For reasons best left to the dark side of the imagination, many people firmly believe that 5:00 a.m. is an inappropriately early time for bars and nightclubs to shut their doors. Simply put, party till noon. Over the years clandestine postdawn haunts such as Hombre, Club X, Niva, and Jones Town remained confined to South Beach's shadow world. Then the Mix figured out that an establishment need only nix alcohol to legally stay open at any hour. That was more than a year ago. Since then three more clubs -- Pump, Fabrik, and Kit Kat -- have greeted the sun with open doors, helping to meet the increasing demand from revelers who seek a never-ending night. In the witching hours, vampiric partiers now have the right to feel the power of DJ David Padilla's moving sound system at the Mix, hang out with promoters Carlos and Jeff and their crew of boys at Pump, or float timelessly between Fabrik and Kit Kat. The clubs generally open about 4:00 a.m. and continue well past breakfast time.

All anyone need say is that they're going to the Deuce for a drink. The rest is understood: reasonable prices liberally mixed with surreal circumstances. Proprietor Mac Klein says his is a neighborhood bar, a description that takes on new meaning in South Beach. The Deuce's patrons are generally a tolerant, open-minded lot: straight, gay, bi, transsexual, roughnecks, gentry, white trash, and geeks. Well, not too many geeks. The Deuce closes for only three hours per day, ready to set up anyone who needs a belt between 8:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m. Klein says people go to his bar, the oldest in Miami Beach, for nostalgia, which he believes evokes a desire to consume alcohol. He says old patrons return because, "If you leave the Beach for ten years, and come back to the Deuce, everything will be the same. We never change anything. It'll be like you're ten years younger."
All anyone need say is that they're going to the Deuce for a drink. The rest is understood: reasonable prices liberally mixed with surreal circumstances. Proprietor Mac Klein says his is a neighborhood bar, a description that takes on new meaning in South Beach. The Deuce's patrons are generally a tolerant, open-minded lot: straight, gay, bi, transsexual, roughnecks, gentry, white trash, and geeks. Well, not too many geeks. The Deuce closes for only three hours per day, ready to set up anyone who needs a belt between 8:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m. Klein says people go to his bar, the oldest in Miami Beach, for nostalgia, which he believes evokes a desire to consume alcohol. He says old patrons return because, "If you leave the Beach for ten years, and come back to the Deuce, everything will be the same. We never change anything. It'll be like you're ten years younger."
Mary Tudor, for whom this concoction was named, ruled over England and Ireland during the Sixteenth Century, re-establishing Catholicism and permitting rampant persecution. Much could be made of the cocktail's namesake, and, with a bit of effort, much can be made of the tomato-based cocktail itself. So why do we so often find generic product wearing this historically provocative moniker? If we wanted a routine drink, we'd order a screwdriver. We want a work of art. The folks at the Delano aspire to mastery. The recipe, which has been in the house for some time, calls for just-right amounts of topnotch ingredients: Meaty tomato juice supports horseradish, celery salt, and black pepper, and is properly garnished with a celery-stalk swizzle. It's hot stuff, likely to spur a slight cough and bring moisture to the eyes. But salvation always requires a bit of suffering.
Delano South Beach
Mary Tudor, for whom this concoction was named, ruled over England and Ireland during the Sixteenth Century, re-establishing Catholicism and permitting rampant persecution. Much could be made of the cocktail's namesake, and, with a bit of effort, much can be made of the tomato-based cocktail itself. So why do we so often find generic product wearing this historically provocative moniker? If we wanted a routine drink, we'd order a screwdriver. We want a work of art. The folks at the Delano aspire to mastery. The recipe, which has been in the house for some time, calls for just-right amounts of topnotch ingredients: Meaty tomato juice supports horseradish, celery salt, and black pepper, and is properly garnished with a celery-stalk swizzle. It's hot stuff, likely to spur a slight cough and bring moisture to the eyes. But salvation always requires a bit of suffering.
So what if you have to run a gauntlet of soon-to-be-sloshed college kids? The penny (yes, as in one cent) you'll pay for your brewski from 10:00 p.m. to midnight on Thursdays at this venerable reggae-oriented hangout makes minor the annoyances of addled youth. Urp!
So what if you have to run a gauntlet of soon-to-be-sloshed college kids? The penny (yes, as in one cent) you'll pay for your brewski from 10:00 p.m. to midnight on Thursdays at this venerable reggae-oriented hangout makes minor the annoyances of addled youth. Urp!
On South Beach the happiest hour used to be midnight, and any party that occurred in daylight hours was known as a tea dance. That's before locals added years, pounds, and day jobs to their lives, and realized they couldn't a) start drinking at 11:00 a.m., or b) stop drinking at 11:00 a.m. Recognizing the Beach's changing demographics, the National almost single-handedly reintroduced the idea of the traditional happy hour, and we are so grateful to get drunk at a reasonable time of day, we'll do anything to keep them in business. Including ordering two-for-one cosmopolitans, feasting on the complimentary buffet (which usually includes a fresh vegetable crudité along with more fattening fried goodies), relaxing in the overstuffed swivel chairs in the Deco Lounge, and boogying to the overly loud disco beat booming from the speakers. Happy to oblige.

On South Beach the happiest hour used to be midnight, and any party that occurred in daylight hours was known as a tea dance. That's before locals added years, pounds, and day jobs to their lives, and realized they couldn't a) start drinking at 11:00 a.m., or b) stop drinking at 11:00 a.m. Recognizing the Beach's changing demographics, the National almost single-handedly reintroduced the idea of the traditional happy hour, and we are so grateful to get drunk at a reasonable time of day, we'll do anything to keep them in business. Including ordering two-for-one cosmopolitans, feasting on the complimentary buffet (which usually includes a fresh vegetable crudité along with more fattening fried goodies), relaxing in the overstuffed swivel chairs in the Deco Lounge, and boogying to the overly loud disco beat booming from the speakers. Happy to oblige.

On New Year's Eve, with crowds of tourists swarming Lincoln Road, Zeke's owner Victor Deutsch closed early. "Too many problems," the erstwhile engineer said. Friends protested, not because there was a lack of bars to visit, but because they wanted to see Zeke's profit from the surge in activity. "We're a locals' bar," Deutsch told his supporters. "We're not sprinters, we're marathon runners." Deutsch keeps his formula simple: dozens of beers on tap and in bottles, each for three dollars. He has no lack of loyal patrons. The interior, with its long, inviting bar, makes for a perfect hangout. But why linger inside? The bonus is that after you acquire your beer, you can carry it out to a table on Lincoln Road. Shazaam! Now you're just like one of the fatcat tourists paying for the privilege of alfresco accommodations at the restaurant next door. On Wednesdays, however, prime time is inside as South Park airs. The place fills, and you better not think of engaging in idle conversation. On that night, Deutsch and manager Tobin Wehrle do not suffer gladly any jabbering. Wehrle, possibly the gruffest bartender who watches cartoons, won't even feign politeness when he orders you outside unless you cut the yappin'. "Don't cause problems," Wehrle says.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®