5 Market Street, South Burlington, 658-3626

It's fair season. One of my favorite dining destinations of the year, the Champlain Valley Fair, starts this Saturday. Last week, I got a head start on some classic fair foods at the latest Chinese buffet on the block, Hong Kong Jade Restaurant, which occupies the South Burlington space until recently filled by the Orchid.

Dining out is always fun, but rarely have I been anywhere with quite the carnival atmosphere of Hong Kong Jade. For $7.99 each (the slightly higher weekend price), we were treated to a Saturday lunch that included everything one would expect from a Chinese buffet, plus make-your-own noodle soup, fried dough and all the cotton candy we wanted.

The only downside, of course, was that this was a Chinese buffet. The food was not exactly memorable. Sweet and sour pork was wincingly sweet. So was the honey chicken. Oily but otherwise nondescript veggie lo mein was nothing to write home about, nor was the pork fried rice. However, a few elements helped Hong Kong Jade rise above its gimmicks.

It doesn't look like much, but these were the remnants of an ecstatic eating experience (the sweet kind).

I found it impossible to take a decent photo of the salted-caramel ice cream sandwich that had our office buzzing this week. The same fleeting quality that made it so yummy — its sumptuous, salty-sweet insides — puddled into a gooey mess almost from the moment it emerged from the freezer. It is Mirabelles that had the genius to sandwich salted-caramel ice cream between two rich, slightly gooey chocolate crinkle cookies, and it oozes from the sides with every bite.

The dessert's flavor is so crazy making that I twirled and dodged while trying to catch every last bit before it dripped away. I ended up with some leftover cookie and a big pool of melted caramel and cream (see picture) that I dragged my fingers through like a child.

700 Trapp Hill Road, Stowe, 253-5705

When I first dined at the Trapp Family Lodge a decade ago, there was more than a measure of kitsch. As soon as I got out of the car, I saw a pair of elderly woman spinning around on a hill, arms outstretched, à la Julie Andrews. The hills were alive, and so was the twee Austrian Tea Room.

In recent years, however, the resort has had a major makeover. Sought-after artisan beer has replaced tea cozies. In the place of the Austrian Tea Room, there's the bright and modern DeliBakery. When I tried it this weekend, I found that it was the perfect balance of old and new.

You enter the counter area past a bakery case stocked with practically every rich Euro-style dessert imaginable, as well as tea trays stacked with dark, crackly looking croissants. The menu is one page, front and back, but includes plenty of choices. Choose a side salad, order at the counter and sit down. In about 20 minutes lunch will be brought to your table.

I had a bratwurst, which came with a sliced length of house-baked baguette, perfect for assembling a hearty sandwich. Even better: a slick of three-peppercorn Dijon mustard on each side of the bread. Not as spicy as many Germanic mustards, this sauce was creamy and sharp with just a hint of heat.

The one and only time I vacationed in the Bahamas, I had to do a double take as I checked out of my hotel: At the bar was the balding, tan, Hawaiian-shirt-clad Jimmy Buffet, nursing the drink synonymous with his name. It was barely 11 a.m.

Unlike Mr. Buffet, I don't order (or make) margaritas when it's hot and sunny; rather, due to synaptic miswiring or an off-kilter sense of time, I crave them when the first autumn chill shows itself in late summer. When a few rogue leaves begin changing on the trees, I feel like sipping something with a little sourness, something that looks and feels cheerful to order but portends sharper times to come. And sour mixes and triple sec and frozen versions be damned -- they should never be too sweet, or too easy a drink to make.

Even though this very American drink is usually constructed on a holy trinity of tequila, lime juice and orange liqueur, margaritas are a blank canvas on which you can impose any triad of flavors, provided you maintain the sweet-sour aspect and tequila base.

1880 Mountain Rd. at the Gale Farm Shopping Center, Stowe, 253-7785

You'll see plenty of dogs eating outdoors on Church Street in Burlington, but to enjoy air conditioning with your pup, there's only one eatery that I know of. I don't have a dog, but when I hit Stowe Dogs this weekend, I befriended several, and got a tasty lunch out of the deal.

As indicated at right, nearly every surface at Stowe Dogs, including walls and tables, is loaded with photos of pups who have visited from as far away as Chile and the Netherlands. I looked at them all and have a favorite, but I'll never tell...

The one bit of wall not dog-eared is the white-board menu. Naturally, dogs are the focus there, too.

I'm a sucker for food with a story, and Le 1608 has one that stretches back three generations. In a way, that's not uncommon for a cheese made in Québec, where each comes with a passionate tale from its creator. 

1608 is the year that colonists began importing cattle from Normandy to New France. The inky-brown bovines eventually became the only breed developed in North America, hearty animals that adapted to Québec's harsh climate and topography, and whose milk is rich in butter fat and protein. "Vaches Canadiennes" numbered a half-million by 1850 but fell into a long decline as other breeds (with higher yields) rose to the fore. Now, only 600 or so still exist, about 150 of them in the Charlevoix region north of Québec City.

1130 North Avenue, Burlington, 658-4148

I rarely review a place in its first weeks of life. Usually, it's only fair to give it a month or two to let it get its footing. In the case of Bamboo Hut, no such courtesies are necessary.

I ate there for the first time last Monday, just days after its opening, it was clear the place had sprung into being fully formed. I returned Sunday, and feel ready to share the love.

The North Avenue space might look familiar. I've reviewed two other restaurants there, Phuong's Kitchen and more recently, Wild Bill's Western BBQ. From the start, the building has belonged to Phuong Lam, who opened Bamboo Hut with her boyfriend Nguyen Vo.

A caveat: Unless you're me and don't mind slightly sticky tablecloths and an owner who only remembers to bring chopsticks for one of a party of two, this is not a date night destination. I, however, am me and like the ambiance. Lots of other folks seemed to prefer takeout, evidenced by a steady stream of customers picking up throughout our meal. Their loss. They missed Vo's delicious homemade iced tea.

As much as I loved the food at Phuong's Kitchen, I think it may be even better at Bamboo Hut. The menu includes a similar emphasis on egg rolls, with four different varieties, available in orders from four rolls to 36.

I tried the combo, which included crab-rangoon-like "tiger rolls," herbaceous ground chicken, lemongrass-marinated whole shrimp and classic Vietnamese cha gio. The latter was the most exciting of the bunch, with a strong flavor of ginger and a hint of cilantro.

If you've ever tasted burrata, you don't easily forget it. The snowy balls of pillow-soft mozzarella harbor curds and heavy cream in their midst, both of which ooze onto your plate when you stab one with a fork. An almost illicit tide of silky, buttery freshness washes into your mouth with each bite.

The thing is, burrata is usually hard to find, so its pleasures are not well known. A specialty of Puglia, the heel of Italy's boot, burrata is made by filling fresh mozzarella with leftover curds, called stracciatella, and fresh cream; its top is then sealed into a little twist, the inside a treasure to be freed a little later. It doesn't travel well, as burrata is intended to be eaten within a day or so of its making. It's a small blessing, then, that we now have an Italian burrata maker in Vermont, at Maplebrook Farm in Bennington.

47 North Main Street, Waterbury, 244-0910

I don't often turn right when heading off the Stowe-Waterbury exit on I-89.  Perhaps that's why I had never made it to Maxi's Restaurant before. It gets great reviews on 7 Nights and is a member of the Vermont Fresh Network, both excellent endorsements. Sunday, I finally took that right turn.

The casual set-up included a lunch counter overlooking TVs playing a Lifetime Original Movie, several tables and this painting (right). My kind of place. The comfort food on the menu looked good, too. Hot turkey sandwiches, smoked gouda macaroni and cheese... All the comfort favorites.

I took a risk and chose chicken piccata — not exactly home-style American, but the promise of capers and artichokes on top was irresistible.

The green hue of everything on the plate (right) should indicate the freshness of the dish. Squash was lightly sautéed in little more than olive oil and salt and pepper. The edges were caramelized to delectable sweetness, but the vegetables weren't cooked so much that they lost their integrity in terms of flavor or texture.

The first time I grew radishes, I was flooded with so many that I ran out of ways to prepare them. I sliced and grated, buttered and salted, and ate them whole. Radishes don't lend themselves to culinary flexibility, I thought, but they sure like to grow. 

Not once did I think of bringing them into contact with heat. 

Too bad Coppa wasn't around back then. This enoteca in Boston's South End — with its nose-to-tail, Italian snacks, pizzas and charcuterie — has garnered intense devotion since it opened 18 months ago. I finally visited Coppa two weeks ago, where my friend Dana and I ploughed through a flotilla of small plates, including house-cured anchovies, fresh spaghetti smothered in cream, smoked bacon and sea urchin, and delicate pink slices of duck prosciutto. At one point, Dana actually clapped her hands with glee.

The simple yet innovative approach was best embodied, I thought, in 'Ravanelli Crostini' — a jumble of roasted radishes (and even crispier radish greens) on toast with nasturtium butter melted across the top. The fuschia heads were like umami garden candy, and became etched into my memory.

Since I live three hours from Coppa, I've been carting home bunches of radishes to recreate the dish at home, summer heat be damned. Why? As the months pass, radishes will grow spicier and woody, as Coppa's sous chef J.C. DeBrie can attest.