Best Of :: Shopping & Services
One of this chain's four Florida locations, this seven-month-old outpost beats out its competition by keeping things on a human scale while still offering a wide selection. Tucked into the corner of a strip mall rather than in an airplane-hangar-sized megawarehouse, the place is packed with tastefully arranged model rooms -- half the floor with crib-centered baby layouts, the other half with beds for older kids. Yet it doesn't feel cluttered. The walls are lined with shelves of toys, lamps, diaper bags, strollers, and such. There are familiar brand names ranging from mass marketers like Graco to boutique European manufacturers like Baby Bjorn. And there's unconventional stuff. A Potty Time Bear, which plays music and helps with toilet-training, goes for $19.99. Then there's the five-foot-long Tinkle-Crinkle, a worm-like toy that tinkles, crinkles, rattles, and squeaks, for $119.99. Although the array of products is impressive, it is the knowledgeable, attentive-yet-not-pushy presence of owner Sam Salkashawi and family that lends the place its welcoming, small-business feel -- as opposed to those other stores, where you can't ignore the fact that you've been sucked into the clutches of the dreaded Baby Industrial Complex (second in sinisterdom only to the Wedding Industrial Complex). The store is open most evenings. But hours change virtually every day. So call ahead.
They did P. Diddy's Black & White Ball on New Year's Eve at the Shore Club in South Beach, brought Pat Benatar to New Orleans for Roche Pharmaceuticals, flew Hewlett-Packard Chairman and CEO Carly Fiorina into a corporate meeting on a giant spaceship, and staged a Hollywood gala complete with red carpet, limos, and six-foot-tall gold Oscar statuettes for a bar mitzvah titled "Seth's Premiere." Nothing is too off the wall or over the top. If you've got the bucks -- it costs $25,000 and up for a private bash like Seth's to as much as a million for a multiday corporate extravaganza -- they'll make it happen. M.E. Productions rakes in over $9 million a year orchestrating events. Packed inside its 35,000-square-foot warehouse facing I-95, cubicles and work stations seem carved in a conglomerate rock bed of props: a mermaid with golden hair falling past her butt, a faux verdigris Statue of Liberty, ferocious Tiki gods, the head of a huge snarling dragon, and a giant hamburger the size of a bean-bag chair. Of course, there are trends in this business like any other. Business theater director Deidre Underwood says she's thinking simple these days. Dot-coms pushed Underwood's world to extreme heights. Everybody's done the lighting-the-stage-on-fire thing, she says. She would rather see a single spotlight and a blazing speech. Staying ahead of the trends, this year she's talking speech coaches.
This place does not carry any ale from Antarctica. But if someone there brewed a batch, you can bet these are the shelves where it would be stocked. In fact, in this health-food store can be found several liquor stores' worth of beer to please every palate, including all the familiar names and an ever-changing lineup of obscurities. Salvator, Königs-Pilsener, and Franziskaner Hefe-Weissbier round out more commonplace German lagers. This is also the place to find those tasty Belgian frambozens and buckwheat lambics. Of course, English ales, porters, and stouts are well-represented, and the selection includes a slew of rarities. Widget cans include the now-ubiquitous Boddington's, Guinness, and Tetleys, as well as Wexfords Irish Cream Ale and Abbot Ale. California and East Coast microbreweries line the aisle, as well as a huge assortment of organic ales (like the new Samuel Smith's offering), nonalcoholic beers from here and abroad, sorrel and ginger shandies, tons of ciders, plus seasonal beers like Anchor Christmas Ale and Sam Adams Old Fezziwig (flavored with orange, ginger, and cinnamon). So burp already.
You want your hair styled, head down the street to Yellow Strawberry and pay, like, $97.95 or something. You want a freakin' haircut, you eat your country-fried steak at the Floridian, then you mosey a couple of doors west, plop yourself down in one of the three barber's chairs, and you kick it -- say it with us, now -- old school. How old? Well, the shop has been there since 1951, the stations are also from the '50s, and those cool-as-hell retro chairs are from the '60s. A man's haircut will run you $15, a woman's $20. For the guys, a full-on, hot-lather, straight-razor shave goes for $20. OK, so it's not "two bits," but it still qualifies, like the shop's motto says, as "barbering the way it used to be."
Cowboys dress kind of fussy for macho bucs. Those outfits jump out at ya' -- shiny belt buckles as big as post cards with whole ranch scenes engraved on the face, ten-gallon cowboy hats, and boots with fancy tooling snaking all over the leather. Melding into a crowd, unless it's a crowd of equally outlandishly clad cowboys, isn't the idea. No, it's important to be able to spot others of the clan when mixing it up with the uninitiates. Responding to questions with a soft "yes, ma'am" and "no, sir" isn't enough. Nor is walking bowlegged. Gear. That's what makes a cowboy a cowboy. And Grifs has the stuff -- fancy and plain -- from Wranglers and Stetsons to tight-fitting snap-front shirts, boots, buckles, saddles, and bull-riding ropes.
Sure, it's a bit ostentatious, but really, why buy clothes off the rack that are designed and created for any old schmuck? Call up Twickenham and they come to your home or office, take your measurements, and make clothes specifically suited to you. The cost is about twice as high as store-bought clothes, but rare is the man who can say his threads are one-of-a-kind.