When Warner LeRoy bought the Russian Tea Room, loyalists cringed; when he tore it down, they wept; now that it's reopened, they're lining up.

Latino stars, salsa swingers, Yankees in mufti, and a trickle of downtown swells fuel the heat at Jimmy's Bronx Cafe, home of cosmic soup and Godzilla lobsters.

In two old familiar spaces near Bloomingdale's, Cibi-Cibi courts the youth vote with excess decibels, while Latin sizzle is the draw at Bolívar.

Is there anything Mario Batali won't do with pig jowls and pasta? At the new Lupa, named for the Roman she-wolf, carnality still rules.

Cello's serenity and seafood dazzle have well-heeled gourmands in delirium; earthier souls will wallow in the rustic abundance at Beacon.

Tabla's Bread Bar is well worth bellying up to.

With seafood-friendly Esca, Molto Mario and Joe B. have extended their winning streak to four; at Avra, too, there's gold in them thar gills.

If there really can be too much of a good thing, then breakfast at Norma's ought to be against the law.