Aaron Huey for The New York Times The owner of Rangoli, Vikram Vij, far right, at lunchtime.

From the outside, the Argo Cafe does not look like an Asian fusion restaurant — or really much of a restaurant at all. Situated ina light industrial section of Vancouver’s Mount Pleasant neighborhood, it seems to date from another era. Cartoon versions of a white-capped chef and a pink-uniformed waitress decorate its cinderblock facade, and arced lettering promises “Hamburgers, Soup, Sandwiches, and more!”

It’s the “more!” that’s intriguing. Inside, a mix of young creative types and construction workers in reflective vests fill the diner’s booths and counter — you’ll have to wait a few minutes for a table. In the meantime, you can look over the menus posted on the walls. Among the usual burgers and omelettes are some oddities: spicy lamb noodles, wasabi-and-sesame-crusted tuna salad, snapper and prawns in coconut curry sauce. And — perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not — they’re not bad and not expensive. Nothing on the menu exceeded 11 Canadian dollars that day, or $10 at 1.10 Canadian dollars to the U.S. dollar. Read more…

Matt Gross for The New York Times La Famille, a cozy restaurant in Croix-Rousse, a hilltop neighborhood in Lyon once populated by silk workers.

In the city of Lyon — France’s gastronomic heartland — no name is more important than that of Paul Bocuse. Father of nouvelle cuisine, holder of three Michelin stars, one of the first superchefs of the modern era, Mr. Bocuse, now 83, can see his name adorning the city’s edenic marketplace, Les Halles de Lyon-Paul Bocuse, and attached to the international culinary Olympics, the Bocuse d’Or.

You might think, therefore, that Mr. Bocuse’s astronomical influence on Lyon would extend to the prices of its restaurants. And you’d be right — but not in the way you think.

Matt Gross for The New York Times A meal at Ouest Express.

A year ago, he opened Ouest Express (41, rue des Docks; 33-4-7217-9595; www.ouestexpress.fr), an affordable, franchise-ready fast food outlet in a former industrial area on the Saône River, merging his love of local ingredients and McDonald’s-style burgers and fries. The cooking won’t win any Michelin stars, but the vichyssoise — which I tasted the evening I arrived in Lyon by train from Paris (84 euros round trip, via www.voyages-sncf.com) — was perfectly chilled and almost sweet, a testament to Mr. Bocuse’s faith that fast food can be fresh food, too. (It cost 3.90 euros, or $5.54 at $1.42 to the euro.)

With Mr. Bocuse’s innovation in mind, I came to Lyon to construct a single perfect day of indulgence, on a budget. Could I eat well in the best French dining city outside Paris and not go broke? Read more…

It’s nice to know that readers of this blog are such thrifty bar hoppers! Using your suggestions, I’ve updated the map to free bar snacks in New York City with your tips, from the tapas at Spain Restaurant (thanks Theresa) to the fresh tater tots at Trash (with nods to Chris).

I have a feeling there are a lot more out there. Keep them flowing in to the comments section (or to freebarsnacksnyc@gmail.com), and I’ll update the map from time to time.

Matt Gross for The New York Times This pizza at the Crocodile Lounge in the East Village not only went well with a beer, it came free with the drink.

In a city of pizza snobs, the pies served at the Crocodile Lounge (325 East 14th Street; 212-477-7747), a dark and typically crowded East Village bar, barely rate.

The crust may be light and thin, but it’s not charred to blistering by a 900-degree wood-fired oven. The sauce, though tomato-sweet, is not made from prized San Marzano fruits. The cheese binds the pizza together well enough, but you’d never mistake it for mozzarella di bufala.

Still, these entirely edible 10-inch pizzas — which are also available at the Crocodile’s Brooklyn sibling, the Alligator Lounge in Williamsburg (600 Metropolitan Avenue; 718-599-4440) — have one advantage over the über-authentic versions sold nearby: buy a drink, whether a $6 Goose Island ale or the $5 house lager, and the pizza is free. Read more…

Matt Gross for The New York Times Nora Mounce handles the tasting counter at Syncline, a decade-old winery in the Columbia River Gorge.

OH, it’s not too hilly, said the woman at Syncline Wine Cellars when I called for directions from the Lewis and Clark Highway, somewhere southeast of Bingen, Wash. Just bike east to the Klickitat River, she said, turn left, and you’ll be there in no time.

Matt Gross for The New York Times The Columbia River.

I was skeptical. To my right was the Columbia River, wide and as steely as the clouds above. To my left, a sheer rock face, behind which rose yet more hills — the hills that led to my ultimate goal, three promising wineries in the Columbia River Gorge. Back in Oregon, the wines, particularly down in the Willamette Valley but also along the Columbia, were well-known, easier to reach and, thanks to a decade-plus of buzz, not exactly affordable. Read more…

Matt Gross for The New York Times Some of the aperitivo bar snacks at Pasticceria Cucchi.

One morning this past January, somewhere in Campania — the region of Southern Italy that includes Naples — a farmer milked his buffalo. After curdling the milk and draining the whey, he ground up the solids, put them into a mold and stirred them in a hot bath until the solids combined and turned rubbery. Then he kneaded this proto-cheese, lopping off fist-size balls and soaking them in brine. By the next morning, the balls had become the famed mozzarella di bufala, and some were sent northwest, to the Milan branch of Obikà (Via Mercato, 28; 39-02-86-450-568; www.obika.it), a rapidly expanding chain of hip mozzarella bars, where chefs sliced the cheese into small pieces and set them out on a buffet.

Then I came along, in the midst of a frugal-themed visit to the city. A sampling of the mozzarella revealed that it was rich, creamy, briny — and free. And the complimentary goodies didn’t end there. In the rare moments when I wasn’t stuffing myself with fresh mozzarella, I consumed its smoked cousin, a kind of ratatouille, and a dense lasagna-like mound of pasta, all also free. Honestly, I’d have felt guilty about eating all the buffalo mozzarella I wanted, if I hadn’t been in a roomful of people doing the exact same thing.

Read more…