I’ve been mesmerized by kibbeh nayyeh since my days as a teenage busboy at Phoenecia, the trailblazing Lebanese fine dining destination just outside of Detroit in Birmingham, Mich. It was my first encounter with a dish that showcased raw meat — in this case, puréed raw lamb mixed with bulgur wheat and spices. And my determination to eat as much of it as possible while on extra-long breaks in the walk-in (instead of cleaning tables) was likely one reason I wasn’t a very good busboy. It did provide, however, one of the earliest sparks in my career as a curious eater. Now, I order it almost every chance I get.

But no kibbeh nayyeh has stopped me in my tracks and triggered a childhood flashback quite like the incredibly soft and vividly spiced version at Suraya. One of the first recipes taught to executive chef Nick Kennedy by Maude El-Harouny — the Lebanese mother of co-owners Roland Kassis and Nathalie Richan — before Suraya’s 2017 opening, it’s a picture of the classic dish at its best. Lean lamb loin is puréed to a silky smoothness before it’s blended with bulgur, puréed onions, jalapeños and herbs — basil, marjoram, allspice, mint, and cinnamon — before getting shaped into a dimpled pink puck with deep divots for good olive oil.

The spreadable, pâté-like base itself is flavorful enough, but that peppery olive oil and the garnish piled on top, with sumac-dusted raw onions and basil and mint that deliver a contrast of juicy crunch and herbal freshness, elevates the dish overall to another level. One that’s powerful enough to remind me of my first transporting raw taste of kibbeh nayyeh several decades ago. Suraya, 1528 Frankford Ave., 215-302-1900, surayaphilly.com

— Craig LaBan

Omakase experiences in Philadelphia run the board from the $78 tasting at Yuhiro in Fishtown to the $355 extravaganza in the back room of James Beard Award-winning chef Jesse Ito’s Royal Sushi & Izakaya. How about one with ambition and value, priced down the middle?

For that, there’s chef Jeff Chen’s Edomae-style omakase at his 12-seat counter downstairs at Kissho House, which opened last year in a former Rittenhouse law office. Chen, a Hiroki alum, delivers the goods without gimmicks, from the appetizers (octopus, asari clams, and Japanese river crab) through the nigiri sequence, which caps off with a toro hand roll and clam soup, followed by strawberry monaka for dessert. Few $150 omakases include well-sourced ingredients (anago from Tsushima, akami from Spain, uni from Hokkaido), and creative bites like king salmon with dry tomato, truffle sauce, and roe in a spring roll shell, plus wagyu with sea bream and caviar. Kissho House, 1522 Locust St., 610-332-7387, kisshohouse.com

— Michael Klein

I went to Heng Seng Restaurant in South Philly with a craving for Cambodian dry egg noodles. At $15 for a small portion, they hit the spot, bouncy and crinkled yet firm with a side of beef shank bone broth for dipping or sipping. But there was a sleeper hit: their $17 chicken fried rice (called Bai Cha Sach Mon in Khmer) with smoky, sweet lap cheong or Chinese sausage.

I usually think of fried rice as a little silly but also a little clever — an excellent way for a restaurant to use day-old rice, which makes for better fried rice than fresh rice. So when the platter landed in front of me, I was delighted, but also a little perplexed. How could these slivers of chicken be so tender and flavorful? How could the individual grains of jasmine rice have such a lovely robust texture? Heng Seng’s dishes are heavily influenced by Teochew cuisine (Chinese Cambodians are primarily Teochew Chinese, originally from the Chaoshan region in eastern Guangdong) with its exceptionally earthy, savory fried rice. With a little bit of egg, scallion, and that sweet lap cheong seeping fat into the rice, this version is worth seeking out. Heng Seng Restaurant, 2217 S. Seventh St., 215-755-5390, hengsengrestaurant.com

I’ve long considered chicken liver mousse the gateway drug to my beloved chopped liver. Its creamy texture and less polarizing flavor is a good stepping stone to the hard stuff — the chunkier, funkier, and less ritzy mounds of chopped liver behind the counter at most respectable Jewish delis. If it’s your first time eating spreadable liver, the mousse at Old City’s Royal Boucherie is perfect, a textbook example served in a cute little mason jar with crusty bread and cornichons (itty bitty pickles) on the side for dipping. Topped with a seasonal berry jam and fleks of flaky salt, the mousse has all the right flavors: a little sweet, a little earthy and rich without feeling heavy. I scrapped the jar clean.

Royal Boucherie, 52 S. Second St., 267-606-6313, royalboucherie.com

— Beatrice Forman