This Hialeah-Miami Lakes hole-in-the-wall is hard to find but well worth the mission if only to try the enchiladas poblanas, which include exotic, spicy mole slathered onto three corn tortillas stuffed with chicken and crowned with Mexican cheese ($12.99). Vegetarians can substitute spinach for the chicken and top the whole thing off with sliced avocados. If there were a category for best quesadillas, the undisputed king would be Los Magueyes' quesadilla Michoacan ($7.95): a pan-seared flour tortilla stuffed with sautéed peppers, onions, and mushrooms swimming in a bubbling pool of jack and mozzarella cheeses. Hello, (gastronomical) orgasm.

In the chain-restaurant-friendly, culinarily shy zone that is Kendall, there's a party going on near the parking lot of a Publix. Inside a nondescript, squat building, guitar music wafts, political debates sound in Kreyol, and the clink of silverware delving into platters of rich goat and fish stews fills the air. It's the area's only Haitian restaurant and a community hub, a ten-seater family joint where patrons usually know each other by name and have no qualms about entering the kitchen to greet staff or obtain extra sauce. The homemade dishes that make the rounds courtesy of owner Carine Baez, her husband, and sons: fresh lambí en sauce, conch stewed until soft and melded with spicy peppers, onions, and tomato; riz et pois, savory rice and beans cooked with diri ak djon-djon, imported Caribbean black mushrooms; and street food platters with neat arrangements of fried goat, pork chunks, and malanga fritters waiting to be dipped into searingly spicy sauces. Outside, it's strip-mall hell. But if you stay long enough in Le Lambí's warm embrace, you almost forget it.

No one has to tell Middle East Best's owner, Aziz Ali, that he makes the top pita bread in the region. He already knows. Actually, he'll tell anyone who's willing to listen that he makes the best pita in the whole damn nation. And if no one thinks to ask, it doesn't matter. He has signs hanging behind the register and near the front door announcing his claim. Ali won't tell his secrets, but we know he makes the dough by hand and bakes it on the premises. He claims to sell about 250 big-as-your-head pitas on an average day. So stop in and hand the man $2 for a bag of five pouches of joy and let him know your opinion. If you pick up a tub of Ali's hummus too, consider this your warning: You might not surface for days.

Real Japanese food aficionados stuck in the United States live for the moment they find a local restaurant so good and so authentic that they can just hand the menu back to their server and exclaim, "Let the chef bring me whatever he'd like." Maido is that kind of place, except for one little detail: The extensive specials are written on marker boards so there's no need to do the paper swap. Bonus: Each time you dine here, the experience is entirely unique. Make a habit of surrendering to the chef/owners at Maido and you won't be let down, especially if words such as fermented, bitter, paste, roe, and pickled aren't offensive. Even the timid can find pleasure in items as basic as deep-fried rice cakes, while the entirely adventuresome may go hog wild for squid sashimi, silverfish tempura, and chicken gizzards with yuzu. Maido isn't big on atmosphere, but it more than makes up for it in flavor.

Just off Miami Gardens Drive, inside a generic shopping center anchored by a Publix, you will find a golden opportunity to savor deliciously prepared Nicaraguan cuisine. A typical fritanga, La Hormiga de Oro offers cantina-style Nica dishes at moderate prices for dining in or taking out. Six dollars and 50 cents brings charbroiled steak and a choice of three sides that include gallo pinto (rice and beans), grilled corn on the cob, fried sweet plantains, tostones, fried yuca, fried cheese, and tortillas. Wash it down with a $3 glass of Nica fruit juice such as maracuya, cacao, or cebada. Folks looking for a twist on traditional breakfast fare can choose dishes such as huevos rancheros with white cheese, gallo pinto, and tortilla; or scrambled eggs with Spanish sausage, fried cheese, gallo pinto, and fried green plantains. Cost: $4.50 each. Family dinners are also available for $24 and $45. La Hormiga opens at 8 a.m. six days a week and 7 a.m. Saturdays, and closes at 10 p.m. daily.

It's true that if you're not familiar with this place, you might miss it. It's also true that you are the last priority for the servers — you will wait for drinks, napkins, and food. Oh, and the parking sucks. But as soon as you set eyes on the flying-saucer-size pan de bonos, all of those details fade away. You'll be tempted to fill up on said pan de bonos or Rincón's perfectly crisp meat and potato empanadas, but resist at all costs. If you fall to temptation, your stomach will never have room to experience Rincón Antioqueño's Holy Grail — the bandeja paisa — a platter of steak or ground beef, fried bananas, fried pork belly, and a fried egg presented on a mound of white rice and served with an endless bowl of red beans. Your heart, your waistline, and your doctor might curse you — but your belly will thank you.

It can be difficult deciding what to do if you find yourself on Hammocks Boulevard in West Kendall. What, you didn't know there was anything to do out there? It's home to Kendall Ice Arena, the funniest place to watch people bust their asses while wearing down-feather parkas in the middle of July. It's also home to a giant restaurant designed to look like an old house, where patrons perform vallenatos at weekly karaoke, and politicians such as Joe Garcia attempt to woo West Dade's Colombian community. But even better, you don't have to choose between watching hilarious ice sports and singing your heart out on a huge stage beneath a replica colonial window balcony. Casa Vieja's back wall is made of glass and overlooks the skating rink. So cozy up in a booth, order a platter of churrasco asado ($16.99) with some tostones and rice, and try to distract hockey players by dangling juicy meat behind the goal post. We told you the Hammocks are fun.

Brazil, in almost every conceivable way, is the opposite of little. The largest country in South America has an exploding economy and an oversize world presence set to get bigger with the World Cup and the Olympics heading there in the next few years. The excellent Brasileño cuisine at Miami's Little Brazil restaurant isn't exactly minuscule either. The kitchen pumps out heaping plates of authentic specialties, including picanha, thinly sliced steak topped with slivers of roasted garlic and farofa, a vinegary salad; camarao com Catupiry, jumbo baked shrimp stuffed with Catupiry, a creamy cheese beloved in the land of samba; even a crazy steak Cavalo, a thick strip topped with fried eggs. On the weekends, stop by to try Brazil's national dish done right: Little Brazil's feijoada — a stew of black beans, beef, bacon, pork, and ribs — is rich, decadent, and unctuous. The only thing little about the place is its cozy space, whose walls hold rows of plates painted with scenes from around Brazil. It's the perfect spot for a big night of Brazilian.

Argentines are known for their arrogance and red meat. At Patagonia, you get plenty of the latter without much of the former. Miami has a glut of Argentine meat factories/steak houses, and most are pricey. But this place in Coral Gables seems to dispense with presentation in favor of substance. Sure, there's no waiter service — you order at the counter — and there's little similarity between this eatery and other Gables fine-dining restaurants, but we view that as a positive. Patagonia has street cred to go along with its sidewalk seating and an enviable mastery of the famous gaucho parrilla (Argentine barbecue). A wide variety of meat cuts are available for dine-in or take-home, including entraña (skirt), vacio (flank), and bife de chorizo (sirloin). And don't forget the chorizo (sausage). Additionally, the shop boasts an extensive wine selection and a long pastry counter featuring masas finas, facturas, and other baked goods. Looking for a quick bite before you take in a show at the nearby Actors' Playhouse? Then order an empanada and sandwich de miga.

Benevolent dictator. Cheap Lamborghini. Hilarious Pauly Shore film. Some adjectives simply don't belong next to some nouns. The combination jars the eyes and sets the brain aflame: Something is wrong here! In Miami, the proximity of organic to Latin American cuisine has exactly that effect on far too many diners inured for years to greasy arepas and questionably sourced ropa vieja. Those diners have never been to Bernie's L.A. Café, a tiny, hiply appointed eatery with 30 seats and a countertop in an Alton Road storefront. Chef Bernie Matz — known for his stint at the Café at Books & Books — marries Miami's sultry mix of Latin American cuisines with the freshest organic ingredients. And guess what? It's delicious. From a traditional picadillo made with 100 percent hormone-free sirloin to similarly sourced fricase de pollo (half a tender chicken in spicy tomato-creole sauce) to a mouthwatering fish pan-fried in a simple coconut sauce, Bernie's never sacrifices taste for organic cachet. Say it with us: organic Latin American cuisine. At Bernie's, that's no oxymoron.