And it’s precisely that sort of passion (or, some admit, obsession), balanced by collective goodwill, humor, and mutual respect, that separates Chowhounds from the majority of chat-room participants, according to my lunch dates. Leff proudly claims that volunteer moderators "work 24/7 to purge spam, shills, and nastygrams ... and to urge everyone to keep the chow talk on-topic ... [so as to maintain] an unprecedented signal-to-noise ratio." With the passage of time, he says, "we’ve needed to moderate less and less, because our friendly, focused [approach] attracts people who value those qualities. So it all self-perpetuates. We love our community; it’s exactly the crew we were hoping to attract."

The sentiment is echoed by 9lives: "Don’t attack the person, attack the ideas. Don’t say, ‘You’re crazy because you like this restaurant,’ say, ‘I don’t like that restaurant because of this, this, and this.’" And Michael concurs, citing adherence to "democratic" values: "There are people who post a lot and you come to respect their opinions, but there are no set authority figures. If someone writes, ‘Where’s the best place to eat in Boston?’, no one says, ‘That’s a dumb question’; they say ‘Well, what kinds of things do you like?’ " And so it is that over one last dish — whole steamed flounder — the Boston hounds agree to disagree, to remain open-minded for fear of falling into the trap of what Rubee deems "reverse snobbery," or knee-jerk contempt for all things upscale and acclaimed. Galley Girl seems to sum up the consensus: "It’s not about cheap or expensive or even known or unknown. It’s about finding the best stuff."

To be fair, not everyone seconds the hounds’ claims to affability and openness, as some of the responses to a list of questions I posted on the board indicate. Among the less visible and vocal Boston hounds — the ones who tend to hang back and observe, rarely attending gatherings — there is, again, a surprising range of perspectives, including those of a professional game designer, a couple of students, and a computer programmer in his 50s. (It’s worth noting that Jim Leff himself, Chowhound or no Chowhound, finds time to tour the globe as a trombonist, playing professionally alongside names that are as big in jazz circles as M.F.K. Fisher’s or Alice Waters’s are in the culinary world — think Illinois Jacquet, Lionel Hampton, Milt Jackson, Dizzy Gillespie.) Nonetheless, they agree that Chowhound democracy occasionally leaves something to be desired. One correspondent echoes Rubee in complaining that "someone once asked why people only talked about Asian food all the time.... [T]hat’s not true, but it definitely was a main topic for a while and often is. And I feel like a couple of people tend to dominate conversations." She adds, "I’m not sure people read what I write half the time."

Another interviewee feels that some of the outside moderation amounts to censorship: "I panned someone for their snooty, over-stylized, and ridiculous review and said that if I ate at the place they reviewed I’d hope they were not seated near me so I would not have to listen to their self-important whining and bloviations. No reason to delete that other than that it wasn’t ‘nice.’" A third remarks that "I’m not as obsessive as some of the more frequent contributors — I would like to believe that I do have a life."

And yet both hard-core and fringe elements ultimately come together on the issue of, well, coming together. A number of hounds relate tales of meetings — some chance, some arranged — with other hounds across the nation, and of the hospitality and generosity they invariably show. As 9lives puts it, "You have a whole new set of friends if you’re going to another city." One hound demonstrates as much with a story of his table-neighbors at a trattoria in the Bronx: "During the meal I’m explaining to my friends about Chowhounds. The guy next to us joins our conversation ... [turns out] he follows both the New York and New England [boards]. We shared food between both parties and had a great time. They ended up inviting us to their house for dinner the next night." Another speaks of hooking up with fellow hounds in San Francisco and Texas, yet another of marrying the woman who passed his fried-clam food-compatibility test at a Chinatown joint.

For that matter, something similar happened to us that afternoon. The day after our meal at Peach Farm Seafood, I received an e-mail from a second Michael, who had been sitting in the restaurant "next to a large lively group," as he described it. "I placed my order and buried my head in the take-out menu ... [while] suffering from the slight awkwardness of the solo diner. But these people next to me ... were talking about food the way I talk about food. They were even talking about talking about food.... Then I realize, these are Chowhounds! What a bizarre fluke!... [But] once I realized it was an interview, I lost my nerve to introduce myself ... in an uncharacteristic fit of shyness."

I’m willing to bet he’ll follow through next time, and the Chowhounds will reward him with a heaping helping of dry-fried eel.

Ruth Tobias can be reached at ruthiet@bu.edu