Do you remember the first drink you ever ordered? Mine was an Amaretto sour -- not very adventurous, and though I like them to this day, I’ve been fine-tuning my drink list ever since. I’m now partial to sidecars, although more often than not, a bartender turns me down. So I’ll ask for something easier -- a lemon drop, a mojito, or, facing a very limited bar, that girly drink every mixologist knows how to mix: a cosmo. But I’m always embarrassed to utter that word. I am not a cosmo girl. They’ll do in a pinch, but how much lovelier to saunter up to a long bar and order something refined, raising one’s eyebrow and rolling each syllable off the tongue -- Bran-dy Al-ex-an-der, or Sing-a-pore Sling? The elegant romance of these classics is evoked by Assouline’s glossy new picture book, Vintage Cocktail. Gorgeously photographed by Laziz Hamani, the drinks in this coffee-table treasure were mixed at an equally urbane watering hole, Bemelmans Bar at The Carlyle Hotel.

As someone whose favorite dish is Trainwreck Fries (pickled jalapeño, buttermilk ranch, smoked bacon, and scallions, from Virgil’s Real Barbecue), I try to make up for bad fuel with good, choosing organic and local produce whenever I can. In the green versus conventional debate, for me it comes down to fresh food that doesn’t rack up frequent flier miles or need to wear a hazmat suit. (Supporting local and small agribusiness, the health of growers, and a happier planet notwithstanding.) What started off as a health thing is now just as much about taste. I find that many organic and conventional foods can be as different from each other as a symphony from a one-man band. New nuances of flavor appear in the most ordinary of ingredients. What gastronome wouldn’t want that?

Dismal weather brings out the cook in me. There’s nothing like cozying in your kitchen and whipping up a warm, satisfying dish on a hot stove. It’s also carb season, and what better way to fuel up than a tangled pile of spaghetti? And I’m not talking your childhood sauce-n-glop. No sir. We found a recipe for designer pasta that’ll knock the stockings off your most well-heeled dinner guests: Isaac Mizrahi’s Mushroom Truffle Spaghetti, published this month in Assouline’s CFDA American Fashion Cookbook. Mizrahi’s dishy dish is just one of dozens of stylish entrée, appetizer, dessert, and drink recipes from a roster of fashion’s finest. Hungry? Try Zac Posen’s great-grandma’s butterscotch wafers, or Diane von Furstenberg’s chicken, or Bill Blass’ prune whip.

Sunday saw some seriously perfect weather -- a fall crispness that had you feeling as bright and bushy as a squirrel, but with this farewell kiss of summer heat that lured you to the corner Mister Softee for a double cone. Turns out I wasn’t the only one screamin’ for the stuff; near Ft. Tryon park, the ice cream lines were clear down the block. The annual Medieval Festival was going strong, and I’d either have to swordfight my way through the crowd to get my fix, or queue up for that high delicacy of the Middle Ages: the deep-fried batter plate. A quick scope of those patronizing the Ye Olde Fried Dough line found two pairs of ill-fitting leather pants, a homemade vulture-feather cape, a samurai, and a wan girl so tightly corseted that her eyes bulged like a goldfish’s. A greasy mound of pockmarked yellow carbohydrate floated by on a sagging paper plate. Was this really worth jousting for? I decided to head home and whip up a batch of my favorite dessert, Choco-Doodle-Roons, instead.

I have a crush on crustaceans. Their mollusk sea-pals ain’t too bad, either. This time of year, I start getting a craving for the creatures of the deep, particularly those who dwell in the cool, briny waters of the Atlantic. But where I live, the buildings butt up against the sky, not sandbars, so I’ll have to fantasize about that seaside-village getaway -- the one where me and the Creature from the Black Lagoon share fried clams and giddily pinch each other with lobster claws, buzzed on local craft ale -- while I’m cooking up a pot of creamy clam chowder in my wee NYC kitchen. It all started with a bowl of velvety lobster bisque at Ed’s Lobster Bar in SoHo (not to be confused with the newest seafood stud in town, Ed’s Chowder House), savored with a bucket of salty fries. Upon inquiring as to the ease of making this tasty belly warmer on my own, the waitress promptly quashed the scheme, saying something about needing a monster emulsifier.

Walk up from the Blue Note, turn the corner at MacDougal, and there under bright green awnings Caffe Reggio beckons: my refuge in this ever-changing twitter-totter world. The haunt hasn’t evolved much since my fresh-faced college days, with its ornate antique clocks, chipped busts (“Horatio,” I call the winsome boy-man perched above the coveted corner window seat), and moody 16th-century canvases “from the school of Caravaggio,” as the back of the menu boasts. I know the history by heart. Louisa May Alcott once lived across the street. More importantly, Reggio claims to be the first place to bring cappuccino to America.

When the weather’s this hot, cocktail night may find you sucking down a monster frozen margarita at the local faux-Mex. But summer needn’t be limited to blender-benders and weak beers sweating on ice. At Upstate Manhattan’s New Leaf Café, they beat the heat in fruit-tastic style. First we introduced you to mixologist Neil Simon Coleman, a lanky Irishman who dabbles in improv comedy (if you’re really, really lucky, he just might perform his “lobotomy improv” routine) as well as cocktails. With Neil, you never know what you’ll find. He says he’s always experimenting but prefers to keep his concoctions “complex in flavor, simple in origin.” His Kumquat Mojito is a recent crowd-pleaser, although you’re bound to see many a Leafer with Neil’s signature Black Cherry Cosmo in hand. Inspired a few summers ago by a bushel of fresh local cherries the chef brought in, this vodka infusion proved so popular, it’s now served year-round.

I’ve got time travel on the brain, and I’m not the only one. Lately, it seems like everyone’s been time-tripping, no machine required (sorry, H.G.). Past masters of the universe include Dr. Who, Einstein, and the boy who won our hearts and brought a once-geeky Sci-Fi dream mainstream, Marty McFly. This summer it’s Henry DeTamble (Eric Bana) in The Time Traveler’s Wife, wooing his lady love, Clare (Rachel McAdams), whenever he’s ... well, around. The wrinkle in this time-tale is that Henry can’t control his worm-holing ways, which has got to seriously cramp an adventurous spirit. It’s made me wonder: what era would I most enjoy popping into? Too many to list, but I’d start with the 1930s. Sure, times were tough, but the upshot was great music, art, fashion, film, and the repeal of that crazy little idea called Prohibition. Since I haven’t quite mastered the art of bending time, I’m content to celebrate my libationary freedom at the charming New Leaf Café, one of the biggest successes of Bette Midler’s New York Restoration Project.

Quick quiz. Za’atar is: a) An Arabian king, b) a small stringed instrument, or c) Adam Sandler’s latest movie. Well, none of the above. As exotic as it sounds, za’atar is actually a basic seasoning common to Middle Eastern countries. I came across its key ingredient, red sumac, at a popular Lebanese restaurant in San Diego. I couldn’t believe how savory their simply dressed salad was. Back home in NYC, I googled sumac and found it readily available online, but one of the advantages of living in this great city is that you can just run out and pick these things up: I got mine at Penzeys in Grand Central Market. The woman behind the counter suggested I also try za’atar, a mix of sumac, thyme, white sesame seeds, and salt. (She hinted that I might want to add a little more of the sumac, which has a tangy, lemony flavor, to the store’s blend.) Za’atar is tasty on anything from pizza to chicken. I was super-happy to find it used by a favorite local joint, Plum Pomidor -- one of the few decent places to eat in WaHi (Washington Heights).