Despite a weather forecast for this weekend indicating gray skies and icy-cold rain, it's otherwise clear that Spring has finally arrived in Hungary. While in general this is a great thing (especially if, like me, you like your fruits and vegetables fresh and local) there are some things about the winter gloom in Hungary I will miss, among them the warm glow you get out of eating during the cold seasons at places like perennial "Top 33" member Fülemüle.

The "nightingale" is one of those restaurants with a history and character colorful enough to merit a long story. But since the whole point of this story is to get you to the restaurant on the QT, I'll stick to five key observations, which are as follows: 1) It's a crucial stop on any serious culinary tour of Jewish Budapest, but not if you are seriously kóser; 2) The interior has a lot of cutesy curios (see the glass case above) but the overall effect isn't cloying; 3) Proprietor András Singer is a cheerful plus-sized guy who speaks English, and (from what I remember) used to be a pretty well-known rock musician back in the day, and is otherwise worth chatting up; 4) The clientele seems to be a nice mix of locals and well-heeled out-of-towners; and 5) Don't go get a cholesterol test for a least a month after going, or you'll have a heart attack when you see the results.

On my last trip, which depressingly took place several months ago, we started off with the classic vegyes tál, or mixed appetizer plate (Ft 2,100/€8.15). Most memorable was the paprika-covered slabs of chilled goose fat (top left in pic), which had a consistency unlike any such snack fat I've ever had.

As I was with two ladies of limited stomach capacity, we skipped soup and headed straight to the main event. One of my companions got this crispy goose leg with potato latkes submerged under various dairy products (Ft 2,800). Again, don't tell the heart doctor.

The only sour note was struck by the goose liver with red wine forest fruits sauce (Ft 4,500). In addition to being served with little potato croquettes that struck me as sort of tacky, the máj itself was woefully overdone. Now, maybe cooking high-grade goose liver to death is a treasured tradition in the Yiddish kitchen, but even if it is, there should be a policy of warning patrons, most of whom I would bet like their liver at least a bit pink in the middle.

But since there are so many restaurants in town that specialize in making goose liver the way you probably like it, my advice is to stick to the things Fülemüle specializes in, like these roast goose legs, and (my favorite) the sólet. A list of different variations on this traditional Sabbath-day bean stews sits at the top of the menu, and they are served every day. I went straight for the King David (Ft 3,800, or Ft 3,700 on the restaurant's apparently outdated web page), which features all kind of hearty treats, including a big slice of smoked tongue (it's pictured up top and directly above; the second pic is just show a little more of what it looks like when you start picking at it).

Just be warned: even a big guy like me ended up taking around half of my order home (above). So if you're against eating food like Fülemüle's after it starts getting warm outside, watch that weather forecast closely, because you'll probably need at least two days of cold days to finish your meal.