Eat & Drink

In the beer wasteland that is South Florida, Ray Rigazio owns an oasis: the Abbey Brewing Company. Since taking the helm in 1995, he has worked hard to make this microbrewery nothing like a typical South Beach bar. He rid the door of snobbery and, more important, the refrigerators of quotidian beers. In their place chills an eclectic selection of brews from around the world, including the hard-to-find La Fin du Monde. His own recipes are not brewed on the premises but by Key West and Ybor City brewing companies, and Rigazio’s calorie-rich assortment of ales packs a punch. His Father Theodore’s Imperial Stout won a gold medal at this year’s Best Florida Beer Championships in Tampa, and his Belgian-style Brother Ban’s Double snagged the silver.

What is your greatest triumph?

I think the greatest triumph I’ve achieved is bringing great crafted beer to South Florida. When I came here twelve years ago, the best beer you could get was maybe a common import. Now I see dozens and dozens of restaurants carrying great microbeers and hundreds of thousands of people drinking them.

Le Boudoir is sort of a stealth bakery. It looks like a café, is self-labeled a tea salon, and has a menu mainly devoted to elegant Parisian-style sandwiches and salads. But the sandwiches’ astonishingly good bread serves notice that baked goods are truly taken seriously here. Proprietor Michel Chiche is a master patissier who grew up in France and interned in perfectionist French restaurant kitchens before studying at the famed LeNôtre school. But the real proof of his sweet supremacy is not in his resumé or roster of celebrity clients (ranging from Steven Spielberg to Bill Clinton) but behind Le Boudoir’s bakery counter. The selection of pastries displayed daily is small but flawless, especially Chiche’s specialty, macaroons — seasonal fillings sandwiched between a pair of almond macaroons with delicately crunchy shells and a melt-in-your-mouth interior. For those craving something extra-special, custom-catered orders range from elaborate sculptural spun-sugar fantasies to a dozen cookies. And if you are searching for a wedding cake that doesn’t look like it was decorated by a baker with all the taste and subtlety of Miss Piggy, Le Boudoir can make you a stylish showpiece cake that tastes even better than it looks.

When Paul opened last year in the newly built Biscayne Commons mall — located on a stretch of Biscayne Boulevard formerly known only to those stocking up on 50-pound packages of chicken wings at Costco — it instantly became a worth-a-special-drive destination for true gourmets. The salads and sandwiches are good, and the authentic French pastries even better. But Paul’s heart is the staff of life: bread. Despite owner/baker Francis Holder and his family owning more than 300 shops worldwide, the North Miami Beach branch (their first on North American soil) makes the substantial, old-fashioned artisan loaves pioneered by his Croix, France boulangerie in the Sixties. There are at least a couple dozen varieties available daily, almost all crafted from custom-grown-and-milled flours and traditional methods. Although these loaves take longer to make — an average of seven hours — the bread stays fresh longer. That means you can look forward to days of savoring a black olive-studded Niçoise fougasse ($2.95), a nuttily aromatic “Paulette” baguette, or a white sandwich loaf ($4.95), which is similar to American white bread yet with a denser crumb and briochelike flavor. Breads range from $2.45 for a plain baguette to $5.95 for a walnut loaf; rolls and similar small breads begin at 50 cents. Whatever the variety, one bite of Paul’s bread will evoke memories of your last trip to Paris (sans the attitude).

It is supposed to be a flaky, crescent-shape roll painstakingly prepared by rolling butter and pastry dough into thousands of microlayers. The crisp, crusty exterior should give way to so ethereal a bite that it will taste like a Ferran Adriá concoction called “butterair.” And, preferably, it should be made fresh daily. The croissants at La Brioche Dorée match all of these criteria, which is why so many French expatriates, as well as locals, cram the quaint little storefront bakery every morning. The secret ingredient that makes these croissants so buttery is — and this is a shocker — the butter. It comes from France and is denser, richer than the American stuff, which is served on the side but is totally superfluous. Croissants are $1.50; a cup of espresso $1.50. A copy of Le Monde would be a few francs extra.

For a doughnut-hole-size family shop to hold its own next to Dunkin Donuts and Krispy Kreme in this sticky business, you know the product has to take the cake (or the glazed or the cruller). Paired with café con leche, the classic glazed will melt on your tongue, the moist chocolate cake will make you moan, and the velvety cream filling in the Bavarians will have you convinced that little fried pieces of Heaven do exist on Earth. But you need to get here early, because doughnuts this good will not last all morning.

Screw Betty Crocker, forget Duncan Hines, and stay away from supermarket bakeries. If you really want to make a birthday party memorable, head straight to Karlo. Everything is freshly made, so simply entering the store can induce an olfactory orgasm. Freshly baked bread, cookies, empanadas, croissants, and pastries crowd the glass cabinets. Pick up some pastelitos for the party and then choose a cake, any cake. They are all as pretty as a picture. Chocolate, vanilla, amaretto, layered with berries or topped with frosting. The almond mousse is among the best ($27 sized for 10 to 12 people, $60 for 25 people). It slices like thick butter and goes down like a marzipan dream. Now that is worth singing the birthday song for.

Sweetened, condensed milk was introduced to the Florida Keys 150 years ago. Owing to the lack of cows around, the new canned product was taken to with gusto by the citizenry, who developed all sorts of new recipes in which to use it. Key lime pie was far away the most successful of these concoctions, and the ingredients have hardly changed since its inception: key lime juice, condensed milk, and crust (originally made from pastry dough, but nowadays from graham crackers crumbled with butter). The only variation comes via the topping: whipped cream or meringue — that is, except at the Blond Giraffe Key Lime Pie Factory. They base their pie on a flaky cornmeal crust, use Nellie & Joe’s key lime juice in the delicate pale yellow custard, and top it off with — nothing. That’s the plain pie, which costs $3.95 per slice and $17.75 for the whole. A slice capped with a lofty cloud of meringue, or a frozen key lime wedge dipped in chocolate and served on a stick are also available at the same single-serving price (slightly more per pie). However you slice it, and however you top it, Blond Giraffe’s key lime pie is the best thing anyone has created from a can of condensed milk.

Four things you might not know about chocolate:
1. A single chocolate chip provides sufficient food energy for an adult to walk 150 feet; hence it would take about 35 chocolate chips to go one mile, and 875,000 for an around-the-world hike.
2. Chocolate has in excess of 500 flavor components, more than twice the amount found in strawberry and vanilla.
3. Chocolate syrup was used for blood in the famous 45-second shower scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho.
4. Romanico’s on Coral Way makes the most luxurious chocolate in Miami. Owner Alejandra Bigai’s specialty is hand-rolled truffles, which come in delectable flavors such as holy berry, passion caramel, heavenly vanilla, and wild coconut; the last is a blend of mild and dark chocolate plumped with coconut cream and coated with tiny white flakes (six for $12, and only 38 calories each). The other main draw here are the box sets of hand-painted chocolates. Those found in the Piccolo Art Collection ($11.95) are filled with almonds, hazelnuts, pistachios, or dulce de leche; the 40 chocolates in the Grande Collection ($39) are etched with colorful fish. All chocolates come beautifully packaged and with personalized note cards, which makes them ideal gifts. Or sit in the cozy shop, sip a cappuccino, and slowly relish the sweets yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Healthy fast food is an oxymoron. When describing those who frequent unhealthy fast-food restaurants regularly, you can take away the oxy. Eating is pleasure, so what’s the rush? Yes, you have a point — lunch hour lasts only so long. And sometimes you just do not have time to linger over dinner. But if you are going to go the dumb fast-food route, you might as well do it smartly by heading to Giardino Gourmet Salads. It’s a little place with seating for only about two dozen, but that’s because Giardino specializes in the speediest of dining options — take-out. Take-out salads, mostly, which are prepared faster than you can say Big Mac. There are 31 predesigned combinations based on a variety of lettuce greens, from a simple caesar spiked with bacon, to seafood salad with lemon-dill dressing, to Asian salad with tahini-curry dressing. Do-it-yourself types can customize their own salads. Choose from traditional fixings like tomatoes, cucumbers, and grated carrots, to more unusual garnishes such as Japanese seaweed flakes, shredded coconut, and baby corn. Countless such toppings line the counter along with more than 30 housemade dressings and 18 types of croutons, which means the number of potential creations one can concoct is nearly infinite — slightly more than infinite should you decide to roll your salad into a sandwich (there are rice paper wraps and flour tortillas to do so; take that, Subway!). Middle Eastern selections like tabbouleh and hummus are also on hand, as are better-than-to-be-expected desserts — especially the frothy fruit mousses. A giant greens-based salad is $9, medium-size is $7, and a generously portioned small version is $5. Eat your heart out at KFC, or treat it gently at Giardino.

An estimated half of our nation’s tomatoes come from Florida. Many are shipped from fields in the Redland’s agricultural area less than an hour outside downtown Miami. Yet even in peak season, most supermarket specimens (including those at expensive specialty stores like Epicure) are ethylene-injected, semigreen things that are hard and tasteless. You might as well eat a baseball. Try this stand’s produce instead. Most people discover Robert Is Here because it is located on the road leading to the main gate of Everglades National Park. The story: Six-year-old Robert Moehling Jr.’s farmer-father stuck him on the roadside with a table of surplus cucumbers. The first day, there were no sales because the youngster was not visible above car windows. The next day, armed with large signs reading “Robert Is Here” painted on hurricane shutters, he sold out by 11:00 a.m. Roughly 45 years later, Robert is still here (when not working the farm), as are genuinely red-ripe tomatoes and a host of South Florida’s other mainstream crops. You will also find an array of weird and exotic tropical produce: Monstera deliciosa, black sapote, anon (sugar apple), canistel (egg fruit), et cetera. In addition he sells locally produced jams, sauces, and flavored honeys. Children love the giant tortoises and iguanas in Robert’s minizoo out back. And everyone loves Robert’s thick milkshakes, made from key limes, strawberries, or whatever else is in season.

Once upon a time, the lands just northwest of Homestead promised agricultural bounty. Fields of tomatoes, strawberries, and tropical fruits stretched along Krome Avenue as far as the eye could see. The times certainly are a-changing. A recent tour of the Redland, west of South Dixie Highway, revealed a sad, startling dearth of U-pick farms and an influx of new development. Where farms once flourished stand plant nurseries, new buildings, and definite signs that urban sprawl is quickly taking root in the southland’s fertile soil. Robert Moehling, proprietor of Robert Is Here, a bustling produce stand farther south, presents one theory. “The U-Picks are closing because the insurance rates are too high. Farmers just can’t afford to let customers pick on their property anymore,” he says while busily stacking tomatoes. Rachel Grafe, one of the friendly German Baptist women who work at Knauss Berry Farm, offers her own reasoning. “Farming is going out in South Florida. A lot of the farmers here are selling out to developers, and the farmland is just kind of disappearing,” she says. Thankfully there’s still Knauss Berry Farm, with its sweetly old-fashioned red-and-white structure that defies the drumbeat of progress. Urbanites with a hankering to pluck produce off the stalk are welcome during the season — mid-November through April 30, Monday through Saturday from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. — to pick plump tomatoes for $1 per pound and sweet strawberries for $2 per pound. Although the shop also sells lettuce and juicy onions, the real lure of Knauss is the wafting scent of baked goods. No visit is complete without a purchase of sticky cinnamon buns. A mere $6.30 buys a dozen, or shell out $8.50 for twelve pecan rolls instead. A succulent strawberry rhubarb pie costs $7.30, and the fresh-baked honey wheat bread is $2.70 a loaf. The traditionally dressed German Baptists greet every customer with a friendly smile and a helpful attitude that is just as refreshing as the fruity milkshakes they sell.

This used to be known as the place to go for stone crabs when you couldn’t get a table at Joe’s main seafood house next door. It still is, but over the years, Joe’s Take Away has emerged as a worthwhile destination in its own right. The sweetest of stone crabs are packed up with mustard sauce, melted butter, a bib, and a bag of Joe’s signature assorted rolls. The fried chicken sandwich flies with the best and is only $5.95. Half a bronzed rotisserie chicken, lacquered with Asian-style barbecue sauce, comes with corn muffin, coleslaw, and potato salad for $6.95 — accompanied by a bag of those rolls, as are all orders. Classic salads (caesar, chopped) are gargantuan, and fresh seafood (oysters, crabcakes, grilled or fried fish) are what Joe’s is known for — well, that and the famous sides of creamed spinach, fried green tomatoes, and steak-house potatoes (hash browns, lyonnaise, and so on). One of the world’s great key lime pies is available at the extensive coffee bar and bakery section, as is chocolate pecan pie, giant cookies, biscotti, and a heavenly angel food cake with chocolate chips and chocolate whipped cream. Wines, beers, and espressos are poured too, which means you can grab a table inside the brightly lit shop and turn your take-out foods into an eat-out dinner — just like at Joe’s main restaurant, except without waiters or wait. Plus you can get something here that’s not available next door: breakfast.

The first symptom of the craving is when everything else you eat suddenly feels like chewing chalk. You suddenly understand why people are addicted to getting tattoos and body piercings — that desire for stimulation sets in. Mustard and horseradish and onions, endowed with unnamable healing properties, begin appearing in your dreams. Or perhaps it is some primordial connection to the sea, this sudden craving for brine and salt and fish oil that insistently pesters and will not shut up. This feeling can be satisfied only by entering Arnie and Richie’s and witnessing the slabs of Nova Scotia and belly lox and sable sprawled in a glass display case and sniffing that smell, the one that separates the lover of flavorful food from the finicky hipster. You sit down and await your platter; spread the cream cheese carefully on your toasted onion bagel; layer it with the pink fish, a ripe tomato, and some onions; love that you are going to smell like this all day. One bite and you’re transported to the tenement housing of your ancestors, to their love for the pungent, for the pumpernickel and rye. You utter a silent thanks for their persistence, which took them from the ice fields of Eastern Europe all the way here, to paradise, where you honor them through eating. Most dishes cost less than $10; breakfast ranges from $3.50 to $7.

Crammed to the rafters with good things to eat and drink, this cozy little shop presents a welcome slice of European civilization in our hurry-up-and-get-out-of-my-way urban treadmill. As the name suggests, cheese is the market’s specialty. You can also pick up almost everything else, from caviar to dried mushrooms, along with wines from a small yet thoughtfully chosen selection. As you would expect from a cheese shop, the relevant curds are properly cared for, neatly displayed, and packaged in portions small enough to make trying something new an affordable endeavor. The selections includes some 200 different cheeses ranging from the familiar to extraordinary. Although you may certainly grab your cheese and go, a more civilized approach would be to order a cheese and charcuterie platter, select a bottle of wine, and sit at one of the tiny sidewalk tables, nibbling and sipping and watching the rest of the world churn on that endless urban treadmill.

Those with a sweet tooth will have a heart attack — we hope only figuratively — upon entering Vicky Bakery. Elaborate cakes decorate the windows, while Danishes, buns, glory bread, and other baked goods lie glistening or powdered behind glass. The bakery itself is simple: white, nondescript, and sterile. But who needs fancy décor when colorful, sugar-saturated goodies are adornment enough? As if regular flan weren’t deliciously rich enough, Vicky also offers cheesecake flan. Cue the heart attack. The sweet custard and creamy cheesecake texture topped with caramel is a guilty pleasure worth those extra 500 calories. For $2 you can savor the taste of Heaven in a small individual serving. Large trays of flan are also available to feed hungry party guests.

An Italian franchise that opened its doors in Miami in 2001, Bacio’s gelato is simply the most delizioso. At least two dozen flavors are available on any given day, ranging from nutty (hazelnut, toasted almond) to fruity (lemon, mango) to chocolaty (at least five different variations on the basic flavor are offered). A small cone is $3.55, and a cup is $4.31. Creamy, airy, never overly sweet, and made fresh locally, Bacio’s gelato approximates dessert perfection.

Ignore the droves of soccer moms chauffeuring their sugar-craving offspring. And block out the Saturday-night teenybopper brigade heading postmovie to this South Miami institution. The smooth, creamy deliciousness that is Whip ‘N Dip ice cream makes it worthwhile. Although the traditional chocolate and vanilla are always on tap, exotic flavors, including coconut and white chocolate mousse, rotate. That means you might have to make several trips back to ensure you try a cup or cone of each — because they’re all that good.

There is no doubt smoothies made from the nutrient-packed and easy-to-digest juices of fresh fruits are better for you than milkshakes full of fatty dairy products. Nevertheless some juice bars’ smoothies, especially those whose heft comes from powders and so forth, do taste like they came out of a cow’s back end. And the best-flavored of the rest often contain yogurt, making them no-nos for vegans, the lactose-intolerant, or folks avoiding milk for myriad other reasons. But because Gourmet Carrot is chiefly a kosher natural foods restaurant — which serves poultry and fish as well as veggie dishes — there is no dairy component in anything. The smoothies here rely on bananas for body and on the freshest of fruits for taste. They also contain the eatery’s own tropical fruit sorbets, which range from a simple tangerine to an exotic guava rendition. Hard-core smoothie fanatics can add extras, including protein powders, bee pollen, et cetera, but the unadulterated Chilled Lych ($4.50) — litchi juice, bananas, litchi sorbet, and ginger-pear sorbet — will more than satisfy most thirsts for something good, and good for you.

In the land of mojitos, the Abbey Brewing Company is king of beer. Among Miami’s precious few microbrew purveyors, the Abbey serves up a tasty selection of home-brewed elixirs. This is the place for full-body, high-alcohol-content drafts such as the Abbey India Pale Ale ($5.25 a pint); the smooth, nutty Abbey Bock ($6 for twelve ounces); and Trappist-style 12-Degree beer. In addition to fourteen beers on draft, you will find a good selection of bottled beers from around the world ($4.75 to $12), a few wines, and some decent pub food. This cozy, laid-back little bar is the perfect remedy for velvet-rope bullshit and watery beer.

The $2 café con leches are always perfect at this tiny, uncrowded Cuban diner on Coral Way. You never have to fumble with the sugar, because the Bustelo espresso, served aside a cup of steamed milk in a little tin pourer, is just as sweet as the cute and friendly little waitresses behind the diner-style counter. Villa Habana opens every day at 11:00 a.m., which makes it the perfect place to get you over the midday slump with a caffeine fix. If you want to nibble, try some of the authentic Cuban sides — all made from scratch — like the $1 croquetas or the $2 chicken creole soup.

If café Cubano is fuel for your own biped power vehicle, then David’s is the best and most convenient service station in town. Located just off Lincoln Road, this South Beach stalwart has been around for almost three decades. Every day of the year David’s dishes up hearty Cuban fare in its dining room and adjacent counter, as well as keeps thousands of hearty partygoers going by dispensing café Cubano in little plastic cups from a window on Meridian Avenue. David’s café Cubano has just the right combination of firepower and lusciousness; it tastes like caffeinated candy and jumpstarts your nervous system like a jolt of electricity. Plus David’s is open 24 hours, so there is no excuse for burrowing your face in the pillow until the sun comes up. Or even then, for that matter.

Good bakeries open early, and great bakeries open at 5:00 a.m. There are not many places left in Miami where you can pick up your food before sunrise, but La Nueva Fe is one of them. Even if you don’t need to have your party table set up before you drink your coffee, this Hialeah gem will still impress with its appetizing treats. The price is right too; you can buy enough food to feed 25 people for less than $20. Choose from bocaditos, pastelitos, and every other “itos” you can think of. Empanadas de guayava have a crisp, buttery crust, and cangrejitos are plump with meat filling. But don’t leave without a platter of the mini medianoches — ham and Swiss cheese sandwiches glazed in honey. They are certain to please every guest at your fiesta.

In a region so densely populated by Cubans and their ancestors, a tasty Cubano should be as easy to come across as a wannabe model in South Beach. Not so. Finding a place that serves the ubiquitous sandwich is a breeze, but sinking your teeth into a truly fresh and flavorsome version presents a far greater challenge. And that is precisely why we do this — to save you the bother. Next time you hunger for South Florida’s favorite snack, head to this Beach staple. Las Olas is one of the cleanest cafeterias in town — and a Cuban sandwich aficionado’s dream locale. Watch the friendly staff layer juicy ham, succulent roast pork, Swiss cheese, a slathering of pickles, and mustard onto a sliced, buttered hunk of moist Cuban bread. But even with the freshest fare, the secret to this great sandwich lies in its grilling. And these beauties are popped into the traditional la plancha until the ingredients meld together and the exterior achieves the desired crunch. Buttery, gooey, crisp, and, of course, diagonally sliced, it compares to nothing else. Oh yeah, and it will set you back a measly $4.82.

At first glance, you might think a Technicolor piñata had exploded here. Tables hide their tops in throbbing shades of violet and orange, vibrant streamers flirt from the ceiling, and landscapes in the colors of a Frida Kahlo painting cram just about every inch of available wall space. But what will really send you into orbit are Paquito’s fajitas. For $15, you receive a fragrant, sizzling platter of meat — beef, chicken, pork, shrimp, or fish — with a substantial helping of caramelized onions, green bell peppers, mushrooms, and cherry tomatoes. Pile on generously jalapeño-heated salsa verde or, for those with more delicate sensibilities, the carrot-sweet (yet sufficiently garlicky) red salsa. You also, of course, get a saffron-flavor heap of rice, creamy refried beans, a hearty mixture of both cheddar and jack cheeses, and a buttery mound of guacamole. Choose from fresh, steaming packets of either white or corn tortillas. (Tip: The corn pairs especially well with the salmon or tilapia version.) Wash it all down with a fancy margarita. Try the $8 La Pachanga — doused with Sauza Tres Generaciones tequila and Marie Brizard Grand Orange liqueur au cognac — and pretend you are on the range. Except for the froufrou, though delicious, cognac margarita, it don’t get more cowpoke Tex-Mex than this.

Consider the taco an element, like boron or lead or molybdenum. Beans, cheese, lettuce, guacamole, sour cream — such abominations correspond to a taco about as much as wasabi beurre blanc does. A soft corn tortilla, meat — lots of it, gum-tender, and highly seasoned — and a dollop of salsa, preferably one with a kick to it, are all that compose a proper taco. And Rosita’s turns out proper tacos. You can get three of them — shredded beef (the best), chicken, and chorizo and potato — plus rice, refried beans, and a small tomato-lettuce salad for $6.50. That is about as cheap and elemental as you can get, especially considering the price of a three-fer of molybdenum these days.

“The sign of good paella is really in the rice,” says Beatrice Bajares, owner of Spanish restaurant La Dorada. “It’s the same as with pasta. If pasta is not cooked al dente it tastes bad.” And to get the rice right, explains Bajares, a good paella must be prepared fresh, slowly, and on the premises. La Dorada offers two varieties of the dish: a traditional fish and shellfish version, and a black paella cooked with squid, baby calamari, and fish. Every evening around 11:15 p.m. (5:15 a.m. in Spain), Bajares phones her contacts in the Spanish port city of Malaga as the daily fish market opens. She ascertains what seafood the fishermen have that morning and then places an order according to her needs. “The fish are put on ice and flown from Malaga to Madrid to Miami that day,” she informs. “The razor clams arrive at the restaurant still alive.” In addition to the best rice and just-off-the-boat seafood, she says La Dorada uses only fresh saffron and high-quality extra virgin olive oil. The paella costs $26 per person and is worth every penny.

Mofongo is the signature dish of any Puerto Rican restaurant worth its salt. Whether served as an entrée or an accompaniment, the mashed plantain concoction must not be too dry or too mushy, and it must strike the perfect balance between the mild saltiness that keeps it from being bland, and overseasoning. Benny’s, which has been serving Puerto Rican food for twelve years, offers several mofongo dishes, all served in a wooden mortar bowl. Chewy on the outside, soft in the middle, liberally seasoned with crunchy pork bits and garlic … this mofongo — whether you order it con langosta, con camarones, or plain — is perfect. Prices vary, from $23 for the most expensive mofongo dish, which comes with an array of seafood, to $8 for plain. (While you’re at Benny’s, try some of the other Puerto Rican food, like fried blood sausage, and green banana ceviche stocked with chicken gizzards.)

Bahía, the outdoor tapas lounge on the Four Seasons Hotel’s seventh-floor terrace, offers the European snack with a distinctively Latin American, oceangoing twist. Tapas developed from an old Spanish bar custom of placing a saucer on top of wine glasses. Someone put a few olives on the saucer, and from that evolved today’s finger-food-as-a-meal. In Spain, tapas bars really get going around 3:00 a.m., and much of what is served is some variant of tinned meat. Bahía, which takes its name from a region of Brazil, uses that country’s marine bounty as its tapas template. Among a dozen choices are the staid aceitunas variedades (assorted olives, $3); pimientos del piquillo rellenos de bacalao ($9), which are pickled peppers served on baguette slices with cod; croquetas de marisco ($8), stuffed with lobster (but also available in ham and spinach); boquerones en vinagre ($8), a larger, paler, spicier type of the much-maligned anchovy; and patatas aioli ($5), forever unhumbling the potato. Specialty drinks at Bahía — takes on the mojito and margarita — are tasty and market-priced around $12, but go for the “caipiroska” (vodka, fresh strawberries, and froths of sugar). Bahía is in an awesome spot facing the water, but the space itself — nearly an acre plain featuring a vast lap pool and a lighted waterfall — is incredibly tranquil. Bahía serves tapas and escapism 5:00 p.m. to midnight Tuesdays through Saturdays.

“What is ackee?” the newcomer to Sonia’s will ask. And the proprietor will answer, “It’s a Jamaican fruit that looks sort of like scrambled eggs.” Eeeew! But no. Listen. For $5.49, you can get an ackee patty, made with tomatoes, onion, and cod fish, whose fragrant spice and flaky pastry will hook you forever on the savory little purses of joy. Also available are beef, plantain, curry chicken, or vegetable patties for less than $2; shrimp and lobster patties are priced less than $5. The deceptively simple concept (filling, dough) will transport you instantly to a Jamaican beach. Seriously. Call ahead and order in bulk for your next picnic.

If there were an official Florida state fast food, it would have to be the conch fritter. Although Florida’s queen conch population is so depleted that our conch meat comes from the Bahamas (and beyond), the fritters are everywhere. Too bad most are mediocre at best — bland lumps of batter as devoid of conch as Florida’s waters. But you will not find meager specimens at Captain Nate’s, which was opened about a year ago by two former Key Largo fishermen. The fritters here ($7.99 for five) contain sizable chunks of conch (so much more satisfying than the mushy ground conch most traditional recipes use) plus diced red and green peppers for crunch and a jolt of cayenne to enliven the zeppole/frybreadlike batter. The accompanying dip, truly tart tartar sauce that is more like a New Orleans-style rémoulade, is a welcome addition, but is by no means a necessity.

These fried snacks can deliver a hit-or-miss assault on the taste buds, depending on how long they have been sweltering under a hot light. Coated in a toasty layer of breadcrumbs, a properly prepared fresh croqueta should be tender, flaky, and mouthwatering. But when these thumb-size devils are left to ferment, they end up dry with a mysteriously gray interior. And if wolfed down in a fit of hunger, they can induce a nasty bowel-quivering experience. Most connoisseurs agree that the best approach to avoid fouling the tongue and cramping the innards is the old crack-and-sniff test. At Tinta y Café you never need to worry. Biting into one of the always fresh, plump gourmet delights will leave you hollering for more. Tinta y Café delicately prepares a variety of tantalizing flavors, including bacalao, spinach and cheese, and the more traditional ham and chicken. And at 65 cents a pop, they are affordable enough to order a take-away batch for friends who will undoubtedly be impressed by your command of croqueta perfection.

Ceviche is to South Florida what ice cream is to the rest of the nation: a refreshing, warm-weather treat that comes in so many flavors that Baskin-Robbins is blushing with envy. There is tuna ceviche with crabmeat, shallots, jicama, and black beer sorbet at Ola on Ocean. Salmon with watermelon, sprouts, avocado, and chilies at Chispa. And Cacao wows with chunks of Mexican guachinango fish and poblano peppers. Still, sometimes chocolate and vanilla are more satisfying without the cookie dough and bubblegum, and Captain Jim’s basic ceviche of raw corvina marinated in lime juice with red onions and cilantro is apt to satisfy a craving for this traditional Peruvian specialty in a way the others won’t. Jim Hanson’s Key Largo fleet catches the fish for his own restaurant as well as others in town, so the ceviche is always superfresh. Inexpensive, too ($7.99 per pound). And it won’t melt in the Florida sun.

A fantastic fish sandwich requires just two things: fresh bread and fresh fish. As you enter Heads or Tails, you can watch fishmongers filleting your lunch in the retail portion of the restaurant. That’s fresh. Grab a stool at one of the long counters that line each side of the room and make your decisions: tilapia, grouper, dolphin, or salmon; cleanly fried or griddled with gusto. Lettuce and ripe tomatoes get fluffed into the soft bun, and on the counter are squeeze bottles of condiment sauces that encompass every major color group but blue. Squirt away and create your own edible Jackson Pollock. This is not only a richly rewarding sandwich but also — at $4.99 — a great deal.

When this extraordinary seafood market was evicted from its long-time Watson Island location, Miami lost not only a small piece of its past but also an equally microcosmic yet very pleasant few moments of its multicultural present. Gone are the hordes that used to gather in the scruffy but spacious field that was Casablanca’s parking lot, washing down the market’s zesty conch salad with juices sold at nearby stands. At its new location next to Joe’s and Garcia’s, there are a few parking spaces but no room for hanging out. And the freshly paved road out front and new condo building across the street minimalize any old Miami feel. What fortunately has not been lost: wooden boxes piled high with the most floppin’-fresh fish in the county, at prices that are low to near-miraculous. There is still extraordinary variety — the selection a veritable primer of local seafood. Patrons continue to grab their own mangrove snappers, jacks, bluefish, drums, groupers, yellowtails, et cetera, whole, to be custom-filleted by the veteran counter staff. And if you wipe the frost off the counter’s glass, you will see that the conch salad, though harder to find, is still the same too.

The Setai hotel’s Champagne, Crustacean and Caviar Bar is a raw bar. But it’s a raw bar on steroids. The fruits de mer are here, albeit a more opulent selection than normal — not one but two varieties of chilled lobster tail (Maine and Florida); crisp cold-water oysters ($5 each), such as sweet, delicate Kumamotos, buttery Malpeques, and Fanny Bays (a true aficionado’s favorite, they are complex and saline, with a fruity finish); giant Johna crab claws ($7 each); and so on. But the menu moves on from there to a mini-Best of the West roundup of maximum luxury snacks from both land and sea. With occasional forays into the Eastern world, this feast includes artisan Italian and Spanish coldcuts and cheeses, Iranian caviar, and Balik — smoked salmon of the tsars. Also offered are ultra-elegant cooked plates, including seared walnut/cranberry-crusted foie gras ($30), black truffle bruschetta ($36), and diver scallop tartare with sea urchin and caviar ($34). Prices here are breathtaking, but the kids didn’t really want to go to grad school, anyway.

Why are Americans obese? Blame it on Rich Melman and Jerry Orzoff, two Chicago restaurateurs who, in 1971, installed the first known salad bar in their aptly named J.R. Grunts. Ten billion pounds of mayo-soaked surimi salad later, Americans gleefully waddle from all-you-can-eat salad buffet to all-you-can-eat salad buffet, filling their plates with canned vegetables and their heads with delusions of becoming healthier for it. Hardy-har-har, chubbsies — not gonna happen. It takes a beautiful mind to make you feel good about what you’re eating. No, not your beautiful mind — that’s the name of one of the salads at Afterglo: A Beautiful Mind. It brings a brainstorm of baby romaine leaves, blueberries, walnuts, Brazil nuts, sun-dried Himalayan goji berries, Thai coconut meat, pomegranate-chia seed jelly, and ground raw cacao — all splashed with rosemary, ginkgo, and gotu kola vinaigrette. “Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen” is also a smart, sensual salad, but we would need another page to list all the ingredients. Fact is, the complex, multitexture compositions at this hip South Beach restaurant taste so fantastic it really doesn’t matter that the foodstuffs are grown without chemicals and pesticides, and are chock full of proteins, vitamins, minerals, alkalines, antioxidants, living enzymes, and omega-3 fatty acids. The aim is not to leave here with a rosy glow to your cheeks, but to avoid exiting with mayonnaise dripping down your chin.

Making caesar salad is like playing rock guitar: Everyone does it, but hardly anyone does it well. Joe Allen does caesar salad well. The world’s most popular salad (well, it seems to be, anyway) arrives at your table a study in pastels — pale, crisp inner leaves of romaine under a blizzard of Parmesan cheese studded with crunchy, golden croutons, and tossed with a properly rich, creamy dressing. Unlike some, Joe Allen’s salad ($7 for a small, $13.50 entrée-size) whispers rather than shouts the classic caesar trio of garlic, anchovy, and lemon, leaving your breath acceptable to polite company. During peak hours, you probably will have to shout to be heard by anyone at your table, though; the noise level here can rival that of the most egregiously overamplified rock guitarist.

With its towering translucent blue columns offsetting imposing crystal chandeliers and an all-white décor, o-R-o looks like a Fifties Hollywood set designer’s idea of Heaven. Meaning it is the kind of place where Marilyn Monroe’s soul might hover in a sable stole (bleached white, naturally). It does not seem like the sort of joint where you would find simply heavenly soul food. But chef Christopher Sepe’s fried chicken is to die for. A whipped egg-white batter makes the coating impossibly crisp yet light, giving all the sinful gratification of normal breading without the burden of the grease. This near-miraculous crust also protects the white meat of the quarter-bird, so the breast portion is as delectable and juicy as the leg and thigh. A mushroom-studded country gravy imparts even more moisture. But be prepared to wait until you have one foot in the grave for your order; it would seem that since opening at the end of last year, o-R-o has hosted a considerably larger crowd than anticipated and servers simply can’t keep up. Fortunately the tag for this entrée is down-to-earth — just eighteen bucks — so while you’re waiting in limbo, it’s easy to blow the bank on something more typically Hollywood-heavenly, like a little spoon-size $250 portion of Iranian caviar served in a crystal Fabergé egg.

It slowly turns, browning to perfection, becoming so tender it falls off the bone. The chicken at this Peruvian grill will take you back to the glory days of Lima’s La Granja Azul. And though no chicken outside Peru could ever match what you got in Santa Clara, El Pollon makes for a tasty alternative. And it beats getting on a plane or trying to go back in time (especially since a whole chicken with a side costs just about $10 here). Be sure to ask for fries too. They’re the hard-to-find real-potato kind, and they come with traditional dipping sauces, such as huancaína and aji. Order an Inca Kola and reminisce or simply enjoy your meal.

Fact: Our planet is home to more chickens than people. And just as all men are not created equal, neither are all fowls. Don’t believe us? Strut over to Sports Grill and order a platter of wings (10 pieces for $7.50; 16 for $10.80; 25 for $16.25) and then say we lie. One look at these monstrous, plump limbs and you would be forgiven for thinking the owners of this eighteen-year-old Kendall eatery had a full-time clucker-squad scouring the globe in search of the fattest birds alive. Okay, size isn’t everything (yeah, right!), but these beasts also taste as succulent as they look. Wings are plain grilled — so not dripping with grease — and served unadorned. Simple yet, ah, so delicious! Sink your gnashes into the Grill’s ever-popular “special grilled,” or get saucy with the likes of Buffalo, barbecue, or garlic flavor. To those who rarely leave the Beach, Kendall might seem like a world away, but then Sport’s Grill’s wings are a world away from ordinary.

David Baglin is on a roll. Earlier this year he won Most Edible Hot Chili at Homestead/Florida City’s annual Super Chili-Bowl Cook-Off. Last year he took first place at the Springs River Festival in Miami Springs after securing second in 2003. The 45-year-old Baglin credits his grandmother’s secret family recipe for his good fortune. “No one made better chili than my grandma,” Baglin brags. “I compete in all the cookouts.” Baglin, a part-time airline mechanic, has been competing in chili cook-offs for more than seven years, but he didn’t parlay his spicy skills into a culinary enterprise until 2003. “I’ve been to Chicago, Philly, New York,” he reveals. “You can find a great chili dog in those cities. So I decided to start selling my own chili dog.” He began with Cheyenne Lee’s Food Wagon, working as a vendor at the Dade County Youth Fair, the Air and Sea Show in Fort Lauderdale, the Coconut Grove Arts Festival, and other family-oriented special events in South Florida. Today you can sample Baglin’s chili at the Cheyenne Lee lunch counter in the food court of the Prime Outlets mall in Florida City. The mall is on East Palm Drive just east of South Dixie Highway where the Florida Turnpike ends. For $4, you can buy a bowl of chili or a chili pie, a deliciously wicked serving of chili piled atop Fritos corn chips. Cough up $6 and you can get a one-pound mound of chili and cheese atop a monster hot dog. Mmmm, good!

A new McDonald’s opens somewhere in the world every six hours, which means there are lots of bad burgers being eaten around the globe. And that makes the big, juicy, nine-ounce Black Angus hamburger at Clarke’s Miami Beach all the more special. Just looking at it, coddled in a puffy poppy seed bun with crisp bacon, sautéed mushrooms, melted Swiss cheese, crunchy green lettuce, a bright red tomato slice, and ribbons of red onion, brings a tear of joy to a burger lover’s eye. In the age of fast food, sights like this are becoming downright anachronistic. Thin, crisp fries and crunchy homemade coleslaw on the side hit the spot too. Clarke’s provides a great backdrop for your burger, the neighborhood pub boasting a big mahogany bar and a cozy array of brick, wood, and mirrors. Can’t ask for better beverages, either: Beers include Harp, Bass, Guinness, and Yuengling, a Pennsylvania lager from the oldest brewery in America. Grape lovers can snub the suds and choose from 100 reasonably priced bottles of wine, 17 of which are poured by the glass. Those who think $9.95 is too much for a great hamburger, take heart: If McDonald’s current pace of growth continues, there should be a franchise in your living room real soon.

You have your turkey burger, chicken burger, tofu burger, tempeh burger, Boca burger, Garden burger, soy burger, veggie burger, but it took a creative mind over at Sara’s Vegetarian Café to think of substituting falafel for chopped beef. The “burgerito” here features a soft challah bun bursting with a delicately fried, parsley-happy chickpea patty; lettuce; tomato; onion; pickle; sauerkraut; tahini sauce; and a dash of devilish hot sauce if requested. It is kosher, vegetarian, and absolutely one of the tastiest sandwiches you will ever have. And a steal at $4.50. Plus it sounds really neat to say, “I’ll have a couple of burgeritos, please.”

The perfect French fry is a thing of true beauty. It should be skinny, but not so skinny as to upset its delicate balance of textures. It must be golden, not too pale, not too brown. Of course it must be crisp, typically the result of frying at least twice (once to seal the exterior and mostly cook the inside, the second time to add crispness and color). It must also be creamy on the inside; equally important, it absolutely must not be greasy. It must be fried in clean oil and be properly salted, which is to say aggressively but not so much it obscures the mild potato flavor. The fries, or to be more precise, frites, at this budget-chic Kendall bistro meet all of these requirements. These classic frites accompany, quite appropriately, a slab of grilled rib eye (less than $20), though you could be forgiven for casting aside the meat and concentrating on these deliciously addictive sticks of crisp potato.

The National Hot Dog and Sausage Council estimates Americans will eat more than seven billion little red tubes of “specially selected meat trimmings” between Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends. Most will come fluffed in the traditional white hot-dog bun that H.L. Mencken once described as being made “of ground acorns, plaster of Paris, flecks of bath sponge, and atmospheric air.” We wouldn’t have it any other way, because if there is one thing Americans agree on, it’s that we like our dogs simply prepared and plopped into a plain white wiener-shape roll. That’s how they’ve been doing it at Arbetter’s since 1960 (it moved to the current location in 1972). The lifting of the mostly pork frankfurter from its steamy water bath provides a hot-dog traditionalist with no less mouthwatering anticipation than a fine diner feels when witnessing the removal of his lobster from its tank in a high-class seafood house. The menu is as simple as it gets: hot dog with tangy relish ($1.60), kraut dog with mustard and sauerkraut ($1.70), chili onion dog ($1.75), and “all around dog” with mustard, onion, and relish ($1.45). Don’t be shy when ordering — the franks here are small enough that you can eat up to four in one sitting. The best of all dogs is the hot dog: It feeds the hand that bites it. And the best of all hot dogs are the precious pink pups at Arbetter’s.

Proprietor Salvatore Squadrito wants to fatten you up. That’s the conclusion you reach once you’re served any one of his pasta dishes. You get loads of silver-dollar-size ravioli. You get baseball-size meatballs in your spaghetti. You get heaping mounds of baked ziti. All of it made with the sweetest, tangiest tomato sauce this side of Napoli.

When it comes to Chinese take-out, some produce powerful essence and others do not. And it is vital the food magically permeates your automobile’s interior with that uniquely intoxicating aroma we like to call essence of carry-out Chinese. What, exactly, causes this heavenly fragrance? Perhaps a beneficent god. Perhaps MSG, red dye #9, or something else we would rather not know about. What we do know is that often the meals with mojo come not from fancy restaurants but humbler joints, like King Palace, where specialties are Chinese barbecue and fresh seafood from the eatery’s live tanks. Décor here is nearly nonexistent; the only thing you will miss by not eating in is the realization that almost all of your fellow diners are Asian. So order your goodies (especially recommended: clams with black bean sauce [$11.95]; lightly breaded salt-and-pepper crab heaped with diced chilies; live lobster [$17.95 per pound] or fish with green onion and ginger; crackling-covered crisp pork [$7.50 per pound]; and garlic-sautéed water spinach) to go. And enjoy the drive home.

Saag paneer. Chana masala. Rogan josh. Chicken tikka masala. Bengun bharta. If these words mean nothing to you, immediately get in your car and drive north. You have not yet experienced the mix of spice, ginger, vegetables, or meat, cooked with a touch of cream and carefully spooned over fragrant basmati rice that we so fondly know as curry. Precede it with a samosa. Accompany it with a tangy lassi. Soak up the remainders with fresh-baked nan. Nirvana doesn’t come close to describing how happy this will make you. Most curries cost from $10.95 to 12.95. Kebab also has a lunch buffet for $8.99.

Ever since Bill O’Reilly uttered the romantic phrase “and then I would take the other hand with the falafel thing and I’d put it on your …” — well, we understand if getting back into eating the fried chickpea balls has been difficult. It may help to think of the Middle Eastern snack in a more biblical sense. With roots in the cities of Bethlehem, Nazareth, and Jerusalem, falafel was eaten by Abraham, Mohammad, and Moses. Apparently Jesus demurred. Archaeologists have even found traces of seasoned chickpeas in the tombs of pharaohs. If you still can’t get over the O’Reilly factor, try going to Pita Plus and meeting your fears head-on. The crisp, never greasy spheres of falafel, along with a zesty salad of cucumber and tomato, are slipped inside freshly grilled pita bread. The sandwich is then slathered with hummus and tahini. The South Beach branch features tables on Washington Avenue as well as a funky patio out back. The Aventura outpost is located in the back of Loehmann’s Fashion Island, an ideal spot to recuperate after a busy session at the discount clothing emporium. No spin-zone here: Pita Plus makes a better falafel than anyone else. And at $5.07, it’s a cheaper thrill than phone sex.

Nowadays the 210-acre enclave south of Fifth Street, which used to be a no man’s land populated by graffiti and panhandlers, is indisputably Myles Chefetz’s land. The Miami native has marked his territory with four of the most popular restaurants in Miami Beach — Nemo, Big Pink, Shoji Sushi, and Prime One Twelve. When Chefetz, a former real estate attorney, opened Nemo, his first South Florida spot, in 1995, it shared space with a boarded-up crack house. The area has improved, but it seems nothing can deter his insatiable appetite for accomplishing what he set out to do. Not even Mother Nature. Even without power in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, his crew was still at it, slinging burgers off a grill set up on a Second Street sidewalk.

What is your greatest triumph?

That’s a pretty general question. I mean, there are a lot of them. To be able to loan my family money when they need it. How about to be able to loan my family money when they need it — without interest!

The Argentines have tasty empanadas, wonderful chorizos, delightful sweetbreads, and charming ceviches. But let’s quickly establish one thing: A true Argentine culinary experience is a steak-eating experience. Argentina is, after all, a place where eating a decent rib eye is a birthright. For the penultimate carnivore splurge in South Florida, head to The Knife in Coconut Grove. With its thriving community of exiled Argentines, the Magic City has numerous parillas that serve heaping platters of red meat. But what is extra-special about The Knife — a bright, airy, no-frills upstairs joint with a giant barbecue pit in the middle — is the price. For $23.85 at dinnertime Monday through Thursday, and $25.95 Friday through Sunday, or for even less at lunchtime ($17.95 Monday through Friday, $20.95 on weekends), you can chow on as much churrasco, strip steak, and filet mignon as you want. It will tempt you, but don’t waste stomach space on the bread: Your meal also includes unlimited trips to the salad bar, as well as a beverage (two glasses of beer or one bottle of wine per person), dessert, and coffee (you will need this, trust us). All in all, for anyone who likes steak, a trip to The Knife is a mind- and stomach-expanding experience. It’s open late — from noon till 11:00 p.m. on weekdays, till midnight on weekends.

This is one of those books-by-the-cover things. If you glanced at this nondescript Japanese market while fighting the endless traffic on Coral Way, you would have no way of knowing that inside is a tiny dining room surrounded by shelves of chopsticks, pottery, and produce — a prime destination for superlative Japanese cuisine. Though sushi is obviously a large part of the restaurant’s focus (like, duh!), flip through the massive illustrated menu and all sorts of good things will jump out at you. Like fabulous shiso-wrapped uni tempura and light, flaky sea bass with silken yuzu butter sauce. All the usual sushi suspects are first-rate (and cheap, too, most less than $3 apiece). More inventive variations on a theme, like slices of yellowfin tuna anointed with a subtle sauce of yuzu, soy, and olive oil, rival the creations of any pricey sushi emporium on the Beach.

Asia Bay brings a big bang for the buck. A bowl of miso soup is $2. House salad or steamed edamame is $3. Most of the other starters don’t cost more than $8, and dozens of entrées served with soup or salad go for less than $15 — including steak teriyaki, chicken tempura, shrimp pad thai, and sizable bowls of soba or udon noodle soup. For $16 you can create your own three-item Japanese box dinner. There are 66 splendid sushi and sashimi items from which to select too. Medium-size rolls are just $5 to $10 and range from routine (California, futomaki) to rowdy (crunchy katsu with deep-fried chicken). Lunch delivers an even deeper discount: six pieces of sashimi, three pieces of sushi, half a California roll, steak teriyaki, and miso soup or salad for $12. Though the final bill might suggest bargain-basement fare, the quality of cuisine is sky-high — deftly prepared, pristinely presented, and bursting with bright, cleanly delineated flavors. By charging such reasonable prices, Asia Bay has removed the only obstacle to eating sushi out every night. How does one say “thank you” in Japanese?

The best time to visit Carnaval is weekdays from noon to 3:00 p.m. Why? Every Monday through Friday this market offers a hot lunch buffet that features different homemade dishes, from traditional specialties like feijoada to adopted Brazilian favorites such as beef stroganoff. Choose from anything on the buffet for only $7.50 per pound; then grab one of the coveted indoor seats and tuck in. Even if you can’t make it during lunchtime, this place serves great snacks — warm pão de quiejo as well as empanadas and panini sandwiches — all day. And if your sweet tooth is aching for some treats, get there early and grab some brigadeiros before they run out. Of course, Carnaval’s shelves are well stocked with a wide selection of Brazilian products — including guaraná and requeijão — if you prefer cooking at home.

What hamburgers are to Americans, roti is to many Caribbean islanders. In Trinidad and Guyana, roti is considered soul food, and few places outside the islands do it better than Caribbean Delite. This hole-in-the-wall is embedded in a strip mall that amounts to a miniature Caribbean district. Reggae music blasts from the record store down the way, and Jamaicans emerge from the shop next door, carrying grease-stained brown paper bags stuffed with hot beef patties. Caribbean Delite serves up spicy saffron-color curried meats like chicken, beef, goat, and shrimp with a generous dollop of curried potatoes and chickpeas (also eggplant, cabbage, and pumpkin if you come on a Thursday). These dishes — accompanied by paratha, a scrumptiously soft flatbread also known as buss-up-shut — are traditionally scooped up by hand. Succulent chickpea-filled doubles cost $1. For a more filling meal, consider a shrimp roti for $7 or feast on curried boneless chicken with paratha roti for $6.50. But roti is not Caribbean Delite’s only specialty. It also sells pholourie, fried balls of dough that you dip into zesty mango chutney. For dessert, try some sweet-and-sour tamarind balls, or khurma, sticks of crisp fried dough sprinkled with ginger and sugar. Check out the well-stocked cooler of carbonated beverages, which can be difficult to find in the United States, such as Jamaican favorites grapefruit-flavor Ting, red-orange Kola Champagne, and sorrel, a customary yuletide brew made from crimson blossoms. The glass cabinet at the store’s counter contains myriad strange island imports, like mauby, a concentrated concoction made from tree bark; and Milo, a chocolaty drink known and loved throughout the archipelago.

Yes, it is in a strip mall. Yes, the red lanterns and waiters’ uniforms remind you a little bit of a James Bond movie, somehow. But the food … the aroma of mushrooms wafting from a bubbling clay pot, of shrimp nestled deliciously in semitransparent dumpling wraps, of kung pao tofu with a hint of pork and mini chili peppers. Tropical is authentic Chinese and classic Miami. Go for dim sum on the weekends as well. The average cost of entrées is from $12 to $20.

We like to visit this clean little two-year-old Colombian joint in a nondescript East Little Havana strip mall Sunday afternoons, when the mondongo and sancocho ($5.50 each with rice) are at their zenith. These soups are the basis of the weekend diet in Bogot‡ and beyond — and here they are cooked to perfection, particularly the tripe in the mondongo. Indeed Colombianos from across Miami-Dade County, at least the patriotic ones, make their way here to enjoy the Aguila and Club Colombia Beer ($2.75 per bottle) while they nibble on bread and talk of home. Visitors with hearty appetites order the churrasco, a paragon of meaty perfection, which comes with a baked potato and salad for $8.95. The lucky ones get to chat with Amparo Valencia, the owner who hails from Armenia, which, in case you didn’t know, is a city in the west-central mountains of Colombia.

Admittedly this new neighborhood café’s Cuban specialties are spotlighted only at lunchtime, when Cuban-American co-owner Margarita Vasallo is the kitchen dominatrix. Although the menu is limited to sandwiches, starters, and a few full-size entrées, all items are of high quality — and are the real thing. Dishes include several typical Cuban beef cuts, a fish and soup of the day, and one or two more labor-intensive Cuban specials — perhaps hefty rabo encendido or ropa vieja. Any deviations from tradition are imaginative improvements, such as pan con bistec ($5.95 to $6.95) served with a choice of three steaks (palomilla, breaded palomilla, or churrasco), topped with fashionable mixed-veggie Terra Stix instead of canned potato sticks, and accompanied by a mesclun, rather than iceberg lettuce, side salad. The $3.50 serving of sopa de pollo (richly flavorful broth packed with poultry, calabaza, corn on the cob, and much more) is to normal chicken soup as the University of Miami’s bulked-up ibis is to Tweety Bird. And the impossibly creamy house croquetas ($1.50 each) are nothing short of a ticket to Heaven for the price of a bus ride.

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

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

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

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

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

This humble neighborhood trattoria in Aventura boasts all the attributes one seeks in Italian dining: simple, rustic Tuscan décor; friendly, knowledgeable, efficient service; a great selection of “25 wines for $25”; and, most pertinent, perfectly executed Italian cooking. Chef/owner Neal Cooper’s streamlined style of cuisine reflects the European tradition of freshness over flair and the Old World idea that honest ingredients are beautiful as is. In other words, Il Migliore’s spaghetti pomodoro needs only sweet, ripe, fire engine red tomatoes to impress. Eggy fettuccine noodles rely simply on earthy wild mushrooms and a light perfume of white truffle oil. Juicy slices of grilled skirt steak, tenderloin of pork, and lamb chops are minimally, and quite seductively, dressed in varying outfits of garlic, lemon, olive oil, and fresh herbs. Hell, this place would have to be considered one of our finest eateries if only for its crunchy, golden brown homemade French fries that come absolutely inundated with fresh herbs. Main courses are heartily portioned, yet almost all are priced less than $20.

Neil Simon once said the only three sureties in life are death, taxes, and everybody loves Italian food. That explains why it is tough getting a table at Macaluso’s. After all, in this town nobody cooks up better booty from the boot-shape country than this strip-mall restaurant on Alton Road. “Just say no” is the mantra here: No lunch hours, no reservations, no menus, no substitutions. Yet when it comes to chef/owner Michael Vito D’Andrea’s Staten Island take on homespun Italian classics, all one can say is yes, yes, yes. Aromas of garlic and tomatoes waft from the open kitchen into the spare, square, osteria-style dining room, and so do thin-crust pizzas bearing golden edges, al dente pastas embellished with just enough sauce, and house specialties such as fluffy meatballs, prodigious prawns perked with spicy hot peppers, and a peerless tiramisu. Appetizers range from $10 to $20, entrées from $19 to $38. Waiters are well versed in the menu (they have to be; it’s their job to recite it in full to each table) and knowledgeable about the wide range of Italian wines. Drink up — the only other things you have to look forward to are death and taxes.

If the tasty, inexpensive food at this hole-in-the-wall located in the back of a Jamaican market is not enough reason to journey to the far-off reaches of Kendall, the chance to hang out and schmooze with proprietor Audrey “Mama” Chai surely should get your rear in gear. As delightful as her modest little eatery, she will make you feel like a family friend who just dropped by for a meal. And a good meal it will be. Dig into callaloo with saltfish, a sturdy soup that eats like a stew, featuring the spinachlike callaloo and chunks of pungent salt cod. Or get your saltfish with creamy, buttery ackee, a staple fruit of Jamaican cuisine with the texture of softly scrambled eggs. Jerk chicken and goat curry are Caribbean comfort food, Mama’s home cookin’. For a really great deal, check out the lunch specials available until 2:00 p.m. priced at only $5.75.

You might think tacos are the specialty here — they usually are at tacquerías. Plus this place serves eight types, including spicy pork, steam-cooked beef, and roast chicken, as well as a mean brain taco, but we mention that only so you will note this joint’s allegiance to authenticity. But what sets Taquerías el Mexicano apart from other local south-of-the-border eateries is not only its tasty take on tacos, tostadas, and tamales, but also harder-to-find specialties such as braised lamb, spare ribs in hot sauce, succulent roast pork, and a slew of robust chicken stews. There are seven brands of Mexican beers to choose from too, but that’s not all: Breakfast here is the bomb. Try the chilaquiles, which are tortilla chips simmered in green sauce and smothered in scrambled eggs, cheese, sour cream, rice, and beans. That’s quite a meal for $4.95, and a buck more will bring an exemplary café con leche. Can you say that about your favorite Mexican restaurant?

Like many of their countrymen, Carlos and Rosalina Martinez fled their native Nicaragua in the summer of 1979, within days of the Sandinistas’ taking control of the civil-war-ravaged nation. There was no way the couple would have remained in their homeland, considering Carlos was one of a handful of West Point-educated captains enlisted in Anastasio Somoza Debayle’s reviled national guard. “I didn’t even know how to fry an egg before coming to Miami,” Rosalina reveals. “But we had to find a way to earn a living.” In 1981 husband and wife opened El Masayita, named after their Nicaraguan hometown. The only local Nica restaurant with more longevity than El Masayita is venerable steak house Los Ranchos. Located in Little Havana, El Masayita is also more moderately priced than its high-end counterpart. A churrasco dinner costs only $10, while a seafood platter of pescado a la tipi tapa is a reasonable $14. On the weekends, El Masayita makes other popular Nicaraguan dishes such as bajo (shredded pork meat with yuca and salad) for $7, vigoron (salad and yuca) for $3, and small and large cups of sopa de mondongo (a creamy broth made with tripe) for $3.50 and $6, respectively.

It often seems that with ethnic cuisine, the less obvious and ornate the location, the better the food. Salmon Salmon is discreetly tucked into an unassuming strip mall near Miami International Airport. The small interior is decorated with a few gold Inca plates, and fishing nets cover the ceiling. But patrons do not come to Salmon Salmon for an extravagant dinner served on a silver platter and sided by sumptuous silverware; the home-style Peruvian cooking is the real gem here. Although seafood dominates the menu, salmon accounts for only a few dishes — the place is named after its founder, Fabio Salmon. Peruse the menu while snacking on a sinus-clearing aji picante dipping sauce and bread. Allow your taste buds to recover, and then order the ceviche — a must when indulging in Peruvian fare. For $12.75, you will receive a platter of citrus-tinged ceviche topped with sliced onions and potato chunks. Eat the dish as it comes or add a heaping of seafood fit for Atahualpa himself. Other meal options include huancaína potatoes, clams topped with onions and tomatoes, oyster cocktail, octopus, and all kinds of seafood chicharrón. Several of the plates are cooked creole-style, such as the pasta with beef tips and seafood. Although you will not find any poultry at Salmon Salmon, the skirt steak will satisfy any carnivorous cravings. Tender, chewy sautéed tips of beef are as delicious as they are affordable — $14.25 for a dish large enough for two.

From the white-linen tablecloths to the black-suited waiters, everything about Casa Paco screams expensive. But this restaurant, long as it is on atmosphere and excellent food, is shockingly cheap. A diner can easily make a full meal out of the excellent tapas offered at Casa Paco; one standout is the alcachofas salteadas, artichoke hearts sautéed in olive oil with chunks of Serrano ham (a heaping portion, served in a cast-iron pan, costs $10). But many entrées hover around the $10 mark as well, with some real delicacies offered at half the price you would expect. For instance, the Basque-style black grouper (cooked in a white seafood sauce and garnished with hard-boiled eggs and white asparagus) costs only $13. Almost all the lunch specials are less than $10.

Just when know-it-alls think it’s safe to categorically poo-poo all Thai/sushi joints as cheesy hybrid sell-outs, a place like Oishi (translation: delicious) comes along. Since moving from Thailand in 1993, opening a first-rate restaurant has been the dream of chef/owner Piyarat B. Arreeratn (just call him Bee). The place’s class is apparent before the first bite thanks to a tastefully sophisticated décor devoid of gaudy gilt elephants or The King and I paraphernalia. The cooking is equally classy. Thai entrées are authentically complex and balanced — rich red curries ($8.95 lunch, $19.95 dinner) and sweet/salty/slightly tangy Panang curries ($8.95 lunch, $14.95 dinner) are especially tasty. Most dishes are available with your choice of meat, poultry, or seafood. Choose seafood; Bee hits the local docks twice daily for the freshest of fish. The impeccable quality of ingredients makes Oishi’s sushi component more than equal to the Thai food. We suggest ordering from the list of chef specials, which are imaginative fusion dishes inspired by his stint at Nobu — but they cost much less than the originals.

If you’re hungering for a reasonably priced hunk of expertly grilled churrasco, juicy blood sausage, or succulent sweetbreads, you head to your favorite Argentine restaurant, right? Wrong, or at least you should consider dining at Zuperpollo. Located on Coral Way just minutes from downtown Miami, this cozy Uruguayan eatery has been dishing up some of the tastiest parrillada this side of Montevideo for almost twenty years. It may look like a hole-in-the-wall from the outside, but inside, this cozy restaurant is clean, inviting, and usually packed. And not without good reason. The fare is heartily portioned, all homemade, and consistently fresh, and dinner will not break the bank — in fact it will barely even make a dent. Mixed barbecue for two — a sizzling platter laden with flank steak, churrasco, chicken, sweetbreads, blood sausage, sausage, and English short ribs — costs $25.95. Served with your choice of two sides — the purée is creamy and downright delicious — and hands-down the best chimichurri in town, this fabulous feast will leave you rubbing your stomach and wondering how to say “doggy bag” in Spanish. If bloody slabs of red meat are not your thing, don’t worry: Zuperpollo has something equally delectable for you too. Choose from an array of housemade pastas, sandwiches, traditional Latino appetizers, or chicken, which is served no less than 50 different ways ($7.95 to $10.95). Wash it down with an ice-cold beer or a glass of wine, and you’ll be bidding buenas noches to Buenos Aires before you know it.

In past years, this category has operated much like the Democratic presidential primaries, the winner plucked from a weak field of uninspired contenders. Ginger Grove has uprooted that notion, planting itself firmly as one of South Florida’s sassiest Asian options. And prettiest, too, with floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping around the curved perimeter of the room, which is outfitted in bamboo, weaves, natural wood, and a cool collection of hanging Buddha heads. Chef Christian Plotczyk made his mark with China Grill Management, and the menu here presents a similar sampling of modernized, Americanized, highly inventive Chinese, Japanese, and Thai cooking. Seared Szechuan pepper duck breast is tantalizingly glazed with tamarind sauce. Miso-marinated butter fish is contrasted with tempura shisito peppers. Braised Kurobuta pork belly — simply and unspeakably delectable. Every dish is a winner, and entrée prices peak at an extremely reasonable $21. Service shines too, and the eclectic wine list is rife with distinguished vintners. All of the above make Ginger Grove a landslide choice as the finest dining destination in the area. Now if only the Democrats could come up with so strong a contender.

Trix are for kids. So are Cocoa Puffs, Cap’n Crunch, Froot Loops, and so many of the 35 hot and cold cereals served here. But it’s the fixings that are likely to spark your child’s gifted imagination, some 50 sweet toppings including mini Milky Way bars, Oreo cookies, malt balls, Reese’s Pieces, gummy bears — you get the idea. The youngsters will get to play with fresh and dried fruits, nuts, and strangely flavored syrups (like peanut butter) too. Then again, you might want the professionals on premises to bring one of their more mature, predetermined “Cereal Bowl” combinations. Say, for instance, a Frostbite composed of Frosted Mini-Wheats, Frosted Cheerios, and Frosted Flakes with Snowcaps, coconut flakes, and marshmallows. Or a “Hot Bowl” called “Don’t Cake My Heart”: oatmeal, pound cake, white frosting, sprinkles, and a maraschino cherry on top. There are saner and healthier combinations, too, as well as oatmeal smoothies and cereal shakes (“Thrilla in Vanilla” blends Rice Krispies and yogurt). Prices are children-friendly: A 16-ounce bowl is $2.99, a 32-ouncer goes for $3.49, and Cereal Bowl selections cost from $3.29 to $3.79. A coffee bar, Internet access, and newspapers are on hand for parental units who are, quite frankly, more prone to getting excited over Cocoa Krispies than their kids. Plasma TV sets offer cartoons and, for laughs, CNN.

There is talk that Norman’s ain’t what it used to be. That the more time Mr. Van Aken spends overseeing his growing restaurant empire, the less attention he can pay his flagship Gables operation. It all makes for easy cocktail conversation, but those who have actually dined at Norman’s lately can attest it remains one of South Florida’s finest establishments. It’s true Norman is not as involved as he used to be, and it’s also a fact it’s been more than twelve years since this brash Mango Gang chef first banged out his breathtaking New World cuisine. We have since taken it for granted that our bounty of tropical produce, fresh seafood, and Caribbean/Latin ingredients and influences can be merged into vibrant and delectable foods, but it was a radical idea when Norman and a handful of other local chefs first proclaimed it. And it remains important in the context of American regional cooking. Norman’s cuisine still exhilarates; the front-of-house staff, service, and wine list still excel as well. Stormin’ Norman may have left the building, but his namesake restaurant still sets the bar for provocative, professional dining in Coral Gables.

Chef/owner Dewey LoSasso changes his menu with the seasons, but everything else about North One 10 remains comfortably consistent. Wife Dale oversees one of the most professionally serviced dining rooms in town and promotes an ambitious wine list via special nights and flights. And night after night, the creative contemporary cuisine boasts audacious but honest combinations of fresh, local ingredients. Beefsteak tomatoes come embellished with salty prosciutto ham, a sweet/tart triangle of goat cheese bržlée, and an earthy, roasted garlic-pine nut vinaigrette. Penne pasta is luxuriously bathed in boneless short ribs, foie gras, and demi-glace. Mahogany-skin roast duck is vibrantly garnished with sun-dried figs, Gorgonzola cheese, and orange-lavender sauce. Desserts are no less dashing, though this is such a wine-friendly place you might want to finish your bottle with a “blues and Brie” cheese plate. North One 10 is people-friendly too; Dale and staff are so personable that after one visit, you will feel as though you have been a customer for years. Prices are moderate (most entrées between $20 and $30), and a daily supper menu from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. offers a three-course meal for $28 per person. That is, as the early birds like to chirp, “Cheap! Cheap!”

With restaurants such as Nobu, Casa Tua, Talula, Pacific Time, Prime 112, Vix, OLA, o-R-o, et al., it would be easy to forget about Mark’s South Beach. After all, the stylish Deco restaurant is tucked away invisibly in the boutique Hotel Nash, and namesake culinarian Mark Militello is the quietest of star chefs. Also, many of the aforementioned spots have had splashy openings and attendant press coverage within the past couple of years, but Mark’s has been excelling since 2000. Although this fact should be a plus, it has relegated the restaurant to yesterday’s news. Fact is, Militello’s menu of Caribbean-, Mediterranean-, and Latin American-influenced cuisine is as up-to-date and relevant as any in town, and executive chef Larry LaValley orchestrates the sunny fare with a consistently deft touch (he is as underrated as the venue). The food here is light, delicate, brilliantly conceived, and meticulously crafted. Witness the cracked conch ceviche-style scorched with vanilla rum. Or line-caught Gulf pompano with rock shrimp and ethereal vegetable agnolotti ($38). Or black grouper in sweet herb broth with baby artichoke potato hash and blue crab rémoulade ($30). Every note on the menu is played cleanly. Pastry chef Juan Villaparedes shines, too, and uses El Rey chocolates to create unimaginably luscious treats. The wine list boasts an array of mid- to high-end bottles from Old and New World vintners, and offers two dozen selections by the glass. Service is among the most polished in town. The overall dining experience here is simply superb. And very memorable. Which means that the only folks who will forget about Mark’s place are those who’ve never dined here.

Thanu “Joe” Sinevang and his daughter Lena Sumonthee found success after moving from Bangkok to America, and still more success after relocating their Origin Asian Bistro from South Beach to South Miami. The small square dining room hardly prepares diners for the big, round flavors inherent in chef Sinevang’s mouthwatering menu of Thai, Japanese, Korean, Cambodian, and Chinese compositions. Sushi, sashimi, carpaccios, and tartares are splendidly fresh, but that is just the beginning — there are plenty of other pickled, peppered, piquant pleasures to come. Crescents of sweet ripe papaya frame charred slices of rare filet mignon. Pan-roasted salmon is soothed by velvety saffron curry sauce. Fat-as-doorknob sea scallops are folded into ethereal custard and then steamed in a banana leaf. Sumonthee manages a well-trained waitstaff; a full bar slings specialty tropical drinks that in the old days would come with parasols, and prices are moderate — in the $20 to $30 range for main courses. SoBe’s loss is SoMi’s gain.

You probably have no idea there is a parade of great food marching through Vida’s seductive dining room five nights a week. Duck magret over Granny Smith risotto. Char-grilled Bahamian wahoo with grape tomato vinaigrette. Panko-crusted prawns atop chilled peanut vermicelli. These very dishes could conceivably compose the first three courses of an always-changing prix-fixe menu. The meal progresses from light to hearty, with red meats such as Wagyu steak, farm-raised venison, and pecan-crusted rabbit loin following the fish courses in step. Luscious desserts such as bananas Foster cake with brûlée topping compose the festive finale. A seven-course dinner is $75, five courses cost $65, and $40 brings a three-course meal. A five-glass flight, ordered à la carte, is $50. Service is intensely attentive yet appropriately discreet. This is not the sort of dining you will want to partake of every evening, but keep Vida fixed on your radar for any special occasion. Particularly a romantic one.

What other food court features professionally trained culinary school students preparing your meal? Don’t rack your brain: The answer is none. The Mix, located on the North Miami campus of Johnson & Wales, not only has an enviable pool of talented workers from which to draw, but also the bright lineup of ethnic food stalls is more dashingly designed than those you are likely to find in airports and malls. The categories of cuisine proffered are similar to the norm — coffee and pastries, subs, Tex-Mex, Mediterranean — but the menu changes daily at each of the eateries, and foodstuffs offered are more ambitious than most. Meats slowly roasted on a rotisserie, seafood items sizzled on a grill, and pizzas and pastas baked in an open-hearth oven are especially noteworthy. But something else makes The Mix unique among food courts: After lunch, you can peer into nearby classroom/kitchens and watch the chefs of tomorrow fidgeting with chickens and things.

Duluth’s feisty alternative newspaper, if it has one, probably doesn’t accord a Best Outdoor Dining award in its annual roundup of the city’s finest. That’s one reason we don’t live in Duluth, Minnesota. Miami, on the other hand, features a plethora of al fresco restaurants all year round. How can one choose among so many options? Hint: Select the surroundings with the best food, wine, and service. Talula is that place. The canopied garden patio, which seats 55, is lushly landscaped, luminously lit, and — in summer — tented and air-conditioned. The contemporary American cuisine of chef/owners Frank Randazzo and Andrea Curto-Randazzo likewise shines. In fact you really don’t need to feel the warm night breeze caressing your face in order to fall in love with a starter of cascabel-crusted barbecue quail with brandy-porcini demi-glace, or with crisply fried Chesapeake Bay oysters with watermelon-blackened corn salsita. And entrées such as sake-marinated Alaskan halibut with miso-orange glaze, or porcini-crusted venison loin with truffle-parsnip puree, would be luxuriously delicious even if eaten in a dark, dank alley. Appetizers range from $8 to $18, main courses $24 to $32. Service is as friendly as you would find in Duluth (they are very polite out there), and Sunday wine specials bring discounts on the savvy global selection. Look hard enough and you can probably find a grander open-air setting for dinner, but you will not discover a better outdoor dining experience than the one Talula consistently delivers.

Shuckers is a dive in the most gloriously comfortable and time-worn sense of the word. Boaters, beachgoers, and tired worker bees are all habitués of this outdoor bar/restaurant. You don’t need a platinum card or a tie to gain entrance; you simply need to know how to navigate the mazelike parking lot of the North Bay Village Best Western. If you can do that (just follow the sound of the jukebox or of pool balls clicking on the coin-operated table), you will find one of the best waterfront views in Miami and a chance to eat fresh grouper or snapper fillets ($8 with a side of French fries) without taking out a new mortgage.

It’s not so much the sweeping view of an iridescent Miami skyline that excites the senses — though no place in the city offers a better scenic setting. Rather it’s the outdoor dining patio’s location adjacent to the water, which provides a rare, eye-level view of passing freighters, fishing boats, speed boats, dinghies, and yachts. It gives the sensation you are sitting right inside the skyline; that’s what gets the juices flowing. And flowing some more once you grab a cocktail from a bar that wraps itself around a giant banyan tree. This a popular late-afternoon gathering spot — especially during Friday’s happy hour when downtown workers flock to Big Fish like pelicans to dock posts. But atmosphere is not the only draw here; most of the faithful clientele come for hearty portions of fresh Southern Italian-accented seafood and pastas. Catches include sea bass with roast peppers and fennel ($32); crisply fried whole yellowtail ($23); a mixed grill for two that includes a plethora of crackly crustaceans ($64); and possibly the plushest, lushest crabcakes south of Maryland. Pillows of porcini-filled agnolotti ($23) and homemade tagliolini with shaved truffles ($17) serve as savory reminders that this is not just a seafood house. When seeking waterfront dining that combines picturesque visuals with delectable victuals, you need not fish around: This is your spot.

To say this place looks like a million bucks would be to vastly underestimate the money invested. To describe in detail the gray stone walls tweaked with teak and bronze accents, expansive exhibition kitchen, lofty ceilings, plushly pillowed chairs, modern artwork, intricate woodwork, towering wine cabinets, and the other handsome attributes would not do The Setai justice, either. What wows is the way Asian sensibilities of simplicity and elegance are integrated so effusively into some 10,000 square feet of multiple dining areas, each unique section seamlessly melding into the next. It’s as though Cecil B. DeMille and fashion designer Hanae Mori bore an offspring and — well, all right, we don’t have to go there. Suffice to say The Restaurant’s dining room is stunning in a grand, chic, sophisticated manner. Even more impressive is that it might not be the prettiest place to dine on the premises. That distinction arguably goes to the lushly landscaped outdoor garden, where podlike seats are set along the perimeter of a peaceful reflection pond trellised by pergolas.

Dear Abby: I have an inordinate fear of dining out by myself. Whenever I enter a restaurant alone, I am seized with a feeling that everyone in the room is staring at me and wondering why I couldn’t find someone to eat with. Because I am single, live alone, and don’t know how to cook, I find myself in this situation quite often. What can I do? Self-Conscious in Miami
Dear Self-Conscious in Miami: Easy solution — take my husband out to eat with you, and believe me, after listening to him drone on with his tedious stories, you will forever consider dining alone a blessing. If that doesn’t interest you, try lunch or dinner at Joe Allen in South Beach. The staff is good at putting folks at ease, and everyone else in the unpretentious, pared-down room will be too busy digging into their meat loaf with mashed potatoes, sautéed calf’s liver, and homemade prosciutto-and-ricotta-stuffed ravioli to even notice you. Besides, you will be so enthralled with your gazpacho Andaluz, goat cheese pizza, and cherry cobbler — or perhaps banana cream pie — you won’t notice anyone either. They don’t call this comfort food for nothing. And prices are moderate enough (almost all main courses are less than $20) that you can keep coming back until you are a regular. Most diners here are. After dinner, slide up to the bar, which is generally filled with gregarious locals. It wouldn’t hurt if you schmoozed a little; perhaps you might find yourself a mate with some culinary skills. Bon appétit!

The dining room almost sounds like a library, respectful whispers rising and then dissipating like mist. The click of forks is audible, and conspires with other small, soft noises to form a subtle buzzing sound. Professional waiters, well acquainted with the contemporary French menu and exemplary wine list, provide attentive, even doting service — while never trespassing into cuteness or obtrusiveness. Table appointments are crisp, flowers are dainty, and the seating is comfortable in this quaint, romantic 55-seat dining room. But that is only partially why Pascal’s on Ponce is ideal for your seductive rendezvous. Since 2000, owner Pascal Oudin, one of South Florida’s most accomplished chefs, has been delighting diners with refreshed, luminously luscious renditions of traditional French bistro fare. Maine lobster bisque is tweaked with corn flan and tarragon. Local grouper is teased with almond and cinnamon juice. Pillows of potato gnocchi are fluffed with mushrooms, mascarpone, and truffle oil. Go to a stuffy French joint if you want cloying duck a l’orange: Here the rosy-roasted bird bathes in its own natural juice with peaches, fingerling potatoes, and savoy cabbage. It’s a lighter approach, which will leave you and your dinnermate feeling friskier. Appetizers run approximately $8 to $14, and most entrées are less than $28, which is on par with eateries owned by those who dream of delivering this level of dining. Finally, Pascal’s signature bittersweet chocolate soufflé presents a happily-ever-after ending. What else could you ask for? Well, yes, the intimate conversation, but that’s your responsibility.

To most people, the ideal way to celebrate a birthday would be in a stunning environment, surrounded by good friends. We might not be able to help you with the friends, but we can with the location: Book a table on the outdoor patio of the Rusty Pelican. Sure, the interior is gorgeous: a collection of brightly colored chandeliers and a classy pianist parked behind a baby grand. But we are in Miami, and dining alfresco is a must. The restaurant’s surf-and-turf offerings include elegantly prepared lobster, fish, shrimp, and steak, and you can enjoy a delectable entrée for less than $20. Order a drink: There’s a full bar, and the bartender makes a fabulous mojito. Outside on the deck, adjacent to a roaring fire pit, gaze off wistfully at the glittering downtown skyline, and toast to your health. Your birthday dessert — decorated with a sparkler — will emerge to the sound of a chorus of singing waiters. Choose a chocolate suicide sundae, cr?ème brûlée, coconut mousse, or — yum — apple walnut upside-down pie served with cinnamon ice cream, which will cost no more than $10. Bask in the moment, with the moon shining down on the water and everyone smiling and sending good wishes your way. Maybe it isn’t so bad, this getting-older thing.

Wat? Wat dat? It’s a thick stew served atop injera. Injera is a spongy sourdough pancake made from fermented teff. Teff is a teeny grain that tastes like millet. You probably know what millet is. The injera is customarily placed over the surface of the mossob. The mossob is a colorful dining table woven like a basket. Diners seated around the mossob scoop the wat with the injera, using their hands. There is fiery assa wat, made with South African haddock and Ethiopian spices. And atakilt wat, a mix of string beans, carrots, potatoes, and cabbage. And gomen wat with collard greens, and mesir wat with lentils. And don’t forget doro wat, which is Ethiopia’s national dish, a gingery, spicy stew of chicken legs and thighs. Yes, you’re right, that is a lot of wat. But Sheba, a stunning, cosmopolitan Ethiopian eatery adorned in earth tones, dark woods, and African handicrafts, also offers tibs (morsels of chicken, shrimp, or filet mignon sautéed with onions, tomatoes, and green peppers), zilzil (shrimp in honey wine sauce), kitfo (African steak tartare), and other specialties from the owners’ native land. All is dee-lish, and not unreasonably priced: Wats, dibs, et cetera, range from $20 to $25, and vegetarian entrées from $13 to $18. Sheba likewise welcomes via its extremely friendly staff and lively, full-service bar. Dat wat make it such a great place to eat.

It is a solid building with a great wine cellar. Is there really any need to elaborate further? Well, we are aware Hurricane Andrew flooded the prestigious wine collection in 1992, but the structure has been reinforced to prevent that from happening again. And there are five eclectically appointed dining rooms in which to shelter. Of course, it would be negligent not to mention the stellar quality of food provisions: beluga caviar; lobster, shrimp, and crabmeat martini cocktails; oysters, escargots, a whole raw bar of options; and those thick, juicy dry-aged steaks on which this place has built its reputation. For dessert: chocolate velvet cupcakes or key lime pie? Because The Forge is a large, popular establishment prone to throwing lavish parties, one can assume the inventory of bottled water, and bottled liquor, is fairly extensive too. This is no small consolation. Hurricanes come and go, but the essentials needed for living through them with style remain the same — and The Forge possesses them all.

They have taken you out for dinner at fine restaurants on numerous occasions. Now it’s your turn to reciprocate. You don’t want to come across as cheap or ungenerous, but dinner at a local fine-dining establishment will suck the digits right off of your credit card, and moderately priced neighborhood restaurants … well, to be blunt, there are few capable of impressing. Very few, in fact, but Timo is one such place. The casual Italian/Mediterranean eatery delivers the same crisp white-linen service and stellar cuisine of a far more expensive, pretentious dining establishment. Chef/owner Tim Andriola and partner Rodrigo Martinez cut their teeth at high-end joints, the former making a name for himself as chef de cuisine at Mark’s South Beach, the latter as general manager and wine director of Norman’s. Dinner is not inexpensive, but it won’t break the bank either. A Semolina pizzette with sweet peppers, goat cheese, and oregano is $8, while an appetizer of slow-cooked tripe with bacon, tomato, onion, and Parmesan is $9. Pastas and fish entrées range from $13 to $21, meats and poultry from $18 to $26 — a steal of a deal for dishes such as veal scaloppine with porcini, sweetbreads, and Marsala; pork chop plumped with prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella and served over risotto; and Vermont quail with chanterelle mushrooms and oxtail ravioli. If you can keep your dinner guests from seeing a menu, they will assume you are paying a whole lot more. And if they do see the menu, they will respect your acumen in discovering so divine a restaurant for so reasonable a cost.

There is no charge for walking through the elegant lobby of the Hotel Victor on your way to Vix. A tank of jellyfish glowing in blue light is a free attraction too, as is the shiny open kitchen’s nightly revue of culinary theatrics. A basket of warm nan bread freshly baked in a tandoori is likewise complimentary, but just about everything else chef James Wierzelewsi and his kitchen crew prepare comes at a lofty cost. Everything on the menu sounds so good it is tough to choose. A seafood hot pot with coconut sauce is intriguing ($41), but so is a hefty prime rib chop with Portobello mushrooms and housemade steak sauce ($48). “Seven sins of chocolate, as experienced through the spice route” is a sensuous signature dessert ($15). Would a cheese plate be overdoing it? Not if your host is picking up the check. There are multiple selections, but chevrot (goat), Ayrshire cheddar (cow), and Pyrenées Brebis (sheep) provide an apt sampling of farm animal products ($14). Naturally you will want to share a bottle of wine — add 50 bucks. The final tab for this feast will be sky-high, but the ingeniously crafted contemporary cuisine is so consistently fresh and fabulous, and the service so sublime, that the money spent will seem eminently justifiable. And a downright bargain when it’s coming from another person’s pocket.

When out-of-towners visit our restaurants, they want more than good food — after all, most are privy to fine cuisine where they come from. They desire something they can’t get at home. For instance, someone from up north might wish to dine outdoors, in midwinter, amid lush tropical foliage. Barton G.’s lovely orchid garden would do that trick. Perhaps other folks from Peoria or Peru would prefer a pulsating SoBe social scene. They would need to look no further than Barton’s bustling bar. A couple from San Jose or San Juan can be titillated by lobster pot tarts served in a toaster; a toddler from Tallahassee will squeal with delight at the make-a-shake dessert that features ice creams, syrups, toppings, and a blender to mix it all up; and when Midwesterners get served a swordfish shish kebab ($31) the size of Sinbad’s scimitar, well, they’ll know they’re not in Kansas anymore. Then again, maybe one of your guests, possibly a faint-hearted dieter from Delaware, disdains the idea of orange-glazed duck dished in a wood decoy. That person could choose from straightforwardly grilled meats and fish (ranging from $20 to $59). Regardless of how you order, everything here is done with panache, and in elegant surroundings. Barton G. is a place your guests will be talking about long after they depart Miami. Which is precisely the point.

Jacques Pépin’s choice for a final meal would be “a good piece of bread and some good butter.” Ferran Adrià says he would ask for skillet-fried asparagus with olive oil and sea salt. Our ideal last supper involves indulging in anything our heart desires at El Palacio de los Jugos. We would begin with a batido from the jugo portion of the premises. Maybe coconut-mango-guanabana. No need to sweat calories. The juice counter also dishes out greasy, meaty chunks of chicharrones. Make it a double portion. We would take a triple even, except then we wouldn’t have room for our appetizer of thick, cheesy arepas. Next stop: The plantain station, where the sturdy bananas are peeled, sliced, and fried frantically, flawlessly, nonstop — in a closet-size, glass-enclosed room. Best platanos in the city. Plus it’s entertaining to watch them being made, and the idea of being entertained at one’s last meal is appealing. Juicy lechón asado, oozing full, robust roast pork flavor, would be the main course, which we would carry to the outdoor tables out back — along with some yuca in citrus mojo sauce, black beans and white rice (moros y cristianos), and heck, throw in some oxtail stew. We would eat slowly, savoring every delectable bite, just as a host of Cuban families would be doing at the other tables. They know El Palacio de los Jugos is Heaven on Earth — and thus a perfect setting for our last meal here.

Each diner begins with a bottle of red or white wine, or two glasses of soda, or two beers. Warm, soft baguettes are promptly brought to the table. Oink. A salad bar well stocked with greens, vegetables, appetizers, and just about any refrigerated item imaginable stands ready to be ravished. Oink-oink. A grill almost as long as the Great Wall of China sizzles and spits out beef brochettes, crisp sweetbreads, spicy chorizos, blood sausages, churrasco steaks, New York strips, flanks, rump roasts, short ribs, stuffed pork loin, bacon-wrapped chicken … oink-oink-oink! French fries, mashed potatoes, or rice are offered as sides. Desserts include treats such as rice pudding, profiteroles, chocolate mousse, and dulce de leche cr?êpes. Oink-oink-oink-oink! Now add a cup of coffee. All this for $23.85 on weeknights, $25.95 weekends, and even cheaper at lunch. You don’t have to be piggish to take advantage of this deal. Just smart. And very hungry.

Walking into the Gables Juice Bar feels like stepping back in time. Most stores nowadays go for a cool, modern look, or attempt some kind of cohesive theme. Not this one. The walls are eclectically decorated with brightly colored paintings created by owner Fernando Lopez, accented with framed posters from gangster flicks like Scarface and Goodfellas. A row of colorful, twirling mobiles hangs from the ceiling, and hand-painted glass bottles line the front window. From the kitschy, cozily cluttered vibe, it’s evident the place has been open for a while — twelve years, to be precise. “When we first opened here, there was nothing,” says co-owner Belkys Lopez. A steady stream of white-collar customers stops at her counter for low-carb, protein-rich “power pizza”; delicious wraps made with good-for-you ingredients such as brown rice, hummus, and falafel; salads (FYI, the Exotic Honey Ginger Salad is to die for, and a real deal at $5.25); and low-fat soups. But at the end of the day, this is a juice bar. And no fancy-pants chain establishment can hold a candle to the delicious smoothies and healthy beverages concocted here. When the lovely Lopez admits she’s about to become a grandmother, it comes as a real shock. Perhaps all that sipping freshly squeezed vegetable/fruit elixirs has preserved her sexiness. A glass of fresh-squeezed OJ will set you back $3.50. Concoct a jumbo twenty-ounce combination of carrot, spinach, ginger, and apple juice for $3.75. The smoothies are made with your choice of sweetener — sugar, honey, Equal, or Splenda — and come with amusing car-theme names. The Co-Co-Vette is a mix of pineapple, coconut, and banana. The Beemer blends apple juice, peanut butter, and strawberries. No, the PMS smoothie isn’t meant to alleviate the syndrome. It’s made of pineapple, mango, and strawberries. But it’s sweet enough to sate even most monthly cravings.

Sung to the tune of “Penny Lane”:

At the tables are some diners on their way to work,
And in the kitchen is a cook without a toque.
Still he manages to cause some smoke
With his frying pan. What a man!

Over-easy, hash browns, bacon, and a side of toast,
With fluffy pancakes that won our flip-off years ago.
And the waitresses come and go
With a pot o’ Joe. Hello, Flo!

Chorus: Deli Lane, we love you so, at breakfast time,
Waffles, French toast, omelets are all prime.
And dining outdoors is sublime….

Deli Lane’s Power-Up breakfast brings two eggs any style; potatoes; choice of bacon, ham, or sausage; and two pancakes for just $3.95. That will get you singing in the morning.

X: So what does this big-shot brunch you’re always talking about have to offer?
Y: Lush courtyard dining replete with gurgling waterfall. Ten culinary stations. Free-flowing champagne and mimosas. A dessert room.
X: Did you say dessert room?
Y: It’s the bar/lounge area at other times, but on Sundays from 11:30 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. the length of the bar and every nook and cranny in the space are taken up by luscious tarts, fruits, mousses, parfaits, cookies, cakes, custards, napoleons, éclairs, and chocolates, chocolates, chocolates.
X: How can they afford to let people eat all they want of such meticulously crafted pastries?
Y: Well, for one thing the brunch costs $65 ($35 for children under twelve). But more pertinently, most people are fairly well sated by the time they have indulged in oysters on the half-shell, smoked salmon, fresh shrimp, gazpacho shooters, bacalao salad, antipasti, Serrano ham, imported cheeses, omelets made to order, French toast, bacon, roast ham, home fries, housemade sausages, grilled lamb chops, beef tenderloin, baked grouper, risotto prepared in a giant round of Parmigiano-Reggiano, cannelloni of duck confit….
X: Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me. Let’s go. Except if you don’t mind, I’m going to begin in the dessert room and work my way from there.

Miami is not really the sort of town where disgruntled bohemians in berets linger over cappuccinos, discussing French postmodern philosophy. Usually coffee-drinkers have two choices: a cup of hot-and-sweet purchased hurriedly at a counter (where somehow a thimbleful packs a caffeine punch akin to pharmaceutical-grade amphetamines); or The Franchise, with its uniform couches, preservative-heavy baked goods, and smooth jazz. So Café Demetrio is a unique institution in these parts, with its tarts, strudels, empanadas, sandwiches, and excellent coffee served in cups made from porcelain, not paper. There is live music on the weekends, always a chess game in progress, and never the worry of spending more than $4 on a latte (even a big one). Best of all, you can bring a laptop and use the free wi-fi access.

The Ice Box is a nice box, a big, airy square with colorful prints, hanging lights, and a bright stainless-steel kitchen. The first sight to grab your attention will likely be the glass display cases arrayed with outrageously delectable desserts. Take a mile-high wedge of legendary German chocolate cake, cuppa steamy espresso, and presto, your brunch is set. Actually the options are wider than that at weekend brunch (served from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m.). The most basic choices would be creamy steel-cut Irish oatmeal with cinnamon, brown sugar, walnuts, and cream; crunchy homemade granola with fresh berries; and “the egg box” of scrambled eggs, cheese, sausage, roast potatoes, and a biscuit. Menu specials change often, so you may be offered chive pancakes with smoked salmon, Boursin and lime cream; or tres leches pancakes with crisp bacon and dulce de leche sauce on the side. Either way, they will be fluffy. (À la carte prices range from $10 to $15.) Other noteworthy attractions include the laid-back vibe of a local crowd, creative menu of refreshing nonalcoholic beverages, obligatory mimosas and bloody marys, and free Internet access — in case you are dining alone. When it comes to brunch, it is clearly preferable to think inside the box.

It has a power location, smack-dab across the street from the Miami-Dade County Courthouse. A full bar boasts a full breadth of high-octane fuels: brandies, cognacs, scotches, and specialty drinks, such as the Lawyer’s Liquid Lunch, a martini glass of Absolut vodka and sweetened espresso. The main dining room’s lofty ceiling and frescoed walls reverberate with the click, clatter, and chatter of meals and deals. Old-school waiters are attentive and discreet. The menu is distinguished by no-nonsense Northern Italian cuisine like fried calamari ($9.25), spaghetti Bolognese ($12.95), veal scaloppine ($14.95), and chicken Parmigiano ($14.95), and the fare is so consistently fresh and deftly prepared that even attorneys will be hard-pressed to dispute its merits. Power requires calories, and lunch at La Loggia is a hearty affair. Sirloin steak ($15.95), for example, is served with arugula salad, roast potatoes, and spaghetti pomodoro. You can handle it, and so can an Atalon Cabernet from Napa Valley. If your negotiations go well, celebrate with a puffy, bittersweet chocolate soufflé ($5.95). You need not be a lawyer or power broker to afford the moderate prices, which makes La Loggia a lunchtime deal you can’t refuse.

Eat or sleep? That is generally the question as the clock bears witness to a long night’s descent toward morning. But if you consider that life is short and Flanigan’s menu is long on lip-smacking, late-night snacks, the answer becomes clear: Grab a stool at the bar or a seat at the table and dig in. Big Daddy Flanigan knew something about staying up past midnight — he opened his eponymous business in 1959, as a nightclub chain in seven states. By 1986 Flanigan’s had evolved into casual restaurants scattered throughout South Florida. Late-night noshes include chicken wings, loaded nachos, fried shrimp, peel-and-eat shrimp, steamed clams, a fat Philadelphia cheese-steak sandwich, ten-ounce burger, spicy fries, and the signature one-and-three-quarter-pound hickory-smoked, fall-off-the-bone baby-back ribs (which outsells every other menu item three to one). Prices are eminently reasonable — burgers and snacks less than $10, ribs and other heartier fare less than $20. Better deal: The wings come free with every pitcher of draft beer, soda, ice tea, or lemonade every evening from 10 p.m. until closing — which means 4 a.m. That still leaves plenty of time to digest and go to sleep. Let’s hope, for your sake, you don’t have to get up for work the next morning.

Located on the ground floor of Dadeland Station, this unassuming restaurant delivers the heartiest lunch deal in town. Simply put, it is truly affordable, truly yummy, truly filling Pan-Asian fare. What makes it so delicious? Simplicity matched with quality, such as pharmaceutical-grade sushi, delicately dressed seaweed salads with just enough sugar and acidity, and steamed, nutty brown rice. The lunch deal goes like this: You start with miso soup; then your server quickly brings you a rectangular platter with an eight-piece California roll in one box, mixed greens with a tangy cilantro-ginger vinaigrette in another, white or brown rice in a third, seaweed salad with sprouts in a fourth, and your entrée in a fifth — all for less than $10. Entrée choices vary, but they include stir-fried Thai basil chicken with cremini mushrooms and bell peppers; seared beef with spinach and garlic; or four hefty pieces of nigiri sushi. The meal is the size of Hokkaido, and if you throw in some slurps of the frothy, sweet, outrageously delicious green bubble tea, you may not wish to eat again for days. Lan recently changed its frequent-diner card policy: Every dollar you spend at lunch earns you points — such as four for a $3.78 glass of bubble tea. Once you hit 250 points, you get, yes, a free lunch. Note: The restaurant is closed Mondays, but the lunch deal extends from 11:30 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. Tuesdays through Saturdays, making it a perfect place to take a work — or shopping — break.

You’re seated outdoors at a wooden picnic table overlooking the Miami River, with a little dish of dolphin dip and a green plastic basket of Saltines in front of you. Nice start. An ice-cold draft beer ($2) arrives next, set down in a frosty glass by an amiable waiter, followed by a hunk of grilled dolphin — freshly filleted up front in the fish market — delivered in a fluffy bun ($7.95). Sandwiches come with choice of fried plantains, French fries, or any of a number of potential sides. The river rolls by. Time flows on. Life is composed of many sweet moments, and this one costs less than $10 — assuming you can resist a second beer.

Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird! No, it’s a plane! No, wait — it’s a brisket sandwich on rye! Located in the Sky Lobby of the I.M. Pei-designed Bank of America Tower is Sky Grille, a cafeteria mostly inhabited by the building’s sizable workforce — but open to the public. The corporate-handsome dining room follows the famous curve of the building, and a glass wall affords diners a bird’s-eye view of downtown. An outdoor terrace with umbrella-shaded tables is even more picturesque, but the most breathtaking sight might very well be that of the food: It is miles above typical cafeteria fare. Grab a tray and mosey along the various stations (all clean and modern) until you find something that strikes your fancy. A salad bar at the front tempts with a wide array of garnishes and greens ($5.60 per pound), but so does the hot food station, which pumps out freshly grilled sandwiches (meaty churrasco, Philadelphia cheese steak) and full, warm meals. On any given day the latter might include paella, chicken Marsala, pork loin with citrus mojo sauce, or seared mahi-mahi — with roll and two sides or salads it totals $6.99; two dollars more and you are privy to a 22-ounce soda and dessert. There is also a cold-sandwich station, where the breads (five types, including ciabatta) are stuffed with Italian coldcuts, mozzarella, tomatoes, chicken salad, and the like ($5 to $6). A one-third-pound hamburger off the grill is just $3.95. It’s a gorgeous place to enjoy breakfast too — Sky Grille opens for that meal from 7:30 a.m. to 10:00 a.m.; lunch from 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Next time you are trying to think of a new place to eat downtown, look up in the sky.

You can’t beat the beat-the-clock deal at this neat Lincoln Road café. Beginning at 5:30 p.m., the price for a half-kilogram casserole of steamy mussels with a side of Belgian fries is $5.30. At 5:47 p.m. the same serving costs $5.47, and as time continues to tick upward, so does price until 7:00 p.m. sharp! Regular price for a mussel pot is $15.50, which makes this the sort of bargain that can morph anyone into an early bird. The lusciously plump mollusks come steamed six wondrous ways, including with beer and smoked bacon; in a curry sauce spiked with lime, coconut, and chilies; and awash in white wine and lobster bisque. The rest of the Belgian-inspired, mostly seafood menu is solid as well, and more than twenty brews are served in their respective brewery-designed glasses. With its alfresco dining on Lincoln Road and incumbent people-watching potential, this mussels-from-Brussels eatery is worthwhile any time. Still, we suggest setting your watches for this deal.

It happens like clockwork the first Wednesday of each month at 11:30 a.m. Sizable flocks of patrons file into Bugatti, settle into seats, take a cursory peek at the menu of Italian fare, perhaps peruse the reasonably priced wine list, dip their rustic breads into a plate of greenish olive oil, turn to the waiters, and say, “We’ll have the lasagna.” Then when it arrives steaming-hot, they ooh and aah, only to fall silent as they relish the fresh, chewy noodles; mild minced beef and veal; and smooth, white Parmesan-pumped béchamel sauce (note: no gloppy cheese, no overpowering red sauce, no oily sausage). Newcomers are welcome to join this once-a-month cult of lasagna lovers, but those who don’t arrive early enough for lunch will most assuredly have to wait some time for a table. And there is one cruel ritual of admission for those who are tardy for dinner: Not only will you wait for a seat, but also you will be burdened with the horrifying knowledge that the lasagna inevitably sells out well before the last diners are seated.

A tip of the toque to Pascal Oudin, who five years ago left the safe and prestigious confines of the Grand Bay Café’s grand dining room and set off to open a little French bistro of his own. It was a roll of the dice, a decision to work harder for less security and surety of financial reward. He did it because he wanted to cook his food his way in his restaurant. And it has paid off for him and, more selfishly, for us: There is nothing better than eating in a small, personal dining establishment run by a talented chef/owner. Tim Andriola followed suit by leaving Mark’s South Beach for his own Timo; Dewey LoSasso sailed from China Grill Management to open North One 10; and Frank Randazzo and Andrea Curto-Randazzo bid adieu to the Gaucho Room and Wish to form a tasty tandem at Talula — and we have three more great restaurants because of it. This year Frank Jeannetti jumped from Pearl to his own Ernie’s Restaurant, Michelle Bernstein took the big leap from Azul to Michy’s, and Norman Van Aken has plans to establish a more intimate eatery of his own in Key West. This all bodes well for those who crave authentic, chef-crafted cuisine served by staff who care — in other words, a great dining experience. It also provides an optimistic countering force against the worst new local dining trend: upscale-casual restaurants.

Not every kitchen crew breaks down its own chickens, ducks, steaks, and fish; rolls and cuts all the pastas; and prepares molé, mayonnaise, and madeira-laced foie gras torchon from scratch. Not every restaurant rustles up rustic dishes such as polenta with runny poached egg, bacon, Pecorino-Romano cheese, and shaved truffle; Southern-fried quail with honey and peaches; and watercress/tarragon salad with goat cheese, caramelized shallots, and halved green grapes. Nor, for that matter, do many eateries offer all menu items by the half-course (ranging from $6 to $12), which makes sampling multiple plates much more affordable. You will not easily find an in-house pastry department that churns out comfort desserts with contemporary twists — specifically the baked Alaska with dulce de leche ice cream, though the strawberry shortcake perfumed with orange blossom would fit the bill as well. Admittedly Michy’s is not alone in affording patrons a comfortable dining room, amiable service, pristine raw bar, and concise, cutting-edge wine list, but it is unique in having a chef of Michelle Bernstein’s caliber working in the kitchen. Her influence alone is enough to make Michy’s big news, but it is all of these other distinctive characteristics that make it the best new restaurant in town.

This category was established last year as a sort of hall of fame — win once, and you’re no longer qualified. Because we have a lot of catching up to do in honoring our best chefs, from here on in we will induct two at a time. Last year’s inaugural winner was Norman Van Aken, which makes Mark Militello and Allen Susser the obvious choices to follow. These three, after all, are most closely associated with rediscovering the region’s bounty of fresh fish and tropical produce and resuscitating them into a vital, nationally recognized New Florida/New World cuisine. Mark has a few more restaurants, Allen a few more cookbooks, but between them they have won so many awards there is probably no room on their walls to display this one. What a slap in the face! Still, we salute the passion, integrity, charitability, and unbridled culinary talent of these two prominent pioneers, who unlike typical hall-of-famers continue to excel in their fields: Chef Allen’s (since 1986), Mark’s South Beach, and Mark’s Las Olas (the original Mark’s Place opened in 1988) are still, after all these years, counted among South Florida’s elite restaurants.

From the exterior, Cocopelli looks like the sort of bistro where the soupe al’oignon comes crusted with construction dust. Or like a place you can’t enter without overcoming great obstacles. Worse, it resembles a restaurant that’s closed. That’s because this homespun bistro opened on a stretch of Biscayne Boulevard just as renovation on the road was beginning. Jackhammers blasted away. Dust and debris went flying. Frustrated drivers leaned on their horns, and gas fumes plumed from idling cars. Rather than head out on the town for a casual French dinner, the café’s customers battled a slow crawl through what to the untrained eye looked like Kabul. Yet through it all, Cocopelli kept cooking up rustic renditions of classic bistro fare. Tender escargots. Foie gras terrine. Steak frites. Grouper en papillote. Homemade fruit tarts. And a funny thing happened: Loyal locals struggled through the hostile territory for the delicious food, affordable prices (most entrées cost less than $20), and accommodating service. Now that the war zone has moved south and the dust has settled, we’ll all be able to see more clearly what an exemplary little neighborhood restaurant this is.

In May 2004, Marvin Woods opened his cozy, low-country restaurant at Biscayne Boulevard and 129th Street. In May 2005, M Woods’ fried chicken was deemed best in these pages. Now it’s May 2006, and Mr. Woods and his award-winning birds have flown the coop. Farewell, lobster dumplings in vanilla-bean lobster broth and coconut-steamed shellfish. See ya, Cajun rib eye and luscious pulled pork. Bye-bye, Caribbean jerk duck cake, braised oxtail, and gumbo with fresh crabmeat and homemade duck sausage. Let’s hope Marvin finds another place to roost real soon so we don’t have to forever bid adieu to his outrageously scrumptious, seven-layer red velvet cake. Somewhere Elvis must be frowning.

Pacific Time’s original pastry chef created what is generally regarded as South Florida’s first chocolate bombe. Nowadays every restaurant serves a version of this warm bittersweet chocolate cake with melted bittersweet chocolate center. Some call it “molten chocolate cake” or “chocolate volcano”; more than a few deceptive proprietors refer to it as “soufflé.” Regardless of how it reads on the menu, the dome-shape product is usually delivered to the restaurant frozen and then is warmed to its oozy state in the microwave. Pacific Time is one of our finest dining establishments and, as such, does not have a microwave on premises. The flourless bombes are baked in the oven, per order, and make competitors’ renditions taste like cupcakes pumped with Hershey’s syrup. Other desserts are explosively rewarding as well, and much like the cuisine at this Pan-Asian eatery, they are defined by clean, exquisite flavors. Apple tatin is crisply crusted and drizzled with rosemary-flecked caramel sauce. A pink pepper tuile cuddles fresh strawberry ice cream infused with aged balsamic vinegar. Pot de cr?ème, an ethereally creamy pudding, delves decadently deep in espresso and bitter chocolate. Baked Alaska and key lime are merged into one wondrous delight. Prices for these precious treats run from $7.50 to $11.50. Dessert wines by the glass include popular Bonny Doon Framboise and a riveting 1997 Far Niente Dolce. Choose from excellent coffee drinks too. Go to Pacific Time for one of the finest seafood dinners in town, but linger over dessert. It’s the bomb. And more.

Inconspicuously tucked into a nondescript strip mall, Plein Sud defines the term quiet little bistro. No star chef, glossy magazine ads, or featured appearances at the South Beach Wine & Food Festival. No breathless word-of-mouth among the SoBe arbiters of hot spots. No marketing maven marveling at the rustic, flower-dappled décor. No PR machine boasting about the homemade foie gras terrine, blanquette de veau, or beef Bourguignonne — which, incidentally, bursts with lusty red wine aromatics. Still, the seats are filled at this North Miami restaurant, mostly with locals who luxuriate in the unpretentious ambiance, personalized service, and authentic provincial French fare. Patrons also get a good deal, because just about every entrée costs less than $20. There are bigger and bouncier bistros, to be sure, but Plein Sud is plainly one of the best. Regardless of whether you care or not.

Located off the 79th Street Causeway for fourteen years, the popular Italian café ran an ad in this paper that contained the tagline: “It is hard going from ‘Very Good’ to ‘Great,’ but we keep trying.”

Francis Holder’s little family bakery in Lille, France, which opened in 1889, was mostly known for its viennois breads, which are pretty much the same sort of artisan loaves you can find at Paul French Bakery in Aventura, in North Miami Beach — and in some 300 other branches around the world. That is because Holder’s son took over the Lille bakeshop in 1958 and parlayed the family recipes for pastries and breads into the hugely successful Paul chain of bakery/cafes. The old-fashioned black storefronts and quaint, tea-shop interiors are the very antithesis of cold, franchised design, and the food does not taste mass-produced either. Soups, salads, quiches, crpes, and cheese plates are prepared freshly on premises. Some of the breads and rolls, made from stone-ground grains and imbued with crunchy crusts and tangy tastes, are delivered from France unbaked and frozen, or prebaked frozen, but even that is a plus — they pop from the oven fresh and hot, and contain the intangibly important French water. These breads also make for excellent sandwiches — try the Normand, with Camembert, butter, and lettuce on sesame paulette bread. And the Flan Normand rocks too — an ethereal apple pie topped with custard and almonds. And the éclairs, napoleons, Italian roast coffees, cappuccinos, frappés … It’s nearly impossible to conceive of Paul being a chain restaurant. Which is what makes it the best.

Five reasons why Spris is better than the place you go for pizza:
1. It boasts alfresco seating on Lincoln Road, the Piazza Navona of Miami-Dade County.
2. Paper-thin pizza crust is properly crisped, charred, and blistered in a fiery, wood-burning oven.
3. It offers more than 30 toppings, including prosciutto, arugula, wild mushrooms, and aged speck ham.
4. A beat-the-clock deal from 5:30 to 7:00 p.m. means you can order a pizza for the price that matches the time ($5.30 to $7 per pie).
5. Your favorite pizzeria might serve salads, sandwiches, antipasti, carpaccios, and calzones that are as tasty and sprightly as those at Spris (or maybe not), but does it offer you the menus from a full-service Italian restaurant (Tiramesu) and a Belgian mussels-and-beer establishment (Le Bon)? Didn’t think so.

Connoisseurs of the good greasy stuff usually drive to Hollywood, an area disproportionately blessed with real-deal diners, to get their fix. Meanwhile, back in Miami, there is Airport Diner, a nine-year-old restaurant that fails one test: It is Spartan and spotless, way too clean compared to its peers. What’s worse, the food is not nearly as greasy as its competitors’. Make a mess and add your own grease, because this high-flying eatery scores big in other categories: (1) The coffee is robust and delish. (2) The “light and tender” — as the menu puts it — pancakes blow away those at the nearby IHOP and Denny’s. And you can order them as a five-stack ($4.99), short stack ($3.99), or in various combos with eggs and meats. (3) Waffles. (4) Bagels. (5) French toast. (6) The eggs — ordered sunny-side-up to judge the cook’s skill — tend toward perfection. Runny yolks, fully cooked whites, firm around the edges. Served with equally perfect hash browns, toast, sausage, and bacon ($4.99), and you can change the starch to home fries or grits. Twenty-one egg combinations are listed on the menu. The cook — not chef — griddles eight “steak” and egg meals such as pork chops, burger patty, New York strip, all priced less than $9. (7) The waitresses don’t smile much. (8) The owners are of Greek heritage, so one of the eleven renditions of omelets features feta; another also includes tomato and black olives. (9) Yes, they have biscuits with sausage gravy and “chicken-fried steak,” which the menu calls “country fried.” (10) All the classic entrées are served, from liver and onions ($7.99 with salad or soup, bread, vegetables, and starch) to a twelve-ounce T-bone ($14.99). (11) Four outstanding Greek dinners, less than $9. (12) Pasta. (13) Beer and wine. (14) The dessert list includes baklava, right there next to the key lime pie. (15) Ten breakfast specials offered weekdays from 6:00 to 11:00 a.m. (16) You don’t have to go anywhere near I-95 to visit.

Sara’s has been around for more than twenty years, and for fifteen of those years my husband Harold, may he rest in peace, dragged me here to eat. “Such a selection,” he would say, who knows how many times, during social situations with other people. “More than 150 items to choose from.” Then he would begin rattling off dishes, one after the other, like a crazy person. “Potato pancakes, cheese blintzes, and stuffed cabbage the size of my fist.” He’d hold up his fist when he said this, and he’d have a funny look in his eyes. “Southern-fried Chick-In, Chick-In Parmigiana, Chinese sweet-‘n’-sour Chick-In — can’t tell it from the real thing.” Oy, how he could go on. “Enchiladas, chimichangas, whole-wheat pizzas, baba ghannouj, falafel, whitefish salad, Turkish salad, Rabbi Lipskar salad….” At this point one of his listeners would inevitably interrupt and ask, “Rabbi Lipskar salad?” “Don’t ask,” my husband would inevitably reply. I have been dragging myself to Sara’s for the past three years. I go alone; I don’t make a big deal. Sometimes I get the vegetable quiche, sometimes a tuna burger, sometimes a simple bagel with cream cheese and Norwegian salmon. It’s nice that everything is vegetarian. Believe me, at my age I need to eat healthily. But still, would it kill them to put a real chicken dish on the menu?

In the early Nineties — when Blimpie bases overran the land, Quizno’s was not even a gleam in its mother’s eye, and the Miami Subs and Grill on Washington Avenue lured SoBe’s pioneer party people with Dom Perignon (at $95 a bottle, to give you an idea of how long ago those times were) — Le Sandwicherie was a bright beacon for true hoagie aficionados. This remains true, especially at 5:00 a.m., which is still the outdoor stand’s closing hour. Admittedly it may strike some as stretching it to call this French-owned place’s creations hoagies; they are fresh-baked baguettes with top-quality fillings such as chunky country pâté. But wait for the toppings — sacre bleu! The decidedly un-Gallic amount of this gut-busting garnish of lettuce, tomato, green and hot peppers, black olives, onions, cukes, pickles, mayo, and dressing makes these sandwiches as All-American as spaghetti and meatballs (even though the pickles are cornichons, and the dressing is a subtle mustard vinaigrette that even a Michelin Guide inspector could not fault). Prices? Petit: $5 or $6, up to $8 for a croque monsieur with a hefty side salad. Now that the national food media has proclaimed gourmet sandwiches fashionable, Miami has many newer sandwich shops. But those who may be over the mango aioli only need to order Le Sandwicherie’s saucisson sec with everything ($5.90) to realize there is still no place that does sandwiches better.

Not all barbecue is slow-smoked pork (please don’t tell that to any Southerners in the audience, though). It doesn’t even have to be American. This sophisticated and accomplished Thai restaurant’s killer ‘cue is tiny lamb riblets ($8), whose tangy, tamarind-based Asian barbecue sauce glazes meat so tender it can fall off the bone with just a hungry stare. Stand the typical American barbecue on its head by substituting spicy green papaya salad ($5.50) for the ubiquitous coleslaw, and some carefully steamed brown rice for the icky-sweet baked beans. Finish with Thai donuts ($4.50), beignetlike puffs of deep-fried dough served with an unctuous condensed-milk dipping sauce. Next time you’re in the mood for barbecue, try Thai. Why pig out when you can lamb out?

An area located off the tourist track — despite being home to the largest collection of Moorish architecture in the Western Hemisphere — and far from the ocean might not seem like the best place to go for a dynamite grouper-‘n’-grits dinner. But Opa-locka’s African-American population has given a big thumbs-up to this soulful smoke house. Other South Floridians reportedly drive here from as far as Palm Beach County for the housemade barbecue. Crabby’s also offers numerous types of fresh fish and shellfish served with all the fixings, namely hush puppies, collards, mac ‘n’ cheese, and baked beans (all sides are $1.45). More unusual yet equally delectable Southern-style sides are also available, including a huge potato pancake studded with tingly hot pepper chunks, or pickled souse (often called head cheese because it originates from cheap, throw-away pig parts such as heads and feet). Unlike many soul food joints, this is a real smoke house, so ribs, pulled pork, and chicken do not depend on sauce for savor; the ‘cue has intense black oak flavor even without the place’s nicely tangy dip. Baby-back or spare ribs with two sides is $13.95; a “workin’ man’s” special plate (chicken thigh and leg plus two sides) is $5.95, as is a pork ‘cue sandwich with fries. Nonsmoked seafood entrées include shell-on garlic crabs (blue crab is $8.50 per pound) — a festive production served on paper, with a bib, and a big box of napkins that never seems to hold quite enough. Don’t worry. This is the kind of homey place with a sink conveniently located in the main dining room to take care of the rest of the mess.

Nobu Matsuhisa is to fish what Harry Winston is to diamonds: the go-to guy for gorgeous, expensive jewels. Each has built an international reputation as master of his craft and gained renown for sparkling presentations. There are differences, to be sure. For starters, Harry mines his gems from the earth; Nobu fishes his from the sea. For another, Winston doesn’t offer a chic array of boutique sakes. And, to state the obvious, oh boy do Nobu’s diaphanous foods taste great. The South Beach outpost, nestled within the über-hip Shore Club hotel, draws acclaim for its classic Japanese cuisine expertly prepared with contemporary, multinational twists (and especially peppered with Peruvian touches). In particular, the Nobu name has become synonymous with exquisite seafood, and it doesn’t matter which pearl on the menu you choose: yellowtail sashimi with yuzu jalapeño or freshwater eel nigiri; rock shrimp tempura with piquant cream sauce or arctic char with crisp baby spinach; diver scallops with wasabi pepper sauce or the signature Alaskan black cod infused with sweet, buttery miso (imitated by many, equaled by none). If you can’t decide among the multitude of glittery options, surrender to the omakase, a chef’s tasting menu ($100 or $140, based on the number of courses). Might seem a tad pricey, but it is still a lot cheaper than anything at Harry Winston’s.

Even in a town swimming with cutting-edge sushi establishments, it is not every day you stumble on sun-dried-tomato-and-avocado rolls with garlic ponzu oil and green tea salt. If this sounds particularly healthy, perhaps it is because Bond Street is helmed by Japanese chef Hiro Asano, a graduate of the Hattori School of Nutrition (owned by Yukio Hattori of Iron Chef fame). After its first four years in the Townhouse Hotel, this South Beach outpost of the famed Manhattan restaurant had already built a reputation for sassy, highly creative sushi. When Asano came on board last year, he retained menu favorites such as spicy tuna rolls with chili mayonnaise ($8), and lobster tempura rolls with yellow tomato dressing and chive oil ($14). At the same time, he contributed his own sparkling new additions, like yellowtail sashimi with Szechuan pepper ponzu ($10) and spicy, crisp shrimp with chipotle aioli ($14). Yet it is not sheer inventiveness that allows Bond Street to roll past the competition. Sushi’s delicate nature requires meticulous attention to detail: the pristine nature of the fish; the way it is handled and sliced; cooking the rice just right; getting the nori wrappings to retain their crispness. All require subtle sleights of hand, all are vital to the proper balance of tastes and textures, and all are evidenced daily at Bond Street. An extensive spectrum of sakes, some exclusive to the restaurant, complement the seafood in style. One warning, though: Sushi is pricey enough that dinner at the Townhouse might land you in the poorhouse.

Does OLA Steak grill up a better slab of beef than Morton’s, The Palm, Prime One Twelve, The Capital Grille, Fleming’s, or Ruth’s Chris? In a word: no. But none of the above serves a house bread made from yuca flour and mozzarella cheese (pan de bono) that is out of this world. And though there is nothing wrong with a jumbo shrimp cocktail to jump-start your steak dinner, it is much more Miami to begin with yuca-and-leek vichyssoise dabbed with bacalao; or oxtail meatballs; or a $20 medianoche pressed with foie gras, duck Serrano ham, truffled cheese, and guava mustard. Other meat joints don’t offer Doug Rodriguez’s wacky and delectable ceviches either, like lime-and-cilantro-soaked corvina with red onions, pickled poblano peppers, spicy kernels of Peruvian corn, and a shocking scoop of Guinness sorbet. Starches include delicate yuca hash browns and creamy malanga purée, and — oh yeah — the steaks: a choice of dry-aged, USDA-certified Black Angus; or natural, grass-fed Uruguayan, accompanied with chimichurri, pungent huacatay sauce, and tamarind panca pepper sauce (think A1 Steak Sauce with balls). Yes, the meats here are undeniably dee-lish and sanely priced ($25 to $34), but it is the rest of the house fare that sets this steak house apart.

Part wine bar, part restaurant, Vino Miami could embody the worst of both worlds — the snobby cork-dorkery of a wine bar and the cooler-than-thou attitude of so many South Beach eateries. But it does not. In fact there is not a speck of snobbery or attitude to go along with the 50 wines by the glass, an eclectic selection from New World and Old that changes daily (prices range from $9 to $13). In addition, Vino offers another 350 or so wines sold by the bottle at nominal markup. Instead of putting on airs, Vino is as inviting and likable as a glass of unctuous California Chardonnay or robust Sicilian Negro Amaro. The wine-friendly dishes are easy to like too — cheese fondue, tuna tartare, smoked salmon rolls, chocolate fondue — all of which make Vino a perfect place to stop before heading home or out to paint the town red. Or Burgundy.

Since opening in South Miami in 1996, this charming, unpretentious American bistro has earned a reputation for serving robust, heartwarming dishes such as escargot potpie, bacon-wrapped meat loaf, and creamy risotto with duck confit and a poached farm egg. Chef/owner Jan Jorgensen’s signature souffles are fairly renowned as well, and the wine list is as delightfully eclectic as any in town. In other words, it is no secret that Two Chefs is an absolute gem of a restaurant. Many folks might not realize, however, that Jorgensen has steadily built up his bar stock to the point it is without peer in these parts. More than 1000 bottles of vodka, whiskey, gin, rum, and tequila provide imbibers with limitless options, and the collection of single-malt scotch whiskeys is more comprehensive than any other in the Southeast. That’s right — the whole Southeast! Let’s toast: three cheers to Two Chefs!

Great service is a first-time diner being made to feel like one of the restaurant’s regular customers. It is a waitstaff nonchalantly maintaining the tenuous balance between personable and professional, and seeing to needs without being intrusive — to the extent you are not even aware of them doing their jobs. It is having water and wine poured at appropriate moments, not every time you take a sip. It is having a waiter knowledgeable about the cuisine, and one who will ask, “May I take your plate away now?” instead of “Are you done picking at that?” It is bringing the check on time. Great service is hospitality — a warm greeting at the door when you enter, a heartfelt salutation as you leave, and sincerity in between. This is as good a description of any we have heard for service at La Cofradia, the swank new Mediterranean/Peruvian restaurant in Coral Gables.