(FORTUNE Magazine) – You know the drill: You fly into town and corner the concierge, and by 8 P.M. you're cutting into your radicchio salad, sawing your planked Chateaubriand bouquetiere, and telling yourself what an accomplished road warrior you are. The word "worldly" floats gently, beguilingly, in the air.

Of course, the chances of running into me at such a pate palace are roughly the same as being hit by a meteorite. I'm a conscientious objector in the war to find the fanciest meal in town--and I want you to join me. This has nothing to do with satisfying the people who look at your expense account, and everything to do with changing the way you look at traveling.

The theme is simple: Be authentic, not pretentious. The exotic is everywhere these days, but the ordinary is not. Which explains why I was able to find watermelon in Alberta this winter but haven't been able to locate a decent jelly doughnut in the District of Columbia in more than 20 years.

Eating downmarket is usually more rewarding. Nothing in Pittsburgh is as memorable as the ham sandwich at Primanti Brothers (they stuff the coleslaw and the fries right in with the meat). Nothing in Portland, Ore., satisfies like dinner at Tad's Chicken 'n' Dumplings in nearby Troutdale--wear your fat pants. These are my kind of places. Places with, well, a sense of place.

I'm sure, for example, that it's possible to have a decent fancy meal in Buffalo, which I visited a few weeks ago. But I know it's possible to have a terrific ordinary meal. That's because in places like Buffalo--and I will permit no sneering, since we all know you spend more nights in places like Buffalo than in Paris--the ordinary is often extraordinary. The frozen custard at Anderson's will be more remarkable than any designer dessert. The neighborhood fish fry at Danny's will make you feel more at home than you actually would at home. Fuller, too.

Are you with me or not? Here's the test. It's dinnertime in Buffalo, the city that took the most quotidian foodstuff imaginable (the lowly chicken wing) and elevated it into an epicurean experience. Do you get the filet and Alaskan king crab legs for $52 at Lord Chumley's or a mess of wings--with the special sauce developed by Frank and Teressa Bellissimo one Friday night in 1964--downtown at the Anchor Bar?

Admit it: You want the wings. Welcome aboard.