Sara's has been around for more than twenty years, and for fifteen of those years my husband Harold, may he rest in peace, dragged me here to eat. "Such a selection," he would say, who knows how many times, during social situations with other people. "More than 150 items to choose from." Then he would begin rattling off dishes, one after the other, like a crazy person. "Potato pancakes, cheese blintzes, and stuffed cabbage the size of my fist." He'd hold up his fist when he said this, and he'd have a funny look in his eyes. "Southern-fried Chick-In, Chick-In Parmigiana, Chinese sweet-'n'-sour Chick-In -- can't tell it from the real thing." Oy, how he could go on. "Enchiladas, chimichangas, whole-wheat pizzas, baba ghannouj, falafel, whitefish salad, Turkish salad, Rabbi Lipskar salad...." At this point one of his listeners would inevitably interrupt and ask, "Rabbi Lipskar salad?" "Don't ask," my husband would inevitably reply. I have been dragging myself to Sara's for the past three years. I go alone; I don't make a big deal. Sometimes I get the vegetable quiche, sometimes a tuna burger, sometimes a simple bagel with cream cheese and Norwegian salmon. It's nice that everything is vegetarian. Believe me, at my age I need to eat healthily. But still, would it kill them to put a real chicken dish on the menu?

In the early Nineties -- when Blimpie bases overran the land, Quizno's was not even a gleam in its mother's eye, and the Miami Subs and Grill on Washington Avenue lured SoBe's pioneer party people with Dom Perignon (at $95 a bottle, to give you an idea of how long ago those times were) -- Le Sandwicherie was a bright beacon for true hoagie aficionados. This remains true, especially at 5:00 a.m., which is still the outdoor stand's closing hour. Admittedly it may strike some as stretching it to call this French-owned place's creations hoagies; they are fresh-baked baguettes with top-quality fillings such as chunky country pâté. But wait for the toppings -- sacre bleu! The decidedly un-Gallic amount of this gut-busting garnish of lettuce, tomato, green and hot peppers, black olives, onions, cukes, pickles, mayo, and dressing makes these sandwiches as All-American as spaghetti and meatballs (even though the pickles are cornichons, and the dressing is a subtle mustard vinaigrette that even a Michelin Guide inspector could not fault). Prices? Petit: $5 or $6, up to $8 for a croque monsieur with a hefty side salad. Now that the national food media has proclaimed gourmet sandwiches fashionable, Miami has many newer sandwich shops. But those who may be over the mango aioli only need to order Le Sandwicherie's saucisson sec with everything ($5.90) to realize there is still no place that does sandwiches better.

Not all barbecue is slow-smoked pork (please don't tell that to any Southerners in the audience, though). It doesn't even have to be American. This sophisticated and accomplished Thai restaurant's killer 'cue is tiny lamb riblets ($8), whose tangy, tamarind-based Asian barbecue sauce glazes meat so tender it can fall off the bone with just a hungry stare. Stand the typical American barbecue on its head by substituting spicy green papaya salad ($5.50) for the ubiquitous coleslaw, and some carefully steamed brown rice for the icky-sweet baked beans. Finish with Thai donuts ($4.50), beignetlike puffs of deep-fried dough served with an unctuous condensed-milk dipping sauce. Next time you're in the mood for barbecue, try Thai. Why pig out when you can lamb out?

An area located off the tourist track -- despite being home to the largest collection of Moorish architecture in the Western Hemisphere -- and far from the ocean might not seem like the best place to go for a dynamite grouper-'n'-grits dinner. But Opa-locka's African-American population has given a big thumbs-up to this soulful smoke house. Other South Floridians reportedly drive here from as far as Palm Beach County for the housemade barbecue. Crabby's also offers numerous types of fresh fish and shellfish served with all the fixings, namely hush puppies, collards, mac 'n' cheese, and baked beans (all sides are $1.45). More unusual yet equally delectable Southern-style sides are also available, including a huge potato pancake studded with tingly hot pepper chunks, or pickled souse (often called head cheese because it originates from cheap, throw-away pig parts such as heads and feet). Unlike many soul food joints, this is a real smoke house, so ribs, pulled pork, and chicken do not depend on sauce for savor; the 'cue has intense black oak flavor even without the place's nicely tangy dip. Baby-back or spare ribs with two sides is $13.95; a "workin' man's" special plate (chicken thigh and leg plus two sides) is $5.95, as is a pork 'cue sandwich with fries. Nonsmoked seafood entrées include shell-on garlic crabs (blue crab is $8.50 per pound) -- a festive production served on paper, with a bib, and a big box of napkins that never seems to hold quite enough. Don't worry. This is the kind of homey place with a sink conveniently located in the main dining room to take care of the rest of the mess.

Nobu Matsuhisa is to fish what Harry Winston is to diamonds: the go-to guy for gorgeous, expensive jewels. Each has built an international reputation as master of his craft and gained renown for sparkling presentations. There are differences, to be sure. For starters, Harry mines his gems from the earth; Nobu fishes his from the sea. For another, Winston doesn't offer a chic array of boutique sakes. And, to state the obvious, oh boy do Nobu's diaphanous foods taste great. The South Beach outpost, nestled within the über-hip Shore Club hotel, draws acclaim for its classic Japanese cuisine expertly prepared with contemporary, multinational twists (and especially peppered with Peruvian touches). In particular, the Nobu name has become synonymous with exquisite seafood, and it doesn't matter which pearl on the menu you choose: yellowtail sashimi with yuzu jalapeño or freshwater eel nigiri; rock shrimp tempura with piquant cream sauce or arctic char with crisp baby spinach; diver scallops with wasabi pepper sauce or the signature Alaskan black cod infused with sweet, buttery miso (imitated by many, equaled by none). If you can't decide among the multitude of glittery options, surrender to the omakase, a chef's tasting menu ($100 or $140, based on the number of courses). Might seem a tad pricey, but it is still a lot cheaper than anything at Harry Winston's.

Even in a town swimming with cutting-edge sushi establishments, it is not every day you stumble on sun-dried-tomato-and-avocado rolls with garlic ponzu oil and green tea salt. If this sounds particularly healthy, perhaps it is because Bond Street is helmed by Japanese chef Hiro Asano, a graduate of the Hattori School of Nutrition (owned by Yukio Hattori of Iron Chef fame). After its first four years in the Townhouse Hotel, this South Beach outpost of the famed Manhattan restaurant had already built a reputation for sassy, highly creative sushi. When Asano came on board last year, he retained menu favorites such as spicy tuna rolls with chili mayonnaise ($8), and lobster tempura rolls with yellow tomato dressing and chive oil ($14). At the same time, he contributed his own sparkling new additions, like yellowtail sashimi with Szechuan pepper ponzu ($10) and spicy, crisp shrimp with chipotle aioli ($14). Yet it is not sheer inventiveness that allows Bond Street to roll past the competition. Sushi's delicate nature requires meticulous attention to detail: the pristine nature of the fish; the way it is handled and sliced; cooking the rice just right; getting the nori wrappings to retain their crispness. All require subtle sleights of hand, all are vital to the proper balance of tastes and textures, and all are evidenced daily at Bond Street. An extensive spectrum of sakes, some exclusive to the restaurant, complement the seafood in style. One warning, though: Sushi is pricey enough that dinner at the Townhouse might land you in the poorhouse.

Does OLA Steak grill up a better slab of beef than Morton's, The Palm, Prime One Twelve, The Capital Grille, Fleming's, or Ruth's Chris? In a word: no. But none of the above serves a house bread made from yuca flour and mozzarella cheese (pan de bono) that is out of this world. And though there is nothing wrong with a jumbo shrimp cocktail to jump-start your steak dinner, it is much more Miami to begin with yuca-and-leek vichyssoise dabbed with bacalao; or oxtail meatballs; or a $20 medianoche pressed with foie gras, duck Serrano ham, truffled cheese, and guava mustard. Other meat joints don't offer Doug Rodriguez's wacky and delectable ceviches either, like lime-and-cilantro-soaked corvina with red onions, pickled poblano peppers, spicy kernels of Peruvian corn, and a shocking scoop of Guinness sorbet. Starches include delicate yuca hash browns and creamy malanga purée, and -- oh yeah -- the steaks: a choice of dry-aged, USDA-certified Black Angus; or natural, grass-fed Uruguayan, accompanied with chimichurri, pungent huacatay sauce, and tamarind panca pepper sauce (think A1 Steak Sauce with balls). Yes, the meats here are undeniably dee-lish and sanely priced ($25 to $34), but it is the rest of the house fare that sets this steak house apart.

Part wine bar, part restaurant, Vino Miami could embody the worst of both worlds -- the snobby cork-dorkery of a wine bar and the cooler-than-thou attitude of so many South Beach eateries. But it does not. In fact there is not a speck of snobbery or attitude to go along with the 50 wines by the glass, an eclectic selection from New World and Old that changes daily (prices range from $9 to $13). In addition, Vino offers another 350 or so wines sold by the bottle at nominal markup. Instead of putting on airs, Vino is as inviting and likable as a glass of unctuous California Chardonnay or robust Sicilian Negro Amaro. The wine-friendly dishes are easy to like too -- cheese fondue, tuna tartare, smoked salmon rolls, chocolate fondue -- all of which make Vino a perfect place to stop before heading home or out to paint the town red. Or Burgundy.

Since opening in South Miami in 1996, this charming, unpretentious American bistro has earned a reputation for serving robust, heartwarming dishes such as escargot potpie, bacon-wrapped meat loaf, and creamy risotto with duck confit and a poached farm egg. Chef/owner Jan Jorgensen's signature souffles are fairly renowned as well, and the wine list is as delightfully eclectic as any in town. In other words, it is no secret that Two Chefs is an absolute gem of a restaurant. Many folks might not realize, however, that Jorgensen has steadily built up his bar stock to the point it is without peer in these parts. More than 1000 bottles of vodka, whiskey, gin, rum, and tequila provide imbibers with limitless options, and the collection of single-malt scotch whiskeys is more comprehensive than any other in the Southeast. That's right -- the whole Southeast! Let's toast: three cheers to Two Chefs!

Great service is a first-time diner being made to feel like one of the restaurant's regular customers. It is a waitstaff nonchalantly maintaining the tenuous balance between personable and professional, and seeing to needs without being intrusive -- to the extent you are not even aware of them doing their jobs. It is having water and wine poured at appropriate moments, not every time you take a sip. It is having a waiter knowledgeable about the cuisine, and one who will ask, "May I take your plate away now?" instead of "Are you done picking at that?" It is bringing the check on time. Great service is hospitality -- a warm greeting at the door when you enter, a heartfelt salutation as you leave, and sincerity in between. This is as good a description of any we have heard for service at La Cofradia, the swank new Mediterranean/Peruvian restaurant in Coral Gables.