When the temperature plummets, I find myself glancing at menus posted in windows, sniffing exhausts for the scent of chile and the warm molasses odor of rum, in search of a vacation on a plate. My local standbys, with their warming soups and aromatic jerk, won't do because I like my culinary getaway to be both elegant and some kind of change. So during the first January cold snap, I found myself walking a Forest Hills strip I thought I'd picked clean when sunshine-yellow walls and tall artificial... More >>>