Late on a recent Tuesday night, I parked myself at the bar in the second floor dining room of the Van Dyke Café, eschewing the four-dollar music charge and the small circular dining tables in front of the bandstand. There sat some of South Beach's late-night winners -- people who had each other. Determined to brood I drank my whiskey with a four-cube maximum, the way Ol' Blue Eyes liked his. Little did I know I was in for a night of saloon standards.... More >>>