Behold the meal I would have if Mr. Roarke were the maitre d'. And Tattoo were darting around yelping "da plane! da plane!" And Barbi Benton and Richard Hatch were smoldering at each other at the next table. (You'll have to excuse my need to name-drop obscure and talentless late '70s celebrities. I'm on meds.) Of course this meal is a fahhhntasy because even I could not actually eat this much in one sitting. And together, these dishes do not compose the most harmonious dining experience. But I choose them because each of them tastes sooo good and because I remember the circumstances of their first ingestion with great fondness.

Aperitif:
We start with a cosmopolitan from the Blue Water Grille in Union Square in NYC. Such a divinely silly drink, so delectable when made well (that is, rarely). Blue Water's is perfect. I love the chill, the ritual of the silvery strainer, the vibrant pink color. And oh, the setting! When I was there late on a Sunday night in February, the place was almost empty. Two old friends and I sat by a huge window surrounded by Art Nouveau splendor, giggling and crying about lost loves and unknown futures as the table filled with more and more pink-tinged empty glasses. We looked out the window and suddenly it was snowing. It was magical.

Appetizers:
I know Mr. Roarke can magically transport me anywhere. So do I stay in NYC for Periyali 's killer trio of taramasalata (fish egg dip), tzatziki (garlicky yogurt-cucumber heaven) and melitzanasalata (where good eggplants go when they die)? Or would I prefer the tiradito (raw sliced whitefish marinated in citrus-y yuzu with hot pepper and cilantro) at Nobu ? Or do we go to Boston for the smoked bluefish pate at Legal Seafood ? Or to San Francisco for the chickpea fritters with tiny spring peas and melty asiago cheese at Rose Pistola , or the sublime ahi tuna tartare with cayenne pepper, toasted pine nuts and raw quail egg at Flying Saucer ? I'm sorry, was I drooling? Let me mop that up.

Well, if I have to choose, it's The Slanted Door . This hip-but-elegant Vietnamese home-cooking place is only a year old and always packed; it's already made the San Francisco Chronicle's Best-Of list. The spring rolls taste like that light and merry season on a plate. Shiitakes, tofu, mint and bean sprouts rolled up in a steamed vermicelli package with a piquant dipping sauce. And owner/chef Charles Phan is the nicest guy around. Here is a story: After the place had been open a few months, I found myself in the neighborhood after giving blood. I started to feel woozy. I stumbled into the restaurant at about 4pm, and Phan solicitously made me pho -- chicken soup -- to take home. He packaged the sprouts and lemon wedges separately so they'd stay crisp, and tucked in several containers of homemade hot sauce, telling me that his mom prescribed liberal hot sauce usage to heal the sick. What a mensch.

Entree:
Though I've had divine entrees at Picholine, Rubicon and Union Square Cafe , this is my Fantasy Island meal, and I can too go home again. So I want the cornucopia of grilled roasted veggies on mountain of buttery, creamy mashed potatoes from Al Forno in my ancestral homeland of Providence, RI. I'm proud to say that Providence is a wee outpost of foodie heaven, and Al Forno tops the list. Dinner here was my college graduation present. Don't tell my parents, but it's the only reason I graduated.

With dinner I'm drinking Rosemont Cabernet Shiraz because it's a cheap, kickass wine and I presume that even in my fantasy I'm paying standard restaurant markup. Mr Rourke is not that powerful.

Dessert:
The warm gingerbread with pumpkin ice cream and caramel-tamarind sauce from Fez in NYC. Homey and haute, sweet and spicy, hot and cold, stop me now. My fiance and I split this perfect dish on our first date. He and I had been friends for a year, and our relationship decided it wanted to blossom into Something Else, and when we finally went out on a Date it had that giddy feeling of something momentous happening (if you're not puking already, read this). We shared a tiny table surrounded by mosaics and gilt and velvet and weird kitschy portraits. The people-watching was fab and distracting (we were both very nervous). Artsy pretentiolas postured all around us, and we ate our yummiest of yummy desserts and we knew that this was It.