The last time I'd stepped through the door at 2671 E. Oakland Park Blvd., I'd skirted under a neon martini glass and around an ashen-haired biker hobbling gamely on metal crutches. The biker, not as tough as he looked, was one of the trio of big shots who owned Ruggero's Italian restaurant. Ruggero's served Sunday gravy every day and also a dish I still crave: chicken livers with hot peppers in Madeira sauce. The place was typically haunted by bottle blonds and guys who made a living moving electronics in Queens. Friends of the maitre d' at Ruggero's called him Joe Cadillac. That suave old cat knew how to take care of a girl who wanted her martini dirty and her noodles al dente. The aesthetic was red and plush like the interior walls of a beating heart. Somebody was always crooning "I've Got You Under My Skin"... More >>>