Like any great one-nighter, the Garden changes its themes and alters its tunage weekly. But the campfire, it's a regular. It stays. No other once-a-week fling offers such diversity, such comfort, and the opportunity to roast (complimentary) marshmallows. Of course the fabulousness of the setting doesn't hurt. The Garden promoters set their Friday night party at the Albion, with its sand-filled sun deck and its raised swimming pool, which features portholes so partiers can ogle the underwater action without getting wet. It makes for a fresh-air, low-stress confab that runs until 2:00 a.m., just perfect for that warm-up cocktail before things really get cooking in South Beach.

Like any great one-nighter, the Garden changes its themes and alters its tunage weekly. But the campfire, it's a regular. It stays. No other once-a-week fling offers such diversity, such comfort, and the opportunity to roast (complimentary) marshmallows. Of course the fabulousness of the setting doesn't hurt. The Garden promoters set their Friday night party at the Albion, with its sand-filled sun deck and its raised swimming pool, which features portholes so partiers can ogle the underwater action without getting wet. It makes for a fresh-air, low-stress confab that runs until 2:00 a.m., just perfect for that warm-up cocktail before things really get cooking in South Beach.

This old shack would be just another old shack were it not for the year-round Christmas lights, the puffer fish mounted on the wall behind the bar, the two aged pool tables, and the melting pot of a jukebox that plays Hank Williams, Jr., Derek and the Dominoes, and Counting Crows in the span of a few minutes. Not to mention the Budweiser drafts for $1.50 each, the Baby Burgers for 75 cents, and the free barbecued grub for horseshoe-competition contestants every second Sunday of the month. Saturday nights feature pool tournaments and pucker shooters (a schnapps flavored with grape juice, apple sour, and Cheri-Beri). But the best thing about this Thirties-era former trading post is the no-nonsense clientele. "That's why I came down here, you know? To find real people," declares a real guy from New York to a local woman two stools away. Hasn't found one in her. Smirks she: "I used to like you."
This old shack would be just another old shack were it not for the year-round Christmas lights, the puffer fish mounted on the wall behind the bar, the two aged pool tables, and the melting pot of a jukebox that plays Hank Williams, Jr., Derek and the Dominoes, and Counting Crows in the span of a few minutes. Not to mention the Budweiser drafts for $1.50 each, the Baby Burgers for 75 cents, and the free barbecued grub for horseshoe-competition contestants every second Sunday of the month. Saturday nights feature pool tournaments and pucker shooters (a schnapps flavored with grape juice, apple sour, and Cheri-Beri). But the best thing about this Thirties-era former trading post is the no-nonsense clientele. "That's why I came down here, you know? To find real people," declares a real guy from New York to a local woman two stools away. Hasn't found one in her. Smirks she: "I used to like you."
DJ Snowhite hosts this gathering of urban poets and aspiring hip-hop stars every Tuesday in the confines of the dark, rectangular club Zanzibar. An assemblage of youth gathers to compete, unleashing prepared and extemporaneous raps and other poetry that ranges in quality from borderline brilliant to painfully lame. The Spam Allstars attempt to accommodate the performers with music to suit their spoken words. The atmosphere is supportive of all types of risk-taking and experimentation, with spontaneous poetry slams occurring inside and outside the club. On those occasions when the band and a performer click, Faatland Tuesdays achieves the sublime.

DJ Snowhite hosts this gathering of urban poets and aspiring hip-hop stars every Tuesday in the confines of the dark, rectangular club Zanzibar. An assemblage of youth gathers to compete, unleashing prepared and extemporaneous raps and other poetry that ranges in quality from borderline brilliant to painfully lame. The Spam Allstars attempt to accommodate the performers with music to suit their spoken words. The atmosphere is supportive of all types of risk-taking and experimentation, with spontaneous poetry slams occurring inside and outside the club. On those occasions when the band and a performer click, Faatland Tuesdays achieves the sublime.

To stand out a jukebox must be like an aural smorgasbord: variety along with abundance. Sampling Miami's pay-to-play fare suggests most are pretty good. That's because they all seem to have the same pretty good selections. Lost Weekend's Rowe is always evolving and boasts a veritable feast of varied artists. This machine is loaded with the standard Rolling Stones, Doors, and Jimi Hendrix fodder, but slots are also filled by Erykah Badu, D'Angelo, Portishead, Propellerheads, Barry White, Fatboy Slim, Sneaker Pimps, Aretha Franklin, Jane's Addiction, and Frank Sinatra. And those are just the appetizers.
Lost Weekend
Photo by Rod Deal
To stand out a jukebox must be like an aural smorgasbord: variety along with abundance. Sampling Miami's pay-to-play fare suggests most are pretty good. That's because they all seem to have the same pretty good selections. Lost Weekend's Rowe is always evolving and boasts a veritable feast of varied artists. This machine is loaded with the standard Rolling Stones, Doors, and Jimi Hendrix fodder, but slots are also filled by Erykah Badu, D'Angelo, Portishead, Propellerheads, Barry White, Fatboy Slim, Sneaker Pimps, Aretha Franklin, Jane's Addiction, and Frank Sinatra. And those are just the appetizers.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®