Tough shift. Good thing it's over ("zero-six" is code for "end of shift"). Now you need to get a bite to eat (known as a "twelve") and recover, right? ("QSL" in policese -- for "that's acknowledged.") You tore your pants tackling that fleeing suspect. Your sergeant's looking for you about the coffee stains on your report. And on top of it all, a detective from internal affairs wants to ask if you know anything about your ex-partner's new manse in Boca. You need to go somewhere safe. No better place than Chasers. On the floor below are the offices of a half-dozen PBA lawyers, enough to intimidate any IA detective. This allows you to eat your sirloin in peace. And unlike at civilian hangouts, you don't draw gawks just because you have guns and handcuffs swinging from your hips. Even though the place is open to the public, as far as you can see it's all blue and tan uniforms. You pig out, order a brew, kick back. So you'll have to buy a new pair of pants. So what? Your reports could be neater. And you know, now that you think about it, that is a pretty big oceanside house your partner built.
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.

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.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®