Six grains of sea salt. That’s the exact number of snowy white flakes the chefs must count out to garnish — and spark — the otherworldly flavors of the uni crudo at Vernick Food & Drink. That may sound oddly precise, but it speaks to the extraordinary details that go into chef Greg Vernick’s wide-ranging modern cuisine, which often looks simple, but is in fact intricately layered with subtle contrasts of texture, temperature, and focused flavors.

And that crudo, one Philly’s greatest dishes, is a prime example. A cool orange tongue of sweet urchin arrives hovering over a rippling cloud of whipped yogurt. But as the spoon plunges into the bowl, it finds the comforting warmth of custardy eggs at the bottom, soft scrambled with shrimp butter that deepens its tidal pull. Eaten together in one gulp, waves of flavor wash over: the foam of dairy richness, a lactic yogurt tang, the cool sweet urchin dissolving like chantilly cream into the deep sea savor of those warm eggs. And then a sudden crackle of tumbling salt on the finish harmonizes it all, commanding your spoon to return.

It’s that kind of compulsive deliciousness that powers so much of Vernick’s menu and makes the chef’s Walnut Street namesake a destination for so many elemental desires. Considering his consistent touch with seafood, though, it’s no wonder the recently opened Vernick Fish in the new Comcast Technology Center is one of the year’s most eagerly anticipated openings. It’s still too new for its formal review. But Vernick’s devoted fans, no doubt, are counting on it.

Four-bell review: Vernick Food & Drink.

Don’t sleep on Peter Serpico. I’m guilty of that myself, perhaps because South Street remains a drag to visit, despite the draw of the acclaimed chef’s collaboration with Stephen Starr. Or perhaps because the relentless stream of openings means a restaurant that debuted with novel mad scientist style in 2013 is no longer such a novelty. But after a convincing revisit in which Serpico and his young crew cooked their way back into my Top 25, I won’t overlook him again.

Among the most compelling plates were seafood dishes that touched both Serpico classics, like his poppy-dusted scallop crudo in buttermilk with green yuzu koshu, and the delight of newer creations. They’re rendered with modernist techniques that may now be more mainstream than they once were. But they’re never just tricks: they work in service of a superior culinary mind who sees food differently than anyone else.

A good example can be found in stunning ceviche showered with a hale of rice-cracker pearls that spark every bite of fish and kohlrabi bits soaked in citrusy clam juice with a chorus of crunch. Hot doughnuts are made sea-savory with nori powder for a dip in smoked fish cream. A gorgeous halibut, meanwhile, is crusted in a layer of savory carrot cake — spiced with Old Bay in a nod to Serpico’s Maryland crab cake roots — that caramelizes into a crust that also protects the delicate fish from ever touching hot metal. Fish and carrot cake? Only Serpico could make me crave that now.

Three-bell review: Serpico.

The smouldering-hot BYOB called Hearthside in Collingswood has made the convincing leap over the past few years from “best restaurant in South Jersey” to being one of the most exciting restaurants in the entire region, period. Any one of Dominic Piperno’s inventive pastas, or the tea-braised pork belly lacquered in a beet-red char siu glaze, or the dry-aged porterhouse cooked over coals, could compete on any Center City corner.

If there is a single reason, though, that I’d show the fortitude to land a reservation months in advance and pay the bridge toll to get to Hearthside, it would be the majestic prawns. Sizzling in a cast-iron pan after a blast inside the wood-fired hearth, these massive head-on beauties trail a fragrant plume of garlic-scented chile butter steam across the candlelit dining room to my table. Jealous heads turn because they’re mine — all mine! First comes the delicate snap of those sweet Gulf crustaceans, the closest I’ve encountered to Louisiana-style BBQ shrimp since leaving New Orleans. Then comes a messy deep dive into the molten pool of zestily spiced, buttery seafood juices left behind. Sop up all that shrimp glory with grilled rounds of Hearthside’s excellent house bread and know it was worth the commute.

Three-bell review: Hearthside.

A recommendation for oysters might sound obvious, given the name. But nothing is given in a town once ruled by grand fish houses that is now essentially down to its last standard-bearer. But the Oyster House does more than merely survive. It’s managed to both embrace history and reinvent itself as an essential cornerstone of our dining scene as the region’s prize pearl of oyster craft. Get those mollusks fried in fine cornmeal flour beside a scoop of cool chicken salad for the most craveable of old-school Philly lunches. Order them delicately roasted three ways (the BBQ style even comes smouldering). This restaurant’s raw bar powers, though, are unsurpassed, both in the skill of its veteran shuckers and its mission to champion — and foster —  the budding resurgence of local oysters. You’ll want to taste of the freshest Cape May Salts, Rose Coves, Sweet Amalias, and Sugar Shack Cocktails from the Jersey coast, and there is no better place to go.

Other raw-bar stars: Royal Boucherie (52 S. 2nd St., 267-606-6313, three bells); Friday Saturday Sunday (261 S. 21st St., 215-546-4232, three bells); Parc (227 S. 18th St., 215-545-2262, three bells), Pearl’s Oyster Bar (Reading Terminal Market, 51 N. 12th St., 215-964-9792); a.bar (1737 Walnut St., 215-825-7035).

Philly’s long and unlikely love affair with grilled octopus is largely thanks to Dmitri Chimes, whose self-named BYOB Dmitri’s (795 S. 3rd St., 215-625-0556; 944 N. 2nd St., 215-592-4550) remains one of the city’s best bets for no-frills seafood with a Greek flair. Leave it to another Greek-American, Bobby Saritsoglou, for giving octopus a compelling modern update — and one of the Mediterranean highlights at his charming Stina Pizzeria near West Passyunk. It’s patiently simmered for hours with citrus, herbs, and fennel, then roasted to a crunchy-sucker crisp in the oven. That’s when the meaty arm lands like an artful “S” on the plate, dappled with flowers and curving between dramatic swipes of black garlic sauce, scoops of olive tapenade and smoky red romesco, and a whiff of citrus ash made from the dust of dehydrated lemons and oranges.

They don’t call Sid Booker Sr. the “Colonel of Shrimp” for nothing. The pink takeout window at Belfield and Broad has been a late-night destination for his deep-fried jumbo shrimp since 1962. Booker still comes in daily to sprinkle his magic dust over greaseless crustaceans that are so sweet, plump, and delicately crunchy, I understand why the post-club crowds keep this North Philly corner rocking until 4 a.m. on weekends.

There’s an electric zing to the ceviche mix of flounder, shrimp, and calamari at this handsome ode to Peruvian flavors in Old City. Laced with crunchy red onions, the citrusy leche de tigre marinade was equal turns tart, spicy, and lit with ginger — a legacy of Japan's influence on Peru. The traditional garnishes of giant choclo corn kernels and sweet potato, meanwhile, lend the perfect counterpoints to bring all those bright flavors into balance.

Colorful masa specialties are the prime draw to one of the city’s best Mexican restaurants. But just as often, I crave Blue Corn's shrimp cocktail: a glass chalice of big, tender shrimp submerged in zesty tomato cocktail sauce fanned with avocados and raw onions (a splash of Jarritos orange soda is another secret). With a healthy extra splash of La Bruja, a spiced vinegar infused with peppers and herbs, eating this cocktail is the next best thing to a trip to Acapulco.

Three-bell review: Blue Corn.

This industrial riverward stretch of the lower Northeast used to be nicknamed Crab Alley, thanks to the abundance of corner tappies serving shell-cracking feasts. Most have disappeared, but colorful Bonk’s Bar, which dates to the 1950s, was thankfully rescued by the craft beer-forward team behind the Grey Lodge Tavern. Your choice of hot local blue crabs, dungeness, or snow crab clusters come beneath an upturned salad bowl (a.k.a. The Port Richmond cloche) in a variety of seasonings. A dusting of Old Bay spice is always my first instinct, but these being Philly crabs, the correct answer is to bury them in garlic butter.