It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and Brickell's high-rises loomed on the hazy horizon beyond the nearby Miami River. Quaint fishing boats bobbed on the water's rippling surface, and rays of sunlight glimmered upon the soft waves.
But a few steps from these quiet waters, dozens of shoppers elbowed each other to get to a fishmonger. They huddled about glass display cases and pointed at icy piles of whole mackerel, mutton snapper, yellowtail, and red grouper. Questions like "What else do we need for the asopao?" were audible above the humming chatter of Spanglish. The setting was loud, and it reeked of the sea.