I just want to escape the frenzy.

“This is going to be a disaster,” I mutter, reluctant even to enter the small, detention-cell-lit Chinda’s . . . nearly deserted on a Saturday night. I nurse a frozen margarita while the kitchen takes its time and the solo server — motherly, almost bossy Chinda herself — delivers our pad Thai to a neighboring table. Still, I have to admit the unabashedly plump spring rolls are full of delicious stuff. Though the kitchen rations chili heat too defensively and I can’t detect a hint of fish sauce, the whole steamed red snapper tastes firm and fresh, remarkably clean, not at all the steam-table glop you might expect on ragtag Noyac Road. Spilling the last of the peppier Thai-style squid sauce into the snapper’s wan ginger-lemongrass bath tarts it up nicely, and a squeeze of lime adds kick to the fine pad Thai. Now the place is filling up, but we don’t mind waiting for stir-fried noodles with juicy chicken and crisp (but not raw) broccoli so good we order seconds. 3284 Noyac Road (631-725-1374).

We’re sailing out of Sag with friends today, and we’ve got the lunch gig.

Swing by Espresso, the little bakery-luncheonette on a quiet corner of Henry and Division Streets, for a passel of giant overstuffed sandwiches on focaccia, $5.29 to $8.50. Or call ahead. We perch on tall stools at one of the five tables, treating our weekend hosts to a late lunch: trading and sharing chunks of the Road Food Warrior’s spicy salami and provolone with sweet and hot peppers, my shrimp salad with avocado and not quite enough arugula, and the marinated vegetables with Gorgonzola. If none of the eighteen combos listed on the menu suit, create your own. 184 Division Street, Sag Harbor (631-725-4433).

I don’t want to see anyone at breakfast.

You’ll think you’ve died and gone to Vermont when you walk into the cozy and immaculate dining room at the Maidstone Arms. Just because the inn’s rooms are probably booked through Christmas doesn’t mean you can’t stop by for a drink in the garden or an after-movie supper — rum-smoked salmon sandwiches, burgers, crab cakes, or a cheese plate — and linger, playing Chinese checkers. We have the Wedgwood-blue ye olde dining room to ourselves this Monday morning. My friend, as much a Maidstone fixture as the antimacassars, does her usual $5 scrambled egg-whites-with-a-sliver-of-julienned-potato-cake-and-grilled-tomato routine, rewarding her virtue with half a scone and a muffin from the $2.75 basket of house-baked goodies. Too bad my apple-banana French toast is so soused with real maple syrup. I’m choking on the sweetness. 207