp roasted potatoes.

Under "salads," there is pan-seared salmon ($12), a healthy but ordinary dish. The fillet was overcooked — somehow, the order had been written "well done" — and the salad mix looked past its prime. The accompanying green goddess dressing gave more emphasis to anchovies than herbs; its color was exactly that of green Benedictine spread, which I am guessing was intentional.

In my single experience, the best way to do brunch here is with brunch food (although a tipster told me on his way out that the hot Brown was excellent).

But the truth is, I preferred the vibe in the lounge, where the same menu is available. The noise level is social — a mere lively buzz — the tables are the right distance apart, and the music, also ideal volume, ranges from sultry '40s standards to John Coltrane's A Love Supreme. All of which set the mood for grazing and dining.

A simple beginning were the two tiny beef tenderloin skewers with a puck of a potato pancake ($9), piping hot, with strands of cheese and thin slices of scallions.

If it's Wednesday, the special is good fried chicken — about half a bird — with crunchy skin and tender meat. This entree ($13) is served with two sides, such as classic mashed potatoes and long-cooked green beans, which, after all these years in Kentucky, are still an acquired taste for my California-raised taste buds. Forgoing the potatoes, I substituted several long stalks of lovely grilled asparagus.

Another Southern comfort dinner is the chunky simmered pork shoulder ( $12). Its thin but flavorful broth was loaded with tender white beans, apples, carrots and onions. Gritty greens were the dish's only blemish.

Lemon cake ($5), a nice finish, was homemade but needed a little more time at room temperature to lose the chill.

So, Slone-Meyers' latest endeavor has two personalities. Take your pick. But, since the menu remains the same in both, when I am in the Seahorse Lounge, one plus one equals three stars.

Dinner for two, excluding tip and tax, was $63; brunch with a lovely mimosa was $36.

In his director's notes for Martin McDonagh's The Pillowman, Actors Guild of Lexington's latest offering, Eric Seale warns, "History teaches us that any fair-minded society is four bad decisions and 10 years away from being a completely repressive authoritarian government."

Set in a "once upon a time" world, The Pillowman — which premiered to rave reviews on Broadway in 2005, a year after it debuted in London — is a dark version of a possible future in which brute government authority reigns at the expense of little things like liberty and justice for all.

A writer, Katurian (Bob Singleton), is interrogated and tortured by police for his involvement in child killings that bear a striking resemblance to fictional stories he had written. Katurian claims he didn't do it. What follows is a disturbing journey through Katurian's stories and his past that leads to even more disturbing truths.

The stark, jarring tone of the show is in keeping with Lexington theater veteran Seale's affinity for taking on challenging, edgy material, and his AGL directorial debut is no different. The result is a show whose signature bleak intensity and noir humor is both its greatest strength and occasional liability. It takes some time and attention, for instance, to realize good cop/bad cop duo Tupolski and Ariel (Timothy J. Hull and Mike Van Zant) are more than ego-driven jerks. When their emotional complexities are finally revealed, however, the effect is even more jarring. So in a sense, what doesn't work at first — the early disconnect between characters as they appear and as they actually are — is precisely what works in the end. The show’s sudden revelations are somehow more potent as a result.

(Theatergoers might be familiar with the storyline. Lexington’s Balagula Theatre mounted a different production earlier this year.)

Actors Guild’s production is full of emotional seesaws. One minute, Katurian's brother Michal (Leif Erickson Rigney) appears innocently simple, and when we learn what monstrosities he is capable of, we are stunned. Similarly, Katurian's cold capacity for writing unimaginably gruesome stories is contrasted with moments of aching tenderness toward his brother. At any moment the show might veer from the futile emptiness of despair and hopelessness to the rich but frightening world of Katurian's imagination to fleeting but powerful moments of compassion and forgiveness.

Even the set is emotionally divided. Nicola Riggs’ scenic design is strikingly ripe with layered, symbolic meanings and works in organic synchronicity with the actors. A sense of all-pervasive decay lingers in the interrogation room, a run-down old room with missing tiles, overstuffed filing cabinets, cheap furniture and one lone lightbulb. Above the interrogation room a second tier of the stage lurks in shadow with the silhouette of two large boxes that suggest the shape of coffins, foreshadowing the impending doom of the writer and his brother. Lighting designer David Probus further cultivates this divide by creating lushly haunted recreations of Katurian's stories. Surreal visuals, like the mock crucifixion of a little girl (McKenna Dallas Rigney), are boldly delivered in contrast to the deteriorating interrogation room.

Did I mention that this show is a comedy? You wouldn't think so, but it boasts humor of the blackest variety. Sometimes the dark jokes and clever jabs seem uncomfortably inappropriate, like it might be wrong or untoward to laugh in moments of horrific tragedy, but then again, the humor of the show is also its saving grace, the element that makes the tale's cruel truths somehow more bearable. If you go to see the show, keep in mind that, as Seale emphasizes in the program notes, it really is OK to laugh.

Finally, with the global economy currently teetering dangerously close to disaster, two seemingly unending wars on the horizon, and civil liberties in jeopardy, it doesn't take a political pundit to draw relevant connections between McDonagh's future world and Katurian's plight to our current political landscape.

Still, the play's science fictionlike political undertones and black humor are subtle in comparison to the play's main theme: the indomitable power of story.

Just after the curtain figuratively dropped at Lexington Children's Theatre's opening performance of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, a young boy turned to his mother and said, "It wasn't very scary."

No, it wasn't very scary, but this Katherine Schultz-Miller stage adaptation of Washington Irving's famously haunted short story is still a thriller, though of a more buoyant variety than typical theatrical Halloween fare. Rather than taking an overtly dark and gothic path (think of Tim Burton's movie of the same name), director Vivian Snipes takes a gentler, more sophisticated route that is part period piece, part comedy — elements that generally compliment but occasionally eclipse the show's tell-tale spookiness.

Think of it as Halloween Light.

Set in 1795, this classic American tale centers on the arrival of teacher Ichabod Crane (Adam Montague) to the ghost-ridden, quiet Dutch town of Tarry Town, New York, in the small glen of Sleepy Hollow. Lean, lanky, and superstitious, Crane falls for the town's rich farmer's only daughter, Katrina Van Tassel (Kristen Smiley), but ghostly events soon threaten the success of his courtship. One particular haunting particularly disturbs Crane: the headless horseman that haunts the covered bridge.

The bulk of the play consists of light, romantic foibles, with Crane and the big and burly Abraham "Brom Bones" Van Brunt (Brian Gray) comically attempting to one-up each other in their clumsy pursuit of the same woman. Here actors Montague and Gray have a charming rapport and Smiley is sufficiently both pleasant and petty. A scene in which Crane is giving himself a romantic pep talk in an imaginary mirror garnered a round of hearty chuckles, namely because Gray was identically mimicking Crane's every move.

The three-person cast also deserves praise for mastering some of LCT's signature moves — quick and convincing character changes and complex, creative mastery of versatile stage elements. For instance, two-dimensional life-size figures carved out of wood represent townspeople, with whom the actors vibrantly interact, moving them swiftly around the stage to drive the action forward. Gracefully swirling big wooden characters around the stage for nearly an hour is likely much more difficult than the actors make it appear.

Another nice touch is that the flip side of the figurines are painted to blend in with the stage's wooded, scenic background. When the audience views this side, it suggests a ghostly figure of a human outline is lurking in the forest, underscoring the trick of the eyes that the midnight woods can play on you.

Perhaps the most satisfying design element of the show is the subtle, cohesive inclusion of handwritten script within both the scenic and costume design. In the program notes, Snipes, the director, alludes to the magic and potency of words, both of which are literally woven into the fabric of the show. If you look closely, you can see that Kiersten E. Moore's sylvan set design is formed from the shape of curly, inky words that blend beautifully with Lindsay Schmeling's costume design. Knowing the professionalism of LCT, I would guess that the script is probably drawn from Irving's original copy of the story, or something with similar period-correct authenticity. Either way, the faded script draws you inside the literal and figurative rewards of reading. A few consistent period-appropriate speech affections on the part of the cast also emphasize how the particulars of language can shape the tone and rhythm of a story.

When it comes to bringing the scary, it would've been nice to see a more mood-driven lighting design by Tim Hood and Carolyn Voss. The bells and whistles that accompany the show's climax, the entrance of the dreaded headless horseman, is saturated in spooky lighting and sound effects, but there could've been more suspense built in on the front end of the show.

In the end, we learn the true identity of the headless horseman, a discovery that is as much trick as treat.

NICHOLASVILLE — For a couple of months, I'd heard rumblings of a wine/tapas bar in, of all places, Nicholasville. Having grown up in Fayette County, I was well aware that for decades, the Fayette-Jessamine county line heading south was the end of legal alcohol sales until you reached the Tennessee state line. When I hear things like this happening south of Fayette County, it's like hearing that Yankees are in Georgia. Even though I know that alcohol sales are legal now in Jessamine County — well, heaven forbid, Carrie Nation came from these parts.

Euro Wine Bar has few external adornments, but it was easy to find. It's directly across Main Street (U.S. 27) from the highly visible Main & Maple Coffee House and Café. There was a pretty decent crowd for a Thursday night when we went.

Inside, it's a chic and warm café with ­pumpkin colored walls. Tables were well-spaced, and service was friendly and helpful. Everything was like going to most restaurants until our server gave us the menu. Astounding! The sign on the window said tapas and hors d'oeuvres. We were given a list of 20 tapas and hors d'oeuvres, five salads and six desserts, and a wine list that went on and on.

On the list, all of which sounded wonderful, they had garlic shrimp cocktail ($8), mini hot Browns ($6), potato tacos ($5), stuffed eggs ($5), seared steak tostadas ($8), wild mushroom tapenade ($7), pan-fried ravioli ($6), fondue ($7), crab and goat cheese empanadas ($8) ... I could go on and on.

We sampled the crab and goat cheese empanadas. Four little baked turnovers were filled with a mild goat cheese and nicely flavored crab meat that you could taste. Mango chutney was served on the side. They were heaven on earth.

We also tried the fondue. A bowl of goat cheese and wine had been prepared in the ­kitchen and brought to the table with an ­assortment of crudités and bits of bread. The goat cheese was so mild that I thought it was Parmesan. It didn't have that strange but ­pleasantly funky goat taste. It was delicious.

We wanted to try the wild mushroom ­tapenade, but they were out. We ordered instead the gourmet stuffed eggs. Instead of the usual mayonnaise and egg (egg/egg) filling, the folks in the kitchen at Euro Wine Bar mixed the egg yolk with pesto. The flavor of basil turned one of my favorite finger foods into another animal. I've always known that you can mix whatever you like in these delectable morsels. Pesto made them even better.

We finished our sampling of tapas and hors d'oeuvres with smoked salmon ($8). Thicker cuts of hot-smoked (and therefore cooked) salmon were served with slices of French bread, capers, chopped onion and cream cheese. A bit here and a bit there, and we were stuffed.

We washed it all down with a highly ­recommended Hall's cabernet sauvignon ($11 a glass). It was ripe with fruit, delicious and served in beautiful Riedel glasses.

We had to finish this visit with coffee and dessert. We split the dark-chocolate bruschetta ($5). The espresso I ordered came from the Main & Maple Coffee House across the street. It was excellent espresso. Now, the dark ­chocolate on the toasted bread was, I think, ­ganache. It never hardened. I took one of the four slices home. It was still soft the next ­morning and went well with my coffee. It was rich, teeth-hurting dark chocolate and ­wonderful. Other delectable desserts were grilled bananas, crème brûlée and berries in white chocolate.

Carrie Nation, eat your heart out.

Dinner for two, including tax but not tip, was $60.

Mike Thomas knows it is not enough to just put on the hits. It would be an easy thing to do with his last two assignments in the Arboretum: the Lexington Shakespeare festival's 2004 production of Jesus Christ Superstar and this year's SummerFest production of Hair.

Both have practically become reverse jukebox musicals, kicking so many songs onto the Top 40 that a performance is something of a hit parade. But within and between those songs are stories, and like that 2004 Superstar, Thomas' Hair is fabulous because the production doesn't forget that.

Telling a story is a tougher job with this show, which has a book and lyrics by James Rado and Gerome Ragni and music Galt MacDermot. Hair's plot of Claude, a young man who struggles with where he fits in 1968 America, isn't strong and frequently disappears in songs about sex, drugs, race and war. It has to be tempting here, 40 years after the show's Broadway debut, to just make this, ”let's look at the hippies.“

There is a lot to look at in the SummerFest production with David Steinmetz's simple graffiti-inspired set and Susan Wigglesworth's thrift-store chic costumes. They give the actors a natural environment to play in.

And play they do, with Peggy Stamps' exuberant choreography and support from the Johnson Brothers Band, whose accompaniment sounds authentic while avoiding some of the dated sounds of the Broadway cast recording and movie soundtrack.

Thomas and his fellow directors have a unified vision to respect this era, not make fun of it or get too nostalgic. So we get a show that truly contemplates its subject, its insights and excesses, successes and failures, which is actually what Hair does.

This frequently happens in the hits.

Brittny Congleton, as Sheila, has one of those moments of insight late in Act I with her plaintive rendition of Easy to Be Hard, which asks how people can be so simultaneously compassionate and self-absorbed. Congleton also hits in Act II with Good Morning Starshine, exhibiting a voice that echoes singers of the era such as Carole King or Janis Ian.

This is a good production for Transylvania University students, as Congleton's classmate Cameron Perry has a strong show as Woof, with a fearless rendition of Sodomy early in Act I and an entertaining turn as the 1920s singer in Electric Blues.

On opening night, Wednesday, that Act II opener was one of the more successful ensemble numbers, though some of the group efforts were where the show broke down. Dead End, in particular, suffered from sound problems and an epidemic of flatness, and the Act II hallucination-and-history sequence frequently meandered.

On the flip side, there were deliriously unified numbers such as the joyous I Believe in Love and a markedly heartbreaking Let the Sunshine In. That, accompanied with Adam Fister's searching performance as Claude singing the Act I finale, Where Do I Go, were centerpieces to this production's power. (The nude scene frequently employed at this point in Hair, but not in this production, would have killed this moment.)

In his direction, Thomas was making us think about this show, about what it said, how it reflected an era and what its implications and questions are for today. He took us on much more than a nostalgia trip.
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Long before we watched Oceanic Flight 815 crash onto a mysterious island on the TV show Lost, or pondered the truces, alliances, and backstabbing of Survivor, there was another island whose stranded inhabitants fascinated readers around the world.

Lord of the Flies, a novel by Nobel Prize-winning author William Golding, was a best seller in the 1960s and still retains a top spot on many high school reading lists. The novel chronicles a group of school boys stranded on a deserted island after a plane crash and their attempt to govern themselves. The results are disastrous, with the boys eventually breaking apart into two separate ”gangs,“ one of which is focused on maintaining a sense of order and getting rescued. The other reverts to savagery, their only concern hunting, feasting, dancing, and sometimes, murder.

In its second production of the season, Summerfest presents a riveting, appropriately disturbing stage adaptation (by Nigel Williams) of Golding's tale.

Before there is a story, though there is the island, or the setting of the island. A multi-tiered stage strewn with unkempt vines stands empty. When the first two boys appear, Ralph and Piggy, the island seems like a paradise, a beach vacation where you can do whatever you want. But events on the island soon turn it into something much more sinister. Set designer David Steinmetz, lighting designer Kathy Lea Meyer, and assistant lighting designer Josh Preston work in tandem to create a wild, organic jungle that grows increasingly foreboding and dangerous.

Susan Wigglesworth's costuming further emphasizes the boys' deconstruction of their own sense of civilization. Showing up in preppy school uniforms, including ties and sweaters, Jack and his classmates already have a sense of being a group — they are in the school choir and Jack is head chorister. By the end of the play, they are running around half-naked covered in blood and war paint. Piggy, a chubby, bespectacled boy who never stopped lobbying for ”a meetin'“ and order, never changes out of his striped shirt and slacks.

The cast of boys and young men deserve praise for their spirited, psychologically intense performance. Initially voted the boys' leader, David Jackson's Ralph is a solid, charismatic chief who listens to the group and tries to make the best decisions for them all. His rival for leadership is Nick Dunn's Jack, who thinks he ought to be in charge since he is, after all, head chorister.

Even though Ralph attempts to keep order by instituting basic rules and procedures, Jack largely ignores their significance and eventually starts his own tribe of hunters. Jack capitalizes on the group's fear that there is a ”beastie“ in the forest, and a kind of dark mythology is born that leads the boys to ”spill his blood.“ Jack tells them that the beast can take any form and, when the hunters' savage frenzy leads to a murder, Jack says it is OK because the beast was inside the victim. He ultimately uses this strategy again against Piggy (Grayson Whittenbarger), the lone voice of reason and order, who bravely persists in his dedication to remembering civilization, even though he is largely made fun of, ignored, and abused.

The ensemble cast functions together as a living, breathing unit. They are particularly strong in their use of movement. From upright, uptight school boys, to crouching, spear-carrying savages, the boys' move in raw, fluid synchronization. Their collective scenes of group frenzy, fear, mirth and murder are mesmerizing in their orchestration and sharply timed, particularly when accompanied by Tripp Bratton's original drum score.

Director Sullivan Canaday White and assistant director Jacob Sexton create visually engaging moments — their artful staging gives a satisfying sense of texture and theme. They've also evoked sophisticated performances from their young cast, who handle the material with a deft sense of ease and natural progress.

The result is a show that is edgy and disturbing, but fascinatingly so. What are the components of civilization? Can humanity ever successfully govern itself? How would any of us react in the same situations? Would we become savages, too? Is there anything wrong with that?

VERSAILLES -- Long before it had a home, or even a name, what would become the Woodford County Theatrical Arts Association began modestly with a staging of Oliver! at the amphitheater at Midway College. Other shows followed in whatever venues and with whatever resources the troupe could scrounge.

Now, 20 years later, the troupe has a home, and a beautiful one at that. What’s more, WCTAA is celebrating its 20-year milestone with a production of the very same play that launched them along their two decade journey, Oliver!

With book, lyrics and music by Lionel Bart, Oliver! is a musical adaptation of Charles Dickens’ classic Oliver Twist. The tale follows the trials of a young orphan boy in 19th-century London as he struggles to survive on his own.

After his mother died in childbirth, Oliver was cruelly brought up in a workhouse, a kind of exploitative orphanage. The story opens with the iconic scene in which young, starving Oliver dares ask for more gruel, a kind of thin porridge that barely qualifies as food. Threatened with beatings, Oliver is sold to an undertaker for 5 pounds. After barely a day of nasty treatment, Oliver runs away. This begins the 10- year-old’s life on London’s grimy streets and launches the audience into the meat of the play.

Though only a few people might remember that very first show in Midway, this production is a fitting testament to its legacy. Soaring musical numbers deftly delivered by a cast of young and old, beautifully functional technical design, and skilled direction are hallmarks of this enjoyable show.

Up-and-coming Scott DiMeo, a fifth-grader at Lexington’s School for the Creative and Performing Arts, is charming, spirited and at times heart-wrenching in the title role, particularly in his rendition of Where Is Love? I did not expect the younger cast members to attempt a British accent, but DiMeo and others go for it. His is surprisingly sharp and consistent and he has a strong voice with a tone of clarity and emotion that is promising in one so young. It will be exciting to watch him develop over the coming years.

The supporting cast of rag-tag London orphans, who double as workhouse children and later, Mr. Fagan’s band of pick-pocketing street kids, are nothing short of adorable. Not just cute, though, these youngsters can sing. Some of them seemed a bit timid in their delivery in the first scene and opening-night nerves might be to blame, not to mention the intimidation of a theater packed full of friends, family and strangers alike. They soon warmed to the crowd and let their voices ring through the theater. Take heart, kids, and have confidence, you sound great.

As for the grown-ups, well, Bart and Dickens provide ripe opportunities for developing deliciously wicked and complex characters, and this cast proves up to the task. Robert Hoagland as Bumble and Cynthia Ackley as the Widow Corney launch into delightful loathsomeness with the cruel and occasionally hilarious numbers Oliver! and I Shall Scream!

Other highlights include Dave Dampier’s terrifying rogue, Bill Sikes, who delivers a chilling rendition of My Name. Carmen Geraci’s Mr. Fagan is a self-confessed crook who uses an army of street children for his work. And yet, there is something oddly likeable about him, flashes of kindness and wry humor followed by selfish cowardice. His two numbers, You’ve Got to Pick a Pocket or Two and Reviewing the Situation, are keenly executed and wildly engaging.

Bonnie M. Stuck delivers a charismatic performance as Nancy, a grown-up version of Fagan’s street kids who is in love with the treacherous Bill Sikes. Stuck uses her gorgeous, potent voice to evoke pure sauciness and strength at times, but other times, she is tragically vulnerable, particularly in the song As Long as He Needs Me. An obvious victim of domestic violence, her character’s fate conveys the darker truths of Oliver’s world.

Finally, Oliver! would not be complete without an Artful Dodger, one of Fagan’s more advanced and charming pickpockets. Melissa Denise Ratliff does a fine bit of gender bending to deliver a spectacular crook and criminal mentor to Oliver. Her accent and performance are thoroughly convincing and she impressively manages consistency in delivering heavily accented songs like Consider Yourself.

Director Beth Kirchner doubles as set designer to remarkable effect. With three tall, rotating structures against a backdrop of the London skyline, the audience is plunged into the seedy London underbelly. Like a giant, moveable jigsaw puzzle, the set quickly shifts between scenes to efficiently detail a variety of places, from an orphanage to an undertaker’s lair to a pub to Oliver’s eventual home. Kirchner creatively employs her large cast to maneuver the intricate pieces between scenes by developing little subplots and back stories among the scene-changing characters. With a huge cast and innovative, mammoth set pieces, the play somehow manages to capture a feeling of intimacy. Oliver’s singular journey is always in focus and the myriad of meddling characters and shifting locations somehow sharpens that focus. In other words, every technical and dramatic component of the show lends detail and color to Oliver’s plight, rather than externally competing with it.

Kirchner notes the similarities between the title character’s story and WCTAA’s own tale – both orphans who eventually found a home to call their own.

When someone in Smoke on the Mountain says, “Let's pray,” you may just find yourself bowing your head and closing your eyes.

That's a big sign the Lexington Stage Co. cast is fulfilling creator Alan Bailey's and writer Constance Ray's intent for the show: transforming the theater into a rural North Carolina church, circa 1938.

The Rev. Mervin Oglethorpe is a bundle of nerves at Mount Pleasant Baptist Church's first Saturday night singing. He's invited the Sanders Family Singers to the event, introducing modern instruments such as guitar and fiddle to the small sanctuary, and he knows some members might not approve — particularly church matriarchs Maud and Myrtle, who are sitting in the front row.

He's praying the singers will redeem his efforts to bring progress to the church.

The reverend also has a little showbiz in him, and he can't help barging in on the Sanders family's act.

Part of the fun of the script is that it presents characters and tensions familiar to anyone who regularly goes to church.

The Stage Co. production, presented by Studio Players at its Carriage House Theatre, is a triumph for director Michael Grice.

He spent most of the spring scrambling to cast the show, which requires a number of actor-instrumentalists. What he finally whipped together was a cast that feels quite plausibly like a family band.

The ringers are Evan Sullivan as Reverend Oglethorpe and Jessie Rose Pennington as June Sanders, both fresh off playing the leads in Paragon Music Theatre's The Music Man. They both make the most of their parts, but even performers who are in their first play leave lasting impressions.

Wes Maynard is a guitarist with Pickintime, a Bluegrass ensemble that also contributes bassist Pamela Maynard and banjo player John Mattingly to the show. But early in Act II, as prodigal son Stanley, Wes delivers a moving testimony about longing for home while serving time in prison. And Debra Hoskins has several hilarious moments.

There are some rough edges. A few actors need to work on projection. But no one in the cast seems to forget where they're supposed to be, which is a key to making the audience forget where we are.

When Smoke is over, you don't know whether to clap or shout, “Amen!”

The overcast skies had threatened rain all day Wednesday, a terrible foe of outdoor theater. The question lingered all day: Would the show go on? But by early evening, the gathering clouds and graying skies had abated and the opening night of the second annual KCTC Summerfest went off without a hitch.

Inheriting the venue and materials of the defunct Lexington Shakespeare Festival, SummerFest, by the Kentucky Classical Theater Conservatory, launched its sophomore season with Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, a challenging play not frequently performed, perhaps because it is one of the few Shakespeare plays to defy categorization.

Not quite history, not quite tragedy, Antony and Cleopatra is a passionate tale of love and lust for romance and political power. For Antony, one of the three leaders of Rome since the assassination of Julius Caesar, and Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, love and lust are inseparable. The passionate love affair they begin in Alexandria is thwarted when Antony must return to Rome after the death of his wife, who challenged Octavius Caesar, another of the triumvirate of Roman leaders. It is out of civic Roman duty that he returns home, even going so far as to marry Caesar's sister to ensure political peace, but it is his obsession with Cleopatra that ultimately drives him back to Alexandria, where he plans to rule his portion of the Roman empire side by side with Cleopatra's rule of Egypt.

Of course, war, betrayal, confusion and tragedy quickly follow.

Director Joe Ferrell has again fashioned a show of immense elegance, sensual potency and compelling beauty. What sets this show apart from other Shakespearean dramas is the intensely personal nature of the relationship among its characters, relationships whose intimate dynamics eclipse their political ramifications. Pitch-perfectly cast with some of the area's finest talent, this production is definitely not to be missed.

The ensemble cast excels in creating clearly defined characters, whose elocution of Shakespeare's language is so expertly delivered that the material feels easily accessible to even the most inexperienced theater-goer. Their careful, sensual pacing of the show creates a mesmerizing, almost dreamlike effect on all of the action, drawing one deeper into the psychological landscape of Rome and Egypt, of Antony and Cleopatra.

Eric Johnson and Ellie Clark have palpable chemistry as the two lovers who risk empires to be together. The intense physicality of the pair is a hallmark of this show, making for some provocative staging at times that underscores the duo's potent sexuality, a shared trait that encompasses not only the physical, but the political, emotional, even spiritual. Whether the two are really in love, in lust, or more fixated on playing out the full spectrum of war on each other is up for debate. Deciphering these characters' possible motivations leads to compelling post-curtain discussion. To what extent did their political ambitions cloud their love affair? Did they really love each other? Or the idea of power?

The whole cast functions as a finely tuned unit, but Clark stands out as Cleopatra, one of the most complexly drawn of Shakespeare's female characters. She is, quite simply, phenomenal. The breadth of her performance is worth seeing over and over. In the span of three minutes, she might exhibit 10 emotions, from cruel punishment to petty whining to raging anger to vulnerable concession. Embraces are often followed by curt shoves; shouting matches are transformed into seduction.

Seduction, sensuality, passion, raw appeals to power and submission, all seep through the fabric of this show, making for a uniquely textured experience. Technical elements serve to underscore the play's sumptuously sensual overtones. Kay Lea Meyer's lighting bathes David Steinmetz' set in lush, inviting color during Egyptian scenes and bare, more basic, functional lighting in the Roman scenes. The lighting also plays beautifully off of Kirsten Aurelias' costumes. In particular, the royal wardrobe of Cleopatra and her attendants are fluid, flowing, shimmering, beautiful — perfect representations of the feminine power of Egypt, which heavily contrast with the more austerely masculine Roman attire.

Perhaps what is most appealing about this show is that it is a love story, yes, but unlike the Bard's most famous love story, Romeo and Juliet, here we are in the realm of grown-ups, fully developed, older characters who are not star-crossed or doomed by fate. This makes for more interesting dissection of their romance and what's more, much more riveting and emotionally satisfying theater.

The ethnic restaurants of Lexington's ­dining scene are like dozens of ­subdivisions in search of a city. As trends emerge, rather than clustering in one section of town, their ­representatives conveniently establish ­themselves near neighborhoods where that cuisine is scarce, often settling in mini-malls where the parking is plentiful and rents are more reasonable.

In the Boston Road area, Osaka now ­represents Japan.

In many ways, Osaka is like other Japanese places — a whale-size sushi list, familiar fried and grilled items, and several noodle dishes. But for locals, it saves a drive — essential in our car-dependent culture — and offers some excellent renditions of the usual suspects.

For a balanced lunch, I stopped by one afternoon when it first opened for a bento box of steamed rice and grilled eel (a little mushy) that included the standard miso soup and ­iceberg lettuce salad. A simple meal for $13.

A dinner six weeks later was strikingly less modest.

Osaka's hamachi ($4.95) gets high marks: perfectly cooked and seasoned rice (the rice has been uniformly stellar) with buttery slices of yellowtail that smelled and tasted ocean-fresh. Delicious and more complex was the beautiful Lady in Red roll ($9.95): chopped spicy tuna wrapped in rice and a tuna strip, dusted with masago (smelt roe) and topped with gossamer-thin lemon slices for acidity and a sprinkling of scallions.

Recommended but less impressive were onogiri — rice balls ($2 each) — merely large clumps of nori-wrapped rice around bonito flakes or salmon. Filler food at best.

The big serving of soba noodles with ­sugary fried tofu (aburage) for $7.95, while market price, seemed an expensive ­proposition. For almost 8 bucks, I'd wish for broth with some umami, that special ”fifth flavor,“ and an extraordinary presentation.

The ”Osaka Special A“ ($24.95), however, could have fed three easily, and it ­permitted sampling of Osaka's full and best range. There were salty pickles that complemented an enormous portion of smoky grilled fish (we chose ­delicate mackerel). There was a greaseless and meaty egg roll and equally greaseless and wonderfully light shrimp and vegetable tempura. There was a plate of shrimp, yellowtail, salmon and tuna sushi, a bowl of savory stewed meat with lotus root, soup, salad, and big slices of pineapple and cantaloupe for dessert.

So, in these days of high fuel prices, it's good to know that while Lexington lacks unified ethnic dining, for some residents good e_SDHpJapanese food is right around the corner.

A big dinner for two, with beers and tax but not tip, was about $68.

MIDWAY -- Nestled along sloping farmland and the tree-lined twists and turns of Elkhorn Creek, the vineyards at Equus Run provide an idyllic setting for a lovely evening of outdoor theater. When you add wine tastings, arts and craft vendors and a delicious meal (on Saturday, when I saw visited, courtesy of Wallace Station), it is pretty hard not to lick your lips with satisfaction. And that is all before the main attraction.

While it is easy to be seduced by the charm of the venue and its unique offerings, let us not forget: The play really is the thing.

Director Anthony R. Haigh certainly has not forgotten. With the second edition of Actors Guild of Lexington’s Shakespeare at Equus Run, he continues the vision that first began with last summer’s play, Love’s Labour’s Lost, in this summer’s production of The Merry Wives of Windsor. That vision emphasizes quality over quantity, substance over spectacle, and an attitude of let’s get our hands dirty and deeply engage the material.

Merry Wives is a comedy about a foolhardy rogue who earns his living by seducing wealthy women. He writes identical love letters to two women who, in typical Shakespearean fashion, immediately discover the ruse and, instead of confronting him, have a little fun at his expense. In a sense, the play is one long practical joke that the audience is privy to. Unlike some Shakespearean comedies, which are “light” but not always that funny, this is a show that is both.

The bulk of the fun hinges on the hilariously rendered interaction among the play’s sharply drawn, widely relatable and wildly flawed characters. For this, Haigh has assembled an ensemble of tremendous ability. Anyone familiar with Lexington theater might get excited just reading the names in the playbill. Gina Scott-Lynaugh is pure mischief and mirth as the meddlesome (in a good way!) Mistress Quickly. As the Host, her real life husband, John B. Lynaugh, is equally enchanting, wielding his lines with much panache and wry humor. Christopher Rose turns in an absurdly satisfying performance as Dr. Caius, a ridiculously French suitor of the young Ann Page (Becca Finney). Rose’s language drips and oozes a hyperbolic French accent that underlines Shakespeare’s not-so-politically-correct humor of the time. Not restricted to only making fun of the French, Shakespeare gets many good digs in at the Welsh in the form of the character Sir Hugh Evans. As Evans, Tim X. Davis relishes in a thick accent as well delivered as the cast’s ensemble comedic timing.

A nice surprise is newcomer Kevin Greer as Slender, yet another of Ann Page’s suitors. However, Greer does an excellent job conveying (with varying degrees of subtlety) that Slender is ambivalent to the fairer sex and probably prefers his own. Another rare treat is Maureen Gallagher-Kuehler’s performance as the mischievously vengeful Mrs. Page. The trickery conspired by her and Mrs. Ford (Elizabeth Guy) result in some scenes of delightfully humorous Elizabethan girl talk.

Of course, no production of The Merry Wives of Windsor would be complete without a robustly lecherous and magnetically likeable Sir John Falstaff, the drunken, wiley rogue whose sloppy attempts at wooing two married women using a love letter template with only the names changed results in the joke being played on him instead. Haigh stepped into this role at the last minute when actor Jack Parrish had to leave the show for health reasons. Despite this setback, Haigh’s performance does not feel like a rush job. On the contrary, his Falstaff charismatically drives the momentum of the show with alternative moments of gregarious self-inflation to knee-slapping moments of hilarious defeat. Keep your eyes open after intermission when Falstaff comes wading out of Elkhorn Creek in all his dejected non-glory.

Like its inaugural production last year, this summer’s offering of Shakespeare at Equus Run works in elegant symbiosis with its venue, its audience and its ability to summon the past and relate it to the present in a way that is sophisticated, simple, and fun. A refreshing lack of pretense coupled with an earnest scholarship of the work is fast becoming one of the hallmarks of the event.

Presented in natural lighting and clear, crisp sound, The Merry Wives of Windsor succeeds on many levels, the most notable being that, well, when I saw the play, everybody liked it.

Normally, everybody liking it would not be reliable criteria to cite in support of a production’s merit. But, as Shakespeare’s target audience was everybody, from queens to paupers, from nobles to workmen, the hearty laughter and focused engagement I saw among audience members is proof that Haigh and company have masterfully translated Shakespeare’s Elizabethan comedy to modern audiences without sacrificing the depth of the material or the richness of the language, which is quite a feat. The result is a show of remarkable accessibility, humorous exuberance and unyielding quality.

The Coach House has been a fabled restaurant in Lexington, whether open or closed, for decades. Since the early 1970s, when the ”new“ Coach House was built, it was the place to be and be seen. Back then, it was called Stanley Demos' Famous Coach House. But Demos retired in the 1980s, and the Coach House has dwindled ever since. The restaurant has changed hands multiple times; once it reopened as a ­German restaurant. That didn't last long. Now, it has reopened as The Coach House and, for the most part, it has dwindled.

On Tuesday night, we were seated right by the kitchen door. I suppose they were saving the more coveted tables for the onslaught. Only three tables were occupied while we were there.

Our dinner started with soup, a crab bisque ($4 for a cup) and salad ($5). I wanted the fried green tomato salad, but it wasn"t available because of the nationwide tomato scare. We both got the mesclun salad.

I'll start with the salad. While it looked fresh at first glance, it wasn't. There was a noticeable refrigerator taste in the greens. I'm not sure if it was rot setting in, but it had certainly taken a turn. The champagne vinaigrette was barely noticeable on my salad. My dinner companion ordered balsamic vinaigrette on the side, which helped, but it wasn't enough to cover up the obvious stale taste.

The crab bisque was tasty. But the taste I was looking for wasn't there. It was lump crab in a cream-based soup. However, the delicate crab flavor and cream were dominated by maple syrup or flavoring.

The only thing I could taste in this creamy, not-too-thick soup was maple. It wasn't bad, but I expect to taste crab in crab bisque.

For entrees, we ordered the bone-in rib-eye steak ($29) and lamb chops ($27). The steak was marvelous. A large rib-eye was ordered plain (no sauce) and rare. We wanted to taste the beef. This piece of beef would have passed anyone's test. The beef was juicy, firm but tender, and it had a nice charcoal-grilled flavor. It was one of the nicest steaks I've had in a restaurant in a long time.

The lamb chops were a different story. I should have ordered them plain as well. The sauce on the meat, a black olive and roasted garlic reduction, was so overpowering that you couldn't taste the lamb. It didn't enhance, like a good sauce should do, just overpowered.

Desserts were nice and, with the exception of one, all were chocolate. I ordered chocolate crème brûlee ($5). This was good, but it was made in advance.

On the best crème brûlees, the sugar topping should be hot and the custard should be cold. This dessert was rich and had a nice, mild chocolate flavor, but the hard, crusty sugar topping had been done at the same time the custard was made. It was garnished with a sliced strawberry. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't the preferred way.

The peach tarte tatin ($6) was delicious. Puff pastry shells, small ones, were filled with tiny peaches that seemed to have been poached in a light syrup.

Desserts and excellent service aside, I would keep this place in the dwindled category.

Dinner for two, including a glass of cabernet sauvignon ($6) and a virgin Mary ($2.50), tax, but not tip, was $95.93.

When someone asks me about any Mexican restaurant I've reviewed, I always tell them whether the salsa and guacamole are good. I put a lot of stock in the chips and salsa everyone is given when they visit Mexican restaurants. And I always order a side of guacamole to go with it. That was the scenario I followed at Los Alazanes Mexican Restaurant on South Broadway.

If you haven't noticed this new restaurant, you're not alone. I didn't even see it when I pulled into Tattersalls Square, a new development near the corner of Red Mile Road and South Broadway. It's kind of tucked in between a gas station and The Coach House. There is a Waffle House tucked in there, too.

Once my dining companion and I entered Los Alazanes — named for chestnut- or sorrel-colored horses that were brought to the New World by the Spanish conquistadors — we appreciated its spacious, well-appointed dining area. There were leather-covered booths around the walls, tables and leather (or leather-looking) chairs in the middle. Someone had put some money into this restaurant.

The chips and salsa, as at most Mexican places, were automatically served, and as usual, I ordered a side of guacamole ($2.50). The chips were fresh and warm, not stale as at some other restaurants, and the salsa was good. Los Alazanes' salsa is the thinner variety but bursting with tomato, lime juice and cilantro.

We had to remind our server that we had ordered guacamole. But once it was served, we were delighted. This guacamole had been made in a food processor. It was garlicky and had the smoothness of mayonnaise. On a second visit, though, the guacamole was completely different: chunkier and fruity. It reminded me of Cielito Lindo's guacamole, which I've always considered the best in the city.

First impression: very good.

Mexican restaurants in today's world have become fairly standardized. When I opened the menu at Los Alazanes, I'd seen it all before. It is extensive, more so than most, but the offerings are basically the same as any other Mexican restaurant. I found one of my favorites: carnitas ($9.25). Most of the carnitas I've tried were been braised, but Los Alazanes' were fried, according to the menu. The pork was a bit drier and saltier, but the dish was still wonderful — and even better with a spoonful of salsa. It was served with refried beans and rice and also came with a guacamole salad, but our server gave it to my companion, who gladly scarfed it down before I realized that it was supposed to be mine.

The other entree we sampled was the ­ranchero chef's special ($11.75), a sirloin steak covered with onions, green peppers and tomatoes, which was good, and a chicken enchilada, which my companion liked better than the steak.

Dessert was another mix-up. We ordered the flan ($2.60) and the tres leches cake ($4.50). We got the flan but not the cake; fried ice cream was served instead. We told our server about the error, but it didn't seem to faze her. The flan, or crème caramel, was good and had not been made with a mix, but it lacked the vanilla punch that most Mexican flans have. The fried ice cream ($3.35) was unusually good vanilla ice cream in a fried tortilla shell, drizzled with strawberry syrup.

Dinner for two, including two Mexican beers ($3.30 each) and a soft drink ($1.75) and tax, but not tip, was $36.79.

I visited Los Alazanes alone later, and service was flawless. The chunky, fruity ­guacamole I mentioned earlier was exceptional, and I tried the tacos de carne asada ($8.50). Bits of fried steak, similar to what is served in fajitas, were assembled in warm soft tortillas and served with pico de gallo and a good hot salsa. No surprises here. It was exceptional. I also sampled the guacamole salad ($4.75) that I had lost on the previous visit. An iceberg lettuce chiffonade was topped with yummy guacamole, shredded Mexican cheese and a slice of tomato. It was pretty standard as salads go, but the guacamole, again, was wonderful and set it apart.

I tried to get the tres leches cake, but the server said they were out.

If it weren't for the lax service on the first visit, Los Alazanes would have gotten another star.

That dinner, including two beers and tax but not tip, was $23.70.

SHAKERTOWN -- The drive out to Pleasant Hill at Shakertown is so beautiful that not even the skyrocketing price of gas can diminish the experience. It is a mark of Shaker simplicity to call it exactly what it is: pleasant.

But it is also more. It is a drive into Kentucky's unique past, where the legacies of the Shaker community come alive in its preserved grounds and architecture.

It comes alive even more the next two weekends with the University of Kentucky Theatre staging of Arlene Hutton's As It Is In Heaven, a play inspired by Pleasant Hill and Shaker history, particularly the dawn of the "Era of Manifestation," when the pragmatic, work-focused community began to include a greater sense of the supernatural into their worship. The show, housed in the restored Meadow View Barn, examines the every day lives of nine Shaker women and how they each attempt to navigate (and some seem responsible for) the radical spiritual shift stirring in the community.

The evening offers a truly unique theater experience whose rustic setting and historical plot satisfyingly explores an oft-forgotten era of our region's past.

Before the show begins, it is difficult to escape the oddness of the situation. You are, after all, sitting in a barn. But then the music starts. Wafting somewhere from the hills, offstage, beautiful singing erupts. The cracks in the barn walls allow the early evening sun to seep into the barn so that the experience feels … illuminated.

Tony Hardin's setting and lighting design is Shaker practical. A raked wooden stage allows audience members in folding chairs to see all of the action. Sparse props adorn the stage, from benches that double as church pews to a few woven baskets that the women use for their unending litany of chores.

The nine Shaker "sisters" are ideal roles for young actresses to cut their teeth on. Hearing the wildly varying "testimonies" of these devout women highlights the Shakers' willingness to equally accept folks from all walks of life. Some were raised in the community, others drawn to it, and still others seemed to end up there because they had no where else to go.

The diversity of the characters is one of the strengths of the script and it would be nice to see the cast loosen up to better define their differences. The audience is up close and personal in the intimate barn venue, so there is plenty of opportunity to flesh out some of the more nuanced inter-character dynamics. Still, a little opening night stiffness is to be expected in an educational performance environment and probably will go away as the performers ease into the run of the show. And then there is the fact that they are playing Shakers, who believe simple, plain and modest are some of the best adjectives around. It's a tough balance to strike.

The most divine aspect of this show is, by far, the music. The cast members sing in hauntingly beautiful unison. Solos that gently accompany daily moments, like sweeping the floor, are simple delights. The worship sessions that serve as bookends for the play have a simple feel of authenticity. When the women's voices collectively soar up to the barn rafters and spill out to the rolling hills beyond, one gets the feeling of eavesdropping on private, sacred moments from the past.

What if everyday chance encounters turned into more? What if, instead of saying ”fine“ when someone asked how you are, you said, ”Actually, I'm horrible and here's why ... .“

The little white lies of politeness are what society depends on for everyday order. Manners, we call it. But in Edward Albee's The Zoo Story, manners are forsaken for blatant and often uncomfortable truths in a play that highlights the tense and dangerous repercussions of absolute honesty.

Natasha's Bistro and its Balagula Theatre are playing host to Shoestring Productions, a Louisville theater company, in several performances of Albee's groundbreaking work.

Directed by Kathi E.B. Ellis, this visiting production of The Zoo Story provides a compelling, funny, thought-provoking, and ultimately shocking examination of an afternoon encounter between two strangers in New York's Central Park. Peter, a well-dressed, well-mannered publishing executive, is enjoying a book on his favorite park bench when a stranger abruptly starts talking to him. Jerry, the stranger, is less put-together. His clothes are sloppy and he has the air of someone who might, just might, be a vagrant. Peter is uncomfortable with Jerry's odd behavior and frank, invasive questions, but his sense of decorum outweighs his personal discomfort.

It clearly crosses Peter's mind, and the audience's, that Jerry might be crazy. But the more Jerry talks about his own life, the more he shares deep and gritty emotional observations, we sense that Jerry might be smarter than us, that he may be a kind of park bench preacher, some kind of wiseman caught in a broken life. That is probably why Peter consents to talking to him for as long as he does. When Jerry says thinks like, ”Kindness with cruelty is the teaching emotion, and what we gain is loss,“ he seems almost prophetic.

Louisville actors Doug Sumey and Lee Look give powerful performances as Peter and Jerry, respectively. Sumey skillfully portrays a man whose ability for emotional containment weakens and weakens as Jerry learns how to push Peter's buttons. Look's Jerry is charming, likeable, but fierce and edgy. The two share palpable chemistry as the park-bench exchange escalates to increasingly personal terrain.

In the end, we learn that this chance encounter is not so chance. It's not so much fate as intention. Jerry chose to talk to Peter, to addle and even enrage him, for a very specific reason, one we do not see coming until the play's dark twist in its final seconds. When the purpose of their encounter is revealed, suddenly Jerry's previous dialogue takes on a much fuller, much darker meaning. The impact is shocking, sad and beautiful at the same time.

Clocking in at under an hour, this swift-moving play packs a mighty punch.

Leslie Jordan's biggest claim to fame is his Emmy Award-winning regular role as Beverly Leslie, arch nemisis of Megan Mullally's Karen Walker on Will & Grace.

So you might have expected some Will & Grace moments from Jordan when he took the stage at the Kentucky Theatre for his one-man show, My Trip Down the Pink Carpet. And there were a few moments, as he started us out at the 2006 Emmy Awards, where he had won his Emmy and was preparing to accompany eight-time Emmy winner Cloris Leachman onto the stage to present a comedy writing award.

Some in the crowd at the Kentucky clearly remembered the moment. Leachman had a line about always remembering her first Emmy, and Jordan, who had just collected his at a separate ceremony a week before, said he took his everywhere, even to bed.

"It's the only woman I ever slept with," he declared.

It was one of the first of many huge laughs during the night, but the line also served as the catalyst for the rest of the show, as Jordan laid out the journey that brought him to a point he could make such an openly gay declaration before a packed auditorium and a national television audience.

My Trip is based on Jordan's forthcoming memoir of the same name. In fact, the show is essentially serving as its book tour, scheduled to hit nearly 30 cities after this opening night in Lexington, home of Jordan's alma mater, the University of Kentucky.

And it's somewhat appropriate the show starts in the South as that's where Jordan started, growing in up in Chattanooga, Tenn., indulging in a crush on the quarterback for the high school football team.

Jordan regaled us with tales of a number of his crushes after he moved to Hollywood in the early 1980s and landed supporting roles on TV series with men such as Robert Urich, Mark Harmon and our own George Clooney. His best of the these stories is about how he kept dropping a line in the 1992 series Reasonable Doubts so that they would have to repeat a scene where Harmon pushed him to the ground and straddled him.

In the midst of these tales, Jordan kept winding back to a few important themes: an isolation he felt growing up gay in the Bible Belt and self-loathing that would manifest itself in a simultaneous fascination with and repulsion from people like author Truman Capote and center square Paul Lynde who, like Jordan, were effeminate gay men.
"Early on, I thought it would be a good idea if I didn't let anyone know I was a homosexual," Jordan said of his early TV career, to a huge laugh. "Why is that funny?" he momentarily protested, and then continued, "It's funny because I'm the gayest person I know. I fell out of my mother's womb and into her high heels."

Not that he was always as comfortable in those shoes.

Jordan talked quite a bit about how he often numbed the stigma he felt being gay with alcohol and drugs from age 14 until he sobered up at 42 and how he felt he never learned to have normal relationships because he didn't experience dating the way straight kids did in school.

There was quite a bit of humor in this too, such as his description of his first visit to a gay bar when he was a junior in high school and his Alcoholics Anonymous group of intimidating straight men.

The show's emotional pinnacle comes at his first AA meeting where he stands up and says, "I'm an alcoholic, and I'm a homosexual."

That self acceptance and subsequent acceptance by his support group is the point of the evening: a tale that was familiar to many people Jordan met and, judging by the reaction, many people in the audience Thursday night. And in most instances, Jordan's story was effectively told, reaching you even if you haven't taken his journey.

The show could still use some trimming and refining. Sometimes Jordan got a little lost in his bawdy tales of co-star crushes and misadventures. His repeated breaks for a "gay anthem" were a bit perfunctory, except on two occasions -- at the bar and at the end of the show -- and then the repetition of previous anthems robbed those moments of their full effect.

At the end of the show, Jordan got a little speechy, particularly when advocating for the Trevor Project, a suicide hotline for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered and questioning teens. It is an extremely worthwhile cause. And as Jordan tours the show and aims for a possible Off-Broadway run, he could make the piece more effective by bringing greater theatricality to those moments of advocacy and maybe editing and focusing some of the earlier comedy material.

My Trip Down the Pink Carpet is definitely worth refining. Jordan is a joy to spend and evening with and he has a hilarious and moving story to tell.

In the dark glow of the black box theater at the Downtown Arts Center, a spray of white words flashes across a black TV screen.

"A forgotten man is still better remembered than his wife," it reads. And it is true. And it is why playwright Ain Gordon chose to write about Daphney Oldham, wife of the first free African-American to own a house in Lexington.

Commissioned by LexArts president Jim Clark to write a play inspired by Lexington history, Gordon has penned a powerful drama, resurrecting figures that history with a capital H has overlooked. In This Place ... is a gorgeously wrought one-woman show that employs 21st century multimedia technology to tell a 19th century story. The result cultivates a feeling of timelessness, a very human-scaled relatedness to the past and present of our own lives, and a more palpable connection to our individual inheritance of Lexington's history.

Little is known about the life of Daphney Oldham, except that she was born a slave and died a free woman. Her marriage to Samuel Oldham began while she was still a slave and he a free man. They lived separately for years until Samuel had saved enough money to purchase Daphney and their two sons and grant them freedom. Then he built the house at 245 S. Limestone (restored in 2006 by its current resident, Coleman Callaway III).

Michelle Hurst is the lone actor in this production, unless you count stage manager Ed Fitzgerald and assistant stage manager Lily Perlmutter, each positioned on stage, where they run technical equipment, occasionally move the sparse settings (often at Daphney's command), and sometimes even interact with Daphney. Another stage presence is the looming absence of Sam, whose out-of-focus image floats hauntingly on wide screens at the far perimeter of the theater.

The deconstructed feel of the staging provides a modern lens to view the past while offering multiple ways for the audience to enter the story, not the least of which is Daphney's outright invitation to do so.

This is a production in which the audience overtly becomes a character. "You be me," Daphney says, "I'll be Sam." There is a moment where Daphney asks the audience to share their own memories, so that she can help to preserve them. This approach is potent without being sentimental and by the end of the evening, fosters a pronounced sense of emotional symbiosis between character and audience.

Hurst's portrayal of Daphney is so achingly realistic, so heartbreakingly tender and terrible and hopeful and sad and funny, that sniffs of muffled tears, rumbles of laughter, wide grins, and breath-holding silence often fills the theater. The scenes in which she described the birth of her first son and the death of her husband are two of the most sublime theatrical moments I've witnessed in a long time, maybe ever. That it is inspired by local history makes it even more meaningful.

The multimedia exhibits that accompany the production in the DAC lobby serve as further food for thought, particularly in light of current raging debates about the nature and scope of downtown development and the importance of historic preservation.

All in all, In This Place ... meets and far exceeds the parameters of its original commission. More than a two-hour theatrical signpost of Lexington history, it is a living marker that succeeds by focusing on the series of every day moments -- some dramatic, some not -- that eventually fill up a life and later, a memory. Daphney may be a ghost, but her life and her legacy are those of flesh, blood and bone that powerfully come to life on stage.

The proximity of the University of ­Kentucky provides South Limestone's ­restaurants with a captive audience. ­Predictably, chains move in for their virtually risk-free piece of the action. Still, there are also family-run indies here, holes-in-the-wall that give this built-in clientele something more interesting to eat.

Punjab II — with its sweet service and a certain, sometimes unsettling, improvisational element with the dishes — is such a venue. Though some details require work, homemade almost always trumps corporate.

The best news: The lunch buffet ($7.50) seems more regularly replenished, and is generally more delicious, than the norm for Indian buffets.

The saag paneer, lacking chunks of cheese, was essentially creamed spinach, but who doesn't love that? Pieces of smoky tandoori chicken, made with dark meat, were succulent and tender. Tangles of pakoras looked more like battered vegetables than fritters, but each bite had a flavorful crunch. Vindaloo chicken with chunky potatoes was appropriately spicy for a crowd (read: medium hot), and the chana dal, curried chickpeas, was pleasantly mild. Lovers of cream sauce will appreciate the navratan korma with vegetables. Don't miss the zesty onion chutney. Rasmali, like a soft sweet cheese ice cream, is not on the menu but is available on the buffet; it's worth a refill.

The best thing on the line, however, was the refreshing and gorgeous salad: diced green and red pepper, cucumber, chopped purple onion and fresh pears. I could eat that all day!

With such nice serendipitous offerings, the menu's gap between description and ­reality is unexpected, even when the items are good.

Starters of lamb-stuffed samosas ($2.99) and crisp pappadams were dependable, but the special thali (a sampler platter for $15.25) promised saag shrimp yet delivered lamb. The shrimp curry more resembled a seafood broth or a sambar. Everyone except me seems to like the rich sauce in chicken tikka masala, but local versions come too close to cream of tomato soup. The dahl makhni was made of curried yellow, rather than black, lentils. A generous portion of vegetable biryani ($8.99) had lots of broccoli, carrots and peas in the yellow rice, but few cashews and golden raisins. The chicken chili ($9.99) included slices of green bell peppers rather than chili peppers, dashing my fantasy of a spicy entree.

To be fair, none of these individual ­variations are bad, but most of us want ­exactly the dishes we have chosen based on the menu's descriptions.

So here is my main ­suggestion to the good folks at Punjab II, who we all want to succeed: Maintain the great buffet, but hone those menu offerings. Remember, South Limestone's quest for diversity needs you.

An average meal for two would be about $25.

One of the standard pieces of advice about putting together a rock band is to find people you enjoy being around, regardless of whether they are great musicians. An energy will emerge from the camaraderie that will tie everything together.

The same could be said for casting one of the (Abridged) plays by the ­Reduced Shakespeare Co. Lexington productions of The Complete History of America (Abridged) and The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged) have certainly featured some of Lexington's finer actors, but what made them work was the unified spirit of the all-in-it-together cast to convey a tremendous amount of information in as funny a way as possible.

The cast of Studio Players' production of All the Great Books (Abridged) certainly has a lot of information to convey — 86 books, to be exact. The idea of the show is that three men are teaching a remedial literature class of students who have to familiarize themselves with the tomes in an hour and 45 minutes, or they don't graduate.

The thing is, these aren't the best or best-matched teachers for this course.

■ There is Coach, played by Kody Kiser, who comes across as a stereotypical macho football coach. But he also has a love for literature, predictably War and Peace and unpredictably Little Women, which he maps out for us as if he were diagraming a play in a game, complete with references to the New York Yankees and steroids.

■ Then there's Professor Seale, played by Eric Ryan Seale, a drama teacher who does not know nearly as much about literature as he should.

■ Finally, there is Zach, played by Zach ­Hightower, a student teacher who ­probably knows as much about the books as the flunk-outs in the class. At his entrance, he says he's been reading The Lord of the Rings and marvels, ”They made a book from the movie!“

Using the drama teacher's resources, they stage a lot of the material in bits, among them a quick distillation of five Charles Dickens novels, including a ­surprising ­revelation about Scrooge and Marley, and a rendition of War and Peace that ­attempts to prove it truly encompasses all literature and concludes on the 10 millionth page or something. Seale has a ­particularly hilarious turn doing a poetry review that mixes great literary ­poetry with lyrics and titles of 1970s AM radio hits.

Seale — a veteran of the 2006 production of ­Shakespeare (Abridged) for Balagula Theatre and a similarly ­irreverent Oberon in last fall's production of Shakespeare in Hollywood at Studio — is the most comfortable and at ease in this material. He is at once thoroughly convincing as the pretentious professor and other characters such as a finger-snapping, hip-hop George Eliot.

Kiser and Hightower also are perfectly cast as the coach and the goofball. Hightower's long blonde locks fly around his face during one of several adolescent fits.

The (Abridged) format requires the players to be able to shift character and mood instantly, and director Bob Singleton has his actors gliding through those gears and even coasting through a few spots when, on opening night, an information overload made them blank out on a line or two.

The trio's best moment is an interpretation of Miguel de Cervantes' Don ­Quixote, with Seale and Kiser ­playing the title character and Sancho in Spanish, with Hightower interpreting, sometimes quite liberally.

The trio has a great rhythm, which, like a solid rock band, goes a long way toward making the show work.

It's all good. I guess that's what Saul Good is hoping you'll think when you enter this new restaurant-pub in The Plaza at Fayette Mall. With a little tweaking on Saul's part, I think you just might.

Saul Good is a pub in the classic sense. It's a place — a large room — for folks to gather and enjoy drink and light fare — ­appetizers, soup, salads, pizzas, burgers, assorted ­sandwiches, chicken and waffles, and desserts. And, because this pub is in a high-rent district, expect to pay more.

On my first visit, a companion and I ­sampled lettuce wraps ($7.95) and ­Southwestern dip ($7.95). Either one of the appetizers could have been split. The ­lettuce wrap, Vietnamese style in a way, was ­delicious. Bits of ginger chicken were topped with crushed peanuts and served with fresh iceberg lettuce leaves for wrapping. A sweet-sour dressing was served on the side. This was absolutely delicious. However, Romaine or leaf lettuce leaves would wrap better.

The Southwestern dip was good, too. Blue corn chips surrounded a bowl of a creamy, mildly spiced dip made of cream cheese and maybe sour cream, mixed with smoked white shoepeg corn, jalapeños and chilies. It had a lightly smoky flavor and was delicious.

The Mexican pizza ($12.95) was a ­different story. The crust was great, but the toppings tasted flat. I guess we were expecting a punch of cumin, but it didn't have it. This was a thin pizza, topped with refried beans and ground beef. The menu suggests spicy beef, but we couldn't tell that it had been spiced at all. ­Jalapeños, green onion, Cheddar and jack cheeses and sour cream were all there, but the pizza needed something more to make it ”Mexican.“ My companion wanted something else, but she took the pizza home with her. (She said it was better the next day. Apparently, it was a late bloomer.)

She ordered the turkey Cobb sandwich ($8.25), Saul's twist on an old favorite, the Cobb salad, created at The Brown Derby, a famous restaurant in Hollywood. Served with slender french fries (thinner than ­McDonald's), the ­sandwich was much like a club — turkey, bacon, slices of avocado, blue cheese and Cobb salad dressing. It was excellent.

On another trip to Saul Good, I tried the French onion soup ($3.95) and a ­wonderful spinach salad ($7.25). The onion soup was standard, but the spinach salad was ­exceptional. Fresh young spinach leaves were all coated perfectly with a champagne ­vinaigrette. In the mix were rings of red onion, pear slices, crumbled blue cheese, crumbled spiced pecans and sun-dried ­cranberries.

That brings us to Saul Good's signature dish: chicken and waffles ($12.95). In a soul food-inspired ­combination, a delicious Belgian waffle had been topped with fried chicken and maple syrup. The fried chicken didn't work. The menu said it was lightly fried, but the chicken I got had been deep-fried way too long. So long, in fact, that it was hard to cut. I got a hard chicken knot on a maple syrup-drizzled waffle. More syrup was served on the side in a little pitcher. While it sounds unique, it could be better. Face it, waffles are just a ­batter bread. They'd be great with turkey hash on them or chicken a la king. I think Saul Good should re-examine its mix.

The best thing I had all night was Saul Good's dessert, namely the chocolate fondue ($9.95). Milk or white chocolate — I chose milk — was melted in a pot and served with bananas and strawberries, pretzels, waffle wedges and s'mores (graham crackers and marshmallow cream). Two could easily share this dessert.

The other dessert, a Kahlua chocolate cupcake ($6.95), was more kitsch than cake. It looked like a coffee cup with a chocolate handle. And like so many chocolate or devil's food cakes, it was dry. But the flavor was nice.

With some tweaking Saul Good could be all good.

Dinner for two, including one beer, one cocktail and tax but not tip, was $83.24. A light dinner for one (basically soup, salad and a beer) was $16.12, excluding tip.

After hanging out at Chevy Chase Inn — or diminutively, CCI — I question the inevitable comparison with the show Cheers because Hollywood rarely captures the unpretentiousness, the spontaneous irony, the unscripted wit, the long history, the warm oddity and utter curiousness of Lexington's beloved, and surprisingly undiscovered, 75-year-old watering hole.

Some people call it a ”dive,“ but I am not sure I agree with that either. While this is indeed the space that interior designers forgot, it is not really disreputable. A genuine cross-section of Lexington is represented; some regulars play cribbage, and others bring in their dinners to have with their Bud at the bar. Most of all, though, CCI lacks the sadly public desperation often found in ”dives“ where voyeurs sometimes go to view what the end of the line looks like.

On the contrary.

Management is kind, whether it's by ­keeping Band-Aids and aspirin on hand by the cash register (OK, I laughed too, but let's be honest — we've all been there), cracking a joke (”If you're going to call that 900 number, be sure to put it on speaker phone“) or by the reassuring bumper sticker on the wall, reminding you that ”Nobody is ugly after 2 a.m.“ That's good news!

There is no anonymity or gawking, but rather decades of friendships and stories. Get-well wishes are always sent to ailing regulars. It seems no one down on his luck here goes without some version of mutual aid.

Guitarist Roger ­Bondurant has had a relationship with CCI spanning more than two decades. Even the tree on stage has been there forever, changing its identity to suit the holiday or season: ornaments at Christmas, eggs at ­Easter, and something or other for the PGA.

Behind the bar hangs a photo of the man and his horse who came in together every Fourth of July. Also famous (or infamous) was the burglar who, after a local heist, waited for a cab in the bar. It seems a normal thief would have run, but after a couple of visits to CCI, I get his point of view.

I am sure manager and bartender ­extraordinaire Russell Salyer thought I was nuts when I asked whether there is a ­signature drink (something this monthly column tries to provide). There isn't, but what the drinks lack in originality they make up for in value and strength: $4 for a gin and (a splash of) tonic.

Perhaps generosity is the signature, and maybe the ”mix“ is the spirit of the Algonquin Round Table, stirred up with Lexington's rendition of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, and shaken with the test of time.

Chevy Chase Inn will now be required visiting for all my out-of-town friends who want to get a real taste of Lexington, and also for me on those all-too-frequent nights when I just want to get over myself.

NICHOLASVILLE — When I see ­gourmet and burger advertised as one, it usually gets a snicker or two out of me. That's an ­oxymoron. Hamburger, as we know it today, was created from scraps of meat or ­trimmings, usually beef, and ground up to make it saleable. With that in mind, I visited Red Robin Gourmet Burgers & Spirits, a national chain restaurant that made its first foray into Central Kentucky last year with a store in northern Jessamine County's ­Brannon ­Crossing shopping center. I was there to test its highly touted ”gourmet ­burgers“ and other offerings.

It's been my experience that anything with gourmet in its name is just more ­expensive. The prices at Red Robin are higher than most burger places.

But it's a fun place with a colorful ­interior and exterior and a large staff that just won't quit. And God help you if you have a birthday. It seemed as if the entire wait staff descended on the table behind me to sing Red Robin's version of Happy Birthday.

Red Robin's menu is large, with ­appetizers, soups, salads, sandwiches, ­entrees and ­burgers. On the first trip, my companion and I split the artichoke and ­spinach dip ($7.99), a small gratin surrounded by toasted pita points. It was as good as it sounds, but ­expensive for the small amount. We also ­sampled the Towering Onion Rings ($7.99). The rings, which were frozen before they were fried, were stacked on a rod about 18 inches tall and served with a heavy ­chipotle sauce and cool ranch dressing. The ­presentation was spectacular, but they were just onion rings.

We also sampled the Whiskey River BBQ burger ($8.99) with unlimited fries. This was my first taste of a Red Robin hamburger. It was topped with Cheddar cheese, onion straws, lettuce, tomatoes and mayonnaise, but all we could taste was the barbecue sauce. I really wanted to taste the beef, so I went back for lunch. (The fries, like the onion rings, were of the frozen variety.)

When you order a burger at Red Robin, it comes with everything under the sun. To get a basic burger, I had to order the Red Robin gourmet cheeseburger ($8.49) and tell the server what to leave off. What I found was a patty of ­flavorless ground beef. And I'm not exactly sure how it was cooked. When ground beef is seared on the grill or on a griddle, the meat tightens and becomes browned or caramelized, which adds flavor. This, however, wasn't the case. The burger was too soft to have been seared on a grill or a skillet.

Other offerings were sampled on these ­dining excursions. The carnitas fajitas ($11.99) consisted of ”pulled“ pork slices served with guacamole, salsa, sour cream and warm tortillas. The pork tasted flat, and the guacamole and salsa tasted like the kind found at a warehouse shopping club.

We also sampled the BLTA croissant ($9.79), which was much like a club ­sandwich. Roast turkey, bacon, cheese, sliced avocado, tomato, lettuce and mayonnaise were served on a large ­croissant. This was the hit —and it wasn't even ”gourmet.“

Desserts at Red Robin can be large, so we split the mountain high mudd pie ($5.99). It was basically a vanilla ice cream pie topped with caramel sauce and chocolate syrup and then topped with a huge mound of chocolate ice cream, topped with whipped cream and chopped peanuts. It was too much for a party of four.

Two separate dinners for two were about $48 each, with tax but not tip. Lunch for one was $13.23.

”Local People, Local Food.“

That is A.P. Roots' credo, and what better mnemonic for this casual neighborhood bistro that values the pleasures of the table and sustainable agricultural practices?

The mind behind the place is Robert Meyers, a chef whose Winchester restaurant, ­Robert's Café, closed and caused ­mourning among Fayette County ­foodies. And with good reason: At A.P. Roots, Meyers bakes bread, ­merges Mediterranean with ­Middle America, caters to ­locavores, and is creative without being ­intimidating or annoying (not as easy as it sounds).

Such details notwithstanding, A.P. Roots is a great addition to informal dining at reasonable prices in Lexington's Chevy Chase area.

Around noon, the crowd might run the gamut from people celebrating birthdays to singles using laptops, suggesting a vibe that gives space — physically and metaphorically — for diners to be themselves.

A perfect lunch is the savory tea-smoked chicken sandwich ($7.95, including one side item) for its tender meat and terrific tomato relish with bites of grapey ­sweetness and a spicy kick.

At dinner, start with the ­caponata ($3.95) — Italy's sweet and salty dip of eggplant, tomatoes, capers, whole pitted kalamatas and celery — served with thin grilled slices of the chef's fabulous ­sourdough bread.

My favorite salad has been the wilted baby spinach ($4.95) with local shiitake mushrooms, onions, tomato, a chopped hard-boiled egg and a light applewood bacon ­dressing. It makes a picture-perfect first course.

The kitchen turns out a fine spinach pappardelle ($9.95), thin, flat ribbons of pasta tossed with sautéed wild mushrooms, squash and tomatoes and melted blue gouda (perhaps an overly piquant touch).

The ”pot roasted“ chicken ($12.95) was tender and juicy, with squash, leeks and fork-smashed ­potatoes. It was napped with a silky, slightly sweet roasted hazelnut sauce. Quite similar was the more exotic fricassee of locally raised rabbit ($17.95) — same potatoes on the side — but this dish was topped with a rich brown sauce and a generous helping of those wild mushrooms.

A.P Roots isn't without a few puzzling incongruities, though: a limited selection of by-the-glass wine offerings from Kentucky ­vineyards, an uneven hand with salting, the curiously dull potato salad ($2.25), or the limestone Bibb salad ($4.95), wonderful but full of whole leaves that were a hassle to navigate on the little plate.

But back to the good stuff. Dessert might be a slice of orange ­chiffon cake ($4.95) ­reminiscent of a genoise with creamy frosting and candied orange peel; or ”crème caramel“ ($4.95), light as a flan scattered with berries.

Thanks, A.P. Roots. It feels good to eat with a clean conscience, close to the land yet right around the corner.

A four-course dinner for two, with beer and tax but no tip, was about $46.

I've seen a lot of shows about a lot of things, but a show about quality, enchanted handbags owned by mice who like to pretend they are royalty is a new one.

I must confess to doubting how there could even be a play with the word purse in its title.

Turns out, the Lexington Children's Theatre production of Lilly's Purple Plastic Purse is about more than what rodent accessories are en vogue this season. It is a glittery, purply, squealy, fun romp that also reveals important lessons about growing up — lessons that are just as relevant for human children as they are for mice children.

Director Vivian Snipes once again offers her young audience an entirely realized, lushly imagined world that both delights and instructs.

Lilly is a young, spunky mouse who ”loves everything!“ She is constantly armed with an arsenal of disguises and squirt guns, ”just in case.“ She also fancies herself ”queen of the world“ and has a crown to prove it.

Lilly's life is pretty awesome when the play opens. She makes new friends, a baby brother is on the way, and she can't wait to start school.

But even queens of the world sometimes have bad days. Even people, or should I say mice, who love everything sometimes … don't. Lilly's brother turns out to be a boring lump who can't play with her and who steals her family's attention. For the first time, Lilly is really unhappy.

Then Lilly makes a mistake that we all have made. The thing she thinks will solve all her problems is the very thing that makes them worse. Enter the purple plastic purse.

Lilly's grandmother takes her shopping, and after a ludicrously, riotously runway scene that includes the cast deliciously hamming it up as ”couture models,“ Lilly falls in love with the purple plastic purse, and her grandmother buys it for her. Suddenly, Lilly is indomitable. One of the highlights of the show is the string of fantasy scenes in which Lilly imagines dramatic and absurd ways that the purse will change her life. Enemies will bow to her! All will admire her! Her brother will get taken away!

What girl hasn't had a shopping experience that made her feel as if she could conquer her bit of the world? Besides, Lilly's purse doesn't just seem like magic to her — it really is. Somehow, when she is feeling happy and opens the purse, it plays music. Loud, rockin' music. And then everybody dances. Who wouldn't want to show off a purse like that?

Unfortunately, Lily takes her enthusiasm for her purse too far and ends up alienating her friends and causing a big disturbance at school that gets her in trouble with her favorite teacher. This is how she learns the hard lesson that making mistakes is part of growing up. How we deal with them is just as important as why we made them.

Laurel Green is simply bewitching as Lilly, full of sprightly energy and bratty charisma. The ensemble cast matches Green's dynamism, and together they create a richly colored world inhabited by sharply drawn characters (particularly since they are mice) who are not unlike the children sitting in the audience.

The school scenes are evidence of Snipes' particularly adept direction and the cast's mastery of natural timing. These scenes are full of quirky details and movements that wouldn't necessarily come to mind when one thinks of school, but that concretely re-create the little things about school that conjure the most effective imagery. Plenty of fidgeting, late entrances, and none-too-quiet whispers are just the kind of visceral things that bring the school experience to life and as a result, make Lilly's plight more realistic.

Adam Spencer's versatile set design allows the production to clip along swiftly. Its dramatic transitions from the happy, open field where Lilly lives to a school room to a boutique are smooth, almost musical in their rhythm. Caroline Voss's lighting design nicely frames the show's more poignant moments, and Lindsay Schmeling's costume design is refreshingly fun.

Another fine production, Lilly's Purple Plastic Purse is an excellent tool for helping children to learn how to apologize for their mistakes and how, like it or not, these mistakes make us better, happier people.

Note: Lilly's Purple Plastic Purse is in school performances until its public opening May 4. Tickets are sometimes available for the school performances but call ahead to make sure.

Take three men, lock them and their egos in the same room for five days, and what do you get? One of the most classic motion pictures of all time, Gone With the Wind.

Evidently, you also get an explosion of banana peels, peanut shells and bedraggled, sleep-deprived men of highly questionable hygiene wavering somewhere between genius and insanity.

In 1939, holed up in movie producer David O. Selznick’s Hollywood office, screenwriter Ben Hecht, film director Victor Fleming and Selznick spend a desperate week attempting an eleventh-hour resuscitation and overhaul of Gone With the Wind’s flailing screenplay. With production halted and the original director fired, Selznick pulls Fleming from his gig directing a little film called The Wizard of Oz and hires Ben Hecht to do a quick “punch up” of a script based on the Margaret Mitchell novel, which Hecht hasn’t even read. Hecht is certain Civil War movies will never make any money and Fleming says he “knows a turkey when he sees one,” so the movie seems doomed to fail on an epic level.

Instead it receives 10 Academy Awards.

This, in other words, is the stuff of show business legend. This is Moonlight and Magnolias, the final show in Actors Guild of Lexington’s 24th season — a delightful behind-the-scenes homage to the creative grit, gristle and sheer determination involved in creating movie magic.

As AGL Artistic Director Richard St. Peter said in his curtain speech on opening night, “If this isn’t the way it happened, it’s the way it should have.” While the play’s chief appeal is its jolly, tongue-in-cheek humor, it has a surprising depth as well. Playwright Ron Hutchinson is eager to confront the flaws, hypocrisies, and questionable motives rife in the golden age of film, all the while remembering what is so redeeming about the industry in the first place.

AGL designers David Probus and Tommy Gatton do a lovely job framing Eric Seale’s set design in lighting and sound evocative of the magical elements of Gone With the Wind. A scrim beyond an office window hints at the same blood-red sky that opens the film, or the sweeping burning of Atlanta. Wafts of the film’s musical score seeps into some of the more inspiring moments of the play.

On the humor front, it’s pretty hard not to laugh at grown men re-enacting Gone With the Wind in its entirety. Because Hecht hasn’t read the book, Selznick and Fleming act it out for him. Walter May’s Selznick as heroine Scarlett O’Hara is hilarious on sight, and poor Eric Johnson’s Fleming is forced to lie on the floor and replicate Melanie’s childbearing scene.

That actor Charles Pogue is playing the bedraggled screenwriter Hecht lends an extra layer of behind-the-scenes irony to the production: In real life, Pogue is a bona fide screenwriter. Was it my imagination or did his character seem to take particular pleasure in deliciously delivering the many wry barbs and witty quips about the screenwriting profession?

Frequently, the play stealthily incorporates meatier subjects into its arsenal of self-deprecating industry jokes. The politics of the era creep in from time to time, effectively framing the historical context of the struggle to make the film. Fights about anti-Semitism, the racism inherent in Gone With the Wind, the false glorification of the Old South and even the looming war in Europe wend their way into the production’s conscience.

Yet for all these debates about social change, equality and fairness, the men are patently blind to one of the last vestiges of inequality — sexism — an awfully ironic truth considering they are spending five days devoted to writing a heroine-driven film. They treat Selznick’s secretary Miss Poppenghul (charmingly played by Laura Blake) like one of Scarlett’s “loyal slaves.” Fleming goes so far as to take a playful swipe at her rear. This is from the man who admits to slapping Judy Garland “just once” on the set of The Wizard of Oz. Selznick isn’t much better, as he is fixated on showcasing Vivien Leigh’s cleavage.

May, Pogue and Johnson, all seasoned, accomplished actors, are excellent casting choices by co-directors St. Peter and Seale. The trio seem at home playing legendary Hollywood figures. Somehow they manage to ground their larger-than-life characters into fascinatingly flawed mortals. Though each actor delivered robust and enjoyable performances in his own right, there seemed to be the occasional struggle with ensemble timing and flow, as if the cast members were separately muscling their way through the opening-night production on talent and will alone. In short, the production hadn’t quite hit its natural stride yet, but there is no doubt that it can, should and will once the show has been on its feet for a bit.

Part love letter to the movies, part social commentary and part pure comedy, Moonlight and Magnolias makes for a nostalgic, easy-going, breezy spring evening at the theater whose greatest strength is that it has something to offer the most disparate of audiences.

Iowa has been good for Paragon Music Theatre.

Four years ago, the company went there for its debut production, Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II's State Fair. It was a stunningly good production for Paragon, especially considering it was its first show.

This spring, the company is back in the Hawkeye State for Meredith Willson's The Music Man.

Since March 2004, Paragon has staged numerous excellent shows, so now we have expectations.

In many respects, Music Man lives up to those, particularly in providing strong leads and a solid orchestra. In every respect, you have to admire the effort.

There are moments, particularly the first act showstoppers Ya Got Trouble and Seventy-Six Trombones, where the stage floods with around 50 performers.

In her work with Paragon, Diana Evans has developed a knack for tailoring her choreography to the dancing abilities of the actors. With the sheer number of people she has on stage, there are rough edges and not everything flows as well as must have been hoped. But there is a joyous spirit in the cast that blunts those shortcomings. And you can't help but have fun hearing a big cast embrace these numbers.

Act II plays to Paragon's strengths of musicianship and acting, which have made shows such as December's She Loves Me sing.

As Harold Hill, Evan Sullivan has a little Elvis in him seducing the townspeople into believing that he can turn all the kids into a band in just a few weeks. Jessie Rose Pennington is the doubtful Marian, the music teacher and librarian who knows Harold is a con artist, but sees the value in the hope Harold brings to the grumpy town. That's the story they carry best, though Marian falling for Harold seems perfunctory.

There are two nice surprises:

• The barbershop quartet provided fun pre-show entertainment and steals the show.

• Fourth-grader Scott DiMeo turns in a wonderfully confident and solid performance as Winthrop.

Music director Ryan Shirar wrote music for several non-musical scenes, and it flows in naturally. That and Alberta Labrillazo's direction keep the nearly three-hour show moving.

It was a show that reaffirmed no one was conning us four years ago when they said Lexington could have a musical theater troupe.

Leave it to corporate America to supersize a British institution.

I noticed The Pub, flying the Union Jack alongside the American flag, while driving behind Fayette Mall one day. All I could think was: That's a pub? It's so big.

Pubs, or public houses, in Great Britain are usually small neighborhood places where folks gather for food and drink and to watch their favorite football (soccer to us Americans) team on big-screen televisions. The pubs I've been to in London were unadorned, and the food played second to drink.

The Pub describes itself as a “gastropub,” where food plays a more prominent role. It's part of a regional chain — including Lexington, there are six locations (one each in Louisville, Northern Kentucky and the Cleveland area, and two in Cincinnati) and one more is planned for Ohio — owned by Tavern Restaurant Group, which also owns deSha's and several other restaurants.

When I entered The Pub, I was smacked with ­everything an American tourist is looking for in ­Victorian ­England: a Union Jack on the ceiling and paneling that looked like mahogany throughout the cavernous ­restaurant. The only thing it didn't have was the changing of the guard and Rule, Britannia! playing on the jukebox. But the ­Disneyesque pub is a popular gathering place no matter how inauthentic it might be.

A colleague and I visited The Pub on Tuesday, the ­anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. How British. We were seated in a booth and ordered drinks — a pint of Fuller's Extra Special Bitters ($5.75) and a bloody Mary ($5) — and surveyed the “authentic British” menu. I had my heart set on bubble and squeak, but I guess it wasn't authentic enough.

For an appetizer, we split the spinach and artichoke dip ($8.95). Garlic, bits of spinach, and artichoke and herbs were mixed with mozzarella cheese and heated in a small gratin dish and served with grilled pita points. It was good — anything made with garlic and mozzarella will taste good — and was just enough as an appetizer, but the only authentic thing I noticed about this dish was the price. Everything in England costs twice what it does here.

For entrees, we sampled the crab-crusted halibut ($19.95) and the Pub Jacket ($8.95), a vegetarian dish. The baked halibut was mild and good, but the crab in which it was crusted was barely noticeable. It was served on top of some light mashed potatoes and sautéed asparagus, which were delicious. But one thing I did notice about the dish: It was not piping hot. It wasn't cold, but I think it had to wait somewhere in the kitchen for the Pub Jacket to finish.

The Pub Jacket, sometimes ­vegetarian, sometimes with meat, was layers of mashed potatoes with portobello ­mushrooms, ­tomato, green pepper, onion and ­mozzarella cheese. It was good and served piping hot. All of the flavor enhancers mentioned earlier — green pepper, mushrooms and onion — were noticeable, especially the green pepper.

One of the desserts we sampled was excellent: Jamaica cheesecake ($6.25). The cheesecake was very smooth and tangy, but the slices of banana and banana liqueur sent it over the top. Kind of like bananas Foster on cheesecake. Yummy.

I wish I could say the same about the strange Tipsy Laird ($5.95). Blueberries, raspberries and blackberries were ­sautéed in brandy and poured over fried pound cake, which was served over a vanilla custard sauce. I think ­everything would have been wonderful, but someone in the kitchen fried the cake in the fish grease. It was noticeable. Fish and ­custard just don't mix.

Lastly, service was a cut above the usual chain restaurant.

Dinner for two, including tax, but not tip, was $63.80.

Before even entering the venue of Balagula Theatre's latest production, The Pillowman, you can tell that something is very different. For one, the usual entrance to Natasha's Bistro is locked and covered with dark curtains. Restaurant patrons and theater-goers alike (many of them being both) must enter through a smaller side door. Upon taking your seat, it's hard not to notice the twin-size bed plunked casually amid dining tables, or the restaurant's small, more traditional stage area dressed as an interrogation and torture room.

A good meal and several hours later, you'll leave the theater stunned, jarred, thoughtful, entertained and maybe even disturbed. A dark, twisted psychological thriller with occasional jags of pitch-black humor, The Pillowman is an intense experience, one that terrifies and shocks, all the while seducing with its artful, emotionally pulverizing rendering of deeply contentious concepts. Namely, what, if any, are the ethical limits of an artist? Can he or she be held accountable for gross misdeeds, even criminal acts, of others who are inspired by the artist's work? Evidently, yes.

The Pillowman opens with the harsh police interrogation of a seemingly unassuming writer, Katurian (Ryan Case), who is being questioned about a string of child murders that closely resemble those described in Katurian's dark stories. He denies any association with this and clings to artistic free will and expression. No one can be persecuted for his imagination!

But Katurian soon learns that the police also have his mentally slow brother Michael (Pete Sears) in custody. Michael is probably the only person Katurian ever really cared about. When Katurian is left alone with his brother, Michael confesses that he killed the children. He didn't mean for them to die, he just wanted to act out parts of Katurian's stories, which included chopping off a boy's toes and feeding a young girl apples with razor blades in them.

Katurian is mortified to learn that his stories had any part to play in the murders, and he feels responsible for his brother's actions.

Thus begins a downward psychological spiral for Katurian as he comes face to face with his own inner darkness and stark intimate horrors. To delve much beyond this would spoil the nail-biting suspense and the agonizingly brutal intimacy of the evening.

Billed as a dark comedy, it is as dark as it gets. Think black-hole dark, black as the bistro's signature Turkish coffee. The murder and torture of children and the question of ethics and violence in art are hardly funny, but playwright Martin McDonagh's award-winning script is laced with sulking moments of vitriolic satire. You just have to listen for it. For instance, when Katurian's fate is careening toward execution, the hard-as-nails cops quip about how they enjoy executing writers. ”It makes a statement,“ they wryly boast.

Joe Gatton and David Richmond are fiercely riveting as good cop-bad cop interrogators Ariel and Tupolski. Their blatantly unconcealed contempt for Katurian's case blurs the line between revenge and justice. And Sears' deft portrayal of Katurian's brother is one of the haunting highlights of the show. Michael doesn't understand right from wrong really. Plus, Katurian blames himself for profiting from Michael's abuse and torture as a child.

Case is entirely at home as the disturbed but genial Katurian. As each scene's repercussions grow darker and psychologically more devastating, Case appears to hit his emotional stride.

While Natasha Williams is a frequent producer at Balagula Theater, this is the first time in a while that she has lent her skills to directing. She indicated in her director's notes that her vision was that Katurian was dreaming or, rather, that each character symbolically represented a different inner conflict for Katurian.

But one needn't take an existential view to enjoy this show. The characters more than stand on their own, and the innovative use of space once again proves to be a boon rather than a hindrance for the growing troupe. The result is an evening of chilling, spellbinding proportions, one that you won't easily forget.

If laughter really is the best medicine, then Noises Off!, the latest production at Woodford County Theatrical Arts Association is a miracle cure for all that ails you.

Noises Off! is a hilarious farcical romp about a British theater company's woebegone production of its own farce, Nothing On. It's ostensibly a play within a play, and the real meat of the production is the behind-the-scenes drama among the cast and crew, whose colliding quirks, foibles and eccentricities humorously threaten to derail the production at every turn.

A lecherous director, a sleepless tech and a downtrodden stage manager attempt to wrangle a cast of self-absorbed actors whose worst qualities include unpredictable eruptions of spontaneous nosebleeds, excessive ditziness, binge drinking, hyper-emotionalism and, of course, a penchant for short-term, not-so-secretive intercompany romances.

A play in three acts, Noises Off! treats the audience to three installments of the company's play at various stages in its development. First comes the dress rehearsal, which establishes the characters' potential flaws and introduces us to budding relationships. The second act takes us behind the scenes for a view of the same production well into its run, when the actors' best behavior has long since departed and has been replaced by over-the-top infighting and near-disasters.

More on the second act later, but at one point, an ax is wielded backstage. At another point, a character is stabbed in the rear by a cactus.

The third act shows us the last performance of the tour — an out-and-out disaster of highly comedic proportions. If you've ever witnessed a minor flub at a live performance, multiply that times a thousand. Broken props and gross ad-libbing lead to a theatrical free-for-all that ends in absurdly satisfying chaos.

Director Beth Kirchner has a terrific eye for physical comedy, and this production allows her to exploit that talent to its fullest. Lightning-quick timing of complicated staging, including one character's dramatic fall down a high set of stairs, is a hallmark of this production. The actors prove more than up to the strenuous physical demands while retaining their characters' signature hangups.

Kim Dixon's character, Brooke, is perfectly at ease wearing racy underwear on stage, but she is less adept at say, higher brain functions. As Garry, Wes Nelson proves to be a crowd favorite, with his ridiculous mannerism of being passionately unable to verbally complete a thought, not to mention a desperately pathetic love affair with older co-star Dotty (Patti Heying), who proves to be a diva with a capital D. Ryan Briggs' Frederick has nosebleeds at the slightest sign of violence, a frequent occurrence with the volatile cast. Terry Withers' Selsdon is an aging actor who can barely hear and is hardly ever sober.

The entire cast, not just the actors listed above, deserves praise for its fine execution of ensemble work. The intricate and complex choreography unfolds seamlessly, naturally, funnily.

The highlight of the show is when designer Todd Pickett's impressive set suddenly revolves to reveal the ”backstage“ area of the company's theater at the beginning of the second act. We can hear the ”play“ on the far side of the set, but we are privy to the cast's backstage antics, which prove even more hilarious and dramatic than the play they are attempting to put on. Adding to the humor is that these backstage squabbles, which at times range from silly to deadly, are furiously conducted in near-absolute silence via pantomime and wild gesticulation. The audience on opening weekend certainly giggled in the first act, but it was during the second act that they lost all composure and cackled until curtain.

If this show is anything, it is pure fun. It will not change your life or force you to process deeply untapped emotions or engage highly abstract intellectual concepts. It is not remotely serious and is patently low-brow. Yet, that doesn't make it any less enjoyable or any less of a theatrical accomplishment. Quite the contrary. It does exactly what Kirchner wants it to do. As she says in her director's notes, ”Sometimes we don't want to have to think too hard. We just want to laugh.“

The northwest corner of East Main Street and Ashland Avenue has been home to many restaurants since the 1930s. I can go back that far because before redevelopment (yes, it occurred back then, too), it was where the home of my great-grandparents stood. After my great-grandmother died in 1936, the house was sold, torn down and the Stirrup Cup was built. The three other corners at Main and Ashland became gas stations. This address has been the Stirrup Cup twice, Hall's on Main, a succession of dreadful restaurants, Furlongs from the 1996 until 2004, and then a few more short-lived restaurants and now, Furlongs is back. The parking lot has been packed ever since.

Furlongs, if you don't know already, is a Louisiana-Cajun inspired restaurant. It serves dishes created in Louisiana, like oysters Bienville and fried crawfish tails, and local dishes with a Cajun twist, like the Furlong Brown (its take on the famous hot Brown sandwich created at the Brown Hotel in Louisville).

There were three of us on this review, including a Louisiana native, and we enjoyed almost every moment of this dining experience.

Our dinner started with oysters Bienville ($7.75 for four), a New Orleans classic. Oysters on the half-shell were topped with a little onion, bits of bacon, cheddar cheese and a cream sauce, then run under a broiler. They were heaven.

The other appetizer we shared was a Cajun classic: fried crawfish tails ($4.35). Comparable to fried shrimp, these little crustaceans were more tender than shrimp and just as tasty. The cocktail sauce was made with a lot of horseradish and was quite punchy.

Before the salads, we each sampled cups of soup. The corn and crab bisque ($5.95) was sweet from the corn with chunks of lump crab blended in a cream soup. It was delightful. The jambalaya ($4.25) wasn't really a soup but a spicy rice concoction highlighted with andouille sausage. Our least favorite of the three was seafood gumbo ($5.95). This soup, served with rice, was as muddy as the Mississippi River -- maybe too much roux. There were oysters and shrimp in this soup, but all we could taste was smoke from the Cajun ham known as tasso.

Salads, which came with each entree, were field greens and a ring of red onion. A spicy blue cheese and a balsamic vinaigrette were served on the side.

Entrees were each a delight in their own right. The crab au gratin ($20.95) was for crab lovers. Lump crab in a light cream sauce was broiled. Rounds of French bread were placed around the shallow ramekin. All you could taste, and rightfully so, was crab. It wasn't overburdened with spices. Just crab. It was delicious.

The most predictable of the three entrees, the surf and turf ($35.95), was still extremely good. A very firm but tender filet mignon was topped with crab. We asked that it be cooked medium rare, but it was served well past medium (barely pink). But it was still good. The boiled lobster tail was from a Maine lobster, according to the restaurant. Shrimp also was served with this expensive dish.

The one I had to try was the Furlongs Brown ($14.95). This featured slices of bread topped with roasted chicken, then covered with bŽchamel sauce. Pieces of andouille replaced the bacon. The dish was topped with a slice of tomato, covered with cheese, then broiled. It was interesting to say the least. The andouille made it special, but the cheese on top, which makes it pretty, was unnecessary. I took off most of the cheese, and the open-faced sandwich tasted better without it.

The desserts weren't worth bothering with. The triple chocolate cheesecake ($5.75) looked like an ice cream sandwich but didn't taste too much like cheesecake. The extremely sweet bread pudding was ordinary, we thought. It was studded with raisins and topped with chantilly cream.

Service was as good as it gets. The gentleman waiting our table was flawless.

Dinner for three, including two draft beers ($4 each), tax but not tip, was $127.31.