Eat & Drink

It’s got the casual, been-there-forever feel of a neighborhood hangout. The green-and-brown color scheme is oddly appealing, and the place looks bright and friendly. Diner ambiance minus the dinginess. No need to settle for a table and chairs — it’s all booths. And breakfast, naturally, is served all day, featuring monster omelets and refreshing honesty from the waitstaff: “Have the hash browns. The home fries have been sitting all morning.” Hey, if this spot’s good enough for the Bee Gees, it’s good enough for you.

Once you’ve tried Fico nothing else is as rico. Even if you’re one of those purists who used to have to put up with the total lack of seating at the original location on Flagler, it’s worth it! (The patience of so many loyal customers, eating while standing up at those narrow counters, has been rewarded with a new section at the Flagler restaurant where you can actually sit at tables and chairs.) Of course the newer South Beach Fico lacks the quirky character of its predecessor, but the seafood hasn’t suffered. Fico’s always-perfect broiled fish fillets remain the seafood standard, but every variety of fresh seafood — fried, grilled, or broiled to order — is consistently scrumptious. Excellent soups too. A special salute to the tostones de platanos Hawaianos, fried green plantains stuffed with little crawfish. Now they’re expanding the menu to include chicken and pasta, but who needs that?

You’re a high-dollar lawyer in a city that breeds them and business is good. Then one day, that risky, somewhat shady Latin-American venture you got your biggest client to invest in goes rotten — bloody coup rotten. He’s angry and he’s outside your office right now. Your mind is blank, your palms sweaty, your stomach growling. Growling? Ah yes, it is lunchtime. Might as well make your last meal a good one. Striding purposefully out of your office, you sweep your client along to your car, promising that everything will be explained over lunch at the Rusty Pelican. The tension begins to leave your shoulders as your silver Lexus climbs the modest curve of the bridge between the mainland and the Rickenbacker Causeway. You spot the restaurant thinly disguised as a rustic shack. A few minutes later, you’re walking into the maritime coolness of the place, where you promptly duck into the bar. Your client parks his fat butt at a table by the window and stares moodily at a yacht bobbing nearby. You take the bartender aside and order oysters, escargot with blue cheese, and two very dry martinis. Back at the table you contemplate the city skyline etched into pale blue across the shallow end of Biscayne Bay — and think, as you always do, how beautiful Miami is from a distance.

How about a dockside patio with an unobstructed view of both the Atlantic Ocean and Biscayne Bay? How about a Thursday- and Friday-night happy hour with the stars above, a fresh breeze, and sixteen-ounce glasses of Bass & Co. Pale Ale on tap? Tucked into a science lab and classroom building at the University of Miami’s Rosenstiel School of Marine and Atmospheric Science on Virginia Key, this bar-cum-eatery began life as a cafeteria for students who might have cared more about describing the life cycle of Ocyurus chrysurus — that’s a yellowtail snapper to you — than eating one. But then the caterer Parties By Pat took over the kitchen, decorated with some palm trees and pastel murals in the dining room, and invited in the public. Open only for breakfast and lunch, from 8:00 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Monday through Friday, the Commons specializes in grilled chicken, gourmet pizza, and affordable sandwiches, explains manager José Martinez. The bar is open only Thursday and Friday from 5:00 to about 10:00 p.m.

Calling the Pelican a restaurant may convey the wrong impression. It’s a thatched-roof, open-air, low-cost, shorts-and-sandals throwback to a different era, perched high above the sand on the Newport’s fishing pier (known to old-timers as the Sunny Isles pier). The north side offers table seating. We recommend the south side. Tall cocktail tables attached to the pier railings accommodate three stools each. Grab one to catch the southeasterly summer breeze and behold the sweeping view down the coast. Turquoise water, white sand, deep blue sky, a distant cruise ship heading to sea. It’s sensational at sunset. The Pelican’s menu favors burgers over seafood, but if you ask for the freshest fish and have it simply prepared you can’t go wrong, especially with an Italian pinot grigio or German Riesling (no bottle more than $15). The kitchen is open till 9:00 p.m. seven days a week. You can park at the foot of the pier but it’s expensive. Better to use the public parking up the road and across the street.

This is a humble little spot, a bit down on the heels, but the fresh and plentiful fare makes up for the lack of décor. The star in Holy Family’s firmament of classic dishes is its divine pwason gwo sel, a whole fish, usually snapper, prepared and fried in a traditional Haitian style. Also without blemish are the lanbi, or conch, in a Creole-type sauce, and legim, a spicy mixture of vegetables and usually meat. The basic diri ak pwa, rice and beans, are good enough to make up a whole meal. There is one dish missing, for religious reasons, from Holy Family’s menu: griot, or fried pork. The restaurant’s faithful don’t mind at all.

Benny’s appetizer list is like a dim sum of Caribbean cuisine. Bacalaitos (flat cod fritters), alcapurria de masa (ground beef in fried plantain dough), tostones rellenos (fried plantains sliced and stuffed with your choice of shrimp, lobster, or squid), and the list goes on. You may not want mondongo (beef tripe) with your mofongo (mashed stuffed plantains) but owners Benny and Wanda will recommend it with snapper, yellowtail, or kingfish. Just south of the Miami-Dade County Fairgrounds, Benny’s opens at noon, and the slightly cheaper lunch menu is out until four o’clock Monday through Friday. The place closes at 9:30 p.m. Sunday through Thursday and 10:30 p.m. Friday and Saturday.

Gleaming white, spongy, and about as tasty as a giant sugar-free marshmallow, tofu isn’t exactly the most appealing ingredient. But place it in the capable hands of the chefs at the Honey Tree and tofu is transformed into something entirely different: It’s eminently edible. Grilled tofu in tamarind peanut sauce, Indonesian tofu stir-fried with vegetables, curried tofu triangles. Hungry yet? Each weekday the six-year-old market (and three-year-old deli) offers several freshly made dishes for lunch that you can eat in or take out. Mouthwatering and healthy vegan and vegetarian specialties can include penne pasta tossed with tomato sauce and soy sausage, sautéed spinach with mushrooms, and kale and potato patties topped by chunky tomato salsa. A hearty soup of the day, fruity smoothies, and delicious desserts such as nondairy chocolate mousse pie and carob- and walnut-studded banana bread are also available. Sold by the pound, the eats are often gone by late afternoon. So if all else fails, you can choose some organic produce from a small fridge and settle down for a healthful meal from one of the freezers. The friendly folks who surround you will make you feel as good as the food.

South Beach is known as sushi central, and it is arguably true that a greater concentration of very good Japanese restaurants can be found on any square mile of Beach than anywhere in the U.S.A. Still, visiting Japanese chefs, local Asian foodies, and others in the know head west to this small spot in a fairly downscale shopping mall for Miami’s most authentic Japanese fare — especially Matsuri’s daily specials, dishes rarely found elsewhere like foie graslike (and nonfishy) monkfish liver in spicy broth, or shisamo, succulent salt-broiled smelts stuffed with their own “caviar.” And well worth the drive by itself is Matsuri’s selection of toro, buttery belly tuna often seen on sushi-bar menus but almost never available: silken chutoro (particularly tasty in negitoro, a steak tartare-esque preparation of chopped toro and scallions, topped with a quail egg), and even more marbled otoro, the ultimate in sushi/sashimi decadence.

A Grove favorite for years, Paulo Luigi’s is a testament to the importance of consistent quality. Serving up outstanding Italian cuisine in hearty portions, the restaurant delivers the best traditional dishes, such as a decadent chicken marsala, while spicing up more modern fare with selections like a mozzarella-drenched shrimp Parmesan. Recent changes to Paulo Luigi’s bar area are welcome. Once a legendary sports bar, it has been upgraded to a cozy lounge that will attract nightcrawlers eager for a down-tempo shift from the overbearing Beach scene, as well as diners who want to linger after a satisfying meal.

In terms of franchising, chef Nobuyuki Matsuhisa is hardly the Hard Rock Café, but a dozen restaurants worldwide is at least a mini-empire — and that loss of control when the head honcho isn’t in the kitchen most often means the loss of high standards. But both the food and the service at South Beach’s Nobu are absolutely extraordinary. Unlike New York’s more formal Nobu, this spot, though located in the glam Shore Club, is intended as a more casual hangout. It’s possible to just walk in and get a table, especially early in the evening. And though prices are higher than those at the average sushi bar, it’s possible to put together a terrific family-style meal of three to five shared items without breaking the bank (or necessitating robbing one). Signature black cod with miso is a must. Though many other eateries now do this savory dish of miso/mirin-marinated sablefish, Matsuhisa did it first and still does it best. Also highly recommended are delicate Arctic char with crisp leaves of near greaseless deep-fried spinach; the generous sashimi salad, silky tuna on mesclun dressed with a subtly sweet/salty ginger-soy vinaigrette; and especially a treat for those who won’t eat raw fish, Nobu’s “New Style Sashimi,” thinly sliced fish or beef partially cooked by a brief pouring of hot olive oil. While psychologically the delicate slices seem seared, they retain the moistness and tender texture of raw fish or beef.

Surprise! (Not.) It’s him, for the umpteenth time. In fact this year we considered permanently renaming this award “Best Restaurant in Coral Gables Except for Norman’s,” to be fair to some of the Gables’ other eateries, several of which could top Best lists in any town where Norman Van Aken wasn’t cooking. Naturally if Van Aken were a normal chef, such a drastic step wouldn’t be necessary. After a decade or so of garnering America’s major culinary awards, he’d either be diluting his talent by franchising Norman’s nationally or coasting on his many past greatest-hit creations like a culinary golden-oldies radio station. But Van Aken is still cooking day in and day out at the same address. His signature dishes like citrus-spiked creamy conch chowder with saffron and toasted coconut (updated in recent years with a hip foam “cloud”) taste as terrific as ever. And imaginative new dishes — “Seared Raw Tuna Trio with Three Cool Fillings” (braised oxtails, chilled crab salad, and shiitake mushrooms); seared foie gras on Venezuelan corn cake with cachaca-laced exotic fruit chutney; a sly and scrumptious take on surf and turf featuring rare tuna and beef mignons with three sauces (Bordelaise, Bernaise, and aigrelette); warm guava tarte Tatin; and an assortment of new tropical ice creams made with rare imported fruits from the Amazon — indicate that Van Aken shows no sign whatsoever of burning out and giving the Gables’ other chefs a shot at this award for many years to come.

Imlee is a most welcome addition to a somewhat inconsistent local Indian-restaurant scene. In fact this pleasant newcomer (less than two years old) definitely raises the standard for all Indian restaurants in South Florida. Lovers of the subcontinent’s magnificent cuisine (even if, like most of us Miamians, they’re limited in the breadth of their connoisseurship) can now partake of some of the best Indian food to be found anywhere. Of particular note is Imlee’s nuanced and sometimes innovative treatment of vegetables, legumes, and paneer (a tofulike cheese staple). The classics — chicken tikka masala, chicken makhani, lamb vindaloo, shrimp Madras curry, among many others — are acutely spiced and exquisite. The service can be a little slow sometimes, and the appetizers and breads aren’t always perfect, but those are small complaints beside the general state of euphoria induced by a meal at Imlee.

There are plenty of things to like about this down-home place aside from the food. The décor is appealing. Lots of old polished wood and other casually classy touches that project warmth, an antidote to the velvet-rope pretensions of South Beach. The weekend live rock music is much more interesting than what’s usually found in nightclubs, and so is the clientele. But co-owners Cass and Chris are happy to admit it’s the bar food that has kept the clientele coming back since 1989. Formerly chef at a fancy-schmancy French eatery in the Gables, Chris has turned his talents to country comforts like smoked barbecue (both pork and fish), homemade dips from artichokes or smoked mahi-mahi, and tangy vinegar-sauced fried green tomatoes fresh from the nearby farms of the Redland. There’s also some far healthier fare than you’ll find in most bars — snazzy salads of mixed greens and hearts of palm with gorgonzola cheese, for instance — as well as more substantial dishes, including bargain-priced weekly specials like Wednesday’s $9.95 roast beef dinner.

So Cuban and Spanish cultures have had a love-hate relationship throughout the centuries, but their culinary traditions at least come together at Las Culebrinas, where an extensive menu features specialties from both sides of the Atlantic. This presents a bit of a dilemma: Do you opt for the Cuban mainstays you’ve come to love, like ropa vieja (sautéed shredded beef stew), moros (rice and beans), maduros (plantains), and yuca (cassava), or do you nibble tapas while you wait for a steaming pan of paella for two to arrive at the table? If you’re the adventurous type looking for something truly exotic, something you can tell stories about later, then perhaps the decision will be much easier. Choose from any one of several eccentric specialties: octopus Galician style, rabbit in garlic sauce, frog’s legs, crocodile medallions French style, or deep-fried breaded beef brains. (Oh my!) Even the chicken is interesting here: You can have it breaded with Kellogg’s cereal and served with honey-mustard sauce, or grilled and bathed in an orange-peach yogurt sauce. And since kids will vehemently oppose all of the above, thankfully there is a children’s menu featuring fish sticks, chicken fingers, and a sirloin steak. The only problem you’ll likely encounter at Las Culebrinas, where families gather around large tables to enjoy abundant portions of quality food, is indecision.

You’d think that in South Florida the contenders for this award would be many and formidable. Sorry. You’d also think waterfront dining would be at least as common as overpriced sushi. Sorry again. And while there are a few nice places to eat outdoors on the street or the water (river and ocean), why not go for it all — ocean views, major people-watching, and seriously good food. For instance, try Smith & Wollensky’s outdoor dining area on a Sunday afternoon. Every body shape that can be squeezed into a bathing suit is walking by on the way to the pier or the white sands just beyond your seat. Your direct line of sight is toward Government Cut, so the passing parade of pleasure craft and cargo freighters never ends. Then there is the blue of the sky and the blue of the sea, untainted by tall buildings or parked cars. It makes that American dim sum brunch — newly introduced and consisting of things like mini-steak Wellingtons instead of pigs’ feet rolling to your table — taste all that more scrumptious.

Okay, so they already have a couple “Best of Miami” plaques hanging around. They’ll just have to put up another one because there’s nothing else quite like this place. Twenty-four hours a day you can soak up Nicaraguan ambiance and cuisine, and so much more, at Yambo. It’s kind of like a Central American bazaar, bustling with such a riot of color and knickknacks and people that food sometimes seems to be a secondary consideration. But when you’re ready to chow down outdoors (indoors is a little more formal), order at the counter from a long list of Nica favorites, including sauced-and-seasoned pork, beef, or chicken, as well as fish dishes accompanied by yucca and beans and rice, all for around five dollars. To wash it down, choose from a selection of coffees, beers, wines, and juices. Keep in mind that you can do this all hours of the day and night. You’ll have to leave at some point, of course. But chances are you’ll be back, sooner than later.

Unlike local patrons who vow undying devotion, we’ve never been huge fans of the original Red Thai Room in Hollywood. Not that we dislike it, but mostly we walk away merely satisfied and color-blinded by the vibrantly scarlet walls. Not so at this tropically designed sister location where no one seems to have discovered the terrific fare. The true character of the restaurant, located in the space that formerly housed a Dan Marino’s Town Tavern, can’t be glimpsed from the road. So passersby have virtually no idea that a thatched-roof porch is available for drinking and dining and that a multiroom interior yields some very romantic tables. The fare, ranging from excellent versions of standard pad thai and various curries to innovative dried-tofu salads, is also way above par. Come to think, it’s been a year or so since we’ve been back to the original. Judging by the cooking and prompt service at this second locale, perhaps it’s time to give the Hollywood joint another brightly hued shot at redemption.

Tucked away in the corner of a secluded strip mall on Key Biscayne, this 30-year-old neighborhood hangout is short on elbow room, long on history, and steeped in cholesterol. Think we’re exaggerating? The house special consists of ham, bacon, eggs, and cheese on a buttered English muffin. Next time you’re in the area, slide in, grab a seat, and slip back to a time when nuts and berries were for the birds.

Among the leisure class in 1789 France, heads rolled. Among the leisure class in 2002 Miami, the rolls get passed — around a table. Quite appropriately French bread is served during Les Halles’ Revolutionary Brunch, which carries the economical price of $17.89, in tribute to the year French peasants revolted. And the little people are treated regally to a multi-course affair. First with an effervescent pink kir royale (champagne with a touch of crème de cassis). Next with one of many savory appetizers including a tasty mélange of warm portobello mushrooms, potatoes, and goat cheese or crêpes filled with ham or seafood. Traditional brunch favorites such as eggs Benedict, omelets, and French toast, along with heartier dishes like steak tartare and salade niçoise, make up the list of main courses. Silky chocolate mousse, crème brélée, and profiteroles are among the rich desserts. In an eminently democratic move, brunch can be had from 11:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. both Saturday and Sunday. Vive la France!

The key to being a fine Italian eatery is to effectively deliver high-end cuisine without losing the rustic charm and culture of the Italian countryside. Though some may argue Il Tulipano lost much of its charisma after moving from North Miami to its new digs in the Grove, the same cannot be said for the delectable Tuscan dishes that dress Old World staples with the finest of modern touches. From the exquisitely prepared fresh asparagus and mozzarella-tomato-basil appetizers to the homemade pasta entrées, Il Tulipano specializes in serving up classical sustenance. Not to be missed are the tender veal and the seafood-laden linguine, each perfect examples of northern Italian cuisine. Add stellar wine selections and decadent desserts (an apple tart both rich and savory), and it’s clear that Il Tulipano has earned this award.

This outstanding eatery just beyond the Doral Country Club delivers a cuisine one would expect in one of those hard-to-find, five-table family restaurants. With a head chef, Iggy, able to cite Milan as one of his training stops, you know you’re getting the real deal and plenty of it. From traditional antipasti (dressed just enough to add style but not so much to become silly) and homemade pastas to fresh seafood dishes, Bruschetta covers every Italian base, including its bread namesake, and has room left over to experiment. The specials vary, obviously, but if available do not pass on the sea bass (entrées are usually between $14 and $19). Also worthy of note is the bold and tasty pears with cheese. Of course no Italian dinner would be complete without dessert. And if sweets are your thing bring a healthy appetite — the after-dinner treats are decadent, original, and well worth the guilt.

The performance ran late, you got to talking, but still you’re really hungry. Miami, unlike Miami Beach, isn’t chock-a-block full of kitchens open past 10:00 p.m., so where to head? Of course, how could you forget! But better hurry over to Versailles before it gets too crowded. In fact lines snaking outside the restaurant after midnight are not unusual, and those lines include children and grandparents. A plate of ropa vieja might hit the spot, or a simple medianoche sandwich, made for exactly this hour. The lights are bright inside, the mirrored décor adding even more luminosity, and at some point you won’t know whether it’s midnight or noon. And of course it doesn’t matter. This most famous of Cuban restaurants has defied changes in time in many other ways, so sit back and order a café con leche. Tomorrow may never come.

A lot of people just can’t eat breakfast anywhere else, especially if they’re Caribbean-born. The fried, boiled, or stewed fish plus grits and johnnycake are too good. (The typical eggs, bacon, and grits special for $3.50 is no slouch either.) But the real reason everyone comes here is they get to jonesing for the fried conch. Many never even bother to try the other entrées. That’s okay, but one day you’ll be ready for a taste of the chicken (fried, steamed, baked, or barbecued), oxtail, pork chops, ribs, or the aforementioned fish dishes. And that’s when you’ll know you can’t go wrong. (Prices are a little higher than they need to be, but do you hear anyone complaining?) One more thing you’ll learn: Macaroni and cheese was invented here.

On the menu at Touch, desserts are graced with the definitive title “finishing touches.” As if sweets are only to be enjoyed at the end of a meal. Well, at the risk of sounding like a sugar addict, we recommend the sinful selections created by pastry chef Dominique Pereira, a native of Lyon, France, be considered fare for any hour. Banana-and-berry bread pudding accented with honey-lavender syrup for breakfast sounds good. Fruit is important. Instead of filet mignon as an evening meal, why not a thick three-chocolate (white, milk, and dark) layered mousse? Chocolate is chock full of antioxidants. Caramelized bananas paired with silky ice cream makes the perfect late-night snack. Dairy products promote sleep. Good thing the kitchen at Touch stays open until midnight (1:00 a.m. on weekends). Now, if we could only get them to serve breakfast and lunch.

South Florida’s Mexican restaurants are known for their extensive menus, kitschy décor, mariachi bands, and spicy salsa. Well, this one’s only got the last to its name. The décor is bare bones and in truth not altogether comfy, with bar stools and a couple of tables comprising the majority of the seating. Nor does the menu take more time to read than a comic book, given that there are only about a dozen items from which to choose. Point is, though, these twelve dishes rock North Miami with a decidedly Latin beat. Yucatan soup, chicken stock flavored with lime, is worthy of standing alone as the sole appetizer. Follow it with a burrito Maya, filled with pork in aromatic pibil sauce, or authentic tamales wrapped in corn husks and steamed to perfection. Burritos Grill Café doesn’t supply fancy eats, but it does make beef tacos al pastor to order, and no one is playing a guitar in your face as you stuff it.

While this eatery’s name seems to suggest something far simpler than fine dining, things are not always what they seem. Shoji’s stuff is not standard sushi but rather neo-Japanese/New World fusion food — and very fine indeed. Instead of the standard sushi-bar faux-crab sunomono, for instance, there’s snapper ceviche with sake, citrus, sweet peppers, onion, cilantro, and masago, available alone or on a sampler plate with equally imaginative ceviches of hamachi, salmon, and scallops. Forget California rolls; makis here include spicy lobster roll (huge lobster chunks plus mango, avocado, scallion, salmon caviar, and spicy shiso leaves, with jalapeño-spiked mango purée substituting for the usual sushi-bar chili catsup) and a melt-in-your-mouth crispy oyster roll, a shrimp tempura roll gone to heaven: deep-dried cold-water oysters plus cucumber, lettuce, masago, chili mayo, and capers. Yes, South Beach’s other upscale sushi eateries (like Nobu) have similarly imaginative dishes, but they don’t do take-out. And none of them for sure have pastry chef Hedy Goldsmith’s desserts. The homemade ginger ale float probably wouldn’t survive a doggy bag, but astonishingly subtle green tea cheesecake and soufflé-light warm chocolate cake will.

While Miami has plenty of Chinese/American chop suey joints, as well as one-step-up places serving honey-garlic chicken that’s less old-fashioned gloppy but no less Americanized, our town has few eateries that offer authentic Chinese food. This very nongentrified but very welcoming little spot, located in an unprepossessing mini-mall, does. Salty pepper shrimp — crisp-coated whole crustaceans served like soft-shell crab, shell and head on for maximum flavor, on a bed of crunchy-battered Chinese broccoli — is a must-not-miss. Macau’s ho fan, broad noodles that are sautéed with various other ingredients either dry-style or wet (sauced), have a chewy texture that makes them far more interesting than the lo mein normally found in American Chinese eateries. Those needing comfort food will find it in congee, difficult to find almost anywhere in America outside major Chinatowns: a delicate savory rice porridge garnished with a variety of meats and veggies. In its humble heart, this is classic Cantonese.

You remember the scene in Steve Martin’s movie The Lonely Guy, when he goes to a restaurant to dine alone. He says to the maitre d’: “I’d like a table for one,” to which the man loudly replies, “A table for one?” The entire place goes quiet. A spotlight is directed on the lonely guy as he’s escorted to his table. After he’s seated and the staff pointedly takes away the setting across from him, he finally asks them to kindly turn off the light. That pretty much sums it up. There are few other experiences in life that make you feel more lonely than dining alone. But with the right restaurant you can actually feel part of something rather than apart. Such a place is Soyka. It’s usually so loud and bustling that no one will notice when you walk in unaccompanied. But don’t do a table. Take a seat at the bar or the long communal table up front. The people behind the bar will make you feel comfortable and utterly normal. You can order a complete meal (no need to choose only “bar” food) without the spotlight descending on you as someone asks if they can take the “free” chair from your table. And you will be normal, what with all those other single diners around you also ordering their meals. No, at Soyka you are not alone at all.

Over the years this friendly restaurant in the Chateaubleau Hotel has been cited in this edition several times, and for good reason. The food is tasty, the service is attentive, and the extended-family proprietors — from Greece via Montreal — are serious about the restaurant business. They care about what they are doing. Now the olive tree has branched and a new generation has taken charge. And there are changes afoot. Brothers Costa and Angelo Grillas, just 23 and 25 respectively, want to make the restaurant a little more lively than the one their uncles ran. So the décor is brighter. A belly dancer performs to live music on both Friday and Saturday evenings. And the boys are planning a Greek-style happy hour for Wednesdays. Oh, and the food: Try the leg of lamb, or the whole fresh snapper with a Greek salad. Opa!

Spanish-packaged goods greet you at the door. Decorative ceramics line the wall. Have a seat. Order a pitcher of sangria from the friendly waiter. Peruse the menu. It suggests some expensive items: newborn eels from Spain sautéed in olive oil and garlic; roasted baby suckling pig; grilled surf and turf. But most of the dishes at Casa Paco are as reasonably priced as they are delicious. Paella — chicken and rice or rice with seafood. Special house chicken — a tender half-boneless grilled bird smothered with onions, lime juice, butter, and pepper served with white rice and fried sweet plantains. Several types of fresh fish (snapper, salmon, mahi-mahi, monkfish) and shellfish prepared in countless ways. Spanish and Basque omelets. After you’ve devoured dinner, your belt may be two notches looser but dessert is a must. A long list includes flan, rice pudding, homemade ice cream, and crema catalaña, its candied sugar topping hiding a creamy custard beneath.

Pity the hamburger. The poor patty has been subjected to more abuse and gratuitous puffery than any dish deserves. A barely edible version is available at any number of fast-food establishments for as little as 99 cents. Or you can shell out twenty bucks for one at the Park Plaza Hotel in New York. Between these two extremes are the countless $5.99 to $12 models, some better than others but all, at the end of the day, just hamburgers. Which is the whole point: Is there no place left where a person can go for an honest burger at an honest price? Five ounces of cooked ground beef on a fresh bun with lettuce, tomato, onion, and if one is so inclined, a slice of melted cheese (maybe even a few strips of bacon), all for a price that seems proportional. Whatever happened to the all-American hamburger stand, that icon of the Fifties and Archie comic books, that great symbol of democracy and all that was good and right in our nation? Well, the genre is alive and well in North Beach. Rocky’s Cheesesteak and Cheeseburgers may not be a “stand” in the technical sense — it’s actually a corner storefront with both indoor and outdoor seating — but it feels like one. Walk in off the street, plunk yourself down on a stool or chair, and order up. The menu includes grilled chicken sandwiches and cheesesteaks, but it’s the burgers people go for. We recommend, in particular, the sourdough, which comes with melted Swiss and is served on sourdough from one of Miami’s best bread factories. That one will run you a whole four dollars (as opposed to two dollars for the regular burger). Follow it with a slice of gourmet cheesecake — flavors include Oreo cookie, guava, dulce de leche, and strawberry — for $2.50. Feel guilty? Leave a big tip.

So you need a spirulina fix and don’t have lots of time? If you’re anywhere near North Miami Beach you’ll be well advised to zip over to the fastest little health-food place in town. Okay, so the menu also offers gyros and French fries. Don’t worry. You’ll find a large variety of smoothies, fresh-pressed vegetable juices, and vegetarian entrées. For thirteen years this roadside stand has been attracting healthy eaters with its ramshackle charm and laid-back atmosphere. If you crave something with a kick, be sure to order Amos’s famous “roots tonic,” a chilled brew described by one waitress as tasting “like living hell.” Despite a bouquet reminiscent of gasoline (and with a similar burn), this mighty elixir — made on the premises with a combination of roots and barks and served in a shot glass — will kick you into high gear and launch you back on the highway of life bursting with energy.

First of all, there is not now and never will be anything remotely comparable to a fresh, warm Krispy Kreme glazed. So forget that. But on the local doughnut scene, Donut Connection is making a very important contribution and deserves every one of its many contented customers. The contribution? This cheery little place on busy 163rd Street is about the only remaining doughnut shop in the county that has not been gobbled up by that huge chain that sells good coffee and mediocre donuts. Donut Connection’s product is top quality, and the selection of pastries, muffins, and doughnuts can’t be beat. The mango- and guava-filled are sinfully tasty, and their cake doughnuts, many varieties, are the absolute best.

There’s something invigorating about tree-shaded Coral Way, especially after it leaves the dusty hustle of Miami on its way to the Gables. Just a few blocks from the Brickell financial district, Fresco California Bistro offers a cool, unhurried respite for lunch. And for a refreshingly light summer lunch nothing beats the bistro’s crisp caesar salad: fresh romaine lettuce, nicely balanced oil-garlic-egg dressing, Parmesan cheese, and croutons made from Fresco’s tasty bread, a hunk of which comes with the salad. Not bad for $5.25. Open Monday through Thursday 11:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. and 5:00 to 10:30 p.m. Friday dinner hours till 11:00 p.m. Saturday noon to 11:00 p.m. Closed Sunday.

This cozy and casual café, one of the few locals’ hangouts left in the vicinity of Lincoln Road, is more than just a bakery, particularly after two welcome improvements: expanded restaurant hours and acceptance of credit cards. If you’re looking to impress the folks at home with pastries you can pretend you made yourself, there’s no better place in town to get goods to go. You won’t find any of those puffed-up pastries that look so polished yet taste like shoe polish. Here it’s just old-fashioned quality. That’s not to say everything at the Icebox is basic. Two of the best offerings are pretty fancy: party-perfect petits fours and a remarkably rich yet light almond/praline/butter-cream dacquoise. The pound cakes evoke days when bakers literally meant a pound of butter. Common carrot cake, often far too heavy, is moist but subtle. Coconut cake — the classic among two or three layer cakes featured daily — will convert coconut loathers to lovers. And for those whose idea of ice-cream cake has come from supermarket frozen-food cases, the Icebox’s namesake masterpiece could well be a life-changing experience.

Scotty’s fish sandwich is an ode to simplicity. A slab of fresh dolphin grilled to perfection and served on a bun with lettuce and tomato. Tartar sauce on the side. Eat it while sitting on Scotty’s long wooden deck overlooking Biscayne Bay. Just beware the sharks. No, not in the bay. Miami City Hall, right next door.

Supermarket cheese sections often are criticized for their shrink-wrap items, mass-produced and factory-packaged hunks of cheese that taste like so much sawdust. We’re not going to lie: Milam’s has some of that stuff in stock. But it also has cheese that’s been cut from an actual wheel on the actual premises — Jarlsberg that’s still fresh enough to be pliable, bufala mozzarella so new it’s still coming together as a curd. In addition the gourmet market carries some harder-to-source products, including white Stilton with apricots and kasseri, a malleable, just-pungent Greek cheese that too often falls under the shadow of its sister feta’s salad fame. And then of course there are the cheese-board byproducts: smoked mackerel, sopressata and other Italian sausages, and dips the likes of jerk shrimp with black bean or chicken with lemon-cilantro. So you’ll pay a little more for indulging your superior dairy cravings, both in the wallet and in the waist. Talk to the hand. It’s wielding the cheese knife.

Enough with the goyim joints. You want bagels made on the premises by people who know what they’re doing for people who know what they’re eating? Go to Aventura. Specifically this place. Bagel Cove’s bagels — beautiful, warm, chewy, hand-rolled loaves — are not only the best in town, they’re delivered to you by women who care, ladies who’ll always tell you that you look too skinny, who can’t understand why you don’t find some nice man or woman and settle down, who always want you to come back soon. A bagel with a schmeer you can get anywhere, but love like that? Dahrklink, please.

You won’t find fresher fish anywhere in town than at this simple, cement-floor shack by the fishing boat docked at Watson Island (except maybe at the fish shack next door, but Casablanca has more variety and takes credit cards). You also won’t find bigger crowds, not even at velvet-rope clubs. But this is a pretty pleasant bunch. So dump your friends or family under the trees along Government Cut to watch the cruise ships sailing by, and picnic on Casablanca’s fresh seafood salad and fruit drinks. Go in and grab a whole fish from one of the dozens of iced bins packed with many variations on the usual suspects seen in town: black grouper, much more succulent than red; not just yellowtail but mutton, mangrove, and hog snappers. There’s also a fabulous shellfish selection. Line up with the other fish schleppers at the cash register, pay, and decide what you want done with your catch: scaling, cleaning, filleting, whatever. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes later your fish will be ready. Tip the flashy filletmeisters in back a buck or two and they’ll cheer like you just won an Oscar.

Miami actually has many great Asian groceries, including a treasure trove on 163rd Street between Biscayne Boulevard and I-95. But big Lucky is best for one-stop shopping. The canned and bottled goods include not just standard soy-sauce-at-bargain-prices stuff for Asian aficionados but Lee Kum Kee’s excellent XO sauce, several types of non-oyster oyster sauce for those who don’t eat shellfish, and Longevity brand full-cream condensed milk for the ultimate key lime pie. The produce department has a full selection of Asian greens like snow-pea tips, fresh water chestnuts, and bamboo shoots — even durian, the fruit that tastes like heaven but smells like hell. There’s a fish department where you can see some of ’em swimming. Refrigerated cases contain a mind-boggling assortment of prepared dumplings, many in party-perfect mini sizes, and an assortment of Chinese-style sausages including near-legendary Sun Ming Jan brand from Brooklyn, whose secret ingredient is gin. Herbal and ritual remedies are stocked for those seeking health, luck, love, whatever. You’ll also find a sizable selection of dishes and eating and cooking utensils. Cookbooks are on hand for those who haven’t the vaguest idea what to do with the items they’re buying. The clincher: If Lucky’s overwhelming bounty renders you too weak to wok home, Miami’s best dim sum joint (Kon Chau) is in the same mall.

Larger than the sign marking the Norman Brothers name on the front of the store are the red letters just below that exclaim, “The Fresh Approach.” Words the proprietors live by. Any doubts? Check out the mouthwatering prepared foods (smoked ribs, rotisserie chickens, meat loaf), impeccable seafood and meat (including USDA prime-dry aged beef), tempting baked goods (pastries, breads, fine chocolates), top-shelf deli items, enticing fruits and vegetables, and refreshing juices and fresh-fruit shakes. A bit pricey, yes, but weekly specials guarantee you won’t go home empty-handed.

Ask any number of Cubans if they’d rather sip their coffee sitting down or standing up and without hesitating they’ll almost always reply: Standing up, from a ventanita. For all you non-Spanish speakers (and the six of you know who you are), that’s a window, specifically one belonging to a Cuban restaurant servicing the caffeine-craving masses on the sidewalk. The reason for this is that the cafecito ritual is as much about socializing as it is about downing the black ambrosia. The ventanita at El Pub, located at the symbolic center of Miami’s Cuban exile community — Calle Ocho — provides ample opportunity to press the flesh with the locals. The viejos on their way to and from Domino Park. The men leaving Nene’s barbershop with fresh haircuts and even fresher gossip. The local politicos. This is a veritable window onto the world.

This delightful Jamaican joint is located in the heart of old downtown. A tall glass of this not-too-sweet elixir, which the proprietors brew themselves, costs two dollars. The (nonalcoholic) liquid is bracingly delicious and a healthy tonic for our stressed-out, urbanized bodies as well. Stop in for a refreshing energy boost between meals or sit down and sip it as you enjoy a tasty plate of oxtail, curry goat, cow foot, jerk chicken, red peas, or numerous other specialties from the island. The menu also features homemade lemonade for $1.60. Open for lunch and dinner.

Take double handfuls of berries, vine-ripened to their perfumed peak under the infinite South Florida sun. Add some of the richest cream available, a touch of sugar so sweet it was worth sacrificing the Everglades, some pure spring-water ice. Churn. What do you get? Only an addiction as powerful as Sex and the City. Give in. It’s a guilty pleasure, but somebody has to make it.

Modest little tables with checkered plastic tablecloths. Replicas of meats and cheeses hanging from the ceiling. Classic black-and-whites of Sophia Loren, Frank Sinatra, and the cast of The Godfather. Slightly tacky paintings of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and other famous Italian sights. Cheap food available on a cafeteria-style serving line. Sounds like a cliché to avoid, except that this scene is hidden within Laurenzo’s, the Italian grocery and deli that’s been a fixture in North Miami Beach for nearly 40 years. Here’s what to do: Drop in for lunch, sample from the freshly made and delicious varieties of spaghetti, ravioli, and lasagna, then scoot over to the aisle where fresh flour and egg pastas are made several times a day. Maybe now you’ll have a better idea what to choose from the impressive array — fettuccine, tortellini (and oni), ravioli, fusilli, pappardelle, gnocchi. Just deciding among the bright coils of drying linguine is tough. What should it be? Black pepper? Spinach? Wheat? Tomato? Squid’s ink? Oh, what the heck. Try ’em all.

C’mon, an overpriced sushi joint? We only have about a hundred of those, so why reward a new one? Well, friends, try out Nobuyuki Matsuhisa’s dishes and then come back and tell us it wasn’t worth every penny. So what if some whine about the décor. People! Style over substance has been Miami’s cement shoes for too long. And so what if the super-fresh sashimi melted in your mouth so quickly and deliciously you almost forgot you just ate it. And who cares if chopsticks were used as weapons for the very last crumbs from the black codfish with miso. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is this: Miami finally has a Matsuhisa masterhouse to return to over and over again for more of the same. For the first time in a while, a restaurant has opened that can truly contend with the best of the best.

No, it’s not really about the drinks. You’ve had those before. And it’s not really about the décor, which is clean and fine but not spectacular. It’s also not about the specials, because there aren’t really official hours for happiness here. It’s about the only reason people seek out happy hours to begin with: the scene. What? On Miracle Mile in the stuffy Gables, you might sneer? Yup. There’s a new dawn in that part of town and it’s raising a toast at the new Houston’s after work. Good mix of cocktails, ages, ethnicities, sexes, economic positions. The men and women behind the bar are friendly, as are the people sitting next to you. Starting late in the afternoon on Friday often you won’t find a stool or even standing room, so the party spills out into the street. If you need further proof this isn’t the Gables of old, consider: Once you’ve downed your after-work libations, you can move on to other attractions. Huh? Life after 8:00 p.m. in the City Beautiful? Yes, truly a new dawn.

This is truly the hole-in-the-wall that has it all. Almost indistinguishable from the other storefronts along this part of North Miami Avenue, Clive’s makes its mark at the cozy counter set up with great Jamaican favorites like curry goat, oxtail, and cowfoot. With ample food packed on a five-dollar special, this is a can’t-miss deal every afternoon. The chicken is cooked to diner perfection and the curry is a smooth blend that avoids the fire-alarm spices of other native cuisines. The mood is laid-back, with a pleasant Mrs. P taking good care of the customers and a small radio pumping out reggae sounds. You just may catch Clive’s fan Lenny Kravitz taking in the scene. Clive’s is great for take-out but just as nice for a midafternoon stop to take it easy.

Translated, dim sum means “touch the heart,” meaning this is food that aims to please, by providing a great grab bag of variety; there’s a little something for everyone seeking small bites of big flavors. And though this is not the only excellent dim sum establishment in town (or even on the block, as better-known Tropical Chinese confirms), its offerings are the most excitingly similar to those in the top dim sum parlors in the world. Though small, casual Kon Chau serves up over 60 selections, divided into four basic categories: sweet dessert items; deep-fried items; miscellaneous stir-fried, grilled, or stewed variety dishes; and most important, steamed savories such as stuffed breads, various root vegetable and cereal “cakes,” and dumplings galore. There’s har gau, small steamed cilantro-spiced pork and shrimp dumplings; fun gor, especially a steamed vegetable version filled with spiced shiitake mushrooms; and cheoung fun, tender but chewy rolled rice noodle crêpes filled with barbecued pork, beef, or shrimp, topped with a succulent salty/sweet sauce. Selections are made by menu, less festive than the rolling carts at some dim sum establishments (but, in smaller and slower-turnover tea houses, ensuring greater freshness). At any rate Kon Chau’s large proportion of Asian diners confirms the quality.

It seems odd that a restaurant with three locations (Hialeah and Deerfield Beach as well) and a name like Little Havana can be “unknown,” but this Cuban specialty joint in North Miami easily gets lost amid the clutter of shops, banks, and condos on Biscayne’s commercial strip. Once you find it, though, you’ll know why tourists and locals alike pass on the word about the no-frills cuisine served up seven days a week. From traditional Cuban selections like oxtail in wine sauce and palomilla steak to Spanish omelets and a savory ground beef in Creole sauce, the dishes are basic in presentation (all come with rice, beans, and fried plantains) and delicious in their simplicity. Each course complements the selection of appetizers ranging from fried yuca to the Cuban tamal with mojo. Also worthy of entrée consideration is the baked or fried chicken plate and the broiled seafood assortment. Top off any meal with either the guava with cheese or a sinfully good coconut flan. Prices range from $6.95 to $22.95 and it’s open from 1:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. daily.

So much has been said about this North Miami eatery and its scrumptious menu of gastronomic delights (including what we said in “Best of Miami” last year, when it also took this award). It has done justice to the former home of Mark’s Place, Mark Militello’s nationally recognized shrine to New World cuisine. In addition to executive chef Edson Milto’s traditional but still exotic feijoada (served weekends), the Picanha menu offers plenty of adventure. The same can be said of the restaurant’s festive atmosphere. After dinner you can sip the best caiprinhas in town as you samba into the night accompanied by live bands (call for music details).

Every weekday at 11:30 a.m. manager Tom Dalgan throws open the doors on a sumptuous lunchtime feast: daily carving, chicken, fish, 22-item salad bar, and an academic ambiance that may nourish you with ideas as well as food. All this until 1:30 p.m. for a fixed price of $9.75. Drinks and desserts are extra. Enter the parking lot off Red Road just north of Dixie Highway.

Granted the waitstaff isn’t wearing sombreros and the music blaring on the sound system is an odd mix of merengue, salsa, and upbeat rock en español. But the requisite cowboy memorabilia clinging to the walls, plus the basket of freshly made chips, tart salsa, and giant margaritas on the table, are enough to tell you there’s a definite Tex-Mex vibe in the air. Founded in 1982 in Dallas, the wildly successful On the Border was acquired in 1994 by casual-dining company Brinker International, owner of other popular eateries including Chili’s Grill & Bar and Romano’s Macaroni Grill. More than 100 outposts now stretch across the country, offering consistently tasty Mexican fare in generous portions. Among the abundant appetizers: smoked chicken flautas served with chili con queso and firecracker stuffed jalapeños filled with chopped chicken and cheeses. Main-dish choices range from burritos, chimichangas, and enchiladas to mesquite-fired fajitas boasting sizzling chicken, shrimp, beef, or portobello mushrooms. Remnants of spiciness can be soothed by a sinful sweet, be it Kahlua ice cream pie, Mexican crème caramel, or apple and strawberry chimichangas.

Franchise-food dining doesn’t have the Epicurean seal of approval around here, but once in a while you find an exception. On Friday nights, for example, Robert, the Deep South short-order cook at this mid-Beach branch attached to a Howard Johnson’s hotel, will cook you up two golden-red porkchops, an orange sweet potato, and some green broccoli, washed down with heavily iced lemon-Coke. Makes you feel you’re in a Carson McCullers novel — The Ballad of the Sad Café, say. Carlos Duran will serve this feast for only $8.29, and tell you about the time his computer card (for the cash register), which he wears on a vinyl cord, wrapped around a chair while he was delivering an order and nearly pulled his pants off. Lawraye Taveinni, a manager, will seat you in the smoking section (no one sits there) on a crowded Sunday morning and feed you healthy Harvest whole-grain oat, almond, and English walnut pancakes with warm fruit compote for just $5.99. And midweek cute Antoy Williams will cheer up grouchy oldsters who didn’t want big sausages on their French toast special ($6.29) with jokes about her bus trip in from Opa-locka: “That driver was madder than you, honey! He just stuck in my face!” Call it breakfast theater.

Something for everyone and plenty of it. That’s why you’ll often find a line of patrons waiting for a table during peak hours. We’re talking chilled snow-crab legs, shrimp, and mussels. Eel, salmon, and California sushi rolls. Barbecued ribs, sweet-and-sour chicken, egg rolls, dumplings, stir-fried veggies. Prime rib, black-pepper steak, General Tso’s chicken. A salad bar, six different soups. Eight flavors of hard-packed ice cream, Black Forest cake, miniature coconut tarts, chocolate-dipped fruit. An exhausting array of more than 100 items spread over seven serving stations. Unfettered access to the buffet will run you $7.50 to $11 (on weekends) for lunch and $14 to $17 for dinner. You can also order food à la carte for special dietary requirements. Lunch hours are 11:30 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. Monday through Friday; noon to 2:30 p.m. on weekends. Dinner is served 4:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. Monday through Thursday, Sunday, and on holidays. Friday and Saturday dinner service continues until 10:30 p.m.

Chefs of all stripes like to say that with regard to cuisine, quality is in the details. For the Cuban gourmet one measuring stick for refined gastronomy is to be found in the mariquitas (curly, long, plantain chips). Casa Romeu’s are el maximo: soft and fluffy, not crispy and burned like at some places. Another culinary barometer is the sopa de pollo (chicken soup), which Romeu’s customers wistfully remember for days, sometimes weeks. Somehow they even make people rave about the congrí, a seasoned mixture of rice and beans. Romeu regulars are especially fanatical about the picadillo (a juicy, piquant concoction of ground beef, onion, peppers, and spices) and the bistec empanizado (breaded steak). Located about a mile north of Miami Lakes, the restaurant opens at 7:00 a.m. and closes at midnight. ¿Qué más tu quieres?

Yes, Nuevo Siglo is “decrepit-looking,” as noted in the New York Times. In fact it looks pretty much as decrepit as most of Havana, Cuba. Sitting at the counter on a balmy winter afternoon, a coffee-scented breeze wafting in from the window open to the cacophony of Calle Ocho, you feel a little like you’re lunching in your tia‘s funky kitchen in Centro Habana. Your tia who can always comfort you with a bowl of savory chicken soup, who seems to effortlessly produce plate after plate of really good Cuban food, such as roasted pork and chicken, picadillo, oxtail (sometimes goat, lamb, or shrimp) accompanied by perfect yuca or maduros, and of course plenty of rice and the potaje of the day — black beans, garbanzos. Nothing fancy, just a solid meal a lo cubano. The menu changes daily and the entrées go fast. A big lunch can run you five to seven dollars. There are also some decent breakfast specials.

Proprietors of so-called American steakhouses take note: We’re just a wee bit tired of the strip-sirloin-and-creamed-spinach routine. That’s why we’ve turned to the products of the asador, the grill room located between the double dining rooms at Graziano’s. Like American steak places, Graziano’s serves the bare bones — beef à la carte — but the flavor of Argentine hardwood and the juiciness sealed in by a slow-turning rotisserie make the cuts of meat incomparable. Nonbeef main courses include suckling pig and gigantic Patagonian shrimp, also hot off the asador. Add starters like quickly seared blocks of Provolone, homemade sausages, or grilled sweetbreads, and a wine list so comprehensive even enophiles get confused, and what’s left to say but grazie?

True to its origins, this Parisian bistro stocks a healthy number of red wines to counteract all those high-fat cheese and meat offerings. But the so-called French Paradox isn’t what Brasserie Les Halles is all about. Indeed the eatery, which highlights different regions of France such as the Loire Valley and Alsace-Lorraine, offers an exceptional number of vins blanc as well. Looking for something appropriately matched to the rabbit roasted in mustard sauce? A cool Chateau de Maimbray Sancerre is a good option. A little bubbly to celebrate a special occasion or maybe just to wash down a bowl of moules marinières? The 1990 Pommery Cuvée Louise is a delicious choice — and priced at $165 is just a bit less expensive than other lists around town. Of course if you believe nothing fits a French bill like an order of steak frites and a glass of Bordeaux or Burgundy, then at Brasserie Les Halles you’ll always be in the money.

When they had their place called Norma’s on Miami Beach, partners Delius Shirley and executive chef Cindy Hutson built a reputation as masters of Jamaican cuisine, in part because Delius’s mom Norma was their mentor, and the tiny kitchen in the Lincoln Road eatery limited the number of ingredients that could be kept on hand. But when the pair moved their operation to Coral Gables a few seasons ago, the name changed and the menu expanded to reflect the possibilities of a larger work space. Now, says Hutson, liberated from whatever the category of Jamaican bistro might mean, she is giving culinary expression to a wider menu that she thinks of as “cuisine of the sun.” That might include dishes with Asian or South American origins. But Hutson’s basic culinary education remains Jamaican, the restaurant’s coolly elegant décor is still Caribbean, and the food is still divine. Jerked pork and lamb patties are often on the menu, but so too are Thai dishes, or curries, or something from Colombia that calls for coconut milk or ginger. Ortanique, by the way, is a sweet hybrid citrus that comes from crossing an orange and a tangerine, a fitting symbol for a restaurant unlike any other.

We hereby present this new eatery with the ABS Award — that being Anything But Starbucks. In this coffeehouse-blighted town any signs of new life must be encouraged. So go past the deli counter and up the stairs studded with circles of light. At the top you’ll find the bookstore area, featuring regularly scheduled author readings and signings as well as ultrahip black-and-white décor. There are couches and animal-print recliners for lounging, or café-size tables and chairs for lounging and dining. Or sit outside under the umbrellas and watch the world go by. The usual lattes and cappuccinos are offered, and since this place is also a bar, so are Irish coffee and Caribbean Magic (involving light and dark rum). Let the hanging-out commence.

We dare you to call up a restaurant at random and ask how much they’d charge you for bringing in your own bottle of wine. We guarantee you’ll be quoted a price of no less than ten dollars and probably at least twenty, all for the hard work the waiter has to do to uncork and pour your chosen label. After all, why should the management let you enjoy a vintage from your private cellar when they can charge you triple the wholesale cost for one you don’t really care about? Not Su-Shin. This sushi place simply doesn’t care about what you bring in — Petrus or plonk. They’ll still charge two dollars per customer. Let’s say for argument’s sake you’ve brought with you a nice Riesling that goes really well with Asian flavors and you spent, oh, $12 on it. For a romantic dinner for two you’ll be paying an additional four dollars for the privilege of drinking it with your meal. That’s a grand total of $16. (The same bottle, if the restaurant offered it, would probably be listed at $25 or more.) So what does Su-Shin know that its colleagues don’t? Only that customers are likely to spend twice that on, say, uncooked tuna.

A delicate rose fashioned from slender blush-pink slices of tuna. Carefully carved thin strips of cucumber wrapped around crab stick, avocado, masago, and shrimp. Wooden boats bursting with artfully arranged squares of fish. How fresh is it? Take a glance behind the sushi bar. If the huge white tuna slumped across the sink, ready for carving, is any hint, very.

Chocolate is not a bad or dangerous thing. Chocolate is good medicine for the brain, the blood, the sweet tooth. And the Sweet Tooth’s chocolate is very good, made on the premises. From chocolate hearts and cherries to truffles and luscious creams, feast your eyes (did we mention chocolate improves night vision?) on the velvety array of goodies at this well-equipped chocolate clinic. The selection is so stunning, especially on holidays, you may be temporarily paralyzed. The Sweet Tooth people know how you feel and have thoughtfully prepared all kinds of beautiful and therapeutic gift baskets and boxes.

If your mother is from Ireland, you know about soda bread, baked daily in many homes both in Eire and abroad. Owners Martin Lynch and John Clarke remember, and that’s why with every meal at this venerable pub a basket of the tasty quick bread is set down on the table just after the pint of Guinness. The formula is simple: flour, salt, soda, buttermilk, and a handful of raisins. And you don’t have to be Irish. Lynch says people with surnames like Castillo and Cohen come in all the time just for the bread. You can carry some home, too, for $3.50 a loaf.

In theory the cheapest lobster is the one you pluck from the ocean floor during lobster miniseason. But when you factor in the cost of the boat, the gas, the gear, and the beer, the total looks like a $5000 meal. No, the truly frugal eat their bugs on Tuesday nights at Tobacco Road. Just under ten bucks gets you a decent-size, nicely prepared crustacean, potatoes, and all the napkins you need. The Florida lobster is fresh, delicious, and relatively speaking it costs next to nothing. This is a great deal, just slightly better than the Road’s rib night. Or the Road’s T-bone steak night. Or the Road’s….

Deli Lane’s Swiss apple melt sandwich ($6.95) takes three ingredients that have no business hanging out together and proves the old adage about the whole being greater, and tastier, than the sum of its parts. The apple wedges are glazed with cinnamon and grilled to gooey goodness. The bacon is lightly fried. Melted Swiss holds them together, between two slices of raisin pumpernickel bread. Eat one and you’ll wonder why this concoction isn’t up there with the Reuben as an American deli classic.

When it comes to gelato versus ice cream, it’s the air, stupid. Gelato doesn’t contain as much of it as its American cousin. The result is a denser, richer texture, a creamier, dreamier version of one of life’s singular pleasures. Okay, you say, but what about selection? Surely there’s no gelato parlor offering 31 different flavors. Well, we didn’t exactly do the math, but if Coco Gelato’s choices — which include lemon champagne, almond cream, key lime, mamey, dulce de leche, and a half-dozen varieties of chocolate (to say nothing of tiramisu) — leave you cold, you’ve got a hole in your head. Or air between your ears.

About as appealing as the milk and raw eggs cinema prizefighter Rocky Balboa ingests before each workout — that’s flan to many people. Slimy, rubbery, rich to the point of nausea. But flan is a dessert, like Shakespeare said about Cleopatra, of infinite variety. The classic milk-and-egg concoction doused with caramel may boast coffee, chocolate, mango, and even coconut flavors. Cream cheese can also form its base. A mighty fine flan of the last type is served at Joe’s, venerable home to famed crab claws and celebrated key lime pie. Velvety, dense, voluptuous. The confection’s high calories come at a rather high price — nearly four bucks a slice. Perhaps that’s a good thing. Eat it too often and you’re liable to become a heavyweight of a different kind.

While many of La Brioche Doree’s fancy little pastries are beautiful to behold, the croissants take the cake, as they say. Why? Because Edouard Maillan, owner of this venerable boulangerie et patisserie, makes his light-layered treats, as he always has, with premium imported French butter. This stuff blows away the mass-market domestic butters used by less discerning croissant purveyors. A no-brainer involving high butterfat-to-water ratios, French butter seems to have been discovered by national food publications only recently. Maillan’s secret, however, has been known for years by legions of devoted patrons. In fact the place is so popular you’d better get there early to score any of the favored minicroissants. If that bin has been plundered, try the equally delicious regular-size croissants, which include almond, cheese, chocolate, and seasonal fruits. Like many businesses in this largely Orthodox Jewish neighborhood, La Brioche Doree is closed Saturday. But it opens again Sunday morning at 7:00. Don’t be surprised to find a knot of pastry addicts waiting outside as Maillan unlocks the door.

When Rashné Desai took over Stephans in March 2001, she immediately updated the heavily Italian menu of her predecessor. Her idea was to offer presentable gourmet food and sell it fast as take-out or eat-in. (Located in Miami’s Design District, Stephans has 30 Berliner-style tables on the second floor and sidewalk.) A delicious sandwich, drink, and cookie; or soup, quiche, and side (try the rosemary-roasted vegetables and fresh bread from Spain) should price out at ten bucks or less. Rashné learned her stuff at Dean & DeLuca in SoHo before that food-and-wares store went corporate and lame, and is a graduate of the French Culinary Institute in NYC, where she studied with Gaulist master Jacques Pepín. After that kind of training you know the rules so well you can break them. So Stephans presents the best of various culinary disciplines: a black forest ham sandwich on a baguette with French Brie, crisp lettuce, tomato, and olive oil; pasta with roasted chicken, fresh basil, garlic pesto, sun-dried tomatoes, and shaved Parmigiano; the Ultimate Supremo of imported prosciutto, Genoa salami, hot capicollo, and fire-roasted peppers; or curried turkey chili. Presentation is half the battle. “When you work in restaurants,” says Rashné, “you’re down in some basement kitchen with a lot of smelly people. Here we make food meant to be consumed fast and that looks really good.” Call it eat couture.

Chicken slow-roasted the Cuban way, with just the right touch of salt, pepper, and maybe a little mojo, is not that hard to find in Miami. But try to find better than here for the price: two dollars for a large breast with wing attached. Pick up a carton of moros and a bag of tostones and the family is well-fed for about ten bucks. But while you’re here at the juice palace, have a look around. This place may have begun as a little roadside juice stand, but it’s now a major Latino marketplace for foodstuffs and socializing. Lechon for sandwiches, of course. But also fruits and vegetables, tamal, uncooked black beans, chilled coconut, cheeses, and a unique fried rice. Have a coffee or a watermelon cooler and sit outside under the trees, though not too close to the troubadour on the electronic keyboard. And now watch Miami go by. Not just the guy in the parking lot with the hand-tooled belts and guajiro hats arrayed on his car, but all the rest of multiethnic Miami ebbing and flowing along the street that is at its heart.

Because Candace Lopez’s TJP was getting all the action from the beach boys and girls bronzing near 22nd Street last summer, we followed the crowd over for a big twenty-ounce lemonade ($1.85). We were astounded by the taste, a kind of adagio of three sensations: tartness (fresh local lemon), sweetness (pure sugar), and a kind of energy boost. There’s no caffeine added, so when we asked Candace, she pointed out that the major froth she achieves in the blending enhances the natural vitamin-C properties in her lemon juice, “opening” them and allowing for faster absorption. (Many fighters suck oranges before they go into the ring, so she may be right.) In addition Candace has an impressive collection of tropical-rain-forest smoothies from Brazil. The smoothies, great with vegetable-wrap sandwiches, go for $2.85 for 12 ounces, $3.85 for 20 ounces, and $5.85 for 32-ounce jumbos.

The problem with most Florida raw bars is Florida oysters, which come from the Gulf Coast and other locales where the water is so warm the wan, flaccid southern belles come out of it practically precooked and tasting mild to the point of nothingness. Not at Nemo, where the nightly selection of three to four varieties includes nothing but crisp cold-water beauties. According to chef/owner Michael Schwartz, there’s usually at least one from British Columbia, such as refreshing Fanny Bays, whose unique sweet-and-salty taste and pronounced cucumber finish accent their typically Canadian brininess. Often there are Pacific Northwest oysters — kumamotos or plump, creamy-rich Hog Island Sweetwaters — and sometimes even eastern U.S. oysters from Long Island. An important plus for those who love oysters but don’t love living dangerously (and risking the bacterium responsible for 1992’s notorious nine oyster-related deaths in Florida): All Nemo oysters are farm-raised. By the way Nemo does serve other raw-bar items, and of course it is first and foremost a full-menu restaurant. But the friendly staff welcomes those who just want oysters. The interior “food bar,” where diners can watch chefs work, is a fun place for shellfish, though a difficult place to resist escalating to a major meal.

Within the world of Cuban-style black beans there are many variations. The beans ought to be fresh and the seasonings tasty, but after that opinions diverge. What seasonings and in what combinations? Garlic, of course. But what about onions, green pepper, salt, pepper, cumin, even tomato sauce? This restaurant, a Little Havana fixture for 27 years, enjoys the talents of long-time chef Guillermo Martinez, who has found a formula that works. This includes garlic, green peppers, olive oil, and white sherry, according to restaurant manager Orestes Lleonart, Jr. Ah, but there’s more. And that part is a secret. “The rest,” says Lleonart, “is what only the cook knows.” Dig into a bowl of black bean soup for $2.50.

Just to avoid confusion and, hopefully, controversy (as if!): This category involved a judgment call not just between ceviche eateries but between traditional and nuevo-ceviche styles, with the nod going to the new kid in town. Citrus “cooking” of seafood was invented centuries ago by South American Indians and, the point being preservation, involved long marination (at least two hours, usually much longer). Citric acid marination for longer than about twenty minutes changes the whole texture of fish, however — an often nice but not necessary transformation, now that the world has fridges. Hence nuevo ceviche, where chefs marinate raw fresh fish only briefly before serving, resulting in a sort of South American sushi. And Sushi Samba is supreme at this style, owing to superior saucing. For a comprehensive course in “Modern Ceviches 101,” try the mixed ceviche/tiradito assortment of eight different preparations, based on both market and chef’s whim but including possibilities like fluke dressed New World AmerAsian-style with ponzu and grapefruit; slightly seared toro fatty tuna with lemon, lime, and red daikon radish; an almost Italian carpaccio-like baby yellowtail with black truffle oil; or salmon with either Dijon mustard/miso marinade or smooth strawberry/key lime sauce, with a red onion garnish.

Why go out for a burger you can make at home? And let’s face it about those big fat “gourmet” burgers: With few exceptions anyone can buy and broil half a pound of prime beef with impressive results. What one cannot duplicate at home is your classic Castle burger, a roughly two-square-inch, two-bite patty not quite as thin as a communion wafer and producing perhaps not quite the same degree of spiritual ecstasy among true believers. But let’s just say that Castles are an illusory experience one couldn’t ever duplicate at home, probably because no home has a grill with a zillion years worth of accumulated grease on it. White Castles are the classics, of course. These aren’t available down here, however, except in inferior frozen form in supermarkets. But still performing (live and in person!) since 1939, just a block west of I-95 in Miami, is Arnold’s Royal Castle, where the succulent square slider is still supreme, and still sliding smoothly off the grill into $3.40 six-packs. Each diner will need at least two packs, unless you don’t mind driving back an hour later — which is always possible; Royal Castle is open 24 hours daily.

A pie they could have served proudly at Connie Corleone’s wedding reception. Slices that could pass muster with Don Vito himself, thwarting pizza wars that would have rubbed out all those who employ fancy-schmancy ingredients like sun-dried tomatoes, arugula, and goat cheese. For the past fifteen years the masters at this tiny eatery have been turning out a simple crisp thin or thick crust coated with smooth tomato sauce, chewy mozzarella cheese, and myriad everyday toppings such as pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, anchovies. The fabulous fare is made-to-order, so understand it takes a bit of time. Ultimately patience pays because it’s a pizza you can’t refuse.

Cars zoom along Biscayne Boulevard, passing the glorious spaceship of a building designed around 1960 by Robert Law Weed. For many years since, Leo’s, a car wash and detailing service, has occupied the site, once a General Tire showroom. Now at the behest of restaurant mogul Mark Soyka, Leo’s remains but the opportunity to stop in for a tempting pie has been added. And what a pie it is. Straight from the mouth of the imposing brick oven, which would have made the witch from Hansel and Gretel envious, emerge tasty ten-, thirteen-, or sixteen-inch pizzas topped with delicious delights including prosciutto, Portobello mushrooms, spinach, chicken breast, caramelized onions, kalamata olives, fresh mozzarella, roasted garlic, and Gorgonzola cheese. Andiamo may mean “let’s go” in Italian, but for pizza you wouldn’t want to go anywhere else.

Where else can you relive your teenage years by playing vintage video games (still a quarter, natch), munching on some of the city’s best pizza, and listening to Led Zeppelin? Even Sunset Place’s GameWorks has ditched its Galaga machine and tuned into the current Top 40. But in this perennial oasis of simple pleasures (well, at least till the 3:00 a.m. closing time; 4:00 a.m. on weekends) you can blast aliens to your heart’s content while remaining safely tucked back in 1985. And should you need a break from conquering Ms. Pac-Man and singing along to “Stairway to Heaven,” there’s even a New Times rack right in front.

We know someone else coined the happy little logo “We deliver for you,” but we simply insist that Gourmet Station adopt it. Not only do they actually bring your meals to you, they design them to fit your lifestyle. For instance, high-powered execs can get the “Balanced Plan,” ten meals for six dollars each (plus tax) per week that ration the proteins, carbs, and veggies. Body-builders and all-around gym pros can get the “Protein Plan,” which for $7.50 per meal provides absolutely nothing but the racks — of lamb, that is. What’s that, you say? You’re a normal person with an average life? Well, fill up at the Station by all means. Stop in for a choice of homemade entrée, ranging from grilled salmon with lemon-dill yogurt sauce to grilled Nicaraguan churrasco with chimichurri. In the morning the place teems with coffee and muffins; lunchtime it’s wraps and sandwiches such as the Italian club — prosciutto, tomato, basil, and fresh mozzarella. You can even open an account for “hassle-free billing,” a status most of us haven’t enjoyed with any home-meal replacement products since we lived at Mom’s.

A first-time visitor to this Mexican joint in the historic district of Homestead may be baffled to see Styrofoam coolers filled with ice and bottles of beer dotting the floor next to most tables. But a quick glance at the menu explains it. El Toro Taco doesn’t have a liquor license, so the only way to swig a Corona with your meal is to bring it with you, a secret most of the clientele seems to be in on. The BYOB requirement is no deterrent as the place packs a full house on weekends. As soon as you taste any one of several taco selections, you’ll understand why. Choose from soft corn or flour tortillas filled with ground beef, barbacoa (shredded beef), chicken, or refried beans. For a real treat try the tacos de bistec — corn tortillas filled with marinated, grilled steak and topped with cilantro and onions. Prices are very reasonable, the atmosphere is upbeat (you may be treated to a mariachi serenade), and take heart, margarita lovers: With the money you save on drinks you can spring for an appetizer — a bowl of zesty bean dip or chili con queso (spicy cheese dip) — and finish your meal with a traditional favorite: tres leches cake. Next time bring a blender! Open Tuesday through Thursday 11:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., Friday and Saturday 10:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m., and Sunday 10:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. Closed Monday.

The all-American chain offering the quintessential Cuban sandwich? If it’s not quite as classic an oxymoron as “jumbo shrimp,” it soon could be, provided it survives the taste test. General response we’ve heard from the general public is that hey, it ain’t bad. The novelty quotient is high enough to keep sandwich cubano in stock at the drive-thru for now, but don’t look for it to be dethroned by Big Macs at Versailles.

Forget about St. Pauli Girl. Switch to San Noy, which means young girl in English. This pilsner is not only more delicious but also “ring gold” in color and “morning fresh,” according to the menu notes. It is one of six types of beer brewed at this miraculous eatery featuring indoor and outdoor seating. If you feel like a sweeter exotic taste, try the Thai Woman (Ying Thai), a brown rice bock that is “malty.” Also on that side of the spectrum is a Cheers (Chai Yo), a light bock made from corn, and Flower (Dog Mai), an amber-colored wheat. Serious beer connoisseurs will delight in the copper-colored and hoppy Chang Mai, which is named after a city in northern Thailand, and the Rutting Elephant (Chang Baah), a dark bock. If you’re feeling really heady, you can order one of the Orchid’s beer cocktails, such as the Dancing Lady: brown bock mixed with orange juice and allspice. Taps run till 10:30 p.m. Sunday through Thursday; 11:00 p.m. Friday and Saturday.

Forget the goofy name. Roasters, as it’s called by most customers, is hard-core, straight-up deli fare. Breakfast is an array of the basics: thick French toast, eggs (or egg whites, perhaps), toast, bagels, lox, and such, all accompanied by orange juice squeezed fresh. The lunch menu features meaty deli sandwiches and the best matzo-ball soup around. The restaurant’s owners strive to make their deli a place where locals can gather and feel among friends, sort of what the late lamented Wolfie’s was like in Miami Beach in its heyday 35 years ago. Roasters has succeeded spectacularly. It’s where Kendall and Pinecrest come to nosh.

Despite the name, Hernandez looks like an old-fashioned neighborhood butcher shop, a mom-and-pop operation bordering an industrial neighborhood in Hialeah. Nothing very notable about the place. Except that the best roast pork on the planet can be had there. You have to call or visit ahead of time and tell them what kind of pig you want: A 40-pounder? 60-pounder? Bigger? A 100-pounder? No problem. Then tell them when you would like the pig to be ready: Next Saturday? Sunday? Fine. On that day, all you have to do is keep your eyes from popping out at the gorgeous, bronzed porker they’ll slide out of their bread oven for you, drenched in mojo, face down, spread eagle on a large metal tray. Crackly, crunchy skin on the outside. Moist, piping-hot meat on the inside. Take it home. Feed a hundred people. Tell them you cooked it yourself. Squeal with delight.

Humble chickpeas are transformed by the application of secret spices, herbs, and the old Khoury family magic. But don’t ask chef/owner Maroun Khoury for the recipe. Over his many years in the business he’s developed a reputation in that regard for being a Lebanese version of the Soup Nazi. So just plunk down $3.99 for an appetizer order, maybe with some hummus on the side, and enjoy this crisply fried treat. Hours: 11:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m., Monday through Thursday; till 11:00 p.m. Friday and Saturday; and 1:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. Sunday.

The empanada is to many South American countries what the cheeseburger is to heartland America: the most popular grab-and-go meal and a cultural icon. These fried or baked dough pockets stuffed with a variety of meat or vegetable fillings are abundant at bakeries all around Miami, but few establishments serve them as fresh and authentically Argentine as Confiteria Buenos Aires Bakery & Café. The fried, ground-beef version (jazzed up with bits of hard-boiled egg, green olive, and spices) is the winner. Its baked cousins — available with chicken, spinach, or ham and cheese — with their flaky crusts, are equally delectable. Take a dozen home for the family. Better yet, linger inside this warm and bustling café and have them with a Quilmes (Argentine beer) while enjoying the swirl of activity created by the Bonarense transplants who flock here for a taste of home. Open daily from 7:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.

Maybe it’s the seasoning that’s developed from years of repeated cooking on the grill and in cast-iron pots that makes the food at Shorty’s taste so good. If the crowds of hungry patrons lined up at all hours outside the log-cabin-looking Dadeland eatery are any indication, the restaurant, founded in 1951, continues to dish out the same lip-smacking chicken and ribs it always has. Various combinations of meat and poultry are offered, but for those not inclined to the juicy, Flintstone-size slabs, a selection of substantial sandwiches beckons. Barbecue beef or pork, chargrilled chicken breast, and tender beef brisket are served on a bun, accompanied by crinkle-cut French fries (creamy coleslaw dotted with zingy celery seed comes with the brisket). A sweetish red barbecue sauce or a smoky-brown homemade mixture provides embellishment. Baked beans, potatoes (sweet and white), garlic bread, and perfectly cooked ears of corn (plain or drenched in butter) are among the starchy sides. With courteous, efficient service and grub this good, Shorty’s is bound to be around another half-century.

Fernando Lopez is an artist. He writes screenplays and sculpts, and he believes someday he’ll make it as a filmmaker. But seven years ago his wife Belkis talked him into opening a juice shop, and that has provided a living for the couple and their three young children. Fernando’s artistic sensibilities and Belkis’s culinary talents have also made their little restaurant a popular stop for the work-week crowd that appreciates lunchtime specials such as turkey peccadillo and veggie lasagna. The storefront café gives off a time-capsuled Seventies vibe, thanks in part to Fernando’s colorful artwork on the walls and the aroma of steaming vegetables and tamari. But also featured on the menu are luscious smoothies and vegetable-juice combos to cure every ill, from arthritis and acne to indigestion and impotence. And if you don’t know what ails you or just what you need, Fernando is not shy about making an instant diagnosis. Open for breakfast and lunch, from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Monday through Friday.

What’s the most vital thing needed in a health-food store? Great cookies! Whole Foods’ cookies are fashionably huge but also full of the natural ingredients natural women and men crave, like butter. Chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin are fab, but the chewy sugar cookies are especially addictive. Incidentally, the store’s other stock is superior too: a mammoth selection of crisp fruits and veggies, including local and hard-to-find produce like frisee, plus organic seeds and herb plants, sparkling fresh fish, top-brand poultry, and meats both usual and unusual (buffalo burgers). There is kid-friendly health food such as Fran’s fun frozen line of fish and chicken nibbles shaped like starfish and dinosaurs, and a selection of esoteric wines and beers that would do an upscale specialty liquor store proud. Also available: a huge choice of vitamins and natural cosmetics at very fair prices, as well as a prepared-foods department featuring dishes that not only look drop-dead gorgeous but taste great. Even the tofu! But really, it’s the cookies that count.

Man does not live by bread alone. But if he did, he’d do it here. Rosemary bread. Onion rye. San Francisco sourdough. Sesame semolina. Raisin pecan. And more. Baked fresh every day and laid out in heaping piles on a metal rack for your perusing and consuming pleasure. Get thee to this bakery. Life is short.

To most people “comfort food” means something that’s reassuring because it’s what we ate when we were kids. Oddly, though, most restaurants’ idea of comfort food is meat loaf. How many modern moms made meat loaf? TV dinners are more like it. Why were these especially comforting? For one thing they were served in conveniently compartmentalized trays that kept sauces and juices and flavors separated. For another they became associated with an indulgent adolescent pleasure: zoning out in front of the tube. The problem with the TV dinners of yore, of course, was the actual food they contained. But Big Pink’s TV dinners, a different special each day, present no problems in that regard. The food does sound like the old standards (turkey, pot roast, eggplant parmesan, fried chicken) but one bite and you know it’s the real thing, not some processed gunk from an assembly line. The mashed potatoes are real. The vegetables are fresh, not frozen. The macaroni and cheese features firm pasta and cheese with real character. The crisp chicken is creatively coated with panko. Desserts include items such as red velvet cake and key lime pie instead of those tiny old Styrofoam brownies. And thanks to Big Pink’s delivery service, this updated version of the TV dinner from your past can be placed right in your lap — just as dear old Mom did lo those many years ago.

It’s what Long John Silver’s pretends to be but never has been: good seafood on the fly. Capt. Crab’s has the fish sandwiches (fried and grilled), the shrimp, conch, clam chowder, and so on. But especially notable in this little shack of a fast-food restaurant are the crabs. A moist and delectable crab sandwich goes for $6; a bucket of heavenly garlic crabs ranges from the one-pounder at $8.50 to the jumbo tub (four pounds) for $29. Pair it with a cold beer, sold by the bottle at the drive-though window, and a two-dollar key lime pie and you’re good to go. The drive-thru is open 11:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m. Monday through Saturday.

There aren’t a lot of chili restaurants in Miami-Dade County, despite the presence of chili in various forms on numerous menus. In fact it’s probably safe to say there are no places in Miami-Dade where you can find traditional chili. This void forces us to travel up to Broward County to push a renowned style of chili available only at Skyline. If you know anyone who’s ever lived in Cincinnati, or if you’ve visited the Queen City yourself, then you know that chili is a staple of the diet there and that the type of chili they serve is unlike chili anywhere else. It’s nearly as thin as water and is served atop a plate of spaghetti. Accompaniments include a mound of shredded cheddar cheese and/or onions and/or plump red kidney beans. The recipe is a closely held secret but we think we taste chocolate and cinnamon in there somewhere. Skyline is the dominant chili chain in Ohio, founded in 1949 by Greek immigrants Nicholas and Alexandra Lambrinides. Thankfully one of the Lambrinides grandsons migrated to Florida and brought some outlets with him. Skyline is an acquired taste, that’s for sure. And for those who’ve acquired it, the drive north is well worth it.

It seems such an easy dessert. No intricate baking techniques, no rare ingredients, no specific occasion or purpose. And yet it saddens to know how often this creation can turn out so awfully wrong. A perennial favorite among “Best of Miami” readers, Joe’s Stone Crab sticks to some trusted basics from a closely guarded recipe and delivers one hell of a slice of homemade key lime heaven. Cool, creamy, and with just the right tartness from the choicest limes, this pie gets the nod over some fair competition. The crust is a straightforward but delicious graham cracker. No whipping cream is used to desecrate the delicate yet rich filling. And the color is correct: not gaudy green but rather a slightly pale, sour-apple shade. The only chink in this pie’s armor is the fact that Joe’s closes for the summer, leaving its fans to pine away until fall. It’s worth the wait. A nine-inch pie costs $18; by the slice it’s $4.95.

For some people this tiny, tangy citrus fruit is the key to happiness. And there’s no better place to buy joy than the source — the Tree itself — where the shelves are dedicated to products flavored with this coveted concentrate: key lime-covered pecans; key lime-frosted graham crackers; key lime marmalade; key lime jelly beans. Diehards can even wash their hair with key lime shampoo and bubble up their baths with key lime soap. But the most obsessed among us probably won’t even make it into the shop, given that the patio area contains dozens of potted key lime trees. The three-gallon containers go for ten bucks, and while you might not see limes on the limbs for a few years, it’s a good investment nonetheless. Just keep it to yourself. We wouldn’t want the canker crowd to get aromatic wind of it.

Despite the fact that conch fritters are a South Florida specialty, diners need to bring their own microscopes to find the conch in fritters served at most seafood eateries. Not at this friendly fish market, which is also an informal restaurant (five Formica tables) and prepared-foods take-out joint. Jim Hanson, a Miami native, makes fritters that are positively packed with super-size chunks of perfectly tenderized conch, as well as onion and both sweet and hot green peppers. The unusually puffy enclosing batter, similar in texture to a light Spanish churro or Seminole fry bread rather than a rough cornmeal hush puppy, is so succulently seasoned you could easily forget to use the accompanying dipping sauce. Don’t. The hot-and-sassy concoction, reminiscent of a remoulade, puts the tart back in tartar sauce. With an order of six plump fritters you need only an accompaniment of crisp fresh coleslaw to complete a meal.

I’m not a sorbet kinda guy, you say. I drink tap water, not Perrier. Budweiser, not wine. Relax, okay? After a Lincoln Road meal, an aprés-dining stroll over to The Frieze is an easy way to add a touch of culinary sophistication to your diet. And the folks behind the counter here are more than happy to ease you into your new chichi identity. All you have to do is point and they’ll gladly scoop you out a free sample of any of their dozen or so flavors of homemade sorbet. May we suggest a coneful of coconut for starters? Smooth, but not too watery; tart but not tangy — it’s just the thing to cleanse the palate and then to keep you coming back for more. Good thing they pack pints to go.

When it’s too late for a full meal but necessary to refuel for the last leg of your long night’s journey into the wee hours, the take-out window at La Carreta is the perfect pit stop. For a dollar and a half you can order a steaming cortadito (sugary espresso coffee softened with a big splash of hot milk; also available without sugar) and a warm and flaky pastel de guayaba (guava pastry). If you arrive after the window closes at 2:00 a.m., you can still order at the counter inside the main restaurant. This branch of the local chain happens to be the only one open 24 hours.

The Cuban sandwich is an art form. There are a thousand improvisations, depending on the taste, level of talent, and materials available to the maker. But as with any school or period in the art world, there is a certain archetypal Cuban sandwich, the paradigm for anything that would presume to call itself a Cuban sandwich. Where is such a masterpiece found? It is at Enriqueta’s. The archetypal Cuban sandwich has to be on pressed Cuban bread, and it must have just the right combination of ham, pork, swiss cheese, and pickles. How Enriqueta’s cooks do it, turning out perfect copy after perfect copy, is a mystery of the creative spirit.

What other North American city would be the source of a soft drink with a South American twist? Miami’s own Cawy Bottling Company produces a fizzy elixir made with yerba mate extract. (No, those are not marijuana plants in the logo.) Mate tea, of course, is a wildly popular hot drink in Argentina and is on the rise in the Argentine outpost expanding right here in the southern cone of Florida. Among the herb’s fabled effects: a healthy gastrointestinal tract, a strengthened immune system, youthful hair, improved sexual performance, and less stress (not necessarily in that order). But one is not always in the mood for hot tea in 95-degree heat. Hence the cold variant in a can. While the sucrose and corn sweeteners in Materva may undermine the medicinal powers of the mate, one must never underestimate the placebo effect. Anyway you’ll be doing your teeth and waistline a favor. The most amazing thing about Materva is that it’s produced in this sugar-crazed town but is far less sweet than Coke, Pepsi, and their uncola counterparts.

From what we’ve experienced, Bamboo Garden doesn’t do anything different for its take-out customers than it does for its in-house clientele. And therein lies the compliment. The staff is equally courteous whether you’re sitting down for dinner or standing and staring absently at the fish tank while you wait for it. The condiments — duck sauce, soy sauce, Chinese mustard — are just as free-flowing, along with homemade fried noodles. And the execution of the garlic eggplant with sliced pork, the kung po squid, or the beef chow fun with black bean and pepper doesn’t veer away from excellence, whether you’re consuming it on the spot or taking it home for spot-on take-out dining. The name may say Bamboo but the effort made here is hardly wooden.

Casa Juancho, a Calle Ocho institution that has taken the award for Best Spanish Restaurant several times over the years, is all dark woods and moody lighting, brick walls and tile floors. The strolling musicians, formally attired waiters, and hanging hams will make you think you’ve stumbled into some Iberian period drama. Oh yes, and the tapas are exquisito. Casa Juancho’s extensive menu features 31 tapas items, from serrano ham, blood sausage, fried or grilled calamari, shrimp, squid, mussels, octopus, and beef tips to roasted or fried peppers, mushrooms, and sheep’s cheese. Many of the dishes are deeply flavored with garlic and olive oil. Prices range from a $6 plate of pulpo a la gallega (octopus) to $15 for the fritura malagueña (mixed fried seafood plate). The restaurant is owned by the Felipe Valls family of Versailles and La Carreta fame, so expect a mix of Cuban power brokers and tourists looking for a Miami experience. Open Sunday through Thursday from noon to midnight. Friday and Saturday till 1:00 a.m.

This place, which is technically located in a pocket of unincorporated Miami-Dade County just across the street from Coral Gables, has old James Dean pictures and everything Fifties — fried chicken, meaty chili, big portions, and no regrets — and also serves the best milkshake we’ve had since childhood visits to the Wildwood Diner up in New Jersey. That’s because Marie Burg is from Philly, where they put a little extra in the shake. Two huge scoops of Cisco ice cream (but only vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, the classics), whole milk, half a minute in the blender, and God knows what else. (Marie ain’t talking.) “The most important thing,” she says, “is you’ve got to get that feeling like when we were kids and hanging outside the diner, you know? When everything counted soooo much? That’s the secret.” Marie somehow gets it in there, and she charges only $2.95. What could be bad? Picnics is open 5:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. Monday through Friday; Saturday till 5:00 p.m. and Sunday till 3:00 p.m.

Every chef extraordinaire knows that one key ingredient to serving outstanding French fries is a magnificent little metal container. That is what they arrive in (with a paper liner) at this savory little slice of France near Sunset Drive, thus keeping them warm all the way through your exquisite bowl of mussels in white wine and shallots. There is nothing nice about cold, soggy fried-potato fragments. At Café Pastis the hot, yellow-white, and slightly crispy outside keeps the robust flavor and hearty texture steaming on the inside. They’re so good you might also want to have a little grilled New York steak with green peppercorn and cognac sauce with them.

Maybe it’s because they make so much coffee here (all the classics except the hot brown water served at many “American” restaurants) that the café con leche at Versailles is so fresh and rich. Maybe they use some special machine. Maybe it’s coffee beans from a special plant smuggled out of the Sierra Maestra 43 years ago. Better not to think. Just drink.

The best fried chicken, you think, might be somewhat difficult to determine as it’s one of the most common edible items around. But of course we’re not talking about merely the crunch, which at Jumbo’s is admittedly damn good. We’re talking about the whole fried-chicken meal, the booth in which it is consumed, the other crunchers in the room. Located on the corner of one of Miami’s more disagreeable streets, Jumbo’s is a beacon. Bright and warm and crowded, it begs you to sit down. The combo platters are named after Miami high schools, the various fried foods delivered with a choice of two sides, which makes all the difference. When you order a Booker T. Washington at lunch, and piping hot drumsticks and legs arrive with black-eyed peas and collard greens, for $4.99, you know it doesn’t get better than this. The collards are Deep South, cooked forever with bacon and its fat, and they bring out the true essence of the chicken. Not too greasy, the fried batter doesn’t cling to the meat, which is ample — these are no skinny legs. After the umpteenth visit, if you want to try something else, order the fried shrimp and conch. Again, you won’t walk out hungry. As your waitress and the owner wish you well, your arteries will wish Jumbo’s had never opened, for your next visit won’t be far away.

Many people aren’t even aware of the place, which isn’t so surprising. This stretch of Collins Avenue, dominated by high-rise condo buildings, hardly seems a likely locale for a classy restaurant. But here is Shula’s, tucked away near the back of the Alexander, far from the bustling crowds, the perfect setting for a dining room conducive to privacy. Here there are no clanging plates, noisy diners, or obtrusive music. Here you and your guest can slip into a plush banquette and recede from the world, almost literally invisible. Here the waitstaff is discreet and respectful. Here you won’t be thoughtlessly interrupted. Here, as you indulge the decadent menu, you can say what you really think and no one but your intended listener will hear.

A delicate rose fashioned from slender blush-pink slices of tuna. Carefully carved thin strips of cucumber wrapped around crab stick, avocado, masago, and shrimp. Wooden boats bursting with artfully arranged squares of fish. How fresh is it? Take a glance behind the sushi bar. If the huge white tuna slumped across the sink, ready for carving, is any hint, very.

Chocolate is not a bad or dangerous thing. Chocolate is good medicine for the brain, the blood, the sweet tooth. And the Sweet Tooth’s chocolate is very good, made on the premises. From chocolate hearts and cherries to truffles and luscious creams, feast your eyes (did we mention chocolate improves night vision?) on the velvety array of goodies at this well-equipped chocolate clinic. The selection is so stunning, especially on holidays, you may be temporarily paralyzed. The Sweet Tooth people know how you feel and have thoughtfully prepared all kinds of beautiful and therapeutic gift baskets and boxes.

If your mother is from Ireland, you know about soda bread, baked daily in many homes both in Eire and abroad. Owners Martin Lynch and John Clarke remember, and that’s why with every meal at this venerable pub a basket of the tasty quick bread is set down on the table just after the pint of Guinness. The formula is simple: flour, salt, soda, buttermilk, and a handful of raisins. And you don’t have to be Irish. Lynch says people with surnames like Castillo and Cohen come in all the time just for the bread. You can carry some home, too, for $3.50 a loaf.

In theory the cheapest lobster is the one you pluck from the ocean floor during lobster miniseason. But when you factor in the cost of the boat, the gas, the gear, and the beer, the total looks like a $5000 meal. No, the truly frugal eat their bugs on Tuesday nights at Tobacco Road. Just under ten bucks gets you a decent-size, nicely prepared crustacean, potatoes, and all the napkins you need. The Florida lobster is fresh, delicious, and relatively speaking it costs next to nothing. This is a great deal, just slightly better than the Road’s rib night. Or the Road’s T-bone steak night. Or the Road’s….

Deli Lane’s Swiss apple melt sandwich ($6.95) takes three ingredients that have no business hanging out together and proves the old adage about the whole being greater, and tastier, than the sum of its parts. The apple wedges are glazed with cinnamon and grilled to gooey goodness. The bacon is lightly fried. Melted Swiss holds them together, between two slices of raisin pumpernickel bread. Eat one and you’ll wonder why this concoction isn’t up there with the Reuben as an American deli classic.

When it comes to gelato versus ice cream, it’s the air, stupid. Gelato doesn’t contain as much of it as its American cousin. The result is a denser, richer texture, a creamier, dreamier version of one of life’s singular pleasures. Okay, you say, but what about selection? Surely there’s no gelato parlor offering 31 different flavors. Well, we didn’t exactly do the math, but if Coco Gelato’s choices — which include lemon champagne, almond cream, key lime, mamey, dulce de leche, and a half-dozen varieties of chocolate (to say nothing of tiramisu) — leave you cold, you’ve got a hole in your head. Or air between your ears.

About as appealing as the milk and raw eggs cinema prizefighter Rocky Balboa ingests before each workout — that’s flan to many people. Slimy, rubbery, rich to the point of nausea. But flan is a dessert, like Shakespeare said about Cleopatra, of infinite variety. The classic milk-and-egg concoction doused with caramel may boast coffee, chocolate, mango, and even coconut flavors. Cream cheese can also form its base. A mighty fine flan of the last type is served at Joe’s, venerable home to famed crab claws and celebrated key lime pie. Velvety, dense, voluptuous. The confection’s high calories come at a rather high price — nearly four bucks a slice. Perhaps that’s a good thing. Eat it too often and you’re liable to become a heavyweight of a different kind.

While many of La Brioche Doree’s fancy little pastries are beautiful to behold, the croissants take the cake, as they say. Why? Because Edouard Maillan, owner of this venerable boulangerie et patisserie, makes his light-layered treats, as he always has, with premium imported French butter. This stuff blows away the mass-market domestic butters used by less discerning croissant purveyors. A no-brainer involving high butterfat-to-water ratios, French butter seems to have been discovered by national food publications only recently. Maillan’s secret, however, has been known for years by legions of devoted patrons. In fact the place is so popular you’d better get there early to score any of the favored minicroissants. If that bin has been plundered, try the equally delicious regular-size croissants, which include almond, cheese, chocolate, and seasonal fruits. Like many businesses in this largely Orthodox Jewish neighborhood, La Brioche Doree is closed Saturday. But it opens again Sunday morning at 7:00. Don’t be surprised to find a knot of pastry addicts waiting outside as Maillan unlocks the door.

When Rashné Desai took over Stephans in March 2001, she immediately updated the heavily Italian menu of her predecessor. Her idea was to offer presentable gourmet food and sell it fast as take-out or eat-in. (Located in Miami’s Design District, Stephans has 30 Berliner-style tables on the second floor and sidewalk.) A delicious sandwich, drink, and cookie; or soup, quiche, and side (try the rosemary-roasted vegetables and fresh bread from Spain) should price out at ten bucks or less. Rashné learned her stuff at Dean & DeLuca in SoHo before that food-and-wares store went corporate and lame, and is a graduate of the French Culinary Institute in NYC, where she studied with Gaulist master Jacques Pepín. After that kind of training you know the rules so well you can break them. So Stephans presents the best of various culinary disciplines: a black forest ham sandwich on a baguette with French Brie, crisp lettuce, tomato, and olive oil; pasta with roasted chicken, fresh basil, garlic pesto, sun-dried tomatoes, and shaved Parmigiano; the Ultimate Supremo of imported prosciutto, Genoa salami, hot capicollo, and fire-roasted peppers; or curried turkey chili. Presentation is half the battle. “When you work in restaurants,” says Rashné, “you’re down in some basement kitchen with a lot of smelly people. Here we make food meant to be consumed fast and that looks really good.” Call it eat couture.

Chicken slow-roasted the Cuban way, with just the right touch of salt, pepper, and maybe a little mojo, is not that hard to find in Miami. But try to find better than here for the price: two dollars for a large breast with wing attached. Pick up a carton of moros and a bag of tostones and the family is well-fed for about ten bucks. But while you’re here at the juice palace, have a look around. This place may have begun as a little roadside juice stand, but it’s now a major Latino marketplace for foodstuffs and socializing. Lechon for sandwiches, of course. But also fruits and vegetables, tamal, uncooked black beans, chilled coconut, cheeses, and a unique fried rice. Have a coffee or a watermelon cooler and sit outside under the trees, though not too close to the troubadour on the electronic keyboard. And now watch Miami go by. Not just the guy in the parking lot with the hand-tooled belts and guajiro hats arrayed on his car, but all the rest of multiethnic Miami ebbing and flowing along the street that is at its heart.

Because Candace Lopez’s TJP was getting all the action from the beach boys and girls bronzing near 22nd Street last summer, we followed the crowd over for a big twenty-ounce lemonade ($1.85). We were astounded by the taste, a kind of adagio of three sensations: tartness (fresh local lemon), sweetness (pure sugar), and a kind of energy boost. There’s no caffeine added, so when we asked Candace, she pointed out that the major froth she achieves in the blending enhances the natural vitamin-C properties in her lemon juice, “opening” them and allowing for faster absorption. (Many fighters suck oranges before they go into the ring, so she may be right.) In addition Candace has an impressive collection of tropical-rain-forest smoothies from Brazil. The smoothies, great with vegetable-wrap sandwiches, go for $2.85 for 12 ounces, $3.85 for 20 ounces, and $5.85 for 32-ounce jumbos.

The problem with most Florida raw bars is Florida oysters, which come from the Gulf Coast and other locales where the water is so warm the wan, flaccid southern belles come out of it practically precooked and tasting mild to the point of nothingness. Not at Nemo, where the nightly selection of three to four varieties includes nothing but crisp cold-water beauties. According to chef/owner Michael Schwartz, there’s usually at least one from British Columbia, such as refreshing Fanny Bays, whose unique sweet-and-salty taste and pronounced cucumber finish accent their typically Canadian brininess. Often there are Pacific Northwest oysters — kumamotos or plump, creamy-rich Hog Island Sweetwaters — and sometimes even eastern U.S. oysters from Long Island. An important plus for those who love oysters but don’t love living dangerously (and risking the bacterium responsible for 1992’s notorious nine oyster-related deaths in Florida): All Nemo oysters are farm-raised. By the way Nemo does serve other raw-bar items, and of course it is first and foremost a full-menu restaurant. But the friendly staff welcomes those who just want oysters. The interior “food bar,” where diners can watch chefs work, is a fun place for shellfish, though a difficult place to resist escalating to a major meal.

Within the world of Cuban-style black beans there are many variations. The beans ought to be fresh and the seasonings tasty, but after that opinions diverge. What seasonings and in what combinations? Garlic, of course. But what about onions, green pepper, salt, pepper, cumin, even tomato sauce? This restaurant, a Little Havana fixture for 27 years, enjoys the talents of long-time chef Guillermo Martinez, who has found a formula that works. This includes garlic, green peppers, olive oil, and white sherry, according to restaurant manager Orestes Lleonart, Jr. Ah, but there’s more. And that part is a secret. “The rest,” says Lleonart, “is what only the cook knows.” Dig into a bowl of black bean soup for $2.50.

Just to avoid confusion and, hopefully, controversy (as if!): This category involved a judgment call not just between ceviche eateries but between traditional and nuevo-ceviche styles, with the nod going to the new kid in town. Citrus “cooking” of seafood was invented centuries ago by South American Indians and, the point being preservation, involved long marination (at least two hours, usually much longer). Citric acid marination for longer than about twenty minutes changes the whole texture of fish, however — an often nice but not necessary transformation, now that the world has fridges. Hence nuevo ceviche, where chefs marinate raw fresh fish only briefly before serving, resulting in a sort of South American sushi. And Sushi Samba is supreme at this style, owing to superior saucing. For a comprehensive course in “Modern Ceviches 101,” try the mixed ceviche/tiradito assortment of eight different preparations, based on both market and chef’s whim but including possibilities like fluke dressed New World AmerAsian-style with ponzu and grapefruit; slightly seared toro fatty tuna with lemon, lime, and red daikon radish; an almost Italian carpaccio-like baby yellowtail with black truffle oil; or salmon with either Dijon mustard/miso marinade or smooth strawberry/key lime sauce, with a red onion garnish.

Why go out for a burger you can make at home? And let’s face it about those big fat “gourmet” burgers: With few exceptions anyone can buy and broil half a pound of prime beef with impressive results. What one cannot duplicate at home is your classic Castle burger, a roughly two-square-inch, two-bite patty not quite as thin as a communion wafer and producing perhaps not quite the same degree of spiritual ecstasy among true believers. But let’s just say that Castles are an illusory experience one couldn’t ever duplicate at home, probably because no home has a grill with a zillion years worth of accumulated grease on it. White Castles are the classics, of course. These aren’t available down here, however, except in inferior frozen form in supermarkets. But still performing (live and in person!) since 1939, just a block west of I-95 in Miami, is Arnold’s Royal Castle, where the succulent square slider is still supreme, and still sliding smoothly off the grill into $3.40 six-packs. Each diner will need at least two packs, unless you don’t mind driving back an hour later — which is always possible; Royal Castle is open 24 hours daily.

A pie they could have served proudly at Connie Corleone’s wedding reception. Slices that could pass muster with Don Vito himself, thwarting pizza wars that would have rubbed out all those who employ fancy-schmancy ingredients like sun-dried tomatoes, arugula, and goat cheese. For the past fifteen years the masters at this tiny eatery have been turning out a simple crisp thin or thick crust coated with smooth tomato sauce, chewy mozzarella cheese, and myriad everyday toppings such as pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, anchovies. The fabulous fare is made-to-order, so understand it takes a bit of time. Ultimately patience pays because it’s a pizza you can’t refuse.

Cars zoom along Biscayne Boulevard, passing the glorious spaceship of a building designed around 1960 by Robert Law Weed. For many years since, Leo’s, a car wash and detailing service, has occupied the site, once a General Tire showroom. Now at the behest of restaurant mogul Mark Soyka, Leo’s remains but the opportunity to stop in for a tempting pie has been added. And what a pie it is. Straight from the mouth of the imposing brick oven, which would have made the witch from Hansel and Gretel envious, emerge tasty ten-, thirteen-, or sixteen-inch pizzas topped with delicious delights including prosciutto, Portobello mushrooms, spinach, chicken breast, caramelized onions, kalamata olives, fresh mozzarella, roasted garlic, and Gorgonzola cheese. Andiamo may mean “let’s go” in Italian, but for pizza you wouldn’t want to go anywhere else.

Where else can you relive your teenage years by playing vintage video games (still a quarter, natch), munching on some of the city’s best pizza, and listening to Led Zeppelin? Even Sunset Place’s GameWorks has ditched its Galaga machine and tuned into the current Top 40. But in this perennial oasis of simple pleasures (well, at least till the 3:00 a.m. closing time; 4:00 a.m. on weekends) you can blast aliens to your heart’s content while remaining safely tucked back in 1985. And should you need a break from conquering Ms. Pac-Man and singing along to “Stairway to Heaven,” there’s even a New Times rack right in front.

We know someone else coined the happy little logo “We deliver for you,” but we simply insist that Gourmet Station adopt it. Not only do they actually bring your meals to you, they design them to fit your lifestyle. For instance, high-powered execs can get the “Balanced Plan,” ten meals for six dollars each (plus tax) per week that ration the proteins, carbs, and veggies. Body-builders and all-around gym pros can get the “Protein Plan,” which for $7.50 per meal provides absolutely nothing but the racks — of lamb, that is. What’s that, you say? You’re a normal person with an average life? Well, fill up at the Station by all means. Stop in for a choice of homemade entrée, ranging from grilled salmon with lemon-dill yogurt sauce to grilled Nicaraguan churrasco with chimichurri. In the morning the place teems with coffee and muffins; lunchtime it’s wraps and sandwiches such as the Italian club — prosciutto, tomato, basil, and fresh mozzarella. You can even open an account for “hassle-free billing,” a status most of us haven’t enjoyed with any home-meal replacement products since we lived at Mom’s.

A first-time visitor to this Mexican joint in the historic district of Homestead may be baffled to see Styrofoam coolers filled with ice and bottles of beer dotting the floor next to most tables. But a quick glance at the menu explains it. El Toro Taco doesn’t have a liquor license, so the only way to swig a Corona with your meal is to bring it with you, a secret most of the clientele seems to be in on. The BYOB requirement is no deterrent as the place packs a full house on weekends. As soon as you taste any one of several taco selections, you’ll understand why. Choose from soft corn or flour tortillas filled with ground beef, barbacoa (shredded beef), chicken, or refried beans. For a real treat try the tacos de bistec — corn tortillas filled with marinated, grilled steak and topped with cilantro and onions. Prices are very reasonable, the atmosphere is upbeat (you may be treated to a mariachi serenade), and take heart, margarita lovers: With the money you save on drinks you can spring for an appetizer — a bowl of zesty bean dip or chili con queso (spicy cheese dip) — and finish your meal with a traditional favorite: tres leches cake. Next time bring a blender! Open Tuesday through Thursday 11:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., Friday and Saturday 10:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m., and Sunday 10:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. Closed Monday.

The all-American chain offering the quintessential Cuban sandwich? If it’s not quite as classic an oxymoron as “jumbo shrimp,” it soon could be, provided it survives the taste test. General response we’ve heard from the general public is that hey, it ain’t bad. The novelty quotient is high enough to keep sandwich cubano in stock at the drive-thru for now, but don’t look for it to be dethroned by Big Macs at Versailles.

Forget about St. Pauli Girl. Switch to San Noy, which means young girl in English. This pilsner is not only more delicious but also “ring gold” in color and “morning fresh,” according to the menu notes. It is one of six types of beer brewed at this miraculous eatery featuring indoor and outdoor seating. If you feel like a sweeter exotic taste, try the Thai Woman (Ying Thai), a brown rice bock that is “malty.” Also on that side of the spectrum is a Cheers (Chai Yo), a light bock made from corn, and Flower (Dog Mai), an amber-colored wheat. Serious beer connoisseurs will delight in the copper-colored and hoppy Chang Mai, which is named after a city in northern Thailand, and the Rutting Elephant (Chang Baah), a dark bock. If you’re feeling really heady, you can order one of the Orchid’s beer cocktails, such as the Dancing Lady: brown bock mixed with orange juice and allspice. Taps run till 10:30 p.m. Sunday through Thursday; 11:00 p.m. Friday and Saturday.

Forget the goofy name. Roasters, as it’s called by most customers, is hard-core, straight-up deli fare. Breakfast is an array of the basics: thick French toast, eggs (or egg whites, perhaps), toast, bagels, lox, and such, all accompanied by orange juice squeezed fresh. The lunch menu features meaty deli sandwiches and the best matzo-ball soup around. The restaurant’s owners strive to make their deli a place where locals can gather and feel among friends, sort of what the late lamented Wolfie’s was like in Miami Beach in its heyday 35 years ago. Roasters has succeeded spectacularly. It’s where Kendall and Pinecrest come to nosh.

Despite the name, Hernandez looks like an old-fashioned neighborhood butcher shop, a mom-and-pop operation bordering an industrial neighborhood in Hialeah. Nothing very notable about the place. Except that the best roast pork on the planet can be had there. You have to call or visit ahead of time and tell them what kind of pig you want: A 40-pounder? 60-pounder? Bigger? A 100-pounder? No problem. Then tell them when you would like the pig to be ready: Next Saturday? Sunday? Fine. On that day, all you have to do is keep your eyes from popping out at the gorgeous, bronzed porker they’ll slide out of their bread oven for you, drenched in mojo, face down, spread eagle on a large metal tray. Crackly, crunchy skin on the outside. Moist, piping-hot meat on the inside. Take it home. Feed a hundred people. Tell them you cooked it yourself. Squeal with delight.

Humble chickpeas are transformed by the application of secret spices, herbs, and the old Khoury family magic. But don’t ask chef/owner Maroun Khoury for the recipe. Over his many years in the business he’s developed a reputation in that regard for being a Lebanese version of the Soup Nazi. So just plunk down $3.99 for an appetizer order, maybe with some hummus on the side, and enjoy this crisply fried treat. Hours: 11:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m., Monday through Thursday; till 11:00 p.m. Friday and Saturday; and 1:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. Sunday.

The empanada is to many South American countries what the cheeseburger is to heartland America: the most popular grab-and-go meal and a cultural icon. These fried or baked dough pockets stuffed with a variety of meat or vegetable fillings are abundant at bakeries all around Miami, but few establishments serve them as fresh and authentically Argentine as Confiteria Buenos Aires Bakery & Café. The fried, ground-beef version (jazzed up with bits of hard-boiled egg, green olive, and spices) is the winner. Its baked cousins — available with chicken, spinach, or ham and cheese — with their flaky crusts, are equally delectable. Take a dozen home for the family. Better yet, linger inside this warm and bustling café and have them with a Quilmes (Argentine beer) while enjoying the swirl of activity created by the Bonarense transplants who flock here for a taste of home. Open daily from 7:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.

Maybe it’s the seasoning that’s developed from years of repeated cooking on the grill and in cast-iron pots that makes the food at Shorty’s taste so good. If the crowds of hungry patrons lined up at all hours outside the log-cabin-looking Dadeland eatery are any indication, the restaurant, founded in 1951, continues to dish out the same lip-smacking chicken and ribs it always has. Various combinations of meat and poultry are offered, but for those not inclined to the juicy, Flintstone-size slabs, a selection of substantial sandwiches beckons. Barbecue beef or pork, chargrilled chicken breast, and tender beef brisket are served on a bun, accompanied by crinkle-cut French fries (creamy coleslaw dotted with zingy celery seed comes with the brisket). A sweetish red barbecue sauce or a smoky-brown homemade mixture provides embellishment. Baked beans, potatoes (sweet and white), garlic bread, and perfectly cooked ears of corn (plain or drenched in butter) are among the starchy sides. With courteous, efficient service and grub this good, Shorty’s is bound to be around another half-century.

Fernando Lopez is an artist. He writes screenplays and sculpts, and he believes someday he’ll make it as a filmmaker. But seven years ago his wife Belkis talked him into opening a juice shop, and that has provided a living for the couple and their three young children. Fernando’s artistic sensibilities and Belkis’s culinary talents have also made their little restaurant a popular stop for the work-week crowd that appreciates lunchtime specials such as turkey peccadillo and veggie lasagna. The storefront café gives off a time-capsuled Seventies vibe, thanks in part to Fernando’s colorful artwork on the walls and the aroma of steaming vegetables and tamari. But also featured on the menu are luscious smoothies and vegetable-juice combos to cure every ill, from arthritis and acne to indigestion and impotence. And if you don’t know what ails you or just what you need, Fernando is not shy about making an instant diagnosis. Open for breakfast and lunch, from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Monday through Friday.

What’s the most vital thing needed in a health-food store? Great cookies! Whole Foods’ cookies are fashionably huge but also full of the natural ingredients natural women and men crave, like butter. Chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin are fab, but the chewy sugar cookies are especially addictive. Incidentally, the store’s other stock is superior too: a mammoth selection of crisp fruits and veggies, including local and hard-to-find produce like frisee, plus organic seeds and herb plants, sparkling fresh fish, top-brand poultry, and meats both usual and unusual (buffalo burgers). There is kid-friendly health food such as Fran’s fun frozen line of fish and chicken nibbles shaped like starfish and dinosaurs, and a selection of esoteric wines and beers that would do an upscale specialty liquor store proud. Also available: a huge choice of vitamins and natural cosmetics at very fair prices, as well as a prepared-foods department featuring dishes that not only look drop-dead gorgeous but taste great. Even the tofu! But really, it’s the cookies that count.

Man does not live by bread alone. But if he did, he’d do it here. Rosemary bread. Onion rye. San Francisco sourdough. Sesame semolina. Raisin pecan. And more. Baked fresh every day and laid out in heaping piles on a metal rack for your perusing and consuming pleasure. Get thee to this bakery. Life is short.

To most people “comfort food” means something that’s reassuring because it’s what we ate when we were kids. Oddly, though, most restaurants’ idea of comfort food is meat loaf. How many modern moms made meat loaf? TV dinners are more like it. Why were these especially comforting? For one thing they were served in conveniently compartmentalized trays that kept sauces and juices and flavors separated. For another they became associated with an indulgent adolescent pleasure: zoning out in front of the tube. The problem with the TV dinners of yore, of course, was the actual food they contained. But Big Pink’s TV dinners, a different special each day, present no problems in that regard. The food does sound like the old standards (turkey, pot roast, eggplant parmesan, fried chicken) but one bite and you know it’s the real thing, not some processed gunk from an assembly line. The mashed potatoes are real. The vegetables are fresh, not frozen. The macaroni and cheese features firm pasta and cheese with real character. The crisp chicken is creatively coated with panko. Desserts include items such as red velvet cake and key lime pie instead of those tiny old Styrofoam brownies. And thanks to Big Pink’s delivery service, this updated version of the TV dinner from your past can be placed right in your lap — just as dear old Mom did lo those many years ago.

It’s what Long John Silver’s pretends to be but never has been: good seafood on the fly. Capt. Crab’s has the fish sandwiches (fried and grilled), the shrimp, conch, clam chowder, and so on. But especially notable in this little shack of a fast-food restaurant are the crabs. A moist and delectable crab sandwich goes for $6; a bucket of heavenly garlic crabs ranges from the one-pounder at $8.50 to the jumbo tub (four pounds) for $29. Pair it with a cold beer, sold by the bottle at the drive-though window, and a two-dollar key lime pie and you’re good to go. The drive-thru is open 11:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m. Monday through Saturday.

There aren’t a lot of chili restaurants in Miami-Dade County, despite the presence of chili in various forms on numerous menus. In fact it’s probably safe to say there are no places in Miami-Dade where you can find traditional chili. This void forces us to travel up to Broward County to push a renowned style of chili available only at Skyline. If you know anyone who’s ever lived in Cincinnati, or if you’ve visited the Queen City yourself, then you know that chili is a staple of the diet there and that the type of chili they serve is unlike chili anywhere else. It’s nearly as thin as water and is served atop a plate of spaghetti. Accompaniments include a mound of shredded cheddar cheese and/or onions and/or plump red kidney beans. The recipe is a closely held secret but we think we taste chocolate and cinnamon in there somewhere. Skyline is the dominant chili chain in Ohio, founded in 1949 by Greek immigrants Nicholas and Alexandra Lambrinides. Thankfully one of the Lambrinides grandsons migrated to Florida and brought some outlets with him. Skyline is an acquired taste, that’s for sure. And for those who’ve acquired it, the drive north is well worth it.

It seems such an easy dessert. No intricate baking techniques, no rare ingredients, no specific occasion or purpose. And yet it saddens to know how often this creation can turn out so awfully wrong. A perennial favorite among “Best of Miami” readers, Joe’s Stone Crab sticks to some trusted basics from a closely guarded recipe and delivers one hell of a slice of homemade key lime heaven. Cool, creamy, and with just the right tartness from the choicest limes, this pie gets the nod over some fair competition. The crust is a straightforward but delicious graham cracker. No whipping cream is used to desecrate the delicate yet rich filling. And the color is correct: not gaudy green but rather a slightly pale, sour-apple shade. The only chink in this pie’s armor is the fact that Joe’s closes for the summer, leaving its fans to pine away until fall. It’s worth the wait. A nine-inch pie costs $18; by the slice it’s $4.95.

For some people this tiny, tangy citrus fruit is the key to happiness. And there’s no better place to buy joy than the source — the Tree itself — where the shelves are dedicated to products flavored with this coveted concentrate: key lime-covered pecans; key lime-frosted graham crackers; key lime marmalade; key lime jelly beans. Diehards can even wash their hair with key lime shampoo and bubble up their baths with key lime soap. But the most obsessed among us probably won’t even make it into the shop, given that the patio area contains dozens of potted key lime trees. The three-gallon containers go for ten bucks, and while you might not see limes on the limbs for a few years, it’s a good investment nonetheless. Just keep it to yourself. We wouldn’t want the canker crowd to get aromatic wind of it.

Despite the fact that conch fritters are a South Florida specialty, diners need to bring their own microscopes to find the conch in fritters served at most seafood eateries. Not at this friendly fish market, which is also an informal restaurant (five Formica tables) and prepared-foods take-out joint. Jim Hanson, a Miami native, makes fritters that are positively packed with super-size chunks of perfectly tenderized conch, as well as onion and both sweet and hot green peppers. The unusually puffy enclosing batter, similar in texture to a light Spanish churro or Seminole fry bread rather than a rough cornmeal hush puppy, is so succulently seasoned you could easily forget to use the accompanying dipping sauce. Don’t. The hot-and-sassy concoction, reminiscent of a remoulade, puts the tart back in tartar sauce. With an order of six plump fritters you need only an accompaniment of crisp fresh coleslaw to complete a meal.

I’m not a sorbet kinda guy, you say. I drink tap water, not Perrier. Budweiser, not wine. Relax, okay? After a Lincoln Road meal, an aprés-dining stroll over to The Frieze is an easy way to add a touch of culinary sophistication to your diet. And the folks behind the counter here are more than happy to ease you into your new chichi identity. All you have to do is point and they’ll gladly scoop you out a free sample of any of their dozen or so flavors of homemade sorbet. May we suggest a coneful of coconut for starters? Smooth, but not too watery; tart but not tangy — it’s just the thing to cleanse the palate and then to keep you coming back for more. Good thing they pack pints to go.

When it’s too late for a full meal but necessary to refuel for the last leg of your long night’s journey into the wee hours, the take-out window at La Carreta is the perfect pit stop. For a dollar and a half you can order a steaming cortadito (sugary espresso coffee softened with a big splash of hot milk; also available without sugar) and a warm and flaky pastel de guayaba (guava pastry). If you arrive after the window closes at 2:00 a.m., you can still order at the counter inside the main restaurant. This branch of the local chain happens to be the only one open 24 hours.

The Cuban sandwich is an art form. There are a thousand improvisations, depending on the taste, level of talent, and materials available to the maker. But as with any school or period in the art world, there is a certain archetypal Cuban sandwich, the paradigm for anything that would presume to call itself a Cuban sandwich. Where is such a masterpiece found? It is at Enriqueta’s. The archetypal Cuban sandwich has to be on pressed Cuban bread, and it must have just the right combination of ham, pork, swiss cheese, and pickles. How Enriqueta’s cooks do it, turning out perfect copy after perfect copy, is a mystery of the creative spirit.

What other North American city would be the source of a soft drink with a South American twist? Miami’s own Cawy Bottling Company produces a fizzy elixir made with yerba mate extract. (No, those are not marijuana plants in the logo.) Mate tea, of course, is a wildly popular hot drink in Argentina and is on the rise in the Argentine outpost expanding right here in the southern cone of Florida. Among the herb’s fabled effects: a healthy gastrointestinal tract, a strengthened immune system, youthful hair, improved sexual performance, and less stress (not necessarily in that order). But one is not always in the mood for hot tea in 95-degree heat. Hence the cold variant in a can. While the sucrose and corn sweeteners in Materva may undermine the medicinal powers of the mate, one must never underestimate the placebo effect. Anyway you’ll be doing your teeth and waistline a favor. The most amazing thing about Materva is that it’s produced in this sugar-crazed town but is far less sweet than Coke, Pepsi, and their uncola counterparts.

From what we’ve experienced, Bamboo Garden doesn’t do anything different for its take-out customers than it does for its in-house clientele. And therein lies the compliment. The staff is equally courteous whether you’re sitting down for dinner or standing and staring absently at the fish tank while you wait for it. The condiments — duck sauce, soy sauce, Chinese mustard — are just as free-flowing, along with homemade fried noodles. And the execution of the garlic eggplant with sliced pork, the kung po squid, or the beef chow fun with black bean and pepper doesn’t veer away from excellence, whether you’re consuming it on the spot or taking it home for spot-on take-out dining. The name may say Bamboo but the effort made here is hardly wooden.

Casa Juancho, a Calle Ocho institution that has taken the award for Best Spanish Restaurant several times over the years, is all dark woods and moody lighting, brick walls and tile floors. The strolling musicians, formally attired waiters, and hanging hams will make you think you’ve stumbled into some Iberian period drama. Oh yes, and the tapas are exquisito. Casa Juancho’s extensive menu features 31 tapas items, from serrano ham, blood sausage, fried or grilled calamari, shrimp, squid, mussels, octopus, and beef tips to roasted or fried peppers, mushrooms, and sheep’s cheese. Many of the dishes are deeply flavored with garlic and olive oil. Prices range from a $6 plate of pulpo a la gallega (octopus) to $15 for the fritura malagueña (mixed fried seafood plate). The restaurant is owned by the Felipe Valls family of Versailles and La Carreta fame, so expect a mix of Cuban power brokers and tourists looking for a Miami experience. Open Sunday through Thursday from noon to midnight. Friday and Saturday till 1:00 a.m.

This place, which is technically located in a pocket of unincorporated Miami-Dade County just across the street from Coral Gables, has old James Dean pictures and everything Fifties — fried chicken, meaty chili, big portions, and no regrets — and also serves the best milkshake we’ve had since childhood visits to the Wildwood Diner up in New Jersey. That’s because Marie Burg is from Philly, where they put a little extra in the shake. Two huge scoops of Cisco ice cream (but only vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, the classics), whole milk, half a minute in the blender, and God knows what else. (Marie ain’t talking.) “The most important thing,” she says, “is you’ve got to get that feeling like when we were kids and hanging outside the diner, you know? When everything counted soooo much? That’s the secret.” Marie somehow gets it in there, and she charges only $2.95. What could be bad? Picnics is open 5:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. Monday through Friday; Saturday till 5:00 p.m. and Sunday till 3:00 p.m.

Every chef extraordinaire knows that one key ingredient to serving outstanding French fries is a magnificent little metal container. That is what they arrive in (with a paper liner) at this savory little slice of France near Sunset Drive, thus keeping them warm all the way through your exquisite bowl of mussels in white wine and shallots. There is nothing nice about cold, soggy fried-potato fragments. At Café Pastis the hot, yellow-white, and slightly crispy outside keeps the robust flavor and hearty texture steaming on the inside. They’re so good you might also want to have a little grilled New York steak with green peppercorn and cognac sauce with them.

Maybe it’s because they make so much coffee here (all the classics except the hot brown water served at many “American” restaurants) that the café con leche at Versailles is so fresh and rich. Maybe they use some special machine. Maybe it’s coffee beans from a special plant smuggled out of the Sierra Maestra 43 years ago. Better not to think. Just drink.

The best fried chicken, you think, might be somewhat difficult to determine as it’s one of the most common edible items around. But of course we’re not talking about merely the crunch, which at Jumbo’s is admittedly damn good. We’re talking about the whole fried-chicken meal, the booth in which it is consumed, the other crunchers in the room. Located on the corner of one of Miami’s more disagreeable streets, Jumbo’s is a beacon. Bright and warm and crowded, it begs you to sit down. The combo platters are named after Miami high schools, the various fried foods delivered with a choice of two sides, which makes all the difference. When you order a Booker T. Washington at lunch, and piping hot drumsticks and legs arrive with black-eyed peas and collard greens, for $4.99, you know it doesn’t get better than this. The collards are Deep South, cooked forever with bacon and its fat, and they bring out the true essence of the chicken. Not too greasy, the fried batter doesn’t cling to the meat, which is ample — these are no skinny legs. After the umpteenth visit, if you want to try something else, order the fried shrimp and conch. Again, you won’t walk out hungry. As your waitress and the owner wish you well, your arteries will wish Jumbo’s had never opened, for your next visit won’t be far away.

So you need a spirulina fix and don’t have lots of time? If you’re anywhere near North Miami Beach you’ll be well advised to zip over to the fastest little health-food place in town. Okay, so the menu also offers gyros and French fries. Don’t worry. You’ll find a large variety of smoothies, fresh-pressed vegetable juices, and vegetarian entrées. For thirteen years this roadside stand has been attracting healthy eaters with its ramshackle charm and laid-back atmosphere. If you crave something with a kick, be sure to order Amos’s famous “roots tonic,” a chilled brew described by one waitress as tasting “like living hell.” Despite a bouquet reminiscent of gasoline (and with a similar burn), this mighty elixir — made on the premises with a combination of roots and barks and served in a shot glass — will kick you into high gear and launch you back on the highway of life bursting with energy.

First of all, there is not now and never will be anything remotely comparable to a fresh, warm Krispy Kreme glazed. So forget that. But on the local doughnut scene, Donut Connection is making a very important contribution and deserves every one of its many contented customers. The contribution? This cheery little place on busy 163rd Street is about the only remaining doughnut shop in the county that has not been gobbled up by that huge chain that sells good coffee and mediocre donuts. Donut Connection’s product is top quality, and the selection of pastries, muffins, and doughnuts can’t be beat. The mango- and guava-filled are sinfully tasty, and their cake doughnuts, many varieties, are the absolute best.

There’s something invigorating about tree-shaded Coral Way, especially after it leaves the dusty hustle of Miami on its way to the Gables. Just a few blocks from the Brickell financial district, Fresco California Bistro offers a cool, unhurried respite for lunch. And for a refreshingly light summer lunch nothing beats the bistro’s crisp caesar salad: fresh romaine lettuce, nicely balanced oil-garlic-egg dressing, Parmesan cheese, and croutons made from Fresco’s tasty bread, a hunk of which comes with the salad. Not bad for $5.25. Open Monday through Thursday 11:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. and 5:00 to 10:30 p.m. Friday dinner hours till 11:00 p.m. Saturday noon to 11:00 p.m. Closed Sunday.

This cozy and casual café, one of the few locals’ hangouts left in the vicinity of Lincoln Road, is more than just a bakery, particularly after two welcome improvements: expanded restaurant hours and acceptance of credit cards. If you’re looking to impress the folks at home with pastries you can pretend you made yourself, there’s no better place in town to get goods to go. You won’t find any of those puffed-up pastries that look so polished yet taste like shoe polish. Here it’s just old-fashioned quality. That’s not to say everything at the Icebox is basic. Two of the best offerings are pretty fancy: party-perfect petits fours and a remarkably rich yet light almond/praline/butter-cream dacquoise. The pound cakes evoke days when bakers literally meant a pound of butter. Common carrot cake, often far too heavy, is moist but subtle. Coconut cake — the classic among two or three layer cakes featured daily — will convert coconut loathers to lovers. And for those whose idea of ice-cream cake has come from supermarket frozen-food cases, the Icebox’s namesake masterpiece could well be a life-changing experience.

Scotty’s fish sandwich is an ode to simplicity. A slab of fresh dolphin grilled to perfection and served on a bun with lettuce and tomato. Tartar sauce on the side. Eat it while sitting on Scotty’s long wooden deck overlooking Biscayne Bay. Just beware the sharks. No, not in the bay. Miami City Hall, right next door.

Supermarket cheese sections often are criticized for their shrink-wrap items, mass-produced and factory-packaged hunks of cheese that taste like so much sawdust. We’re not going to lie: Milam’s has some of that stuff in stock. But it also has cheese that’s been cut from an actual wheel on the actual premises — Jarlsberg that’s still fresh enough to be pliable, bufala mozzarella so new it’s still coming together as a curd. In addition the gourmet market carries some harder-to-source products, including white Stilton with apricots and kasseri, a malleable, just-pungent Greek cheese that too often falls under the shadow of its sister feta’s salad fame. And then of course there are the cheese-board byproducts: smoked mackerel, sopressata and other Italian sausages, and dips the likes of jerk shrimp with black bean or chicken with lemon-cilantro. So you’ll pay a little more for indulging your superior dairy cravings, both in the wallet and in the waist. Talk to the hand. It’s wielding the cheese knife.

Enough with the goyim joints. You want bagels made on the premises by people who know what they’re doing for people who know what they’re eating? Go to Aventura. Specifically this place. Bagel Cove’s bagels — beautiful, warm, chewy, hand-rolled loaves — are not only the best in town, they’re delivered to you by women who care, ladies who’ll always tell you that you look too skinny, who can’t understand why you don’t find some nice man or woman and settle down, who always want you to come back soon. A bagel with a schmeer you can get anywhere, but love like that? Dahrklink, please.

You won’t find fresher fish anywhere in town than at this simple, cement-floor shack by the fishing boat docked at Watson Island (except maybe at the fish shack next door, but Casablanca has more variety and takes credit cards). You also won’t find bigger crowds, not even at velvet-rope clubs. But this is a pretty pleasant bunch. So dump your friends or family under the trees along Government Cut to watch the cruise ships sailing by, and picnic on Casablanca’s fresh seafood salad and fruit drinks. Go in and grab a whole fish from one of the dozens of iced bins packed with many variations on the usual suspects seen in town: black grouper, much more succulent than red; not just yellowtail but mutton, mangrove, and hog snappers. There’s also a fabulous shellfish selection. Line up with the other fish schleppers at the cash register, pay, and decide what you want done with your catch: scaling, cleaning, filleting, whatever. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes later your fish will be ready. Tip the flashy filletmeisters in back a buck or two and they’ll cheer like you just won an Oscar.

Miami actually has many great Asian groceries, including a treasure trove on 163rd Street between Biscayne Boulevard and I-95. But big Lucky is best for one-stop shopping. The canned and bottled goods include not just standard soy-sauce-at-bargain-prices stuff for Asian aficionados but Lee Kum Kee’s excellent XO sauce, several types of non-oyster oyster sauce for those who don’t eat shellfish, and Longevity brand full-cream condensed milk for the ultimate key lime pie. The produce department has a full selection of Asian greens like snow-pea tips, fresh water chestnuts, and bamboo shoots — even durian, the fruit that tastes like heaven but smells like hell. There’s a fish department where you can see some of ’em swimming. Refrigerated cases contain a mind-boggling assortment of prepared dumplings, many in party-perfect mini sizes, and an assortment of Chinese-style sausages including near-legendary Sun Ming Jan brand from Brooklyn, whose secret ingredient is gin. Herbal and ritual remedies are stocked for those seeking health, luck, love, whatever. You’ll also find a sizable selection of dishes and eating and cooking utensils. Cookbooks are on hand for those who haven’t the vaguest idea what to do with the items they’re buying. The clincher: If Lucky’s overwhelming bounty renders you too weak to wok home, Miami’s best dim sum joint (Kon Chau) is in the same mall.

Larger than the sign marking the Norman Brothers name on the front of the store are the red letters just below that exclaim, “The Fresh Approach.” Words the proprietors live by. Any doubts? Check out the mouthwatering prepared foods (smoked ribs, rotisserie chickens, meat loaf), impeccable seafood and meat (including USDA prime-dry aged beef), tempting baked goods (pastries, breads, fine chocolates), top-shelf deli items, enticing fruits and vegetables, and refreshing juices and fresh-fruit shakes. A bit pricey, yes, but weekly specials guarantee you won’t go home empty-handed.

Ask any number of Cubans if they’d rather sip their coffee sitting down or standing up and without hesitating they’ll almost always reply: Standing up, from a ventanita. For all you non-Spanish speakers (and the six of you know who you are), that’s a window, specifically one belonging to a Cuban restaurant servicing the caffeine-craving masses on the sidewalk. The reason for this is that the cafecito ritual is as much about socializing as it is about downing the black ambrosia. The ventanita at El Pub, located at the symbolic center of Miami’s Cuban exile community — Calle Ocho — provides ample opportunity to press the flesh with the locals. The viejos on their way to and from Domino Park. The men leaving Nene’s barbershop with fresh haircuts and even fresher gossip. The local politicos. This is a veritable window onto the world.

This delightful Jamaican joint is located in the heart of old downtown. A tall glass of this not-too-sweet elixir, which the proprietors brew themselves, costs two dollars. The (nonalcoholic) liquid is bracingly delicious and a healthy tonic for our stressed-out, urbanized bodies as well. Stop in for a refreshing energy boost between meals or sit down and sip it as you enjoy a tasty plate of oxtail, curry goat, cow foot, jerk chicken, red peas, or numerous other specialties from the island. The menu also features homemade lemonade for $1.60. Open for lunch and dinner.

Take double handfuls of berries, vine-ripened to their perfumed peak under the infinite South Florida sun. Add some of the richest cream available, a touch of sugar so sweet it was worth sacrificing the Everglades, some pure spring-water ice. Churn. What do you get? Only an addiction as powerful as Sex and the City. Give in. It’s a guilty pleasure, but somebody has to make it.

Modest little tables with checkered plastic tablecloths. Replicas of meats and cheeses hanging from the ceiling. Classic black-and-whites of Sophia Loren, Frank Sinatra, and the cast of The Godfather. Slightly tacky paintings of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and other famous Italian sights. Cheap food available on a cafeteria-style serving line. Sounds like a cliché to avoid, except that this scene is hidden within Laurenzo’s, the Italian grocery and deli that’s been a fixture in North Miami Beach for nearly 40 years. Here’s what to do: Drop in for lunch, sample from the freshly made and delicious varieties of spaghetti, ravioli, and lasagna, then scoot over to the aisle where fresh flour and egg pastas are made several times a day. Maybe now you’ll have a better idea what to choose from the impressive array — fettuccine, tortellini (and oni), ravioli, fusilli, pappardelle, gnocchi. Just deciding among the bright coils of drying linguine is tough. What should it be? Black pepper? Spinach? Wheat? Tomato? Squid’s ink? Oh, what the heck. Try ’em all.

C’mon, an overpriced sushi joint? We only have about a hundred of those, so why reward a new one? Well, friends, try out Nobuyuki Matsuhisa’s dishes and then come back and tell us it wasn’t worth every penny. So what if some whine about the décor. People! Style over substance has been Miami’s cement shoes for too long. And so what if the super-fresh sashimi melted in your mouth so quickly and deliciously you almost forgot you just ate it. And who cares if chopsticks were used as weapons for the very last crumbs from the black codfish with miso. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is this: Miami finally has a Matsuhisa masterhouse to return to over and over again for more of the same. For the first time in a while, a restaurant has opened that can truly contend with the best of the best.

No, it’s not really about the drinks. You’ve had those before. And it’s not really about the décor, which is clean and fine but not spectacular. It’s also not about the specials, because there aren’t really official hours for happiness here. It’s about the only reason people seek out happy hours to begin with: the scene. What? On Miracle Mile in the stuffy Gables, you might sneer? Yup. There’s a new dawn in that part of town and it’s raising a toast at the new Houston’s after work. Good mix of cocktails, ages, ethnicities, sexes, economic positions. The men and women behind the bar are friendly, as are the people sitting next to you. Starting late in the afternoon on Friday often you won’t find a stool or even standing room, so the party spills out into the street. If you need further proof this isn’t the Gables of old, consider: Once you’ve downed your after-work libations, you can move on to other attractions. Huh? Life after 8:00 p.m. in the City Beautiful? Yes, truly a new dawn.

This is truly the hole-in-the-wall that has it all. Almost indistinguishable from the other storefronts along this part of North Miami Avenue, Clive’s makes its mark at the cozy counter set up with great Jamaican favorites like curry goat, oxtail, and cowfoot. With ample food packed on a five-dollar special, this is a can’t-miss deal every afternoon. The chicken is cooked to diner perfection and the curry is a smooth blend that avoids the fire-alarm spices of other native cuisines. The mood is laid-back, with a pleasant Mrs. P taking good care of the customers and a small radio pumping out reggae sounds. You just may catch Clive’s fan Lenny Kravitz taking in the scene. Clive’s is great for take-out but just as nice for a midafternoon stop to take it easy.

Translated, dim sum means “touch the heart,” meaning this is food that aims to please, by providing a great grab bag of variety; there’s a little something for everyone seeking small bites of big flavors. And though this is not the only excellent dim sum establishment in town (or even on the block, as better-known Tropical Chinese confirms), its offerings are the most excitingly similar to those in the top dim sum parlors in the world. Though small, casual Kon Chau serves up over 60 selections, divided into four basic categories: sweet dessert items; deep-fried items; miscellaneous stir-fried, grilled, or stewed variety dishes; and most important, steamed savories such as stuffed breads, various root vegetable and cereal “cakes,” and dumplings galore. There’s har gau, small steamed cilantro-spiced pork and shrimp dumplings; fun gor, especially a steamed vegetable version filled with spiced shiitake mushrooms; and cheoung fun, tender but chewy rolled rice noodle crêpes filled with barbecued pork, beef, or shrimp, topped with a succulent salty/sweet sauce. Selections are made by menu, less festive than the rolling carts at some dim sum establishments (but, in smaller and slower-turnover tea houses, ensuring greater freshness). At any rate Kon Chau’s large proportion of Asian diners confirms the quality.

It seems odd that a restaurant with three locations (Hialeah and Deerfield Beach as well) and a name like Little Havana can be “unknown,” but this Cuban specialty joint in North Miami easily gets lost amid the clutter of shops, banks, and condos on Biscayne’s commercial strip. Once you find it, though, you’ll know why tourists and locals alike pass on the word about the no-frills cuisine served up seven days a week. From traditional Cuban selections like oxtail in wine sauce and palomilla steak to Spanish omelets and a savory ground beef in Creole sauce, the dishes are basic in presentation (all come with rice, beans, and fried plantains) and delicious in their simplicity. Each course complements the selection of appetizers ranging from fried yuca to the Cuban tamal with mojo. Also worthy of entrée consideration is the baked or fried chicken plate and the broiled seafood assortment. Top off any meal with either the guava with cheese or a sinfully good coconut flan. Prices range from $6.95 to $22.95 and it’s open from 1:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. daily.

So much has been said about this North Miami eatery and its scrumptious menu of gastronomic delights (including what we said in “Best of Miami” last year, when it also took this award). It has done justice to the former home of Mark’s Place, Mark Militello’s nationally recognized shrine to New World cuisine. In addition to executive chef Edson Milto’s traditional but still exotic feijoada (served weekends), the Picanha menu offers plenty of adventure. The same can be said of the restaurant’s festive atmosphere. After dinner you can sip the best caiprinhas in town as you samba into the night accompanied by live bands (call for music details).

Every weekday at 11:30 a.m. manager Tom Dalgan throws open the doors on a sumptuous lunchtime feast: daily carving, chicken, fish, 22-item salad bar, and an academic ambiance that may nourish you with ideas as well as food. All this until 1:30 p.m. for a fixed price of $9.75. Drinks and desserts are extra. Enter the parking lot off Red Road just north of Dixie Highway.

Granted the waitstaff isn’t wearing sombreros and the music blaring on the sound system is an odd mix of merengue, salsa, and upbeat rock en español. But the requisite cowboy memorabilia clinging to the walls, plus the basket of freshly made chips, tart salsa, and giant margaritas on the table, are enough to tell you there’s a definite Tex-Mex vibe in the air. Founded in 1982 in Dallas, the wildly successful On the Border was acquired in 1994 by casual-dining company Brinker International, owner of other popular eateries including Chili’s Grill & Bar and Romano’s Macaroni Grill. More than 100 outposts now stretch across the country, offering consistently tasty Mexican fare in generous portions. Among the abundant appetizers: smoked chicken flautas served with chili con queso and firecracker stuffed jalapeños filled with chopped chicken and cheeses. Main-dish choices range from burritos, chimichangas, and enchiladas to mesquite-fired fajitas boasting sizzling chicken, shrimp, beef, or portobello mushrooms. Remnants of spiciness can be soothed by a sinful sweet, be it Kahlua ice cream pie, Mexican crème caramel, or apple and strawberry chimichangas.

Franchise-food dining doesn’t have the Epicurean seal of approval around here, but once in a while you find an exception. On Friday nights, for example, Robert, the Deep South short-order cook at this mid-Beach branch attached to a Howard Johnson’s hotel, will cook you up two golden-red porkchops, an orange sweet potato, and some green broccoli, washed down with heavily iced lemon-Coke. Makes you feel you’re in a Carson McCullers novel — The Ballad of the Sad Café, say. Carlos Duran will serve this feast for only $8.29, and tell you about the time his computer card (for the cash register), which he wears on a vinyl cord, wrapped around a chair while he was delivering an order and nearly pulled his pants off. Lawraye Taveinni, a manager, will seat you in the smoking section (no one sits there) on a crowded Sunday morning and feed you healthy Harvest whole-grain oat, almond, and English walnut pancakes with warm fruit compote for just $5.99. And midweek cute Antoy Williams will cheer up grouchy oldsters who didn’t want big sausages on their French toast special ($6.29) with jokes about her bus trip in from Opa-locka: “That driver was madder than you, honey! He just stuck in my face!” Call it breakfast theater.

Something for everyone and plenty of it. That’s why you’ll often find a line of patrons waiting for a table during peak hours. We’re talking chilled snow-crab legs, shrimp, and mussels. Eel, salmon, and California sushi rolls. Barbecued ribs, sweet-and-sour chicken, egg rolls, dumplings, stir-fried veggies. Prime rib, black-pepper steak, General Tso’s chicken. A salad bar, six different soups. Eight flavors of hard-packed ice cream, Black Forest cake, miniature coconut tarts, chocolate-dipped fruit. An exhausting array of more than 100 items spread over seven serving stations. Unfettered access to the buffet will run you $7.50 to $11 (on weekends) for lunch and $14 to $17 for dinner. You can also order food à la carte for special dietary requirements. Lunch hours are 11:30 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. Monday through Friday; noon to 2:30 p.m. on weekends. Dinner is served 4:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. Monday through Thursday, Sunday, and on holidays. Friday and Saturday dinner service continues until 10:30 p.m.

Chefs of all stripes like to say that with regard to cuisine, quality is in the details. For the Cuban gourmet one measuring stick for refined gastronomy is to be found in the mariquitas (curly, long, plantain chips). Casa Romeu’s are el maximo: soft and fluffy, not crispy and burned like at some places. Another culinary barometer is the sopa de pollo (chicken soup), which Romeu’s customers wistfully remember for days, sometimes weeks. Somehow they even make people rave about the congrí, a seasoned mixture of rice and beans. Romeu regulars are especially fanatical about the picadillo (a juicy, piquant concoction of ground beef, onion, peppers, and spices) and the bistec empanizado (breaded steak). Located about a mile north of Miami Lakes, the restaurant opens at 7:00 a.m. and closes at midnight. ¿Qué más tu quieres?

Yes, Nuevo Siglo is “decrepit-looking,” as noted in the New York Times. In fact it looks pretty much as decrepit as most of Havana, Cuba. Sitting at the counter on a balmy winter afternoon, a coffee-scented breeze wafting in from the window open to the cacophony of Calle Ocho, you feel a little like you’re lunching in your tia‘s funky kitchen in Centro Habana. Your tia who can always comfort you with a bowl of savory chicken soup, who seems to effortlessly produce plate after plate of really good Cuban food, such as roasted pork and chicken, picadillo, oxtail (sometimes goat, lamb, or shrimp) accompanied by perfect yuca or maduros, and of course plenty of rice and the potaje of the day — black beans, garbanzos. Nothing fancy, just a solid meal a lo cubano. The menu changes daily and the entrées go fast. A big lunch can run you five to seven dollars. There are also some decent breakfast specials.

Proprietors of so-called American steakhouses take note: We’re just a wee bit tired of the strip-sirloin-and-creamed-spinach routine. That’s why we’ve turned to the products of the asador, the grill room located between the double dining rooms at Graziano’s. Like American steak places, Graziano’s serves the bare bones — beef à la carte — but the flavor of Argentine hardwood and the juiciness sealed in by a slow-turning rotisserie make the cuts of meat incomparable. Nonbeef main courses include suckling pig and gigantic Patagonian shrimp, also hot off the asador. Add starters like quickly seared blocks of Provolone, homemade sausages, or grilled sweetbreads, and a wine list so comprehensive even enophiles get confused, and what’s left to say but grazie?

Many people aren’t even aware of the place, which isn’t so surprising. This stretch of Collins Avenue, dominated by high-rise condo buildings, hardly seems a likely locale for a classy restaurant. But here is Shula’s, tucked away near the back of the Alexander, far from the bustling crowds, the perfect setting for a dining room conducive to privacy. Here there are no clanging plates, noisy diners, or obtrusive music. Here you and your guest can slip into a plush banquette and recede from the world, almost literally invisible. Here the waitstaff is discreet and respectful. Here you won’t be thoughtlessly interrupted. Here, as you indulge the decadent menu, you can say what you really think and no one but your intended listener will hear.

True to its origins, this Parisian bistro stocks a healthy number of red wines to counteract all those high-fat cheese and meat offerings. But the so-called French Paradox isn’t what Brasserie Les Halles is all about. Indeed the eatery, which highlights different regions of France such as the Loire Valley and Alsace-Lorraine, offers an exceptional number of vins blanc as well. Looking for something appropriately matched to the rabbit roasted in mustard sauce? A cool Chateau de Maimbray Sancerre is a good option. A little bubbly to celebrate a special occasion or maybe just to wash down a bowl of moules marinières? The 1990 Pommery Cuvée Louise is a delicious choice — and priced at $165 is just a bit less expensive than other lists around town. Of course if you believe nothing fits a French bill like an order of steak frites and a glass of Bordeaux or Burgundy, then at Brasserie Les Halles you’ll always be in the money.

When they had their place called Norma’s on Miami Beach, partners Delius Shirley and executive chef Cindy Hutson built a reputation as masters of Jamaican cuisine, in part because Delius’s mom Norma was their mentor, and the tiny kitchen in the Lincoln Road eatery limited the number of ingredients that could be kept on hand. But when the pair moved their operation to Coral Gables a few seasons ago, the name changed and the menu expanded to reflect the possibilities of a larger work space. Now, says Hutson, liberated from whatever the category of Jamaican bistro might mean, she is giving culinary expression to a wider menu that she thinks of as “cuisine of the sun.” That might include dishes with Asian or South American origins. But Hutson’s basic culinary education remains Jamaican, the restaurant’s coolly elegant décor is still Caribbean, and the food is still divine. Jerked pork and lamb patties are often on the menu, but so too are Thai dishes, or curries, or something from Colombia that calls for coconut milk or ginger. Ortanique, by the way, is a sweet hybrid citrus that comes from crossing an orange and a tangerine, a fitting symbol for a restaurant unlike any other.

We hereby present this new eatery with the ABS Award — that being Anything But Starbucks. In this coffeehouse-blighted town any signs of new life must be encouraged. So go past the deli counter and up the stairs studded with circles of light. At the top you’ll find the bookstore area, featuring regularly scheduled author readings and signings as well as ultrahip black-and-white décor. There are couches and animal-print recliners for lounging, or café-size tables and chairs for lounging and dining. Or sit outside under the umbrellas and watch the world go by. The usual lattes and cappuccinos are offered, and since this place is also a bar, so are Irish coffee and Caribbean Magic (involving light and dark rum). Let the hanging-out commence.

We dare you to call up a restaurant at random and ask how much they’d charge you for bringing in your own bottle of wine. We guarantee you’ll be quoted a price of no less than ten dollars and probably at least twenty, all for the hard work the waiter has to do to uncork and pour your chosen label. After all, why should the management let you enjoy a vintage from your private cellar when they can charge you triple the wholesale cost for one you don’t really care about? Not Su-Shin. This sushi place simply doesn’t care about what you bring in — Petrus or plonk. They’ll still charge two dollars per customer. Let’s say for argument’s sake you’ve brought with you a nice Riesling that goes really well with Asian flavors and you spent, oh, $12 on it. For a romantic dinner for two you’ll be paying an additional four dollars for the privilege of drinking it with your meal. That’s a grand total of $16. (The same bottle, if the restaurant offered it, would probably be listed at $25 or more.) So what does Su-Shin know that its colleagues don’t? Only that customers are likely to spend twice that on, say, uncooked tuna.

It’s got the casual, been-there-forever feel of a neighborhood hangout. The green-and-brown color scheme is oddly appealing, and the place looks bright and friendly. Diner ambiance minus the dinginess. No need to settle for a table and chairs — it’s all booths. And breakfast, naturally, is served all day, featuring monster omelets and refreshing honesty from the waitstaff: “Have the hash browns. The home fries have been sitting all morning.” Hey, if this spot’s good enough for the Bee Gees, it’s good enough for you.

Once you’ve tried Fico nothing else is as rico. Even if you’re one of those purists who used to have to put up with the total lack of seating at the original location on Flagler, it’s worth it! (The patience of so many loyal customers, eating while standing up at those narrow counters, has been rewarded with a new section at the Flagler restaurant where you can actually sit at tables and chairs.) Of course the newer South Beach Fico lacks the quirky character of its predecessor, but the seafood hasn’t suffered. Fico’s always-perfect broiled fish fillets remain the seafood standard, but every variety of fresh seafood — fried, grilled, or broiled to order — is consistently scrumptious. Excellent soups too. A special salute to the tostones de platanos Hawaianos, fried green plantains stuffed with little crawfish. Now they’re expanding the menu to include chicken and pasta, but who needs that?

You’re a high-dollar lawyer in a city that breeds them and business is good. Then one day, that risky, somewhat shady Latin-American venture you got your biggest client to invest in goes rotten — bloody coup rotten. He’s angry and he’s outside your office right now. Your mind is blank, your palms sweaty, your stomach growling. Growling? Ah yes, it is lunchtime. Might as well make your last meal a good one. Striding purposefully out of your office, you sweep your client along to your car, promising that everything will be explained over lunch at the Rusty Pelican. The tension begins to leave your shoulders as your silver Lexus climbs the modest curve of the bridge between the mainland and the Rickenbacker Causeway. You spot the restaurant thinly disguised as a rustic shack. A few minutes later, you’re walking into the maritime coolness of the place, where you promptly duck into the bar. Your client parks his fat butt at a table by the window and stares moodily at a yacht bobbing nearby. You take the bartender aside and order oysters, escargot with blue cheese, and two very dry martinis. Back at the table you contemplate the city skyline etched into pale blue across the shallow end of Biscayne Bay — and think, as you always do, how beautiful Miami is from a distance.

How about a dockside patio with an unobstructed view of both the Atlantic Ocean and Biscayne Bay? How about a Thursday- and Friday-night happy hour with the stars above, a fresh breeze, and sixteen-ounce glasses of Bass & Co. Pale Ale on tap? Tucked into a science lab and classroom building at the University of Miami’s Rosenstiel School of Marine and Atmospheric Science on Virginia Key, this bar-cum-eatery began life as a cafeteria for students who might have cared more about describing the life cycle of Ocyurus chrysurus — that’s a yellowtail snapper to you — than eating one. But then the caterer Parties By Pat took over the kitchen, decorated with some palm trees and pastel murals in the dining room, and invited in the public. Open only for breakfast and lunch, from 8:00 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Monday through Friday, the Commons specializes in grilled chicken, gourmet pizza, and affordable sandwiches, explains manager José Martinez. The bar is open only Thursday and Friday from 5:00 to about 10:00 p.m.

Calling the Pelican a restaurant may convey the wrong impression. It’s a thatched-roof, open-air, low-cost, shorts-and-sandals throwback to a different era, perched high above the sand on the Newport’s fishing pier (known to old-timers as the Sunny Isles pier). The north side offers table seating. We recommend the south side. Tall cocktail tables attached to the pier railings accommodate three stools each. Grab one to catch the southeasterly summer breeze and behold the sweeping view down the coast. Turquoise water, white sand, deep blue sky, a distant cruise ship heading to sea. It’s sensational at sunset. The Pelican’s menu favors burgers over seafood, but if you ask for the freshest fish and have it simply prepared you can’t go wrong, especially with an Italian pinot grigio or German Riesling (no bottle more than $15). The kitchen is open till 9:00 p.m. seven days a week. You can park at the foot of the pier but it’s expensive. Better to use the public parking up the road and across the street.

This is a humble little spot, a bit down on the heels, but the fresh and plentiful fare makes up for the lack of décor. The star in Holy Family’s firmament of classic dishes is its divine pwason gwo sel, a whole fish, usually snapper, prepared and fried in a traditional Haitian style. Also without blemish are the lanbi, or conch, in a Creole-type sauce, and legim, a spicy mixture of vegetables and usually meat. The basic diri ak pwa, rice and beans, are good enough to make up a whole meal. There is one dish missing, for religious reasons, from Holy Family’s menu: griot, or fried pork. The restaurant’s faithful don’t mind at all.

Benny’s appetizer list is like a dim sum of Caribbean cuisine. Bacalaitos (flat cod fritters), alcapurria de masa (ground beef in fried plantain dough), tostones rellenos (fried plantains sliced and stuffed with your choice of shrimp, lobster, or squid), and the list goes on. You may not want mondongo (beef tripe) with your mofongo (mashed stuffed plantains) but owners Benny and Wanda will recommend it with snapper, yellowtail, or kingfish. Just south of the Miami-Dade County Fairgrounds, Benny’s opens at noon, and the slightly cheaper lunch menu is out until four o’clock Monday through Friday. The place closes at 9:30 p.m. Sunday through Thursday and 10:30 p.m. Friday and Saturday.

Gleaming white, spongy, and about as tasty as a giant sugar-free marshmallow, tofu isn’t exactly the most appealing ingredient. But place it in the capable hands of the chefs at the Honey Tree and tofu is transformed into something entirely different: It’s eminently edible. Grilled tofu in tamarind peanut sauce, Indonesian tofu stir-fried with vegetables, curried tofu triangles. Hungry yet? Each weekday the six-year-old market (and three-year-old deli) offers several freshly made dishes for lunch that you can eat in or take out. Mouthwatering and healthy vegan and vegetarian specialties can include penne pasta tossed with tomato sauce and soy sausage, sautéed spinach with mushrooms, and kale and potato patties topped by chunky tomato salsa. A hearty soup of the day, fruity smoothies, and delicious desserts such as nondairy chocolate mousse pie and carob- and walnut-studded banana bread are also available. Sold by the pound, the eats are often gone by late afternoon. So if all else fails, you can choose some organic produce from a small fridge and settle down for a healthful meal from one of the freezers. The friendly folks who surround you will make you feel as good as the food.

South Beach is known as sushi central, and it is arguably true that a greater concentration of very good Japanese restaurants can be found on any square mile of Beach than anywhere in the U.S.A. Still, visiting Japanese chefs, local Asian foodies, and others in the know head west to this small spot in a fairly downscale shopping mall for Miami’s most authentic Japanese fare — especially Matsuri’s daily specials, dishes rarely found elsewhere like foie graslike (and nonfishy) monkfish liver in spicy broth, or shisamo, succulent salt-broiled smelts stuffed with their own “caviar.” And well worth the drive by itself is Matsuri’s selection of toro, buttery belly tuna often seen on sushi-bar menus but almost never available: silken chutoro (particularly tasty in negitoro, a steak tartare-esque preparation of chopped toro and scallions, topped with a quail egg), and even more marbled otoro, the ultimate in sushi/sashimi decadence.

A Grove favorite for years, Paulo Luigi’s is a testament to the importance of consistent quality. Serving up outstanding Italian cuisine in hearty portions, the restaurant delivers the best traditional dishes, such as a decadent chicken marsala, while spicing up more modern fare with selections like a mozzarella-drenched shrimp Parmesan. Recent changes to Paulo Luigi’s bar area are welcome. Once a legendary sports bar, it has been upgraded to a cozy lounge that will attract nightcrawlers eager for a down-tempo shift from the overbearing Beach scene, as well as diners who want to linger after a satisfying meal.

In terms of franchising, chef Nobuyuki Matsuhisa is hardly the Hard Rock Café, but a dozen restaurants worldwide is at least a mini-empire — and that loss of control when the head honcho isn’t in the kitchen most often means the loss of high standards. But both the food and the service at South Beach’s Nobu are absolutely extraordinary. Unlike New York’s more formal Nobu, this spot, though located in the glam Shore Club, is intended as a more casual hangout. It’s possible to just walk in and get a table, especially early in the evening. And though prices are higher than those at the average sushi bar, it’s possible to put together a terrific family-style meal of three to five shared items without breaking the bank (or necessitating robbing one). Signature black cod with miso is a must. Though many other eateries now do this savory dish of miso/mirin-marinated sablefish, Matsuhisa did it first and still does it best. Also highly recommended are delicate Arctic char with crisp leaves of near greaseless deep-fried spinach; the generous sashimi salad, silky tuna on mesclun dressed with a subtly sweet/salty ginger-soy vinaigrette; and especially a treat for those who won’t eat raw fish, Nobu’s “New Style Sashimi,” thinly sliced fish or beef partially cooked by a brief pouring of hot olive oil. While psychologically the delicate slices seem seared, they retain the moistness and tender texture of raw fish or beef.

Surprise! (Not.) It’s him, for the umpteenth time. In fact this year we considered permanently renaming this award “Best Restaurant in Coral Gables Except for Norman’s,” to be fair to some of the Gables’ other eateries, several of which could top Best lists in any town where Norman Van Aken wasn’t cooking. Naturally if Van Aken were a normal chef, such a drastic step wouldn’t be necessary. After a decade or so of garnering America’s major culinary awards, he’d either be diluting his talent by franchising Norman’s nationally or coasting on his many past greatest-hit creations like a culinary golden-oldies radio station. But Van Aken is still cooking day in and day out at the same address. His signature dishes like citrus-spiked creamy conch chowder with saffron and toasted coconut (updated in recent years with a hip foam “cloud”) taste as terrific as ever. And imaginative new dishes — “Seared Raw Tuna Trio with Three Cool Fillings” (braised oxtails, chilled crab salad, and shiitake mushrooms); seared foie gras on Venezuelan corn cake with cachaca-laced exotic fruit chutney; a sly and scrumptious take on surf and turf featuring rare tuna and beef mignons with three sauces (Bordelaise, Bernaise, and aigrelette); warm guava tarte Tatin; and an assortment of new tropical ice creams made with rare imported fruits from the Amazon — indicate that Van Aken shows no sign whatsoever of burning out and giving the Gables’ other chefs a shot at this award for many years to come.

Imlee is a most welcome addition to a somewhat inconsistent local Indian-restaurant scene. In fact this pleasant newcomer (less than two years old) definitely raises the standard for all Indian restaurants in South Florida. Lovers of the subcontinent’s magnificent cuisine (even if, like most of us Miamians, they’re limited in the breadth of their connoisseurship) can now partake of some of the best Indian food to be found anywhere. Of particular note is Imlee’s nuanced and sometimes innovative treatment of vegetables, legumes, and paneer (a tofulike cheese staple). The classics — chicken tikka masala, chicken makhani, lamb vindaloo, shrimp Madras curry, among many others — are acutely spiced and exquisite. The service can be a little slow sometimes, and the appetizers and breads aren’t always perfect, but those are small complaints beside the general state of euphoria induced by a meal at Imlee.

There are plenty of things to like about this down-home place aside from the food. The décor is appealing. Lots of old polished wood and other casually classy touches that project warmth, an antidote to the velvet-rope pretensions of South Beach. The weekend live rock music is much more interesting than what’s usually found in nightclubs, and so is the clientele. But co-owners Cass and Chris are happy to admit it’s the bar food that has kept the clientele coming back since 1989. Formerly chef at a fancy-schmancy French eatery in the Gables, Chris has turned his talents to country comforts like smoked barbecue (both pork and fish), homemade dips from artichokes or smoked mahi-mahi, and tangy vinegar-sauced fried green tomatoes fresh from the nearby farms of the Redland. There’s also some far healthier fare than you’ll find in most bars — snazzy salads of mixed greens and hearts of palm with gorgonzola cheese, for instance — as well as more substantial dishes, including bargain-priced weekly specials like Wednesday’s $9.95 roast beef dinner.

So Cuban and Spanish cultures have had a love-hate relationship throughout the centuries, but their culinary traditions at least come together at Las Culebrinas, where an extensive menu features specialties from both sides of the Atlantic. This presents a bit of a dilemma: Do you opt for the Cuban mainstays you’ve come to love, like ropa vieja (sautéed shredded beef stew), moros (rice and beans), maduros (plantains), and yuca (cassava), or do you nibble tapas while you wait for a steaming pan of paella for two to arrive at the table? If you’re the adventurous type looking for something truly exotic, something you can tell stories about later, then perhaps the decision will be much easier. Choose from any one of several eccentric specialties: octopus Galician style, rabbit in garlic sauce, frog’s legs, crocodile medallions French style, or deep-fried breaded beef brains. (Oh my!) Even the chicken is interesting here: You can have it breaded with Kellogg’s cereal and served with honey-mustard sauce, or grilled and bathed in an orange-peach yogurt sauce. And since kids will vehemently oppose all of the above, thankfully there is a children’s menu featuring fish sticks, chicken fingers, and a sirloin steak. The only problem you’ll likely encounter at Las Culebrinas, where families gather around large tables to enjoy abundant portions of quality food, is indecision.

You’d think that in South Florida the contenders for this award would be many and formidable. Sorry. You’d also think waterfront dining would be at least as common as overpriced sushi. Sorry again. And while there are a few nice places to eat outdoors on the street or the water (river and ocean), why not go for it all — ocean views, major people-watching, and seriously good food. For instance, try Smith & Wollensky’s outdoor dining area on a Sunday afternoon. Every body shape that can be squeezed into a bathing suit is walking by on the way to the pier or the white sands just beyond your seat. Your direct line of sight is toward Government Cut, so the passing parade of pleasure craft and cargo freighters never ends. Then there is the blue of the sky and the blue of the sea, untainted by tall buildings or parked cars. It makes that American dim sum brunch — newly introduced and consisting of things like mini-steak Wellingtons instead of pigs’ feet rolling to your table — taste all that more scrumptious.

Okay, so they already have a couple “Best of Miami” plaques hanging around. They’ll just have to put up another one because there’s nothing else quite like this place. Twenty-four hours a day you can soak up Nicaraguan ambiance and cuisine, and so much more, at Yambo. It’s kind of like a Central American bazaar, bustling with such a riot of color and knickknacks and people that food sometimes seems to be a secondary consideration. But when you’re ready to chow down outdoors (indoors is a little more formal), order at the counter from a long list of Nica favorites, including sauced-and-seasoned pork, beef, or chicken, as well as fish dishes accompanied by yucca and beans and rice, all for around five dollars. To wash it down, choose from a selection of coffees, beers, wines, and juices. Keep in mind that you can do this all hours of the day and night. You’ll have to leave at some point, of course. But chances are you’ll be back, sooner than later.

Unlike local patrons who vow undying devotion, we’ve never been huge fans of the original Red Thai Room in Hollywood. Not that we dislike it, but mostly we walk away merely satisfied and color-blinded by the vibrantly scarlet walls. Not so at this tropically designed sister location where no one seems to have discovered the terrific fare. The true character of the restaurant, located in the space that formerly housed a Dan Marino’s Town Tavern, can’t be glimpsed from the road. So passersby have virtually no idea that a thatched-roof porch is available for drinking and dining and that a multiroom interior yields some very romantic tables. The fare, ranging from excellent versions of standard pad thai and various curries to innovative dried-tofu salads, is also way above par. Come to think, it’s been a year or so since we’ve been back to the original. Judging by the cooking and prompt service at this second locale, perhaps it’s time to give the Hollywood joint another brightly hued shot at redemption.

Tucked away in the corner of a secluded strip mall on Key Biscayne, this 30-year-old neighborhood hangout is short on elbow room, long on history, and steeped in cholesterol. Think we’re exaggerating? The house special consists of ham, bacon, eggs, and cheese on a buttered English muffin. Next time you’re in the area, slide in, grab a seat, and slip back to a time when nuts and berries were for the birds.

Among the leisure class in 1789 France, heads rolled. Among the leisure class in 2002 Miami, the rolls get passed — around a table. Quite appropriately French bread is served during Les Halles’ Revolutionary Brunch, which carries the economical price of $17.89, in tribute to the year French peasants revolted. And the little people are treated regally to a multi-course affair. First with an effervescent pink kir royale (champagne with a touch of crème de cassis). Next with one of many savory appetizers including a tasty mélange of warm portobello mushrooms, potatoes, and goat cheese or crêpes filled with ham or seafood. Traditional brunch favorites such as eggs Benedict, omelets, and French toast, along with heartier dishes like steak tartare and salade niçoise, make up the list of main courses. Silky chocolate mousse, crème brélée, and profiteroles are among the rich desserts. In an eminently democratic move, brunch can be had from 11:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. both Saturday and Sunday. Vive la France!

The key to being a fine Italian eatery is to effectively deliver high-end cuisine without losing the rustic charm and culture of the Italian countryside. Though some may argue Il Tulipano lost much of its charisma after moving from North Miami to its new digs in the Grove, the same cannot be said for the delectable Tuscan dishes that dress Old World staples with the finest of modern touches. From the exquisitely prepared fresh asparagus and mozzarella-tomato-basil appetizers to the homemade pasta entrées, Il Tulipano specializes in serving up classical sustenance. Not to be missed are the tender veal and the seafood-laden linguine, each perfect examples of northern Italian cuisine. Add stellar wine selections and decadent desserts (an apple tart both rich and savory), and it’s clear that Il Tulipano has earned this award.

This outstanding eatery just beyond the Doral Country Club delivers a cuisine one would expect in one of those hard-to-find, five-table family restaurants. With a head chef, Iggy, able to cite Milan as one of his training stops, you know you’re getting the real deal and plenty of it. From traditional antipasti (dressed just enough to add style but not so much to become silly) and homemade pastas to fresh seafood dishes, Bruschetta covers every Italian base, including its bread namesake, and has room left over to experiment. The specials vary, obviously, but if available do not pass on the sea bass (entrées are usually between $14 and $19). Also worthy of note is the bold and tasty pears with cheese. Of course no Italian dinner would be complete without dessert. And if sweets are your thing bring a healthy appetite — the after-dinner treats are decadent, original, and well worth the guilt.

The performance ran late, you got to talking, but still you’re really hungry. Miami, unlike Miami Beach, isn’t chock-a-block full of kitchens open past 10:00 p.m., so where to head? Of course, how could you forget! But better hurry over to Versailles before it gets too crowded. In fact lines snaking outside the restaurant after midnight are not unusual, and those lines include children and grandparents. A plate of ropa vieja might hit the spot, or a simple medianoche sandwich, made for exactly this hour. The lights are bright inside, the mirrored décor adding even more luminosity, and at some point you won’t know whether it’s midnight or noon. And of course it doesn’t matter. This most famous of Cuban restaurants has defied changes in time in many other ways, so sit back and order a café con leche. Tomorrow may never come.

A lot of people just can’t eat breakfast anywhere else, especially if they’re Caribbean-born. The fried, boiled, or stewed fish plus grits and johnnycake are too good. (The typical eggs, bacon, and grits special for $3.50 is no slouch either.) But the real reason everyone comes here is they get to jonesing for the fried conch. Many never even bother to try the other entrées. That’s okay, but one day you’ll be ready for a taste of the chicken (fried, steamed, baked, or barbecued), oxtail, pork chops, ribs, or the aforementioned fish dishes. And that’s when you’ll know you can’t go wrong. (Prices are a little higher than they need to be, but do you hear anyone complaining?) One more thing you’ll learn: Macaroni and cheese was invented here.

On the menu at Touch, desserts are graced with the definitive title “finishing touches.” As if sweets are only to be enjoyed at the end of a meal. Well, at the risk of sounding like a sugar addict, we recommend the sinful selections created by pastry chef Dominique Pereira, a native of Lyon, France, be considered fare for any hour. Banana-and-berry bread pudding accented with honey-lavender syrup for breakfast sounds good. Fruit is important. Instead of filet mignon as an evening meal, why not a thick three-chocolate (white, milk, and dark) layered mousse? Chocolate is chock full of antioxidants. Caramelized bananas paired with silky ice cream makes the perfect late-night snack. Dairy products promote sleep. Good thing the kitchen at Touch stays open until midnight (1:00 a.m. on weekends). Now, if we could only get them to serve breakfast and lunch.

South Florida’s Mexican restaurants are known for their extensive menus, kitschy décor, mariachi bands, and spicy salsa. Well, this one’s only got the last to its name. The décor is bare bones and in truth not altogether comfy, with bar stools and a couple of tables comprising the majority of the seating. Nor does the menu take more time to read than a comic book, given that there are only about a dozen items from which to choose. Point is, though, these twelve dishes rock North Miami with a decidedly Latin beat. Yucatan soup, chicken stock flavored with lime, is worthy of standing alone as the sole appetizer. Follow it with a burrito Maya, filled with pork in aromatic pibil sauce, or authentic tamales wrapped in corn husks and steamed to perfection. Burritos Grill Café doesn’t supply fancy eats, but it does make beef tacos al pastor to order, and no one is playing a guitar in your face as you stuff it.

While this eatery’s name seems to suggest something far simpler than fine dining, things are not always what they seem. Shoji’s stuff is not standard sushi but rather neo-Japanese/New World fusion food — and very fine indeed. Instead of the standard sushi-bar faux-crab sunomono, for instance, there’s snapper ceviche with sake, citrus, sweet peppers, onion, cilantro, and masago, available alone or on a sampler plate with equally imaginative ceviches of hamachi, salmon, and scallops. Forget California rolls; makis here include spicy lobster roll (huge lobster chunks plus mango, avocado, scallion, salmon caviar, and spicy shiso leaves, with jalapeño-spiked mango purée substituting for the usual sushi-bar chili catsup) and a melt-in-your-mouth crispy oyster roll, a shrimp tempura roll gone to heaven: deep-dried cold-water oysters plus cucumber, lettuce, masago, chili mayo, and capers. Yes, South Beach’s other upscale sushi eateries (like Nobu) have similarly imaginative dishes, but they don’t do take-out. And none of them for sure have pastry chef Hedy Goldsmith’s desserts. The homemade ginger ale float probably wouldn’t survive a doggy bag, but astonishingly subtle green tea cheesecake and soufflé-light warm chocolate cake will.

While Miami has plenty of Chinese/American chop suey joints, as well as one-step-up places serving honey-garlic chicken that’s less old-fashioned gloppy but no less Americanized, our town has few eateries that offer authentic Chinese food. This very nongentrified but very welcoming little spot, located in an unprepossessing mini-mall, does. Salty pepper shrimp — crisp-coated whole crustaceans served like soft-shell crab, shell and head on for maximum flavor, on a bed of crunchy-battered Chinese broccoli — is a must-not-miss. Macau’s ho fan, broad noodles that are sautéed with various other ingredients either dry-style or wet (sauced), have a chewy texture that makes them far more interesting than the lo mein normally found in American Chinese eateries. Those needing comfort food will find it in congee, difficult to find almost anywhere in America outside major Chinatowns: a delicate savory rice porridge garnished with a variety of meats and veggies. In its humble heart, this is classic Cantonese.

You remember the scene in Steve Martin’s movie The Lonely Guy, when he goes to a restaurant to dine alone. He says to the maitre d’: “I’d like a table for one,” to which the man loudly replies, “A table for one?” The entire place goes quiet. A spotlight is directed on the lonely guy as he’s escorted to his table. After he’s seated and the staff pointedly takes away the setting across from him, he finally asks them to kindly turn off the light. That pretty much sums it up. There are few other experiences in life that make you feel more lonely than dining alone. But with the right restaurant you can actually feel part of something rather than apart. Such a place is Soyka. It’s usually so loud and bustling that no one will notice when you walk in unaccompanied. But don’t do a table. Take a seat at the bar or the long communal table up front. The people behind the bar will make you feel comfortable and utterly normal. You can order a complete meal (no need to choose only “bar” food) without the spotlight descending on you as someone asks if they can take the “free” chair from your table. And you will be normal, what with all those other single diners around you also ordering their meals. No, at Soyka you are not alone at all.