See, the real draw in Philly, land of the fair-to-middling maki, isn't disco lights or geisha-dressed servers: It's serving the kind of fish on rice your customers will think about two days after eating it.

The Café oozes historic charm and, with its ample parking, provides a needed stop-off in the midst of Fairmount Park.

Sometimes, you just want more choices than the Keystone state allows, the guidance of a good sommelier, or — you can admit it — the option to keep drinking.

It's an interesting way of honoring the life and work of the Surrealist legend. And at $35 a person for four courses, it's also a steal.

But in keeping the old name, Millennium has doomed itself to perpetual comparisons. And they're not, on most counts, flattering.

The chicken is a great example of what happens when a quintessentially American food goes overseas and gets seduced by local customs only to return home a relative stranger.

Bindi doesn't accept reservations, and if it turns out to have the buzz of Lolita, it probably won't need to.

Casablanca is a North African fantasyland, replete with beaded curtains, embroidered pillows, engraved brass tables, hanging lanterns and, as a companion noted, a casino-style lack of windows that will have you losing track of time and place — even if you don't drink the white Zinfandel.

Whatever your political persuasion , the Ugly American experience is ultimately more of a tongue-in-cheek celebration than a send-up, with a thoughtful list of exclusively domestic microbrews and wines and an inventive menu spinning new takes on regional cuisines.

Eat this for lunch or dinner and South Street's catcalls and bodystocking shops will seem that much friendlier.