I recently went back to Houston, and had a few days to visit some of my old haunts and get together with old friends. Of course, I hit a number of restaurants in the process, both old and new. It was something that happened at one of the former that inspired this week's column.

Feng Ling is a small Chinese restaurant on the west side of town operated by a husband and wife, and staffed over the years by the best waiters and waitresses around. When I lived out in that area, I visited frequently to consume their Spicy Chicken, which is their version of the old standard Kung Pao, with diced chicken, veggies and wok-toasted peanuts in a sauce that has the familiar notes of black bean and chili paste along with a slightly smoky flavor and a zing of ginger. I've never tasted the like, and it's got addictive properties approaching those of Blue Bell ice cream or Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

I am a culinary adventurer, and my palate gets bored easily. However, I could eat Spicy Chicken once a week for the rest of my natural life and die happy. I'm already looking forward to the next time I'll be able to get there for another fix.

That's not to say that's what I have every time I go. On several occasions, I walked through the doors in the early afternoon, after the usual lunch rush, and found the cooks sitting around one of the big tables eating dishes from plates heaped with food and placed on a lazy susan in the middle. After some negotiation the first time, I paid a fair price and shared the cooks' lunch, which was of course nothing you'd find on the menu, and enjoyed it immensely. I have no idea what these dishes were called, but they were amazing. I liken it to getting to listen to Yo Yo Ma when he's just playing music for himself. You get to experience things the general public might never know exists.

However, I'd never have tried the cooks' lunch if not for the Spicy Chicken, and that's what I was aiming for this time.

My partner and I, leaving the boys in care of my dad, trekked up to Feng Ling for lunch. The area around the restaurant has changed a lot, and the strip center where it sits has changed tenants a number of times, but that familiar white-lettered sign still hung where it always had. It being the holidays, the parking lot was sparsely populated, and we were soon at the door.

Upon entering, the first face I saw was one of the same waitresses who'd been around on my last visit, over four years ago. She did a double-take, then beamed and said, "You haven't been here in a long time!" As she showed us to our table, I asked if my favorite dish was still on the menu.

"Spicy Chicken, extra peanuts!" came the reply. Not only did she remember my dish, she remembered the extra tweak I always requested. That's after four-plus years.

As we ate, Mom (I never have learned her name, but she runs the place like a benevolent dictator) came out from the back with a giant steel bowl full of ginger roots and sat at a table to begin peeling them. Our waitress joined her in between table runs, and I noticed Mom kept darting glances at me as if she was trying to get a memory to click. Finally, her eyes lit up as I stood up to leave. I approached the table where she sat, and she stood up and gave me a completely unexpected hug and said, "You're a lot smaller! I didn't know you!"

I didn't get that kind of treatment because I'm anything special to those folks. I've never told them what I do for a living or hired them for a big catering job. I was just a regular.

And so, I want all of you to do this: Find a little place that you like, it can be any type of restaurant or diner, and become a regular. In this sensation-craving world, where experiences fly by like snowflakes and "new" is the attribute craved most by so many, having a familiar seat to sit in and a menu you don't need to look at can be surprisingly refreshing. Just do me a favor and make sure the place you pick isn't part of a globe-spanning chain.

Got a question? Comment? Topic you'd like to see covered? Drop me a line, anytime!