The giant Big Boy in the window beckons, "Hello, remember me?" So you open the door and cross the threshold from modern-day Montrose into a bewilderment of decades. Old gas pumps with bulbous signs stand across the room from heavy rotary-dial phones and coin-operated diner jukebox connectors. Art deco chairs, shaped roundly like the bottom half of plastic Easter eggs, pair up in front of reproductions of balloon-shaped 1950s Predicta TVs. Barber chairs, movie drive-in speakers, lamps that resemble Sputnik, and polished toasters from the '30s rotate through the showroom, all of them in working order. Flashback Fun-tiques is a store for people searching for something, anything, made with Bakelite. It's a place for people who find old appliances beautiful, and for people who admire the heft and solid feel of the good old days. But old stuff in good shape is hard to come by. Owner Bill Howard scours the country's antique shows for all things cool from the past. If something trips a memory, he wants it in his shop. Especially popular are restored soda machines. Once, a customer wanted a Pepsi machine, even though Pepsi wasn't around back then. No problem. Howard found a way to weld a Pepsi sign in place of the Coca-Cola logo. The swap appeared seamless.

That's right. Point Five no longer has a monopoly on the '50s furniture market. Jerry Gibson's new shop has all the modern classics, too: chairs by Eames and Bertoia, an Eero Saarinen table, a Paul McCobb desk, a Herman Miller sofa, a Frank Lloyd Wright rug, each accompanied by a card explaining to the uninitiated exactly what they are looking at, and how much it will cost them to take it home. Of course, not all of the pieces are particularly well pedigreed, and that's a good thing. At Metro Modern, you might find interesting work by an obscure designer that you can actually afford.

Rice Epicurean Markets Sometimes we all need a break from chicken-fried steak and baby-back ribs smothered in mesquite barbecue sauce. And, well, some of us don't like to eat dead stuff. So when your inner hippie's stomach starts grumbling, hightail it to Rice Epicurean for Houston's widest-ranging selection of healthy, meat-free eats. Silken tofu, extrafirm tofu, faux cheese, soy ice cream, edamame, tofu lasagna, soy barbecue chips, Dr. Soy snack bars, six different kinds of soy milk -- they're all here. Plus, if you're too busy (or too lazy) to do the shopping yourself, you can place an order online for delivery or pickup.

Carriage Glass & Detail Co. Brothers Andy and Craig Deas don't just run a car wash -- they offer an "automotive cosmetic repair facility." Price-wise, this may not be where you wash your car every week, but the service is far and away the best in town. Hand-washing and -waxing will leave your wheels glistening, and Cesar and his crew will wipe away all the residue of your hectic life. No more pet hair on the seats, mud tracks on the carpet or coffee stains on the console. Trust us, your car deserves to come here. At this day spa for autos, you can drop your bucket of bolts and have windshield chips or paint chips repaired. Carriage can also handle bigger problems, from bumper repainting to windshield replacement. And who knew they could buff those scratches right off your hubcaps?

Most thrift stores are dusty-musty pits that you brave in hopes of making the Big Score; that is, finding that perfect, soulful piece of clothing at an insanely low price. By comparison, the Salvation Army on Washington makes a strenuous effort to be shopper-friendly. The big front windows let in natural light, and the place is neat as a pin. Someone has devoted surprising thought to displays: Up front, a family of mannequins models some of the latest acquisitions, and the western-wear section is bedecked with saddles and neon lights. The store even accepts credit cards. But can you still make the Big Score? Yes -- and in fact, you're probably more likely to unearth good stuff here than you would at a dusty-musty place. Mid-range designers' names often grace the racks, as do jeans and blouses you might have bought last year at the mall. But better still, the Washington Salvation Army offers more than its share of oddball vintage clothing: '60s polyester dresses in eye-popping colors; '70s urban cowboy shirts with glittery threads; even the occasional '80s ruffled prom shirt. You know these clothes led interesting former lives, and when you wear them, you feel more interesting yourself. Bonus: Manager Don Cairrel presides over the place as if he were hosting a party, joking with the clerks and offering new shoppers guidance through his wonderland. To the regulars, he quotes Shakespeare and Plato.

Houston Farmers' Market Two years ago, choosing the best farmers' market in Houston would have been impossible because there weren't any. Now, the problem has flipped the other way: In addition to visiting the Houston Farmers' Market in the Heights, the intrepid produce shopper could venture to the Midtown Farmers' Market housed at chef Monica Pope's edgy T'afia or, beginning this fall, check out the tony new Bayou City Farmers' Market in River Oaks. It's hard to go wrong at any of the markets; all three feature local farmers selling fresh-picked, locally grown fruits and vegetables. But if you can make only one stop in search of that perfect peach and tomato, we'd suggest the Houston Farmers' Market in the parking lot of the Onion Creek cafe. Now in its second year, the market keeps getting better: Pastry chefs and flower growers sell their wares next to the largest assemblage of Houston-area farmers you'll find anywhere. Tall trees shade the booths, and picnic tables abound. True, the Midtown market offers more cooked and packaged items, and the Bayou City market may prove larger. Yet for a pleasant morning and an armload of produce, the Houston Farmers' Market can't be beat.

When Johnny Carraba wanted to pay tribute to a couple of family members, he bestowed upon them a true culinary honor in our book, the Johnny Rocco salad ($10). The name is a combination of Carrabas dad, Johnny, and good old Uncle Rocco. The salad is a combination of mixed field greens, ricotta salata (salted ricotta), grilled shrimp and scallops, topped with a vinaigrette of red wine and extra-virgin olive oil. The seafood is warm off the grill, and cooked just long enough to get the delectables done, but not so much that they lose any juice. Its not one of those dainty, airy salads for skinny ladies who lunch; this entre salad leaves little room for dessert. Its been a fixture at the restaurant since the day it opened in 1986, and remains one of the more popular items.

Daniel Boone Cycles Thirty-five years ago, Dan and Joy Boone started refurbishing secondhand bikes in their backyard for extra grocery money. Today, they have one of the most popular bike shops in the city. The shop is still in the backyard, but they now have everything from $300 city bikes to $4,000 specialty frames and forks. In addition to road bikes and mountain bikes, they have an extensive collection of clothes and accessories like jerseys, gloves, shoes, cleats and helmets. The shop also will service your bike free for a year (not including accidents or abuse). With such a unique setup, Joy Boone says it's easy to miss the place from the street. "If you're not looking for the bike shop, you may just pass it by," she says. We recommend you don't.

Her real name is Catherine Douglas, and she's a Florida-born actress and comedienne, making a living doing what she loves best. But when she slips on her corseted milkmaid dress, pushes her freckled cleavage up to her chin and puts on a choppy Scottish accent, this redheaded spitfire becomes Lucenden "Loosey" Crotch, Wench For Hire. Just what the hell is a "Wench For Hire"? Well, as Miss Douglas tells it, she is hired to perform her wenchlike duties at many functions, like beer taverns (The Ale House hires her whenever its birthday rolls around) or Renaissance festivals or comedy clubs, throughout the greater Houston area. An eight-year veteran at being a "lascivious lass," her job is to "come out and take care of people in an old British fashion." Some of those caring requirements include getting people to join in silly sing-alongs, regaling the crowd with randy jokes and challenging patrons to ribald parlor tricks, such as offering men to fish a small bell out of her bountiful bosom without using their hands. If you're ever organizing a party (even if you don't need someone to perform the duties of an 18th-century Scottish wench), having Loosey around wouldn't be a bad idea.

Full disclosure: We haven't exactly traipsed around town sampling the services of the city's presumably multitudinous banjo instructors (check the Yellow Pages -- that "multitudinous" bit was a joke), but we have shopped widely for one of the semi-archaic five-stringers to practice on. The level of music-store expertise on display was less than encouraging. We are, however, happy with the picker we found, and his instrumental pedigree is top-notch, so if you find yourself in such a niche market, hie thee to Mr. Anton Ullrich, Houston's self-advertised "Mr. Bluegrass." A Houston native and Kingston Trio-era convert to the instrument, Ullrich has been teaching bluegrass "banjer" since 1972 and has played with everyone from Mance Lipscombe to Merle Travis to Michael Martin Murphy. He spent years spinning a bluegrass show on KPFT, and has the reassuring habit of reminding students that hell, if banjo was so hard, he'd still be a banker. Oh, yeah, and he designed the limited-edition $7,000 "Texas" banjo marketed by the Deering Banjo Company's custom shop. Never mind that he long ago abandoned standard tablature for an idiosyncratic system that looks more like folk art than musical notation. The results so far have been promising. And at $29 for a weekly 45-minute lesson, including a monthly tape dub of bluegrass rarities from his vast collection of out-of-print vinyl, it's a bargain at twice the price.