It's almost a cliché but nonetheless true that a worth-its-salt neighborhood tavern should feel like a second home. For most people that means slightly messy, a bit worn, with items reflecting the dweller's personality affixed to the walls. The Bamboo Inn has been around for about 60 years and it has all of the above in spades. The walls are cluttered with platitudes along the lines of the one proclaiming, "Beer, so much more than just a breakfast drink." Off in the corner sits a battered piano, relegated to service as a shelf for a row of paperback romance novels. A pool table (of course there's a pool table) is the centerpiece of the room. Some of the aged bar's regulars double as an informal country band that performs when the mood strikes. If the mood doesn't strike, turn to the Bamboo Inn's stellar jukebox, which, at ten cents per play, evokes a grand sense of nostalgia regardless of the music selected. A rarely used spare room completes the picture of a gathering place that feels like home.
Sports Grill is as relaxed as a bettor on the upside of a fourth-quarter blowout. For seventeen years this casual bar -- with décor heavy on little plastic Bud dirigibles and Miami Heat logos -- has provided Kendall with a place to drink, eat, and watch televised sports (not necessarily in that order). There are eight television sets placed around the room and an electronic ticker that announces upcoming games. A couple of rows of picnic tables on raised platforms seat diners who can accompany pitchers of frosty suds with the standard bar fare of burgers, chili, conch fritters.... Foodwise Sports Grill scores most of its points for its chicken wings, which come in five varieties, including Miami Heats and Bar-B-Q Braves. The windows and doors are tinted so that the only time that matters inside the bar is when the next game begins.
Sports Grill is as relaxed as a bettor on the upside of a fourth-quarter blowout. For seventeen years this casual bar -- with décor heavy on little plastic Bud dirigibles and Miami Heat logos -- has provided Kendall with a place to drink, eat, and watch televised sports (not necessarily in that order). There are eight television sets placed around the room and an electronic ticker that announces upcoming games. A couple of rows of picnic tables on raised platforms seat diners who can accompany pitchers of frosty suds with the standard bar fare of burgers, chili, conch fritters.... Foodwise Sports Grill scores most of its points for its chicken wings, which come in five varieties, including Miami Heats and Bar-B-Q Braves. The windows and doors are tinted so that the only time that matters inside the bar is when the next game begins.
The Trap lives! God save the Trap! County commissioners (puritanical and hypocritical alike) mounted heated efforts to subdue adult entertainment throughout most of unincorporated Miami-Dade County, creating criminality based on certain geographical proximities. Miami's top topless joint has avoided this no-bare trap since it took effect in January. Owner Jim Robinson filed suit against the county, blocking enforcement of the ordinance, which would have shut the Trap (and other nudie bars in the county's domain). Thank the higher powers a man stands among us willing to fight for the fundamental right to see naked honeys strut around a pole in high heels for money. The Trap is a venerable and upright institution where there's never a cover (charge, that is) and beer comes at reasonable prices. The eclectic gang of bartenders -- Sky, Patty, Amanda, and Dolly among them -- provide bonus entertainment with their sarcastic wisecracking, while the club's dancers reveal themselves to be as friendly as they are sexy. They arouse the interest of customers that include cops and bikers, lawyers and lobbyists, and, of course, a few political candidates. The bottom line: The Trap is the kind of place that helps Miami stand firmly among the top party towns on the continent. Long may she writhe.

The Trap lives! God save the Trap! County commissioners (puritanical and hypocritical alike) mounted heated efforts to subdue adult entertainment throughout most of unincorporated Miami-Dade County, creating criminality based on certain geographical proximities. Miami's top topless joint has avoided this no-bare trap since it took effect in January. Owner Jim Robinson filed suit against the county, blocking enforcement of the ordinance, which would have shut the Trap (and other nudie bars in the county's domain). Thank the higher powers a man stands among us willing to fight for the fundamental right to see naked honeys strut around a pole in high heels for money. The Trap is a venerable and upright institution where there's never a cover (charge, that is) and beer comes at reasonable prices. The eclectic gang of bartenders -- Sky, Patty, Amanda, and Dolly among them -- provide bonus entertainment with their sarcastic wisecracking, while the club's dancers reveal themselves to be as friendly as they are sexy. They arouse the interest of customers that include cops and bikers, lawyers and lobbyists, and, of course, a few political candidates. The bottom line: The Trap is the kind of place that helps Miami stand firmly among the top party towns on the continent. Long may she writhe.

The bodies on the bar -- dancing, prancing around your drinks, or leaning down to give you a better view -- are fine. But so is the atmosphere, which is pleasantly relaxed. The go-go boys are not averse to cozying up to patrons, who in turn are not averse to slipping bills into tiny G-strings. And the drinks are as generously proportioned as the men on display. There's the obligatory big-screen video pulsating with standard dance-hall tunes, and a pool area out back. But the main attraction, naturally, is the barely dressed boys, who strut their stuff on Mondays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Sunday is reserved for amateur strip night. It's all aimed at men, but women are welcome too -- the bartender and dancers make sure of that. Ladies, if you haven't already, give it a go.
The bodies on the bar -- dancing, prancing around your drinks, or leaning down to give you a better view -- are fine. But so is the atmosphere, which is pleasantly relaxed. The go-go boys are not averse to cozying up to patrons, who in turn are not averse to slipping bills into tiny G-strings. And the drinks are as generously proportioned as the men on display. There's the obligatory big-screen video pulsating with standard dance-hall tunes, and a pool area out back. But the main attraction, naturally, is the barely dressed boys, who strut their stuff on Mondays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Sunday is reserved for amateur strip night. It's all aimed at men, but women are welcome too -- the bartender and dancers make sure of that. Ladies, if you haven't already, give it a go.
Tap Tap owner Gina Cunningham wanted to offer karaoke to her customers, but she wasn't about to set the scene for a bunch of schmaltz-lovers crooning "Feelings." Enter James Small, the James Brown of karaoke. A bus driver from Fort Lauderdale, Small appears at Tap Tap on occasional weekend nights, sporting a leather vest over his muscled chest and toting his soulful karaoke machine, outfitted with R&B and rock hits. The Tap Tap crowd (an international mix of artists, journalists, and assorted passersby) responds accordingly. Someone struts like Mick Jagger on top of the bar while singing "Sexual Healing"; a many-accented and heavily inebriated chorus joins together on "Imagine"; a Haitian laundry worker who speaks no English shakes maracas to the beat of "Don't Worry, Be Happy." If you never thought karaoke could be cool, this might change your mind.

Tap Tap owner Gina Cunningham wanted to offer karaoke to her customers, but she wasn't about to set the scene for a bunch of schmaltz-lovers crooning "Feelings." Enter James Small, the James Brown of karaoke. A bus driver from Fort Lauderdale, Small appears at Tap Tap on occasional weekend nights, sporting a leather vest over his muscled chest and toting his soulful karaoke machine, outfitted with R&B and rock hits. The Tap Tap crowd (an international mix of artists, journalists, and assorted passersby) responds accordingly. Someone struts like Mick Jagger on top of the bar while singing "Sexual Healing"; a many-accented and heavily inebriated chorus joins together on "Imagine"; a Haitian laundry worker who speaks no English shakes maracas to the beat of "Don't Worry, Be Happy." If you never thought karaoke could be cool, this might change your mind.

Hear the one about the guy who ate piles of raw fish, guzzled vats of booze, listened to karaoke all night -- and didn't throw up? He didn't blow his bankroll, either, because he mixed these hedonistic and gastronomically treacherous delights at the Tokyo Club, one of the Beach's great defenders of kitschy fun, all-you-can-eat sushi, all-you-can-drink weekends, and (ahem) karaoke. The daily sushi feast goes for $11.99, the weekend eat-and-drink combo is a mere $20 ($15 for women). Sushi, shots, and sing-alongs might sound like a joke, but the Japanese find nothing funny about it. As for the Tokyo Club's patrons, they can barely contain their pleasure.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®