If bar food everywhere was as good as it is at Tobacco Road, beer drinkers would be even fatter than they already are. The Road slings the nonliquid staples: burgers, nachos, chili, French fries, wings. Except everything is done to chin-wiping excess. Prime example: four kinds of burgers with names (Death, Mega) that convey a Mad Max spirit of gluttony. There are two types of fries and five ways to order a chicken sandwich. Appetizers drop to discount rates during happy hour (5:00 to 7:00 p.m.). After midnight when one needs extra party fuel, the prices on the big-ticket items (T-bone steak, rib eye sandwich, filet mignon) dip to six bucks. But what truly makes the Road's food the finest around are the weekday specials. What other bar offers (beginning on Monday and running until Thursday) perfectly prepared rack of lamb, lobster, spaghetti with meatballs, and steak, each under ten bucks? Combine an abundance of munchables with kicking live music and a superb selection of libations and that swelling gut seems a small price to pay.

Tobacco Road
If bar food everywhere was as good as it is at Tobacco Road, beer drinkers would be even fatter than they already are. The Road slings the nonliquid staples: burgers, nachos, chili, French fries, wings. Except everything is done to chin-wiping excess. Prime example: four kinds of burgers with names (Death, Mega) that convey a Mad Max spirit of gluttony. There are two types of fries and five ways to order a chicken sandwich. Appetizers drop to discount rates during happy hour (5:00 to 7:00 p.m.). After midnight when one needs extra party fuel, the prices on the big-ticket items (T-bone steak, rib eye sandwich, filet mignon) dip to six bucks. But what truly makes the Road's food the finest around are the weekday specials. What other bar offers (beginning on Monday and running until Thursday) perfectly prepared rack of lamb, lobster, spaghetti with meatballs, and steak, each under ten bucks? Combine an abundance of munchables with kicking live music and a superb selection of libations and that swelling gut seems a small price to pay.

If yuppies were cars, what a jam we'd really be in. Every Friday afternoon thousands of stressed-out corporate types working off their office rage flood the block in front of this historic restaurant, an actual restored firehouse from the Twenties. Fortunately the only beeping to be heard emanates from the cell phones folks forgot to turn off. And though the riotous live music and free-flowing alcohol can make this happy hour seem like a weekly firetrap populated by stumbling drunks, keep in mind that the bartenders here wield fire hoses of a sort -- even if they do only squirt tonic.
If yuppies were cars, what a jam we'd really be in. Every Friday afternoon thousands of stressed-out corporate types working off their office rage flood the block in front of this historic restaurant, an actual restored firehouse from the Twenties. Fortunately the only beeping to be heard emanates from the cell phones folks forgot to turn off. And though the riotous live music and free-flowing alcohol can make this happy hour seem like a weekly firetrap populated by stumbling drunks, keep in mind that the bartenders here wield fire hoses of a sort -- even if they do only squirt tonic.
In the category of sports involving the launching of potentially dangerous projectiles at targets, skeet shooting seems to lately be eclipsing the more reasonable game of darts. But Miami-Dade still has a few dark corners where dartage remains the call of the day. The newfound passion for the shotgun arts is probably a mere fad, and a more expensive one than tossing the little fin-tailed arrows. Regrettably some of our favorite dart venues have only one board, to wit the Gables Pub at 270 Catalonia Avenue in Coral Gables and the Abbey Brewing Company at 1115 Sixteenth Street in Miami Beach. Others, like Tom's NFL Club in Miami Springs, have eight, but the arrow-chucking crowds are exponentially larger. Irish House posts two traditional dart boards (and one electronic) in a back corner that has plenty of elbow room. And at this friendly bar the only bull is the red one you're aiming for. Even if you can't hit a double-20 to save your life, you can distract yourself with smoked fish, burgers, and bargain-priced suds. The bar does not permit skeet shooting.

In the category of sports involving the launching of potentially dangerous projectiles at targets, skeet shooting seems to lately be eclipsing the more reasonable game of darts. But Miami-Dade still has a few dark corners where dartage remains the call of the day. The newfound passion for the shotgun arts is probably a mere fad, and a more expensive one than tossing the little fin-tailed arrows. Regrettably some of our favorite dart venues have only one board, to wit the Gables Pub at 270 Catalonia Avenue in Coral Gables and the Abbey Brewing Company at 1115 Sixteenth Street in Miami Beach. Others, like Tom's NFL Club in Miami Springs, have eight, but the arrow-chucking crowds are exponentially larger. Irish House posts two traditional dart boards (and one electronic) in a back corner that has plenty of elbow room. And at this friendly bar the only bull is the red one you're aiming for. Even if you can't hit a double-20 to save your life, you can distract yourself with smoked fish, burgers, and bargain-priced suds. The bar does not permit skeet shooting.

Motorcycle? Check. Open road? Check. What else does a biker need? Draft Buds are a buck, White Castle burgers are $1.75, and Marlboros go for twenty dollars per carton. Check, check, and check. Of course the Last Chance is more than a pit stop for biker provisions. It's a pit stop for bikers, many of whom kill the afternoon lounging around the parking lot, shooting the breeze, showing off their metal steeds, and recounting (for the millionth time) how the game warden came in one day, walked up to the canal, and shot the bar's winsome mascot, a fourteen-foot-long, blind, three-legged alligator. (We advise you to refrain from suggesting the warden may have been putting the beloved old thing out of its misery.) Not as rough-and-tumble as the term biker bar implies, the Last Chance nevertheless has all the necessary tough-guy trappings: a John Wayne-size rendering of the Jolly Roger emblazoned with the words Bikers Welcome, a gray and weathered edifice, and a sign that reads "No Whining." Although many travelers stop for supplies or just a breather, the bulk of the crowd is easy riders, some local and some tourists. All are welcome here. But if you're an oversize, blind, three-legged gator, think twice about hanging out for too long.
Motorcycle? Check. Open road? Check. What else does a biker need? Draft Buds are a buck, White Castle burgers are $1.75, and Marlboros go for twenty dollars per carton. Check, check, and check. Of course the Last Chance is more than a pit stop for biker provisions. It's a pit stop for bikers, many of whom kill the afternoon lounging around the parking lot, shooting the breeze, showing off their metal steeds, and recounting (for the millionth time) how the game warden came in one day, walked up to the canal, and shot the bar's winsome mascot, a fourteen-foot-long, blind, three-legged alligator. (We advise you to refrain from suggesting the warden may have been putting the beloved old thing out of its misery.) Not as rough-and-tumble as the term biker bar implies, the Last Chance nevertheless has all the necessary tough-guy trappings: a John Wayne-size rendering of the Jolly Roger emblazoned with the words Bikers Welcome, a gray and weathered edifice, and a sign that reads "No Whining." Although many travelers stop for supplies or just a breather, the bulk of the crowd is easy riders, some local and some tourists. All are welcome here. But if you're an oversize, blind, three-legged gator, think twice about hanging out for too long.
Club Mystique is a landmark of Latin Miami. Hidden in the airport Hilton, the space is big and dark, with quintessentially Scarface-era décor: sunken dance floor, prominent stage, cozy tables accented with wall mirrors. But while other clubs have come and gone, the neon-enhanced Mystique has kept the beat and kept the crowds coming. They come to dance. You'll see the fanciest footwork in the city here from Wednesday to Sunday. On Thursday nights Mystique offers free salsa dance classes, attracting a full house of committed students, from beginners to pros. They come back to show off their stuff on weekends, dancing to the house band or, occasionally, top Latin artists such as Gilberto Santa Rosa or Oscar de Leon. A tab at Mystique won't ruin you, and the dance floor is as accessible as the drinks are. Local Latin residents from various backgrounds, visitors from all over the Latin American map, and even non-Spanish speakers know this is the place to catch some Saturday night fiebre.
La Covacha
Club Mystique is a landmark of Latin Miami. Hidden in the airport Hilton, the space is big and dark, with quintessentially Scarface-era décor: sunken dance floor, prominent stage, cozy tables accented with wall mirrors. But while other clubs have come and gone, the neon-enhanced Mystique has kept the beat and kept the crowds coming. They come to dance. You'll see the fanciest footwork in the city here from Wednesday to Sunday. On Thursday nights Mystique offers free salsa dance classes, attracting a full house of committed students, from beginners to pros. They come back to show off their stuff on weekends, dancing to the house band or, occasionally, top Latin artists such as Gilberto Santa Rosa or Oscar de Leon. A tab at Mystique won't ruin you, and the dance floor is as accessible as the drinks are. Local Latin residents from various backgrounds, visitors from all over the Latin American map, and even non-Spanish speakers know this is the place to catch some Saturday night fiebre.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®