The first time someone told me Pittsburgh had a Strip District, my mind flashed back to all those years of working in Madhattan, all those years of walking along 42nd Street through Times Square on my way to work. I can still see the neon flashing promises of GIRLS! LIVE! GIRLS! eagerly waiting YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE!

I'd watch in amusement as harried businessmen would jump-start their day with a quick fix, rushing inside, hats tipped, quarters jingling in their Brooks Brothers suits, anticipation on the faces they were hoping no one would recognize.

Pittsburgh's Strip District doesn't have such naked tales to tell, but the bare facts are clear: The Strip boasts a charm and appeal that's hardly small, man.

I've visited the Strip several times since I moved here, even wrote about a couple of its gems: Klavon's, the Art Deco ice cream emporium down at the "quiet end," and Enrico's, where I got to learn the fine art of bread-making. Some consider the Heinz History Center part of the Strip -- if so, then add one more jewel to the list.

I visited again on a recent weekend. I had planned the timing to nab a free parking space and not have to pay to park. One shopkeeper later gave me a "tip" that may or may not be legal: I could park in front of or alongside the Society of Contemporary Craft and "never get a ticket." But with Saint Stanislaus Kostka looming across the street, I decided to play it safe, park along the railroad tracks and hike back to Penn Avenue. I know how to be crafty, but this was a case in which thou shall not covet Crafts.

Let me pause and lay down the disclaimer: My Strip Stroll is not a complete look at the narrow half-mile or so of land just northeast of Downtown. I haven't included the historic buildings or the produce and fish/meat districts or the antique galleries or the wholesalers or even the churches (though visits to St. Stanislaus and Old St. Patrick's are musts for those interested in history and/or holiness). This is my Strip Stroll; remember this before you start the e-mails.

My first stop: Roxanne's Dried Flowers. The flowers may be dry, but this indoor/outdoor Garden of Eden is bursting with color and life and fragrance. The potpourri bar features several scent-sational fragrances; my favorite (Lime Vanilla) is also the customer fave. The grapevine pumpkins are divine, but the stunning stars here are heart- and square-shaped wreaths made from boxwood and red oak leaves.

The Eye-talian in me led me to the Pennsylvania Macaroni Co., where I spent so much time with my jaw dropped that I thought I might need reconstructive surgery. Say cheese here and be prepared to smile more than 400 different ways!

When it was time for lunch, I stopped by Chicken Latino for some Peruvian-style rotisserie chicken. The restaurant has the ambience of an airport hangar, but you just got to love a place whose idea of decor is red and silver tinsel garland. And you just got to love the chicken and the homemade green chili dipping sauce ... it deserves to be discovered and dignified by some culinary bigwig. Yes, it's that good.

My sweet teeth wanted something to bite into, so I overdosed on caramel, chocolate and cinnamon biscotti from Prestogeorge. (Sometimes I head over to Mon Aimee Chocolat, where all things chocolate from all corners of the world are sold -- at very high prices. Forget the bacon chocolate bar and go hog wild on the 5-truffle pack, a steal at $3.50; find it near the register).

I burn off those calories souvenir shopping up and down the sidewalks. I found the most delightful handmade finger puppets from Mexico, a steal at a buck each, six for $5.

And then there was all the Steeler stuff. Everywhere I looked were black and gold mementos -- from sweats to stuffed animals, from hats to hand towels. I laughed -- OK, I howled -- at the T-shirt nearby . . . its front boasted a list of words and their meanings translated from Pittsburghese. "Picksburgh," I learned, was "the greatest city in Pensivania."

A most true definition, stripped clear of any pretense.