Eat & Drink

Juan Zavala Jr. and his wife Pilar would sometimes sit around with friends in their native Argentina and ponder dinner-by-delivery choices. Inevitably it would come down to pizza or empanadas, and just as inevitably, they'd choose the latter. It occurred to Juan that maybe some of the 40 million Hispanics living in the United States might be thinking along the same lines. Long story short: Light bulb goes off, and some time later, the couple opens Half Moon Empanadas on Washington Avenue. "The first and only in Miami Beach," Pilar claims, "that makes the empanadas entirely from scratch, in house." Patrons can observe workers carefully crafting the turnovers through an open window in the back of the clean, contemporary venue. The empanadas come baked or fried, their flaky crusts filled with all manner of ingredients that are both traditional (beef, chicken, or ham and cheese) and nontraditional (smoked pancetta with mozzarella and plum sauce). Price is $1.99 each, six for $9.99, and a dozen for $17.99. Half Moon is open most days 11 to 11 and Thursday through Saturday from 10 a.m. to 6 a.m. — and yes, they deliver.

Burgers are big — as in big across-the-board sales during stressed economic times. There are big profits for burger barons, and big-shot chefs putting 'em on their big-price restaurant menus. Govind Armstrong and the folks at Table 8 took things a step further by opening 8 oz. Burger Bar in South Beach. It isn't difficult to locate a great burger in this town — if someone claimed that Clarke's, Kingdom, or Grill on the Alley made the best one, we really wouldn't argue. But Burger Bar's eponymous eight-ouncer brings a few distinctions to the table. The beef is culled from hormone-free cows; ground in-house from Black Angus sirloin, tri-tip, short rib, and chuck; and grilled over live oak. Then it's plunked onto a soft, fresh brioche bun. House-cured bacon, house-pickled pickles, hothouse cucumber relish, and homemade heirloom tomato ketchup are among a long list of cool accouterments; there are lots of cheeses to choose from too. Price for the signature burger is $10, a dollar or two less for those culled from turkey or Niman Ranch lamb. Burger Bar bops from 5 p.m. to midnight, and until 2 in the morning Thursday through Saturday. You're gonna like this place. Big time.

Family-owned for 37 years, the small, old-timey joint is now run by brothers David and Joe Arbetter, who insist that the chili used on their dogs be made fresh every day, that the buns be pillow-soft, and that the ambiance stay unpretentious. Simple snacks such as the "All Around" (mustard, onions, and relish) are the brothers' forte, and prices are recession-worthy at $2 to $3.05 per sausage. Inside, the place is a throwback to the shakes-at-the-parlor days when the term veggie dog would have just confused folks. Large sweaty cooks call out orders. Lunchroom dining means grabbing a seat at the counter. And cash is the only way to pay.

Since 1982, Casola's has been serving up delectable, eternally melting (we swear, it's like the Niagara Falls of cheese) New York-style pizza so addictive you might wander back here in your sleep. Slices are so gargantuan that the lifting of one piece has been known to cause hernias. And a single pie can easily feed the entire nation of Zimbabwe or, perhaps, one of the chickens butchered for the jumbo wings. Honestly, this is the only practical explanation for the pterodactyl-size delicacies that come, wrapped in tinfoil, in rations of 6 ($6.99), 12 ($9.99), 24 ($17.99), and 36 ($23.99). Crisp and super-meaty, each wing is fried up fresh and lets out a small stream of steam with the first bite. And don't bother being fussy about sauces — the wings come dry with sides of traditional Buffalo and tangy barbecue dips. Blue cheese is extra (75 cents, to be exact), but as blasphemous as this might sound to wing lovers all over the world, it isn't even necessary.

You place your order in a bar/lounge that feels like a cross between Hustle and Flow's Memphis backwoods and a From Dusk Till Dawn outlaw biker hideout. But you're at the southern edge of Liberty City, on a crossroads with Little Haiti and Allapattah. You order a chicken sandwich, a tall Arizona fruit punch, and a sweet potato pie. You smile, walk your handwritten order to the barbecue man out front, and then pay less than $10. "Extra hot sauce, please," you say.

"You like that, don't you?" he answers with a grin.

"Best chicken in Miami, sir."

You sit down and wait as he removes artfully fire-crisped yet incredibly juicy and tender chicken pieces from the grill and lays them on his cutting board. He lowers the cleaver with guillotine-like precision, splitting bones at the joints and throughout. Then he tongs the chicken, still on the bone, onto a piece of white bread nestled in aluminum foil; douses it in a vibrant red spicy barbecue sauce made in house by secret recipe; and tops it with another slice of white bread. Smiling, he wraps the sandwich in the foil, places it in a paper bag, and hands it to you. You were gonna take it home, but you can't wait, so you rip open the package, take a seat, and revel in the abundance of flavors and textures. This is perfectly executed barbecue chicken. You can get it Thursday from 2 to 10 p.m. and Friday and Saturday from 2 p.m. to 2 a.m.

Tomato or mustard? Tangy or sweet? Every barbecue lover has his or her sauce preferences, but in all honesty, the sauce is just windowdressing. It's the meat that matters and it's James's meat that draws customers to parking lots across town. To cover James's ribs with any sauce, even your favorite, would be a tragedy akin to putting a burlap sack on a beautiful woman. The flavor is simply inspiring and the bones so tender you can gnaw straight through them to the marrow. Save the sauce for that filet mignon or other slab of tasteless meat you bought at the supermarket a few feet away. Call James now to find out where he will be setting up his smoker this weekend (he's usually at the edge of the parking lot behind the Publix on Biscayne Boulevard at NE 48th Terrace). Then get a rack of ribs or some chicken, add a couple of cobs of roasted corn, and head home to eat — if you can hold out that long.

On the northwest side of a nondescript corner in Allapattah, there is a sandwich shop with exactly zero signage. Set back 200 feet from the road and buffered from traffic by a small asphalt field, the place looks like a postapocalyptic bunker. It's easy to drive past, and even if you do see it, you wouldn't assume delicious lunch foods are hawked from this spot. Simple, uncomplicated pan con lechón doesn't fit the profile. Nevertheless, Papo Llega y Pon serves one king-hell $5 pork sandwich. Drippingly delicious and spicy cleaver-chopped roast pig is piled onto soft white bread and then finished with onion, mayo, or piquant sauce. It's huge. But you came here to eat, right? So double-fist it, go around the corner, and enter the little dining dungeon. It's about the size of a holding cell; there are iron bars on the windows and nothing but a single exit. So a tip: Don't let any of your fellow sandwich eaters get behind you. These people are very hungry. Then again, so are you.

One could easily make a meal of the hearty bar menu at Bourbon Steak's swanky temple of upscale comfort food, but risking arterial blockage is worth it for just one thing: the platter of fried chicken and waffles that's offered only Wednesday nights, when the restaurant hosts a live blues band and bourbon drink specials. The heaping plate is piled high with expertly fried cornflake-battered white and dark meat drizzled with maple syrup and accompanied by bacon-studded waffles and cilantro crème fraîche. Gluttony doesn't come cheap — the dish of fried chicken costs $19. And forget the utensils; despite the posh surroundings, you're encouraged to do finger-licking justice to this golden delicacy.

The low point in American French fry history came when members of Congress humiliated spuds by spuriously renaming them freedom fries (seems so long ago, no?). But the fry has also had its share of historical highs, one of which occurred when the first Five Guys opened 23 years ago in Arlington, Virginia. Sacks of Idaho potatoes are piled in the store to form aisles and to let patrons know how serious these guys are about their fries. (Last year, the chain's 300-plus locations went through 38,409,200 pounds of potatoes.) The fries are hand-cut with skins on and cooked to order in pure, cholesterol-free peanut oil. They're served hot, crisp, and in such abundant portions that one regular $2.89 order can feed three, and a $3.99 large can feed three sumo wrestlers (the fries also come with Cajun seasonings, but let's not go there). Five Guys will be coming soon to Aventura and South Beach as part of its continuing quest to restore dignity and integrity to this most iconic American food.

Axiom No. 1: If it's delicious, it's ten times more delicious rolled in breading and deep-fried.

Axiom No. 2: If it's seafood, it's ten times better when you're sitting on the waterfront.

Conclusion: Conch fritters at Monty's are 100 times better than any other kind of conch anywhere else.

Don't believe in science? Just add it up yourself. There aren't too many joints left in South Florida with Monty's vibe — a thatched roof covering a huge outdoor deck, right on the yacht-choked Coconut Grove dockside, with front-row seats for the evening light fading over Key Biscayne and a regatta of sailboats. You literally cannot get your food any closer to the ocean unless you're on D-Wade's yacht. Throw in some of the freshest conch in the metro area deep-fried into a crunchy, greasy golden nugget. Just for good measure, add in a liberal happy hour and a live reggae band in the evenings.

Fact: You're going to enjoy it.

In a far-off land called Little Havana, there is a humble abode called La Palma Restaurant. Inside, past twisted blue wrought-iron railing and through an enchanted forest of characters that range from Cuban princesses to chain-smoking serfs, is a window above a granite counter — a ventanilla, if you will — staffed by women who transform into witches if you don't speak their native tongue and guard, with troll-like glares, three croquetas.

The first, filled with fish, is perhaps a tad strong, evoking the smell of Papa Bear's trout breath in just a single bite. The second, chock full of chicken, is too weak, like a girl with blond locks who's about to receive a major beatdown from a family of violated grizzlies. Yet the third, stuffed with ham, is just right, making a possibly long wait and awkward conversation with La Palma's pleasant waitstaff well worth it.

And although the croquetas at this Calle Ocho joint lack centers filled with flecks of parsley, wild mushrooms, or Manchego cheese, like at other (and pricier) local spots, they're still the most magical in all the land. Silky and smoky with a crisp fried crust, these scrumptious golden brown nubs allow your taste buds to live happily ever after. Plus, at 86 cents each, one or even ten of them is no hair off of your chinny, chin, chin.

Go Go's flaky pastry pockets are the stuff of local legend. Located in an unassuming strip mall on Alton Road, the cheery, mod café belies its humble location. Though the empanada spot boasts dozens of varieties of the Argentine treat, it's the reasonably priced banana-Nutella variety that takes the savory-sweet dichotomy to a new and satisfying level. Filled with slightly ripened banana and oozing hazelnut cream, the dessert pastry is like a French crêpe gone South American. Fusion at its best. Empanadas are a recession-friendly $2.25 each.

Sure, Sang's might be located on a dodgy strip of NE 163rd Street, and yes, the waitstaff is more efficient and gruff than friendly and welcoming, but if you're looking for authentic Cantonese and regional Chinese eats, this is the place. The no-frills interior has the requisite red and gold accents, but focus on the plate where dim sum delicacies such as stuffed eggplant, pork dumplings, and curry octopus are served daily 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Dim sum and dumpling selections set you back about $1 to $3 apiece.

There's no "bamboo," "lotus," "moon," or "panda" necessary in the name of this beloved Kendall institution. And you won't find lizard kebabs, barbecue scorpions, or any kind of weird Beijing street food on the menu. The only thing this take-out restaurant, nestled in the Crossings shopping center, serves up is simple American Chinese carry-out classics that come hot and plentiful. Years of doing it right have earned this spot a small, suburban cult following. Try the honey chicken, egg roll, and spare ribs combination dinner that comes with pork-fried rice and your choice of won ton or egg drop soup for just $10.50 plus tax. Or sample one of their recession-friendly (all under $7) lunch specials that range from tender shrimp in a creamy lobster sauce to moo goo gai pan. An abundance of lo mein, foo yung, chop suey, and vegetarian dishes is also available. But be forewarned: Like the Seinfeld episode that shares this eatery's name, it's difficult to pop in for a quick bite before a movie; placing an order in person can be a timely ordeal. So don't wait — order your chow now.

In the Year of the Ox, we were shocked when a mystical dragon flew through the door of our lobby, singed our receptionist's hair, and dropped a box full of fortune cookies that amazingly described (in broken English, of course) our favorite Chinese carry-out joint, China Palace. In fact, the fortunes were so accurate we decided to share some of them with you:

• Your greatest fortune is the large number of items on the menu that span like wing of crane. China Palace has all the basics from a rainbow of lo meins to kung po frogs' legs ($10.95).

• There is a true and sincere friendship between you and your stomach. This is why you should want China Palace's standout items and you should order creamy crab Rangoon (8 for $4.95), crispy roast duck ($10.95), and fluffy, never soggy, well-spiced honey-garlic chicken ($9.95).

• Plan for many large pieces of pork, beef, crab, and shrimp in your future by ordering fried rice. All portions also very giant. Your winning lottery numbers are 6, 8, 13, 32, 29, 41.

• You will inherit some money or a small piece of land. But you may still take advantage of special dinner platters served with soup and fried rice that are never more than 8 American dollars.

• A quiet evening with friends is the best tonic for a long day. So is food put quickly in the body. This is why it is good that China Palace never takes more than 45 minutes to deliver tasty meals to the mouth.

• You will step on the soil of many countries when eating here because our Cantonese and Szechuan cuisines are authentic here too.

• In the end, there are three things that last: faith, hope, and satisfied hunger; and the greatest of these is satisfied hunger, which you will get after eating at China Palace. LEARN CHINESE: Pot sticker = Guo-tie (also very good and cheap too!).

Red Koi Lounge opened its Miracle Mile doors earlier this year to fierce competition from Gables staple Bangkok Bangkok. But its combination of friendly servers, fiery duck red curry, and budget-friendly lunch specials has helped the feisty newcomer attain a loyal following that packs the black-leather-and-bamboo dining room on weekends. Sure, there's sushi on the menu too, most of it pretty good, but it's Thai staples such as ginger scallops and spicy beef salad with lime juice and crunchy scallions that inspire return visits. Curries go for $10 to $27.

Unlike other temples to Japanese food on South Beach, Yoko's is a relatively humble pioneer that has consistently churned out high-quality staples such as nongreasy tempura, buttery raw fish, seared yakitori chicken skewers, and plump shrimp shumai. Come here for Japanese comfort food like fried pork katsu, barbecue eel, and heaping bowls of udon noodle soup. The tatami mat décor and warm yet formal service is the closest Miami gets to a typical Tokyo neighborhood haunt. Yaki soba with shrimp is $15.

Izzy's fills that odd dining niche for those days when you can't decide whether you're feeling like ropa vieja or panang curry. Luckily, at Izzy's, you can have both, simultaneously if desired. Located in the once-classic Sherry Frontenac Hotel in North Beach, the sparsely decorated joint boasts a lengthy menu of Cuban and Thai classics that range from skirt steak with tostones and black beans all the way to pad thai, a sweetly sour mee grob, and a lovely coconut soup bursting with shrimp and vegetables. And it's cheap. Ropa vieja is $9; green curry goes for $11.

Let's hark back to the days when meat was served in portions the size of Hyundais. Better yet, let's just mosey on over to Fogo de Chão, which loosely translates to "stuff of the face." Or maybe not — our Portuguese isn't so hot — but we know a great cut of meat when we eat one. The way it works, as most Miamians know, is a band of servers comes to the table hauling long skewers of fat, juicy meats, and provides continuous slicing privileges for those who want it. There are some 15 Brazilian-style cuts in all, our favorites being the picanha (prime sirloin), beef ancho (prime part of the rib eye), tender pork ribs, pork sausages, leg of lamb... well, guess we like it all. The meats here just seem fresher, moister, and more flavorful than those at other eateries of this type. Diners are likewise lassoed by fresh breads, side dishes, and a ridiculously extensive salad bar. The whole shebang costs $46.50 ($26.50 for kids) — not a bad deal when broken down to price per pound.

Brazilian food has become synonymous with meat, and lots of it. The brasileiros have the successful export of their churrascarias (think Texas de Brazil and Fogo de Chão) to thank for that. But there's a lot more to Brazilian cuisine than tender rump roast on a stick. And there's no better place to get the most authentic of Brazilian meals — feijoada — than at Camila's, a downtown Miami institution since 1989. Like other Brazilian chains, the restaurant is buffet style, and the best day to check it out is Saturday, when Camila's offers a special feijoada meal. What is feijoada? It's a stew of black beans with pork, which could include everything from bacon to smoked pork ribs. Best of all, Camila's prices are reasonable — just $10.95 for the super buffet. And if you want Brazilian-style meat, they have that too.

Señorita Juanita, translate the following to English, por favor:

La Señora Martinez sirve pequeñas porciones de exquisitas comidas muy gustosas — a continuación de las famosas tapas de Andalucía.

Sra. Martinez serves small plates of big-flavored foods styled after the famed tapas of Andalusia.

Muy bien. Ahora, Herman, translate this to Spanish:

Pork belly with sweet-and-sour glaze, sea urchin sandwich crisply pressed in French bread, smaller, tapas-like snacks such as Serrano ham with fig marmalade and Marcona almonds — chef/owner Michelle Bernstein imbues all with her own uniquely creative touch.

Puerco...

Ay! Tome asiento Señor Herman, por favor. Señorita Maria, cuéntenos un poco sobre la Señora Bernstein y la Señora Martinez.

Bernstein is one of Miami's most gifted chefs, and Sra. Martinez is her Design District, Seville-style restaurant. Most plates are under $18, there are great sherries and wines to go with the cuisine, it stays open for dinner until 1 a.m. Friday and Saturday, and the atmosphere is fun, fun, fun.

Super! Herman, por favor, déjeme saber cual es el mejor restaurante de comida española en miami?

Señora Bernstein?

Ay caramba!

The best Cuban restaurant in Miami lives in Wynwood. That's where La Fama Cafeteria puts out its consistently delicious, always affordable, nothing-more-than-$7.95 menu of classic meals and daily specials. La Fama consists of a lunch counter, a take-out window, and a small room with a couple of tables. But don't let the spartan environment fool you — the food exceeds all expectations. Huge portions of crisp fried chicken chunks, boiled yuca in garlic sauce, black beans, and white rice will set you back only $4.95 for the meal. Beautiful girls work the counter six days a week from 6 a.m. to 8 p.m. The place is closed Sunday, so whether you want a medianoche ($2.80), a flan de leche ($1.50), or a giant bistec de pollo empanizado ($5.95), you've come to the right place. Local businessman Hugo Jesus Roca says, "You gotta try the mondongo." The beef tripe soup is served as a special Fridays and Saturdays. Whether you sit down to eat or grab it and go, La Fama brings Miami heat to the melting pot and cooks up fire every time.

Thanasis Barlos has been the proprietor of the highest Michelin-rated restaurant in Greece, as well as of Elia, a posh Mediterranean eatery in the Bal Harbour Shops. But when he and partner Michelle Shimon opened Ariston in February 2008, the goal was more informal. They wanted to serve simple, well-executed Greek cuisine in a festive neighborhood-restaurant environment. Mr. Barlos's mother, Noni, provided recipes that come to life via vivid execution by chef Alexia Apostolidi, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America. The mainstays are all on hand, including luscious renditions of tarama and tzatziki and a textbook moussaka. But what distinguishes Ariston are the suckling piglet roasted in a wood-burning oven ($21.95) and lamb aromatically spun in a charcoal rotisserie ($25.95) — both accompanied by potatoes softly roasted in olive oil, lemon juice, and herbs. Service is sharp, the wine list extensive, and the honey-dripped walnut cake (karithopita) not to be missed — and you won't miss it if you show up from 6 to 11 p.m. (or Saturday until midnight).

It was nearly a decade ago when Pascal Oudin opened his eponymous 55-seat restaurant. This is noteworthy because it began the trend of Miami's top chefs leaving big-money establishments to start modest places of their own. The restaurant is also noteworthy because Oudin, from Bourbon Lancy, France, is an unquestionably gifted chef. Using classic French technique gleaned from years of working under masters such as Alain Ducasse, Roger Verge, and Jean-Louis Palladin, he artfully creates light, fresh fare such as creamy lobster bisque with corn flan and tarragon, twice-baked Gruyère cheese soufflé, and duck dolce forte with pears, fingerling potatoes, and Savoy cabbage (entrées are in the $30 range). Well-priced bottles are on the wine list, white linens and delicate flowers are on the tables, the waitstaff is on the ball, and if you've never eaten at Pascal's on Ponce, you should get right on over there for lunch or dinner (open until 10 p.m. weeknights and an hour later on weekends).

Walk into Rincon Argentino with any doubts about the restaurant's philosophy and they'll quickly melt away. The reason: the gigantic fire pit in the middle of the dining room that's usually covered with dripping racks of sausage, beef, and sometimes a whole pig. Argentine cuisine is all about the carne, baby. An Argentine barbecue special brings a sizzling iron grill right to your table, with juicy flank steaks, kidneys, sweetbreads, and blood sausage simmering atop white-hot coals. Italian-Argentine appetizers such as queso proveleta Argentina (a giant hunk of grilled, fresh cheese) and mozzarella Caprese with prosciutto are delicious warmups. Then comes the main attraction: a whole menu of steaks, ribs, chicken, offal, and sausages spitting hot off the grill and washed down with fishbowls of perfect, best-value-in-the-world Malbec. Quiet your inner carnivore with the media parrillada, or half Argentine barbecue, a gut-busting rack of steaks and sausages for $19.95. The Coral Gables location, a warm space two blocks from Miracle Mile, has been around since 1987, when Argentine-Italian couple Miguel and Illena DeMarziani set up shop. Their son, Michael, opened the Kendall spot in 2001. Both restaurants feel as close to Buenos Aires as the Magic City can get. And that, che, is close.

Whenever some young, enterprising chef chooses to tamper with food basics, he or she runs the risk of popular revolt. And often the result is total failure. But now and then, a place such as Yiya's Gourmet Cuban Bakery arrives, executing the essentials with high ambition balanced by common sense, style, and unparalleled craft. Since opening in early January 2009, co-owners Delsa Bernardo and Abbie Cuellar have served an assortment of their simple yet sophisticated pastelitos filled with guava, coconut and cheese, and meat. And there are no high prices of the sort usually brought on by the word gourmet. In fact, all pastries cost between 95 cents and $1.25, including the hefty dulce de leche strudel. Add espresso or a smooth, not-too-sweet café con leche, and you have breakfast. Then, until 6 p.m. (AKA closing time during the summer), Delsa prepares the shop's signature lunch specials: a $5 pan con lechón and the slightly pricier goat cheese pizza on Indian nan crust. But whatever you do, don't rush off. This place was made for loitering. Slouch down on the throne-like leather sofa, sample some free wi-fi, and enjoy the modern, sun-soaked interior. Remember, though, to get a loaf of homemade bread or a half-dozen buttery croissants for the road. You'll love yourself the next morning.

A Miamian's life is spent trying to avoid gridlock. But when a line regularly backs up to a bakery's door, it's generally best to ditch the highway-learned evasive tactics, join the massive crowd, and take a number. At Buenos Aires Bakery Café in North Beach, where a beginner's Spanish will be tested, you'll be rewarded by a display case full of beautiful, buttery-golden Argentine pastries, most made with a flaky, croissant-like dough. While the cream cheese Danish is pretty incredible, we like to cut out the middleman and go with the croissant, a miniature of the French pastry, crisped in butter with cloud-soft dough inside. Pair it with a sweet and milky cortadito. By the way, you might as well order three croissants and save yourself another trip through the line.

Scarpetta is Italian slang for "little shoe," or the heel of bread used to scoop up sauce from a heaping plate of Italian goodness. It's fitting, then, that a meal at this glossy Fontainebleau outpost of New York chef Scott Conant's polished Italian fare begins with one of the most enticing breadbaskets in the city. House-made stromboli filled with smoked salami and cheese are accompanied by fluffy focaccia and crusty ciabatta, all of which are primed to be dipped or slathered in the mascarpone butter, fruity olive oil, and hearty eggplant caponata that grace each table. Entrées run in the $30 to $40 range, but refills of the breadbasket are blissfully free.

There are showier sandwich shops, for sure, as well as ones that offer more choices. Want jalapeños with that tuna sandwich? Sorry, Pesen's doesn't do peppers. But the tuna is made daily from white albacore and pressed into a ciabatta bread panini with ripe red tomatoes — a limo to Subway's subway. All the sandwiches at this clean and bright downtown Miami deli/market are made with care by the owner and his wife, as are the soups, salads, smoothies, and shakes. There are some 16 sandwich offerings in all, including a Caprese made with fresh mozzarella on baguette (or whole-wheat baguette); a Mediterranean hummus, feta cheese, and olive sandwich in pita bread; and those pressed panini, a Pesen's signature, each selling for $5.95 or less (soup and half panini is $6.50). Some folks take a seat at one of the tables in the quaint shop; many grab lunch (or a light dinner) to go. Pesen's is open 8:30 a.m. to 8 p.m. weekdays and 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Saturdays. Yes, they have no jalapeños, but Pesen's is hot.

Workers in the nondescript building at the end of San Remo are lucky indeed — in terms of lunchtime options, that is. Within a stone's throw from this beige, Gables-bland complex that houses a Coldwell Banker branch, an oral surgeon's office, and various other official-looking businesses, there's Publix, Whole Foods, and Sunset Place. And downstairs, tucked away at the back of a curiously tropical and leafy atrium, there's an authentic Parisian sandwich shop owned by a handsome blue-eyed Frenchman. Ooh-la-la.

The priciest sandwich at L'Express Sandwicherie is the $7.95 San Remo, which is an elegant, simple, crusty loaf filled with prosciutto, mozzarella, tomato, and fresh-made pesto. Panini include the typical offerings, and then there's "beefy" — roast beef, tomato, red onion, mayo and horseradish — and "porky," which is layered with ham, Brie, slender slivers of apple, and balsamic vinaigrette. Both are $7.55. You can get away with a delicious lunch in this quirky little oasis for ten bucks. Better still, you can take your food to the park across the street and pretend you don't have to go back to the office after your break.

Let's be real. There are two, maybe three mall food courts in the county where you would actually consider eating if you didn't have to. The rest are dirty places filled with generic burger joints that use clip art of smiling patties as logos. We wish they'd take a cue from University of Miami's Hurricane Food Court.

It's one of only a couple of food courts in town with a Panda Express, and if you've ever had the orange chicken there, you know how important that is (plus you'll always get wonderful service from Angel). And it boasts the only Miami-Dade location of Salsarita's, a health-conscious taco chain; it's like Taco Bell but won't give you indigestion. Rounding out the place are made-to-order salad shops; outlets specializing in sushi, Mediterranean food, and Caribbean cuisine; and your typical Wendy's and Jamba Juice food court fodder. Plus, thanks to UM's obsession with image, the area is always clean. We just wish you didn't have to spend $30K a year on tuition to make frequenting this little fast-food oasis convenient.

This Sopranos-esque red sauce joint is the kind of place where locals and celebs such as Matt Damon elbow for space in the old-school wooden bar, so it's no surprise that the eager-to-please management would go one better than a prix fixe menu with limited choices. Make your way to the North Beach institution between 5 and 6 p.m. and your entire meal is half off, including drinks and dessert — the whole shebang. Which means you get belly-filling classics like eggplant parm, veal gardino, and crab raviolotti for as little as $8 a dish.

Picture it: a steaming fresh beurre-sucre crêpe, dripping sweet, sugary butter all over your plate, served under a shaded tree in front of a warm orange-hued storefront on Española Way. Pedestrians stroll past as myriad savory scents waft by. How's $3.50 sound for that slice of delicieux Parisian life? At A La Folie, it's waiting for you every morning. Another $3 buys the freshest strawberries on South Beach for your crêpe, and a few bucks more brings you handmade caramel crêpes or the "forestière," with savory sautéed champignon mushrooms. For $4, you can tack on the punch-bowl-size "grand crème café au lait," the best frothy espresso this side of the Seine. And if the most decadent breakfast special on the Beach is on the agenda, watch out for the "tartiflette," a devious mix of bacon, potato, onion, cream, and Reblochon cheese.

The first thing that greets patrons walking into People's Bar-B-Que is Shepard Fairey's iconic red, white, and blue Obama "Hope" poster on the kitchen door. Then there's the smoky oak aroma, the home-style ambiance, and hospitable waitstaff. Then there's the food, heaping portions of it. Just off of I-95, this Overtown mainstay has been serving barbecue ribs and chicken, oxtail, pork, collard greens, black-eyed peas, and other soul food staples for nearly four decades. The meat is cooked over an open fire, smoked to perfection, and smothered in a delectably tangy barbecue sauce made from a secret family recipe. Sides include pigeon peas and rice, fried okra, candied yams, baked beans, sweet peas, corn, and mashed potatoes, among others. The macaroni and cheese and cornbread alone are worth the trip. And while the servings are generous, save room for desserts such as the sweet potato pie and banana pudding. Lunch platters, which are served with two sides, start at $8 for barbecue ribs and $10.50 for a ribs and chicken combo. There's even take-out service. The essence of great soul food is heritage and the warm embrace of comfort and home. At People's, that spirit is delivered in abundance.

Vegetarians put on a happy face when courageously diving, over and over again, into soy patties and seitan casseroles, but don't be fooled: The animal-product-eschewing set has functioning taste buds. Meatless menus, however, are often limited to the same old options. To the rescue comes Shing Wang Vegetarian, Icee, and Tea House, perhaps Miami's first entirely vegetarian Chinese restaurant. All the favorites are here, from General Tso's "chicken" to Ko-Po "pork" and crispy "duck" — all are reincarnated in soy by Buddhist owner/chef Sing Kelly, who once ran a popular meat-serving spot nearby. Don't miss the "veggie sticky rice in leaf," a tamale-like rice, egg, and peanut dumpling wrapped in bamboo leaf. The Chinatown staple is usually impossible to find meatless. Wash it all down with one of the bubble teas and finish up with a Taiwanese shaved ice, an addictive dessert far more complex than its American carny cousin.

Once you enter the realm of high-fat, preservative-filled foods, it's not easy to turn back. Your bod will eventually begin to crave crap, and you'll find yourself shoving the greasiest grub down your gullet every chance you get. The same goes for healthful food — if you have it, the desire will come. And if you buy it in a virtual one-stop shop of wholesome goodness, you'll be in your own little tasty Shangri-la. Prana Health Food & Restaurant is just that, a place that's half grocery store and half vegetarian restaurant. The shelves are stocked with organic skin-care products, gaggles of books and supplements, and everything else your boho heart yearns for. And for your boho belly? A wide array of freshly squeezed juices and freshly pulsed smoothies is at your disposal. Monday through Saturday, the small steam table in the back serves up vegetarian goodies highlighting the flavors of seasonal ingredients ranging from eggplant and squash to locally grown tomatoes and fresh beans. For just $9, your body will thank you for feeding it something that doesn't come wrapped in a piece of greasy paper, and even better — you won't need to ask, "Where's the beef?" Soup is on only from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m., because, ya know, all good things must come to an end.

Raw foodists, vegans, and juice addicts already treasure this tiny, hip place convenient to Brickell. Will they make room for the rest of us? Om Garden takes vegetarian cuisine a step further and dives headfirst into the realm of the raw or barely cooked. Whether it's the dairy-free pizzas, meatless burgers, wraps, or soups, nothing here is heated over 118 degrees. That way, the food is closer to nature's intention, and its taste is super-fresh too. Feel free to ask your server about the day's best bets if you are not sure what to try first. Entrée prices generally range from $10 to $20, and the desserts and smoothies run just short of a sawbuck. Open for lunch and dinner every day except Sunday.

There's something poetically appropriate about ordering a caesar salad, one of the most ubiquitous of Ocean Drive's culinary offerings, in a spot that put the frenzied strip on the map. Earlier this year, Casa Casuarina — AKA the Versace Mansion — opened its restaurant to the public with a menu of exquisite Mediterranean fare. Chef Dale Rey's version of the pre-dinner salad is composed of the crispest romaine dressed with an ethereal garlic-and-olive-oil emulsion accompanied by flatbread "croutons" and plump marinated anchovies. The salad will set you back $13, less than the price of a cocktail in a South Beach club. It's best enjoyed in the mosaic-tiled courtyard, as Madonna no doubt did countless times before selling her manse and heading north.

In this subtropical oven we call Miami, a cool snack can be as short-lived as a snowball in, well, the Sahara. Not to worry, though. Smoothies from Lemoni Café — a cozy Argentine- and Moroccan-owned sidewalk sandwich shop on NE Second Avenue just north of the Design District — won't sit around for long. They're too tasty. Try the 20-ounce honey-peach-mango with soy milk for $4.50. It's sweet (but not too sweet), velvety (think less icy than Jamba's), and strangely comforting. Opt for the simple, more traditional fresh raspberry or orange if you want something tart and tangy. The place has a jovial neighborhood vibe — with free wireless Internet and flowing conversation — and you'll likely leave feeling a few degrees cooler.

The River Oyster Bar sells nearly twice as many oysters as anyplace else in town (some 200 to 300 dozen per week). It offers nearly twice as many varieties (usually eight to 12 types split along West and East coasts). The oysters shucked at this unpretentious restaurant just south of downtown are nearly twice as good as anyone else's too, and — here's the pearl — they cost only half as much during happy hour (4:30 to 7 p.m. Monday through Saturday). Other times the price will range from $1.75 to $3 each for Cape Cod Bays, Blue Points, Wellfleets, Belons, Kumamotos, Hunter Points, Fanny Bays, etc. Chef and co-proprietor David Bracha has a passion for all sorts of seafoods, as well as progressive American cuisine — like, say, those Fanny Bays fire-roasted with sofrito butter, ancho chili cream, chorizo, and Manchego. Oyster enthusiasts among the River's loyal local fan base, however, will not even bother asking for menus — they'll simply take a seat at the mahogany-and-slate bar and mull over the mollusks spread out before them in an ice-filled trough. Bonus: a great selection of beers and wines to pair with the briny bites.

Hear that? It's not the screech of a crazed scooter driver cutting off a Lamborghini, but a singing cricket. And that scavenging creature isn't a tanorexic SoBe shopper pawing through a Prada bin; it's a hungry raccoon. Welcome to that thing called nature, 15 minutes from downtown Miami. If you think your day is beginning to improve now, wait until you try the fish. The casual Boater's Grill, with a dining porch overlooking No Name Harbor in Key Biscayne's Bill Baggs State Park, is the waterfront vacation home you never had, complete with chefs who can cook Cuban-influenced seafood better than you or even your tia could ever hope to make it. Share an irresistibly crisp whole fried fish (ask the server what kind is most fresh) for $25.95 to $39.50, depending on size. Then wash it down with a pitcher of sweet sangria and watch the sun set as boats creak in the harbor. You'll swear you're in Kennebunkport.

— I brought you here because it's a romantic little bistro where we can talk with one another over escargots, some slices of baguette, a bottle of red wine... plus I thought you would especially enjoy it because you're French.

— I'm from Antigua. Didn't you read my profile?

— Sorry, thought that was in France. Point is, the escargots are tenderly cooked Provençal-style with olive oil, tomatoes, garlic, and basil — the finest in town. And the snapper meunière and lamb chops and duck magret in green peppercorn sauce are fantastic.

— Come here often?

— Heh-heh. I like a gal with a sense of humor. And I like that the décor here makes you feel like you're inside a cozy Parisian café.

— We're sitting outside.

— Well, that's because I love sitting at the tables out here as well; it's as though we're on a quaint Parisian street. Plus they were booked solid inside.

— I can't read the blackboard menu from out here, and I can't see the carte du vin that seems to be written on one of the mirrored walls.

— Think of a French bistro dish and they'll likely have it. Pâté, steak/frites, ratatouille, tarte tatin — almost all entrées are under $20, sides are $3, desserts only $4.

— Thanks for sharing that with me.

— The mostly French wines are also affordable, in the $25 to $50 range. Want a bottle?

— Yes, and some food as well. It's getting late.

— No worry. Buena Vista stays open until midnight, so we still have hours left for intimate conversation.

— When do we begin?

A diner doesn't have to serve sausage gravy poured over a hot, open-faced biscuit with scrambled eggs and a side of buttered rye toast. It doesn't have to provide bottomless cups of coffee, warmed up with a smile by waitresses who remember your name and always seem to know exactly when you're ready to order, need more ketchup, or would like that frittata wrapped, please. It doesn't have to look like the old Hawthorne Grill, the diner, tragically torn down in 1999, that Quentin Tarantino used as a set in Pulp Fiction. It doesn't have to have a counter nearly as long as the building itself and lined with swiveling stools that are always occupied by neighborhood regulars who don't need a menu and don't even need to verbalize their order because everyone, including the person on either side, already knows it. It doesn't have to hang a sign that reads, "Only a Greek can make Greek salad." It doesn't have to line up all the cereals in those plastic containers made famous by Jason Siegel's character in Forgetting Sarah Marshall on a shelf above the coffeemaker. It doesn't have to be devoid of all pretense, focused solely on serving well-made food at affordable prices to a local clientele. It doesn't have to be open seven days a week for breakfast and lunch. It doesn't have to be conveniently located on Biscayne Boulevard in the middle of the Upper Eastside's MiMo District, and you don't have to go there. There's a Denny's right down the street.

Warning: If your idea of a perfect farmers' market includes patchouli-scented homemade candles and organic hypoallergenic honey, Laurenzo's is probably not the place for you. Laurenzo's is not hip, it's not outdoors, and it has all the new-age, hipsy-dipsy ambiance of Big Lots. But if you're looking for the freshest fruits and vegetables at straight-from-the-farm prices — which is what farmers' markets should be all about — you can't miss out on Laurenzo's. Tucked into an unassuming building just west of U.S. 1 in North Miami Beach, the place is lined with shelves that overflow with bright Honeybell oranges, pears, and fresh Florida grapefruit. Caribbean delicacies such as Costa Rican mangos, Dominican boniatos, and Jamaican yellow yams are as fresh as the heaps of fresh cilantro, basil, mint, and dill. The avocados are soft, green, and as big as a peewee football. And if that's not enough enticement, you don't even have to wait for weekends to roll around. Laurenzo's brings the fresh produce seven days a week.

Sung to the tune of "What a Wonderful World":

I see grilled langoustines, veal Milanese,

Twenty-five years in the Gables, no empty tables,

And I slip a bill to the host,

"Can you get us in please?"

I see fried Scarmoza cheese, mozzarella Caprese,

Owner Nino Pernetti, knows great spaghetti,

And I think to myself,

I could use more Parmesan cheese.

The room is seeped in richness, the service so divine

The sea bass comes with truffles, the duck breast in red wine.

I see pasta e fagioli, very old-school,

Expensive as well, but hey, what the hell,

And I think to myself,

What a wonderful world.

The little man felt very bad,

One meatball was all he had.

And in his dreams, he hears that call:

"You gets no bread with one meatball."

Owing to this damn recession, it's appropriate to drag out Depression-era ditties like the one popularized by Josh White in 1944. And it has also reached the point when one meatball for $15 just doesn't cut it anymore. Joey's, a quaint 70-seat Wynwood café, solves this Italian-food-in-tough-times dilemma. For one thing, it doesn't serve meatballs. But it does dish Venetian chef Ivo Mazzon's freshly made pastas — such as spaghetti pomodoro, which reminds us of the pure, simple aromatic appeal of perfectly cooked semolina with ripe tomatoes, fresh basil, and a hint of garlic and olive oil. And try putting this in your red sauce: A hefty half-order can be relished for $5, and a larger portion is $7. Add a small house salad splashed with fresh orange juice-olive oil dressing for $3. Or splurge and try a grilled sirloin steak with softly braised spinach, fennel, and Swiss chard ($16). A great bottle of wine from a boutique Italian vintner for less than $40? Not a problem, nor is a glass of it for under $10. Honest food, fantastic value, an outdoor patio wrapped in foliage, and convenient hours — open for lunch and dinner till 10 p.m. weekdays and 11:30 p.m. weekends. Depression? Joey's is the perfect place to fuhgeddaboutit.

Racks Italian Market & Bistro has taken the stage at North Dade's Intracoastal Mall and is rocking with an incredibly ambitious agenda of providing Italian food in almost every conceivable format. Open seven days for all three meal periods (until 2 a.m. every night but Sunday), the 4,000-square-foot location includes a 204-seat restaurant serving coal oven pizzas, salads, cheeses, pastas, antipasti, and small plates of regional fare for under $20. There's also a Venetian-style bar boasting a wide array of Italian wines from boutique vintners, a 20-seat communal table, outdoor trattoria patio, and waterfront terrace. An espresso bar serves Segafredo coffee. Gary Rack, of Boca Raton's Coal Mine Pizza, is the impresario. Executive chef Matthew Danaher, formerly of Vic & Angelo's, conducts.

It's tough to take artery-clogging fare like pizza and turn it into an eco-friendly, health-conscious option, but North Miami's outpost of Pizza Fusion does so with a casual confidence that belies its high-concept pies. Luckily, those pies are damn tasty, whether it's the whole-wheat organic crust with soy cheese and hormone-free chicken or the gluten-free crust with feta and organic eggplant. This gourmet pizza satisfies on all the right levels — salty, carby, and belly-filling. Pizzas prices range from $7 to $23. Wash it all down with a gluten-free beer and you have a guilt-free feast.

Michael Vasilas approaches a group of four patrons sitting at a table on the outdoor wood deck of his University Restaurant & Patio. The handsome Greek-American holds a heavy metal plate in one hand and a small torch in the other. He squeezes a lemon wedge over the white kasseri cheese square on the plate. Then he sprinkles a little pepper on it. He fires up the torch and flambées the queso, which forms a goldish, crinkly exterior. Vasilas places the plate on the table and everyone digs into the saganaki, one of several deliciously sinful Greek dishes served at this little spot near Jackson Memorial Hospital. In addition to the $7.50 saganaki, you can indulge yourself with $9.95 charbroiled octopus, $6 homemade hummus, and $5.95 melitzanosalata — a fresh-roasted eggplant blended with garlic, olive oil, and potatoes. Vasilas, along with his brother and business partner Steve, took over the restaurant two years ago after moving to the Magic City from the Windy City. In addition to the quaint wood deck, the brothers put in a fully stocked oakwood bar inside the main dining room, where doctors and nurses finishing their rounds can enjoy happy hour. "We wanted to create a place where the neighborhood could feel at home," Steve explains, "and where the people who work around here can get something fresh to eat." University Restaurant & Patio is open from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. Monday through Sunday.

This quirky, wallet-friendly spot in a Biscayne strip mall touts itself as the home of Latin soul food, and indeed there's plenty of soul in the epic menu of small-plate delights. Order a pitcher of sangria and start off with fried garbanzo beans with chorizo, a Spanish omelet, and crisp patatas bravas. The vegetarian-friendly options include a respectable paella and innovative plates such as tostones "Caprese" with mozzarella and green plantains. The atmosphere is laid-back and artsy, as is the crowd, so settle in for a leisurely dinner (open till 10:30 most nights, 11:30 Fridays and Saturdays).

Locavores rejoiced when news that Marc and Blue Solomon opened an organic tapas bar around the corner from Sardinia. And for good reason — the quirkily named Barbu is the latest incarnation from the husband-and-wife team behind the beloved but shuttered organic A in the Design District. Pull up a stool at this new spot on the corner of West Avenue and 20th Street, and feast on small plates of French-Caribbean fare such as roasted pear with honey and Roquefort ($8), broiled escargots with cilantro ($9), and chili and chicken Creole with key lime and papaya purée ($15). Most or almost all of the ingredients are locally sourced or organic, making for a belly-filling guilt-free night of gourmet eats. Feel free to bring along your own beer or wine — the corkage fee is just $5.

First, close your eyes. Now say it aloud: "arepa." Next, take the images of the nacho-yellow cheese-oozing grease pancakes you bought at the street festival last week and banish them from your brain. Then head over to Caballo Viejo for your arepa re-education. It's a tiny storefront eatery in a nondescript West Miami-Dade strip mall. Look for the faded sign with the Venezuelan colors. Watch some telenovelas, pick up the latest copy of El Nacional, and behold the real deal — a steaming roll of slightly sweet cornbread, grilled to a crunchy husk on the outside and stuffed with barely melted, savory queso blanco, just like they make it in Caracas. Education is delicious, yes?

Another sunny Saturday morning — why are they always so bright in Miami Beach? — and your head is pounding from Friday night's indiscretions. Your stomach's demands are explicit and unyielding: something heavy, flavorful, absorbent, delicious, and quick. What's it going to be? More IHOP? Perhaps you'll allow us to whisper gently in your ear: "mofongo." What is this miracle tropical delicacy, beckoning so insistently on a hung-over Saturday morning? Jimmy Carey, chef of Jimmy'z Kitchen, a hole-in-the-wall strip-mall eatery just off Alton Road in South Beach, is here to help. Mofongo is a traditional Afro-Boricua dish -— a round lump of mashed fried green plantains, garlic, olive oil, and crunchy pork rinds, soaked in a rich tomato sauce with a kick. Jimmy'z makes it like no one else — a moist, textural clump of tangy flavors, available only Fridays and Sundays. Don't just lie there in bed trying to will away that headache while ignoring your neglected appetite. Jump up and say it with us: "mofongo!"

Upon entering this boisterous bistro, you might surmise that a celebration is occurring. After all, the room reverberates with the din of clamorous patrons shouting and laughing with glee, and chef/owner Georges Eric Farge runs about waving and whistling and whatnot. Perhaps it's somebody's birthday? Oh yeah. After grabbing seats amid the mayhem, your group will be brought complimentary flutes of champagne to help lubricate your way into the festivities. At some point during dinner, while you are savoring salmon tartare, chicken tagine, or steak au poivre, or any of the hearty bistro offerings, the mayhem will escalate to madness — bells, whistles, beams of light darting from mirrored disco balls, an earsplitting blast of "YMCA" or "Dancing Queen" — this is when you will know it's not just any birthday joint. And even if there are no such parties the night you visit, you'll still be privy to delectable French food and wine at affordable prices (most entrées are $25 to $29) and in an effervescent environment. Whether during lunch or dinner, Farge, who formerly helmed Le Bouchon du Grove, remains Miami's most entertaining dining-room trouvère.

— Hello, everyone, and welcome to Miami's Chophouse. We're perched in the newly installed press box high above the classic dining room, waiting for the business crowd to file in for the lunchtime action. I'll tell ya, Jer, it's always a thrill to come to this downtown restaurant, which was formerly named Manny's Steaks.

— Sure is, John, and what I like is that it combines the classic attributes of the old arenas — the white-clothed tables, leathery booths, and all those dark woods — and yet it also has the curves and windows and general light touch that young folks seem to like these days. Plus you can't beat those outdoor seats. I remember back in 1959, we...

— Thanks, Jer. I spoke with the chef during pre-dinner prep, and he's relying on the same winning formula that made the original Manny's a fan favorite in Minneapolis: big red meats, big red wines, big side dishes, and friendly, professional service. Wait, they're starting to roll the meat trolleys into the room now. Wow, what a sight!

— I remember once walking into this Minneapolis bar...

— The folks watching at home can expect to see plenty of our hefty participants cutting through USDA-certified, dry-aged 20-ounce New York strips and 24-ounce bone-in rib eyes while simultaneously cutting diminished deals with their broken brokers.

— Looks like it's going to be another packed house, which always adds to the excitement.

— And so do the waiters. You and I have been around this industry a long time, but I can't recall a feistier crew than this one. They remind the fans that dining is supposed to be about having a good time.

— Except the crowd here, at lunch, is composed of businesspeople, and well, John, you know they're not having much fun these days.

— I'm not sure about that, Jer. That group of suits sharing the 25-ounce goblet of whiskey bread pudding doused with Maker's Mark sure looks satisfied to me.

— Well, I suppose if they can afford entrées running from $30 to $40, they haven't been too adversely affected by things. Credit limits or not, power lunches will always exist — it comes down to businesspeople being businesspeople.

— We'll be back after this word from Citibank.

This cozy Upper East Side Italian restaurant stocks an enviable selection of mid-price Italian and New World wines, all chosen with care by chef/owner Sandra Stefani. Browse the handsomely displayed wine wall with labels and prices clearly delineated, or consult the chef herself, who will kindly pair the appropriate quaff with her soulful Italian cooking. Depending on what you order, you could be drinking a $28 Argentine Malbec or a $36 white from Tuscany. Either way, it will match the rustic fare and atmosphere without impoverishing you, a refreshing change from the city's usual wine lists. And even better, there's not a stuffy "list" here. Just a wall.

First you have to walk past the history: those front steps. But by the time you are seated at one of the elegantly draped tables on the über-romantic courtyard terrace, replete with cobblestones and gurgling grotto pool, memories dissipate into the breezy, beautiful present. Even the most aphrodisiac of settings will wilt in the light of mediocre food, but not to worry: Chef Dale Ray's upscale Mediterranean cuisine leads passions through the stomach and to the heart via simply prepared, and simply delicious, eight-ounce portions of fresh seafood and prime cuts of meat — along with more complex combos such as a starter of lobster fricassee with gnocchi, foie gras, black truffle, and chanterelles. The average price for three generous portions is $65 to $75 (dinner only). As for that history? It's history. Be here now.

Pigs and chickens belong on farms; fish should come from bodies of water. Yet as our favorite seafoods are being grilled and pan-seared to extinction, more and more species are raised in huge, sinister, Matrix-like farms. Not the fish at Area 31. The restaurant takes its name and many of its products from Fishing Area 31, a United Nations-sanctioned, ecologically sustainable swath of the Western Central Atlantic Ocean. Chef John Critchley takes daily catches such as Spanish mackerel, mangrove snapper, corvina, and wahoo and sizzles them over a wood grill, with pristinely pure results. There are other worthy menu items, including a sensational salt-crusted dorade, a salad of octopus tossed with fried cubes of pork belly, and chitarra pasta with fried garlic and spicy crab. Most entrées are in the upper-$20 range. Area 31 is located on the 16th floor of downtown's new Epic Hotel and is open for all meal periods. The wine list is one of the smartest in town, the cocktails among the most creative, and the service smooth as an eel in water.

In 1965, Intel cofounder Gordon Moore stated that the number of transistors that could be placed on an electronic circuit board would double approximately every 18 months, a formulation now known as Moore's Law. It explains why every new laptop is exponentially faster than the one that came out last year — but not why they seem to break so much faster. It kind of makes you wish Moore had formulated a few more theories. In the 1990s, for instance, the Japanese restaurant industry could have a used a similar law stating that the average number of ingredients in a sushi roll would triple every 90 minutes, or that the price of a roll roughly corresponds to the Pynchonesque quality of its description on the menu. Or maybe Moore could have proven that the number of sushi rolls a person consumes in one year is inversely proportional to how many country-music singers he or she can name.

Not many sushi chefs have been capable of bucking the industry trends as well as Bond Street Lounge's Mike Hiraga, who for 17 years has kept the focus on the fish itself. Who needs "komodo dragon volcano sex tempura" when Bond Street's spicy tuna roll tastes as delicious as it does for only $11? How about a scallop and asparagus roll topped with spicy mentaiko caviar for only $10? The rest of the menu is just as refreshingly absent of allusions to frying, exploding, and mythical creatures and instead simply lists the high-quality ingredients themselves. Plus the restaurant's décor is streamlined and cozy, and the place is located in the ultra-stylish Townhouse Hotel in the heart of South Beach. Trendy doesn't have to mean flashy. There's a good law for you, Mr. Moore.

Carpashimi, as some of you might believe, is a chronic and painful condition of the wrist caused by excessive and prolonged use of chopsticks. Wait, that can't be right (damn you, Wikipedia!). Carpashimi, as some of you might have figured out, is a coupling of carpaccio and sashimi, and can be found at AltaMar Restaurant on the west end of Lincoln Road. The raw fish specialty comprises thin shavings and meaty slices of pristine tuna that dazzle with drizzles of sesame-soy-accented vinaigrette and devilish dabs of wasabi mayonnaise. A plate of the carpashimi costs $9 and is an ideal means of starting out your meal here (only thing better would be if AltaMar added minced, highly seasoned tuna and presented it as tartacarpashimi). The rest of chef/proprietor Claudio Giordano's menu is rife with some of the freshest local seafood around, prepared with expertise and priced under $30 (open daily for dinner only, 5 p.m. till midnight).

Past honorees of this lifetime achievement-type award are Norman Van Aken, Mark Militello, Allen Susser, Pascal Oudin, Philippe Ruiz, Michelle Bernstein, and Michael Schwartz. This year's inductees fit right into this privileged pantheon of pioneering chefs, both having forged personal, South Florida-centric cuisines way back when. Doug Rodriguez's stint began in 1991 at Efrain Vega's original Yuca Restaurant in Coral Gables, which led to Nuevo Latino cuisine and its hundreds of imitators. In a city rife with Cuban eateries, Rodriguez was the first chef to adapt the traditional foods into lighter, prettier, and sometimes even tastier contemporary fare. After Yuca, he opened similarly themed restaurants of his own in New York and then came back with a few attempts at OLA; the present incarnation at the Sanctuary on South Beach is the best yet, his cooking as relevant as ever. Cindy Hutson created her Caribbean-based Cuisine of the Sun at Norma's on the Beach, from 1994 to 1999, and then honed the style at her Ortanique on the Mile in Coral Gables. Ten years later, the charming Ortanique is still packing them in and remains a singular oasis for tropical-accented cooking. Each of these chefs has succeeded in deftly translating Central and Latin American culinary traditions into delectable cuisines uniquely their own — and both continue to do so better than anyone else.

What might you not recognize? A martini glass that appears to be filled with water but is not; a giant pan-fried candy wrapper; bright red sheets on a bed of green and white foams. These are, respectively, clarified gazpacho — how'd they do that? — which tastes just like gazpacho; tuna "wrapped" in shiso leaf and soy paper and twisted on each end; Caprese salad composed of skinned, semidried fillets of tomato with basil and mozzarella foams. It's all on the "gastronomy map" (i.e., menu) at Enso, an "evolutionary solutions workshop which creates the scientific study of deliciousness" (i.e., restaurant). Sous vide veal tongue with octopus chimichurri is up for grabs as well, and so is chocolate liqueur topped with strawberry "air" (i.e., light foam). What could be as surprising as the forms the foods take? How delicious they are. Plus it's fun when you don't quite know what's coming next, and always a pleasure to dine outdoors on Lincoln Road. Dinner entrées splash down in the $30 to $40 range. If you start with some sushi (which is what is mostly served at lunch) or cocktails from the chic bar, you'll be looking at a steep bill — something all too recognizable on South Beach.

Miami's downtown dining environment has leaped forward in just the past few years — during the daytime, that is. And while it isn't difficult to find a fine lunch for less than a ten-spot, it would be quite a challenge to cop better plates of food for that sum than the ones encountered at these two recently installed hole-in-the-wall restaurants. Pakorn "Peter" Phansuwana's 16-seat Thai Churros serves zesty, home-cooked staples such as spicy seafood salad, tom yum soup, pad thai, beef in basil sauce — all $6.95 or less for lunch, and $9.95 or less at dinner (open daily 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.). Dibyo Kasiyadi, a former cruise worker from Jakarta, caters to his former industry mates and those lucky downtowners who have discovered his Matahari Café. They cram into the petite eatery each day (except Tuesdays, when it's closed) until 4 p.m. for the $5.99 lunch special (cash only), which brings a choice of Indonesian specialties such as grilled skewers of chicken or pork saté with peanut sauce, or chili-and-coconut-steeped beef rendang — each accompanied by a mound of steamy rice. Why take a Subway when for the same price you can catch a flight to Thailand or Indonesia?

Not that Allen Susser's namesake restaurant ever fell very far, but like any establishment that earns institutional status, it adopted the common complacency of success. But after last year's interior refurbishment, the room feels more relevant, and so does the revamped cuisine. Now tabbed a "modern seafood bistro," the place puts emphasis on local, sustainable fish and produce plated in smaller portions and at lower prices than before (most main courses are just $24 to $28 and come with vegetable or starch). Amen. The Susser touch is still magical, as evidenced by Manchego-accented shrimp and grits "brûlée" or seared swordfish fillet ingeniously matched with smoked almonds, chanterelles, and Pinot Noir pan sauce. In fact, the food seems more alive than ever. For a seasoned veteran such as Susser to have staged so sensational a turnaround... well, all we can say is, check the man for steroids!

According to ol' Bill Shakespeare: "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day" and then you die. But before you leave this mortal coil, make sure to eat at Andú Restaurant and Lounge. It brings the fine flavors, spices, meats, and cheeses of the Mediterranean, North Africa, Spain, and Italy to the ground floor of Brickell's Neo Vertika building. Who cares? You do, sucka. Imagine this is your last meal; put it on plastic and tell Capital One to kiss your bass, 'cause you're going out in style. Andú is a sexy joint with a casual vibe where you can get tipsy on signature cocktails infused with chef-prepared herbs or fruit purées. Sample the many exotic flavors of the fine cuisine, knock back a few desserts, and holler at one of the many young business professionals doing the same. Each meal opens with complimentary hors d'oeuvres as well as warm, sliced pita coated with herbs and olive oil and ready to dip in house-made hummus. Dishes put a new spin on old favorites. Think that light and incredibly tender calamari appetizer is made from tired old squid? It's actually delicious cuttlefish, served with Meyer lemon brown butter ($15). Had cedar plank salmon? Try it with cherry mustard glaze ($24). Want a thick, juicy steak? These aren't dry-aged; they're marinated in the cow's own blood ($32). Rumor has it that the interior designer behind the dining room's beautiful and inviting hand-blown glass art concept died of a heart attack on the restaurant floor. He had a smile on his face. His last meal on Earth. Andú, of course.

The space is cool, clear, and clean, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows — like Heaven's waiting room furnished by Driade (whose showroom is adjacent to Lyon). If the gods are truly benevolent, there will be a purgatorial buffet amply supplied with antipasti and wines from — where else? — Italy. But assuming this is not the case, Fratelli Lyon represents your best last chance to indulge in air-dried beef from Uruguay (bresaola); wisps of fennel-flecked salumi (finocchiona), Ventian Asiago and Gorgonzola from Lombardi; a sweet caponata of eggplant, raisins and pine nuts; a salad of fresh fava beans, haricot verts, shaved Pecorino Romano and small white Umbrian purgatoria beans (how fitting!). Depending on what and how many items are chosen, the antipasti should cost $16 to $30. Crusty bread baked on premise and an ultimate glass of, say, a Giuseppe Quintarelli wine should put a smile on anyone's lips. Fratelli Lyon also serves hearty homemade pastas and regional cuisine from Fruili and Piedmont in the north to Sicily, Sardinia and Campania in the south; dazzling desserts, too. But start with the antipasti — just in case, as so often happens, you have overestimated your time on Earth.

You don't need a celebrated, groundbreaking chef like Alfred Portale to produce a great steak; any seasoned grill cook is capable of such a feat. But it helps that the person behind one of New York City's most iconic restaurants has experience in selecting cuts of quality meats, such as a 20-ounce Brandt Farms rib eye ($52), eight-ounce American Wagyu filet mignon ($50), and Sher Ranch Australian Wagyu strip ($75). And it also helps that he has been around long enough to surmise that not every customer wants to pay $75 for an entrée; Gotham offers a $28 skirt steak that tastes terrific with a Southwestern chili rub. Portale knows how to coax the meat's natural flavor by cooking over hardwood charcoal and finishing on a 1,200-degree broiler. And a chef trained only in steak houses probably couldn't come up with seafood dishes such as the ethereally tasty Florida grouper with quinoa and tomato vinaigrette. Portale also showed sage judgment in choosing Dru Schiedell as chef de cuisine. He's the one responsible for producing all of this lip-smacking food. Gotham succeeds in non-culinary ways as well. The two-level dining room is gorgeous, service is solid, and the 500-bottle wine selection overflows with boutique vintners and rare vintages. No, you don't need a chef like Alfred Portale to create a peerless steak house. But it doesn't hurt.

Culinary legend Daniel Boulud plans to bring a second branch of his DB Bistro Moderne from Times Square to downtown Miami's Met 2 Tower later this year. Think casual Parisian cafe with a market-driven menu. Think, more specifically, of a plat du jour of pork belly, lentils, and shavings of black truffle; of an amazingly aromatic bouillabaisse; and of the famous (and infamous) DB Burger: ground prime rib with a center of foie gras, black truffle, and short ribs braised in red wine — plumped into a Parmesan bun with tomato compote, frisée, and homemade mayonnaise, and sided by a silver cup of puffy pommes soufflés. The burger costs $32 at the NYC venue, which is another way of saying food this great doesn't come cheap. Start saving your pennies now.

In meat-friendly Miami-Dade, only a few places can assemble a plate of savory scrambled tofu or add clever toppings to a tempeh burger. But for vegetarian fare that highlights distinctive, farm-fresh, nutritionally balanced ingredients melded into real, delicious meals, you need to find an establishment that understands not only gardening and Zen, but also cooking — a place like Canyon Ranch Grill. The restaurant serves up light, sophisticated dishes such as a salad of seared watermelon and heirloom tomatoes (from local Paradise Farms) dappled with red wine vinegar syrup and basil seed; spinach-and-Napa cabbage rolls with garbanzos and fennel pollen in smoked paprika broth; and ribbons of vegetables tossed with minted mushroom "Bolognese" sauce. Vegetarian entrées run $9 to $13 (meat mains range from $22 to $30) and can be accompanied by a bottle of organic/bio-dynamic wine. Only thing is, sitting tableside by the ocean and indulging in this heavenly vegetarian cuisine might get you feeling a little sorry for carnivores.

Screw the world. I mean, what a mess. Every single rotten human being on the planet is irredeemably greedy and corrupt — except me and you, that is. Which is why we dine alone. Who wants to break bread with these bastards anyway? And more to the point, fewer and fewer of them want to dine with us. That's all right. Pull up a plush leather chair at the Grill at the Setai's marble dining bar and sit your disgruntled bottom down; there is no restaurant in the city more soothingly decorated than this one. Start with a half-dozen Pickle Point oysters ($18), jamón Ibérico de bellota ($35), or three of the juiciest jumbo wild shrimp you have ever seen ($24). Take a second or two to look down the bar while exuding an air of superiority at your savvy selection. Then dig into your second course — perhaps caramelized onion tart with seared tuna belly and smoked shallot cream ($12)? Loudly order one of the dozen or so haute steaks. As in: "I'd like a certified Hereford rib eye" ($48) or "The Japanese A5 New York strip sounds good" ($30 per ounce). Of course, you can always go with one of chef Jonathan Wright's signature seafood entrées, such as Alaskan halibut or miso-roasted black cod (each $48), but it just doesn't have the same ring. Oh, and by the way: If you see someone at the other end of the bar wolfing down duck-fat fries with truffle salt and glaring back at you, it's probably me.

Jonathan Eismann's two biggest fans — daughters Landon, age 3, and Morgan, age 8 — were inspiration for the kids' tasting menu now offered at Pacific Time (Morgan created the menu's art design). Forget mac and cheese or PB&J sandwiches. We're talking tuna tartare with Idaho chips, braised short rib with white beans, butter-grilled salmon, and grilled lamb chop. Those come from the four-course menu geared toward children over the age of 7 ($30 each); a three-course meal for those ages 4 to 8 includes Thai-style popcorn shrimp, heirloom tomato salad with mozzarella and basil, and organic chicken satay with soy ginger dipping sauce ($20 apiece). This cuisine is obviously for the adventuresome, sophisticated young palate — even if it is served on polka-dot plates. Dessert is the "Big Cookie," which the kiddies may decorate with chocolate chips and sprinkles at the beginning of their meal and then receive in baked form just in time for their coffee — um, hot cocoa. And by the way: Pacific Time's menu for adults has received a fair amount of critical praise as well.

It seems as though every restaurant and its sister café has a wood-burning oven. Most places use them to produce blistery thin-crust pizzas, but Sardinia's chefs employ their ovens the way folks in, um, Sardinia do. This translates to whole chickens, quail, rabbits, suckling pigs, fish, octopi, steaks — the theory evidently being anything that once walked or swam will taste good smoked. And it does. Then again, so do the beets and other vegetables tossed into the oven. If you want to get technical, everything at Sardinia ends up tasting fine, from antipasti to pastas, breads, wines, and desserts (entrées range from $26 to $36). This gem of a restaurant — open noon to midnight seven days — makes the hearth proud.

Nothing thrills dedicated foodies more than being able to "discover" a nifty restaurant they can boastfully tell friends about. Fifi's Place fits the bill. Owners Nelson and Mayneth "Fifi" Sanchez run a small, humble neighborhood spot, but the fish they cook up is some of the freshest in town. How fresh? Yunieski Gonzalez, a former Cuban free-diving champ, heads out to the ocean and spears hog snappers and groupers that are served hours later (and no, we are not making this up, although maybe Fifi is). Diners are also likely to find catches such as Alaskan black cod, bluefin tuna, and Nova Scotia scallops. The hog snapper? Turned into sashimi with yuzu and soy sauce. The cooking accents tilt from Latin to Asian, and dinner specials come with salad and either rice and black beans or mashed potatoes. Fifi's is festive every day from noon until midnight; lunch specials range from $7.99 to $10.99, dinner from $5.99 and up — most entrées in the $20 to $30 range. And don't fret: We won't tell anyone we told you about Fifi's, so you can brag about having discovered it.

Ceviche is not a complicated dish to prepare. At its simplest, it is a combination of fresh fish in lime juice and salt; cilantro and onions are almost always added. That's the basic rendition served at Francesco, whose seafood of choice is corvina ($16), shrimp ($17), or a combo of those two with scallops, octopus, and calamari ($16). But you can likewise request your ceviche prepared with mild aji amarillo sauce or Francesco's fantastically fiery rocoto — or try all three sauces with mixed seafood for $24 (the Peruvian Cristal or Cuzqueña beers pair with the fish and peppers like Cabernet with porterhouse). The fish is chunky and pristinely pleasurable because Francesco is a sterling Peruvian seafood restaurant that uses very fresh fish. Sibling owners Franco and Aldo Danovaro shuttle between the Gables venue (opened in 2001) and their original Lima locale to make certain all seafoods are properly chilled and that the reception is warm and personal. What we are saying, in effect, is that the stellar ceviche here is merely a dazzling opening act to an authentic Peruvian culinary experience.

Ten reasons you should take out-of-towners to DiLido Beach for lunch:

1. It's less expensive than taking them to dinner at the Ritz.

2. Tourists are easily impressed by stars, so you can mention that chef Jeff McInnis is the good-looking guy who got eliminated from TV's Top Chef before the sangria sorbet in his ceviche even melted.

3. You can have the smug satisfaction of sitting on the veranda, mojito in hand, staring complacently at the cerulean Atlantic stretched before you and nonchalantly saying, "I take it you don't get to lunch like this much in Buffalo."

4. There's a fried green tomato "club sandwich" with eggplant, feta mousse, arugula, mayo, French fries, and harissa ketchup ($12/$21).

5. And there's cumin-and-za'atar-crusted tuna with lemon emulsion, grapefruit compote, and asparagus salad ($15/$28).

6. McInnis is a much better chef than #2 implies.

7. Did we mention hookah smoking Thursday through Saturday, after 5 p.m., in one of six cabanas facing the ocean?

8. How about watermelon-and-peach sangria — without gazpacho?

9. You'll get to say things like "yuzu-drenched scallop ceviche with shaved artichokes and a scoop of melon ice [$11] is to Miami what spicy chicken wings are to your hometown."

10. And last: the priceless memories of a leisurely lunch with loved ones.

No bottled water is sold here. Instead, in-house filtered water is poured free of charge. Environmentally sound, sure, but more important is how it reflects the consumer-friendly approach taken by managing partner Eduardo "Lalo" Durazo regarding all aspects of his restaurant. Ceviches, for instance, are served in spoons that conveniently fit right into the mouth — no optional plates or silverware needed. That's pretty friendly. So are the flavor combos, such as a "ceviche nuevo" of shrimp or calamari with ginger, lime, and aji amarillo. Or there's the "Peruano" version, with white fish marinated in lime juice with red onion, fresh corn, and rocoto pepper — such vivid tastes that other ceviches around town might seem a bit, well, watered down by comparison. Jaguar also accommodates just about anybody via an extensive menu offering everything from seared yellowfin tuna to lomo saltado to "Latam Grill" steaks. The last includes a lip-smacking picanha cut that goes for $16 and comes with choice of sides such as salad, shoestring potatoes, or fried onion rings. Most other main courses are also $20 or less; spoons of ceviche are $2, "Amazon" spoons around $15. Jaguar is open for lunch (11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m.), dinner (till about 11 p.m.), and weekend brunch (11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.).

Telegram from Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner to Lawrence Summers, director of the National Economic Council:

We need Americans to spend more money. (stop) I propose restaurateurs encouraged to drop prices will stimulate food/bev sector. (stop) Red Light in Miami for national model; chef/owner Kris Wessel's food simple seasonal straightforward and — symbolically beautiful part — New American. (stop) Diner-like ambiance inside Little River flows by outdoor tables BBQ shrimp with dip bread/organic burger/roasted quail/homemade ice cream. (stop) Every carefully home-cooked comestible under $20, many under $15. (stop) (BTW, you have Obama's BlackBerry number?) (stop) Larry, to tell truth, my own finances not so hot. (stop) Sitting in a booth now enjoying skillet of organic egg Morbier cheese tomato-toast apple-bacon for $11 at Red Light. (stop)

Everything that needs to be said about Michael's has no doubt already been said. There's the pioneering Design District location. Then comes star chef Michael Schwartz's brilliant and honest American cuisine. Next is star pastry chef Hedy Goldsmith's dazzlingly delectable desserts. How about the smart selection of wines marked up with the customer in mind — and friendly food prices too (small plates $8 to $15, medium $11 to $20, large $21 to $32; for this cuisine, a steal)? You've heard it all, including talk that Michael's is as good as any dining establishment in this or any other South Florida neighborhood. Still, it bears repeating.

Philippe Ruiz is Miami's quietest superstar chef; you won't see him ranting on TV like those fake Food Network personalities. Palme d'Or is our least heralded great restaurant; it doesn't garner the media attention of Michael's, Michy's, and the rest of the newer wave establishments. Yet chef Ruiz, already accorded the prestigious Chevalier de l'Ordre du Mérite Agricole (Guy Fieri is still awaiting his), is a semifinalist in the 2009 James Beard Awards for Best Chef in the South; Palme d'Or is up for Best Service and Best Wine Service. Who are we to argue with the esteemed Beard committee? And why would we even want to, after having savored Ruiz's seared frogs' legs with celeriac custard; chilled vine-ripened tomato soup with goat cheese and cucumber jelly; and braised short ribs with farro risotto and carrot confit? The setting, like the French cuisine, balances classic and sophisticated with light and contemporary. Ruiz and Palme d'Or might go unnoticed by some, but those who appreciate fine French fare know just where to go for the best — except Sundays and Mondays, when the place is closed.

Sometimes, South Beach is portrayed as one giant pick-up joint, which would make the new Lincoln Road steak house a Meat Market within a meat market. But as lively as this bar is (and "lively" is perhaps an understatement), people mostly meet here for the meat — like, for instance, an 18-ounce center cut of wood-grilled New York steak ($47) with a crisply caramelized crust and juicy red interior. Or maybe they come for a half-order of wood-grilled New York steak ($26). Or perhaps they crave a 16-ounce Harris Ranch bone-in filet mignon with ancho-and-coffee spice rub ($49) — and maybe a big shot will look for the six-ounce A5 Kobe tenderloin ($95). It is safe to say not many folks flock here for the four steak butters, ten steak sauces (atomic horseradish truffle sauce, anyone?), 21 side dishes, and hundreds of wines that are sturdy enough to stand up to these stout steaks — but they are surely pleased to find them on the menu. Then there are the fish fans, who can relish fresh crudo selections and sassy seafood entrées such as Florida grouper and conch in smoky bacon-chipotle broth. And though we insist this meatery is no meetery, it does serve food until midnight, and it is a very sensual (and terrific) steak house — which makes it an ideal addition to the sexy South Beach dining scene.

It can take a good restaurant years to mature into a great one. Poblano had the food down pat upon opening in 2006. Since then, it has gone from pat to phat, service has settled into systemic rhythms, and the residents of the area habitually visit for homespun Mexican food with inventive twists. To wit: A velvety Gruyère soup shot with aged tequila; freshly made soft tacos brimming with shredded pork, spicy green chili sauce, queso fresco, avocado, and pork rind crumbles; poblano chili stuffed with blue crab meat and pooled in cilantro sauce; duck in mole sauce; caramelized mango tart with lemon cream and rosemary syrup. ¿Cervezas mexicanas? Sí. Plus Poblano's guacamole kicks ass, and the cooks actually know how to make cactus taste good. Prices are steep for Mex but would otherwise be considered moderate. The joint is closed Mondays but jumps for lunch and dinner all other weekdays until 9 p.m., and to 11 p.m. Friday and Saturday evenings. These latter nights showcase a mariachi band, but aside from that, we really love this place.

You could live in North Miami for years and never notice it: From the outside, the building — tucked in the corner of a nondescript shopping center — looks more like an orthodontist's office than the setting for a lively Mexican eatery. But wait till you get inside. On any given Friday, patrons of the loud, colorful, delightfully gaudy joint consume tacos the way tailgaters slam down barbecue. Two stuffed soft or crisp morsels come with beef, chicken, pork, steak, or shrimp on either a flour or corn tortilla. Choose from garnishes including pico de gallo, guacamole, chipotle sauce, and sour cream. A plate ranging from $9.95 to $12.95 — depending on your choice of carne — comes with rice and beans. They're tastiest when washed down with a hefty pitcher of margaritas. After dinner, check out the bar, where many a drunken fiesta has erupted. You might wake up with a headache the next day, but it still beats getting your braces tightened.

In La Ciudad Que Progresa, you can get weary of eating vaca frita, lechón asado, and other ubiquitous Cuban delicacies. You'd be hard-pressed to believe that you could find something other than good Cuban cuisine in the city that Raul Martinez built. But from the Palmetto Expressway, head east on 49th Street, Hialeah's main thoroughfare, and make a right into the shopping plaza with the Winn-Dixie and the T.J. Maxx, just before West Fourth Avenue. Park your car next to the gray and red building that resembles a fast-food joint and go inside. Here ranchero music has replaced the merengue and salsa soundtrack. The beat is perfect for ordering shrimp, beef, or chicken fajitas, served on a sizzling metal plate accompanied by Mexican rice and refried beans. And they will set you back only $8.91. Try the shaved radishes, lettuce salad, plump jalapeño peppers, and refried beans alongside your tortilla chips. And all of it won't cost you more than seven bucks. Roberto's Taco Shop is open seven days a week from 10:30 a.m. to midnight.

We don't claim burritos, tacos, and the like can be categorized as healthful food; that's why we call the category Healthful Fast Food. And, yes, compared to cheap, deep-fried birds and the stuff you get at those robber baron burger chains, a soft flour tortilla wrapped around strips of just-off-the-grill chicken breast is downright salubrious — plus really tasty with rice, beans, lettuce, cheese, sour cream, and pico de gallo. In place of chicken, you can get steak, ground beef, adobo-marinated pork, or beer-battered tilapia. And for those not faking the health thing, there's a veggie burrito that leaves out meat entirely. Quesadillas, tacos, and enchiladas are also offered up and, like the burritos, made fresh with a similar choice of meat (or meatless) fillings. There are healthy deals as well: choice of burrito, quesadilla, or two tacos — plus chips, salsa, and soda — for $6.99 to $7.99, and two-for-one tacos every Monday from 4 to 10 p.m. Pepper's stays open until six in the morning, which should surely make late-nighters feel better.

— Well, son, once upon a time there were all sorts of places where one could eat. Then came the great crash of '08, followed by the great restaurant crash of '09. After that, only McDonald's and a slew of Mexican joints were left standing.

— You mean there were once other types of restaurants?

— Every darn type you could imagine, from steak houses to sushi...

— Sushi?

— Raw fish wrapped in seaweed with rice.

— I see. But what happened to all the Mexican joints you speak of?

— What happened was the great Mexican restaurant crash of 2010. Mi Rinconcito was the only one able to meet the demand for authentic south-of-the-border cuisine at a price folks could afford — meaning just about everything is under ten bucks.

— Didn't anyone else try?

— Why sure, but nobody could make real Mexican foods like posole, menudo, or tripe and tongue in salsa verde. The soup is super too, as are the soft tortilla tacos — roasted pork, steamed lamb — I'm getting hungry as I speak.

— It's a bit out of the way, no?

— Listen up, son: Nothing worthwhile is easy to get to. Remember that. Besides, Calle Ocho isn't very far, and Rinconcito makes things convenient by staying open every day from 10 in the morning until 9:30 at night.

— Yes, sir. But, Dad, I have one more question.

— What is it now?

— You made up that part about eating raw fish, right?

A five-way tie, testament to Miami's rapidly expanding universe of stellar dining options.

There are flowing silk gowns, dangling earrings, subtly applied makeup on chiseled cheekbones... and that's just the men who traipse through the Delano Hotel's lobby late at night. Plat Bleu affords a front-row seat to the parade and also offers a damn good meal of French brasserie fare created by consulting chef Claude Troisgros and executive chef Maria Manso. Although it's open for lunch and dinner, Plat Bleu is our favorite post-midnight haunt because we like the idea of consuming a duck confit medianoche at medianoche, or skirt steak with Brazilian sea salt or onion soup gratinée with a lobster club until 2 a.m. There's also the up-tempo music, up-to-the-minute cocktails, up-to-the-second fashions, and 1940s French salon décor. Anything resembling a main course runs $23 to $39, which is more than a similar bistro in Paris might charge. Plat Bleu's scintillating scene, however, provides a value that doesn't show up on the bill.

Bad: Polka and potluck Tuesdays. Good: Beer and barbecue Fridays at North One 10.

Bad: St. Patrick's Day dinner featuring all the green corned beef you can eat. Good: Passover Seder with kasha-stuffed turkey and three-potato kugel (purple, white, and sweet).

Bad: Star Trek dinner with "Captain Kirk corn dogs." Good: Godfather dinner with "swims with the fishes swordfish."

Bad: Karaoke night with shoddy singers and deep-fried mozzarella sticks. Good: Poetry night with reputable wordsmiths and "Ferlinghetti spaghetti."

Bad: An evening with Bobby Jindal and crudités. Good: An evening with Edna Buchanan and "Never Let Them See You Cry" onion soup.

North One 10's chef/proprietor Dewey LoSasso has few peers when it comes to forging delicious and innovative New American cuisine, and no competition whatsoever in conjuring delicious and innovative theme nights such as the "good" ones mentioned above (his Passover menu was named one of the top ten in America by USA Today). Wine dinners are held regularly as well, inevitably hosted by a top-flight independent vintner. Special events generally run $45 to $65, which includes North One 10's terrific food, fine wine, stellar service, and the evening's main attraction. That's not bad.

The first impression is that of whiteness. During the daytime, it's a near-blinding whiteness, sunlight ricocheting off white marble floors. Don't worry: The clientele here is the type that wears sunglasses. Once you glean more of the décor, it may dawn on you that this dramatically inventive room can best be described as Liberace in Wonderland. The restaurant's signature, 24-seat communal table is surrounded by high-backed chairs and golden bells set within crystal chandeliers; furniture is oversize and whimsical; and the outdoor terrace affords bayside vistas and trippy poolside cabanas. Asia de Cuba, whose first branch opened in New York City in 1997, is a trip, and these attributes are what make it the coolest setting for quaffing cocktails. What makes it even better is that the cocktails are as wildly inventive as the interior design. Try a margarita made with jalapeño/cilantro-infused Milagro tequila, Cointreau, lime, and pineapple juice. Or the Caribbean Cooler, culled from Hangar One kaffir lime vodka, muddled pineapple, and coconut water. Or an eminently refreshing elixir of Bombay Sapphire gin, muddled cucumber, fresh lemon juice, and soda. Cost per drink is around $15, and Asia de Cuba keeps shaking and pouring until 11 p.m. weeknights and until midnight weekends.

So a bailed-out corporate CEO has invited you to dinner. First question: Do you have him pay for the meal before you leave home? Followed by: Where to go? We would take the son-of-a-gun to Gaia Ristorante, and on behalf of swindled taxpayers everywhere, we'd first order Hudson Valley foie gras with lobster, porcini mushrooms, and aged balsamic ($28). From there, a smooth segue into linguine with fresh Mediterranean clams ($21). Fish course: Black cod fillet, porcini mushrooms, carmelized onion, and artichoke heart ($36). Meat course: Milk-fed veal chop ($42). Broccolini ($8) and truffled mashed potatoes ($8) will serve nicely as side dishes. For dessert: sweet San Marzano tomato jam with fennel salad and biscotti ($12). A bottle or two of one of Gaia's reserve Italian wines should suffice (we wouldn't even look at the list, but just tell the sommelier we wanted the best). Then, once the hefty bill is taken care of, with an appropriately hefty tip, we would beat this guy up good. But if someone else with deep pockets invites you to dinner — like, say, a decent human being — we recommend you plot a similar scenario as aforementioned, only instead of capping things off with fisticuffs, do so with deep, heartfelt appreciation.

Oceanaire is a national, 16-branch haven for seafood lovers that has been anchored locally in Mary Brickell Village since January 2007. It seems as though every fish in the sea is offered here: corvina, sardines, sea trout, fluke, arctic char, Hawaiian ono, halibut cheeks, Dover sole... and oysters with names like Tatamagouche (from Nova Scotia), shucked at the city's lengthiest oyster bar. Seafood is flown in daily and prepared via cooking method of your choice (generally $25 to $40 per entrée). They do steaks too, along with side dishes such as creamed corn, fried green tomatoes, and hash brown potatoes, plus classic American desserts that range from apple brown Betty to baked Alaska. The wine list is expansive, the service is professional, and the 1930s ocean liner décor is soothing and sophisticated. There may be other Oceanaires, but that won't stop you from having a one-of-a-kind dining experience. Hop aboard for dinner weeknights until 10 p.m., weekends till 11.

Let's start with a frutti di mare platter of oysters, clams, shrimp, mussels, and calamari and then segue into a house salad of greens, candied walnuts, goat cheese, and raspberry vinaigrette. Pasta course? Of course — a plate of meatballs and bucatini with "red lead" sauce that's so enormous it would have made the late Dom DeLuise demur. Next, a 16-ounce rib eye Oscar-style — meaning topped with asparagus, béarnaise sauce, and a quarter pound of king crab meat. Or, instead, try a 48-ounce Porterhouse that's meant for two but is so gargantuan that a tiger would choose it over Roy. Order it with truffled mashed potatoes and creamed spinach on the side. Pair it all with a nice round red wine from the 700-bottle list and finish with molten chocolate cake for dessert. Gluttonous? Gloriously so, although such sinning does extract a price — in this case, appetizers $14 to $16, steaks $38 to $49 (more for Oscar and that mammoth Porterhouse), and, well, let's just say it will add up. Red stays heady until 1 a.m. weekends.

The pre-dinner cocktail once had cachet in the restaurant world, but then came hard times. Diners began looking at it, meal-wise, as something of a gauche cousin to wine. But the cocktail is back in a big way as folks rediscover its role as stimulating foreplay to a sensual dining experience. These days, you're liable to find behind your favorite bar a master mixologist — part scientist, part artist, part spirit sommelier. At Area 31, you can enjoy a professionally muddled "St. Rosemary," made from Plymouth gin, St. Germain elderflower liqueur, apple juice, and rosemary. Meat Market offers a "Martini de Chèvre," goat cheese-infused vodka shaken with lemongrass, pink and black peppercorns, fennel, and Martini & Rossi dry vermouth — plus a blue-cheese-stuffed olive as garnish. Sra. Martinez serves a "Matador" of Skyy vodka, fresh strawberries, basil, jalapeño syrup, and a twist of lime. Old classics such as the sidecar and Tom Collins are also enjoying a resurgent popularity. These are the same elixirs that ushered in the cocktail lounges of the 1930s — not coincidentally, the last time we all needed a drink this badly.

With its mahogany floors, dark leather banquettes, horseshoe bar, and brass green-shade lamps, the Grill on the Alley seems as though it's been here cooking chops and stirring martinis since the days of film noir. Executive chef Arnold Dion's menu of traditional American grill items likewise satisfies a yen for yesteryear. When it comes to cuisine and design, one can debate whether modern or classic sensibilities are preferable; when it comes to service, the greeting from an amiable and mature maitre d' beats a chipper host saying "Howdy, y'all" every time. After being escorted to their seats, guests at the Grill are greeted with menus, wine lists, water, rustic sourdough bread, and a dish of marinated peppers and onions — one after the other in rhythmically efficient manner. Specials are recited, specialties noted, and a manager stops by the table to check on things. Cocktails are blended by a professional mixologist, and a wine steward is on hand to aid in selecting from the extensive list of labels. All told, service is so elegantly old-fashioned that you might find yourself surprised that the Grill isn't in black-and-white.

Elie's opened on the ground level of downtown's Galeria Internacional mall in 2006 and a year later moved to roomier quarters one flight up. It remains a relatively undiscovered gem, although if you ask around, you'll find that plenty of folks know about the place's unparalleled falafel — bronzed spheres with greaseless, crisp exteriors and herb- and spice-flecked interiors. Deep-fried triangles of eggplant are likewise seasoned in a sensational manner ($2) and accompany the falafel, along with hummus, tahini, cabbage slaw, Israeli salad, and pita bread on one glorious plate — price: only $7.95. Elie, who hails from Morocco, also dishes out merguez sausages, kebab plates, roast baby chicken (pargiot), and, on Thursdays, authentic couscous. Main courses such as those cost about $12; come with choice of fries, salad, or rice and beans; and are available for lunch from noon until 5 p.m. Food is sanctioned by the Vaad Hakashrus of Miami-Dade, so all is kosher. And very good.

George Wilensky started the New Deal Market in 1957. These days, his son Heshey runs it, which makes it — to our knowledge — the only butcher shop in South Florida that has operated under the same ownership and in the same location for more than 50 years. The formula hasn't changed much through the decades: fresh, custom-cut kosher meats and poultry along with old-school, personalized service that links the Wilenskys with their customers through generations. The Deal also dishes deli items, as well as homemade prepared foods such as kreplach, knishes, kugel, kishkas, and kasha varnishkes (if you don't know what these are, all the more reason to visit). The market is open Monday through Thursday 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. and Friday until 3 p.m. Delivery is free of charge. New Deal is the real deal, and there aren't too many left.

It's about time Miami had a seriously classy joint for kosher denizens to take their significant others for a night of respectable service and even more respectable steaks. Rare Steakhouse, down the street from the Forge but undeniably ensconced in the power hub of Miami Beach's Orthodox Jewish life, is just such a place. A polished wooden bar, handsome gray banquettes, and tasteful black-and-white photographs set the stage for this upscale meatery's offerings of all the fixings of a typical steak house — New York strip, rib eye, creamed spinach — but without the dairy or shellfish accouterments. A 14-ounce rib eye will set you back $34. A private glass-enclosed dining room on the second-floor loft offers additional privacy, in case you don't want the entire neighborhood yenta-ing about your latest squeeze.

It takes some searching to locate New York New York. It's not nearly as obvious as the Big Apple itself. But once found, this delicatessen hides nothing. From the massive mural of a pre-9/11 NYC skyline to the Statue of Liberty mini-replica standing guard over the salad bar, the whole setup pays homage to classic Manhattan. It's open seven days a week from sunrise to 11 p.m., and there are no bad menu choices. Start with the all-day breakfast staples. There's a straightforward two-egg platter or maybe cream cheese and lox on a warm bagel. Check out the mashed potato omelet. Then come back for lunch and suck down a $5.95 bowl of matzo ball soup before tackling a fist-thick sandwich of fatty brisket, pastrami, or corned beef slammed between two slices of grilled rye. Finally, at dinnertime, go with the kosher franks on a bed of beans. And dessert should be nothing but a big wedge of cherry cheesecake. It's all here, including $1.65 unlimited coffee to keep you awake while catching up on the day's Times and joking loudly with friends until closing.

Pita Plus is not a hut or concession stand or shoebox-size take-out joint. With its spacious quarters and 60 seats, it is more like a falafel arena. It needs to be this large because so many folks flock here for the signature Middle Eastern sandwich. Four cleanly fried falafel bombs go poof into the warmed pita pocket, followed rapid-fire by fire-red tomatoes, cucumbers, shrapnel-like scraps of cabbage, eggplant, pickles — anything you want from the counterperson's arsenal of salads — along with hummus, tahini, and a flash of hot sauce if desired. It all adds up to a disproportionate amount of flavor for the dollar: $6.40, tax included.

Like the Constitution, the Incredible Hulk, and a baseball pitcher working a no-hitter, there are some things in this world that you just shouldn't mess around with. Old-school bagel making obviously should have a place on that list, yet the world is bafflingly full of frozen, bagged, pre-made holes of dough stomping all over the good name of this traditional Jewish delicacy. Fortunately for us, Miami has Bagels and Co., the best little deli on Biscayne Boulevard and a safe haven for the way bagels should be made: hand-rolled, boiled, and then baked to a golden finish. They aren't cheap — $9.75 — and they come in all the traditional flavors: poppy, sesame, raisin, garlic, etc. The payoff from this old-fashioned methodology is obvious and delicious: bagels as fat and plump as a grapefruit, the skin crisp, and the innards soft and chewy. So don't mess with bagels from anywhere else or we'll go all Bruce Banner on your ass. Keep it old-school at Bagels and Co.

The Spanish cuisine that chef Marc Vidal plates at Por Fin is so attention-grabbing one can be forgiven for not properly appreciating the dark woods, framed mirrors, arched windows, and wrought-iron accents that conjure the coziness of a comely Catalonian country inn. The firm grains of Calasparra rice that buttress clams, mussels, calamari, and shrimp can make anyone forget having passed a glistening open kitchen upon entering the restaurant. And there is no stopping pear-plumped pasta purses pooled in Cabrales sauce with honey, truffle, and cream from dominating post-dinner chatter. Diners may choose a table upstairs, where a U-shaped bar and couch-appointed lounge lend the ambiance a certain liveliness; downstairs in the more subdued dining room; or outdoors on either level, the verandah above being the more romantic choice. Regardless of where you sit, the décor will play its quiet part in what is a seamless dining experience of fine food, wine, service, prices (half-portions make Por Fin extremely affordable), and unbeatable ambiance for lunch or dinner (open until midnight on weekends).

Each year, upon publication of this issue, we hear from readers who want to know how we could have recognized so many restaurants yet neglected to honor such-and-such well-regarded establishment. Usually it comes down to a matter of a certain eatery, even if one of the best, simply not fitting squarely into any specific category — or else, over time, having fit into that category once too often. This year, we asked ourselves: How can we possibly leave out Michy's and OLA? Doug Rodriguez of the latter was among the first to create Nuevo Latino cuisine and put it in a South Florida context, and he still does so better than anyone else. Michelle Bernstein helped locally pioneer the idea of a big-name chef offering high-quality fare in an unpretentious neighborhood restaurant setting — the gastronomic equivalent of a rock star going from arena shows to small venues. The cuisine at both establishments pulsates with vibrant, often surprising flavors and a creativity born of culinary genius. Let's just call OLA and Michy's two of our best. Period.

Clay Conley took over as top toque at Azul in 2005. The prior chef, Michelle Bernstein, had propelled the property to the top of the hotel restaurant heap; Conley, a protégé of Boston celebrity chef Todd English, has kept it there. His clean, precise preparations of Mediterranean cuisine (along with some American and Asian touches) boast multiple flavors and often involve various takes of one main ingredient on the plate. To wit: a duet of Sonoma rabbit — the loin wrapped in bacon, the leg braised, and the whole served with mustard cream, herbed spaetzle, and pickled cipollini onions ($38); or Moroccan-inspired lamb harissa, featuring the loin, shank, and grilled chop with pepper salad and raita ($44). Nobody makes a better clam chowder either; Azul's rendition is chock full of crisp strips of Ipswitch bivalves, pork belly confit, and malt vinegar aioli ($16). The wine program spans 700 global labels, service is stellar, and the dining room — with a white marble exhibition kitchen and floor-to-ceiling views of Biscayne Bay — is among the most beautiful in town. Yes, Azul still represents the summit of hotel dining, but it's not lonely at the top — make sure to reserve for lunch or dinner, because we are not alone in noting Conley's talents.

The strawberry marshmallow tart looks like a ruby-studded hat for a pampered parakeet. The chocolate macaroon could be an ottoman for Trump's pet caterpillar. And the champagne truffles: eyes for an ostentatious snowman. Imagination runs amok when confronted with glistening display cases arrayed with éclairs, meringues, pralines, petits fours, and all sorts of dashing desserts that Willy Wonka woulda made if he were born in France. That's where Solo's award-winning pastry chef (and master chocolatier) Jean-Marie Auboine comes from, and his creations are as stunningly presented and astonishingly luscious as those found in any Parisian patisserie (prices per individual treat range from $2 to $6). This pastry shop/café is found adjacent to the Fontainebleau Hotel's elegant lobby, and as the day progresses (open 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily), so does the menu — from an emphasis on espressos and pastries to a more substantial selection of salads and sandwiches. The Fontainebleau's iconic cakes, synonymous with the hotel since 1954, are also available — plus there's a doughnut counter, espresso counter, and so forth. Solo's desserts are the proverbial toy store for those with a sweet tooth.

Flan — or "Spanish cheesecake," as you might hear some people call it at cocktail parties — tends to inspire mediocrity in chefs. "Damn it!" we've been known to scream as we're being dragged from local restaurants by police. "We didn't order a wet and tasteless sponge for dessert!" But at Havana Harry's, the Coral Gables Versailles competitor where overwhelmed servers do nightly battle with hordes of diners, the pastry chefs still find time to produce the perfect flan. The custard is creamy, not congealed — just firm enough to keep its shape. And it's topped with vanilla ice cream and a masterful homemade caramel sauce. Harry's is the Tiffany brand of flans, but it doesn't carry a steep price: $4.95.

Buried in a tiny strip mall that lies hidden in the shadow of the Kendale Lakes Plaza is a treasure called Via Veneto. You won't find gold or precious stones here, but flavors that once required a trek to the South American hinterlands.

Via Veneto offers traditional Italian flavors of homemade gelato such as vanilla, chocolate, coffee, and stracciatella, but its glory is Latin favorites that are elusive even in Miami. Lucuma gelato seems to be as popular at the shop as it is rare in the States. A fruit native to Peru, lucuma has a rich, maple-syrup sweetness, and desserts made from it have a mellow orange hue. The shop also offers a sorbet made from Peruvian staple chicha morada, as well as the Argentine bariloche, which has a chocolate base.

Via Veneto serves several exotic fruit sorbets — including chirimoya, tamarind, and maracuya — plus Miami jewels mamey and guanabana. You can grab a sugar cone for $4 or choose from a variety of sizes to take home. A container that holds almost two cups costs $8, and the largest, which holds about two pounds, can cost up to $60, depending on the flavor. The shop is open from 1 to 10:30 p.m. Sunday through Thursday and from 1 to 11:30 p.m. Friday and Saturday.

I scream! You scream? Ice cream has gone through quite a bit over the years. It's been freeze-dried for astronauts into tiny icy dots that stick to your tongue. And it's been muddled with cumbersome toppings while being reduced to mush on a chilly mass-produced stone. Here at New Times, we say nay to dessert torture and yea to Wall's Old Fashioned Ice Cream, where traditional flavors such as cookies 'n' cream and bright green and nutty pistachio are all churned to tantalizing perfection. And speaking of enticing: Their mamey flavor has been known to taste a little like sushi, and one spoonful of cinnamon ice cream feels like you're shoveling an entire box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into your mouth. Get a scoop (a small costs $2.99) or two in one of their waffle cones — preferably the one dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with Nerds candy — and take a seat at one of the red umbrella-adorned outdoor tables. There you can watch an episode of I Love Lucy on the boob tube, mounted into the exterior wall of the shop and surrounded by painted muscle cars to give the illusion of a tiny drive-in movie screen. Or if you arrive on a Saturday night, enjoy a DJ styling oldies in the gravel parking lot. And we promise there won't be any acoustic covers of "Happy Birthday," "Rock-a-Bye Baby," or any other obnoxious ice-cream truck jingles.

It's 2 p.m. Thursday, and the ruggedly handsome and perpetually silent guy stands before the spread of 31 flavors of gelato. He's in awe. Tasting each variation with his eyes, he knows the choice he's about to make is very important. Does he want a cup full of the heady rum essence that wafts from the buttery zuppa inglese? Or is the icy, spicy nature of the strawberry-black pepper tucked into a cone better for this midday treat? He already knows the violet chocolate chip is a springtime surprise of light flavor and classic cocoa bean. And he can still taste the puffs of cinnamon from last week's choice — "mamma mia apple pie" — so something savory seems the best way to go. Will it be the local fave — Mediterranean sea salt — or black pepper and olive oil? Or perhaps sweet is the way to go, he thinks. As Brahms plays in the background, he flips a coin to choose between the lovely orange saffron and über-rich crème brûlée. He plays rock-paper-scissors with himself to decide whether today's flavor should be a traditional one: amaretto black cherry swirl or pistachio.

The pastel gelati begin to swirl before his eyes.

He thrusts a finger up against the glass.

And walks out of Paciugo with a single scoop of vanilla.

Someone should have told him $5.89 would have bought him a cup overflowing with five decadent flavors of his choice.

"Go to the Keys if you want good key lime pie" is the most common answer for those who crave this sweet-and-tart dessert. But in our own back yard, Joe's Stone Crab's rendition will take you to the Keys in a single bite. A slice will set you back $6.95 plus tax, or pay $27 for a whole large pie. For those looking to re-create the experience at home, Joe's has finally given in and published its once heavily guarded recipe online at joesstonecrab.com.

How do you translate "This coffee is far better than any rocket fuel NASA ever invented" to español? Betcha one of the friendly female baristas at La Nueva Alameda Cafeteria could teach you. For less than a franchise drip coffee — only $1 — she'll customize a not-too-frothy, just-sweet-enough eight-ounce café con leche with your personal sugar-espresso-milk ratio preference. Watch her pour it: The crema is honey-colored and the milk is steamed slower than grandma's hot chocolate. At this Allapattah joint, you won't hear a single sentence in English — especially not over the Latin dance music booming on the jukebox. Old guys with rough hands flirt with young Latina waitresses. Regulars greet each other with cheek kisses at the to-go window. And nobody wears those awful green aprons. Open 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. seven days a week .

In a city swamped with antiseptically lit cafeterias and overcrowded cafecito counters, it's a luxury to find both the ambiance and space where you can lounge comfortably while feeding your caffeine habit. For that reason, the discovery of a quaint European-style café such as Ankarr should be considered nothing less than a major coup for the serious java drinker. With its cream-tiled Italian villa interior and trompe l'oeil scenic wall paintings, this rustic coffeehouse is the perfect place to restart your energy-sapped derriere. Just take a seat — inside or out — and start with the following five-dollar combo: one square of homemade tiramisu and a double shot of rich, revivifying espresso. Or if you prefer the milky stuff, go for a tall mug of smooth cappuccino that's topped with a mound of nutmeg-dusted whipped cream. There's even wine and a selection of signature sandwiches — chicken, prosciutto, and Spanish sausage — for those times when the need for something savory takes over. But whatever your choice, be sure to visit early. Ankarr caters mostly to retirees and daytime workers, closing no later than 7 p.m. during the week.

More than two dozen local restaurants didn't live to see 2009 — a high body count, for sure. Two of the losses that sting most are those of Mark's South Beach and Sheba Ethiopian. Larry LaValley was a longtime executive chef at the former, but it was the brilliant culinary combinations of namesake chef Mark Militello that garnered the acclaim (to wit: pan-seared arctic char over English pea with farro risotto and beurre rouge). Militello, after all, is a James Beard Award winner and earned a place on the top tier of South Florida chefs via his celebrated Las Olas, Mizner Park, City Place, and South Beach properties — all of which bit the dust during the past 12 months. We will miss Sheba too — it was one of very few Ethiopian restaurants, perhaps the sole outlet for doro wat (chicken legs and thighs in berbere sauce), kifto (spicy tenderloin tartar), and kik alicha (yellow split peas with green peppers and herbs). Plus it was cool to scoop up the food with that sour, spongy injera bread. Now the good news: Nearby Kafa Café filled the void and is serving Ethiopian fare. Sheba will soon rise from the ashes and debut up in Hollywood. And chef Militello is helming 1 Bleu Restaurant in the Regent Bal Harbour.