Do Not Judge A Book By Its Cover

Save its incredibly low-tech Web site, this quirky luncheonette doesn't spend a dime on advertising. Yet when I arrived on a busy Sunday morning, I knew to order the apple crostata before I even saw that enormous eyeful selling itself quite nicely atop the counter. And lo, it was good: a beautiful stack of tender apple slices sandwiched between a buttery, crisp topping and a flakey crust. Order it warm, à la mode; the vanilla bean ice cream here is fantastic.

The menu at You Say Tomato is just as mismatched as its interior, which looks like a garage sale collided with the corner market. You can order a bierock with a side of potatoes or a tall wedge of quiche, and grab a jug of milk on your way out.

That bierock is like a knish, which is also on the menu, but instead of being filled with potatoes the pastry bun is stuffed with ground beef and sauerkraut. You Say Tomato's isn't the most well-crafted version I've had—the dough was a bit undercooked in parts—but it had good flavor. I preferred the knish, which was served with grainy mustard.

The breakfast casserole here is the size of a bus. Despite the hefty look of this loaf, it's unexpectedly light, an eggy soufflé studded with sausage and mushroom and bubbly with cheddar cheese. Smothered in gravy, it's not exactly diet food, but it's immensely comforting.

They'll ask you if you want "everything" on your pork tenderloin sandwich at Kitty's Café, a cash-only greasy spoon on a desolate stretch of 31st Street. You should say yes. Then they'll ask you if you want hot sauce. You should say yes again.

The crunchy, battered slices of pork tenderloin—three per sandwich—are moist and tender on the inside and fried to order. Paired with lettuce, onions, pickles and that hot sauce, this is a killer stack.

But you do trade comfort for the value. A half-dozen stools, usually occupied by people waiting for takeout orders, crowd the restaurant's tight quarters lined with counters. On a busy weekday, a line snakes out the door. Be prepared to bag it back to your office.

One of my favorite restaurants in Kansas City is Happy Gillis in sleepy Columbus Park. Todd Schulte and his wife, Tracy Zinn, opened the casual, self-styled "café and hangout" in early 2008 after their soup delivery business, Happy Soup Eater, proved successful. And the buzz, boosted by playtime in the national press, has only grown since. Walk into the homey establishment any day at lunchtime or on a weekend morning, and you'll have to wait for a seat at one of the tables or couches or on the patio furniture on the sidewalk.

The food at Happy Gillis is the tidiest and the most focused of the four restaurants in this article. Everything is fresh and made to order. Scrambled eggs arrive fluffy and soft—a joy on a lazy Saturday morning. Butter lettuce is pert and happy; tossed with baby spinach and spiced nuts, it makes a beautiful salad.

I loved the roasted butternut squash sandwich. Served between slices of ciabatta slathered with goat cheese, it's mottled with a caramelized onion and walnut relish. The BLT is terrific as well, slicked with house-made mayonnaise and overflowing with waxy rashers of bacon from Webster City Custom Meats in Iowa.

Unsurprisingly, the soups here are dependably good and can always be coupled with half a sandwich for a well-rounded meal.

Succotash is a fun one. This off-kilter "bruncheonette" just two blocks down from You Say Tomato is larger than its peers, a considerable expansion from its cubbyhole beginnings in the City Market. Now, the restaurant offers a sweeping bar and a sprawl of tables of different shapes and sizes.

As the restaurant's name suggests, the menu leans a bit towards the South, full of hearty comfort.

On a recent visit, I had a warm pot roast sandwich—a special of the day. The meat was tender, flavorful and moist with pan gravy. Served with a side of collard greens, it was great. The tuna melt, however, was a sad story. Served cold, the cheese had stiffened, defying the sandwich's raison d'etre. What's a tuna melt without the melt?

Desserts here are large and in charge. There are fruit pies and the famous layer cake --a slice of rainbow as colorful as the restaurant's sign. Strawberry, lemon, orange, and lime cakes are stacked, twice over, in an eight-layer monster held together with bright blue buttercream. It glows neon and tastes like Fruit Loops cereal.

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