Monello means “brat” in Italian. Not a very nice name, but there’s a back story. Monello is the younger, less fancy sibling of Bencotto. Thus, brat fits. Both are top-drawer Little Italy food emporiums. (San Diego’s Little Italy, that is.) And I’m here to report on dinner at Monello.

Monello focuses on food with a seriousness of purpose not found in many places. None I can think of, anyway. The sweet vermouth is homemade in the restaurant, and combines an extraordinary mix of herbs and other additions. You won’t want the bottled stuff, ever again! Cured meats are outstanding. (Prior visit.) Pastas are made in-house, and are cooked perfectly. (See below.) The mozzarella cheese last night was made

Blu – A Wine & Cheese Stop is my new favorite place in Tucson!

Time passes, so I don’t recall when I became acquainted with Blu for the first time, but I think it was in late 2012. Somewhere, somehow, I heard about a virtual cheese shop that delivers. Wow! Cool!!!

With my first order I met Tana Fryer, delivery person, cheese monger, and co-owner with her wife, Kelly Fryer (the new Executive Director at the YWCA, a “going places” organization). Maybe “got in early” mattered, but in those early months a quick call resulted in cheese, pretty much on demand. Norma Lorge, Mesch, Clark & Rothschild’s receptionist extraordinaire, sees lots of people and things coming and going (including,

Bialys are not bagels! Not at all!!! Yes, they’re both round. Chewy. Found in Jewish delis. And not the same!

So what are bialys? Show and tell, in that order.

A bialy is a roll, and its formal name may be bialystoker kuchen. They come from Bialystock, Poland. Bialystock is, of course, most famous in the United States for exporting its name, attached to Max, the lead character in the play/movie/play The Producers, written by Mel Brooks.

The traditional bialy comes topped with chopped onion and poppy seeds. No blueberry, honey whole wheat or other flavors. No whole, either, but there is a depression in the middle to house the bulk of the onions and poppy seeds.

I

Ms. J doesn’t eat pizza much anymore. I think she’s a victim of anti-gluten disease, a condition caused by a generalized phobia for anything which a bunch of people are shunning. (Alas, Ms. J feels better than she ever has, and is as fit and trim as can be! So, who am I to talk?)

Me? I’m still a fan, but only when the pizza’s worthy. No late nights with Dominos, Papa John, or Little Caesars for me. And I find myself, increasingly, favoring what I make at home.

I like my pizzas lean and dry, mostly. Barely there with the cheese and less/no sauce, and I’m happy. And, as it is with the soaked salad you asked the restaurant

Ms. J does not love meat. She eats chicken and turkey, likes well-done salmon, and passes on most everything else. Or so I used to think!

A few years ago I fell into the momofuku ambit. Momofuku means lucky peach, and it’s also a restaurant group, started and led by David Chang. (Learn more at momofuku.) I have not dined at any of its 12 locations in New York City, Toronto, and Sydney. I have, however, made two of the highly touted momofuku dishes at home.

We’ll skip Crack Pie for now. It’s a variation on Chess pie, a southern favorite; alas, it’s more complicated, sweeter, and one very fine pie.

Right now, we’re focusing on momofuku bo ssam

Food writers often have foils, individuals in their lives off whom they can work. Calvin Trillin is a master of writing about food (and so many other subjects). Mr. Trillan had Alice, his wife of many years who died too soon in New York City on September 11, 2001 (not because of the WTC events, but as a result of a heart problem.) Alice, per Mr. Trillin, “had a weird predilection for limiting our family to three meals a day.” Another charming foil is Miss F, the real star of Domesticity by Bob Shacochis. In Domesticity Mr. Shacochis shares lots of stories about Miss F, most of which end with a recipe.

I do not suggest by raising the matter

I’ve been eating pizza for 50 years. I’ve had lots and lots of good pizza, some bad pizza and a fair amount that falls “in between.” And that only includes the pizzas made by others, for I’ve been making my own pies for 35 years or so. In that realm there have been a few good ones, and many that have been unremarkable.

For the past several years I’ve been curious about “the best” pizzas. Are they really good? Exceptional? Memorable?

There’s no standard for “the best,” of course. (My daughter used to be sweet on Chuck-e-Cheese pizza. I thought she wanted to play games and collect little red tickets, so she could exchange them for plastic junk I’d throw