Widely considered to be one of the best kitchens anywhere east of the old Iron Curtain, Baraka has only gotten better since moving in spring 2006 from a beloved downtown location to a slicker, bigger, and less-crowded spot inside the Andrássy Hotel, at the far end of the city's favorite boulevard. Tables in the space-age banquet hall (long and dark, with black and purple walls and silver trim) are separated by pewter vases filled with tall, fresh lilies. The staff is very helpful and knowledgeable about all kinds of Hungarian wines—a region where most of us need guidance. Prices aren't cheap—main courses start at $25—but are always worth it: A wing of pan-seared red snapper, drizzled with porcini butter, arrives on a fragrant cloud of ginger mashed potatoes, and seared goose liver is served on toasted brioche in a port–red currant sauce. Bargain hunters should make a weekday lunch reservation and order two courses of the same creative cooking for around $15.

A mover and shaker in the Liszt Ferenc tér scene, this three-level place, with a huge terrace of canvas chairs in summer, has a fabulous Danish Modern–meets-dungeon decor and an extensive menu ranging all the way from maté to exotic teas in the first-floor café to veal tournedos with goose liver and fogás (a fish from Lake Balaton) in the upstairs restaurant. The hip factor is raised by the fact that the owners also stage the annual Sziget festival—the Hungarian Lollapalooza.

Get your fix of Austro-Hungarian café culture here. This legendary place opened in 1887 and quickly became the center of intellectual life, spawning important periodicals and literary movements, keeping a library of reference books, and subscribing to over 200 newspapers for its reading poles, only to be shuttered in 1949. Now rescued and reopened by a well-known local businessman, it may not exactly be a breeding ground for Nobel laureates, but it's a very nice place to have beer and cakes or grilled duck breast with cabbage noodles.

Kör is one of the perennial best in town, thanks to chef Ádám Répás, who uses seasonal ingredients and bases his menus on Hungarian comfort food, then twists and lightens for the modish palate. Accordingly, the antique tables in the ocher-walled bistro next to the basilica—and, in summer, the terrace tables—are always full of a cross section of Budapesters: the arts crowd, dressed-up ladies, and (a lot of) expatriates. A list of daily specials augments the likes of roast salmon with lemon balm sauce and potato croquettes—also available (as is everything) in a smaller portion at a smaller price. This is the place to acquire your Hungarian sweet tooth: The expert pastry chef turning out cheese dumplings with hot fruits-of-the-forest sauce and gâteau Gerbeaud is Répás's grandma. It's also open for breakfast.

Closed Sundays; cash only.

Maybe you're embarrassed to obey your swanky hotel's concierge and heed the advice of every guidebook ever written, but in the case of Gundel: Get over it. Just dress in finery, order up your chariot, sweep into the park, and allow yourself to be ushered to your table in the Art Nouveau palace that first opened in 1894 (and is now owned by restaurateur George Lang and cosmetics tycoon Ronald Lauder). As the waiter, just this side of obsequious, snaps your virgin napkin, and you spear your goose liver with Tokaji and Hungarian truffles with your sterling-silver fork…just yield. Oh, and consider a second mortgage.

Only open for lunch, this mom-and-pop shop is run by a Marlon Brando look-alike whose recommendations are not to be taken lightly—not so much because you're thinking of The Godfather, but because everything is excellent and filling. Favorites include tender stewed pork with house-made noodles, and peppers stuffed with a mix of pork, rice, and spices in a savory tomato sauce. Echoing an earlier era, photos of Hungarian celebrities from the 1970s adorn the wood-paneled walls, and self-serve seltzer bottles sit on the tables (which are covered in red-and-white checked cloths, of course), but be careful, or you'll pull a Marx Brothers on your lunchmates. Prices are similarly old-fashioned: Even with appetizers, drinks, and a dessert, like the wonderful shredded-apple cake, it would be hard for most couples to cross $30. The experience of being served Hungarian home cooking by what appears to be Don Corleone, however, is priceless.

Closed Sundays and Mondays. Lunch only.

Menza is partly a gag, taking its name and decor from the Communist-era cafeterias that once dotted the city. But it also serves excellent simple cooking at moderate prices: Main courses, like tender roast baby chicken with timbale of baby spinach or hearty paprika-inflected fisherman's soup of pike, perch, zander, and trout, hover around $10. The retro vibe, value-for-money ratio, and first-rate people-watching have made Menza the destination on busy Liszt Ferenc tér for artsy scenesters and business types loosening their neckties after-hours. If you can't reserve a table in advance, come by around 5:30 or 6 and grab a drink before dinner: You won't get kicked off your table when you finally decide to eat, and you'll have even more time watching the scene. Prices are low enough in the evening, but weekday lunch specials dip even more: two filling courses for about $5.

Lunch and dinner daily.

This Franco-Moroccan café-resto is a most happy expression of the current compulsion to fuse—in food and decor both. With its vaulted ceilings, earthy palette, African rugs, candles, and medina lamps, the room is warm, and chef Rezsõ Boksay's menus match that warmth: heavy on the Med-Rim (mixed tapas, long-braised spiced lamb), with a little Middle Europe (beef goulash with gnocchi) for the hidebound. Sommelier Norbert Markó will help you make sense of the local wines.