Why go out for a burger you can make at home? And let's face it about those big fat "gourmet" burgers: With few exceptions anyone can buy and broil half a pound of prime beef with impressive results. What one cannot duplicate at home is your classic Castle burger, a roughly two-square-inch, two-bite patty not quite as thin as a communion wafer and producing perhaps not quite the same degree of spiritual ecstasy among true believers. But let's just say that Castles are an illusory experience one couldn't ever duplicate at home, probably because no home has a grill with a zillion years worth of accumulated grease on it. White Castles are the classics, of course. These aren't available down here, however, except in inferior frozen form in supermarkets. But still performing (live and in person!) since 1939, just a block west of I-95 in Miami, is Arnold's Royal Castle, where the succulent square slider is still supreme, and still sliding smoothly off the grill into $3.40 six-packs. Each diner will need at least two packs, unless you don't mind driving back an hour later -- which is always possible; Royal Castle is open 24 hours daily.
A pie they could have served proudly at Connie Corleone's wedding reception. Slices that could pass muster with Don Vito himself, thwarting pizza wars that would have rubbed out all those who employ fancy-schmancy ingredients like sun-dried tomatoes, arugula, and goat cheese. For the past fifteen years the masters at this tiny eatery have been turning out a simple crisp thin or thick crust coated with smooth tomato sauce, chewy mozzarella cheese, and myriad everyday toppings such as pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, anchovies. The fabulous fare is made-to-order, so understand it takes a bit of time. Ultimately patience pays because it's a pizza you can't refuse.
Cars zoom along Biscayne Boulevard, passing the glorious spaceship of a building designed around 1960 by Robert Law Weed. For many years since, Leo's, a car wash and detailing service, has occupied the site, once a General Tire showroom. Now at the behest of restaurant mogul Mark Soyka, Leo's remains but the opportunity to stop in for a tempting pie has been added. And what a pie it is. Straight from the mouth of the imposing brick oven, which would have made the witch from Hansel and Gretel envious, emerge tasty ten-, thirteen-, or sixteen-inch pizzas topped with delicious delights including prosciutto, Portobello mushrooms, spinach, chicken breast, caramelized onions, kalamata olives, fresh mozzarella, roasted garlic, and Gorgonzola cheese. Andiamo may mean "let's go" in Italian, but for pizza you wouldn't want to go anywhere else.

Where else can you relive your teenage years by playing vintage video games (still a quarter, natch), munching on some of the city's best pizza, and listening to Led Zeppelin? Even Sunset Place's GameWorks has ditched its Galaga machine and tuned into the current Top 40. But in this perennial oasis of simple pleasures (well, at least till the 3:00 a.m. closing time; 4:00 a.m. on weekends) you can blast aliens to your heart's content while remaining safely tucked back in 1985. And should you need a break from conquering Ms. Pac-Man and singing along to "Stairway to Heaven," there's even a New Times rack right in front.
We know someone else coined the happy little logo "We deliver for you," but we simply insist that Gourmet Station adopt it. Not only do they actually bring your meals to you, they design them to fit your lifestyle. For instance, high-powered execs can get the "Balanced Plan," ten meals for six dollars each (plus tax) per week that ration the proteins, carbs, and veggies. Body-builders and all-around gym pros can get the "Protein Plan," which for $7.50 per meal provides absolutely nothing but the racks -- of lamb, that is. What's that, you say? You're a normal person with an average life? Well, fill up at the Station by all means. Stop in for a choice of homemade entrée, ranging from grilled salmon with lemon-dill yogurt sauce to grilled Nicaraguan churrasco with chimichurri. In the morning the place teems with coffee and muffins; lunchtime it's wraps and sandwiches such as the Italian club -- prosciutto, tomato, basil, and fresh mozzarella. You can even open an account for "hassle-free billing," a status most of us haven't enjoyed with any home-meal replacement products since we lived at Mom's.

A first-time visitor to this Mexican joint in the historic district of Homestead may be baffled to see Styrofoam coolers filled with ice and bottles of beer dotting the floor next to most tables. But a quick glance at the menu explains it. El Toro Taco doesn't have a liquor license, so the only way to swig a Corona with your meal is to bring it with you, a secret most of the clientele seems to be in on. The BYOB requirement is no deterrent as the place packs a full house on weekends. As soon as you taste any one of several taco selections, you'll understand why. Choose from soft corn or flour tortillas filled with ground beef, barbacoa (shredded beef), chicken, or refried beans. For a real treat try the tacos de bistec -- corn tortillas filled with marinated, grilled steak and topped with cilantro and onions. Prices are very reasonable, the atmosphere is upbeat (you may be treated to a mariachi serenade), and take heart, margarita lovers: With the money you save on drinks you can spring for an appetizer -- a bowl of zesty bean dip or chili con queso (spicy cheese dip) -- and finish your meal with a traditional favorite: tres leches cake. Next time bring a blender! Open Tuesday through Thursday 11:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., Friday and Saturday 10:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m., and Sunday 10:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. Closed Monday.

The all-American chain offering the quintessential Cuban sandwich? If it's not quite as classic an oxymoron as "jumbo shrimp," it soon could be, provided it survives the taste test. General response we've heard from the general public is that hey, it ain't bad. The novelty quotient is high enough to keep sandwich cubano in stock at the drive-thru for now, but don't look for it to be dethroned by Big Macs at Versailles.
Forget about St. Pauli Girl. Switch to San Noy, which means young girl in English. This pilsner is not only more delicious but also "ring gold" in color and "morning fresh," according to the menu notes. It is one of six types of beer brewed at this miraculous eatery featuring indoor and outdoor seating. If you feel like a sweeter exotic taste, try the Thai Woman (Ying Thai), a brown rice bock that is "malty." Also on that side of the spectrum is a Cheers (Chai Yo), a light bock made from corn, and Flower (Dog Mai), an amber-colored wheat. Serious beer connoisseurs will delight in the copper-colored and hoppy Chang Mai, which is named after a city in northern Thailand, and the Rutting Elephant (Chang Baah), a dark bock. If you're feeling really heady, you can order one of the Orchid's beer cocktails, such as the Dancing Lady: brown bock mixed with orange juice and allspice. Taps run till 10:30 p.m. Sunday through Thursday; 11:00 p.m. Friday and Saturday.
Forget the goofy name. Roasters, as it's called by most customers, is hard-core, straight-up deli fare. Breakfast is an array of the basics: thick French toast, eggs (or egg whites, perhaps), toast, bagels, lox, and such, all accompanied by orange juice squeezed fresh. The lunch menu features meaty deli sandwiches and the best matzo-ball soup around. The restaurant's owners strive to make their deli a place where locals can gather and feel among friends, sort of what the late lamented Wolfie's was like in Miami Beach in its heyday 35 years ago. Roasters has succeeded spectacularly. It's where Kendall and Pinecrest come to nosh.
Despite the name, Hernandez looks like an old-fashioned neighborhood butcher shop, a mom-and-pop operation bordering an industrial neighborhood in Hialeah. Nothing very notable about the place. Except that the best roast pork on the planet can be had there. You have to call or visit ahead of time and tell them what kind of pig you want: A 40-pounder? 60-pounder? Bigger? A 100-pounder? No problem. Then tell them when you would like the pig to be ready: Next Saturday? Sunday? Fine. On that day, all you have to do is keep your eyes from popping out at the gorgeous, bronzed porker they'll slide out of their bread oven for you, drenched in mojo, face down, spread eagle on a large metal tray. Crackly, crunchy skin on the outside. Moist, piping-hot meat on the inside. Take it home. Feed a hundred people. Tell them you cooked it yourself. Squeal with delight.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®