Tuna Time

You ever notice how certain foods require just the right setting to taste good? Comfort foods, for instance, like fried-egg sandwiches or turkey/gravy/white bread/ mashed potato platters: I don't care how hip or trendy New American cuisine has become, serve up turkey-sandy-mash on a white tablecloth surrounded by more than two pieces of cutlery and I defy you to tell me that it gives you the same lip-smacking satisfaction as the blue-plate special you had at the truck stop along the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

For this reason, I've long been wary about ordering tuna melts in nonconforming venues. Nothing disappoints my taste buds more than looking forward to tangy, drippy Chicken of the Sea topped with bubbly cheddar and instead finding myself in front of a plate of thinly sliced, pan-seared ahi decorously draped over toast points and augmented with a side of baby arugula and shaved Parmesan.

Sorry, Charlie. The tuna melt requires a diner, plain and simple, or at the very least a restaurant with diner-esque qualities, such as a counter with stools and waiters who can carry three plates and an iced tea on one arm. The taste of the dish also improves if the aforementioned place and its waiters cop a bit of 'tude -- but not the sort of over-the-top manufactured cheek you get at Max's, and not so surly that you start to wonder where your waiter's gum disappeared to, in between delivering your iced tea and your sandwich.

Mabel's Just for You Cafe (732 22nd St., 647-3033, www.justforyoucafe.com) hits all the ducks in the shooting gallery. In its modestly expanded digs in the Dogpatch neighborhood, it has tapped into an unsung hipster well -- Pot Hill lesbian moms, grungy tattooed 'hood dwellers, Muni drivers, cops, politicos -- by offering a perfect balance of upmarket sensibility and down-home snarkiness. Menus instruct diners that there's "No yackin' away" on cell phones and that milk is just milk -- no low-fat or no-fat. (My personal favorite menu notations are, under Soy Milk: "Don't get your hopes up, but sometimes we have it"; and under Grits: "It's that pasty white stuff ... like you had in prison.") There are many things you could safely order here and not be disappointed in either the delivery or execution, but the tuna melt is -- dare I say it? -- almost flawless.

It begins with the bread: house-made, white, with soft crusts. I hardly ever defer to white bread over sourdough or rye, but this slightly doughy, not too dense, fresh-from-the-oven bread will send you straight back to the heartland childhood you never had. Next, the tuna salad: creamy albacore from the can mixed with ample mayo and speckled with finely chopped onion, a teensy bit of dill pickle, salt, and pepper, and absolutely no icky things like relish, mustard, or celery. The sandwich is then topped with cheddar cheese (orange, of course) and griddled to a crackly, golden-brown crunch with just enough butter grease to make you want to lick your fingertips, but not so much that you end up searching desperately in your bag for a wet-nap. Tomato and lettuce are offered as options (in my humble opinion: tomato yes, lettuce no) and the whole shebang comes served with a side of fries, or -- with a nod to the more health-conscious dining habits of Dogpatch denizens -- a mixed green salad.

You certainly won't compromise the dish by eating it at an indoor table or out on the sidewalk, but to achieve maximum flavor potential, do yourself a favor and pull up a stool at the lunch counter. You can thank me later.