Decisions, Decisions - Rice noodles with shrimp is one of 125 menu items.

You can't always get what you want, both in life according to Mick and during dinner at tiny Tay Do Vietnamese Restaurant. But you'll get what you need.

On a recent visit, it seemed that regardless of what I ordered, our server, the chef's wife, stymied my every move. "I'll have the crepe with pork," I said. "No, no more crepe," she replied. "All right, then give me the catfish simmered in a clay pot," I countered. "No catfish. It takes too long," she stated curtly. "Next time, call ahead."

But who could take offense at her rebuffs, which came across more matter of fact than rude? Plus, the joint was jumping on a steamy weekday night, and the skeleton crew of two was outnumbered eight to one. Others, it seemed, had arrived at the very same notion: Vietnamese may be the best hot-weather meal going.

When the mercury rises and the sweat beads form, folks in the know flock to Vietnamese restaurants for fresh, light and flavorful meals. Their menus are rich with refreshing salads built around shredded veggies, summery herbs and bright, citrusy dressings. Heavy, meat-based dishes are at a minimum, replaced instead by scores of vegetarian-friendly noodle and rice dishes. Deep-fried wrappers are swapped out for soft, pliant rice paper or, cooler still, lettuce leaves. And everybody knows that one of the best ways to beat the heat is by working up a good sweat from spicy food.

Following the Law of Mom-and-Pop Ethnic Restaurants, Tay Do is tucked into a half-vacant strip mall. It is sparsely decorated with dusty faux foliage, and the furniture appears to be castoffs from the nearby VFW hall. Run by just two people, with one doing all the cooking, service can be maddeningly slow - or fast, depending on the crowd. Entrées may quickly follow on the heels of soup at lunch, or trail a goodly distance behind during dinner. But again, nobody seems to mind when it's clear that management is doing its darndest to keep up.

"What number?" our server asks, protecting us from the likely Vietnamese-language butchering that would have followed. Number Two ($2.25), we say, which earns the table a pair of plump, non-fried spring rolls. Visible beneath the diaphanous rice paper wrapper are the rolls' main components, namely shrimp, cellophane noodles, crisp lettuce and cilantro. Unlike a traditional fried spring roll, the crunch of these starters jumps from the inside out.

A tangle of lightly fried tofu strips tops the Number 12 ($6.50), otherwise known as the Vietnamese salad with tofu. Just meaty enough to give the salad body, the tofu is firm, golden brown and delicious. Beneath it, a mound of finely shredded cabbage, fresh herbs, onions and peanuts is bathed in a light sweet-tart dressing. It would be difficult to tire of this dish.

When it hasn't run out of them, Tay Do's crepes ($7.95) - Numbers 18 and 19, if you're keeping count - seem to distill the buoyancy of spring and summer into a single dish. This interactive meal finds diners tucking chipper herbs and bits of shrimp-stuffed crepes into lettuce leaves. When rolled up and, as they say, good to go, the fat cigars are dunked into a dish of nuoc mam. Used more liberally than mustard at a ballpark, nuoc mam, a thin sweet-salty sauce, is everpresent on the Vietnamese table.

Tay Do offers about a dozen bun, or rice vermicelli dishes. Each consists of a big bowl of tender noodles, bean sprouts, cucumber and cilantro, topped with any number and combination of meats. Number 83 ($6.25) is dotted with a couple of fried, sliced spring rolls, while 85 ($6.95) features two skewers of small but lively pork meatballs. Here too the sauce is light, with just enough on hand to slick the noodles. Fat and chewy rice noodles are at the heart of Numbers 93 through 96. Stir-fried with portions of beef, chicken or pork ($8.95), these items tend to be the most filling of the lengthy menu.

Pho, the cinnamon-scented beef noodle soup, comes with all the usual fixings, including pert bean sprouts, cilantro and citrus for squeezing. Prices range from $4.50 for a small with lean rare beef to $7.50 for a large with seafood.

The very last item on the menu - Number 125, if you can believe it - may be the most refreshing. In the Vietnamese iced coffee ($2.50), hot espresso trickles from a cup-top brewer into a glass half-filled with sweetened condensed milk. When done brewing, the mixture is stirred and poured over ice. If this doesn't bring relief from the heat, nothing will.