That's Big D, for Dining Dallas doesn't offer much to the traveler -- unless you're a hungry traveler. by Paul Gerald t all starts at Snuffer's. The cutest wait staff in a city full of cute people brings out the best cheese fries in the world, and your best tour of Dallas has begun. I spent five years in Dallas getting a degree from Southern Methodist University, and the fact that it was five years instead of four has much to do with my favorite activity in Big D, then and now: going out for food and drinks. Dallas isn't much of a city, except in acreage, and there aren't a lot of reasons to go there. But if you do, you'll have to eat, and that's one thing you can do very well here. Snuffer's is down on Lower Greenville Avenue, near SMU. Upper (actually northern) Greenville leans more toward dance clubs and office towers and strip malls, but south of Mockingbird Lane, Greenville is lined with outdoor seating at places like Snuffer's and Aw Shucks, right across the street, where they fling tasty and cheap oysters and shrimp and other critters of the sea. A little further down Greenville, what looks like the entire SMU classes of 1999 through 2003 are wallowing in fine fajitas and killer margaritas at the Blue Goose, or drinking the beers of the world at Stan's Blue Note. Traffic on Greenville slows to a crawl so occupants of cars and tables can see and be seen. On my last visit, I did the sentimental walking tour of the SMU campus, then retraced a well-worn path to the Burger House on Hillcrest, more commonly known as Jack's. Jack stood at the cash register in the tiny kitchen for 45 years until he retired a few years back. The Burger House is one of those places where you can keep an account and where the food flies shamelessly in the face of modern health concerns. The patties on the griddle form a veritable mound of grease, and the seasoning salt on their "Famous Fries" is almost certainly pure MSG. No one at Jack's cares. You can wash everything down with real cherry Cokes and walk away smiling. Also near SMU, on Mockingbird, is a place that's an enduring favorite and the site of an enduring mystery: Why is it that on the front of Campesi's, a wonderful Italian restaurant, a large sign reads "The Egyptian Restaurant"? I never knew or cared, because behind that wall, on red leather seats below black, windowless walls, at tables with individual jukeboxes, Campesi's serves pizzas and spaghetti dinners that I never miss on a trip to Dallas. Another thing I never miss is an attempted "foodicide" at Herrera's Cafe on Maple. Foodicide is a word my friends and I came up with to describe our attempts to kill ourselves by eating too much Tex-Mex. Sometimes we would try this at Pancho's Mexican Buffet, which is not the same as Pancho's in Memphis. At the Dallas Pancho's, after you've gone through the line mounding your plate with tacos and enchiladas and flautas and whatnot, you sit, eat, and then raise a little Mexican flag to bring the waitress scurrying to take your orders for more, more, more. In the pot-head days of freshman year, this was our idea of heaven. In later attempts at foodicide, I have turned to a weapon known as the Pepe's Special at Herrera's. Two cheese enchiladas with chili sauce, two beef tacos, rice, beans, and guacamole ... Tex-Mex unabashed, and, in my opinion, the best plate of food in Dallas. The best plate, specifically, because Snuffer's cheese fries come in a basket. Eventually, even a college student eats breakfast -- or in many cases, stays up to eat it. In Dallas, I remember only two real options. One was Dan's Lakewood Cafe, known less for its food than for the artist/oddball crowd and a waitress with horn-rimmed glasses and a bouffant who used to terrorize us. A safer option was the Metro, a genuine diner down by Baylor Hospital. There's something inherently beautiful about being there at 2:30 a.m. and having your waitress, who interrupts a cigarette and a chat with a truck driver to take your order, ask if you want butter on your slice of apple pie. I guess when people think of Texas they think of steaks, but since I could never afford steaks in college I can only refer you to a place my great uncle, who lives near Dallas, used to take me to. Il Sorrento, now celebrating its 50th anniversary, is actually an Italian place (on Lover's Lane, believe it or not), but its filet is out of this world. So is the guy who runs it, Mario, who is 83, looks like he's 60, helps set up tables in between greeting everybody who comes in, and parks his Rolls right by the front door. I always looked forward to my great uncle coming to rescue me from SMU, just as I always look forward to the end of my visits to Dallas. By the time you've done whatever business you came to town to do and eaten at the places I've described, it's basically time to get the hell out of Big D. And I don't mean Dodge.