You've spent hours sweltering on the sidewalk, climbing on a chair, hopping on a table, jumping up and down. At last you've made eye contact with the door gorilla/bouncer. As the crimson velvet ropes part, you thank the nightlife gods that your Versace suit is black. Better to mask the sweat stains dampening your armpits. Fork over twenty bucks, stroll through the doors, you're in. Swagger to the VIP room, where your buddy said he'd meet you. But which VIP room? There are three. You check out the front ground-floor area, where the artfully arranged couches artfully show no sign of him. You head to the back of the club, home of two more VIP rooms. He's not in the ground-level area, but actor Samuel L. Jackson, South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone, and comedians Chris Rock and David Alan Grier are nonchalantly hanging out there. Soon you spot your friend on the second floor, high above the hoi polloi. He's smiling, sipping champagne, talking to, gulp, comely models/gorgeous actresses: Daisy Fuentes, Fran Drescher, Jennifer Lopez, all tilting back their heads while laughing at his jokes. The stocky sentry at the foot of the stairs eyes you suspiciously. He knows you're a no one. You protest: You are someone. Plus your friend upstairs is expecting you. Bouncer knows the drill: Everyone's someone. And everyone's friend is up in the VIP room. You offer him a Jackson, a Grant, even a Franklin. He doesn't flinch. You see, you may have the cash. You just don't have the cachet.
You've spent hours sweltering on the sidewalk, climbing on a chair, hopping on a table, jumping up and down. At last you've made eye contact with the door gorilla/bouncer. As the crimson velvet ropes part, you thank the nightlife gods that your Versace suit is black. Better to mask the sweat stains dampening your armpits. Fork over twenty bucks, stroll through the doors, you're in. Swagger to the VIP room, where your buddy said he'd meet you. But which VIP room? There are three. You check out the front ground-floor area, where the artfully arranged couches artfully show no sign of him. You head to the back of the club, home of two more VIP rooms. He's not in the ground-level area, but actor Samuel L. Jackson, South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone, and comedians Chris Rock and David Alan Grier are nonchalantly hanging out there. Soon you spot your friend on the second floor, high above the hoi polloi. He's smiling, sipping champagne, talking to, gulp, comely models/gorgeous actresses: Daisy Fuentes, Fran Drescher, Jennifer Lopez, all tilting back their heads while laughing at his jokes. The stocky sentry at the foot of the stairs eyes you suspiciously. He knows you're a no one. You protest: You are someone. Plus your friend upstairs is expecting you. Bouncer knows the drill: Everyone's someone. And everyone's friend is up in the VIP room. You offer him a Jackson, a Grant, even a Franklin. He doesn't flinch. You see, you may have the cash. You just don't have the cachet.
"You're not here to pick up a girl. This is not a pick-up joint," warns Frank Hunt, manager of Peg's. "This is more like 1950, if you went into a pool place and knew everybody. You come in here if you want to have fun." Peg's is fourteen Ivan Simonis-felted, regulation-size (nine-and-a-half-foot) tables of old-school pool. The kind of place where the regulars all bring their own sticks. Where the clean-up boy nurses his own dreams of going pro, and shoots like he's well on his way. The place even hosts some pros, like "Super Mario" Cruz, who works out there regularly. ("It's like family around here," Cruz offers.) The parlor offers beer, wine, and pizza, but, Hunt notes, "we sell more [bottled] water than anything." Novices won't feel intimidated. Heck, they have a "Terrible Players Eight-Ball Tournament." Though not conducive to picking up a date, Peg's caters to anyone looking to pick up some pointers. Hunt will give you the lowdown on stance, grip, and sighting. Then he'll politely leave you alone to sink that shot, or just sink.

"You're not here to pick up a girl. This is not a pick-up joint," warns Frank Hunt, manager of Peg's. "This is more like 1950, if you went into a pool place and knew everybody. You come in here if you want to have fun." Peg's is fourteen Ivan Simonis-felted, regulation-size (nine-and-a-half-foot) tables of old-school pool. The kind of place where the regulars all bring their own sticks. Where the clean-up boy nurses his own dreams of going pro, and shoots like he's well on his way. The place even hosts some pros, like "Super Mario" Cruz, who works out there regularly. ("It's like family around here," Cruz offers.) The parlor offers beer, wine, and pizza, but, Hunt notes, "we sell more [bottled] water than anything." Novices won't feel intimidated. Heck, they have a "Terrible Players Eight-Ball Tournament." Though not conducive to picking up a date, Peg's caters to anyone looking to pick up some pointers. Hunt will give you the lowdown on stance, grip, and sighting. Then he'll politely leave you alone to sink that shot, or just sink.

Penrod's has shed its frat-house décor of neon beer signs and emerged as a refined spot on Mondays for those "in the industry" (acting, fashion, modeling) and those who enjoy watching those in the industry. The credit goes to two young promoters, Ted and Linley (to maintain a fashionable mystique, both declined to divulge their last names), who ran the funky Lincoln Road bar the Beehive. They closed that project this past fall and in November re-formed the Beehive into a one-nighter inside this well-worn South Beach club. "We had to do a lot of work," Ted says. "Basically I had to get rid of everything that reminded me of spring break." The mostly open-air beach-side site lends itself to a kind of rustic elegance. Now the genetically blessed flock here, attracted by the laid-back, sand-in-your-shoes atmosphere. Along with the finest from Elite and Ford, Al Pacino, Cameron Diaz, and Oliver Stone have stopped by to quaff a few. "The models like it here because they can wear their flip-flops," Ted explains, adding that the earthiness helps keep away urban predators. "There aren't a bunch of 50-year-old European men flashing wads of bills trying to hit on them."

Penrod's has shed its frat-house décor of neon beer signs and emerged as a refined spot on Mondays for those "in the industry" (acting, fashion, modeling) and those who enjoy watching those in the industry. The credit goes to two young promoters, Ted and Linley (to maintain a fashionable mystique, both declined to divulge their last names), who ran the funky Lincoln Road bar the Beehive. They closed that project this past fall and in November re-formed the Beehive into a one-nighter inside this well-worn South Beach club. "We had to do a lot of work," Ted says. "Basically I had to get rid of everything that reminded me of spring break." The mostly open-air beach-side site lends itself to a kind of rustic elegance. Now the genetically blessed flock here, attracted by the laid-back, sand-in-your-shoes atmosphere. Along with the finest from Elite and Ford, Al Pacino, Cameron Diaz, and Oliver Stone have stopped by to quaff a few. "The models like it here because they can wear their flip-flops," Ted explains, adding that the earthiness helps keep away urban predators. "There aren't a bunch of 50-year-old European men flashing wads of bills trying to hit on them."

If you happen to be a buffed Crunch regular with fashion-model modalities, score is exactly what you'll do here. The beauty of this ten-month-old Lincoln Road hot spot, however, is the fact that there's plenty of room for discretion. Even celibacy. With its mix of wildly varied theme nights and block parties, Score-ing's fun for everyone: boys, girls, doms, subs, butches, femmes, drag queens, autos, and yes, even heteros. With standard SoBe techno/house and standard SoBe beauty boys, Score manages to create a neighborly atmosphere in the cold and elitist South Beach scene. Regulars and staff are on a first-name basis. And if size matters, don't be deceived by outward appearances. Although barely noticeable from the street, the club takes on John Holmesian proportions inside. An anteroom is dominated by a large circular bar with stools for those who simply want to sit and drink. The side wall and windows looking out on Lincoln Road are lined by comfy sofas, plus chairs and tables for the lounge crowd. The next room, which features two more bars and a sunken dance floor, is for cruising, perusing, and dancing only. From an upstairs area one can peer at the light-tripping orgy below, or shoot a game of pool. It doesn't end there. Upstairs there's yet another back room with bar, this one surprisingly well-lighted. We suggest taking prospective one-night-stands there before deciding whether to take them home.
Score Nightclub
Chris Carter
If you happen to be a buffed Crunch regular with fashion-model modalities, score is exactly what you'll do here. The beauty of this ten-month-old Lincoln Road hot spot, however, is the fact that there's plenty of room for discretion. Even celibacy. With its mix of wildly varied theme nights and block parties, Score-ing's fun for everyone: boys, girls, doms, subs, butches, femmes, drag queens, autos, and yes, even heteros. With standard SoBe techno/house and standard SoBe beauty boys, Score manages to create a neighborly atmosphere in the cold and elitist South Beach scene. Regulars and staff are on a first-name basis. And if size matters, don't be deceived by outward appearances. Although barely noticeable from the street, the club takes on John Holmesian proportions inside. An anteroom is dominated by a large circular bar with stools for those who simply want to sit and drink. The side wall and windows looking out on Lincoln Road are lined by comfy sofas, plus chairs and tables for the lounge crowd. The next room, which features two more bars and a sunken dance floor, is for cruising, perusing, and dancing only. From an upstairs area one can peer at the light-tripping orgy below, or shoot a game of pool. It doesn't end there. Upstairs there's yet another back room with bar, this one surprisingly well-lighted. We suggest taking prospective one-night-stands there before deciding whether to take them home.
Dolphins coach Jimmy Johnson has a careerlong knack for assembling winning organizations, though paradoxically they often choke on game day. But you can't lose visiting the coach's beachside establishment at the Eden Roc. Whatever your game a pair of big screens and about 25 standard sets ensure an unobstructed view. Monitor the action from a table or barstool on the sprawling outside deck. Or if your head gets too hot -- like Jimmy's sometimes does -- situate yourself in the air-conditioned, windowy rooms inside. A fairly new entrance from the public parking lot just north of the hotel allows you to dodge the valet system. (If you wanted to spend a fortune parking, you would have gone to Pro Player Stadium.) Happy hour is from 4:00 to 7:00 p.m. Thursday to Sunday and Caribbean-flavor live music follows. Best of all, if you get frustrated with the game, you can just stroll a few steps to the beach and jump in the ocean. There are probably Sundays on the gridiron when Jimmy feels like doing just that.
Dolphins coach Jimmy Johnson has a careerlong knack for assembling winning organizations, though paradoxically they often choke on game day. But you can't lose visiting the coach's beachside establishment at the Eden Roc. Whatever your game a pair of big screens and about 25 standard sets ensure an unobstructed view. Monitor the action from a table or barstool on the sprawling outside deck. Or if your head gets too hot -- like Jimmy's sometimes does -- situate yourself in the air-conditioned, windowy rooms inside. A fairly new entrance from the public parking lot just north of the hotel allows you to dodge the valet system. (If you wanted to spend a fortune parking, you would have gone to Pro Player Stadium.) Happy hour is from 4:00 to 7:00 p.m. Thursday to Sunday and Caribbean-flavor live music follows. Best of all, if you get frustrated with the game, you can just stroll a few steps to the beach and jump in the ocean. There are probably Sundays on the gridiron when Jimmy feels like doing just that.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®