Despite a good start with a wicked spicy Michelada (a traditional Mexican mixture of beer and lime juice – pumped up a notch at El Rayo with a dash of Tabasco) there were things about this popular taqueria that didn’t set my foodie heart aflutter.

Adam grooving on the cob at El Rayo

The tortillas should have been pan-crisped (or a least warmed). The meat in the pork taco was a tad dry (although the fish taco was moist perfection). And, the tops of the stools were so tiny it was like sitting on a pin (even for Adam’s teeny, tiny tushie).

But all was forgiven when I bit into the corn on the cob. Oh. My. God.

Grilled and coated with chipotle mayonnaise and cotija cheese, this was not my mama’s Midwestern side dish. Savory, sweet and oozing with cheesiness, I powered through the cob in a heartbeat. Called “edible crack” by El Rayo regulars, this corn sticks in your mind even more than it does on your teeth.

Case in point: when I spied it on plates at the 20 Mile Meal, I made a beeline for the long line snaking out from El Rayo’s table. I didn’t want to get too full on other things before I’d had my cob.

It’s that good.

A good peanut butter milkshake doesn’t really need bacon in it. But I tip my hat to the crazy soul who dreamed up the combination. The What’s Shakin’ Bacon at Silly’s Restaurant is one of the most decadent concoctions ever to pass my lips.

Expecting microscopic bacon bits floating in my frappe, I sat back in my seat in shock when the waiter plopped down the glass. A thick sprig of meaty bacon grew out the top like the sprouts on a well-tended chia pet. I started sippin’ and the crisp strands sank into the nutty cream below — perfectly distributing salt into the sweetness.

I set my half-eaten sandwich aside (not that the jerk chicken wrap wasn’t tasty) and concentrated solely on the shake. Across the table, Adam was smackin’ his lips over his own strange mixture, the Sherry Baaaby, a blend of vanilla ice cream and Sandeman’s sherry.

Also on Silly’s shake menu – The Bees Knees, with honey, graham crackers and cinnamon; Twist & Stout, vanilla ice cream with Guiness; and Key Lime Pie, with a whole slice of pie blended in.

The claim on the laminated sign at Micucci’s pizza order window (“the only commercial dough in America still mixed completely by hand”) might be considered trash talking by some. But for those of us who sink our teeth into the soft (but not too chewy) dough and lick the sweet (by not cloyingly so) sauce off our lips on a regular basis, the high-falutin’ assertion just seems accurate.

Micucci's Front Entrance on India Street

Not to say the guys behind the counter don’t have attitude. A paper plate inked with a thick sharpie warns that patrons best not ask for a reheat of their slice (the pizza comes out when it comes out. If it has been sitting there for 20 minutes, well, that’s your problem), and a recent query by a fella about purchasing “just the dough to make pizza at home” was greeted with a scoff and an eye-roll.

But the attitude is well-earned.  Snag a slice right out of the oven and your eyes will roll, too – only in a good way. Bubbly hot cheese and flecks of herbs mingle with a sweetly spicy tomato sauce that conjures up visions of Sicilian grandmas stirring steaming pots. Lines for the pie get long (especially on the weekends), but once you’ve had a slice you’ll line up like a good soldier time and time again. Trust me.