Eat & Drink

It’s been a long journey pushing westward in the brutal traffic. But here you are at the roadside oasis called Rancho los Cocos. This glorified country produce stand used to be really way out west but is now in scenic Westchester. Wooden tables piled with locally grown fruits and vegetables are lined up under a wide roof, which also shades a cluster of little tables and chairs. Here the weary commuter can enjoy Cuban home cooking chosen from an indoor minicafeteria. Or try a shrimp, beef, or chicken shish kebab grilled to order outside. Then there’s the wonderful los Cocos juice bar offering a full complement of fresh juices and batidos. When you’re finished eating, browse through the produce and bring home a bag or two of whatever’s in season.

Judging by the nightly crowd of people milling about outside Ragazzi, sipping wine and chatting away while waiting for a table, it appears most of you don’t need us to tell you how good this petite 52-seat trattoria really is. Seems you’ve heard about the homemade bread; delicious risottos and pastas; freshly prepared Italian seafood, chicken, and veal dishes accompanied by brightly cooked greens; and the perfectly poached pears for dessert. In which case it’s probably unnecessary to remind you just how hospitable the cozy room is, or how popular the prices. Where else can you get salmon carpaccio drizzled with truffle oil over a bed of mixed greens for $7.95? Cafe Ragazzi is the best, and you know it. Honorable mention and a tip of the capellini to Tiramesu for their great homemade pastas.

Mexico and Miami have much in common. Both have plenty of corruption and new construction. Both are working hard to join the industrialized world. Unlike the land of the big piñata, however, the Magic City has a sorely underdeveloped taco sector. But authentic taco entrepreneurs from Puebla and other Mexican towns are popping up where you’d least expect them. This little restaurant and take-out window in a dusty warehouse district is the leader of this fledgling industry. It’s where you’ll find the genuine item. At $1.50 per unit, the cost-benefit ratio is excellent. Each taco is constructed with two soft tortillas, instead of one. The marinated pieces of grilled sirloin are gilded with chopped onions and cilantro. Apply red or green hot sauce as needed. Consume other varieties: pork chunks cooked in a dry pepper sauce (al pastor), chorizo, or shredded chicken, all cooked with Mexican herbs. For an extra 50 cents you can receive the top-of-the-line tacos: beef tongue, tripe, jerky beef, or goat meat with avocado leaves. Viva el capitalismo!

This self-labeled “Mediterranean” restaurant, more Lebanese than anything else, was chef-owner Ali Husseini’s second attempt to crack the dining code in Miami. His first, an eatery of the same name on South Beach, gave way to this particularly welcoming oasis on Biscayne Boulevard. Unfortunately Al Amir II eventually also bowed out, exiting in an understated manner a few months ago: One day it was there, the next day it was Ponte Vecchio, an Italian restaurant (because Miami really needed another pasta palace). Al Amir’s extinction makes it that much harder to find tangy labneh, a yogurt dip; or fried kibbeh (ground beef and wheat balls), or chicken breast stuffed with coriander and sautéed in butter. But we’re Miamians. If there’s anything we know how to do, it’s wait for what we want. So when (we will not say if) Husseini comes back with round three, we’ll be ready.

“Moshi moshi!” bellows a voice as you cross the threshold of this oddly decorated Japanese restaurant. That’s manager Annop Lasongyang, a.k.a. Nick, greeting you. Often he throws in a “meow, meow!” for good measure. Moshi moshi means hello in Japanese. “Meow, meow?” Well, that’s the sound a cat makes. And if anyone knows about great fish, it’s finicky cats. Formerly known as Sushi Yama, two-and-a-half-year-old Moshi Moshi, an outpost of the Boca Raton-based sushi house, changed its name a while ago to avoid confusion with a certain similarly named restaurant down the street. The décor mutated a bit, too. Big blue beach umbrellas, a disco ball, and myriad rubber sea creatures and origami birds hanging from the ceiling have been added to the sedate blond-wood room. The thumping disco music, big televisions, and rubber lizards guarding the top of the sushi bar remain, though, as does the friendly service and consistently fresh fish. On the menu: a mouthwatering array of ordinary sushi à la carte, everyday rolls (spicy tuna, smoked salmon), exotic special rolls (e.g., salmon, tuna, yellowtail, avocado, and scallions wrapped in buckwheat noodle), and even what they call super rolls (e.g., chicken katsu, lettuce, avocado, cucumber, and mayo), always expertly prepared and temptingly tasty. Leaves little question that Moshi Moshi is the cat’s meow.

You’d think more restaurants in this food capital of the Caribbean would know how to fry a green plantain. Yet all too often, even otherwise outstanding Cuban (or Puerto Rican, or Dominican, et cetera) restaurants produce indifferent patacones. They’re always too big, too thickly sliced, not ripe enough. And they’re never hot; you find yourself staring at a flavorless, lukewarm pile of plantain pucks. The ones at Laguna always come out sizzling and are made from plaintains just ripe enough to leave the insides tender without crossing the line into plátanos maduros. This bustling, low-priced lunch spot has plenty else to recommend it, but its tostones are without peer. Ask for una tasita de mojo al lado. Mmmm.

“He must not be allowed to win this award again next year,” is what we said last year, after Mr. Van Aken won this category for the third time in a row. But how could he not? Consultant stints may have spread Norman’s name thinner of late, but his body and soul never left this Gables institution, the only place to sample the real deal. Norman has a knack for seamlessly blending seemingly outrageous New World ingredients into his dishes — whether that be truffle ice, sherry foam, pomegranate-ancho drizzle, or wasabi-coconut sabayon — while remaining true in spirit to Escoffier’s classic Old World cooking. Same can be said for the overall dining experience here: contemporary, classic, and refreshing in every way possible. Here’s a new pledge. Next year we might be changing the wording to “Best Restaurant in Coral Gables Besides Norman’s,” which, in itself, will be recognition of just how excellent this place really is.

Fast approaching its tenth year on Miami Beach, Dab Haus remains one of the finest German restaurants in South Florida. And let’s remember, when you are talking German food, it’s all about the schnitzel. The chefs over at the Dab Haus give great care and attention to each piece of schnitzel that passes through their kitchen. The chicken or veal is always moist and tender, and the crisp seasoned coating gives it the perfect combination of taste and texture. Add a large helping of mashed potatoes and wash it all down with one of Dab Haus’s remarkable beers (our favorite: the Bitburger-Pils Light) and you have the making of not only a hearty meal, but a great evening.

Laurenzo’s is a throwback to the days before hordes of swarming yuppies nationalized the word gourmet by blurring its definition to include a deluded sense of sophistication that’s based on a so-so go-go stock market, vast washes of German cars, and upscale grocery shelves crammed with pricey and semiprecious eatable oddities. Instead Laurenzo’s is a no-nonsense mom-and-pop Italian market that caters to cooks and diners who want to buy fresh and interesting ingredients that can provide robust yet subtle meals. In addition to the wares of Laurenzo’s first-class butcher, baker, and fishmonger, you can buy homemade, tricolor tubetti pasta or the fresh mozzarella that employee Ralph Perrota has been conjuring in plain sight on the premises for the past twenty years. If you are intent on grandly spreading around the big bucks, well, yeah, they’ve got them small bottles of Extra Old Modena balsamic vinegar for $169. But we recommend blowing your wad on the battarga, a traditional dried fish roe product that goes for a hundred bucks a pound, and tastes great when grated on nearly naked pasta.

The curative properties of honey are legion; this sweet, dark elixir is not only heavenly to taste but may very well be the healthiest honey for miles around. Ray Chasser founded a farm in Little River 22 years ago and called it The Earth ‘n Us. Today Chasser is still farming, right in the middle of the city. For twenty years he’s been selling raw honey from his own beehives. Just within the past year, though, the bees have come under attack from mites and beetles, insects accompanying the feared Africanized bees, who have begun to invade South Florida. Chasser says he’s been able to control the mites, but the beetles are destroying his non-Africanized bees, who don’t realize the beetles are predators. The only way to kill the beetles, according to Chasser, is to use a highly toxic insecticide that inevitably gets into the honey. He won’t touch it, and contends he’s the only beekeeper in the region who doesn’t. “So I’ve gone from 50 hives to 20 hives in eight months,” Chasser laments. “But I’ve been watching, and the bees are beginning to recognize the beetles as their enemies. I saw a beetle fall into a hive, and the bees killed it. They’re going to start fighting [the beetles] off.” Even before this crisis, honey wasn’t profitable for Chasser; he keeps bees because he’s fascinated by the industrious creatures. He just raised the price for a quart of honey from six to seven dollars — still a very sweet price.

So what if the 99-cent special at this Caribbean-style eatery was slashed from the menu early this year? The same simple meal — two eggs any style, toast, and a portion of butter-saturated grits larger than anyone should ever eat — has become the $1.99 breakfast. It is still the best deal in town for anyone looking for a no-frills stomach-stuffer and a slice of real Little Haiti life. Often Johnny himself does the cooking. Along with your food, the proprietor, a Miami native, can serve up some pretty spicy Liberty City lore, when he’s in the mood and not too occupied. Still too steep a price? Try the $1.49 special — two eggs on a buttered roll with a cup of coffee — and listen to the city west of Biscayne talk.

One could argue the only food the average diner in this eclectic pan-Asian place can afford is appetizers. But regulars (if there are such people) know executive chef Rob Boone has a wanton way with won tons, particularly when he stuffs them with squab. He also raises braised pork buns to heights as lofty as the ceiling and coats spareribs with a simple yet effective mixture of soy sauce, garlic, and palm sugar. Rock shrimp tempura served over tiny Asian lettuces is a delicate lesson in miniatures; you also can open a meal here by indulging in quail and bok choy yakitori, or a tiger shrimp hand roll with Asian chilies. Because yakitori, hand rolls, sushi, and sashimi are all sold by the item, the bill can add up fast, but if you’re just looking to graze like the models that frequent this high-profile eatery, you’re in the right place.

This 24-hour eatery offers a full menu of sandwiches and seafood (fried and otherwise), and the chicken is without peer. The crunchy, peppery batter on the wings and drumsticks keeps the meat inside perfectly tender. As the menu says: “Puts the Colonel to shame…. Is cooked to order. Please allow eight minutes for wings, thirteen minutes for drumsticks.” When your plate of steaming poultry arrives with a side of batter-dipped fries, you’ll know it was worth the wait. On a menu full of combos named in honor of local high schools, the best lunch value is the “Booker T. Washington Lucky 2 Special”: two wings, two drums, “two wonderful onion rings,” and two vegetables — choices include fries, mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas, collards, and macaroni and cheese. (Any place that considers macaroni and cheese a vegetable is okay with us.) Wash it all down with a “flop” (half lemonade, half iced tea), and taste why Jumbo’s has been a fixture in the Northwest since 1955.

Tender pork chops smothered in gravy with black-eyed peas and rice. Oxtail stew done so tender the meat falls from the bone. Plus steamed catfish, collard greens, okra, and tomatoes. The cooking in this spacious and clean restaurant is so homey you would swear your Aunt Jess was down from ‘Bama hiding in the kitchen. If you don’t have an Aunt Jess, someone who knows her way around the garden and the stove, then Arline and Schoolie are fine proxies. A reminder: Just like at home, this is no place for late-night dining. It’s open Tuesday to Thursday from 6:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m., Friday from 6:30 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., and Saturday and Sunday from 6:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.

After a hard day at work, you may not feel like sitting in a restaurant. And you certainly don’t want to cook. All you want to do is go home, kick off your shoes, and enjoy a little mu shu pork. Or maybe you’re in the mood for a little Peking delight or an order of salt-and-pepper flounder, or a simple serving of chicken chow mein. No matter what you’re looking for, Yeung’s is ready to please. Their slogan tells it all: “We know how Chinese food should be.” Call ahead and your order will be waiting when you arrive. Their cooks are fast, they are talented, and they rarely disappoint.

Miami is a vicious city for vindaloo. A sorry excuse for saag. A bust for biryani. In fact only a handful of Indian eateries offer these traditional specialties in the Magic City, and fewer do them well. Enter Anokha, where a tender touch with tandoori takes Indian fare to the top of its game. This elegant little mom-and-pop place not only plows over the competition, it raises the bar on ethnic fine dining in general. Main courses are served in minichafing dishes to keep them warm. The complimentary chutney, served with rice chips rather than pappadam, is replenished throughout the meal. And the staff here doesn’t condescend. Spiciness is adjusted to the customer’s palate, and believe us, Anokha will take you at your word. So if you want your curry hot, you better order a sweet lassi or a Kingfisher to wash it down. Terrific Indian fare is plentiful, but sympathy for the stodgy American palate definitely is at a premium.

This quaint Peruvian restaurant serves up ceviche for the soul, and it’s soaked in just the right amount of lemon juice. Be prepared to reach altiplano heights (even though it’s seafood) with their ceviche mixto, a combination of tender pink shrimp, fresh fish, succulent octopus, and savory squid that rests on a bed of romaine lettuce leaves. Or have the marinated morsels individually. Either way all versions arrive on the table topped with a thick red onion ring, sprinkles of cancha (big chunks of dried, toasted corn), and with choclo (corn on the cob) to one side and sweet potato on the other.

Being hip requires a lot of time and energy, so trendsetters on South Beach are always looking for ways to cut back on frivolous exercises such as food-shopping and miscellaneous cooking. That’s why Epicure is so popular. It’s chic. It’s fabulous. And it’s fast. You can even call up their gourmet phone line and hear the specials they are serving that very day. Fresh-baked salmon, prime chuck, roasted leg of lamb, prime beef brisket, and an assortment of salads (the Waldorf is divine), are just a few of the offerings seen during one recent visit to the store. They also have a complete line of pastas and a frozen-food section that will leave you just a few microwaveable seconds from bliss.

Good baho is hard to get these days, if you can find it at all. One reason is that it takes about eight hours to cook the complicated dish. What the heck is it? Essentially beef brisket, mysteriously soaked in a marinade of tomatoes, onions, and oranges, then wrapped in banana leaves, tossed into a big pot with yucca and plantains, and steamed until very tender. Fritanga Monimbo offers it only on Saturdays ($4.75 per serving) and odds are it will be gone well before sundown. So call ahead and reserve yours if you don’t want to miss out. But rest assured people line up for other savory offerings at this cafeteria-style hole-in-the-wall crammed with four vinyl-topped booths. To wit: nacatamales (Nicaraguan tamales with rice, potatoes, and pork tucked inside the cornmeal outer layer), shredded beef, chicken with vegetables (all for $3.90). For side dishes try the cuajada (a tasty kind of cottage cheese) alongside some sweet plantains and red beans topped with sour cream. An array of natural tropical fruit juices completes the picture. A place like Madroño Restaurant on West Flagler provides delicious food in a more elegant dining atmosphere, but its menu omits the coveted baho.

Fresh fish from Spain is mainly what you gain at this urbane Gables seafood spot. One is the dorada itself (sea bream), which, along with sea bass and Dover sole, comes crusted in sea salt and is cracked tableside. That’s the most popular dish, and an authentic Spanish specialty, but most of the menu is made up of such rarities. Others include fresh anchovies, baby eels, hake steak, urta, and fried baby whitefish (chanquetes), their unique flavors allowed to shine through simple and impeccable preparations. More familiar fare, like snapper, grouper, and monkfish, also are flawlessly flavorful, and the professional, well-trained waitstaff will artfully filet the fish in front of you. The décor is nautical, the wine list serious, the piano music live — La Dorada knows how to run a first-class Spanish restaurant, one you can enjoy not only in the Gables, but also in Madrid, Seville, and Casablanca, which have Doradas of their own. Guess it’s true: Practice makes perfect. You should probably be aware, though, that the price for a slice of seafood this nice is twice what you’d pay for a slice not as nice.

The ancient parable goes as follows: Members of the tribe wandered lost in the wilderness of South Miami-Dade. All of a sudden a voice from on high spoke as if like thunder. “You must build a restaurant, serve the food of your people there, and make it extra tasty!” the voice commanded. Actually that’s probably not how Lots of Lox began at all, but the result is just the same. It’s all here: chopped liver, potato pancakes, blintzes, herring, knishes, and pastrami. Sandwiches carry names like Schlemiel, which consists of turkey, salami, Swiss, and Thousand Island dressing; or the East Side, with roast beef, tomato, onion, and chopped liver. Open seven days a week from 7:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Lots of Lox covers all the bases. One can order whitefish and cream cheese on a bagel in the morning, matzo ball soup for lunch, and a nice brisket for an early dinner. If only the miracle of food this good appeared more often.

“We don’t joke; we jerk,” boast the folks at Jerk Machine, which serves jerk chicken, jerk pork, jerk fish, jerk stew peas, jerk shrimp, and jerk crab at seven locations in South Florida. The chain originated in Jamaica where in days gone by the maroons, escaped slaves who established independent communities in the hills, built up their courage by eating mouth-scorching spices. The meat is marinated in Jerk Machine’s secret and spicy sauce, then grilled. Hard-core fanatics douse the finished meat with more sauce. For those with more timid palates, Jerk Machine also serves milder curries, ackee and saltfish (cod), mackerel, and callaloo, the Jamaican spinach. But if you are looking for even more kick to your meal, try the rum-soaked fruitcake or a bottle of ginger beer. If you want a fancy ambiance, order take-out, because the décor is strictly fast-food. All the effort here goes into the jerk.

It would be hard to beat La Palma’s take on the torreja: It serves the homemade slices of Cuban-style French toast smothered in honey and maple syrup with a hint of anise. A simple dessert with versions of it going back so far the original is untraceable, La Palma even makes torrejas by the dozens for parties. It’s light enough that it won’t make you feel guilty, but sweet enough that you’ll want to indulge, and keep on indulging.

Nature clashes with urbanization underneath this tiki hut on Virginia Key. A duck could saunter up to the table begging for scraps. Dogs, along with their masters, can sit for a meal. Seagulls float over the green mangroves that line the tranquil lagoon’s clear water. Clouds float in the blue sky above downtown’s skyline. The fiery orange-purple glow of a sunset seeps through the tall racks that stow powerboats. It’s a reminder of one reason why we choose to live in Miami: the call of the wild coupled with the slick metropolis all in a tropical setting. Oh, and the fish sandwiches and draft beer aren’t bad either.

This isn’t the kind of bar where you can order vodka, Scotch, or beer. But you’ve got your choices all the same — sesame, poppy, onion…. The bagels here are just what the New Yawker yaks about: crusty exterior, chewy interior. Buy ’em by the bag or take a seat at one of the tables, or best yet, the counter. Then you can have a bagel platter, accompanying that garlic bagel with a schmear of cream cheese and a little Novie. Then spread out the latest New Times, refill your coffee cup, and peruse to your pleasure while you munch. Just be prepared to wait in line for your Sunday-morning fix. At Bagel Bar East, the line is always west of the front door.

Bored with the Starbucks buzz? Can’t do the Dew? Then check out the Bawls, if you’ve got any. This locally born soft drink combines the fizz of pop with the pep of the guarana berry, an Amazonian plant that exudes a natural substance similar to caffeine (but two and a half times stronger). The nonalcoholic beverage debuted in Miami in 1997, and has since been placed in major market chains like Publix. Not bad for the slightly sweet, slightly spicy little drink that could. The Indians in the Amazonian rain forest use guarana to increase “performance,” by the way. Viagra, move over. The men in town finally have Bawls.

It’s their hand-rolled pasta specials, such as amaretto and pumpkin ravioli with white-truffle cream sauce, and pappardelle with buffalo-meat ragout. Or those rich risottos ingrained with ingredients ranging from broccoli rabe and foie gras to langoustines and porcinis. Could be the thick, juicy veal chops stuffed with fontina cheese and smothered in truffle demi-glace, or the homemade desserts like a distinctly superior tiramisu. Okay, it’s many dishes that make Escopazzo deliciously Italian. Entrées can push past the $30 mark, categorizing the place as expensive. But it’s the romantic piazza-style dining room with gurgling fountain, extensive wine cellar, stellar service, and ebullient host and owner Pino Bodoni seeing to it that everything is just right, which make this expanded, 70-seat trattoria the very best. Honorable mentions go to Osteria del Teatro and Bice.

If you weren’t already nominally sure that the ol’ mattress was the likeliest place to conduct heart-to-hearts, this uniquely decadent restaurant and nightclub just might convince you. In fact it’s pretty darn difficult not to go up-front and personal with your dining partner here, given that your table is a modified version of a latter-day sheik’s bed. All that’s missing, really, is the harem (and depending on the guest list for the evening, sometimes even those appear to be a possibility). Verbal communication, not to mention body language, gets even more confidential when fueled by a bottle of champagne or two. But a word of warning: Beds are built on platforms here, and aren’t exactly private. So unless exhibitionism is your definition of intimacy, a hands-off policy might be just the ticket when that sparkling conversation tends to bubble over.

Recipe for a perfect lunch: Head over to Scotty’s Landing, preferably by boat. Sit at a humble plastic table shaded from the sun by a canopy of green-burlap umbrellas. Drink deeply an ice-cold beer (or, if you’re working, an ice-cold tea). Order the dolphin sandwich, blackened, with a caesar salad side. Watch the boats chug past the outdoor patio. Check out the politicians and lobbyists ducking in from nearby Miami City Hall. When your simple meal arrives, slather the substantial slice of fish in tartar sauce. Enjoy every tender, juicy, flavorful bite. When you are finished, tip generously. For best results repeat often.

That bowl of curly fried noodles on the table at every conventional Chinese restaurant doesn’t exist here. The soup at Macau is too good to desecrate. Not going to find duck sauce or that vile hot mustard, either. No, siree. Macau is not hoity-toity. Clean, nondescript, friendly, unpretentious. Granted lunch deals that consist of ordinary yet tasty items such as pork fried rice, egg rolls, and egg drop soup are available. But when owner/chef May Yuen gets cranking in the kitchen and begins whipping up specialties, this restaurant transcends far beyond the mediocre chow mein purveyors. Take the salty pepper scallops: Succulent mollusks are lightly breaded, fried, and served on a bed of crisp flash-fried seaweed and piquant green chilies. Delicately steamed sea bass with ginger and scallions dissolves in your mouth like a substantial, slightly spiced Communion wafer. Tender snow pea tips lightly sautéed with garlic make you forget that dark-green leafy vegetables are good for you. Steamed white rice is so tasty it could be eaten alone. Running through the dining room: that’s May’s little son, Mackenzie. Running back to this restaurant over and over again: that’s you.

This has always been the perfect riverfront location. The view, the feel, are so fine, so Miami: You’re practically sitting in the Miami River, but as you lean back and sip your wine, your gaze drifts up to the drawbridges creaking apart to let pass all manner of funky cargo ships. Bright neon lights on the Metrorail tracks point the way through the downtown skyline. Somehow even in the dankest summer heat, Big Fish is just a little cooler and breezier. Or maybe it only seems that way, because you’re focused on the pleasures of place and time. Big Fish recently changed hands and its new owners have made it more riverside-friendly, with new decks and roof, and a better view from the indoor dining room. The menu has become more Italian, and the house specialty, tagliatelle Big Fish, receives constant raves. The zuppa di pesce and generous fried calamari appetizer also are favorites.

As all the best Cuban cafeterías do, Oasis has plenty of counter. Most patrons simply go to the window and order. They usually ask for the café con leche. Creamy and not sickeningly sweet, Oasis puts out a concoction that restores balance to even the most addled brain. For 32 years Oasis has served café con leche out of a little store near the entrance to Key Biscayne. That’s more than three decades of liquid well-being. Of course once your equilibrium is re-established, it’s hard not to notice the place also offers hearty lunches and tasty desserts.

The lighting is dim. The doorways are hung with flowing white linen. The banquettes are squishy-cushy. And the tiger skin on the wall makes you long to take it down and lay it before a fireplace. What this adds up to is sex — we mean, romance — of the South Beach kind: decadent, seductive, and plentiful. Executive chef-proprietor Michelle Bernstein’s classically innovative cuisine only enhances the mood provided by the décor. After all, it’s pretty hard to engage in anything other than sex — oops, did it again, romance — when noshing on parfait of tuna tartare layered with caviar, or whole boneless squab stuffed with duck breast and duck pâté and sliced over figs. In other words the fare also is designed to stimulate your appetite for sex — darn it, romance. Who wants to argue with that?

Don’t be fooled by the menu, which reads “Autentica Comida China.” At this Chino-Cubano joint, only the cook is 100 percent Chinese. Even the statuette of Buddha that sits on a counter is guarded by Our Lady of Charity on one side and San Lazaro on the other. Here the won ton soup is better known as sopa de mariposa, the fried rice is called arroz frito, and the beef with bok choy is really just carne de res con acelga china to most of the Cuban clientele. The house specialty isn’t Peking duck but palomilla steak with a side of papitas fritas, and pork chops plus arroz and maduros. For the best of both worlds, try the char sue ding: steamed meat chunks with almonds and fresh vegetables.

First, the history. Renaissance Bakery, which has scored a bunch of awards from us in the past several years for its outstanding sourdough, olive, and sesame-semolina loaves, was founded by Ron Funt. Now, the present. Funt, along with brother Paul, decided to put Renaissance bread to even better use than selling it out of the back of the bakery and transporting wholesale orders to local restaurants and markets. They opened Upper Crust about a year ago, doing the chic décor — lots of chrome, glass, stone, and marble — themselves. So take the name literally. The appearance of this sandwich shop is literally a cut of bread above the rest, as is the Renaissance Bakery itself. The sandwiches are, too, giving a new meaning to portable lunch. Peanut butter and jelly, which is smoothed between two slices of raisin-currant-pecan bread, never had it so good. Now, there really is something better than sliced bread.

Chocolate’s reputation as a caffeine-crammed, cavity-causing, pimple-promoting, fat-inducing treat has finally turned to mud. In fact the rich creamy substance these days is being touted as an antioxidant that packs a feel-good punch. Scientists are still fine-tuning their theories about phenylethylamine and theobromine (the chemical ingredients that put chocolate consumption on the level of orgasm). So while they’re in the lab, you can conduct a little study of your own at Krön Chocolatier. This tiny shop, which spent seventeen years housed in Bal Harbour, has been sweetly ensconced on the second floor of the Aventura Mall for the past two. Chocolate-covered everything — popcorn, potato chips, Oreos, pretzels, apricots, orange slices, pineapple, strawberries — is made on the premises. You can mix and match a selection of creams and chews (dark, white, or light) or partake individually of pecan myrtles, rocky road bricks, oversize peanut-butter cups, and Nora’s tacos (chocolate shell stuffed with crunchy chocolate, M&Ms, and Rice Krispies). Taste one of Krön’s melt-in-your mouth, hand-cut, cocoa-dipped truffles and you’ll understand why some addicts claim chocolate is better than sex. The research may be overwhelming, but remember, you’re doing it in the name of science.

Doughnuts are sin. You cannot yield to the temptation of a low-fat or sugar-free doughnut. Such abominations are not doughnuts. Therefore, brothers and sisters, he who eats of the glazed, powdered, cream-filled, and all other manner of deep-fried dough, make damn sure it’s worth sinning for. Can I get a witness? When you’re out there hungering in the depths of your gut for a chocolate frosted, drive thou not into a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot, for that way leads to perdition. No, my children! Hold out for the worst sin! The very anti-halo! A still-warm glazed doughnut fresh from the Krispy Kreme kitchen! What is it, you may ask, that the Krispy Kreme people put in those doughnuts to render them so meltingly soft? So dangerously delicious? Oh, ye of little faith! Shut up and start sinning!

As the neon sign reads inside, everything in this bakery is made with “chispa Venezolana.” The bread comes to you fresh out of the oven in all shapes and sizes. The cakes are topped with fresh strawberries, kiwis, and peaches. The meat, chicken, and cheese empanadas go a long way. Be sure to wash down the dough-wrapped lunch-in-a-pocket with a Frescolita ( a cherry-flavor Venezuelan soda in a glass bottle). Have a bomba (a pastry stuffed with cooked condensed milk) for dessert, or a flaky mil ojas (1000 leaves) covered in powdered sugar. They even have something to cure the lethargy that comes from eating too much.

The mallification of the once-distinctive Road is now complete. Just like every other mall, it has: (1) a Williams-Sonoma, and (2) a food court. Though restaurants are strung along its length, the culinary heart of the Road is at the artificial grassy knoll where skaters and homeless folks rub shoulders with the world’s best-looking mall rats. What more could you want in generic upscale eatin’? There’s the Joffrey’s Coffee shop, the Thai/sushi place, the … other Thai/sushi place. Okay, okay, there’s no Cheesecake Factory, but there’s the Nexxt best thing. And for dessert you’ve got the packed-to-the gills Gelateria Parmalat. All within striking distance of real.life.basic. Coming soon, just down the street: Victoria’s Secret! Just like every other mall.

You may want to call us predictable, common, okay even cheesy, but as far as chain-restaurant food goes, the Cheesecake Factory stands alone. We’ve even heard that other restaurants like to pick Cheesecake items straight from the menu and serve the delicious dishes themselves. That’s the same menu that features page after page of tasty selections, like the sweet-corn tamale appetizer, Sheila’s favorite blackened chicken pasta (hot, hot, hot), or the Chinese chicken salad. Leave room after the gargantuan portions for a slice from one of the Factory’s 30-plus cheesecake selections. And leave some time to get your fill: You’ll probably have to wait up to a half-hour on evenings and weekends.

Take a look on the other side of the counter in either one of these locations, and what you see could very well be a picture from a local agricultural promo. The fruits and vegetables are so fresh and ripe they look as though they belong on a billboard rather than in a blender. That’s the way it’s been for 58 years at the original Athens on Collins Avenue (the second location opened in 1997). As far as smoothies go, forget about the elaborate menus with clever names you’ll find at other establishments. When ordering at Athens, simply rattle off whatever combination you want and it’s yours, all for the same price: about three bucks for a medium cup. How do they do it? While other smoothie places choose to go with some frozen material or use bottled juice, the folks at Athens get up early every morning and select their produce from a stable of local farmers or the farmers’ market in Homestead. But during September, take your thirst elsewhere; that’s the low season for most of the local produce, and rather than work with inferior merchandise, Athens just closes shop.

Unfurling waves of hot-shot eateries have recently been splashing into South Beach, but this is nothing new. Big-money ventures and top-drawer chefs have been dashing onto our shores for years now, only to crash on the rocks of financial reality and roll quietly back out again. One, Pacific Time, has ticked consistently along like a fine-tuned watch since stunning locals with what was then radical for these parts: pan-Asian food. That was back in 1993, when PT was the only place to go for fine dining on Lincoln Road. Now, with cafés cluttering every corner and cranny, many maintain it’s still the only place. Pacific Rim favorites like Szechuan grilled black grouper have been around from day one but the ever-evolving menu manages to keep surprising. Desserts, too, are legendary. Owner/chef Jonathan Eismann’s steady presence and talent have kept Time like a Rolex in a neighborhood of Swatches.

Colombian food is comfort food: sparingly seasoned meats, beans, rice, plantains, and of course, arepas. For Miami’s Colombian community, Los Arrieros provides an equally comforting atmosphere: walls adorned with quaint little balconcitos (models of Spanish-tile balconies), a life-size balcón for a stage, and a couple of jocular trovadores improvising verses from handwritten audience requests. The restaurant, which moved from its previous, more easterly location some two years ago, specializes in the cuisine of la zona cafetera, the mountainous coffee-growing region of central Colombia that includes the cities of Medellín and Manizales. (Arrieros are drovers who lead teams of coffee-bean-laden donkeys down from the fields.) The menu’s highlights include a savory sancocho, a clear soup loaded with gallina (hen), chunks of green plantain, potato, and yuca, seasoned liberally with fresh cilantro. (At $6.50 the large sancocho is a great value.) The bandeja paisa features a tender steak, a strip of delicately fried chicharrón (pork skin), a mountain of white rice, a steaming bowl of red beans, and a fried egg. Spoon on some deliciously bright chimichurri sauce for a little snap in your steak. Wash it all down with a Manzana Postobon soda, and immerse yourself in la experiencia total de la comida paisa.

It’s hard to believe a society capable of cloning sheep can’t produce a decent-tasting nonfat dessert. A fellow frozen-yogurt consumer once said, “It’s supposed to taste strange; it’s nonfat. It’s got all kinds of weird chemicals in it.” She then continued contentedly munching the junk, not unlike a cloned sheep. Well it tastes like crap, and I’m not going to eat it anymore! Fortunately science finally has come up with Yocream. This stuff is super rich, extra creamy, and (Seinfeld fans take note) fat free! One-half cup vanilla contains 100 calories and zero grams of fat, saturated fat, and cholesterol; one-half cup chocolate has 110 calories with .5 grams total fat (zero from saturated fat or cholesterol). And there’s not a trace of the artificial aftertaste common in other nonfat treats. Ingredients include active yogurt cultures, some natural items you’d find in a baker’s pantry, plus a few you might not, including the mysterious “sweetener” and “stabilizer,” plus cellulose and guar gum. You can find vanilla and chocolate Yocream at Banana Royale ice cream store in Aventura, News Café on South Beach, as well as in shakes and smoothies at Norman Brothers.

Tucked among the many unexpected treasures in Libreri Mapou are tall bottles of a mysterious ivory liquid. A love potion? A purifying bubble bath? Not exactly, though you could say Kremas Mapou has alchemic properties. Here in this venerable Little Haiti bookstore, the cultural and intellectual heart of Miami’s Haitian community, is owner Jan Mapou’s homemade contribution to the potable arts. Kremas Mapou is this thick, syrupy drink that doesn’t taste quite like anything else. A subtle pang of alcohol — “sugar cane rhum,” as noted on the label — heats up the rich vanilla-almond-cinnamon mixture just enough to turn it into a deep velvety dream of a cream. A 700-ml bottle costs $13; smaller quantities are correspondingly less, down to a cute little pocket size for $1.

Not just a sushi joint (though the sushi chefs heartily greet all patrons who enter), this bustling lunch-and-dinner spot in downtown Coral Gables offers daily specials — scribbled in kanji and English on blackboards that run the length of the east wall — depending on what’s fresh. A treasure on the regular menu is the spicy kimuchi ramen, a fiery interpretation of traditional noodle soup, a bright orange broth brimming with sliced pork, bean sprouts, and spicy kim chee. Other noodle dishes are uniformly excellent. The sushi is superb as well, and without the scourge of cutesy nicknames for different kinds of rolls that plagues so many other popular sushi bars. One indicator of the quality: At any given time, the restaurant seems to boast at least one party of Japanese businessmen who have sauntered across the street from the Omni Colonnade.

A family-owned market since 1964, Laurenzo’s offers a unique experience here in South Florida. “We’re a snapshot in time,” offers David Laurenzo, who runs the market along with his sister, Carol, and their father, Ben. “We’re like a piece of Little Italy back in the Fifties.” Everything in the store offers authentic Italian cuisine, from their homemade ravioli to the mozzarella, made fresh every morning. Their cousin Roberto, who still lives in the old country, also keeps the store stocked with items that can only be found in Italy. Laurenzo’s deli section is filled with marvelous treats for the tongue, such as the pepperoni-mozzarella bread and spinach pies. But it is perhaps one of the simpler delicacies that speaks volumes about Laurenzo’s. Their rice pudding is nothing short of heavenly. “Like your grandmother made,” David says. If only all our grandmothers cooked so well.

If sheer numbers alone could point out a great wine list, then Indigo easily takes top honors, with more than 700 vintages from which to quaff. But as with most things, when it comes to wine, quality is more important than quantity. Fortunately this restaurant, located in the lobby of the Inter-Continental, proves itself thrice over with wines that range from a 1995 Château Lascombes from France to a 1996 Ferrari-Carano Alexander Valley chardonnay from California to a 1997 Yalumba Botrytis Sémillon from Australia. The wine list highlights a “Southern Hemisphere Selection,” from which fans of Australian, New Zealand, and South African fermentations can consume to their palates’ content. The restaurant also offers bargains in the form of a featured “wine of the month” and prix-fixe wine luncheons, at which several courses are served and several complementary wines are poured. The latter usually take place in the wine room, a glass-walled area off to the side of the lobby, where serious grape discussions often ensue. Given the eatery’s dedication to wine, perhaps the name would have been better served by being called something like Rouge, Blanc, or Plum, rather than Indigo.

The intentions of Tuscan Steak should be obvious: That T-bone is meant to feed a family. Likewise that serving of three-mushroom risotto with truffle oil, or the herb-grilled rack of lamb with the green apple-basil chutney, or the oven-roasted duck with cranberry chutney. Prices indicate the restaurant’s philosophy, as does the credo written on the menu: “At Tuscan Steak all portions are served family style and [are] intended for sharing.” But note that the intro also allows that in this eatery, “there are no rules.” In other words who says you have to share? So go ahead — dine singly, order doubly, and make a pig (or a duck or a steak) of yourself.

There are some great health food stores in Miami, but on the whole, Whole Foods has more and often better stuff. Seems there’s always something you didn’t see on your last visit: the latest chlorophyll/kelp tabs; a new herb mixture to strengthen the lungs; bricks of dark chocolate from Prague or other distant cities; exotic organic plums, kumquats, and pomegranates; champagnes; soy concoctions you’ve never heard of. Whole Foods’ own brand of vitamins and sauces and teas and frozen veggies, et cetera, are, well, really good. The place makes a chipotle-chili salsa that kills. And the fresh seafood/poultry/meat section is hard to beat for the likes of free-range chicken, hormone-free beef, and fresh sausages that Jimmy Dean never imagined (try the chicken-basil-spinach, or Greek-style lamb). Whole Foods’ new store north of its old location is, while giant, very pleasant. Sometimes there’s even a masseur stationed near the entrance, ready to properly relax you for a complete holistic shopping experience.

Most of the handful of Mexican restaurants in town seem to cater to Mexican-American tastes. El Fogon’s fare hails from further south of the border (including the Yucatán), and the difference is reflected in the quality and style of their humble burritos. The chicken is seasoned and seared, the picadillo (seasoned ground beef) is divine, but best of all is the cochinita pibil — chunks of tender pork stewed in the red, delicately tart pibil sauce. When wrapped in a tortilla with refried beans and enrobed in melted cheese, the cochinita crosses over from sublime to ridiculously good. Oh, and the burritos are huge; a party of two should consider ordering a cup of tortilla soup each, then sharing the monster. That way they won’t have to roll you out.

Act I: The front desk. A middle-age gentleman in a plaid sport coat waits in a ten-person line. He finally reaches the host, who is taking down names.

Host: How many?

Patron: What?

Host (impatiently): How many in your party?

Patron: Oh. Four.

Host: That’ll be a two-hour wait.

Patron (disbelieving): Huh?

Host (shouting): Two hours!

Patron (still not sure he heard correctly): Huh??

Host: Two hours! Two hours!

Act II: The bar

Bartender: What’ll it be?

Patron: What?

Bartender (impatiently): What do you want to drink?

Patron: Oh. I’ll have a gin and tonic.

Bartender: What??

Patron (shouting): Gin and tonic!

Act III: The dining room, five gin and tonics later.

Waiter: Can I take your order?

Patron is silent.

Waiter (shouting): Whaddya want to eat?

Patron tilts sideways in his chair and falls over with a loud thump. The captain is called over. He assesses the situation and then drags the man out by his ankles to make way for the next party. The man’s head bumps on the tile all the way to the door: thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack…. And you thought all that noise was from cracking stone crab shells.

Sure South Beach has all the trendy restaurants, but as any sunburned tourist can tell you, the service there is uniformly slow and sassy. Too many models and would-be-somebodies moonlighting as waiters. At Fishbone Grille the waitstaff actually appears to be enjoying the job. They are attentive without hovering, swift without making you feel rushed, and have an encyclopedic knowledge of the food on the menu and the extensive wines on the list. And they are routinely happy to recommend the best, freshest catch that day, even if it’s not the priciest item on the menu. The secret apparently is in the selection: Management tries to hire people with the right mix of congeniality and professionalism. The waitstaff must also take written and oral quizzes during training. It all adds up to an A.

Executive chef-proprietor of Pacific Time Jonathan Eismann goes slumming with this new venture, a remake of Johnny V’s Kitchen. And what a pleasant redo it is: The narrow storefront has been converted into a minidiner, complete with blue-and-white tiles, booths for two, and a counter with a Fifties soda fountain. The ideal place for a nosh after a movie or a quickie lunch steps from the touristy grind of Lincoln Road, Westside offers old-timey diner favorites such as meat loaf, burgers, and open-face hot roast beef sandwiches. Certainly it’s not the place for a vegetarian (salad options are few and somehow unfetching when paired against grilled barbecue pork chops) but Fox’s U-Bet fans clearly have no cause for complaint. The egg cream at Westside is worthy of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, and hey, it saves us a trip to the Big A for a simple thirst quencher. Just remember to hit the ATM before dropping by. As it was in the olden days, at Westside only cash is acceptable commerce.

You’re in the office, it’s midafternoon, and that sweet tooth starts clamoring for attention. A thick, creamy, fruity drink would quiet the ruckus, but you don’t want that artificial stuff the fast-food joints peddle. It’s too far to drive to the farms in Homestead to get the real thing. The alternative is this roadside stand just south of U.S. 1. Take your pick of fresh papaya, mango, or kiwi juice, or mix and match to create a new concoction. Nonfat frozen yogurt keeps the calories down, and a scoop of protein or ginseng can be added for a boost of energy. Price is on the high side at $4.25, but think of all the gas you’re saving. You can get your fix between 9:00 a.m. and 9:00 p.m. Monday through Saturday.

The chains are on the prowl, and they’re everywhere. Although the good old-fashioned independent coffeehouses never had too strong a presence down here in Miami to begin with, they are on the verge of extinction today. Which is why now more than ever it’s important to support your local java shop. Our choice: Luna Star, because it stands for everything a coffeehouse should be and everything Starbucks is not. Instead of browsing through grossly overpriced material goods — coffee mugs for ten dollars? Please! — you can immerse yourself in the ambiance of a real coffee shop and maybe browse through a book. It also means you get live folky music on weekend nights, plus a subdued wooden interior conducive to reading, writing, and possibly contemplating the universe, not espresso-cup coasters. Beer and healthy hippie food are available, and to make the atmosphere complete, the Museum of Contemporary Art is just down the street. But maybe you just want to sit and have a cup of coffee; there’s plenty of that too, any way you want it.

George Giampetro’s dairy and nondairy creations are simply the best. Making ice cream is more than a business at this mom-and-pop parlor. It’s a family tradition. One that Giampetro’s daughter passed on to friend Yara Herrera. Since then she’s been Whip ‘N Dip’s magical gelato maker, responsible for the 30-plus flavors in Mr. G’s store. In twenty minutes Herrera can whip up two and a half gallons of ice cream. Amazing. She’s been doing it for five years, almost daily, right here at Whip ‘N Dip. The most popular item on the menu is her famous Mocha Mud Pie, a spumoni swirl of coffee, fudge, and bits of Oreo cookies. Herrera also recommends Barrel of Monkeys — a blend of banana and peanut-butter ice creams mixed with chocolate-covered peanuts. Oh, and at Whip ‘N Dip only the freshest ingredients are used to make fruity ice creams such as strawberry, apple, and key lime pie.

If we knew how popular Argentine steak houses were going to be this year, we would’ve bought stock in the beef industry. The American beef industry, that is, since most of the Argentine eateries are using the more consistent American Angus rather than the unreliable South American counterparts. But it is the method, as they say, and not the madness that makes something work. And in Argentine steak houses, the method is low-risk investment: high-temperature-grilled meat slipped medium-rare onto your plate and doused with garlicky chimichurri sauce. Doesn’t get much more solid than that. No doubt the parrillada is one trend we’ll tire of sooner or later. But for now we’re just grateful the culinary wind is spreading these steak house seeds throughout the land.

Since opening a little more than a year ago, the Titanic has hopped up the local beer scene. It hosts South Florida’s home-brewing competition, the Coconut Cup, which features battles between the Miami Area Society of Homebrewers (MASH) and the Fort Lauderdale Area Brewers (FLAB). It’s also received national acclaim at the Great American Beer Festival in Denver, Colorado, where the Captain Smith’s Rye Ale took home a bronze medal in the specialty-beer category, and recently was named a finalist in the prestigious World Beer Cup competition. Closer to home the Titanic has won the hearts of many aficionados with the five house beers brewed on-site (triple-screw light ale, Britannica, boiler-room nut brown, white-star India pale ale, ship-builders’ oatmeal stout), plus one seasonal beer that changes every couple of months. And if you want food with your beer, check out the Brew Masters’ Dinner. Held about once every six weeks, the meal consists of five courses, each of which comes with a different brew that’s chosen to complement the eats. Food also is a major part of the mug club. Membership costs $50 per year and comes with a customized twenty-once mug (four ounces bigger than the usual mug) that hangs in the bar. Membership has its privileges: Besides getting an extra four ounces of beer, mugees also are entitled to special happy hours and free dinner on Wednesdays. Thirsty yet? Oh, and did we mention on the weekend they have great live music? Cheers.

The drive to Key West can be grueling, especially when you’re hungry and stuck in weekend traffic. Resist the urge to succumb to a quick fish-sandwich-and-fritter fix and instead hit the brakes in Islamorada. The Green Turtle Inn, a delightful old-fashioned eatery where great food and just the right dose of show biz meet, will ease your weary traveling bones. The dark paneled walls covered with yellowing photos lend a cozy feel to this institution, which has sat oceanside since 1947. You’ll relax the minute you walk in; song stylist Tina Martin is at the piano nightly, flipping through her massive songbooks, belting out breathy numbers, and greeting the masses with her trademark “turtle wave.” The moderately priced fare is simply prepared yet delicious: steaks, chops, seasonal stone crabs, fresh catch of the day, surf and turf, lobster. The house specialty, turtle steak, is a savory treat that’s always recommended by the waitstaff. (Don’t feel guilty about sampling this delicacy: The Turtle assures the creatures no longer are harvested in local waters. You’ll get the freshwater variety.) “Full-course” meals also are available and include soup (conch or turtle, from the restaurant’s own cannery) or tomato juice, salad, rolls, and entrée with choice of potato and vegetable. Save room for key lime pie with five-inch-high meringue, “the original way it was made,” according to a crusty waitress. If you have some time to spare before check-in, catch host/master magician Bastille’s act on Friday and Saturday nights. The “world-famous illusionist” will dazzle you with his stellar mind-reading abilities. Before you hit the road, guzzle a cup of coffee and give Tina an appreciative turtle wave. Hop in your ride and you’re halfway to paradise. Open every day except Monday.

The sopa marinera here is the Latin/Caribbean version of that New England stalwart: seafood chowder. Instead of dairy milk, the fish broth is emboldened with coconut milk. Instead of quahogs and cod, the chowder is studded with shrimp, conch, and snapper. It’s a wonderful merging of the Northern and Southern hemispheres, which, after all, is Miami at its best. A small bowl, which is plentiful, runs $4.50; a large, which is obscene, $7.50. Both come with tortilla and side. Adelita is open from 7:00 a.m. until midnight.

You can feel it beginning on your way home from work: the craving, the wanting, the needing. It was a stressful day — the boss yelled, the clients yelled, the colleagues yelled — and more than anything, you need a pick-me-up. Call it a fix, say you have an addiction, do whatever it takes (except steal TVs), but just make sure you have sushi, pronto. Look no further than Tokyo Bowl. Not only can this counter-service Japanese restaurant satisfy your need for raw fish, vinegar rice, and seaweed, it can do it in a split second via the drive-thru, which was leftover from when the building was part of a chicken chain. The sushi menu isn’t as exotic or extensive (read: numbering in the hundreds) as other sushi bars in Miami; Tokyo Bowl offers about eight rolls and five different kinds of sushi, including tuna, salmon, and dolphin. But here it’s not just the quality of the eatery, it’s the speed of it that counts. In our busy book, instantaneous sushi is the eating man’s heroin, and you don’t have to worry about withdrawal.

If writer David Mamet had been to Villa Habana, he never would have scripted the line in his film Wag the Dog, in which William H. Macy’s character declares there is no difference between good flan and bad flan. Granted, making a cup of custard is kind of hard to screw up, so there probably isn’t any flan out there that would scream “bad.” But the Villa Habana version goes way beyond “good.” It’s thicker, creamier, less eggy than most, with a delicate flavor that goes great with a foam-topped, after-dinner cortadito. The restaurant’s regular menu is full of familiar Cuban favorites, executed with a deft and distinctive touch. So sure, go there for the ropa vieja al vino, but remember, there’s always room for flan.

Situated within a block of county hall and the old courthouse, this breezy cafetería brews the black gold that fuels the machinery of Miami-Dade government (such as it is). Though the kind souls behind the counter are mostly Nicaraguan, they’ve mastered the ancient Cuban secret of making espresso both strong as battery acid and sweet as an abuelita’s smile. Your next trip to the main library will be incomplete without a trip to Cacique’s Corner for a colada that will make your tongue bristle like an angry hedgehog.

One of our most beloved Mexican eateries, this hacienda frequently scores points with us for individual items, namely the smokin’ hot fajitas. But you really can’t go astray with any of the homestyle fare, whether you order nachos or ceviche or albondiguitas (meatballs). Throw in some tasty house specialties, like the zesty chicken nuggets coated with flour and jalapeño pepper juice; a strolling mariachi band that doesn’t overstay its welcome; and kitschy surroundings that include examples of every type of Mexican souvenir ever made, and you’ve got yourself a complete experience — almost. Utter fulfillment arrives in the form of the frozen margarita, naturally, the ultimate complement to some spicy meatballs.

There is more to MiMi’s than just ravioli. Pyramids of imported Italian canned tomatoes stand sentry in the large front window. Along one wall shelves overflow with olive oils, vinegars, artichoke and palm hearts, olives, sauces, plus myriad goodies. In the center of the store sit nuts and salty snacks, sweets such as marzipan and imported chocolates, cookies, and candies. Along the other wall are a freezer and refrigerated cases loaded with gnocchi, tortellini, ravioli, an array of sauces, and prepared specialties like eggplant rollatini. Further down in the fridge are prosciutto, soppresatta (mild and hot), hard salami, and more, plus wondrous fresh pasta (plain and spinach) in every shape: tubes, strands, curls. At the very end lies a selection of healthy frozen pasta dishes and, of course, the succulent ravioli. Medium- and jumbo-size, stuffed with seafood, pumpkin, goat cheese, porcini mushrooms, broccoli and cheese, chicken, even a skim-milk version for dieters. A variety of Italian cookies and fresh mozzarella, plain or smoked, still beckon. The small, densely packed market, in place for ten years at its current location, resided just down the street for seven years before. A sister emporium on Hollywood’s Johnson Street has been around for 30 years. Fill up on the goods from 9:00 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Monday through Saturday.

Say what you will about the French, but anyone witnessing the worldwide millennium celebrations would have to agree: They’ve got style. So does La Palme d’Or, an already excellent restaurant that was elevated further by that rarest of occurrences, an inspired marketing idea. During the first week of each month, a guest Michelin-rated chef prepares signature dishes from his restaurant in France. For lovers of fine Gallic cuisine, nothing can top this opportunity to sample fare from chefs such as Paul Bocuse, or Alain Passard of Paris’s amazing Restaurant Arpége. Regular La Palme chef Philippe Ruiz is enough of a talent in his own right to make it the best French restaurant, even without these Michelin masters. Want proof? One bite of his foie gras ravioli with goat cheese mousse and black truffle shavings should do. Bonus best scam: Wear a bathing suit under your dining apparel and sneak a postdinner dip in the hotel’s alluring swimming pool.

A fajita is a fajita: some kind of meat, chicken, or fish, served on a sizzling platter with a bunch of standard bell peppers and onions. On the side you’ll receive some chopped tomatoes, shredded lettuce, refried pinto beans, maybe a little guacamole or sour cream, plus some flour tortillas to roll around it all. Agreed? Not if you’ve been to La Gloria. Here, beef or chicken fajitas are sautéed with onions, but instead of bell peppers you’ll find palate-tingling poblanos on the hot plate. Refried beans are made with the black turtle variety rather than the light-brown pintos. And tortillas, served warm and coddled in a woven basket, are soft, homemade corn disks, not commercially produced, bleached flour patties. As a result customers discover how fajitas, which are so ubiquitous you can find them at Taco Bell, are meant to be. Fans can pick up a La Gloria fajita, and — you guessed it — drop the chalupa for real.

In 1992 Hurricane Andrew destroyed the original O.C.O.C. (or O.C. for short), then located on Old Cutler Road. But fisherman Mike Pace soon resurrected his pub-style restaurant a few miles west on a busier strip. Oyster lovers will be merry as clams during happy hour (4:00 to 7:00 p.m. daily) when draft beers are $1.50 per glass and the rocklike mollusks are $4 per dozen (usually the fee is $7 per dozen). Executive chef Kevin MacWhinnie and owner Mike Pace conduct meticulous inspections to keep bad oysters at bay, assures hostess Ivonne Bley. “They’re really picky,” she observes. “They go beyond the call of duty.” Peel-and-eat shrimp fans can choose three varieties: traditional, garlic, and Cajun. Clams run $6 per dozen.

Ripe, tender young legumes swimming in a smoky sauce, the barbecue beans at Shorty’s are more than just a side dish; they are a tangy treat to be savored all on their own. Naturally no one is suggesting you should sit in an enclosed restaurant where everyone is filling up on baked beans, and baked beans alone. Our point is merely that the beans at Shorty’s deserve more credit for being so damn good. We think they are every bit as important as the ribs and chicken cooking on the grill. And we’re willing to fight any man, woman, or child who says otherwise.

John Kenneth Galbraith’s observation that more people die in the United States of too much food than they do of too little must have been gleaned over a lifetime of eating T-bones the size of small-town airstrips and boulder-size baked potatoes at various American steak houses. It’s this conformity of the genre that makes choosing the best steak house, excuse the expression, a real horserace. Morton’s crosses the finish line first not merely because of its USDA prime cuts of meat (though these are, it seems, just a little bit tastier than the rest) but also owing to superior service, seafood, side dishes, and desserts — especially the sultry Godiva hot chocolate cake. Like at all steak houses, you pay for the quality. Galbraith’s quotation appears in The Affluent Society, an apt phrase for those who can afford to dine here regularly. Then again there’s something about seeing beefy businessmen stuffed into plush red banquettes that makes cutting into a thick steak that much more rewarding.

Neighborhood restaurants usually are friendly and informal places that proffer generous helpings of consistent if modest food to an appreciative local clientele. Crystal Cafe’s crisp white linens, fresh flowers, comprehensive wine selection, and semiformal service would seemingly add up to a finer dining experience than we expect from this category, yet a closer look through the Crystal reveals it to be a humble, family-run affair with no pretense or PR firm. Chef Klime Kovaceski can dazzle with a starter of warm pistachio-crusted goat cheese with truffle oil and raspberry-balsamic reduction, or comfort with New Continental dishes like beef stroganoff that are more reflective of his Macedonian roots. Wife Huguette adroitly orchestrates among the best (but still friendly) waitstaffs on the Beach, and because she and Klime are always present, the restaurant’s consistency remains unparalleled. It’s elegant, yes, but for the locals, Crystal Cafe remains a joy in the ‘hood.

The best reason to stop in and buy a bag of traditional and terrific croissants at Renaissance is that it gives a busy person an excuse to pause in a first-class bakery and pick up just a few more things. Like their potato-based focaccia, or its chewier cousin, the fougasse, a pesto-smeared loaf that begins life with sun-dried tomatoes and basil in its dough. Or one of their chocolate cakes that taste so dreamy … maybe there are things better than sex. Started in 1994 Renaissance has long been a regular stop for discerning locals, and it’s worth a drive to the North Miami strip mall. It’s amazing just how much a good baker can do with, mostly, a little flour and water.

Until recently it would not have been inaccurate to call Coconut Grove “The Land of 1000 Stores and No Great Restaurants.” Although in the past couple of years a few excellent eateries have made their home here (most notably Bice, La Gloria, and Anokha), you still need to cross a small bridge to Grove Isle to find the best one. Baleen takes full advantage of its beautiful vistas of Biscayne Bay, the outdoor tables encircled by flowing white curtains blowing in the breezes. The indoor dining room is handsome in a darker, mahogany-tone way, and while there may be red-vested chimps on the lighting fixtures, when it comes to putting out topnotch cuisine, Baleen doesn’t monkey around. Every cold seafood favorite you can imagine, like sushi, tuna tartare, stone crabs, conch salad, clams, and oysters (which are shucked tableside), comes fresh, briny, and well chilled. A wide array of seafood dinners, too, some fish dressed in New World trappings but all available simply and sublimely grilled, wood roasted, or sautéed. Meats and steak-house sides also excel, the wine list and service are sophisticated, and the desserts are as beautiful as the evening sunset on the bay. Taking visitors to Coconut Grove? This is where you should bring them to eat. And pray that they pick up the pricey tab.

First things first: It’s busy, so if you’re not up for a half-hour wait, we suggest you arrive early (the restaurant opens at 8:00 a.m.). Brunch at Balans is not served buffet style; instead diners choose from the menu and breakfast is served à la carte. The crowd is typically a mix of bleary-eyed boys and babes, South Beach locals, and Balans regulars. We suggest the complete breakfast, which comes with Balans’s famous pancakes, or the eggs Benedict, which features a made-from-scratch hollandaise sauce. For days other than Sunday, the restaurant’s regular menu features dishes with Mediterranean and Asian influences.

If you’re looking for really top-quality seafood, you’d be better off going to La Dorada or Baleen. Yet for affordable, consistently fresh fish in a friendly environment, Fishbone Grille is still our favorite. A wide array of seafood comes grilled, blackened, sautéed, or fused with New World accompaniments, such as seven-spiced tuna with green mango, kim chee, and peanut sauce; or crisp whole Key West yellowtail with black beans, rice, and scotch bonnet vinaigrette. Chalkboard specials are appealing, too, as are the various types of raw oysters on hand. The décor at both locations, downtown and in a former HoJo on U.S. 1, is comfortable if less-than-pleasing to the eye, but the crowd is jovial, service efficient, and the triangular wedge of jalapeño cornbread that comes with each meal is worth the trip by itself.

A Miami institution for nearly three decades, Mykonos consistently offers the best in Greek cuisine. From standards such as gyros and souvlaki to richer dishes, including moussaka and pastitsio. They can even make roasting half a chicken seem exotic, seasoning it with just the right herbs and spices. The portions are large and the prices are so reasonable that over time, you’ll be able to save enough money to take your own trip to Greece (and stop in on that party island all covered in blue and white, also called Mykonos). But when you do, you probably won’t find the food any better. The best thing about this Mykonos: the people. Most of the staff are relatives of owners John Kafouros and Nick Pantelaras, which gives the place the warm feel of a small, family-run eatery.

Every morning Rafat Monem gets up at about 4:00 and heads to work, where he will bake more than 7000 individual loaves of pita bread. By early afternoon they will all be sold. Each loaf is an individual work of art, a light and airy source of comfort, whose gentle folds ply easily apart exposing a soft and inviting interior. Monem, the son of the store’s owner, Okashah Monem, has been baking pita bread for seventeen years. What makes it special? “It’s the ingredients we use,” says Monem, a Palestinian who was born in Jerusalem. And what are those ingredients? “I can’t tell you that,” he laughs. “It’s a secret.”

Like any blank canvas, tofu is only as good as the artist who prepares it, and “natural” food can sometimes taste like a form of punishment. Lucky for us Suzanne’s chef is first-rate, and her menu is downright indulgent (in a health-nutty, new-agey way). Open since November 1999 for take-out, lunch, and dinner, this meatless wonder offers classy (not stuffy) fare that’s kind to animals and your (nonleather) wallet. Although the menu is vegan (no dairy, eggs, et cetera, are used), the results are hearty and flavorful enough to tempt even die-hard flesh-eaters. The organic wines, available by the glass (from $3.95) or bottle (from $17.95), don’t hurt, either. An introductory dinner here — grilled tofu, steamed organic vegetables, and brown rice in tahini sauce ($8.95) — was a sign of good things to come, including a juicy, robust tofu Reuben with deliciously (un)creamy coleslaw. And hey, if it’ll enhance your pleasure, go ahead and pretend you’re dining on the deceased. We won’t squeal to PETA.

You don’t have to know the maitre d’ to get a good meal quick from Joe’s. The take-out division, just to the north of the landmark seafood restaurant, serves the same menu — without the three-hour wait (same prices, without the tip). In addition to the standard dinner of stone crabs, coleslaw, creamed spinach, and a slice of key lime pie (a meal we heartily endorse), take-out customers can choose from a wide variety of other wonderful selections, from po’boys to fried chicken to swordfish steaks. Quality, the ingredient that has made Joe’s an institution, is dependably maintained. And, we repeat, without the wait. Joe’s is closed from May 15 to October 15.

The ambiance is one of restrained elegance. The menu is one of distinct priciness. And the clientele is easily of the double-breasted caliber. So there’s no doubt, whether you’re a long-time lawyer entertaining clients or a Gen X dot.com millionaire meeting potential venture capitalists, you’ll want to invest in fine northern Italian fare: delicate seafood and pasta for the fluttery of stomach, hearty meat dishes for the cast-iron all-business body. Whether you’re betting on a jury or taking a ride with a pre-IPO CEO, at least you’ll be able to keep your chops in fine form by biting down on a, well, chop.

Lucila Jimenez has turned her family tradition of baking festive and inventive cakes into a thriving business. Her two Sweet Art bakeries, with their 50 employees, seem to be able to coax batter and icing into almost any shape, for any event. Mountains, hearts, toys, the island of Cuba — nearly anything is possible. Her signature “jewelry box” cakes are a true marvel: They look for all the world like oversize Limoges porcelain boxes, complete with gold fittings, and yet, amazingly, they are not only edible, but delicious. Try one of Lucila’s cakes for a special occasion, and her tradition will quickly become yours as well.

Can you say beluga, sevruga, osetra? Petrossian can: It’s the largest importer of Russian caviar in the world. Can you say foie gras? Petrossian can: The company’s farms in France produce plump, silken specimens. Can you say expensive? Petrossian can, because it ain’t cheap to get all that good stuff over here. Indeed you can ply your senses with twenty grams of sevruga for $23, or beluga for $47. But you should be aware that while for drug addicts, twenty grams is a feast, for caviar aficionados it’s barely a snort. And if you’re planning on accompanying those sturgeon eggs with champagne, be prepared for some bottles to run over the $400 mark. Needless to say the best time to dine at Petrossian is when you have grateful guests in the house. Allow them to think of the dinner check as room and board, and in the end, everyone — especially your waiter (what’s fifteen percent of $400?) — is more than sensually sated.

This restaurant has had more lives than Shirley MacLaine. And part of the eatery’s perseverance has to do with its location. As one of the only, and certainly just about the oldest, riverfront restaurants in Miami, we almost owe it our patronage. In fact we’ve seen this place through good times and bad, through Twenties’ gas stations and fish sandwiches (courtesy of its first owner), through gondolas and gigantic sculptures of animals standing on each other’s backs (courtesy of the previous owner). It’s almost like a marriage that way — love it or leave it. And we love it. We can’t help ourselves. Some glitches will always affect this restaurant: It’s hard to find; the neighborhood could be better; the river traffic could be less noisy. But as far as landmark bars built around banyan trees go, we’ll take this one. And we’ll drink martinis here and eat fish sandwiches (okay, maybe just one, since they’re currently so big) no matter who owns it, or cleans it up, or installs weird artwork, or dirties it again. That’s a promise.

It’s tough to impress the dates these days but you can do it. You score a reservation at Norman’s, pick said date up in your new Lexus SUV, and then nonchalantly toss the keys to the valet when you get there. So far, so good. Once inside you relax with a Cosmopolitan at the bar, and voilà! — the table is ready. You seat your date, then yourself. You open the menus and begin to discuss the food. Here’s your chance, you think. You explain some of the more outlandish dishes, then look around for the waitress. Spotting a female striding around the floor, you beckon to her. When she reaches your table, you begin to order: “My date will have the seared …” “I’m sorry,” said female interrupts smoothly. “I’m not your server. I’m the sommelier. Would you care for a suggestion on a bottle of wine?” Congratulations, you’ve just insulted Laura DePasquale, one of the only licensed female sommeliers in the State of Florida. Don’t feel too bad. Even in Miami, when you can’t always tell who’s female and who’s male, gender barriers are still in place. But not for long, thanks to DePasquale and her like. Go, femme!

Nothing about Kon Chau’s appearance screams “good eating.” With its generic décor, harsh fluorescent lighting, and obligatory incense-bristling shrine to General Kwan, this could be almost any strip-mall chow-meinstream Chinese joint. But it ain’t, and it’s the delectable dim sum that puts Kon Chau over the top. You just plain can’t go wrong; place the photocopied dim sum menu in front of you, close your eyes, point to something, and prepare yourself for bite-size bliss. From the turnip cake, to the pork buns, to the sticky rice in lotus leaf, to the steamed shrimp dumplings, to the world’s most delectable spring rolls, every cooked-to-order item on the list is a hit. All served at reasonable prices, without a whit of hoity, and even less toity.

Got a hankering for a half-sour? A craving for sauerkraut? The palate for a pickled green tomato? Relax, you’re covered. The only pickle stand in Miami that’s called a kiosk, Picklelicious imports its barrels of pickles, about ten varieties, directly from the Lower East Side in New York. And don’t worry if you don’t feel like purchasing a pint or a quart of the briny goodies. Picklelicious also sells the ever-popular pickle-on-a-stick, which leaves you one hand free for flipping through the clothes at Macy’s. Just be careful not to get yourself in a pickle, and have the courtesy to buy whatever you manage to squirt with garlicky juice.

And the best part of all, there is always plenty of stuff around to read.

Chef Pepin — no, not the famous one, just a hardworking Cuban cook named Pepin — has been a fixture at Little Farm Store’s diner for the past twenty years. More than a fixture; Little Farm Store cognoscenti prize Pepin’s homestyle Cuban dishes. But especially his medianoche. Now what is it that makes Pepin’s sandwich a cut above? How would he know? Does an artist know what drives him to the canvas? Pepin throws generous portions of pork, ham, Swiss cheese, mayo, and pickles (amount will vary at your order) on some of that soft egg bread, grills it just right, and there it is. Another masterpiece to go. Invest now while you can get one for $2.50.

When it comes to luncheonettes, nobody pays much attention, and that’s a darn shame. Some of the best lunch restaurants are downtown and in the Design District, and unless you happen to work nearby, you usually don’t hear about them. Such is the case with the Charcuterie, the longest-running restaurant in the Design District. Today the decades-old eatery presents a limited menu with French-influenced deli entrées, such as the salmon mousse and vegetable terrine plate, or the Brie and tomato sandwich. But the real reason it wins kudos is for its hot lunches, posted daily on a blackboard. You just might find grilled salmon with shallot and vermouth sauce, or blackened snapper Louisiana style, or rainbow trout almondine. You get the point: The focus is on fish. Wash it all down with a glass of house white, or an O’Doul’s if you’re headed back to work. Of course you have to take your chances on the blackboard specials, because what’s served depends on what’s been caught fresh that morning. But you can bet on the Charcuterie as a hale and hearty standard of the Design District since the days before the renaissance, when the only things caught fresh in the morning were the working girls on their way home.

All you have to do is walk into Steve’s and you know you’ve entered pizza nirvana. For one thing the whole place, really just a glorified stand, smells like the pizza shops in Milan. Then there are the New York-style pies, wafting just a hint of oregano toward you, that are constantly coming out of the oven. The oozing mozzarella, the tangy marinara, the dusky, charcoaled crust — it’s enough to make you drool just standing there. But we should warn you: Hold on to your patience. Even Steve’s isn’t worth that nasty blister that pops up when you sink your teeth too soon into a slice. Or ith it? Ith really hard to thay, after all.

Numerous high-profile restaurants with authentically gifted chefs opened this past year: Mayya (Guillermo Tellez), The Strand (Michelle Bernstein), Ortanique (Mary Rohan), and Bambú (Rob Deer) to name a few. Then there’s Mark Militello’s latest effort at the refurbished Nash, which not only tops these other topnotch contenders but perhaps even his own prior work. The cuisine is more Mediterranean, less fusion than at the flagship Las Olas restaurant. The savvily conceived combinations and contrasts, however, are as well executed as ever. Witness the crisp-skinned Scottish salmon with soft fondue of leeks and tomato in truffled sweet-pea coulis. Better yet, go taste it. Time will tell if the quality can be kept consistent without the man himself being around, but for now it sure looks like a keeper.

The exterior of this eatery, located right off a dusty (read: under construction) portion of Biscayne, doesn’t look like much: a long, low building with lettering in the windows advertising Middle Eastern food. But don’t go by judging the proverbial cover. Inside you’ll find wonderful text, not to mention texture — light, crisp falafel patties, steaming hot in the center and delicately deep-fried. For the best results, get the falafel encased in a soft pita bread with creamy tahini and tangy Turkish salad. The staff also stuffs in some shredded red cabbage and chopped tomatoes for good measure. But don’t worry; none of the fillings overwhelm the falafel, which is, after all, the biggest plus of this pita place.

When the Portuguese “settled” Brazil and forced African slaves to cook for them as well as work in the fields, the result wasn’t completely tragic, at least from a gastronomic point of view. Without native and African influences, no doubt Brazilians would still think salt cod is delicious. Fortunately for the culinary-minded, the folks who got taken advantage of wound up contributing to one of the most interesting cuisines in the world, a mixture of Portuguese, native South American, and African ingredients and cooking styles. And Barroco, a pretty Brazilian restaurant, is perfectly poised to educate our palates with dishes like black-eyed pea fritters with oven-roasted shrimp sauce; shrimp with coconut milk and yuca purée; and adobo-rubbed roast pork tenderloin with aged port sauce and collard greens. The truth is, of course, that you don’t really have to know your colonial history to take advantage of supping on this sumptuous fare. There won’t be a quiz after the meal. But there just might be some bossa nova.

This converted no-tell motel on South Dixie is painted a really disgusting shade of green; a more reliable harbinger of the food within can be seen in the clusters of patrons on the benches outside the front door, eagerly awaiting their tables. Inside it’s long and narrow, with a boxcarlike feel, but the friendly service and the pungent scent of Thai basil, fish sauce, and chili paste more than compensate for the cramped quarters. A Thai restaurant is only as good as its pad thai, and this one kills: a light hand with the ground pork, and it actually has plenty of shrimp! The rich curries are excellent, as are appetizers like tiger tear and nam sod. The chefs also show a deft touch with seafood; if you find a restaurant of any ethnic description that can cook up a tastier whole snapper, let us know. And if you like your Thai food with plenty of fire, you’ll be pleased to know Siam Lotus Room actually takes you at your word when you ask for “four stars” of spiciness. Ouch! Hurts so good.

You just made it. Booth okay? Care for a beverage? Will that be the pasta fagioli or the garden salad? And your rolls: plain or dripping with garlic? For dinner there’s lasagna, stuffed shells, eggplant rollatini, chicken parmigiana, veal cacciatore, linguine in clam sauce, ziti with sausage, or something else … I forgot; I’ll be right back. What do you mean you’re full? No dessert? Either way it’s $7.95. Come on, take the cannoli! (Oh well, just come back: The early bird special is offered seven days a week, 4:00 to 7:00 p.m.)

In the South Beach scene, late-night snacking really has become the norm. So it’s not unusual to see couples supping at 10:00 p.m., parties laughing over veal chops at 11:00 p.m., clubbers strapping on the predance feedbag at midnight. But while you can find plenty of places to eat, it’s harder to discover one where you can dine. So far Secrets, open till 2:00 a.m. daily, has been something of a, well, secret. But proprietors Filip Rady and Milan Radesits are bound to have a late-night success on their hands with items like tenderloin bites marinated in yogurt and served with mango chipotle coulis, and a crab and rock shrimp “burger.” Indeed the tropically influenced fare ranges from pan-seared tuna steak topped with sugar-cane juice to fruit-stuffed French toast, which pretty much means you can enjoy the secrets of culinary success not only late at night, but early in the morning as well.

The black embroidered shawl of a flamenco dancer drapes down from the arched entrance of this cavelike tavern. The air inside is misty, lanterns hang over the bar, and the waiters are dressed like toreros. Here the tapas are eaten medieval style: standing while chugging down an ice-cold Estrella Galicia (Spanish beer) or sitting at a wooden barrel. To really get into el tapeo, try the bandeja de tapas variadas, an assortment of six tapas for two or more people that includes Spanish sausages, pan tomaca (toasted bread dipped in a tomato and garlic sauce), fluffy Spanish tortillas, ham-and-cheese croquettes, and fried crabmeat. Feast on fried calamari a la andaluza (soaked in aioli sauce and lemon) or shrimp sautéed in white wine and garlic; both will bring out the duende in you. The seafood-stuffed mushrooms and the roasted red peppers bursting with calamari will have you, as the Spanish say, entrando en calor.

The “dining” part might be a bit of a misnomer, given that this restaurant is more of a good place to snack on caviar and sip champagne. But you can’t argue with the seductive nature of the fare: caviar, lobster, crab, smoked salmon, Kobe beef carpaccio. Ply your sweetie with some of these luxury foodstuffs and no doubt you’ll get quite a return on the investment. And make no mistake — investment it is. Black truffle soup can run you $45, and a platter of beluga, osetra, and sevruga can cost you $195. Plus, since all of these gourmet items are served with little more than toast points, expect your appetite to be stimulated rather than sated. But that, after all, is the point of aphrodisiac dining: to leave you wanting, craving, desiring more.

You can work up a desert of thirst out on the River of Grass, whether you’re fishing, enjoying an airboat ride, or watching a man tangle with an alligator at the Miccosukee Cultural Center. A twenty-minute drive west of Krome Avenue, this tribe-owned establishment is the perfect spot in which to rehydrate. Here the iced brew is served the way it’s supposed to be. The age-old formula: tall glass full of ice cubes (ice quantity is crucial); real tea, robust and unsweetened (you can take the country boy out of the country but you can’t take the sugar out of the presweetened tea); a quarter of a lemon (not a dinky piece like some places); and finally, free refills.

Sadly the Little Haiti Chef Creole at 77th and NE Second Avenue is no more. New Times can still smell the cinders floating through the air the day after the explosion of a propane canister set off a chain reaction that burned out the insides of this beloved take-out storefront and sent one of the chefs to the hospital. Gone is the floor-to-ceiling mural of fishermen in a Haitian seascape on one wall. Gone, too, the gallery of visiting Haitian celebrities opposite. Although the ambiance is not the same, Chef Creole continues to serve the best fish fresh — stewed, fried, or grilled — from their bright and shiny location in North Miami. Here, as at the countless festivals where the Chef sets up his kiosk, you will find flaky, spicy conch fritters, three-alarm conch salad, and tart lemonade. Expect lines out the door at lunch and dinnertime, but your stomach will tell you: It’s worth the wait.

Cuban sandwich and Versailles — in Miami, they go together like, well, José Martí and poetry. Like most everything on Versailles’ extensive menu, this Cuban sandwich is a credit to its cuisine. Lots of ham, generally more than in other versions, and melted Swiss cheese between not-overly-flattened slices of very fresh Cuban bread. No gratuitous grease. The only thing that could make it better: a little less stinginess with the pickles.

“What’s new?” I asked the blonde at The Pit’s service counter. “Nothing,” she replied. “Tommy Little has owned this place for 35 years, and his whole idea is never to change anything.” Thank the Lord for small things. The food here is as reliable as guessing that the counter lady’s hair color began life in a peroxide bottle. Good meat, slowly smoked over blackjack oak logs. Key lime pies made from scratch. Fresh frogs’ legs and onion rings. Plenty of good customers. Laurence Fishburne is crazy about the chicken. Dennis Rodman loves the ribs. Steven Tyler brought the Aerosmith crew to dine. Jim Carrey and Alex Penelas have been known to pile their plates high. Such stars could make you think you’re on South Beach instead of in a tiki hut at the edge of the Everglades. But after being sated by the best barbecue, you’ll be glad you’re swamps away from that sandbar.

Proprietor Delius Shirley and chef-proprietor Cindy Hutson had the right idea when they closed Norma’s on the Beach! and opened Ortanique. Their first Miami restaurant, named for gourmet Jamaican chef Norma Shirley (Delius’s mom and Cindy’s mentor) was a solid, impressive venture that we honored as Best Caribbean Restaurant year after year. But with Ortanique (and with apologies to Norma) the specter of a mother’s influence has been removed, not just from the name but from the entire spirit of cookery that infuses the place. In short the coproprietors are working miracles of a pan-Caribbean nature on the Mile, and Hutson has expanded her skills mightily in her colorful new digs. A more extensive menu includes some old favorites such as pumpkin bisque and fried calamari salad, but also ranges from less obvious house specialties like button mushroom ceviche to ostrich burgers to curried rabbit. Followers of the old Norma’s needn’t fret, though: Ortanique still offers Blue Mountain coffee, which could make espresso look like a regular cuppa Joe, and golden cake soaked in rum. Order them both for two highs in one.

It’s ground beef casserole made into a patty and stuffed in a roll. It’s like a sloppy joe, only made a lo cubano, topped with melted cheddar cheese, toothpick-skinny French fries, and shaved onions. In Hialeah or Little Havana, if you can stomach all that, munch a frita fit for a king. At El Rey de las Fritas these Cuban hamburgers are the house specialty. For a measly two dollars, El Rey’s fritas are packed to the punch. They definitely rule.

Like a street-smart stray with a knack for survival, the S&S has passed unruffled through a handful of owners in its 62-year history in Miami. And it likely has a few of its nine lives left. Across the street from another notable relic, the City of Miami cemetery, regulars at this down-home diner sidle up to stools at the horseshoe-shape counter like alley cats around a Dumpster full of fish, supping on daily specials such as turkey with all the trimmings, brisket, stuffed cabbage, lamb shank, and buffalo wings, served with a choice of side dishes like peas, salad, coleslaw, et cetera. Good-size, tasty portions of familiar fare — all for less than $12 — are served by long-time waitresses who seem to know everyone in the place by name. So there’s no need to feel alone, even if you’re dining that way. Stop by and soak up the atmosphere like a side of mashed potatoes in gravy. Open for breakfast and lunch seven days, and dinner Monday through Friday.

Drooling over meat-dripping sandwiches or hot dogs of saturated fat doesn’t seem like the civilized thing to do when you’re traveling by foot through Miami’s urban jungle. Oh, there are plenty of portable grease pits along the way, tempting even the most health-conscious of souls. Real health hazards. But just think of them as obstacles in your journey. What you want is a vegetable patty of mushrooms, brown rice, and cheese wrapped in pita bread with added alfalfa sprouts (a wondrous tonic), carrots (rich in vitamin A), romaine lettuce (a good source of protein), and cherry tomatoes (bursting with vitamin C). That veggie burger and many more natural treats await your arrival at Orange Carrot. Perhaps a bit out of the way from the Bayfront shopping circuit but definitely within walking distance. And remember, walking is a good complement to a veggie burger, much better than that extra cheese.

What do you do if you want a quality dessert around midnight but don’t want to get gussied up and spend a fortune at some South Beach hot spot? For 46 years Rascal House has had the answer. The place is open until at least 1:00 a.m., and the waiters here wouldn’t bat an eye if you sauntered into the joint in your bathrobe as long as you had your wallet with you. At best they might offer an acerbic comment in the gruff manner for which they are famous, as they wait for you to choose from among the 34 different homemade treats. Dessert at Rascal House is meant to satisfy rather than dazzle. There are no effete dribbles of exotic sauces or bizarrely flavored sorbets. The favorite here is the cheesecake, rich and heavy enough to be a meal in itself. If your arteries can take it, move on to the bobka, a marbleized pound cake, or the Victory layer cake, which consists of seven levels of chocolate and whipped cream. Don’t worry about offending your fellow patrons: There is no shame in being a glutton in this cafeterialike setting.

Madame John used to cook and sell griot (Haitian-style fried pork) out of her Little Haiti home. Her griot became so popular that at certain hours on weekends, cars would clog the street and lines would even spill outside. A few years ago, no doubt at the urging of customers and code-enforcement inspectors alike, the operation moved into a real restaurant. It’s still principally a carry-out business, though there are chairs and booths and a big television tuned to Haitian cable channels. Griot is still the star of Madame John’s menu, but now you can order other typical Haitian dishes, such as tassot (fried beef or goat) and truly spectacular poisson gro sel, a whole fish spiced and cooked with various vegetables and seasonings. The place is packed at lunch and dinner times, and service is slow (unless you’re pregnant — it’s bad luck to keep an expectant mother waiting to eat, because her baby will send bad vodou your way). But Madame John’s food outweighs these discomforts. After all, there’s a reason she has too many customers.

It has long been known that the best place to get political scuttlebutt in Miami-Dade is at the coffee window of the Versailles Restaurant. On election day it’s also an ideal location to watch the county’s political players: the campaign managers, the ad men, and the precinct captains. These vital cogs in the election machine inevitably come to Versailles during the day for lunch or a quick cortadito. One might see city Commissioner Tomas Regalado, or radio personality Marta Flores, or Hialeah campaigner Herman Echevarria and his ever-present assistant Francois Illas spinning tales of an imminent victory. At another table could be Pedro Milian, who serves as a campaign conduit to Spanish-language radio. Diving into the special brew can often be found Albert Lorenzo, fueling up after an arduous day exhorting the old folks that operate his phone banks. When the voting booths have closed and the returns are in, they come back to dissect the results. If the race is a true squeaker, remember: Versailles is open until 2:00 a.m.

If only Monty Python’s John Cleese had gone to Amici’s instead of the National Cheese Emporium when “he came over all peckish.” Unlike the comedy team’s famed skit of a barren shop and deceptive store owner, Amici’s offers a cornucopia of “cheesy combustibles” laid out in a helpful manner. Proprietors Carmine Chirico and Carlo Casagrande hail from New York, and their Italian market proves they know good food — cheese in particular. Their new store, which opened this past December, has a selection that ranges from Stilton to Sage Darby and everything in between. The cheeses are displayed with helpful suggestions on accompanying wines and foods. For example they recommend crusty breads, grapes, and a hearty red wine with fontina val d’Aosta. Amici’s also sells cheese accouterments, such as fondue sets, cutters, and special knives. Their fresh mozzarella marinated in extra-virgin olive oil, garlic, parsley, and a pinch of red pepper is heavenly. There are even huge wheels of cheddar, “the single most popular cheese in the world.”

This perennially packed Italian eatery features not only huge portions of baked spaghetti and ziti, as well as pizza that lives up to the place’s name; it also is stuffed with posters, autographed photos, jerseys, banners, balls, and helmets from Miami sports icons. Shula, Johnson, Schnellenberger, Morris, Marino, The Rock (“Can you smell what the Big Cheese is cookin’?”), the Miami Heat Dancers — they’re all here in memorabilia form. Bring the family, order a couple of dozen steaming garlic rolls, and soak up the sporty spices.

There is a simple menu for this plain restaurant. You can get whole-wheat pita sandwiches filled with chicken salad, hummus, mixed vegetables, or peanut butter. Spread the house dressing over the meal for a tangy flavor. Warm spinach pies stuffed with tuna and avocado or cheese and tomato also are available. Want to delete the carbs? Try the salads made with romaine lettuce or the soup of the day. Wash it all down with freshly squeezed juice, usually mixed with carrot juice. All the food is prepared before the customers as they sit on stools at the wood counter topped with beige tiles. The interior décor amounts to boxes stacked in corners, a large silver drink cooler, and pistachio-green walls. A sandwich-and-juice combo costs about six bucks. Simple. Don’t plan on late-night healthy dining, though. Hours of operation are 10:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. Monday through Saturday, and the place closes one hour earlier on Sunday.

If you’re going to eat octopus, do it at Benny’s, where the house specialties include mofongo (basically mashed, fried, and seasoned plantains) stuffed with octopus, conch, lobster, or other seafood. Benny’s is a pleasant place to dine, even if it is in a strip center. It’s bright and clean and somehow when the sun is shining in through the front windows, you can almost smell a sea breeze. And the food is great. All the signature Puerto Rican delights are here, including piononos and alcapurrias (sort of a Puerto Rican-style meat pie; the alcapurria de jueyes is addictive), arroz con gandules (rice and pigeon peas), and tostones de pana pen (better than regular tostones). If you’re really serious, there’s always mondongo (tripe), gandinga (pork or beef liver), and cuajito (stomach of a cow or pig). The service is gracious and friendly, and the coquito is super-rico.

If you’ve never had a flop, or never even heard of one, it’s time to make your move. Nearly every soul-food joint in Liberty City, Overtown, and Model City serves this mixture of iced tea and lemonade. It’s a smooth and refreshing beverage, highly recommended for the coming season. We like People’s mix because they brew the tea fresh. As for the name, no definitive answer could be learned from those who regularly partake. Perhaps it comes from flip-flop. Or maybe it’s just meant to be drunk on those searing summer days so hot you can’t do anything but flop down and sip a cool one.

Tart enough. Sweet enough. Mellow yellow filling, almost ecru. Velvety texture. Moist, crumbly graham cracker crust. Outside edge daintily adorned with a ring of whipped cream. Center garnished with more cream and a twisted lime slice. Ideal to serve to your friends, but at close to ten bucks, certainly not meant to throw at your enemies.

In the restaurant’s bygone heyday both the famous and infamous, from Jackie Gleason to Meyer Lansky, were regularly seated in the rounded vinyl booths of the Celebrity Corner. Although Wolfie Cohen hasn’t owned it for quite some time, the 53-year-old institution still offers both old-timers and tourists a place to savor an authentic slice of Miami Beach’s past, or maybe just a satisfying hunk of cheesecake. Even the waiters’ uniforms — black vests, white dress shirts, and bow ties — appear to be circa the more formal Fifties. Miami Beach artist Stewart Stewart added a burst of color to the already character-filled place in 1991 with his Pickle People Promenade and a smorgasbord of 3-D paintings of Wolfie’s standards, including Day-Glo borscht with a dollop of sour cream, matzo ball soup, and a perky BLT, all of which take on a surreal glow at 3:00 a.m. in the seemingly timeless 24-hour eatery.

Oh, we know the myth. The best hamburgers are made from ground chuck, because the meat has more fat in it. The fat then prevents the burger from shrinking into a McDonald’s-esque disk while cooking. Well, baloney. At the downtown location of Morton’s, the hamburger is a full eight ounces of lean ground sirloin. Hard to feel guilty eating that. And it’s just about the juiciest thing we’ve encountered outside the Chris Paciello story. The single drawback? The burger is served only during the noontime meal. Still, order with a side of lyonnaise taters, and that’s what we call a power lunch.

Some folks visit this corner storefront eatery for its baked pastas. Other patrons go for its wonderfully prepared veal scaloppine dishes and fillets of fish sprinkled with capers. And most appreciate the lengths the staff goes to ensure that even those waiting for a table outside have a glass of refreshment. We, however, frequent the cafe for its absolutely fresh caesar salad, which is redolent with garlic, Parmesan, and the all-important anchovies. Oh, we know picky diners don’t like to look an anchovy fillet in the eye, so to speak. But you don’t have to. The dressing here incorporates chopped anchovies, not whole ones, so you get the proper flavor without being, well, grossed out. Best of all, the kitchen will split an order for you, and the results usually are two huge salads for the price of one.

This Cuban restaurant is an all-around winner. They serve topnotch meats and seafood alongside Cuban staples. But it’s the black bean soup that is a standout. Velvety smooth, with a lemony tinge. They won’t divulge their secret ingredient, but it’s worth a trip up Biscayne Boulevard to try and figure it out for yourself.

What sets this Jewish diner apart is the bread, made fresh every day in the adjacent bakery. Three plates of goodies are served with every meal. Besides your traditional soft and chewy rolls, they toss in white toast swirled throughout with sweet cinnamon. Also offered are chunks of raisin bread dotted with the gooey black stuff and covered with a thin coat of sugar. Real butter and cream cheese are served on the side to spread across the delicacies. For diners who can’t finish the bread, servers offer a doggy bag to enjoy it at home or the office. Don’t feel like waiting for the sometimes slow service or interminable lines? Then walk straight into the bakery, where the selection grows to include buttered toast, pumpernickel, and sticky honeybuns. And don’t fret when you get a craving — they’re open 24 hours.

There they are. Piled atop your palomilla steak. They’re hand-cut, golden, crisp on the outside, tender on the inside. You down half of them before you even think of cutting into that beef. The waiter knows they’re good. He offers you more papitas after you and the others at the table make the first batch disappear. Your answer: Sí, sí, sí.

Yuca does it fancier, plenty of places on Calle Ocho do it with more elegance, but the best Cuban cooking is home cooking, and that’s what Sergio’s has been serving in a consistently impressive manner since 1975. It’s a coffee shop at 6:00 a.m., when the first café cubanos come steaming from the machine; a luncheonette in the afternoon, as piles of Cuban sandwiches get pressed; and at dinnertime the mostly Cuban clientele packs the place for flavorful renditions of their comidas favoritas. The prices are right, too: A grilled eight-ounce palomilla steak with rice, beans, and choice of plantains or fries, costs just $6.50. The crowd gets louder and livelier as Sergio’s switches gears again late Friday and Saturday nights, when it stays open 24 hours.

Oh, we know the myth. The best hamburgers are made from ground chuck, because the meat has more fat in it. The fat then prevents the burger from shrinking into a McDonald’s-esque disk while cooking. Well, baloney. At the downtown location of Morton’s, the hamburger is a full eight ounces of lean ground sirloin. Hard to feel guilty eating that. And it’s just about the juiciest thing we’ve encountered outside the Chris Paciello story. The single drawback? The burger is served only during the noontime meal. Still, order with a side of lyonnaise taters, and that’s what we call a power lunch.

Tart enough. Sweet enough. Mellow yellow filling, almost ecru. Velvety texture. Moist, crumbly graham cracker crust. Outside edge daintily adorned with a ring of whipped cream. Center garnished with more cream and a twisted lime slice. Ideal to serve to your friends, but at close to ten bucks, certainly not meant to throw at your enemies.

Some folks visit this corner storefront eatery for its baked pastas. Other patrons go for its wonderfully prepared veal scaloppine dishes and fillets of fish sprinkled with capers. And most appreciate the lengths the staff goes to ensure that even those waiting for a table outside have a glass of refreshment. We, however, frequent the cafe for its absolutely fresh caesar salad, which is redolent with garlic, Parmesan, and the all-important anchovies. Oh, we know picky diners don’t like to look an anchovy fillet in the eye, so to speak. But you don’t have to. The dressing here incorporates chopped anchovies, not whole ones, so you get the proper flavor without being, well, grossed out. Best of all, the kitchen will split an order for you, and the results usually are two huge salads for the price of one.

The black embroidered shawl of a flamenco dancer drapes down from the arched entrance of this cavelike tavern. The air inside is misty, lanterns hang over the bar, and the waiters are dressed like toreros. Here the tapas are eaten medieval style: standing while chugging down an ice-cold Estrella Galicia (Spanish beer) or sitting at a wooden barrel. To really get into el tapeo, try the bandeja de tapas variadas, an assortment of six tapas for two or more people that includes Spanish sausages, pan tomaca (toasted bread dipped in a tomato and garlic sauce), fluffy Spanish tortillas, ham-and-cheese croquettes, and fried crabmeat. Feast on fried calamari a la andaluza (soaked in aioli sauce and lemon) or shrimp sautéed in white wine and garlic; both will bring out the duende in you. The seafood-stuffed mushrooms and the roasted red peppers bursting with calamari will have you, as the Spanish say, entrando en calor.

You can work up a desert of thirst out on the River of Grass, whether you’re fishing, enjoying an airboat ride, or watching a man tangle with an alligator at the Miccosukee Cultural Center. A twenty-minute drive west of Krome Avenue, this tribe-owned establishment is the perfect spot in which to rehydrate. Here the iced brew is served the way it’s supposed to be. The age-old formula: tall glass full of ice cubes (ice quantity is crucial); real tea, robust and unsweetened (you can take the country boy out of the country but you can’t take the sugar out of the presweetened tea); a quarter of a lemon (not a dinky piece like some places); and finally, free refills.

Cuban sandwich and Versailles — in Miami, they go together like, well, José Martí and poetry. Like most everything on Versailles’ extensive menu, this Cuban sandwich is a credit to its cuisine. Lots of ham, generally more than in other versions, and melted Swiss cheese between not-overly-flattened slices of very fresh Cuban bread. No gratuitous grease. The only thing that could make it better: a little less stinginess with the pickles.

“What’s new?” I asked the blonde at The Pit’s service counter. “Nothing,” she replied. “Tommy Little has owned this place for 35 years, and his whole idea is never to change anything.” Thank the Lord for small things. The food here is as reliable as guessing that the counter lady’s hair color began life in a peroxide bottle. Good meat, slowly smoked over blackjack oak logs. Key lime pies made from scratch. Fresh frogs’ legs and onion rings. Plenty of good customers. Laurence Fishburne is crazy about the chicken. Dennis Rodman loves the ribs. Steven Tyler brought the Aerosmith crew to dine. Jim Carrey and Alex Penelas have been known to pile their plates high. Such stars could make you think you’re on South Beach instead of in a tiki hut at the edge of the Everglades. But after being sated by the best barbecue, you’ll be glad you’re swamps away from that sandbar.

It’s ground beef casserole made into a patty and stuffed in a roll. It’s like a sloppy joe, only made a lo cubano, topped with melted cheddar cheese, toothpick-skinny French fries, and shaved onions. In Hialeah or Little Havana, if you can stomach all that, munch a frita fit for a king. At El Rey de las Fritas these Cuban hamburgers are the house specialty. For a measly two dollars, El Rey’s fritas are packed to the punch. They definitely rule.

Drooling over meat-dripping sandwiches or hot dogs of saturated fat doesn’t seem like the civilized thing to do when you’re traveling by foot through Miami’s urban jungle. Oh, there are plenty of portable grease pits along the way, tempting even the most health-conscious of souls. Real health hazards. But just think of them as obstacles in your journey. What you want is a vegetable patty of mushrooms, brown rice, and cheese wrapped in pita bread with added alfalfa sprouts (a wondrous tonic), carrots (rich in vitamin A), romaine lettuce (a good source of protein), and cherry tomatoes (bursting with vitamin C). That veggie burger and many more natural treats await your arrival at Orange Carrot. Perhaps a bit out of the way from the Bayfront shopping circuit but definitely within walking distance. And remember, walking is a good complement to a veggie burger, much better than that extra cheese.

If only Monty Python’s John Cleese had gone to Amici’s instead of the National Cheese Emporium when “he came over all peckish.” Unlike the comedy team’s famed skit of a barren shop and deceptive store owner, Amici’s offers a cornucopia of “cheesy combustibles” laid out in a helpful manner. Proprietors Carmine Chirico and Carlo Casagrande hail from New York, and their Italian market proves they know good food — cheese in particular. Their new store, which opened this past December, has a selection that ranges from Stilton to Sage Darby and everything in between. The cheeses are displayed with helpful suggestions on accompanying wines and foods. For example they recommend crusty breads, grapes, and a hearty red wine with fontina val d’Aosta. Amici’s also sells cheese accouterments, such as fondue sets, cutters, and special knives. Their fresh mozzarella marinated in extra-virgin olive oil, garlic, parsley, and a pinch of red pepper is heavenly. There are even huge wheels of cheddar, “the single most popular cheese in the world.”

There is a simple menu for this plain restaurant. You can get whole-wheat pita sandwiches filled with chicken salad, hummus, mixed vegetables, or peanut butter. Spread the house dressing over the meal for a tangy flavor. Warm spinach pies stuffed with tuna and avocado or cheese and tomato also are available. Want to delete the carbs? Try the salads made with romaine lettuce or the soup of the day. Wash it all down with freshly squeezed juice, usually mixed with carrot juice. All the food is prepared before the customers as they sit on stools at the wood counter topped with beige tiles. The interior décor amounts to boxes stacked in corners, a large silver drink cooler, and pistachio-green walls. A sandwich-and-juice combo costs about six bucks. Simple. Don’t plan on late-night healthy dining, though. Hours of operation are 10:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. Monday through Saturday, and the place closes one hour earlier on Sunday.

If you’ve never had a flop, or never even heard of one, it’s time to make your move. Nearly every soul-food joint in Liberty City, Overtown, and Model City serves this mixture of iced tea and lemonade. It’s a smooth and refreshing beverage, highly recommended for the coming season. We like People’s mix because they brew the tea fresh. As for the name, no definitive answer could be learned from those who regularly partake. Perhaps it comes from flip-flop. Or maybe it’s just meant to be drunk on those searing summer days so hot you can’t do anything but flop down and sip a cool one.

Situated within a block of county hall and the old courthouse, this breezy cafetería brews the black gold that fuels the machinery of Miami-Dade government (such as it is). Though the kind souls behind the counter are mostly Nicaraguan, they’ve mastered the ancient Cuban secret of making espresso both strong as battery acid and sweet as an abuelita’s smile. Your next trip to the main library will be incomplete without a trip to Cacique’s Corner for a colada that will make your tongue bristle like an angry hedgehog.

There is more to MiMi’s than just ravioli. Pyramids of imported Italian canned tomatoes stand sentry in the large front window. Along one wall shelves overflow with olive oils, vinegars, artichoke and palm hearts, olives, sauces, plus myriad goodies. In the center of the store sit nuts and salty snacks, sweets such as marzipan and imported chocolates, cookies, and candies. Along the other wall are a freezer and refrigerated cases loaded with gnocchi, tortellini, ravioli, an array of sauces, and prepared specialties like eggplant rollatini. Further down in the fridge are prosciutto, soppresatta (mild and hot), hard salami, and more, plus wondrous fresh pasta (plain and spinach) in every shape: tubes, strands, curls. At the very end lies a selection of healthy frozen pasta dishes and, of course, the succulent ravioli. Medium- and jumbo-size, stuffed with seafood, pumpkin, goat cheese, porcini mushrooms, broccoli and cheese, chicken, even a skim-milk version for dieters. A variety of Italian cookies and fresh mozzarella, plain or smoked, still beckon. The small, densely packed market, in place for ten years at its current location, resided just down the street for seven years before. A sister emporium on Hollywood’s Johnson Street has been around for 30 years. Fill up on the goods from 9:00 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Monday through Saturday.

A fajita is a fajita: some kind of meat, chicken, or fish, served on a sizzling platter with a bunch of standard bell peppers and onions. On the side you’ll receive some chopped tomatoes, shredded lettuce, refried pinto beans, maybe a little guacamole or sour cream, plus some flour tortillas to roll around it all. Agreed? Not if you’ve been to La Gloria. Here, beef or chicken fajitas are sautéed with onions, but instead of bell peppers you’ll find palate-tingling poblanos on the hot plate. Refried beans are made with the black turtle variety rather than the light-brown pintos. And tortillas, served warm and coddled in a woven basket, are soft, homemade corn disks, not commercially produced, bleached flour patties. As a result customers discover how fajitas, which are so ubiquitous you can find them at Taco Bell, are meant to be. Fans can pick up a La Gloria fajita, and — you guessed it — drop the chalupa for real.

In 1992 Hurricane Andrew destroyed the original O.C.O.C. (or O.C. for short), then located on Old Cutler Road. But fisherman Mike Pace soon resurrected his pub-style restaurant a few miles west on a busier strip. Oyster lovers will be merry as clams during happy hour (4:00 to 7:00 p.m. daily) when draft beers are $1.50 per glass and the rocklike mollusks are $4 per dozen (usually the fee is $7 per dozen). Executive chef Kevin MacWhinnie and owner Mike Pace conduct meticulous inspections to keep bad oysters at bay, assures hostess Ivonne Bley. “They’re really picky,” she observes. “They go beyond the call of duty.” Peel-and-eat shrimp fans can choose three varieties: traditional, garlic, and Cajun. Clams run $6 per dozen.

Ripe, tender young legumes swimming in a smoky sauce, the barbecue beans at Shorty’s are more than just a side dish; they are a tangy treat to be savored all on their own. Naturally no one is suggesting you should sit in an enclosed restaurant where everyone is filling up on baked beans, and baked beans alone. Our point is merely that the beans at Shorty’s deserve more credit for being so damn good. We think they are every bit as important as the ribs and chicken cooking on the grill. And we’re willing to fight any man, woman, or child who says otherwise.

The best reason to stop in and buy a bag of traditional and terrific croissants at Renaissance is that it gives a busy person an excuse to pause in a first-class bakery and pick up just a few more things. Like their potato-based focaccia, or its chewier cousin, the fougasse, a pesto-smeared loaf that begins life with sun-dried tomatoes and basil in its dough. Or one of their chocolate cakes that taste so dreamy … maybe there are things better than sex. Started in 1994 Renaissance has long been a regular stop for discerning locals, and it’s worth a drive to the North Miami strip mall. It’s amazing just how much a good baker can do with, mostly, a little flour and water.

This Cuban restaurant is an all-around winner. They serve topnotch meats and seafood alongside Cuban staples. But it’s the black bean soup that is a standout. Velvety smooth, with a lemony tinge. They won’t divulge their secret ingredient, but it’s worth a trip up Biscayne Boulevard to try and figure it out for yourself.

Every morning Rafat Monem gets up at about 4:00 and heads to work, where he will bake more than 7000 individual loaves of pita bread. By early afternoon they will all be sold. Each loaf is an individual work of art, a light and airy source of comfort, whose gentle folds ply easily apart exposing a soft and inviting interior. Monem, the son of the store’s owner, Okashah Monem, has been baking pita bread for seventeen years. What makes it special? “It’s the ingredients we use,” says Monem, a Palestinian who was born in Jerusalem. And what are those ingredients? “I can’t tell you that,” he laughs. “It’s a secret.”

You don’t have to know the maitre d’ to get a good meal quick from Joe’s. The take-out division, just to the north of the landmark seafood restaurant, serves the same menu — without the three-hour wait (same prices, without the tip). In addition to the standard dinner of stone crabs, coleslaw, creamed spinach, and a slice of key lime pie (a meal we heartily endorse), take-out customers can choose from a wide variety of other wonderful selections, from po’boys to fried chicken to swordfish steaks. Quality, the ingredient that has made Joe’s an institution, is dependably maintained. And, we repeat, without the wait. Joe’s is closed from May 15 to October 15.

Lucila Jimenez has turned her family tradition of baking festive and inventive cakes into a thriving business. Her two Sweet Art bakeries, with their 50 employees, seem to be able to coax batter and icing into almost any shape, for any event. Mountains, hearts, toys, the island of Cuba — nearly anything is possible. Her signature “jewelry box” cakes are a true marvel: They look for all the world like oversize Limoges porcelain boxes, complete with gold fittings, and yet, amazingly, they are not only edible, but delicious. Try one of Lucila’s cakes for a special occasion, and her tradition will quickly become yours as well.

What sets this Jewish diner apart is the bread, made fresh every day in the adjacent bakery. Three plates of goodies are served with every meal. Besides your traditional soft and chewy rolls, they toss in white toast swirled throughout with sweet cinnamon. Also offered are chunks of raisin bread dotted with the gooey black stuff and covered with a thin coat of sugar. Real butter and cream cheese are served on the side to spread across the delicacies. For diners who can’t finish the bread, servers offer a doggy bag to enjoy it at home or the office. Don’t feel like waiting for the sometimes slow service or interminable lines? Then walk straight into the bakery, where the selection grows to include buttered toast, pumpernickel, and sticky honeybuns. And don’t fret when you get a craving — they’re open 24 hours.

Got a hankering for a half-sour? A craving for sauerkraut? The palate for a pickled green tomato? Relax, you’re covered. The only pickle stand in Miami that’s called a kiosk, Picklelicious imports its barrels of pickles, about ten varieties, directly from the Lower East Side in New York. And don’t worry if you don’t feel like purchasing a pint or a quart of the briny goodies. Picklelicious also sells the ever-popular pickle-on-a-stick, which leaves you one hand free for flipping through the clothes at Macy’s. Just be careful not to get yourself in a pickle, and have the courtesy to buy whatever you manage to squirt with garlicky juice.

Chef Pepin — no, not the famous one, just a hardworking Cuban cook named Pepin — has been a fixture at Little Farm Store’s diner for the past twenty years. More than a fixture; Little Farm Store cognoscenti prize Pepin’s homestyle Cuban dishes. But especially his medianoche. Now what is it that makes Pepin’s sandwich a cut above? How would he know? Does an artist know what drives him to the canvas? Pepin throws generous portions of pork, ham, Swiss cheese, mayo, and pickles (amount will vary at your order) on some of that soft egg bread, grills it just right, and there it is. Another masterpiece to go. Invest now while you can get one for $2.50.

All you have to do is walk into Steve’s and you know you’ve entered pizza nirvana. For one thing the whole place, really just a glorified stand, smells like the pizza shops in Milan. Then there are the New York-style pies, wafting just a hint of oregano toward you, that are constantly coming out of the oven. The oozing mozzarella, the tangy marinara, the dusky, charcoaled crust — it’s enough to make you drool just standing there. But we should warn you: Hold on to your patience. Even Steve’s isn’t worth that nasty blister that pops up when you sink your teeth too soon into a slice. Or ith it? Ith really hard to thay, after all.

The exterior of this eatery, located right off a dusty (read: under construction) portion of Biscayne, doesn’t look like much: a long, low building with lettering in the windows advertising Middle Eastern food. But don’t go by judging the proverbial cover. Inside you’ll find wonderful text, not to mention texture — light, crisp falafel patties, steaming hot in the center and delicately deep-fried. For the best results, get the falafel encased in a soft pita bread with creamy tahini and tangy Turkish salad. The staff also stuffs in some shredded red cabbage and chopped tomatoes for good measure. But don’t worry; none of the fillings overwhelm the falafel, which is, after all, the biggest plus of this pita place.

First, the history. Renaissance Bakery, which has scored a bunch of awards from us in the past several years for its outstanding sourdough, olive, and sesame-semolina loaves, was founded by Ron Funt. Now, the present. Funt, along with brother Paul, decided to put Renaissance bread to even better use than selling it out of the back of the bakery and transporting wholesale orders to local restaurants and markets. They opened Upper Crust about a year ago, doing the chic décor — lots of chrome, glass, stone, and marble — themselves. So take the name literally. The appearance of this sandwich shop is literally a cut of bread above the rest, as is the Renaissance Bakery itself. The sandwiches are, too, giving a new meaning to portable lunch. Peanut butter and jelly, which is smoothed between two slices of raisin-currant-pecan bread, never had it so good. Now, there really is something better than sliced bread.

Chocolate’s reputation as a caffeine-crammed, cavity-causing, pimple-promoting, fat-inducing treat has finally turned to mud. In fact the rich creamy substance these days is being touted as an antioxidant that packs a feel-good punch. Scientists are still fine-tuning their theories about phenylethylamine and theobromine (the chemical ingredients that put chocolate consumption on the level of orgasm). So while they’re in the lab, you can conduct a little study of your own at Krön Chocolatier. This tiny shop, which spent seventeen years housed in Bal Harbour, has been sweetly ensconced on the second floor of the Aventura Mall for the past two. Chocolate-covered everything — popcorn, potato chips, Oreos, pretzels, apricots, orange slices, pineapple, strawberries — is made on the premises. You can mix and match a selection of creams and chews (dark, white, or light) or partake individually of pecan myrtles, rocky road bricks, oversize peanut-butter cups, and Nora’s tacos (chocolate shell stuffed with crunchy chocolate, M&Ms, and Rice Krispies). Taste one of Krön’s melt-in-your mouth, hand-cut, cocoa-dipped truffles and you’ll understand why some addicts claim chocolate is better than sex. The research may be overwhelming, but remember, you’re doing it in the name of science.

Doughnuts are sin. You cannot yield to the temptation of a low-fat or sugar-free doughnut. Such abominations are not doughnuts. Therefore, brothers and sisters, he who eats of the glazed, powdered, cream-filled, and all other manner of deep-fried dough, make damn sure it’s worth sinning for. Can I get a witness? When you’re out there hungering in the depths of your gut for a chocolate frosted, drive thou not into a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot, for that way leads to perdition. No, my children! Hold out for the worst sin! The very anti-halo! A still-warm glazed doughnut fresh from the Krispy Kreme kitchen! What is it, you may ask, that the Krispy Kreme people put in those doughnuts to render them so meltingly soft? So dangerously delicious? Oh, ye of little faith! Shut up and start sinning!

As the neon sign reads inside, everything in this bakery is made with “chispa Venezolana.” The bread comes to you fresh out of the oven in all shapes and sizes. The cakes are topped with fresh strawberries, kiwis, and peaches. The meat, chicken, and cheese empanadas go a long way. Be sure to wash down the dough-wrapped lunch-in-a-pocket with a Frescolita ( a cherry-flavor Venezuelan soda in a glass bottle). Have a bomba (a pastry stuffed with cooked condensed milk) for dessert, or a flaky mil ojas (1000 leaves) covered in powdered sugar. They even have something to cure the lethargy that comes from eating too much.

Take a look on the other side of the counter in either one of these locations, and what you see could very well be a picture from a local agricultural promo. The fruits and vegetables are so fresh and ripe they look as though they belong on a billboard rather than in a blender. That’s the way it’s been for 58 years at the original Athens on Collins Avenue (the second location opened in 1997). As far as smoothies go, forget about the elaborate menus with clever names you’ll find at other establishments. When ordering at Athens, simply rattle off whatever combination you want and it’s yours, all for the same price: about three bucks for a medium cup. How do they do it? While other smoothie places choose to go with some frozen material or use bottled juice, the folks at Athens get up early every morning and select their produce from a stable of local farmers or the farmers’ market in Homestead. But during September, take your thirst elsewhere; that’s the low season for most of the local produce, and rather than work with inferior merchandise, Athens just closes shop.

It’s hard to believe a society capable of cloning sheep can’t produce a decent-tasting nonfat dessert. A fellow frozen-yogurt consumer once said, “It’s supposed to taste strange; it’s nonfat. It’s got all kinds of weird chemicals in it.” She then continued contentedly munching the junk, not unlike a cloned sheep. Well it tastes like crap, and I’m not going to eat it anymore! Fortunately science finally has come up with Yocream. This stuff is super rich, extra creamy, and (Seinfeld fans take note) fat free! One-half cup vanilla contains 100 calories and zero grams of fat, saturated fat, and cholesterol; one-half cup chocolate has 110 calories with .5 grams total fat (zero from saturated fat or cholesterol). And there’s not a trace of the artificial aftertaste common in other nonfat treats. Ingredients include active yogurt cultures, some natural items you’d find in a baker’s pantry, plus a few you might not, including the mysterious “sweetener” and “stabilizer,” plus cellulose and guar gum. You can find vanilla and chocolate Yocream at Banana Royale ice cream store in Aventura, News Café on South Beach, as well as in shakes and smoothies at Norman Brothers.

Tucked among the many unexpected treasures in Libreri Mapou are tall bottles of a mysterious ivory liquid. A love potion? A purifying bubble bath? Not exactly, though you could say Kremas Mapou has alchemic properties. Here in this venerable Little Haiti bookstore, the cultural and intellectual heart of Miami’s Haitian community, is owner Jan Mapou’s homemade contribution to the potable arts. Kremas Mapou is this thick, syrupy drink that doesn’t taste quite like anything else. A subtle pang of alcohol — “sugar cane rhum,” as noted on the label — heats up the rich vanilla-almond-cinnamon mixture just enough to turn it into a deep velvety dream of a cream. A 700-ml bottle costs $13; smaller quantities are correspondingly less, down to a cute little pocket size for $1.

A family-owned market since 1964, Laurenzo’s offers a unique experience here in South Florida. “We’re a snapshot in time,” offers David Laurenzo, who runs the market along with his sister, Carol, and their father, Ben. “We’re like a piece of Little Italy back in the Fifties.” Everything in the store offers authentic Italian cuisine, from their homemade ravioli to the mozzarella, made fresh every morning. Their cousin Roberto, who still lives in the old country, also keeps the store stocked with items that can only be found in Italy. Laurenzo’s deli section is filled with marvelous treats for the tongue, such as the pepperoni-mozzarella bread and spinach pies. But it is perhaps one of the simpler delicacies that speaks volumes about Laurenzo’s. Their rice pudding is nothing short of heavenly. “Like your grandmother made,” David says. If only all our grandmothers cooked so well.

There they are. Piled atop your palomilla steak. They’re hand-cut, golden, crisp on the outside, tender on the inside. You down half of them before you even think of cutting into that beef. The waiter knows they’re good. He offers you more papitas after you and the others at the table make the first batch disappear. Your answer: Sí, sí, sí.

There are some great health food stores in Miami, but on the whole, Whole Foods has more and often better stuff. Seems there’s always something you didn’t see on your last visit: the latest chlorophyll/kelp tabs; a new herb mixture to strengthen the lungs; bricks of dark chocolate from Prague or other distant cities; exotic organic plums, kumquats, and pomegranates; champagnes; soy concoctions you’ve never heard of. Whole Foods’ own brand of vitamins and sauces and teas and frozen veggies, et cetera, are, well, really good. The place makes a chipotle-chili salsa that kills. And the fresh seafood/poultry/meat section is hard to beat for the likes of free-range chicken, hormone-free beef, and fresh sausages that Jimmy Dean never imagined (try the chicken-basil-spinach, or Greek-style lamb). Whole Foods’ new store north of its old location is, while giant, very pleasant. Sometimes there’s even a masseur stationed near the entrance, ready to properly relax you for a complete holistic shopping experience.

Most of the handful of Mexican restaurants in town seem to cater to Mexican-American tastes. El Fogon’s fare hails from further south of the border (including the Yucatán), and the difference is reflected in the quality and style of their humble burritos. The chicken is seasoned and seared, the picadillo (seasoned ground beef) is divine, but best of all is the cochinita pibil — chunks of tender pork stewed in the red, delicately tart pibil sauce. When wrapped in a tortilla with refried beans and enrobed in melted cheese, the cochinita crosses over from sublime to ridiculously good. Oh, and the burritos are huge; a party of two should consider ordering a cup of tortilla soup each, then sharing the monster. That way they won’t have to roll you out.

You’re in the office, it’s midafternoon, and that sweet tooth starts clamoring for attention. A thick, creamy, fruity drink would quiet the ruckus, but you don’t want that artificial stuff the fast-food joints peddle. It’s too far to drive to the farms in Homestead to get the real thing. The alternative is this roadside stand just south of U.S. 1. Take your pick of fresh papaya, mango, or kiwi juice, or mix and match to create a new concoction. Nonfat frozen yogurt keeps the calories down, and a scoop of protein or ginseng can be added for a boost of energy. Price is on the high side at $4.25, but think of all the gas you’re saving. You can get your fix between 9:00 a.m. and 9:00 p.m. Monday through Saturday.

George Giampetro’s dairy and nondairy creations are simply the best. Making ice cream is more than a business at this mom-and-pop parlor. It’s a family tradition. One that Giampetro’s daughter passed on to friend Yara Herrera. Since then she’s been Whip ‘N Dip’s magical gelato maker, responsible for the 30-plus flavors in Mr. G’s store. In twenty minutes Herrera can whip up two and a half gallons of ice cream. Amazing. She’s been doing it for five years, almost daily, right here at Whip ‘N Dip. The most popular item on the menu is her famous Mocha Mud Pie, a spumoni swirl of coffee, fudge, and bits of Oreo cookies. Herrera also recommends Barrel of Monkeys — a blend of banana and peanut-butter ice creams mixed with chocolate-covered peanuts. Oh, and at Whip ‘N Dip only the freshest ingredients are used to make fruity ice creams such as strawberry, apple, and key lime pie.

Since opening a little more than a year ago, the Titanic has hopped up the local beer scene. It hosts South Florida’s home-brewing competition, the Coconut Cup, which features battles between the Miami Area Society of Homebrewers (MASH) and the Fort Lauderdale Area Brewers (FLAB). It’s also received national acclaim at the Great American Beer Festival in Denver, Colorado, where the Captain Smith’s Rye Ale took home a bronze medal in the specialty-beer category, and recently was named a finalist in the prestigious World Beer Cup competition. Closer to home the Titanic has won the hearts of many aficionados with the five house beers brewed on-site (triple-screw light ale, Britannica, boiler-room nut brown, white-star India pale ale, ship-builders’ oatmeal stout), plus one seasonal beer that changes every couple of months. And if you want food with your beer, check out the Brew Masters’ Dinner. Held about once every six weeks, the meal consists of five courses, each of which comes with a different brew that’s chosen to complement the eats. Food also is a major part of the mug club. Membership costs $50 per year and comes with a customized twenty-once mug (four ounces bigger than the usual mug) that hangs in the bar. Membership has its privileges: Besides getting an extra four ounces of beer, mugees also are entitled to special happy hours and free dinner on Wednesdays. Thirsty yet? Oh, and did we mention on the weekend they have great live music? Cheers.

The sopa marinera here is the Latin/Caribbean version of that New England stalwart: seafood chowder. Instead of dairy milk, the fish broth is emboldened with coconut milk. Instead of quahogs and cod, the chowder is studded with shrimp, conch, and snapper. It’s a wonderful merging of the Northern and Southern hemispheres, which, after all, is Miami at its best. A small bowl, which is plentiful, runs $4.50; a large, which is obscene, $7.50. Both come with tortilla and side. Adelita is open from 7:00 a.m. until midnight.

If writer David Mamet had been to Villa Habana, he never would have scripted the line in his film Wag the Dog, in which William H. Macy’s character declares there is no difference between good flan and bad flan. Granted, making a cup of custard is kind of hard to screw up, so there probably isn’t any flan out there that would scream “bad.” But the Villa Habana version goes way beyond “good.” It’s thicker, creamier, less eggy than most, with a delicate flavor that goes great with a foam-topped, after-dinner cortadito. The restaurant’s regular menu is full of familiar Cuban favorites, executed with a deft and distinctive touch. So sure, go there for the ropa vieja al vino, but remember, there’s always room for flan.

It’s been a long journey pushing westward in the brutal traffic. But here you are at the roadside oasis called Rancho los Cocos. This glorified country produce stand used to be really way out west but is now in scenic Westchester. Wooden tables piled with locally grown fruits and vegetables are lined up under a wide roof, which also shades a cluster of little tables and chairs. Here the weary commuter can enjoy Cuban home cooking chosen from an indoor minicafeteria. Or try a shrimp, beef, or chicken shish kebab grilled to order outside. Then there’s the wonderful los Cocos juice bar offering a full complement of fresh juices and batidos. When you’re finished eating, browse through the produce and bring home a bag or two of whatever’s in season.

Mexico and Miami have much in common. Both have plenty of corruption and new construction. Both are working hard to join the industrialized world. Unlike the land of the big piñata, however, the Magic City has a sorely underdeveloped taco sector. But authentic taco entrepreneurs from Puebla and other Mexican towns are popping up where you’d least expect them. This little restaurant and take-out window in a dusty warehouse district is the leader of this fledgling industry. It’s where you’ll find the genuine item. At $1.50 per unit, the cost-benefit ratio is excellent. Each taco is constructed with two soft tortillas, instead of one. The marinated pieces of grilled sirloin are gilded with chopped onions and cilantro. Apply red or green hot sauce as needed. Consume other varieties: pork chunks cooked in a dry pepper sauce (al pastor), chorizo, or shredded chicken, all cooked with Mexican herbs. For an extra 50 cents you can receive the top-of-the-line tacos: beef tongue, tripe, jerky beef, or goat meat with avocado leaves. Viva el capitalismo!

You’d think more restaurants in this food capital of the Caribbean would know how to fry a green plantain. Yet all too often, even otherwise outstanding Cuban (or Puerto Rican, or Dominican, et cetera) restaurants produce indifferent patacones. They’re always too big, too thickly sliced, not ripe enough. And they’re never hot; you find yourself staring at a flavorless, lukewarm pile of plantain pucks. The ones at Laguna always come out sizzling and are made from plaintains just ripe enough to leave the insides tender without crossing the line into plátanos maduros. This bustling, low-priced lunch spot has plenty else to recommend it, but its tostones are without peer. Ask for una tasita de mojo al lado. Mmmm.

Laurenzo’s is a throwback to the days before hordes of swarming yuppies nationalized the word gourmet by blurring its definition to include a deluded sense of sophistication that’s based on a so-so go-go stock market, vast washes of German cars, and upscale grocery shelves crammed with pricey and semiprecious eatable oddities. Instead Laurenzo’s is a no-nonsense mom-and-pop Italian market that caters to cooks and diners who want to buy fresh and interesting ingredients that can provide robust yet subtle meals. In addition to the wares of Laurenzo’s first-class butcher, baker, and fishmonger, you can buy homemade, tricolor tubetti pasta or the fresh mozzarella that employee Ralph Perrota has been conjuring in plain sight on the premises for the past twenty years. If you are intent on grandly spreading around the big bucks, well, yeah, they’ve got them small bottles of Extra Old Modena balsamic vinegar for $169. But we recommend blowing your wad on the battarga, a traditional dried fish roe product that goes for a hundred bucks a pound, and tastes great when grated on nearly naked pasta.

The curative properties of honey are legion; this sweet, dark elixir is not only heavenly to taste but may very well be the healthiest honey for miles around. Ray Chasser founded a farm in Little River 22 years ago and called it The Earth ‘n Us. Today Chasser is still farming, right in the middle of the city. For twenty years he’s been selling raw honey from his own beehives. Just within the past year, though, the bees have come under attack from mites and beetles, insects accompanying the feared Africanized bees, who have begun to invade South Florida. Chasser says he’s been able to control the mites, but the beetles are destroying his non-Africanized bees, who don’t realize the beetles are predators. The only way to kill the beetles, according to Chasser, is to use a highly toxic insecticide that inevitably gets into the honey. He won’t touch it, and contends he’s the only beekeeper in the region who doesn’t. “So I’ve gone from 50 hives to 20 hives in eight months,” Chasser laments. “But I’ve been watching, and the bees are beginning to recognize the beetles as their enemies. I saw a beetle fall into a hive, and the bees killed it. They’re going to start fighting [the beetles] off.” Even before this crisis, honey wasn’t profitable for Chasser; he keeps bees because he’s fascinated by the industrious creatures. He just raised the price for a quart of honey from six to seven dollars — still a very sweet price.

So what if the 99-cent special at this Caribbean-style eatery was slashed from the menu early this year? The same simple meal — two eggs any style, toast, and a portion of butter-saturated grits larger than anyone should ever eat — has become the $1.99 breakfast. It is still the best deal in town for anyone looking for a no-frills stomach-stuffer and a slice of real Little Haiti life. Often Johnny himself does the cooking. Along with your food, the proprietor, a Miami native, can serve up some pretty spicy Liberty City lore, when he’s in the mood and not too occupied. Still too steep a price? Try the $1.49 special — two eggs on a buttered roll with a cup of coffee — and listen to the city west of Biscayne talk.

This 24-hour eatery offers a full menu of sandwiches and seafood (fried and otherwise), and the chicken is without peer. The crunchy, peppery batter on the wings and drumsticks keeps the meat inside perfectly tender. As the menu says: “Puts the Colonel to shame…. Is cooked to order. Please allow eight minutes for wings, thirteen minutes for drumsticks.” When your plate of steaming poultry arrives with a side of batter-dipped fries, you’ll know it was worth the wait. On a menu full of combos named in honor of local high schools, the best lunch value is the “Booker T. Washington Lucky 2 Special”: two wings, two drums, “two wonderful onion rings,” and two vegetables — choices include fries, mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas, collards, and macaroni and cheese. (Any place that considers macaroni and cheese a vegetable is okay with us.) Wash it all down with a “flop” (half lemonade, half iced tea), and taste why Jumbo’s has been a fixture in the Northwest since 1955.

After a hard day at work, you may not feel like sitting in a restaurant. And you certainly don’t want to cook. All you want to do is go home, kick off your shoes, and enjoy a little mu shu pork. Or maybe you’re in the mood for a little Peking delight or an order of salt-and-pepper flounder, or a simple serving of chicken chow mein. No matter what you’re looking for, Yeung’s is ready to please. Their slogan tells it all: “We know how Chinese food should be.” Call ahead and your order will be waiting when you arrive. Their cooks are fast, they are talented, and they rarely disappoint.

This quaint Peruvian restaurant serves up ceviche for the soul, and it’s soaked in just the right amount of lemon juice. Be prepared to reach altiplano heights (even though it’s seafood) with their ceviche mixto, a combination of tender pink shrimp, fresh fish, succulent octopus, and savory squid that rests on a bed of romaine lettuce leaves. Or have the marinated morsels individually. Either way all versions arrive on the table topped with a thick red onion ring, sprinkles of cancha (big chunks of dried, toasted corn), and with choclo (corn on the cob) to one side and sweet potato on the other.

Being hip requires a lot of time and energy, so trendsetters on South Beach are always looking for ways to cut back on frivolous exercises such as food-shopping and miscellaneous cooking. That’s why Epicure is so popular. It’s chic. It’s fabulous. And it’s fast. You can even call up their gourmet phone line and hear the specials they are serving that very day. Fresh-baked salmon, prime chuck, roasted leg of lamb, prime beef brisket, and an assortment of salads (the Waldorf is divine), are just a few of the offerings seen during one recent visit to the store. They also have a complete line of pastas and a frozen-food section that will leave you just a few microwaveable seconds from bliss.

The ancient parable goes as follows: Members of the tribe wandered lost in the wilderness of South Miami-Dade. All of a sudden a voice from on high spoke as if like thunder. “You must build a restaurant, serve the food of your people there, and make it extra tasty!” the voice commanded. Actually that’s probably not how Lots of Lox began at all, but the result is just the same. It’s all here: chopped liver, potato pancakes, blintzes, herring, knishes, and pastrami. Sandwiches carry names like Schlemiel, which consists of turkey, salami, Swiss, and Thousand Island dressing; or the East Side, with roast beef, tomato, onion, and chopped liver. Open seven days a week from 7:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Lots of Lox covers all the bases. One can order whitefish and cream cheese on a bagel in the morning, matzo ball soup for lunch, and a nice brisket for an early dinner. If only the miracle of food this good appeared more often.

It would be hard to beat La Palma’s take on the torreja: It serves the homemade slices of Cuban-style French toast smothered in honey and maple syrup with a hint of anise. A simple dessert with versions of it going back so far the original is untraceable, La Palma even makes torrejas by the dozens for parties. It’s light enough that it won’t make you feel guilty, but sweet enough that you’ll want to indulge, and keep on indulging.

This isn’t the kind of bar where you can order vodka, Scotch, or beer. But you’ve got your choices all the same — sesame, poppy, onion…. The bagels here are just what the New Yawker yaks about: crusty exterior, chewy interior. Buy ’em by the bag or take a seat at one of the tables, or best yet, the counter. Then you can have a bagel platter, accompanying that garlic bagel with a schmear of cream cheese and a little Novie. Then spread out the latest New Times, refill your coffee cup, and peruse to your pleasure while you munch. Just be prepared to wait in line for your Sunday-morning fix. At Bagel Bar East, the line is always west of the front door.

Bored with the Starbucks buzz? Can’t do the Dew? Then check out the Bawls, if you’ve got any. This locally born soft drink combines the fizz of pop with the pep of the guarana berry, an Amazonian plant that exudes a natural substance similar to caffeine (but two and a half times stronger). The nonalcoholic beverage debuted in Miami in 1997, and has since been placed in major market chains like Publix. Not bad for the slightly sweet, slightly spicy little drink that could. The Indians in the Amazonian rain forest use guarana to increase “performance,” by the way. Viagra, move over. The men in town finally have Bawls.

Recipe for a perfect lunch: Head over to Scotty’s Landing, preferably by boat. Sit at a humble plastic table shaded from the sun by a canopy of green-burlap umbrellas. Drink deeply an ice-cold beer (or, if you’re working, an ice-cold tea). Order the dolphin sandwich, blackened, with a caesar salad side. Watch the boats chug past the outdoor patio. Check out the politicians and lobbyists ducking in from nearby Miami City Hall. When your simple meal arrives, slather the substantial slice of fish in tartar sauce. Enjoy every tender, juicy, flavorful bite. When you are finished, tip generously. For best results repeat often.

As all the best Cuban cafeterías do, Oasis has plenty of counter. Most patrons simply go to the window and order. They usually ask for the café con leche. Creamy and not sickeningly sweet, Oasis puts out a concoction that restores balance to even the most addled brain. For 32 years Oasis has served café con leche out of a little store near the entrance to Key Biscayne. That’s more than three decades of liquid well-being. Of course once your equilibrium is re-established, it’s hard not to notice the place also offers hearty lunches and tasty desserts.

This converted no-tell motel on South Dixie is painted a really disgusting shade of green; a more reliable harbinger of the food within can be seen in the clusters of patrons on the benches outside the front door, eagerly awaiting their tables. Inside it’s long and narrow, with a boxcarlike feel, but the friendly service and the pungent scent of Thai basil, fish sauce, and chili paste more than compensate for the cramped quarters. A Thai restaurant is only as good as its pad thai, and this one kills: a light hand with the ground pork, and it actually has plenty of shrimp! The rich curries are excellent, as are appetizers like tiger tear and nam sod. The chefs also show a deft touch with seafood; if you find a restaurant of any ethnic description that can cook up a tastier whole snapper, let us know. And if you like your Thai food with plenty of fire, you’ll be pleased to know Siam Lotus Room actually takes you at your word when you ask for “four stars” of spiciness. Ouch! Hurts so good.

You just made it. Booth okay? Care for a beverage? Will that be the pasta fagioli or the garden salad? And your rolls: plain or dripping with garlic? For dinner there’s lasagna, stuffed shells, eggplant rollatini, chicken parmigiana, veal cacciatore, linguine in clam sauce, ziti with sausage, or something else … I forgot; I’ll be right back. What do you mean you’re full? No dessert? Either way it’s $7.95. Come on, take the cannoli! (Oh well, just come back: The early bird special is offered seven days a week, 4:00 to 7:00 p.m.)

In the restaurant’s bygone heyday both the famous and infamous, from Jackie Gleason to Meyer Lansky, were regularly seated in the rounded vinyl booths of the Celebrity Corner. Although Wolfie Cohen hasn’t owned it for quite some time, the 53-year-old institution still offers both old-timers and tourists a place to savor an authentic slice of Miami Beach’s past, or maybe just a satisfying hunk of cheesecake. Even the waiters’ uniforms — black vests, white dress shirts, and bow ties — appear to be circa the more formal Fifties. Miami Beach artist Stewart Stewart added a burst of color to the already character-filled place in 1991 with his Pickle People Promenade and a smorgasbord of 3-D paintings of Wolfie’s standards, including Day-Glo borscht with a dollop of sour cream, matzo ball soup, and a perky BLT, all of which take on a surreal glow at 3:00 a.m. in the seemingly timeless 24-hour eatery.

In the South Beach scene, late-night snacking really has become the norm. So it’s not unusual to see couples supping at 10:00 p.m., parties laughing over veal chops at 11:00 p.m., clubbers strapping on the predance feedbag at midnight. But while you can find plenty of places to eat, it’s harder to discover one where you can dine. So far Secrets, open till 2:00 a.m. daily, has been something of a, well, secret. But proprietors Filip Rady and Milan Radesits are bound to have a late-night success on their hands with items like tenderloin bites marinated in yogurt and served with mango chipotle coulis, and a crab and rock shrimp “burger.” Indeed the tropically influenced fare ranges from pan-seared tuna steak topped with sugar-cane juice to fruit-stuffed French toast, which pretty much means you can enjoy the secrets of culinary success not only late at night, but early in the morning as well.

The “dining” part might be a bit of a misnomer, given that this restaurant is more of a good place to snack on caviar and sip champagne. But you can’t argue with the seductive nature of the fare: caviar, lobster, crab, smoked salmon, Kobe beef carpaccio. Ply your sweetie with some of these luxury foodstuffs and no doubt you’ll get quite a return on the investment. And make no mistake — investment it is. Black truffle soup can run you $45, and a platter of beluga, osetra, and sevruga can cost you $195. Plus, since all of these gourmet items are served with little more than toast points, expect your appetite to be stimulated rather than sated. But that, after all, is the point of aphrodisiac dining: to leave you wanting, craving, desiring more.

Sadly the Little Haiti Chef Creole at 77th and NE Second Avenue is no more. New Times can still smell the cinders floating through the air the day after the explosion of a propane canister set off a chain reaction that burned out the insides of this beloved take-out storefront and sent one of the chefs to the hospital. Gone is the floor-to-ceiling mural of fishermen in a Haitian seascape on one wall. Gone, too, the gallery of visiting Haitian celebrities opposite. Although the ambiance is not the same, Chef Creole continues to serve the best fish fresh — stewed, fried, or grilled — from their bright and shiny location in North Miami. Here, as at the countless festivals where the Chef sets up his kiosk, you will find flaky, spicy conch fritters, three-alarm conch salad, and tart lemonade. Expect lines out the door at lunch and dinnertime, but your stomach will tell you: It’s worth the wait.

Proprietor Delius Shirley and chef-proprietor Cindy Hutson had the right idea when they closed Norma’s on the Beach! and opened Ortanique. Their first Miami restaurant, named for gourmet Jamaican chef Norma Shirley (Delius’s mom and Cindy’s mentor) was a solid, impressive venture that we honored as Best Caribbean Restaurant year after year. But with Ortanique (and with apologies to Norma) the specter of a mother’s influence has been removed, not just from the name but from the entire spirit of cookery that infuses the place. In short the coproprietors are working miracles of a pan-Caribbean nature on the Mile, and Hutson has expanded her skills mightily in her colorful new digs. A more extensive menu includes some old favorites such as pumpkin bisque and fried calamari salad, but also ranges from less obvious house specialties like button mushroom ceviche to ostrich burgers to curried rabbit. Followers of the old Norma’s needn’t fret, though: Ortanique still offers Blue Mountain coffee, which could make espresso look like a regular cuppa Joe, and golden cake soaked in rum. Order them both for two highs in one.

Like a street-smart stray with a knack for survival, the S&S has passed unruffled through a handful of owners in its 62-year history in Miami. And it likely has a few of its nine lives left. Across the street from another notable relic, the City of Miami cemetery, regulars at this down-home diner sidle up to stools at the horseshoe-shape counter like alley cats around a Dumpster full of fish, supping on daily specials such as turkey with all the trimmings, brisket, stuffed cabbage, lamb shank, and buffalo wings, served with a choice of side dishes like peas, salad, coleslaw, et cetera. Good-size, tasty portions of familiar fare — all for less than $12 — are served by long-time waitresses who seem to know everyone in the place by name. So there’s no need to feel alone, even if you’re dining that way. Stop by and soak up the atmosphere like a side of mashed potatoes in gravy. Open for breakfast and lunch seven days, and dinner Monday through Friday.

What do you do if you want a quality dessert around midnight but don’t want to get gussied up and spend a fortune at some South Beach hot spot? For 46 years Rascal House has had the answer. The place is open until at least 1:00 a.m., and the waiters here wouldn’t bat an eye if you sauntered into the joint in your bathrobe as long as you had your wallet with you. At best they might offer an acerbic comment in the gruff manner for which they are famous, as they wait for you to choose from among the 34 different homemade treats. Dessert at Rascal House is meant to satisfy rather than dazzle. There are no effete dribbles of exotic sauces or bizarrely flavored sorbets. The favorite here is the cheesecake, rich and heavy enough to be a meal in itself. If your arteries can take it, move on to the bobka, a marbleized pound cake, or the Victory layer cake, which consists of seven levels of chocolate and whipped cream. Don’t worry about offending your fellow patrons: There is no shame in being a glutton in this cafeterialike setting.

Madame John used to cook and sell griot (Haitian-style fried pork) out of her Little Haiti home. Her griot became so popular that at certain hours on weekends, cars would clog the street and lines would even spill outside. A few years ago, no doubt at the urging of customers and code-enforcement inspectors alike, the operation moved into a real restaurant. It’s still principally a carry-out business, though there are chairs and booths and a big television tuned to Haitian cable channels. Griot is still the star of Madame John’s menu, but now you can order other typical Haitian dishes, such as tassot (fried beef or goat) and truly spectacular poisson gro sel, a whole fish spiced and cooked with various vegetables and seasonings. The place is packed at lunch and dinner times, and service is slow (unless you’re pregnant — it’s bad luck to keep an expectant mother waiting to eat, because her baby will send bad vodou your way). But Madame John’s food outweighs these discomforts. After all, there’s a reason she has too many customers.

It has long been known that the best place to get political scuttlebutt in Miami-Dade is at the coffee window of the Versailles Restaurant. On election day it’s also an ideal location to watch the county’s political players: the campaign managers, the ad men, and the precinct captains. These vital cogs in the election machine inevitably come to Versailles during the day for lunch or a quick cortadito. One might see city Commissioner Tomas Regalado, or radio personality Marta Flores, or Hialeah campaigner Herman Echevarria and his ever-present assistant Francois Illas spinning tales of an imminent victory. At another table could be Pedro Milian, who serves as a campaign conduit to Spanish-language radio. Diving into the special brew can often be found Albert Lorenzo, fueling up after an arduous day exhorting the old folks that operate his phone banks. When the voting booths have closed and the returns are in, they come back to dissect the results. If the race is a true squeaker, remember: Versailles is open until 2:00 a.m.

This perennially packed Italian eatery features not only huge portions of baked spaghetti and ziti, as well as pizza that lives up to the place’s name; it also is stuffed with posters, autographed photos, jerseys, banners, balls, and helmets from Miami sports icons. Shula, Johnson, Schnellenberger, Morris, Marino, The Rock (“Can you smell what the Big Cheese is cookin’?”), the Miami Heat Dancers — they’re all here in memorabilia form. Bring the family, order a couple of dozen steaming garlic rolls, and soak up the sporty spices.

If you’re going to eat octopus, do it at Benny’s, where the house specialties include mofongo (basically mashed, fried, and seasoned plantains) stuffed with octopus, conch, lobster, or other seafood. Benny’s is a pleasant place to dine, even if it is in a strip center. It’s bright and clean and somehow when the sun is shining in through the front windows, you can almost smell a sea breeze. And the food is great. All the signature Puerto Rican delights are here, including piononos and alcapurrias (sort of a Puerto Rican-style meat pie; the alcapurria de jueyes is addictive), arroz con gandules (rice and pigeon peas), and tostones de pana pen (better than regular tostones). If you’re really serious, there’s always mondongo (tripe), gandinga (pork or beef liver), and cuajito (stomach of a cow or pig). The service is gracious and friendly, and the coquito is super-rico.

Say what you will about the French, but anyone witnessing the worldwide millennium celebrations would have to agree: They’ve got style. So does La Palme d’Or, an already excellent restaurant that was elevated further by that rarest of occurrences, an inspired marketing idea. During the first week of each month, a guest Michelin-rated chef prepares signature dishes from his restaurant in France. For lovers of fine Gallic cuisine, nothing can top this opportunity to sample fare from chefs such as Paul Bocuse, or Alain Passard of Paris’s amazing Restaurant Arpége. Regular La Palme chef Philippe Ruiz is enough of a talent in his own right to make it the best French restaurant, even without these Michelin masters. Want proof? One bite of his foie gras ravioli with goat cheese mousse and black truffle shavings should do. Bonus best scam: Wear a bathing suit under your dining apparel and sneak a postdinner dip in the hotel’s alluring swimming pool.

John Kenneth Galbraith’s observation that more people die in the United States of too much food than they do of too little must have been gleaned over a lifetime of eating T-bones the size of small-town airstrips and boulder-size baked potatoes at various American steak houses. It’s this conformity of the genre that makes choosing the best steak house, excuse the expression, a real horserace. Morton’s crosses the finish line first not merely because of its USDA prime cuts of meat (though these are, it seems, just a little bit tastier than the rest) but also owing to superior service, seafood, side dishes, and desserts — especially the sultry Godiva hot chocolate cake. Like at all steak houses, you pay for the quality. Galbraith’s quotation appears in The Affluent Society, an apt phrase for those who can afford to dine here regularly. Then again there’s something about seeing beefy businessmen stuffed into plush red banquettes that makes cutting into a thick steak that much more rewarding.

Neighborhood restaurants usually are friendly and informal places that proffer generous helpings of consistent if modest food to an appreciative local clientele. Crystal Cafe’s crisp white linens, fresh flowers, comprehensive wine selection, and semiformal service would seemingly add up to a finer dining experience than we expect from this category, yet a closer look through the Crystal reveals it to be a humble, family-run affair with no pretense or PR firm. Chef Klime Kovaceski can dazzle with a starter of warm pistachio-crusted goat cheese with truffle oil and raspberry-balsamic reduction, or comfort with New Continental dishes like beef stroganoff that are more reflective of his Macedonian roots. Wife Huguette adroitly orchestrates among the best (but still friendly) waitstaffs on the Beach, and because she and Klime are always present, the restaurant’s consistency remains unparalleled. It’s elegant, yes, but for the locals, Crystal Cafe remains a joy in the ‘hood.

Until recently it would not have been inaccurate to call Coconut Grove “The Land of 1000 Stores and No Great Restaurants.” Although in the past couple of years a few excellent eateries have made their home here (most notably Bice, La Gloria, and Anokha), you still need to cross a small bridge to Grove Isle to find the best one. Baleen takes full advantage of its beautiful vistas of Biscayne Bay, the outdoor tables encircled by flowing white curtains blowing in the breezes. The indoor dining room is handsome in a darker, mahogany-tone way, and while there may be red-vested chimps on the lighting fixtures, when it comes to putting out topnotch cuisine, Baleen doesn’t monkey around. Every cold seafood favorite you can imagine, like sushi, tuna tartare, stone crabs, conch salad, clams, and oysters (which are shucked tableside), comes fresh, briny, and well chilled. A wide array of seafood dinners, too, some fish dressed in New World trappings but all available simply and sublimely grilled, wood roasted, or sautéed. Meats and steak-house sides also excel, the wine list and service are sophisticated, and the desserts are as beautiful as the evening sunset on the bay. Taking visitors to Coconut Grove? This is where you should bring them to eat. And pray that they pick up the pricey tab.

First things first: It’s busy, so if you’re not up for a half-hour wait, we suggest you arrive early (the restaurant opens at 8:00 a.m.). Brunch at Balans is not served buffet style; instead diners choose from the menu and breakfast is served à la carte. The crowd is typically a mix of bleary-eyed boys and babes, South Beach locals, and Balans regulars. We suggest the complete breakfast, which comes with Balans’s famous pancakes, or the eggs Benedict, which features a made-from-scratch hollandaise sauce. For days other than Sunday, the restaurant’s regular menu features dishes with Mediterranean and Asian influences.

If you’re looking for really top-quality seafood, you’d be better off going to La Dorada or Baleen. Yet for affordable, consistently fresh fish in a friendly environment, Fishbone Grille is still our favorite. A wide array of seafood comes grilled, blackened, sautéed, or fused with New World accompaniments, such as seven-spiced tuna with green mango, kim chee, and peanut sauce; or crisp whole Key West yellowtail with black beans, rice, and scotch bonnet vinaigrette. Chalkboard specials are appealing, too, as are the various types of raw oysters on hand. The décor at both locations, downtown and in a former HoJo on U.S. 1, is comfortable if less-than-pleasing to the eye, but the crowd is jovial, service efficient, and the triangular wedge of jalapeño cornbread that comes with each meal is worth the trip by itself.

A Miami institution for nearly three decades, Mykonos consistently offers the best in Greek cuisine. From standards such as gyros and souvlaki to richer dishes, including moussaka and pastitsio. They can even make roasting half a chicken seem exotic, seasoning it with just the right herbs and spices. The portions are large and the prices are so reasonable that over time, you’ll be able to save enough money to take your own trip to Greece (and stop in on that party island all covered in blue and white, also called Mykonos). But when you do, you probably won’t find the food any better. The best thing about this Mykonos: the people. Most of the staff are relatives of owners John Kafouros and Nick Pantelaras, which gives the place the warm feel of a small, family-run eatery.

Like any blank canvas, tofu is only as good as the artist who prepares it, and “natural” food can sometimes taste like a form of punishment. Lucky for us Suzanne’s chef is first-rate, and her menu is downright indulgent (in a health-nutty, new-agey way). Open since November 1999 for take-out, lunch, and dinner, this meatless wonder offers classy (not stuffy) fare that’s kind to animals and your (nonleather) wallet. Although the menu is vegan (no dairy, eggs, et cetera, are used), the results are hearty and flavorful enough to tempt even die-hard flesh-eaters. The organic wines, available by the glass (from $3.95) or bottle (from $17.95), don’t hurt, either. An introductory dinner here — grilled tofu, steamed organic vegetables, and brown rice in tahini sauce ($8.95) — was a sign of good things to come, including a juicy, robust tofu Reuben with deliciously (un)creamy coleslaw. And hey, if it’ll enhance your pleasure, go ahead and pretend you’re dining on the deceased. We won’t squeal to PETA.

The ambiance is one of restrained elegance. The menu is one of distinct priciness. And the clientele is easily of the double-breasted caliber. So there’s no doubt, whether you’re a long-time lawyer entertaining clients or a Gen X dot.com millionaire meeting potential venture capitalists, you’ll want to invest in fine northern Italian fare: delicate seafood and pasta for the fluttery of stomach, hearty meat dishes for the cast-iron all-business body. Whether you’re betting on a jury or taking a ride with a pre-IPO CEO, at least you’ll be able to keep your chops in fine form by biting down on a, well, chop.

Can you say beluga, sevruga, osetra? Petrossian can: It’s the largest importer of Russian caviar in the world. Can you say foie gras? Petrossian can: The company’s farms in France produce plump, silken specimens. Can you say expensive? Petrossian can, because it ain’t cheap to get all that good stuff over here. Indeed you can ply your senses with twenty grams of sevruga for $23, or beluga for $47. But you should be aware that while for drug addicts, twenty grams is a feast, for caviar aficionados it’s barely a snort. And if you’re planning on accompanying those sturgeon eggs with champagne, be prepared for some bottles to run over the $400 mark. Needless to say the best time to dine at Petrossian is when you have grateful guests in the house. Allow them to think of the dinner check as room and board, and in the end, everyone — especially your waiter (what’s fifteen percent of $400?) — is more than sensually sated.

This restaurant has had more lives than Shirley MacLaine. And part of the eatery’s perseverance has to do with its location. As one of the only, and certainly just about the oldest, riverfront restaurants in Miami, we almost owe it our patronage. In fact we’ve seen this place through good times and bad, through Twenties’ gas stations and fish sandwiches (courtesy of its first owner), through gondolas and gigantic sculptures of animals standing on each other’s backs (courtesy of the previous owner). It’s almost like a marriage that way — love it or leave it. And we love it. We can’t help ourselves. Some glitches will always affect this restaurant: It’s hard to find; the neighborhood could be better; the river traffic could be less noisy. But as far as landmark bars built around banyan trees go, we’ll take this one. And we’ll drink martinis here and eat fish sandwiches (okay, maybe just one, since they’re currently so big) no matter who owns it, or cleans it up, or installs weird artwork, or dirties it again. That’s a promise.

It’s tough to impress the dates these days but you can do it. You score a reservation at Norman’s, pick said date up in your new Lexus SUV, and then nonchalantly toss the keys to the valet when you get there. So far, so good. Once inside you relax with a Cosmopolitan at the bar, and voilà! — the table is ready. You seat your date, then yourself. You open the menus and begin to discuss the food. Here’s your chance, you think. You explain some of the more outlandish dishes, then look around for the waitress. Spotting a female striding around the floor, you beckon to her. When she reaches your table, you begin to order: “My date will have the seared …” “I’m sorry,” said female interrupts smoothly. “I’m not your server. I’m the sommelier. Would you care for a suggestion on a bottle of wine?” Congratulations, you’ve just insulted Laura DePasquale, one of the only licensed female sommeliers in the State of Florida. Don’t feel too bad. Even in Miami, when you can’t always tell who’s female and who’s male, gender barriers are still in place. But not for long, thanks to DePasquale and her like. Go, femme!

Nothing about Kon Chau’s appearance screams “good eating.” With its generic décor, harsh fluorescent lighting, and obligatory incense-bristling shrine to General Kwan, this could be almost any strip-mall chow-meinstream Chinese joint. But it ain’t, and it’s the delectable dim sum that puts Kon Chau over the top. You just plain can’t go wrong; place the photocopied dim sum menu in front of you, close your eyes, point to something, and prepare yourself for bite-size bliss. From the turnip cake, to the pork buns, to the sticky rice in lotus leaf, to the steamed shrimp dumplings, to the world’s most delectable spring rolls, every cooked-to-order item on the list is a hit. All served at reasonable prices, without a whit of hoity, and even less toity.

And the best part of all, there is always plenty of stuff around to read.

When it comes to luncheonettes, nobody pays much attention, and that’s a darn shame. Some of the best lunch restaurants are downtown and in the Design District, and unless you happen to work nearby, you usually don’t hear about them. Such is the case with the Charcuterie, the longest-running restaurant in the Design District. Today the decades-old eatery presents a limited menu with French-influenced deli entrées, such as the salmon mousse and vegetable terrine plate, or the Brie and tomato sandwich. But the real reason it wins kudos is for its hot lunches, posted daily on a blackboard. You just might find grilled salmon with shallot and vermouth sauce, or blackened snapper Louisiana style, or rainbow trout almondine. You get the point: The focus is on fish. Wash it all down with a glass of house white, or an O’Doul’s if you’re headed back to work. Of course you have to take your chances on the blackboard specials, because what’s served depends on what’s been caught fresh that morning. But you can bet on the Charcuterie as a hale and hearty standard of the Design District since the days before the renaissance, when the only things caught fresh in the morning were the working girls on their way home.

Numerous high-profile restaurants with authentically gifted chefs opened this past year: Mayya (Guillermo Tellez), The Strand (Michelle Bernstein), Ortanique (Mary Rohan), and Bambú (Rob Deer) to name a few. Then there’s Mark Militello’s latest effort at the refurbished Nash, which not only tops these other topnotch contenders but perhaps even his own prior work. The cuisine is more Mediterranean, less fusion than at the flagship Las Olas restaurant. The savvily conceived combinations and contrasts, however, are as well executed as ever. Witness the crisp-skinned Scottish salmon with soft fondue of leeks and tomato in truffled sweet-pea coulis. Better yet, go taste it. Time will tell if the quality can be kept consistent without the man himself being around, but for now it sure looks like a keeper.

When the Portuguese “settled” Brazil and forced African slaves to cook for them as well as work in the fields, the result wasn’t completely tragic, at least from a gastronomic point of view. Without native and African influences, no doubt Brazilians would still think salt cod is delicious. Fortunately for the culinary-minded, the folks who got taken advantage of wound up contributing to one of the most interesting cuisines in the world, a mixture of Portuguese, native South American, and African ingredients and cooking styles. And Barroco, a pretty Brazilian restaurant, is perfectly poised to educate our palates with dishes like black-eyed pea fritters with oven-roasted shrimp sauce; shrimp with coconut milk and yuca purée; and adobo-rubbed roast pork tenderloin with aged port sauce and collard greens. The truth is, of course, that you don’t really have to know your colonial history to take advantage of supping on this sumptuous fare. There won’t be a quiz after the meal. But there just might be some bossa nova.

The mallification of the once-distinctive Road is now complete. Just like every other mall, it has: (1) a Williams-Sonoma, and (2) a food court. Though restaurants are strung along its length, the culinary heart of the Road is at the artificial grassy knoll where skaters and homeless folks rub shoulders with the world’s best-looking mall rats. What more could you want in generic upscale eatin’? There’s the Joffrey’s Coffee shop, the Thai/sushi place, the … other Thai/sushi place. Okay, okay, there’s no Cheesecake Factory, but there’s the Nexxt best thing. And for dessert you’ve got the packed-to-the gills Gelateria Parmalat. All within striking distance of real.life.basic. Coming soon, just down the street: Victoria’s Secret! Just like every other mall.

You may want to call us predictable, common, okay even cheesy, but as far as chain-restaurant food goes, the Cheesecake Factory stands alone. We’ve even heard that other restaurants like to pick Cheesecake items straight from the menu and serve the delicious dishes themselves. That’s the same menu that features page after page of tasty selections, like the sweet-corn tamale appetizer, Sheila’s favorite blackened chicken pasta (hot, hot, hot), or the Chinese chicken salad. Leave room after the gargantuan portions for a slice from one of the Factory’s 30-plus cheesecake selections. And leave some time to get your fill: You’ll probably have to wait up to a half-hour on evenings and weekends.

Unfurling waves of hot-shot eateries have recently been splashing into South Beach, but this is nothing new. Big-money ventures and top-drawer chefs have been dashing onto our shores for years now, only to crash on the rocks of financial reality and roll quietly back out again. One, Pacific Time, has ticked consistently along like a fine-tuned watch since stunning locals with what was then radical for these parts: pan-Asian food. That was back in 1993, when PT was the only place to go for fine dining on Lincoln Road. Now, with cafés cluttering every corner and cranny, many maintain it’s still the only place. Pacific Rim favorites like Szechuan grilled black grouper have been around from day one but the ever-evolving menu manages to keep surprising. Desserts, too, are legendary. Owner/chef Jonathan Eismann’s steady presence and talent have kept Time like a Rolex in a neighborhood of Swatches.

Colombian food is comfort food: sparingly seasoned meats, beans, rice, plantains, and of course, arepas. For Miami’s Colombian community, Los Arrieros provides an equally comforting atmosphere: walls adorned with quaint little balconcitos (models of Spanish-tile balconies), a life-size balcón for a stage, and a couple of jocular trovadores improvising verses from handwritten audience requests. The restaurant, which moved from its previous, more easterly location some two years ago, specializes in the cuisine of la zona cafetera, the mountainous coffee-growing region of central Colombia that includes the cities of Medellín and Manizales. (Arrieros are drovers who lead teams of coffee-bean-laden donkeys down from the fields.) The menu’s highlights include a savory sancocho, a clear soup loaded with gallina (hen), chunks of green plantain, potato, and yuca, seasoned liberally with fresh cilantro. (At $6.50 the large sancocho is a great value.) The bandeja paisa features a tender steak, a strip of delicately fried chicharrón (pork skin), a mountain of white rice, a steaming bowl of red beans, and a fried egg. Spoon on some deliciously bright chimichurri sauce for a little snap in your steak. Wash it all down with a Manzana Postobon soda, and immerse yourself in la experiencia total de la comida paisa.

Not just a sushi joint (though the sushi chefs heartily greet all patrons who enter), this bustling lunch-and-dinner spot in downtown Coral Gables offers daily specials — scribbled in kanji and English on blackboards that run the length of the east wall — depending on what’s fresh. A treasure on the regular menu is the spicy kimuchi ramen, a fiery interpretation of traditional noodle soup, a bright orange broth brimming with sliced pork, bean sprouts, and spicy kim chee. Other noodle dishes are uniformly excellent. The sushi is superb as well, and without the scourge of cutesy nicknames for different kinds of rolls that plagues so many other popular sushi bars. One indicator of the quality: At any given time, the restaurant seems to boast at least one party of Japanese businessmen who have sauntered across the street from the Omni Colonnade.

If sheer numbers alone could point out a great wine list, then Indigo easily takes top honors, with more than 700 vintages from which to quaff. But as with most things, when it comes to wine, quality is more important than quantity. Fortunately this restaurant, located in the lobby of the Inter-Continental, proves itself thrice over with wines that range from a 1995 Château Lascombes from France to a 1996 Ferrari-Carano Alexander Valley chardonnay from California to a 1997 Yalumba Botrytis Sémillon from Australia. The wine list highlights a “Southern Hemisphere Selection,” from which fans of Australian, New Zealand, and South African fermentations can consume to their palates’ content. The restaurant also offers bargains in the form of a featured “wine of the month” and prix-fixe wine luncheons, at which several courses are served and several complementary wines are poured. The latter usually take place in the wine room, a glass-walled area off to the side of the lobby, where serious grape discussions often ensue. Given the eatery’s dedication to wine, perhaps the name would have been better served by being called something like Rouge, Blanc, or Plum, rather than Indigo.

The intentions of Tuscan Steak should be obvious: That T-bone is meant to feed a family. Likewise that serving of three-mushroom risotto with truffle oil, or the herb-grilled rack of lamb with the green apple-basil chutney, or the oven-roasted duck with cranberry chutney. Prices indicate the restaurant’s philosophy, as does the credo written on the menu: “At Tuscan Steak all portions are served family style and [are] intended for sharing.” But note that the intro also allows that in this eatery, “there are no rules.” In other words who says you have to share? So go ahead — dine singly, order doubly, and make a pig (or a duck or a steak) of yourself.

Act I: The front desk. A middle-age gentleman in a plaid sport coat waits in a ten-person line. He finally reaches the host, who is taking down names.

Host: How many?

Patron: What?

Host (impatiently): How many in your party?

Patron: Oh. Four.

Host: That’ll be a two-hour wait.

Patron (disbelieving): Huh?

Host (shouting): Two hours!

Patron (still not sure he heard correctly): Huh??

Host: Two hours! Two hours!

Act II: The bar

Bartender: What’ll it be?

Patron: What?

Bartender (impatiently): What do you want to drink?

Patron: Oh. I’ll have a gin and tonic.

Bartender: What??

Patron (shouting): Gin and tonic!

Act III: The dining room, five gin and tonics later.

Waiter: Can I take your order?

Patron is silent.

Waiter (shouting): Whaddya want to eat?

Patron tilts sideways in his chair and falls over with a loud thump. The captain is called over. He assesses the situation and then drags the man out by his ankles to make way for the next party. The man’s head bumps on the tile all the way to the door: thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack…. And you thought all that noise was from cracking stone crab shells.

Sure South Beach has all the trendy restaurants, but as any sunburned tourist can tell you, the service there is uniformly slow and sassy. Too many models and would-be-somebodies moonlighting as waiters. At Fishbone Grille the waitstaff actually appears to be enjoying the job. They are attentive without hovering, swift without making you feel rushed, and have an encyclopedic knowledge of the food on the menu and the extensive wines on the list. And they are routinely happy to recommend the best, freshest catch that day, even if it’s not the priciest item on the menu. The secret apparently is in the selection: Management tries to hire people with the right mix of congeniality and professionalism. The waitstaff must also take written and oral quizzes during training. It all adds up to an A.

Executive chef-proprietor of Pacific Time Jonathan Eismann goes slumming with this new venture, a remake of Johnny V’s Kitchen. And what a pleasant redo it is: The narrow storefront has been converted into a minidiner, complete with blue-and-white tiles, booths for two, and a counter with a Fifties soda fountain. The ideal place for a nosh after a movie or a quickie lunch steps from the touristy grind of Lincoln Road, Westside offers old-timey diner favorites such as meat loaf, burgers, and open-face hot roast beef sandwiches. Certainly it’s not the place for a vegetarian (salad options are few and somehow unfetching when paired against grilled barbecue pork chops) but Fox’s U-Bet fans clearly have no cause for complaint. The egg cream at Westside is worthy of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, and hey, it saves us a trip to the Big A for a simple thirst quencher. Just remember to hit the ATM before dropping by. As it was in the olden days, at Westside only cash is acceptable commerce.