Food & Drink

It’s no secret that Blue Moon Fish Co. is a more-or-less perfect seafood restaurant with a more-or-less perfect location on the Intracoastal. What’s harder to understand is how there is any gainfully employed Floridian who doesn’t spend every Sunday morning sitting on Blue Moon’s deck for brunch. They serve unlimited entrées! We’re talking about salmon strudel! Mahi in vanilla-rum butter! All you can eat! Plus an all-you-can-eat oyster bar with fresh-shucked shrimp and clams. Plus an omelet bar. Plus a bloody mary. This is all for less than $30. Where the hell else can you sit on the water and eat infinite crab cakes for $30? Nowhere.

The secret is in the sauce. Real herbs, fresh tomatoes, a hint of spice. Warm, melting cheese that will burn the roof of your mouth in the most pleasing way. Thin, crunchy, hand-tossed crust. And you never have to mop pools of grease off the top. Unlike the average slice — baked under a warming lamp until it’s a mass of congealed cheese and tomato paste — Nino’s makes every piece of pizza taste as if it just came out of the oven. You can order by the slice at lunchtime, in a dark dining room with brick-lined walls and cans of homemade tomato sauce displayed near the kitchen. It’s a family joint, with veal marsala and penne a la vodka on the menu. Don’t come here expecting a midnight grease fix. But if you’re still hung over on a Monday at noon, it’s the perfect place to find a cure.

Butter folded into dough begins life as manna from heaven. Baked into a pastry that’s light and flaky, with a hint of crispiness, it’s enough to make a person swoon. The man who creates these delectable treats every morning is undeniably French — gruff, impatient, always breaking a sweat. But that only adds to the café’s street cred. Everything on the menu, from the baguette to the tomato soup, is divinely fresh. Sitting in the courtyard, soaking up the scent of flowers in the speckled sunlight, you can almost imagine you’re in Paris. A croissant may lead to a salad niçoise or perhaps an éclair. You’ll sit there for hours, never missing home.

You haven’t seen a hot dog in all its heart-stopping glory until you’ve witnessed a super perro, the Colombian version of the universally popular street food that adopts an everything-including-the-kitchen-sink methodology. Piled with bacon, cheese, sour cream, “pink” sauce, puréed pineapple, and crushed potato chips, these messy franks should probably come with labels warning off small children, pregnant women, the immune deficient, and the elderly. For everybody else, they’re massive fun. Clubby, Miami-based chain Los Perros makes a super perro that could hang on any Bogota street corner. It’s so big and messy that it’s worth every bit of the six bucks it costs. Show up late (Los Perros is open until 6 a.m. on weekends) and you can gobble your super perro and wash it down with a Postabon in the company of plenty of other revelers, each looking to quell the impending hangover with as much starch and fat as possible. You’ve all come to the right place.

You’re in Florida, so if you’re going to be spending Sunday morning eating French toast and sipping mimosas, shouldn’t you do it on the beach? Damned right, you should. At Dune Deck Cafe, situated atop the dunes of Lantana Beach, breakfast (or brunch or lunch, for that matter) comes with a pristine view of the Atlantic Ocean, located, oh, about 30 feet to the east of your seat. In the salty air up there, the eggs just taste eggier, the stone crabs crabbier, and the bloody marys bloodier. Service is swift, and the coffee is strong. And the stuffed French toast is the sort of custardy goodness Parisians dream about. Add daily specials like Florida lobster Benedict and fresh fish plucked from the docks up the road and you’ve got a breakfast fit for even the most sun-baked of Floridians. Just don’t forget change for the meters.

Want breakfast like Grandma used to make? Hit this popular Sunday brunch spot for some delicious, artery-clogging, syrup-soaked food served on plates, in skillets, or even in pots — all for about $9 or less. Tom Sawyer takes the ordinary breakfast ensembles and re-creates them, like the decadent croissant French toast. If you’re up for consuming even more after breakfast, try the chocolate cigars, which look like giant rolls of happiness with chocolate wrapped inside a doughy pastry and covered in powdered sugar.

Fort Lauderdale ain’t what it used to be. Take it from us: It used to be funky. There were more diners than fine dining establishments back in the day, and the enclaves of the ancien riche were few and far between. None was lovelier than the lounge atop Pier 66, which rotated every 66 minutes, giving the assembled a panoramic view of Broward County, from downtown Fort La-di-da to downtown Hollywood. Nowadays, the lounge is closed to all but private events, except on Sundays. On Sundays, you can pay $65 for a brunch with unlimited champagne and bloody marys and munch on sushi, foie gras, crab cakes, mushroom tortes, and other utterly unrelated delicacies while taking in a view of “the Venice of America” that gives the title more credence than a street-level view could ever provide. This is what “class” used to look like in Fort Lauderdale. Would that it did, still.

Simplicity is the key to avocados, and Rocco’s understands this. They don’t mess with mayo or blenders or any such absurdity. A waiter wheels out a cart loaded with fresh avocados and a mortar and pestle. He throws in some cilantro, tomatoes, onions, and a dash of Rocco’s secret spice mix, which includes paprika and other goodies. Everything is mashed together in front of your salivating stare. The result is addictive. Scoop this stuff up with crunchy, fresh tortilla chips — also dusted with secret spices — and you won’t be able to stop.

The vegetarian option at most restaurants often seems like an afterthought. Either you get just rice and beans or they pile in veggie trimmings to fill the void left by the absence of protein. You’re left feeling as empty as your burrito. But with tofu seared on the grill and prepared with the same diligence and attention to taste as the beef, chicken, and fish, the fresh-Mex joint the Whole Enchilada could placate the most stubborn of meat eaters. The hearty tofu “Hasselhoff” taco marries the vegetarian staple with a soft corn or crispy flour tortilla (soft flour and soft whole wheat are also options), topped off with the typical: cheese, lettuce or cabbage, and tomato. Add avocado and salsa, varieties of which can be found at the bar. If you can handle spice, we recommend the habanero in the plastic squeeze bottle. In fact, it’s not just the tacos. Almost the entire menu can be substituted with tofu: Think quesadillas, burritos, fajitas, and salads.

Strands of zucchini decorated with “meatballs” made from portobello mushrooms. Quinoa topped with bananas and almond butter. A raw pâté coaxed from soaked, dehydrated walnuts. The menu items at Soma require a slight suspension of disbelief. But once you muster the courage to order them, you will be rewarded. The walnut pâté, for example, turns out to be creamy, garlicky, and nutty. Spread on a wrap, and topped with a crunchy abundance of spinach, carrots, beets, tomatoes, and onions, it’s so hearty and full of nutrients that you can feel your whole body beaming in gratitude. Sit outside beneath a trellis of magenta flowers and enjoy this meal surrounded by trilling birds and a light breeze. There’s a small yoga studio hidden behind the cobblestone courtyard and an inspirational message scrawled on the chalkboard. “Explore your inner paradise,” the menu urges, and so you do.

The Green Wave Cafe makes raw food fun. The restaurant and market prepares all of its daily specials without ever putting food to fire, which means that its sustainable, organic ingredients have the maximum health benefit. But healthful doesn’t mean flavorless here. Chef Lisa Valle creates a wide range of raw dishes that actually satisfy. She whips up crisp lettuce-leaf tacos with walnut and sun-dried tomato pâté, spreads house-made hummus atop healthful onion bread, and even makes amazingly creamy chocolate ice cream you’d swear is the real thing. Since they know no diet should be a rigid rule book, Valle and crew even cheat a bit and serve some warm and comforting vegan soups that change daily. Best of all, Green Wave is a one-stop shop to raw food heaven. Show up at night for free classes on the whys and hows of raw food as well as “cooking” demos that teach you how to eat raw in style every day of the week.

We’ve poured on many superlatives already about the Office, so we may as well give it a nickname. How about “The Notorious P.I.G.”? The newish gastropub in Delray Beach is like an ode to all things porky and excessive. From the confines of its Madison Avenue-inspired digs, the Office turns out so many dishes infused, whorled, and studded with bacon that it could have a whole page devoted to it on Thisiswhyyourefat.com. Bacon-imbued Brussels sprouts? Check. Maple-bacon donuts? Say no more. Yes, the Office seems designed to tickle your inner fat kid, be it through bacon or its fab $16 prime CEO burger with arugula and onion confit. The sweet bun itself is literally branded with the joint’s logo — how crazy is that? Add a craft beer list that’s like an aggregate of this year’s best standout brews and a fun dining room that manages to put you right in the thick of the action and you’ve got a recipe for one indulgently fun restaurant.

A New Times reporter was once stood up in Manalapan just before a big sushi date. Dejected, he decided to gorge on sushi anyway. No-could-do, though — the local sushi joint wasn’t accepting debit cards that night. So the writer did what he hadn’t done in a long, long time: He went to a steak house. Callaro’s served him maybe the best prime rib of his life, as well as a succession of perfectly mixed Tanq 10 martinis. It kept him well watered and well breaded and gave him cause to lament the disappearance of creamed spinach and unadorned asparagus tips from modern-day menus. He stayed at Callaro’s for two happy hours, with not even a book to keep him company. He didn’t care.

There’s no way this is gonna end pretty, so let’s just define our terms, bloody our lips, and get on with it: French fries are not supposed to be brown, bumpy things with intact skins. They are not supposed to be big. Those are steak fries. A French fry should be thin, almost noodly, and yellow. It should taste light, like air haunted by the ghosts of fat and salt. And if you’re feeling playful, it should be topped with bright-orange cheese and hunks of bacon. That’s how fries are done at Spanx. Every one of the things is golden, beautiful, and just a little shy of crunchy. Magnificent. We hear Spanx has good cheese steaks too.

Thanks to great strides in the craft beer revolution, finding quality brews at restaurants all across South Florida has been a lot easier this past year. But one place in particular makes seeking out rare and unique beers a way of life. That would be Brother Tuckers, a Belgian-style beer hall hidden away in Pompano Beach. The place is somehow still as much a secret as the crazy list of little-known beers it trucks in on a weekly basis. Scan the handwritten chalkboard by the bar and you’ll find brews like Wild Devil, a naturally fermented IPA/Belgian variant from Victory, and Gemini, an unfiltered imperial ale from Southern Tier. They stock obscure saisons from the likes of California’s Bruery and even local selections from Inlet and Native. The staff are all total beer geeks too, always game to wax poetic over the candy-like quality of a good quadrupel or to make sure that every beer you order ends up in the perfect glass — chalice, snifter, or otherwise.

Ignore for a moment that the Ritz-Carlton is arguably the best place in Manalapan to experience how the other half lives — though it’s hard, what with that dark, Mediterranean patio just beyond the gleaming bar, where you can see soft tropical winds rolling off the ocean and through the gauzy white curtains that hang there, for no other reason than to look lovely — and ignore too the exquisite care the bartenders put into their beverages. Your martini doesn’t just come with olives; it comes with a tray of assorted olives.

Things move so fast here in South Florida. We’re always rushing from one appointment to another, caught up in some never-ending stream of obligations that somehow seem to impede us from enjoying the wonders of this tropical paradise. Which is why a place like Le Patio is so important. This boutique French restaurant in Wilton Manors is no bigger than a hallway. But behind the little room is a beautiful outdoor patio bathed in Florida sunlight. There, you can nibble on your duck pâté with a glass of red wine as you sit at tables made from antique sewing machines. You’ll feel the sun on your face as you smear garlicky baked baby clams across crusty pieces of French baguette and smell the crisp, clean breeze as you sip on daily-made French onion soup melted with cheese and love. Yes, outside at Le Patio, the world just seems to move a bit slower than it does anywhere else. And we could all use a little bit of that.

Roti, that West Indian flatbread served with island-style curry, can be tricky to order. But here are some tips for getting it done at Lovey’s Roti, West Broward’s roti haven: First, decide what type of curry you want. Lovey’s makes spicy, cilantro-flecked chicken, conch, goat, veggie, and even beef. Next, choose your roti. Dhalpourie roti has cumin-forward lentil flour laced between its paper-thin layers, while “buss up shut” is like a nest of freshly griddled flatbread. From there, you can either have the curry on the side or stuffed inside the roti like a giant burrito bigger than your head. Or add tangy mango kuchela or super hot “peppa,” a fiery sauce made from Scotch bonnet peppers. Last, eat up. It takes a helluva appetite to get through an order of curry and roti. But after a whiff of Lovey’s freshly made flatbread and those fragrant spices, having a big appetite won’t be a problem.

Visit a typical Caribbean restaurant in South Florida and you’ll find oceans of aluminum warming trays holding wrinkly jerk chicken and greasy curry. But not at Bamboo Fire, where every island specialty is made to order. Owners Beverly and Donald Jacobs bring a personal touch to Caribbean cookery, crafting home-cooked meals that speak to their passion for food. Within minutes of sitting down, you’ll feel as though you’re dining in the couple’s home. You’ll fork up cumin- and garlic-laced chickpeas from a tiny blue bowl as Jacobs regales you with stories of her homeland of Guyana. And you’ll skewer curried meatballs on toothpicks as you cool off with bottles of frosty lager. The Jacobses make maximum use of local rarities like golden crab, turning the sweet shellfish into spicy curry. And then there are those plates made solely for the adventurous like local wild hog, which gets barbecued slow and low until the flesh is tender and succulent. After your meal, you can linger for bites of zingy rum cake and Blue Bell ice cream, or just sit and chat with Beverly and Donald as you slip quietly from this off-the-boulevard eatery into a homey restaurant in the islands.

Let’s face it, street food isn’t easy to find in South Florida. But that doesn’t mean Swanky’s, a barbecue cart that operates from West Palm Beach to Miami, wins just by default. Owners Steve Russo and Armand Ignelzi take ultimate care with their homespun ‘cue, putting in as much attention to detail with their killer pulled pork as a tattoo artist does with his ink. The pair slow-cooks pork shoulder for 30 hours, combining a two-step process that sees the meat linger over smoldering wood before finishing in the oven to render down thoroughly. The result is as tender and smoky as a country crooner’s heart. It’s piled high on fresh Kaiser rolls and topped off with Swanky’s peppery carrot, cabbage, and apple coleslaw, all crunchy and wet. And best of all, you can sauce it how you like: Swanky’s makes four varieties, including a spicy tomato-base, sweet Southern mustard, and even creamy Alabama-style mayo. Finding the cart is easy too — just friend them on Facebook or Twitter (@swankysbbq) to find out where the good times will roll up to next.

It’s safe to say that most chefs know a thing or two about food. So the fact that Marumi packs up nightly with cooks who’ve just finished their shifts at other Asian restaurants speaks volumes. Broward’s late-night Japanese izakaya (a place for beer and small plates) is run by two veterans of South Florida’s sushi scene, Teruhiko Iwasaki and Tetsu Hayakawa. And in that nondescript strip mall spot, all of the home-style dishes they prepare are like dirty little secrets spoken only among chefs. Teru-san and Tetsu-san update the specials board nightly, and it seems there’s no end to the surprises. The pair braise beef tongue until the flesh is silky, then slice it and serve it over a green salad with yuzu dressing. They fry up glass minnows for crunchy little beer bites and grill thick slices of black Kurobuta pork belly for dipping into a grassy scallion sauce. And if you ever tire of inventive dishes such as crispy squid salad with spicy peppers or yellowtail hot pot with shiitake mushrooms, there’s always the local, line-caught whole fish. For just $1.20 an ounce, these chefs will truck out their fresh catch and allow you to select from trigger fish, grouper, snapper, or even rarer finds like scorpion fish and Florida lobster. Then they’ll prepare your selection any number of ways, from tempura fried with house-made spicy mayo to a light and savory stir-fry with garlic chives and onion. The combinations are as endless as the chefs’ imaginations. And that’s certainly never lacking at Marumi Sushi.

Chicken wings are sort of like political candidates: What the people really want is choice! Good thing Johnnie Brown’s in Delray Beach recognizes that. The bar-food haven rose from the ashes of Elwood’s just this past December. Since then, it’s picked up where the old joint left off, offering good tunes and stick-to-your-ribs eats to go with its wide selection of draft beer. The wings are crisp and well-fried and come in 12 varieties, ranging from mild to hot. For a slower ride, try coating them in garlicky Parmesan or Asian citrus. The more daring can up the ante with ancho-bourbon, Cajun dry rub, or the baddest of the bad, mango-habanero. Unlike the goopy, corn syrup-based sauces at chain wingeries, each of Johnnie Brown’s concoctions taste freshly made and big on flavor. And you can even mix them, if you’re so inclined. Now that’s some real choice.

As far as boutique bistros go, the Mustard Seed is definitely a romantic spot. The dim lights, muted walls, and high-back leather benches ensure as much, as do the hushed service and tinny 1940s jazz tunes buzzing softly from the speakers. But the real love affair is between the owners — handsome power couple Timothy and Lara Boyd — and their customers — a largely female clientele that is thoroughly enraptured with the pair. It’s easy to see why. Lara plays the part of elegant host, courting diners from the front of the house with grace and charm. Tim, meanwhile, lets his food do the romancing. He (with help from chef Ernesto Rado) revamps bistro classics and delivers them with a sexy spin, as with his mussels bathed in piquant curry broth or his slow-cooked duck with cherry gastrique. Even at lunch, when the place dresses down for the luncheon crowd, those crisp white plates of tuna niçoise and pressed sandwiches are arranged so smartly as to have those housewives, businesswomen, and cougars alike all moaning in glee.

The dapper servers at Sette Bello know the importance of empathy. That’s because they aren’t just glorified food runners trucking out your linguine with clam sauce or slow-braised osso buco. They’re professionals who can feel the ebb and flow of a meal and somehow know your every whim almost before you do. Sit in that romantic dining room with blush walls and sheer curtains and the wait staff will go to work on you like maestros conducting an orchestra. They’ll answer any questions you have with care and concern and make sure you know exactly what you’re getting. Plates arrive the moment they are supposed to and are delivered and removed with careful efficiency. Your glass will never hit bottom, whether it’s in need of another pour of crisp Italian Greco di Tufo or just sparkling water. And you’ll never have to ask for silverware or salt or even more sauce to go with your entrée — your waiter will have it spotted and delivered to your table before you’ve even raised your hand. Most of all, the servers here are a direct link to the kitchen — a conduit between you and chef/owner Franco Filippone. They’re his lips gently whispering the praises of local snapper Livornese and Dover sole and his ears receiving your messages and acting upon them with care and alarm. And you can’t ask for better service than that.

Like we said before, it doesn’t take a whole heap of skill to turn an expensive piece of dry-aged prime beef into a quality steak. The difference here is you get to eat your $50-plus prime rib eye — melting with marbled fat and still hissing and popping from its Dante’s Inferno-esque sear — in the company of beautiful women who all look like Greek goddesses. Granted, not everyone will be comfortable partaking in such an expensive meal in a strip club — even one as upscale as NY Strip, and even if those goddesses don’t enter the restaurant portion of the club. But for us, we’ll pay the difference for that luxury, thankyouverymuch.

It doesn’t take a whole heap of skill to turn an expensive piece of dry-aged prime beef into a quality steak — just apply enough heat to sear, then serve. But transforming cheaper cuts like picanha (top round) and vacio (flank steak) into tender, mouthwatering morsels takes extreme know-how. That’s where Taurus, a Peruvian-style steak house in Tamarac, comes in. Its lunchtime specials offer cuts like that same vacio plus a drink and sides for less than $10 a pop. The steaks are cooked with skill and precision — a crisp, grilled exterior reveals a ruby-red medium rare in the middle — and the kind of flavor that begs you to sop up every last bit of juice left on your plate. Taurus carries finer cuts like filet mignon and rib eye too. But with cheap beef this good, why bother?

Many a wiseguy has killed for a cannoli. And judging by the dozens of photos of axed mobsters that adorn Mona Lisa’s red brick walls, here’s where they come to collect. They utter their last words (likely “fuhgeddaboudit”) as they eat dense pastry shells piped with cinnamon-enhanced ricotta. They make amends for their sins as their lips touch orange-scented sfogliatelle one final time. But one penultimate trip is not enough to savor all the selections, every last bit of them made in-house, including the tiramisu and rainbow-colored Napoleon cookies filled with fruity jam. The place has been around for more than 80 years, beginning as a humble bread shop in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. These days, the South Florida leg continues the family tradition of making pastries (and pizzas) to die for.

This west Delray hot spot entertains throngs of hungry revelers with live music emanating from its bar-side dance floor on Friday nights a week. While the music — mostly contemporary R&B covers — is delivered expertly and with plenty of soul, it serves only as backdrop to the really entertaining part: people-watching. The plush, low-back seats by the bar are prime real estate for cozying up with small plates of wood-fired chicken wings, crisp-crusted pizzas, and light Mediterranean fare, watching the parade as it shuffles by. And what a parade it is: There are well-to-do socialites mingling with Bocahontases on the prowl, cougar hunters looking for a hookup, and captains of industry just surveying the field. Whether acting as voyeur or relishing in being an object of attention, the scene at LOLA is a crazy good time. Just bring your best pair of dancing shoes and some sunglasses to hide behind.

A well-designed restaurant should mean something to everyone who eats there, and that’s just what happens at Tryst. The bistro and bar is laid out as mercurially as its menu of eclectic small plates, inexpensive wines, and intriguing craft beer. Inside, the space runs from cool and comforting to chic and sultry. The winding, dark-wood bar glows with candlelight, slipping from the hip checkered foyer to the rustic brick walls in back. There, if you’re lucky, you can dine at an ornate marble table with hand-carved, high-back chairs that overlook the whole restaurant. If the weather’s good, slip out to Tryst’s lush patio. The cool, breezy area is like vanilla to the dining room’s chocolate. Out there, wall-mounted fans blow dewy air over white tables framed by tropical palms and tall wooden trellises. It’s the perfect spot to sip a cocktail and nosh on olives or charcuterie. Yep, whether you’re going for a summer lunch, after-work drinks, or a late-night rendezvous, Tryst is one meeting spot you’ll feel comfortable in at any time.

The walls at Art’s BBQ in Coral Springs are covered with posters of blues artists like B.B. King, Robert Johnson, and John Lee Hooker. You gotta figure even legends like them are happy to have a place at Art’s, a suburban smokehouse with deep reverence to tradition. The emphasis is on Southern barbecue — slowly smoked ribs, pork, and chicken smothered in a sweet and spicy homemade sauce. Texas-inspired hot links and slow-cooked chicken wings appear alongside pulled pork sandwiches with lots of bark and mac and cheese done creamy and rich. But the ribs are the real star here. Tender and smoky with a toothy bite, these St. Louis-cut bad boys are served over two pieces of plain white bread — a telltale sign of great ‘cue, whether in Florida or the Gateway City.

The folks at Charm City sure do have it sweet for hamburgers. Stop into their sunny, mural-painted storefront and you can taste that love firsthand. It’s present in the concoctions that change daily, like the torta burger, a Mex-inspired sandwich with guacamole and queso fresco, or the Cajun burger, a sesame-studded bad boy layered with tasso ham and a fried green tomato. Of course, classics also reign supreme — how do you improve on an already perfect bacon cheeseburger with a fried egg on top? Most important, these burger chefs know that artistry of this sort would be wasted if not for fine ingredients. Charm City composes its masterpieces with a moist blend of beef ground daily, along with yeasty, freshly baked rolls. And since they know the supporting cast can be just as important as the stars of the show, the joint takes extreme care crafting its hand-cut fries, thickly battered onion rings, and golden tater tots.

You’re likely to see the same endearing grin across the face of Jared Kearney whether he’s zipping down A1A on his scooter or flying through the often-packed 101 Ocean in Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. Kearney is a cool cat who’s masterful at what he does. The New York transplant has been down here for nine or ten years (he can’t really remember), has been waiting tables for more than a decade, and has been at 101 since it opened its doors in 2008. The experience shows. The orders are always on point, customers are never left waiting, and he creates an experience that is more “hang out” than theatrical.

Sometimes a waitress can be so genuinely friendly and attentive that her mere presence feels like a warm hug. If you have sat in Lori McMahon’s section at Tequila Sunrise, then you can probably attest to that level of waiterly affection. If you’re a regular, you’ve probably been on the receiving end of numerous actual hugs and countless “rock-on” hand gestures and shouted “love yas” as well as consistently topnotch service. It’s impossible not to notice McMahon when dining at the locally loved Mexican restaurant, whether you’ve drawn the McMahon card or are being attended to by one of the other fine servers. McMahon enlivens the whole atmosphere with her high energy, New York accent, and rocker-in-disguise quirkiness. Among her many adoring fans is owner Schiller Martin. “She’s the perfect employee,” he said, “heart of gold… she gets along with everyone.” Fittingly, it was an act of caring that brought her to South Florida. After working in the fashion industry in Manhattan for ten years, she came down to take care of a honeymooning friend’s dog, cat, iguana, and bird. Now she takes care of other, perhaps stranger, creatures most nights of the week.

She has long been Miami’s gal, a sunny chef with a proclivity toward mixing Florida’s tropical bounty with homey comfort food. But when this Jewish and Latin starlet made the trip up to Palm Beach last year to open her new restaurant at the Omphoy Hotel, she instantly became our lady as well. From early on, accolades have followed Bernstein wherever she went. In her early days at Azul, she earned Esquire‘s attention for Best New Restaurant in America. And in 2005, after opening her flagship restaurant Michy’s, Gourmet named it among the top 50 places to dine in the country. But perhaps her biggest achievement came in 2008, when Bernstein’s adherence to tradition and technique earned her the coveted James Beard Foundation award for Best Chef in the South. Her star has been rising higher ever since. At her 2-year-old Design District hot spot, Sra. Martinez, she somehow reinvigorated Spanish-style tapas right in front of everyone’s eyes. And now at the Omphoy, she’s taken local seafood and fresh produce and let them shine under a banner of simplicity. But what makes Michy truly special is the way she somehow manages to capture her own whimsical personality in each and every one of her restaurants. To taste her recipes is to dine right there alongside her.

Pizza is one of dining’s great pleasures. Unfortunately, its traditional form is built on a foundation of gluten as its crust. For those who can’t eat wheat, At’s-A-Pizza provides a tasty and remarkably chewy alternative built with a rice flour crust. For the same price as a gluten-based pie, the wheat-averse can enjoy a pizza crust that has ne’er a hint of the metallic flavor that plagues so many products for the celiac-afflicted. Be it delivery, takeout or eating in, there’s no reason for gluten-intolerant folks to hold back from satisfying a normal, human craving for pizza.

It’s a majestic coffee shop that also serves wine and beer — perhaps that’s why Brew Urban Café is appropriately nestled in the slew of bars of downtown Fort Lauderdale. Tucked behind Tarpon Bend off Second Avenue, silver tables and chairs are planted on the sidewalk — usually filled with folks who can carry conversations. Inside, among the plush chairs and half-moon booths, there’s a great mosaic of a coffee-drinking goddess. Indie, local art hangs on the walls courtesy of the art/DJ event Brew hosts each month called Dialect. Be ballsy and try the godzilla: That’s 40 grams of protein and four shots of espresso. Or go for the electric shock: That’s a vanilla-and-cinnamon-infused espresso, complete with a caramel glaze. Every coffee-shop-goer’s dream is fulfilled: free wi-fi and friendly baristas. The microbeer selection includes Dogfish Punk, Stoudt American Pale Ale, and Rogue Dead Guy. Just try to find a Bolshevic Revolution anywhere else. Or, really, just try to stroll into a bar in downtown Fort Lauderdale and get served coffee.

For four weeks in 2003, the blissful concoction we call a milk shake got a bad rap. The simple partnering of milk and ice cream became synonymous with Kelis’ ubiquitous song about boys flocking to a yard — for her “Milkshake.” Whatever that means, we gather it’s not the creamy heaven we’re celebrating with this category. And despite how many times she claims all the boys say her milk shake is better than all of our milk shakes, it’s highly unlikely that it delights the senses like the shakes at California Burgers & Shakes, an inconspicuous surf-themed burger joint across the street from the Galleria Mall. Delicious and big-strawed — this is key; sizable straws mean you don’t have to be a Hoover to get a taste — California Burgers & Shakes crafts the perfect milk shake. Its flawlessly thick consistency needs no spoon. They use real fruit for flavoring. And if your taste buds are up for a little adventure, you can get creative with peanut butter, cookies, or caramel. Feel limited by the standard chocolate, strawberry, vanilla trifecta? Try mint, peppermint, coffee, or pineapple. We don’t know about Kelis, but this is the best milk shake of 2010.

Talia’s ain’t afraid to showcase its Italian-American ‘tude. The cramped deli looks like a Bronx tenement lifted up and slammed into East Boca. Almost every spare inch of wood and brick is covered with Polaroid photos of patrons (many of them female, many of them staring at the camera luridly) posing beside massive plates of pasta. There are a half-dozen handwritten signs decrying cell phone usage, and a few warn complainers just where they can stick their pasta fagioli. But beyond that gruff exterior is a truly inviting place, a joint where inexpensive meals are served family style on paper plates and where cold beer is poured on the honor system. The communal tables are packed tight, so you might find yourself bumping elbows — or even sharing food with — your neighbors (a slice of thin-crust pizza for a wedge of a chicken and eggplant sandwich, perhaps?). And the atmosphere is warm and bold enough to match the sunny marinara, the homemade sausages and meatballs, and the hand-churned mozzarella, also made daily by the staff. Now that’s a real Italian-American experience. And it’s exclusive to Talia’s.

Let’s be honest: There’s no good reason to eat a fat-ass fish taco at 1 o’clock in the morning. The human body doesn’t physiologically need beef empanadas or chocolate chili pepper ice cream before it’s content to go to sleep. So if you’re eating hot-pressed Cuban sandwiches or ceviche with avocado around the same time Craig Ferguson signs off for the evening, it’s probably because you’ve indulged in more than your fair share of alcohol. And that’s what makes Havana Hideout so great. Not only does the divey Lake Worth bar and restaurant serve the booze needed to induce hunger pangs after midnight but it politely offers a way to alleviate them as well. Now that’s one-stop shopping. As for what happens afterward, while we can’t officially endorse passing out in the Hideout’s tropical patio garden (that would be wrong), those chairs sure do look comfy after a late-night snack.

The secret to a great taco is in the tortilla, and the ones made at Salvadoran/Mexican restaurant El Guanaco are topnotch. In typical Salvadoran style, the tortillas are prepared thick and made to order. The soft little discs of masa come out a quarter-inch thick and almost creamy on the inside, with a perfectly griddled exterior that folds lovingly around fillings such as moist, chipotle-enhanced chicken breast and slow-stewed lengua. Graced with just the right amount of cilantro and onion, a squirt of lime, and some of El Guanaco’s tingling green chili salsa, these tacos are impossible to resist.

These days, everyone could use some comforting. And what’s more calming than food handcrafted with passion and care at a decent price? That’s precisely what you’ll get at Bash, a homey little strip-mall café in Sunrise where nothing on the menu tops $19. Chef and owner Nikki Pettineo — a private chef for the likes of football players Renaldo Hill and Ronnie Brown — envisioned this low-cost café and wine bar as a place where even those hard-strapped by the recession can come and enjoy a home-cooked meal and a bottle of wine. Her menu has the same warming effect as a hand-knit woolen stole. There are short ribs braised in cola and pork chops with apple chutney. Mac and cheese is creamy and baked with crispy bread-crumb topping, and even the chicken wings, napped in garlic and vinegar, have a pleasant, placating effect. If any fear were left unabated after all that, the cheery staff would smooth it out with the soothing promise of a deep-fried brownie or three.

Check out most sushi bars these days and you’ll find nothing but overfished tuna, color-enhanced salmon, and farm-raised tiger shrimp. But not at Sushi Simon, a Boynton Beach sushi joint that rises above the typical roll. The romantic eatery features a handwritten specials menu that changes every day with what’s fresh. Just grab a lychee martini or an ice-cold Sapporo and then plunge right in. Try the local mutton snapper, a firm, white-fleshed fish that’s hauled right off the docks nearby; the chefs here turn it into elaborate usuzukuri, paper-thin slices arranged to resemble some exotic flower. Then there’s Boston fluke, which gets seared with a hand torch and slipped into a pond of citrusy ponzu. Everything is impeccably fresh, from prized cuts of fatty o-toro to wild-caught salmon the color of a Florida sunset. And the staff is warm, inviting, and, best of all, knowledgeable.

No other Vietnamese joint around has mastered the art of banh mi like Saigon Cuisine. That’s because, in its previous life, Saigon Cuisine was a humble deli, serving those Vietnamese-style submarine sandwiches by the rickshaw load. But even after upgrading to an expansive, modern dining room replete with a well-equipped stage, Saigon Cuisine still serves the finest banh mi around. Flaky and crisp baguettes are stuffed with carrot, daikon, cucumber, cilantro, jalapeños, and plenty of house-made Asian charcuterie, plus whatever combo of sambal and lemongrass-garlic sauces you deem necessary. In addition to the subs, the place whips out more than 150 authentic Viet dishes. There are shimmering bowls of pho, fragrant with ginger and anise, and bubbling, cauldron-sized hot pots that elicit oohs and aahs when served. Wash it all down with one of the fab smoothies made from soursop, papaya, mango, and more, each studded with chewy tapioca balls ripe for sucking through a fat straw. Yep, Saigon Cuisine lives up to its name and then some.

An outfit that truly understands how to get you hammered ought to be able to manage the aftereffects. Bradley’s does: No sooner have they cleaned up from their raucous late-night blowouts than a new shift arrives to serve gargantuan breakfasts and brunches. Seven days a week from the crack of dawn, this is food calculated to soak up whatever booze you have left in your system — heavy-duty sponges like the “BLT breakfast” stack of eggs, bacon, and tomato; shrimp and grits; roast chicken burritos; Philly cheese steaks; and blue cheese bacon burgers. Named for Colonel E.R. Bradley, the hard-drinking, gambling, horseracing Irishman who opened a casino on Palm Beach (he raised four Kentucky Derby winners and undoubtedly nursed many a julep-flavored hangover), the saloon has six fully stocked bars — one with plashing fountain, others with screens tuned to the ball game — all open to waterfront breezes good for soothing jangled nerves. A Sunday brunch buffet dishes waffles and hair-of-the-dog mimosas, but it’s those tranquil Monday-morning breakfasts when the place is mostly empty — eaten to contemplative views of the Intracoastal — that really shore you up to get past humpday.

Italians know the value of impeccable ingredients — when you have something as beautiful as a freshly shaved piece of Prosciutto de Parma, what could you possibly do to make it taste better? That’s the MO at D’Angelo, a hip new spot for Italian small plates from beloved South Florida restaurateur Elia Angelo. The menu is vast but simple, full of authentic ingredients that prove they’re worth far more than any expert technique. The place serves half a dozen fresh carpaccios made from local swordfish, tuna, and salmon; simple appetizers like mozzarella-stuffed zucchini flowers and sautéed clams in tomato broth; and salads such as octopus with Amalfi lemon or calamari and shrimp with green basil pesto. D’Angelo also makes incredible wood-fired pizzas with those same ingredients. It leverages stracchino, taleggio, and burrata cheeses into creamy pizze bianche and spreads San Marzano tomatoes over crackly thin crust for traditional margherita pies. Best of all, the sleek, modern feel of the place coupled with a breezy front patio make D’Angelo a prime spot to sit and enjoy all these fine ingredients the way Italians do: with a bottle of red or white, a few friends, and plenty of time. Bellissimo.

The Pelican is to diner as tandoor is to microwave. There’s a relationship there, but you have to engage some creativity to nail it. The place looks diner-like enough: beach-themed thrift-shop art on the walls, wooden stools lining the counter, Formica tables, laminated menu. There’s the cheerful, white-haired, coffeepot-wielding waitress who can recite every breakfast special on the board too. And all goes well for a while: blueberry or coconut-banana pancakes; Italian omelet with sausage, onions, and peppers, served with grits or home fries; eggs Benedict du jour. But about halfway down the list, things start to turn strange: eggs nissa? Curried chicken and spinach omelet with nan and raita? It turns out that about a third of the Pelican’s flip-flop-shod customers show up not to eat the fantastic blueberry pancakes once blurbed by celeb chef Daniel Boulud but for the Indian breakfasts — those divine and fragrant egg dishes laced with cardamom, turmeric, and chilies — all the more remarkable because, among the Pelican paintings, ketchup bottles, and plates of biscuits and gravy, they’re so unexpected.

It’s all about the wood here. In a marketplace dominated by coal-fired pizza, Sicilian Oven bakes its gourmet pies in an oven heated with smooth-burning, sweet-smelling wood. Coal heats to over 1,000 degrees and can leave a scorched, acrid-tasting char around the crust. Wood, though, cooks slightly slower and more consistently, giving Sicilian’s pizzas a golden crust with just a touch of caramelized char along the edge. Atop the thin crust, you’ll find waves of silky cheese, fresh vegetables, bits of barely cooked crushed tomato, and perhaps the savory fat of Italian sausage. The specialty pies are the best. There’s the cervellata and broccoli rabe: bitter vegetal rabe and thick, dime-sized pieces of Italian rope sausage. Or the calabrese margherita: gooey mozzarella, roasted red peppers, strands of licoricey basil, green pesto, and juicy grilled chicken. And pizza aficionados will love “The Hit Man”: a mix of roasted peppers and cherry peppers, thinly sliced sausage, and soft bits of fresh garlic. The look of contentment on your face as you leave will give new meaning to the term “get wood.”

Slip up the steps to the third floor inside the dark and mysterious Omphoy Hotel and you’ll find yourself at Michelle Bernstein’s, the fourth restaurant from the eponymous star chef herself. The striking dining room full of backlighting and mirrors is like another dimension in which nothing else is visible but the meal you’re about to eat. Start with a Bernstein classic like crispy sweetbreads — here, they’re served with lemony gremolada like some bizarro version of fried chicken. Or try her foie gras, a playful take on German pancakes that pairs the melting delicacy with savory maple syrup and crisp apples. Bernstein places emphasis on all things local and sustainable too. From her rooftop garden, she culls produce such as arugula and fennel for a radiant spring salad. And from the waters of the nearby Atlantic — located just outside the restaurant’s panoramic window — she plucks fresh snapper to encrust in salt and gently bake, letting those oceanic flavors shine. Although the menu changes daily, the quality never falters. You can feel Bernstein’s touch in every dish, from slow-braised short ribs to jam-filled donuts. Even the service is genuinely caring and never feels performed. Yep, even though it’s located in some brooding luxury resort in Palm Beach and not in Miami, MB’s at the Omphoy is Bernstein from top to bottom.

A case could be mounted that Eduardo runs the most consistently mind-blowing kitchen in Broward County. Exotic-sounding dishes — like the “Cactus Paddle Bocadillo” appetizer, herb-rubbed and stuffed with pork tenderloin — are transformed into comfort food by the house’s unparalleled intimacy, the servers’ incredible warmth, and the cooks’ almost neurotic attention to detail. Even those dishes that gringos might fear — like an ancho chile-flavored crepe, filled with cuitlacoche, Serrano chilies, onions, asadero cheese, and squash blossom sauce — go down like something familiar, if not something entirely known. The experience is exquisitely relaxing, and in the midst of it, the last thing you ought to worry about is a bill. So don’t.

What makes a Peruvian sandwich at Bravo so great? It could be the chicharron: slow-roasted pork, sliced thick and served with caramelized sweet potato. Or the lomo saltado: marinated beef tenderloin, sautéed along with purple onion and grassy cilantro. Or just maybe it’s the butifarra: airy-soft bread, slathered in rustic olive tapenade or rocoto pepper sauce and stacked with country-style ham like so many playing cards. No matter which sandwich you choose, this Wilton Manors eatery crafts its Peruvian-style sandwiches with fresh, made-to-order ingredients, all for a price that’s as self-contained as these complete meals on a bun.

There is no such thing as stability in the restaurant biz , especially among those restaurants unwilling to change with the times. That’s a big part of what makes the three-decade run at Tropics so special. If they’ve updated their menu, décor, or clientele since the ’70s, there’s no sign of it. What may be Wilton Manors’ eldest gay establishment soldiers on, filling nearly full houses’ plates with relatively inexpensive and really excellent steaks, fine cuts of salmon, delicately seared burgers (available only at the bar — try with Gouda), and a classic preparation of osso buco. Tropics’ waiters pride themselves on serving the cheapest, strongest drinks on Wilton Drive and on possessing maybe the most dedicated customer base in Broward County. They’re probably right on both counts. Tropics brings in the same old queens, night after night, for years and years. They figure: Why go anywhere else?

Here, at one of the last remaining “Grand Polynesian Palaces of Tiki,” the drinks are legendary. They are phenomenal, magical concoctions comprised of rum and fruit juices and time-tested mixology. Whether it’s the “barrel o’ rum,” the piña colada, or the mystery drink (served on fire, with four straws and a personal Polynesian dance), these spirits will take you to another period in Florida’s history — a simpler time, when a man with a pompadour hairdo and a woman with a flower behind her ear could stare into each other’s eyes and forget about life with some tropical sounds, some twirling fire, and a sweet injection of delicious booze. Unfortunately, there’s the Mai-Kai food. Starters come not from some island paradise but seemingly from freezer to fryer. The dried, fried appetizers head right into the expensive-but-bland entrées that also seem cooked during that same time in Florida’s history, several decades ago. You can’t wash this down with a barrel of liquor or a personal Polynesian dance.