A three-plate (generally appetizer-size) tasting dinner of roasted chestnut soup with seared foie gras and toasted walnuts; roasted Maine scallops with pumpkin crme, purple potato, and smoked bacon; and crisp plum tart with pink peppercorn ice cream: $39. The aforementioned courses with an extra tasting plate of Hudson Valley foie gras terrine with dried fruit chutney: $44. And another course of beef tenderloin with shallot butter, potato galette, and truffle sauce: $55. A six-course sampling dinner chosen by the chef, Philippe Ruiz, who is widely acknowledged as one of Miami's elite culinarians: $65. Plus wine pairing: $95. Getting to dine on the most exquisitely prepared French/Mediterranean cuisine in the city, in an elegant, intimate setting inside the posh Biltmore Hotel, with more than 300 wines from which to choose, and absolutely stellar service: Pricey. But not absurdly so. And worth every penny.

The history of this South Beach gourmet food market is long and illustrious, but space does not permit us to go into detail. Nor can we describe the flawless cuts of fish, meats, and poultry displayed in their respective cases like Prada handbags. But trust us, the selection is huge and pristine. The stock of cheeses is also enormous, but imported from too many countries to name. Likewise there are too many breads and pastries baked fresh daily to enumerate, too many premade dinners assembled in the freezer to describe, and too many home-cooked foods sold behind the counter (like roast chickens, Cornish hens, meat loaves, barbecued ribs -- wait, we're not going to fall into this trap). There are so many prepared foods available in jars and easy-to-heat take-out containers it would not be fair to highlight the stuffed cabbage, chicken-in-the-pot, mushroom barley soup, or lasagna. You would need as many pages as there are in the phone book to inventory the myriad exotic fruits and vegetables in the produce section, topnotch vintages in the wine shop, and specialty comestibles on the market shelves. And everything is so damn delicious we cannot begin to tabulate the multitude of titillating tastes contained within these walls. Did we mention the olive station?

The problem with many Asian markets is that they specialize. If you want potsticker skins and chili paste with garlic, you go to the Chinese market. If you need ponzu and wasabi, you head to the Japanese grocery. If it's kim chee, the Korean; fish sauce the Vietnamese ... you know the drill. But Tim's offers one-stop shopping for otherwise hard-to-find ingredients from virtually every Asian country, which is what makes it such a treasure. Everything is arranged in well-organized rows according to place of origin. If that is not enough, Tim's also stocks an array of cookware, utensils, and tableware; all manner of fresh produce; a freezer section with banana leaves, Chinese lop cheung sausages, pastry wrappers and more; and in season, live blue crabs. And everything in the store is cheap -- really cheap. If you can't find what you're looking for here, you probably don't need it.

Owner Yiannis Kagouros claims to have "trained in the best school there is." The esteemed education facility to which he is referring, as you no doubt have guessed, is his Grandma Yia Yia's kitchen. Not surprisingly, a sense of family permeates the mom-and-pop style of the restaurant's Greek cuisine and ambiance. Appetizers include traditional spanakopita, hummus, and taramosalata, all fresh and sassily spiced ($4.50 to $6.50). But the octopus spiked with oregano vinaigrette; flambéed cheese saganaki; and Greek sausage tossed in caramelized onions and peppers ($7.95 to $8.95) are what really engage one's Aegean yearnings. House specialties are prepared with more aplomb than the competition's, especially the grilled lamb chops in the classic Greek marinade of olive oil, lemon juice, and oregano. Same simple and scrumptious treatment is afforded the grilled whole snapper, which is plucked from a pristine ice display. Some main courses, like a textbook ground-beef-and-macaroni pastitsio, are less than $10; most others are less than $20. Another reason we like this place: Desserts are not just afterthoughts. Don't believe us? Witness the galactobourico, a creamy custard rolled in phyllo, dipped in honey, and served mellifluously warm. Mykonos's charm lies in its softly muraled walls, amiable staff, and consistently solid renditions of characteristic Greek cuisine, not on crashing plates, confetti showers, and tabletop dancing -- though live entertainment and a high-spirited clientele ensures that dining here is not dull, either. Wines and beers from Greece no doubt aid in fueling that ebullience. It seems the only thing Mykonos is lacking is Grandma Yia Yia.

There is a good reason steady streams of Creole-speakers come into this nondescript joint. Six to eight dollars buys a massive serving of stewed meat or fried chicken or fish, served with rice, beans, and a boiled plantain on the side. A sixteen-ounce champagne soda costs an extra dollar. Tasty sauces with the perfect spicy/sweet balance complement the unusually tender goat. There is not much atmosphere except for the friendly banter of customers and staff, but the efficient service and authentic food make it a great alternative to touristy sit-down places and bare-bones take-out joints. Although most customers take their meals to-go, the sun-filled eating area of little Formica tables is pleasant enough. One customer, who says he's been going to Chez Madame John's since it opened in 1999, reveals the place is kind of a secret among the Haitian community. "You're the only white guy I've ever seen in here," he says to a New Times reporter. Prices range from $4 for a breakfast item to $16 for a special lamb dish. Most meals are between $6 and $8.

Want to stay kosher but don't want to eat bland bread? Anny's Bread Shoppe turns out loaves that would have pride of place in any toaster -- kosher or not. The two most popular breads here are the multigrain and the Blue Ridge Mountain herb bread. Both are hearty, full of flavor, and worth the price ($5.75 to $6 each). While you're there, pick up a few bagels or maybe some apricot-walnut biscotti. How about a sugarless muffin made with honey and bran? It has only one gram of fat yet somehow is delicious. As you might expect, there's plenty of challah: raisin, onion-poppy, whole-wheat, chocolate, and even plain.

Honduran food may be relatively simple, but that does not mean it has to be bland. Adelita's is a great example of just how rich and varied this cuisine can be. Of course, it's also cheap and plentiful here, which doesn't hurt. Located on a corner in the same building as a laundromat, Adelita's Seventeenth Avenue restaurant has blue wicker chairs and sky blue tables, with little in the way of decoration other than Honduran soccer team photos and a big-screen TV set for games. The food speaks for itself: Richly marinated beef baleadas are $3; fat, moist tamales of chicken or pork go for $2.50. Tostones here are a far cry from the dry, flavorless versions you find elsewhere, and the myriad hard-core meat dishes -- fried pork chops, carne asada, and churrasco -- are solid choices for carnivores who don't want to shell out more than $6 to $8. The stars of the show, however, are Adelita's rich and generous soups, especially the sopa marinera, a fantastic blend of conch, shrimp, and crab in a flavorful but not overly salty broth ($5 for a small bowl, $7 for a large). Another good choice, sopa de res, is a meat soup with carrots, cabbage, corn, potato, and yuca ($5 for a medium, $6 for a large). Soups are served with rice and a tortilla. If the basics aren't cheap enough, try one of seven combos -- a taco, a baleada, and a soda, for example, for only $5. Pickled onions and jalapeños at your table complete the experience. A selection of fruit juices are offered at $2 each, Salvavida and Presidente beers cost $2.50, and domestic beers are $2.

This place is a kosher cornucopia overflowing with gourmet delights and Middle Eastern staples, from homemade hummus and tahini to halvah and mushroom-stuffed Turkish bureka pastries. The five-aisle market is probably the only place in Miami where you will find five different kinds of frozen Yemeni malawah or six brands of gefilte fish. There's an impressive produce section and a butcher counter with plenty of glatt kosher meats. There is a prepared foods counter filled with mouthwatering pastas, seafood salads, pâté meatballs, chicken cutlets, vegetable dishes, and stuffed grape leaves. Kosher empanadas? Check. Kosher sushi? Check. Olives and pickles? There's a whole serve-yourself bar of them next to the mountains of nuts and candied fruits toward the front of the store. Oh, and Sarah's boasts a solid wine selection with plenty of -- what else? -- Manischewitz.

The following is one of a series of recorded sessions between noted health advisor Dr. Alan Greenberg (a.k.a. Mr. Smartyplants) and his patient, Mrs. Penny Howard of Aventura.

PH: If Whole Foods Market sells whole foods, does that mean other supermarket chains sell quarter, half, two-thirds, or five-sixths foods?
Mr. S: Yes.
PH: How can that be?
Mr. S: The extra percentages come via nutritional benefits invisibly contained within Whole Foods' products.
PH: If they are invisible, how do we know they are there?
Mr. S: Perhaps you will feel an increase in energy and stamina. Maybe you will notice an extra hop in your step. Or maybe not. It doesn't matter, because, as I believe Dr. Freud once said, "Sometimes an organic banana is just an organic banana."
PH: Meaning?
Mr. S: Whole Foods' whole foods are good for you whether you know it or not.
PH: I'm not a health-nut per se -- I mean I want the stuff to taste good. Are the fruits and vegetables riper and juicier at Whole Foods? Are the selection and quality of prepared foods, baked goods, meats, seafood, coffees, cheeses, nuts, wines, and chocolates better than those I might find at the market at which I usually shop?
Mr. S: Yes and yes. As the old Yiddish proverb goes, "If you board the wrong train, it will do you no good to run through the cars in the opposite direction."
PH: Meaning?
Mr. S: I'm sorry. Our time is up.

On a scale from one to ten, the décor at Raja's hovers somewhere around zero, meaning nothing -- but it's very, very clean. Nonetheless this hole-in-the-wall is a tiny treasure well worth preserving. Yet considering the now-you-see-them-now-you-don't pace at which downtown development is obliterating low-rent operations, one cannot help but worry about Raja's. And it's not just because the mom-and-pop luncheonette is unique, or because the Kandaswamy family, who hail from Tiruchchirapalli, south of Madras, run the county's only South Indian restaurant. But to find a better version of this fare anywhere south of Manhattan's Little India would be more difficult than trying to pronounce the owners' hometown. Although the steam-table curries provide fine instant gratification, the must-not-miss items are the $4.35 dosai (light, lacy, thin rice/dhal-batter crpes wrapped around buttery spiced potato filling); slightly thicker fried uttapam pancakes ($6.99), crisp-edged but springy in the middle and topped with chilies or onions; and fat steamed idli patties ($5.50) ideal for dipping in Raja's sweet chutneys and salty sambars. A glass of excellent mango lassi ($2.50) will make the twenty-minute wait for these custom-crafted snacks pass painlessly.