You know how sometimes you make a mistake, but then that turns out to be a blessing in disguise? My mistake of stepping into Ago last week ended up bringing me to one of my favorite new finds of the year.

The mistake was my fault, I suppose, for being curious about the new DeNiro-Weinstein joint. The bar was a douchetorium full of shouting, Heineken-swilling, post-work boozers. I felt sorry for anyone who was seated in the front room and trying to have a conversation. I even felt sorry for anyone seated in the back room. I started to feel sorry for myself for even standing inside the room. The only way I'd take a table in that mess is if it were in another building. Several blocks away. In another restaurant altogether.

So I beat it out of there and strolled up Greenwich Street. When I happened upon Greenwich Grill, I stopped, remembering it was a new Japanese-owned spot that was supposed to have a sushi-bar adjunct. I stepped inside, and was greeted by a Japanese staff, shouting their customary Japanese welcomes. But I was handed an Italian menu with the likes of spaghetti carbonara and herb roasted spring chicken on it. "Is there a sushi bar here?" I asked, confused. The hostess's face brightened as she nodded and whispered into her headset. She asked me to wait a minute.

Then she ushered me through the length of the restaurant, down a flight of stairs, into a bamboo-ceilinged basement sushi bar called Sushi Azabu. I loved the intimate room. I loved that I was the only Western face there. I loved that it seemed to be a douche-free zone.

I ordered an extremely reasonable omakase course: $30 for an appetizer, 10 pieces of sushi, one maki roll and soup, authentically served, piece by piece, by the hard-working chef standing in front of me. Some gems: ginger flavored pencil fish; scallops topped with shaved lemon and sea salt; salmon, seared by a blow-torch; chu-toro capped with a cluster of miso.

The high quality, lack of signage and absence of a street entrance brought me back to the Tokyo neighborhood where I lived this past fall. It was full of exciting eateries tucked in the oddest places--under train tracks; on the 22nd floors of corporate offices; in random, non-descript basements. For a few hours last night, Tribeca became that place. 

Every Sunday and Monday night through Labor Day, the Tribeca hole-in-the-wall, The Hideaway, is hosting Maryland Blue Crab nights, complete with oversized crustaceans, butcher-papered tables, mallets, crackers and all the Old Bay you can sprinkle. Maryland's best commodity (besides John Waters), flown in fresh weekly, are $21 for 3, $42 for 6 and $80 for 12, so bring the whole family. Also on offer: spicy peel and eat shrimp, corn on the cob, hand-cut fries and pints of summer ale.

My husband just quit his job and last night was the first of a few farewells. Being that his office was located in Tribeca, I eagerly anticipated where the dinner might be. The Harrison, perhaps? DeNiro's new hotspot, Ago, maybe? When he announced we'd be going to a spot called 2 Rivers, I asked, "Where??"

I've been writing about NY's food scene for almost a decade, so it's a rarity when someone mentions a restaurant that I've never heard of. But the minute we arrived I could see why it's not on the fooderati radar. The restaurant's name is misspelled as "2 River" on the window, while the awning has it right. Inside, the front room is dominated by a bar full of shot-swilling suits and a few mustard-colored booths awkwardly shoved in, making the area appear like a warehouse for diner cast-offs. More dingy diner booths outfitted the back room along with a motley array of tables, muraled mirrors, and a few carelessly hung pieces of art. TVs throughout showed the ballgames, while pop music loudly thumped from the sound system. "Is this even a restaurant?" I asked.

Apparently so. Decent old-school Italian fare set the tone as we were presented with platters of mozzarella and prosciutto; giant, saucy, nicely-seasoned meatballs; spicy rigatoni arrabbiata; abundant plates of sausage; and the surprise of the night, an incredibly moist and mellow lemon chicken. The service was efficient, the management friendly, and as I looked around the room, everyone was having a good time.

At the end of the night, Amy Winehouse blared from the speakers. This spot needs rehab, I thought. But then again, just like Wino, I realized that's part of its charm.

Official word is that the Employees Only gang have found a new home for Zeppelin, the bar/restaurant originally slated for West 9th Street, in Tribeca. Construction starts next week on a former bar around Church and Worth Streets with an opening slated for September.

Meanwhile, the mothership mixed up a great off-the-menu Diablo (left) the other night with tequila, Chambord, lime, ginger ale, simple syrup and chunks of fresh ginger.

The devil made an appearance last night, too, at a party for North Square's new spring cocktail list. Their refreshing Diablo is slightly simplified, with just tequila, lime and ginger beer (right).

If this is what they drink in hell then I'll preorder a double.

What are the chances of having homemade potato chips two nights in a row at restaurants as diverse as Mia Dona and Greenwich Steak & Burger Co.? Usually, I'd say slim to none, but spots all over town are suddenly feeling very, er, chipper these days. At Mia Dona, chef Michael Psilakis's pickled fingerling slivers are a wowing take on the salt n' vinegar variety. At GS&B, a cone filled with thick-cut parmesan-flavored spuds (pictured above) arrive in lieu of a bread basket. I'm also noticing that chips are up at new spots like Friedman's Deli, The Smith and Mama's Mudsliders. All I know is, with a selection like this, I'm laying off the Lays....

Some recent developments afoot at Dennis Foy's eponymous restaurant in Tribeca. Lunch and brunch service has started, with the lunch prix fixe sounding like an especially good value at $24.08. Foy's pretty platings seem to have extended to the midday menus, as seen in this dish on the brunch menu, smoked salmon with fingerling potatoes and golden beets ($14).

Tribeca certainly has high steak saturation with Dylan Prime, Wolfgang's, City Hall, and an upcoming Palm. But it's a little barren in terms of burgers except for Odeon and a handful of mediocre pubs. A spot promising the best of both worlds, New York Steak & Burger Company, debuts next week on the corner of Greenwich and Franklin. Also on the roster besides beef--a full bar. And no, they have nothing to do with New York Burger Co. At least not until they tangle over trademark issues.