Foodstuff

Chef-proprietor Mark Militello isn't too comfortable with labels, and truthfully, we can never figure out what to call his inventive fare. But his newest restaurant, which debuted recently in Mizner Park, offers pastas such as saffron fettuccine Bolognese with braised veal, beef, and pork; pizzas topped with tuna, capers, olives, balsamic-roasted onions, and garlic aioli; and entrées like spiced charcoaled lamb loin with dried sour-cherry couscous and marinated tomato salsa. This all sounds as if the Mediterranean region has inspired Militello, so we'll stick his triumphant eatery with the big M label. We hope, of course, that he'll keep sticking it to us.

Come for lunch, stay for dinner, and don't stop eating until your belly's busting at this friendly Brazilian spot run by a Turk. First you head to the buffet table, where the beef stew, salads, soup, rice and beans, and vegetables are more than enough for the average diner. Then waiters bring long skewers of grilled chicken, sausage, and tender sirloin to the table and fill your plate as often as you want, in a style called rodizio. The buffet with chicken and sausage costs only $3.95; adding sirloin raises it to a whopping $7.95. At dinner during the week, $9.95 gets you unlimited servings from the buffet and five kinds of grilled meats. On weekends, when reservations are required, you get the rodizio feast plus a live floor show, followed by dancing to a samba band -- all for $29.95. Middle Eastern food is served in the adjoining dining room. It's an awesome deal, even if you can't match the local attorney who comes here twice a week and eats three whole skewers of meat, washed down by three pitchers of iced tea.

You want the spice? You can't handle the spice! That's how most Thai chefs feel about Americans in their restaurants. Order chili-laden fare medium strength, the food comes out mild. Ask for it extra hot, it just might verge on medium, if you're lucky. That's not enough for even the lamest endorphin rush. Well, gringos with iron palates who are tired of being the objects of discrimination can relax. Siam Gourmet makes no distinction among its customers. So if you order your tom yam kai soup -- a hot 'n' sour broth blended with lemongrass and chicken -- medium, it'll be positively murky with spices. Beef massaman curry is so powerful even the potatoes in the stew can't dumb down the blast. And zesty yam pla meuk, more commonly known as "jumping squid," is aptly named. But it's the customer who'll be doing the jumping -- through hoops, if necessary -- for a soothing, creamy Thai iced tea.

Your first indication that this will be a steep evening comes when the gargantuan doorman directs you (or, better yet, your boss) to the desk "where you can take care of the entertainment fee," which starts the evening off with a $10 per-person charge. The handsome maitre d' with the vaguely foreign accent gives you the once-over and places your party in the back row near the window while saying, "Nice sight from here, no?" Yes, this is a genuine supper club, complete with pricey food (osetra caviar: $45, linguine with clam sauce: $23) and expensive drinks ordered before and during the show. Look beyond the food to the performance, for it's the real justification to spend this kind of dough. Ms. Bishop is a talent worthy of the classic supper clubs of New York City with her incredible vocal range and spot-on delivery. This café chanteuse can also be as funny as her mood dictates, like when she made fun of the ancient retirees from Pembroke Pines in their matching powder-blue suits. But then Bishop made it all right by dedicating to them a heartfelt version of "The Man I Love." Your boss won't love the check, but it is, after all, the least he can do.

It's tough rolling out of bed in the morning, but if you can make it to your car, a piping-hot (or ice-cold) cup of coffee or espresso is within arm's reach once you pull up to the small white building that houses Expresso -- The Gourmet Drive-Thru Coffee Shop. Groggy drivers are greeted by the bracing aroma of fresh-ground, whole-bean coffee being turned into espresso and the gurgle of frothing milk. Those two main ingredients can be combined into a basic cappuccino or latte or spiced up for specialty drinks such as the cinnamon-infused Snickerdoodle or the Dizzy Mocha Delight, a combo of espresso, steamed milk, and dark chocolate. And the drinks can be ordered over ice for a cooler caffeine jolt. Freshly brewed coffee is also available, from French roast to flavored varieties tinged with vanilla, hazelnut, and numerous other enhancements. Carafes of java can be ordered to take into the office, and if you combine a pot of joe with a selection of fresh bagels, pastries, cakes, and fruit, you'll be hailed as a hero when you get to work.

The turn-of-the-century mansion and gardens, which recently underwent a dazzling renovation, set the mood before you even walk in. Once inside, you pass through a cathedral-ceilinged bar before encountering a series of lovely dining rooms, which meld seamlessly with the tropical gardens spread over three acres. The south room is the best -- intimately lit, painted with birds and foliage, one wall open to the pond below. Outside, widely spaced tables are perched on gazebos above cascading pools. The contemporary Florida cooking and the smooth, knowledgeable waitstaff live up to the setting. The reasonably priced menu, which changes weekly, includes appetizers like hearts of palm salad with jicama and passion fruit vinaigrette, and barbecued center-cut pork chop with sun-dried cherry salsa as an entrée. The wine list is excellent, the dessert selection fine. But the burbling waters and dense foliage are what help put you in the mood. And the moonlight helps, of course. Arrive early to avoid a lengthy wait, and ask for the very private two-top next to the firecracker bush. You can even spend the night in one of the cozy villas at the edge of the gardens. If this place doesn't do the trick, find yourself another mate.

For a county virtually dripping with money, Palm Beach has surprisingly few world-class restaurants. Even the new restaurants feel like they've been around for decades. Janeiro, for instance, a much-hyped Palm Beach hot spot, is a stodgy throwback that might well merit the award "best place to dine like it's 1956." Galaxy Grille, down the road from Janeiro, is the exception to the rule in Palm Beach (which may explain why it's so difficult to get a table there). The lush casual restaurant serves fresh and lively fare with hints of Asia and the Mediterranean. Crisp seafood spring rolls are light and exotic. A portobello mushroom appetizer is simple but satisfying. Fish is fresh and perfectly cooked. The service is attentive but unobtrusive. A lobster special offered last summer -- a whole grilled lobster, served swimming in champagne sauce and balanced on top of shrimp-and-spinach risotto -- was the best seafood dish we had all year.

It's been four years since Mark Militello immigrated north from Miami Beach, bringing his stratospherically priced New World cuisine to the doorsteps of Broward's doctors and lawyers -- and the young men and women who love them. (The restaurant is a great place to spot nubile young model-types on the arms of big-bankroll-wielding, gray-haired yuppies.) The same flashy fare that once wowed them in Miami-Dade County has put Mark's cozy spot at the top of the culinary heap in Broward. Militello's large menu includes many classically refined items -- potato fritters with smoked salmon tartare and osetra caviar, yellowfin tuna with French beans and foie gras veal jus -- but the chef's skills are most apparent when he's toying with the exuberant tropical flavors that are the hallmark of New World cuisine. Dishes like cracked conch with black bean-mango salsa and vanilla rum butter sauce and banana leaf-wrapped dolphin with black beans, pickled onions, yuca, avocado, and charcoaled tomato salsa are among the finest in South Florida.

If your notion of a good submarine sandwich is one you can't fit your mouth around, then Laspada's is the place to exercise your jaw muscles. The sandwiches are built on fresh-baked bread, which is spread with mayonnaise or mustard. Then the staff piles on the fresh, succulent deli meats and cheeses, sliced before your big, hungry eyes. Make your preferences for salad garnishes, including sweet and hot peppers, known beforehand, 'cause these folks' hands are faster than blackjack dealers'. A sprinkle of oregano, salt and pepper, and vinegar and oil finishes off the masterpiece -- almost. The difference between this place and other sandwich shops is the "little extra," an additional slab or two of meat to seal the top and prevent the filling from dripping out. 'Course, it doesn't really work that way. One bite and you're pretty much wearing what you ordered. Which means that if you're on your lunch break, you'd better bring back enough for your colleagues. One whiff of the Laspada's perfume is enough to start everyone's juices a-flowing.

Well, there's roti here, and then there's roti. And then, if you're still hungry, there's more roti. The large, spiced pancake, used as a wrap for savory beef (or chicken or goat) stew and a side dish of potatoes and chickpeas, is just about the only entrée. Curried goat, a variation on the theme, and fried rice, which speaks to the Chinese-Caribbean community, are also delicious main courses, but it's pretty hard to get past… you got it, the roti. That's why it's a good idea to start with a pepper pot with homemade dumplings, or the spongy potato balls, both of which reflect the owners' respective Trinidadian and Guyanese backgrounds. The 100-seat restaurant may not actually be a palace, but if you like spicy fare -- and roti -- it's pretty easy to eat like royalty.

At some chain bagel shops, you're more likely to find a smoked gouda and blackened chicken wrap topped with jalapeno mayonnaise than a decent bagel. And the same is true at most other homegrown bagel joints in town. We have some advice for you: If you want a banana-strawberry concoction, order a muffin. If you want charred bread, order toast. And if you're looking for blueberry cream cheese, buy yogurt. But if you want a decent bagel, simplicity is the key. Give us a fresh-baked garlic bagel with whipped cream cheese, and you won't get any kvetching. At Bagel Bar West, about the sexiest creation you'll find is an everything bagel -- or maybe a bagel chip. Other than that it's the standards: onion, sesame, poppy, salt, et cetera. Which is just fine by us.

They're fluffy. They're flaky. They're phat -- and fattening. But who's looking for health food donuts, anyway? The fried blobs of sugar-coated dough at Dandee Donut Factory are enough to make the strictest dieter give up, if only long enough to devour a succulent French cruller, down a delightfully dense Boston cream, or sample one of the shop's specialties, such as blueberry chip, a plain cake donut flecked with berry chunks. Berries of other varieties are also infused in dough, and including all of the regular suspects from glazed to maple bars, Dandee offers nearly 20 donut choices. And if you're in need of a donut fix but your companions desire something more nutritious (what are you doing with such losers?), the 24-hour establishment offers breakfast and lunch specials around the clock, which start at just $1.99. Donuts cost 64 cents each, a little more than other places, but well worth the few extra pennies. A half-dozen go for $3.09, a full dozen for just a dollar more. This place is so hip to your donut needs, they even use double-waxed paper bags for carryout in order to keep the oil off your car upholstery.

You've heard about that '60s fad, stuffing as many people as you can into phone booths and Volkswagens. Well, the '90s take happens right here with the Florito -- your choice of filling (grilled chicken, grilled steak, shredded roast beef, roast pork, or snow crabcakes) is stuffed into a flour tortilla along with black beans and rice, Monterey Jack cheese, lettuce, corn, and homemade salsa. The Florito, that so-catchy subtropical version of the burrito, also comes with low-fat sour cream and the option of ordering double meat; hey, saving a coupla calories on the dairy entitles you to more flesh, don'tcha think? As if. Actually, calories are just about the only thing you need to count the cost of here -- Floritos run from less than $4 (the 12-inch bean-and-cheese combo) to almost $9 (for a 14-inch with double crabcake), and a side of freshly squashed guac is only a buck.

Here's an oxymoron: sophisticated suburbs. Yet that's just what Weston is, and this Italian restaurant reflects residents' appreciation of fine cuisine. Antonello and Rosaria Catinella, who used to own L'Hostaria in Tamarac, gladly fill the need for superb homemade ravioli or gnocchi, shrimp laced with black truffle sauce, filet mignon in a red wine demi-glace, and breaded veal chop topped with arugula and tomatoes. Prices are upscale, certainly, but not outrageous -- only four entrées top the $20 mark. You'll wind up spending a pile anyway. That's because the fare is so fresh and good you'll have to order a five-course meal, particularly if you're tempted by the antipasto and dessert carts, which servers wheel around the dining room like so many Ferraris.

Here today, gone tomorrow. That's the fate that befalls many new restaurants, but it's one future Keè Grill is likely to avoid. The keys to its success? Well, the simple, well-executed, tropically influenced cuisine includes macadamia-nut sautéed shrimp, crab-shiitake-crusted grouper, and grilled veal chop. The waiters are courteous and well trained. And the management is thoroughly professional. But the only key that gets you through the door is this one: a reservation, usually made days -- sometimes weeks -- in advance. And don't forget to write down your assigned reservation number. Lose it, and you're locked out.

The spelling on the sign may not be so hot, but the pasta fagioli is, and at the end of the day, that's what matters: a good, hearty bowl of white bean soup for less than $3. Homemade mozzarella and roasted red peppers, along with fabulously supple gnocchi, also soothe the belly and the wallet. Perhaps the biggest treats are the chicken Marsala and fish piccata dishes, sauced -- and priced -- just so. In a county rife with Italian restaurants, there's one sure way to beat the competition: Combine deft cooking with fair billing, and receive the same in turn.

Can a steak house be judged solely by the size of its beef? You betcha. The supermodel of steak houses, Smoke offers an enormous 42-ounce porterhouse for two. That's 21 ounces each of succulent sirloin and fragrant filet mignon, separated by a monstrous bone. Dry-aged on the premises, the beef is a perfect match for the steak sauce shipped from the famous meatery Peter Luger's, which New Yorkers in the know consider the finest in the nation. The sirloin, veal chop, and pork chop impress as well. But even the best cut of meat isn't tops without the proper cigar-and-martini ambience, which Smoke has in spades. The handsome, clubby dining room even has a walk-in humidor and private vaults for folks who pay for the privilege of storing their wines. In other words, all you need to be treated like a king here is to flash cash like one.

It's hard to recommend a restaurant when you never know exactly what's going to be on the menu. Still, we have no bone to pick here, despite the fact that the seafood-of-the-night special is always a mystery, depending on what comes in from the purveyor. Fresh tuna, for instance, can top pasta or gazpacho, according to chef-proprietor Tony Sindaco's whim. Come to think of it, the only thing that isn't a surprise here is that every item is lovingly and wonderfully prepared (and that filet mignon is a staple entrée for landlubbers). The menu is small, but the variety of fish and shellfish is large; just about the only fish you'll never dine on at Sunfish Grill is, well, sunfish.

Though India and other Eastern countries extol the benefits of a meat-free diet, no single region in the world has ever held a monopoly on vegetarianism. So it should come as no surprise that the Veggie Garden, which is located deep in a community of Caribbean expatriates, boasts a menu with a distinct Jamaican twist. Check out the veggie patties or the saltfish and akee for breakfast (fish is legal tender here), or the veggie burger served with rice and peas for lunch. Yes, the rice is brown, but that's par for the health food course. You can even wash down your steamed kingfish entrée with "island drinks" such as ginger beer or peanut punch. This mammal-product-free environment isn't just refreshing, it's good for you, too.

Forget the Day-Glo alcoholic slush. Fine margaritas aren't squeezed out of plastic tubular contraptions, they are shaken fresh and served tall on ice with a delicate ring of salt. Hovering somewhere in that netherworld between tart and sweet, the perfect tequila tonic goes down like Kool Aid and knocks you off your feet with barely a whistle of warning. With more than 150 varieties of tequila, Baja Café is a veritable shrine to the fine Mexican alcohol that has been responsible for more than a few whopping headaches. We say can the Cuervo and ask Baja's margarita maven to reach for a silkier cousin, say El Tesoro Blanco or Lapiz. Those with a few extra Benjamin Franklins to spare can sample some of the finest tequilas in the world, as pricey as fine brandy at $75 to $100 a shot. Or if you're short on cash you can always pay with your Mexican credit card, explained as a big black revolver by a sign across from the bar.

Maxwell's, one of the only local steak houses open for lunch, has all the accouterments for celebrating when your online start-up goes public. Dark wood, stained glass, and plush wraparound banquettes form the backdrop for superior steaks and pillows of garlic mashed potatoes. This is power lunch at its masculine finest -- over the top, expensive, and artery-clogging. It's a great place to feel, well, powerful. After lunch admire your smug smile in the large gilded mirrors as you sip a single malt, suck on a stogy, and soak in the Sinatra that wafts from the speakers. Then pray the big payoff will cover the bill.

A good bloody mary requires top-shelf vodka (we like Ketel One), homemade mix spiked with plenty of horseradish, and a vast, unobstructed, ocean view. Peter's serves a topnotch bloody mary lulled by an Atlantic breeze. We like to sip ours hunched under the enormous white alligator that hangs over the big stone bar while single yuppies supping on soup make eye contact and a waiter named Ralph drools over buxom clientele.

Mais oui, c'est vrai. Most French restaurants do carry a distinct air of pretension about them, acting as if you are fortunate to be allowed through the door. And for many the superior attitude is undeserved, as the cuisine doesn't earn it. La Reserve is just the opposite: all warmth and charm, with some very good fare to back up the niceties of service. With its slanted, beamed roof, multitiered seating, and Intracoastal view, the restaurant could be on the Seine, and the garlicky escargot, justifiably pricey foie gras, Dover sole meunière, and veal au basilic compare favorably to the fare in Paris eateries. But we're glad the restaurant is here; South Florida does weather so much better.

The Food Lover's Companion notes that the caesar salad was invented in Tijuana, Mexico, by a man named Caesar Cardini in 1926. Cardini would toss in his grave like the acclaimed salad were he to sample some versions of his masterpiece. But he'd just as surely relax after trying Moran's caesar, made tableside. First the server rubs a wooden bowl with a clove of garlic, seasoning it. Then he minces anchovies in the base, adding plenty of Parmesan, lemon juice, and olive oil, and coats freshly washed romaine with the mixture. Simply outstanding. And perhaps more noteworthy than some of Tijuana's other contributions to culinary culture.

The secret's in the sauce, of course, but Mrs. Smokey (born Elisa Caplan Hight) ain't telling. That's OK with us as long as she keeps serving her succulent baby-back ribs, coated with one of her three piquant sauces. And as long as she smokes her pork and beef just the way she's been doing it, over oak, hickory, and mesquite. And stewing her baked beans with bacon. And baking that candied pecan pie. And simmering that steak-rich chili. But beware the hottest of the sauces -- a veritable brew of blazing chili peppers -- or it won't be just the quality of the food or the amount of smoke in the dining room that makes you think this place is on fire.

The Bensidoun family operates dozens of farmers' markets in France, including the one at the foot of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, where 600 vendors serve 35,000 shoppers every market morning. And since February the U.S. arm of the family business, Bensidoun Group U.S.A., has been running similar green markets in Hollywood and Miami. The Hollywood market, which is open from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. every Sunday and Wednesday, pales in comparison to the Parisian megamarket in terms of size but makes up for that lack with its variety of fresh specialty and imported products. You can go to any corner fruit stand for fresh produce, but under the block-long row of blue striped canopies that lines the south end of Young Circle Park, crusty loaves of French bread, imported French chocolates, paté de foie gras, fresh poultry roasting on a rotisserie, French designer clothing, crafts, and flowers are all for sale here. Miami specialty shop Epicure has a booth from which it vends caviar and French cheeses, and another Miami purveyor of French culture, Crêpe Express, cooks up the super-thin pancakes on the spot and fills them with a variety of sweet fruit preserves or combinations of meat and veggies. The only drawback: The market is only open two days a week.

Bigger doesn't always mean better, but in this case the granddaddy of Palm Beach County green markets takes the cake… and the organic foods and tropical plants. The market began in 1995, and at the more than 60 vendor stalls -- set under rows of umbrellas near the revitalized Clematis Street section of West Palm Beach -- patrons can start the day with a full-course breakfast offering from Testa's of Palm Beach; the tony restaurant serves up eggs, hash browns, and the works from a market booth. And sure, you'll find some of the freshest fruit and vegetables at market prices, but the specialty vendors provide the uniqueness here. One woman sells only fresh sunflowers, another only tea, and other purveyors have cornered the market -- at least at this market -- on organic tomatoes, goat cheese, and Mediterranean olives and cheeses. Scandia Bakery is on site serving up nothing but Scandinavian breads and sweets. (Leftsa, anyone?) And the Fong family, the third largest Chinese green grower in the United States, is represented at a stall selling Chinese peppers and greens, napa (Chinese cabbage), and bok choy. The market is open from 7 a.m. to 1 p.m. every Saturday from October through April, and admission and parking are free.

In his work "A Partial Explanation," poet Charles Simic expounds on his desire "to eavesdrop/on the conversation/of cooks." We'd sure love to hear what the chef's talking about in Casa Grande's kitchen. "Give that customer more of the ropa vieja," we can imagine him instructing his line cooks. "He could use some meat on his bones. Pile some more black beans on top of that buttered rice for the girl out there. She's too skinny. And grill her mother an extra-big palomilla. A woman her age could use the iron." OK, so maybe we're rationalizing. Maybe we're finding an excuse -- or a partial explanation -- for eating every speck of the gigantic empanadas and tamales and following up with the flan for dessert. Everyone needs something to justify gluttony, and to be honest, the well-prepared fare at Casa Grande is justification enough.

The conveyor belt and waitron robots aren't exactly Zen, but the feeling you get after consuming the pan-Asian specialties certainly is. Various dumplings, satays, rolls, wok dishes, and noodle combos incorporate elements from just about every country on the Asian continent, to everyone's satisfaction. Check out the pork-and-cabbage gyoza for a Japanese feel or the Singapore curry noodles with smoked chicken, or the grilled skirt steak with Mandarin orange sauce. Not only are items like the lettuce tacos of Thai chicken delicious, they're priced on the low side so that once you finish Zen, you can have Sum more.

Upscale, home-style cuisine combined with friendly, charming service is exactly what this neighborhood ordered. Wilton Manors has long suffered from a dearth of decent restaurants, particularly the kind that caters to sophisticated urbanites who eat out nearly as often as they eat at home. Filet mignon, fresh plump shrimp, stuffed pork chops, fried calamari -- nothing is too exotic but everything is well prepared, and the menu is extensive enough to draw the same customers more than once a week. And proprietors John Costello and John Lombardo are continually working to improve their space and prolong their restaurant's life in the community. With an attitude like that, it sure is a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

There are plenty of good reasons to head to the Floridian in the wee hours of the morning, not the least of which is that it's the best time to actually get in the door. Lunchtime and weekend mornings find the eclectically decorated eatery with a line out the door and onto the sidewalk. This is a good sign that the food is, if not gourmet, at least well thought of by legions of locals. So when those postparty hunger pangs hit, grab a table in the dining room decorated with plenty of Marilyn Monroe and Beatles memorabilia, and order up. The sandwiches are stacked with meat and condiments; the milkshakes are thick; and the breakfasts are home-cooking good. And at 4 a.m., shakes and eggs always hit the spot.

A takeout deli counter and 350-seat restaurant in one, Wolfie Cohen's is actually owned by Jerry's Famous Deli. But who's keeping track? It's enough to know that the place goes through thousands of pounds of corned beef and pastrami per day, which practically guarantees that the stuff is fresh. The onion rolls are also fresh, the pickles are sour, and the stuffed cabbage is sweet. Unlike other local delis, which don't bother to supply the older Eastern European items that may have fallen out of vogue in health-conscious America, Wolfie's also offers an orgy of borscht and pickled herring in sour cream. And we can feel our arteries hardening just thinking about the chopped liver. But hey, you can't eat turkey all the time, now can you? Unless, of course, you're talking about Wolfie's turkey leg, dripping with juice and fit for a rabbi.

A true coffeehouse is more than just a purveyor of caffeinated refreshments, it's a community center. Since Lauren Tellman set up a coffee counter in her fashion-design studio four years ago, Warehaus 57 has evolved into a haunt for Hollywood's artistic residents. On a recent Saturday night, FIU professor Lynne Barrett read a short story about an Elvis impersonator from her book, The Secret Names of Women, as Tellman covered her mosaic tabletops with complimentary dumplings, cheeses, and pastries. For act two attention shifted from the back of the New York-style railroad space to the stage in the front window, where the band A Kite Is a Victim played ambient melodies. Young couples, aging hippies, and seniors paused outside to watch and listen. Some wandered through the store, bemused by Warehaus 57's eclectic contents: thrift store knickknacks; packets of incense; used books on film and femininity, decorating and dogs; magazines from Black Book to High Times; and Tellman's chainlink corsets and googly-eyed bustiers. Others stopped at the long wood counter to order a cappuccino with Illy, a rich, smooth Italian espresso that Tellman patiently layers with frothy milk. Mellower regulars might be satisfied with the zesty simplicity of Herbal Orange Spice, setting the tea on a wagon-wheel table while sinking into a book or plotting a revolution.

For a restaurant to work, everything has to jell: location, décor, fare, service. And for six months or so, Bex worked. It was situated on the Intracoastal, and executive chef Robbin Haas -- who's received accolades from Food & Wine, Esquire, Food Arts, and Bon Appétit -- served unique New World cuisine. His luscious Alaskan king crabcakes with roasted corn sauce, beautifully seared tuna over somen noodle salad, and chicken-and-wild-mushroom "hash" were warmly received, as was the restaurant's supper-club atmosphere and proprietor Peter Beck's management. Then, after a few months, Haas departed, and a second chef couldn't maintain the New World order. Now Haas cooks at Red Square on South Beach, and Bex has become the Fisherman. While the former restaurant may have had a short life, it will long be remembered.

With a dozen international brews on tap and two dozen in bottles, Big City Tavern's selection might seem short when compared to those sports bars that pride themselves on 99 bottles of beer on the wall. But as the saying goes, it's not the size, it's how you use it. Whoops, wrong cliché. We mean it's not the quantity, it's the quality. And beer snobs all over South Florida slobber over the pints of Warsteiner (Germany), Guinness Stout (Ireland), and J.W Dundee's Original Honey Brown Lager (New York). The bar turns up the power with the Grolsch 16-ounce megabeers from Holland and domestic microbrews like the Abita Turbo Dog from crawfish country, Louisiana. Best of all, the Tavern stocks four Samuel Smith imports from England, ranging from the brewery's lager to its imperial stout. You'll pay more for any one of these last few than you will for a glass of merlot, but hey, Sam Smith's Nut Brown Ale has twice the bouquet of any vino out there.

Quantity's a criterion, of course, and no doubt we were impressed by this contemporary steak house's 5-page, 200-bottle list. A good variety is necessary too, and this cellar, which houses vintages from California, France, Germany, Italy, Australia, and New Zealand, could probably grab the brass ring -- or at least a decent corkscrew -- for that alone. But because quality is the ultraimportant factor in determining this particular honor, let's just say Jackson's takes the Cakebread. Along with the Grgich Hills and the Châteauneuf du Pape, the Dunnewood Barrel Select and La Giustiniana Cru Centurionetta, the Preston Reserve and the Cape Mentelle. And then Jackson's offers them up for fair prices, meaning you can spend anywhere from $18 to $330 for a bottle of wine. Best of all, the restaurant serves more than 20 red, white, blush, and sparkling wines by the glass. That way, if you can't decide what to drink with your meal, well, you can have 'em all.

There's no need to settle for cafeteria-style early-bird specials, with their mystery meats and soggy, overcooked vegetables, when you can have something more substantial prepared with a little more care. Chuck's, a Fort Lauderdale mainstay for years (with locations in Plantation and Boca Raton as well), offers half a dozen dinners that don't make you feel like you're scrimping. For $10.95, you can have a nine-ounce top sirloin or a teriyaki sirloin, an eight-ounce prime rib, eight ounces of the fresh fish of the day, chicken teriyaki, or -- the real treat -- a couple grilled, seasoned pork chops. For side dishes you get a baked or sweet potato, French fries, rice pilaf, or steamed vegetables, along with your choice of the extensive salad bar, a caesar salad, or the soup of the day. You'll have to spring for your own beverage, and dessert isn't included, but after fare this hearty, you won't need it.

In sushi instructional videos -- how to make your own -- the sushi chef always starts by clapping his hands twice and saying "Happy sushi." Is this little ritual supposed to inspire the fish fillets to be thrilled about their forthcoming digestion? Well, actually, it's meant to remind the sushi chef to take joy in his art. And creating sushi is a fine process. The sticky rice has to be cooked, then fanned until it's cool (or it will become lumpy), and seasoned just so with sugar and vinegar. Then it should be shaped the size of two fingers (the same measurement as a shot of vodka in your tonic). But the real difficulty lies in slicing the raw salmon, tuna, yellowtail snapper, and mackerel, to name just a few of the most popular fishes. The knife has to be sharp as a genius' intellect, the cut at an angle but not unevenly, the slices thick but not chewy. Yama's sushi chefs are clearly clapping their hands, because their sushi is nothing short of art. The only difference between their sushi and works of art, in fact, is that one is meant to be eaten, the other to be framed.

There's some great fresh seafood out there in South Florida, you just have to fish for it. Most seafood shops will have a specialty of sorts. Captain Ed's Lobster Trap in Fort Lauderdale, for instance, often has fresh Florida lobster for an inexpensive $5.59 a pound. The Fish Peddler, which has stores in Sunrise and Fort Lauderdale, is the place to pick up cooked, peeled, and chilled shrimp quickly and at a good price. But when you want a little bit of everything, Captain Mike's is where it's at. It has a pool full of lobsters, and most of its fish comes on ice directly from the sea. The Captain has an incredible variety of fresh fish: grouper, salmon, tuna, snapper, Okeechobee catfish, Chilean sea bass, and many others. Just how much and what kinds of fresh fish the store stocks depends on the day and what the fishermen bring them. In this shop there are plenty of employees to help you make the right choice, and while you're deciding, you can sample some of their excellent homemade dips, including a mean smoked-fish dip and one of the best clam dips you'll ever find.

Even by providing patrons with 300 feet of dock space and a deck overlooking the Intracoastal, a restaurant still might go wrong. After all, not every diner is fooled by a show of nature. But the view of the sun-spackled water isn't the only reason why reservations are as hard to come by as snow in this South Florida establishment. Blue Moon matches its prime location with fine meats and seafare, such as the New Zealand lamb chops and South American sea bass entrées, which seem to troll the United Nations for influences. One caveat: Dining during sundown can be as blinding as headlights in a rear-view mirror. Like the wallet full of dough needed to pay for lobster empanadas and Louisiana crawfish cakes, shades are a must.

The place is far from fancy, a relic from the ugly era when décor was brown as a burger. Nor have the prices changed much -- a half-pound cheeseburger is the most expensive item on the menu at $3.95. And the service -- do-it-yourself -- is more fast-food than formal. No matter. The hamburgers are heartwarming, stomach-stuffing pleasures, especially when topped with all-beef chili and grilled peppers and onions. Customers with ulcers might want to opt for the plain hamburger, which can be doctored with fixings from the garnish bar, but even those with iron stomachs should consider soothing themselves with a vanilla shake, the best way to wash down a "Jack jumbo."

The best chocolates are rich and creamy and handcrafted by a little old man with a thinning mop of snow-white hair. The best chocolates, at least the best chocolates made by a local artisan, are the dozens of chocolate-coated pralines and truffles on display at a tiny shop in a nondescript strip mall in Boca Raton. The Mr. Roberts in question is a retired Swiss tailor named Heinz Goldschneider who has been churning out bonbons in Boca, including his award-winning white truffles, for almost 20 years.

OK, so there's really only one kind of prepared food at this little joint in downtown Hollywood. But there are more than 15 varieties of gourmet empanadas, those South American turnovers that are ideal for a light lunch or quick snack. Fillings range from traditional ground beef to vegetarian spinach, and include rich guava-cream cheese for dessert. Best of all you don't even have to stop by this 18-month-old bakery -- you can order catering and takeout services via the Internet by clicking on the www.cybermeals.com Website.

When your Hawaii Regional menu is this complicated, your servers better know what they're doing. And these waiters do: They can explain what upcountry greens are, describe the Maui Blanc pineapple wine accurately, and recommend the best items, which just might be the Kahana black ribs appetizer and the honey-sake roast duck entrée. They're polite and attentive, too. Those qualities should be a prerequisite for all waitstaff, but they often aren't in South Florida restaurants, where courtesy often seems as far away, and vigilance as much of an afterthought, as Hawaii.

The most famous crabs in South Florida are the simple, unadorned stone crab claws patrons wait hours to sample at Joe's Stone Crabs in South Beach. Rustic Inn, Broward's lesser-known crustacean haven, is famous in certain circles for a less refined crab presentation. Tucked away near the rental-car lots behind Fort Lauderdale/ Hollywood International Airport, the place is nearly impossible to find but well worth the scavenger hunt. Inside the no-frills seafood restaurant, big-bellied patrons draped in plastic bibs wield wooden mallets with barbarous glee. They reach into big buckets of split blue crabs that are drenched in butter and garlic (like garlic bread in a shell), smash the shells on the newspaper-lined tables, and then suck out the meat with a decisive slurp. Roll up your sleeves and abandon all propriety for a seafood meal in a restaurant that might just as easily qualify as the "worst place for a first date."

Technically a floor show means live, cabaret-style entertainment. And we certainly enjoy the belly dancer who prances around Kasbah, shaking her groove thang along with sequins and spangles. But the real floor show at this tentlike restaurant -- draped from floor to ceiling with silken, brilliantly hued fabric -- is provided by the customers, many of whom are unfamiliar with traditional Moroccan décor and cuisine. We've never seen so many people squirm on the decorative pillows, the only cushions between them and the rugs, and eat carrot-raisin salad and Cornish hen pastry with their fingers (which, by the way, you can lick if you don't feel like wiping them on the thick, white towel the waiter has draped over your shoulder). We appreciate even more the hand-washing rituals: warm water poured from a silver pot at the beginning of the meal, rose-and-orange-blossom waters sprinkled over your digits at the conclusion. The visuals in this place are just as authentic, and some of them as aromatic, as the steaming mint tea and fish tagine.

It doesn't look like much. The décor is akin to a '70s diner, the color scheme predominantly brown. Entrées arrive unadorned on standard-issue dishes. But nothing detracts from the Cooke family recipes. Even the flavorful sauces boost, rather than bury, the meats. Oxtail is marinated in soy sauce, garlic, and ginger for an unexpected delicacy. Jerk chicken has the requisite spiciness while skirting stereotypes. The piquant tenderness of a whole snapper belies its steely stare. Complementary rice and "peas," red kidney beans, cut the spices with coconut. Plantains are sliced to poker chip-width so they plunk, not sink, in your stomach. But the pièce de résistance is the sweet-potato pudding, served in dense, sumptuous squares drizzled with Bailey's Irish Cream. Merton Cooke knows the power of his pie and plies it with charming persistence. Lingering beside the table, he speaks lovingly of his hometown, Montego Bay, where he runs another Cooke's Goose. "Have you been to Jamaica?" he inquires. Almost.

Southwestern cuisine is one trend South Florida could exploit just a little more, and Armadillo Cafe shows us why. Chef-owners Eve Montella and Kevin McCarthy have been running this cozy place for a decade, serving up locally grown hydroponic arugula salad with black beans, roasted corn, and honey-chipotle dressing; fried goat cheese with yellow tomato salsa; Southwest shrimp pasta with avocado, snow peas, and jicama; and marinated leg of lamb with wild-rice pancakes. They complement their hearty, piquant dishes with excellent wine and beer choices, including microbrews such as Bert Grant's Scottish Ale (draft) and Dixie Blackened Voodoo (bottle). Specialty drinks lure the unsuspecting with their sweet descriptions -- the black raspberry margarita, for instance, or the chocolate martini -- but there aren't too many Armadillo novices here. That may soon change. Residents of Davie have long been grateful for the Armadillo's commitment to finely prepared fare. Now it's time for the regulars to share.

There are two ways to serve dim sum: Wheel it around in steam carts, allowing diners to select the small portions of Chinese dumplings, noodles, balls, buns, tarts, and cakes by sight; or make it to order, ensuring that customers receive fresh food and nothing is wasted. Bamboo Garden, which has two other locations in Miami-Dade County, goes both ways. On weekdays diners check off the amount of pan-fried turnip puddings or scallion pancakes they would like from a list of 59 items. On weekends the staff pushes around carts, serving specials of the day in addition to items from the regular menu. Whenever you go, though, and however you order your dim sum, chances are you'll be impressed, as we are, by the artistry invested in the creation of these delicious little tidbits.

Blink as you're about to cross the railroad tracks on eastbound 45th Street and you'll miss this hole-in-the-wall treasure, although your nose will probably steer you back. Almost all available surfaces in the tiny front room are covered with freshly baked, beautifully shaped loaves of bread, rolls, and pastries, displayed not in plastic bags but in baskets lined with colorful napkins. Hand-lettered signs identify the goods, which vary daily: French, Italian, pumpernickel, sourdough, marbled rye, herb, Parmesan, and other breads, along with giant cookies and other sweets. The breads are fat-free and contain no preservatives, and they freeze well. The steep prices aren't posted, presumably on the assumption that if you have to ask, you can't afford it. Don't worry -- it's all well worth it.

The three-year-old boy has hardly ever been in a garden before, much less a vegetable farm. But his task is simple: Find the red ones. As he walks slowly and purposefully down the row of tomatoes, his eyes scan the plants, and, sure enough, he finds them. He loves West McNab U-Pick, and why not? Where else in Broward County can you have an interactive experience with a genuine farm? Just about nowhere. At West McNab U-Pick, there are about 60 acres of tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, cucumbers, strawberries, and more. Get there early -- the farm opens at 8 a.m. -- and you're likely to get the cream of the crop. We got there late and had to choose from sparse pickings. There was a lot of walking and not a whole hell of a lot to show for it, which brings us to the true beauty of the farm: If you come up empty, there's a huge stand on the premises, full of the biggest and boldest peppers you'll find, the reddest strawberries you'd hope to eat, and the kind of juicy tomatoes that are best eaten whole. The tremendous selection also includes plenty of citrus and a roomful of fresh potted herbs.

You have ten minutes for lunch, you need energy and nutrition, and one hand is occupied steering the car… what a conundrum. Not if you're close to a Smoothie King. The first store opened in New Orleans in 1973 and has now franchised into more than 180 locations nationwide, including several in the Broward/Palm Beach area. The delicious frozen drinks offer something for every "body." Looking to bulk up? How about a "Hulk"? The 953 calories and extra protein help pack on the muscle. Feel a cold coming on? Smoothie King's "Immune Builder" includes vitamins C and E, echinacea, an herbal blend of nutrients, and antioxidants. Their number-one workout smoothie, "Power Punch Plus," is good before or after a workout, and the two grams of fat won't weigh on your mind. Available in more than 40 flavors, the original recipes, using fresh fruits such as bananas, papaya, blackberries, and crushed pineapple, taste good and are good for ya.

One of the pleasures associated with Greek dining is the way customers get to view their food before ordering it. At some restaurants that entails a journey into the kitchen to investigate bubbling pots and check the eyes of the fish -- if they're clear, the critters are fresh. At Culinaros the trip is somewhat abbreviated, as fish are displayed in a deli case near the entrance. And the eyes are bright, no question, making the snapper and swordfish dishes some of the kitchen's best. That's not to say, however, that just because meaty lamb chops are on the menu, baby sheep are also for show. In fact the only dish that truly ruins your appetite for a main course is the appetizer platter for two, comprising tzatziki, hummus, roasted eggplant dip, and spinach pie; it's big and tasty enough to suffice for dinner.

You've polished your riding boots to a soft sheen, reserved a space alongside Palm Beach Polo's main playing field in Wellington, and invited a few acquaintances from the social club to join you on Sunday for a Gold Cup qualifying match. But if you want to upstage your finger sandwich-serving neighbors, you'll need a serious spread, preferably one you won't have to chip your nail polish putting together. Boulevard Gourmet Catering can make your picnic posh with baskets priced at $400, $600, or $800, packed with an assortment of four to seven dishes such as poached salmon, roasted tenderloin baguettes, smoked pheasant, grilled lamb chops, caviar, and lobster tails with lemon mayonnaise. You choose three to five desserts from a list that includes chocolate-dipped strawberries, Bahamian coconut tarts, guava cheesecakes, and Medjool dates stuffed with toasted almond cream. French-Canadian caterer Dany Thibault hand-delivers your tailored menu to the Polo Club in an extra-large wicker picnic basket with linens, china, silverware, glasses, and a flourish of palm fronds and fresh flowers.

Every chef has his or her own definition of fusion cuisine, it seems, but we think the Grill's executive chef Gianni Respinto describes it best: Global-American. In other words anything goes, as long as it tastes good. And, boy, his honey-pecan-crusted catfish, served with Peruvian potato mash, wilted spinach, and bourbon-barbecued beurre blanc sure fits the bill. As with most fusion chefs, Respinto can be tempted to excess -- a little bit of this, a lot of that. Fortunately he has consulting chef-partner Oliver Saucy, mastermind of the long-running New World restaurant Cafe Maxx in Pompano Beach, and partner Darrel Broek, to keep his Global-American mind on track. Or, more precisely, on tangent.

The main draw at Flanigan's is the food, and how do we like it? Fried. Flanigan's best-kept secret may be their French fries. Big Daddy Joe serves up those spectacular spuds curly style, and they're never greasy or soggy but always crispy and seasoned just right. No need for salt- and peppershakers either; these fries get their great taste from seasoning salt alone. But if you're the type that simply cannot eat French fries without globs of ketchup, fine. We found that the honey mustard and barbecue sauce are great additions as well. With or without condiments, those golden corkscrews are always satisfying. (If you want, you can even order a Flanigan burger or grilled fish entrée to accompany them.) Not only are the fries delicious, they're fun to eat too. We're not telling you to play with your food, but at Flanigan's it's OK.

Ask not what you can do for your neighborhood Chinese restaurant but what it can do for you: deliver. If you live out of range, however, it behooves the salmon lover to hoof it on over to East Emerald and pick up an order of Emerald salmon with black bean sauce to go. By the time you get home, the bean sauce has soaked into the fish, rendering it a bit moister than you might actually get in the restaurant. Chef Kevin Ong also excels in undercooking vegetables just slightly, so food packed in cartons is perfectly done, steamed to ideal consistency. The restaurant will even pack up a Peking duck, which in our opinion goes above and beyond standard takeout fare. But then, East Emerald isn't named after a precious stone for nothing.

It's tough to figure out how burritos and fajitas came to represent Mexican food in the United States when restaurants like this one are around. Run by the Pria family, this elegant hacienda serves regional Mexican cuisine that raises the level of dining in Fort Lauderdale. Can't bother with burritos? Try the appetizer crepes stuffed with cuitlacoche -- a corn fungus that tastes like mushrooms -- and napped with squash-blossom sauce. Don't care for chicken fajitas? Order the main course of rock Cornish hen glazed with mole. Follow up your food with mango crème brûlée, and any preconceived notion you had about Mexican food will melt faster than fried ice cream.

There's something terribly addictive about the cheap Midwestern slop they spoon over spaghetti at Skyline Chili, a Cincinnati-based chain that serves a sweet and spicy ground beef chili and not much else. Texas fire this stuff ain't, but for our money it beats the best chili con carne we've had in these here parts. Chili Ohio-style is ordered by numbers -- three, four, or five-way (adding various combinations of beans and cheese and chopped onions to your heaping plate of pasta with meat sauce). We like to amble up to the counter and order it with the works, piled high with shredded cheese and doused in Skyline's own hot sauce.

One of the criticisms of New World cuisine -- the combination of local flora and fauna with Caribbean, Latin, and Mediterranean influences -- is that it tries to accomplish too much: too many components in a dish, too many side dishes on one plate, too many competing flavors. Pineapple Grille does New World cuisine the way it's meant to be prepared: simply. The dishes, while Floribbean-influenced, certainly aren't overdone or overwhelmed by dozens of ingredients. The roots of the Bahamian seafood chowder are updated with, well, roots -- specifically, sweet potatoes. Pan-fried yuca cakes are garnished with a simple chicken satay and tangy tamarind sauce. Ravioli is removed from Italy by way of a black bean, feta, and andouille sausage stuffing. Duck is glazed with a mixture of key lime and ruby red grapefruit juices. The breezy, colorful décor helps the digestion of this simple, flavorful stuff, though the raucous parrot in the corner can be a distraction. Perhaps Pineapple Grille will consider competing for an award to be debuted next year: the "best dish made with parrot" prize.

You could probably judge a Brazilian restaurant by the fervor of the soccer fans who frequent it. That means that Feijao Com Arroz already beats out the competition hands -- or should we say feet -- down. But the Brazilian tag counts for more than a World Cup championship here. The rice and black beans for which the restaurant is named are always perfectly cooked -- not lumpy, not mushy. Tender steaks and fresh fish fillets, often featured on the specials board, are sure shots. Light, fruity desserts make your meal a hat trick. And the staff does some fancy footwork to keep you in water, napkins, and utensils all night long. But the real attraction just might be the live Brazilian bands that perform here, and the block parties the restaurant sponsors in the parking lot during important soccer matches. Just one caveat: Should Brazil be the unlikely loser of a game, the party's over early.

No question, most people flock to Revolution for chef David Sloane's New Zealand mussels in a coconut-curry sauce with dried apples and cilantro, or his cherry-roasted half-duckling with calabaza-cornbread stuffing, or his slow-baked osso buco with saffron spaetzle. But the fact that we can take baby here and strap the squirmy little one down in the resident highchair unquestionably sweetens the bid. Not many restaurants recognize the parental need to spend $30 on a bottle of wine rather than a baby sitter. Revolution may be a forerunner in fine fusion cuisine, but it should also receive kudos for its recognition of the area's changing demographics.

Taverna Opa is probably the only restaurant in South Florida where patrons are encouraged to jump on the tables and make complete fools of themselves -- or at least the only restaurant combining table-dancing and damn good grub. This is where we bring our most rambunctious, loudmouthed out-of-town visitors. Whether the ouzo or the wine or the boisterous Greek music piped in from above is the cause, this place is always kicking. The conversations, dancing, and flying plates may also have something to do with it. When we're not working up a sweat, we like to linger with friends over a parade of meze, little plates of mouthwatering morsels -- seafood, sausages, vegetables, and dips -- that arrive at the table in a fragrant cloud of lemon, garlic, and olive oil.

Dear Mum: During our visit to Fort Lauderdale, we came across the most delightful little tearoom, situated in a quirky strip mall, just two doors down from a bookseller straight out of Dickens -- a man named Hittel. The tearoom was tastefully appointed with matching floral tablecloths and drapes, the lighting was subdued, and our glass-topped table -- bookended by a pair of comfy wicker chairs -- sat just inside a veranda overlooking -- what else? -- palm trees. A whisper of classical music filled the room, and the service was just delightful, vigilant and not too chatty. We opted for the Earl Grey -- as we always do -- and were somewhat disappointed to see a couple tea bags in our pot (we explained to an American friend that loose tea is the proper way to go); nevertheless, the three-tiered serving tray was filled with a scrumptious array of finger sandwiches (salmon, tomato, egg, Gouda, and mustard), pastries, and cakes. We finished off our 90-minute repast with scones slathered with jam and cream. Then we were off, two pots' worth of Earl Grey singing in our bloodstream! All the best, NT.

The owners are from Brooklyn, the Hong Kong-born chefs are from New York's Chinatown, and the customers are from, well, here. But originally many of us were also from the New York metropolitan area, which means we miss the quality of the Chinese restaurants found up there. Now, however, we have a Brooklynese eatery to call our very own, and -- oh, my Gawd -- is the beef chow fun in black bean sauce good or what? The Peking duck is like buttah, and p.s., sweeties, the steamed dumplings are to die for. Long story short, every item here is made on the premises and tasty enough to keep the snowbirds south for the summer.

"Real Food For Real People, Really!" is the motto here, which means that the 226-item menu -- an actual book with table of contents and page numbers -- has something for every member of the "real" family. For meat-and-potatoes Dad: the meat loaf tower, layered like a cake with mashed potatoes. For on-a-diet-again Mom: the chicken stir-fry. For Grandpa, grumpy about missing Wheel of Fortune in order to have dinner out with the young'uns, there's an honest-to-goodness TV dinner served on a six-compartment, stainless steel tray. For Grandma, who just broke her bridge, she'll have the lox, eggs, and onions. And for Junior, who will eat only pizza, more than a dozen choices'll have his head spinning. Also included are a highchair and a kid's menu for the baby of the bunch; plenty of hallways for the toddler who can't sit still; and live bands playing around the corner for the teenager who just wants to hold down a burger and escape with his dignity intact.

Sedate Galt Ocean Mile may be known more for its old-fashioned snowbirds than for its newfangled eateries. But Bistro Double U is paving the way for change with appetizers like the house-cured salmon quesadilla with mustard dill sauce and salmon caviar; salads such as arugula with warm potato dressing and goat cheese croutons; and entrées that include pan-seared scallops and crawfish tails in cognac bisque. Proprietors Uli Dippon and Udo Mueller, who is also the chef, run a tight but almost informal operation, saving booths and tables in the smartly decorated dining room for those who make reservations but gladly seating walk-ins on the patio outside. After all, eating well on the spur of the moment is what contemporary dining is all about these days. Prices are also reasonable, and the wine list small but select, with about two dozen choices available by the split or glass. So, Uli and Udo, how 'bout a Double U 2?

Mamma mia, they actually speak Italian at this local fresh-pasta landmark. For three decades Mimi's has been supplying South Florida restaurants with ravioli, tortellini, agnoloti, gnocchi, and countless other pasta manifestations. Their retail outlet is overflowing with meats and cheeses (including homemade smoked mozzarella), breads, and homemade sauces, not to mention fresh pasta with fillings like porcini mushrooms, asparagus, seafood, and goat cheese.

No place is more American than Weston, an ultrasuburban community planned down to the buried telephone wires. Lucille's, which was built just a few months ago but evokes the '40s, fits right in -- if only because the conscientious proprietors and staff, like the city managers of Weston, see to every little detail. This American diner features countrywide favorites like old-fashioned chocolate egg creams, macaroni-and-cheese casseroles, and heart of iceberg salads. Breads are baked fresh daily, potato chips and ketchup are homemade, and even the pickiest kid would be happy to sell this fizzy lemonade on Main Street, USA. The comfortable diner-style booths and a speakeasy soundtrack are enticements in their own right, but it just might be the strawberry shortcake that sells the joint. You don't even have to be hungry to eat it. Hey, nothing could be more American than that.

Trapped in a grubby mini-mall for more than a decade, this place nevertheless manages to impress falafel lovers with its recipe for savory, deep-fried chickpea balls. But Falafel King, while mainly Israeli, is more than just a one-note song. Turkish salad, spiked with hot peppers; Moroccan eggplant salad; Lebanese ful medames (beans); and Greek spinach pie create a virtual Middle Eastern symphony in the mouth. Enjoy the first movement -- split-pea soup -- at a rapid pace (you won't be able to help yourself), then linger over some deep-fried schnitzel, washed down with mango juice imported from Israel. Finish off the composition with a piece of baklava and a thimbleful of Turkish coffee or a glass of mint tea. The staff conducts a pleasant experience, right down to the presentation of the bill, which will run you a good deal less than a ticket to the nearest performing arts center.

When people say that proprietor Toni Bishop sings like a bird, they mean it. The jazz singer-turned-restaurateur performs every weekend at her supper club, warbling birdcalls during improvisations. When she's not performing, other national jazz acts like Shirley Horn, Chick Corea, and our perennial favorite, Spyro Gyra, take center stage, which is in the center of a dance floor crowded with tables. Of course no one plays the jazz diva quite as well as Bishop, who just released her second CD, Incredible Love. But you've got to pay for that ear candy. While her performances are free with dinner or drinks, entrées can cost as much as $40. Guest performers' shows, which often sell out, can run you $50. Altogether it can be an expensive evening out. For jazz fans, though, no price is too high to hear such an exquisite bird.

Without question this place puts one over on Miami. Though primarily Venezuelan, La Hacienda has no ethnic bias, serving pan-Latin American dishes with equal grace. Tamales and arepas are on a par with each other, the former stuffed with ground beef, the latter studded with minced pork. Stews, particularly oxtail and goat, are superb. Steak with chimichurri (parsley sauce) or pickled onions benefits from the pungent condiments but holds its own with a lightly flavored avocado sauce as well. Even the rice pudding for dessert is smartly done. If all Broward County's Latin American restaurants were as accomplished as this one, we'd never have to drive south again.

Among the worst hot dogs in the world are the shriveled pinkish-brown sausages sold two for a dollar along with tropical fruit drinks at a New York institution known the world over because of a Seinfeld cameo. The encased mystery meat available all night at Gray's Papaya is fossil fuel for many of the city's homeless as well as more than a few early-morning club crawlers. On the other end of the great American hot dog spectrum is Fort Lauderdale's own Hot Dog Heaven. The tiny sausage shrine on Sunrise Boulevard gives hot dogs the respect they deserve, serving fine plump Vienna Beef sausages from Chicago with the same fresh fixings you'd get at Wrigley Field. Order one or two or half a dozen with the works -- cradled in a steamed poppy-seed roll with mustard, relish, pickles, onions, fresh tomato, hot peppers, and celery salt.

Just having the word pizzeria in the name should be enough to get any pizza lover worth his or her pepperoni through the door. Sounds authentic. Italian. But it's not -- exactly. Downtown Pizzeria owners Chris and Gus Kapakos have more Greek ancestry than Italian, but their restaurant background and pizza-making pedigree come from authentic sources. Their father was a restaurateur who owned and operated the Horizon Diner and the Key West Seafood House locally during the mid-'70s and early '80s. (He still has restaurants in Orlando.) The brothers grew up working at dad's places and then went into business for themselves with Lazy A Farms, a produce company they ran until the building that housed it burned nine years ago. As luck would have it, one of Lazy A's clients was Dino's Pizzeria, and when owner Dino Chilini heard about the closure, he offered Chris a job delivering pizzas for extra cash. Soon enough Chris was elbow-deep in dough, working inside the kitchen at Dino's, where he began perfecting his dough-tossing technique. With Dino's blessing, Chris chose a location in Fort Lauderdale, and he and Gus opened their first pizzeria on Seventh Street. They built a reputation and a clientele with a full menu of Italian dinners, subs, and salads. And awesome pie. The thin-crust, New York-style slices are big enough to choke a hippo and dripping with just the right amount of cheese grease floating above the zesty red sauce below. The makings for the sauce, Gus' concoction, are secret, but Chris lets on that they use whole-milk mozzarella ("It's a little more fatty, but it's got the taste," explains Chris), fresh herbs instead of dried flakes (except oregano), and only the freshest produce, no canned stuff. What else would you expect from a couple former vegetable peddlers? And they've done so well, a second Downtown Pizzeria was opened in Oakland Park in January. Both locations are open until 4 a.m. and offer free delivery till 5 p.m., though you can grab a pie hot out of the oven and eat it on site at the small counter.

For one thing the place serves breakfast all day long. That's enough to keep those of us without traditional day jobs coming back, but Cracker Barrel ups the ante with truly good old-fashioned country cooking. The buttermilk biscuits are warm, flaky, and dripping with butter. The chicken 'n' dumplings is rich 'n' hearty. The meat loaf is way better than Mom used to make. And even the salads, one topped with fried chicken tenders, can be fattening, just the way we like 'em. On the way out, we can purchase candy to go (like sour cherry drops or giant jawbreakers) and a knickknack or two from the country store, then sit out on the porch for a spell, working those rocking chairs. Cracker Barrel even has a books-on-tape lending library -- rent a tape at one store, then return it at another -- and gives out maps of the country, with all its 300-plus locations marked, so that road-trippers know where to stop for some dependable chow. You couldn't ask more from a chain.

We're suckers for the kind of gooey, rich, old-fashioned desserts we're not supposed to eat anymore. That's probably why we're regulars at this Dennis Max restaurant and bakery, which sells outstanding banana cream pies and carrot cakes by the slice or, when we're in a particularly greedy mood, by the whole. The key lime pie is perfectly tart, the brownies justly fudgy, and the cheesecake sinfully creamy. Wash any of it down with a bottomless cuppa joe, but be warned -- the liquid takes up valuable room in your stomach that could be better filled by, say, a slab of chocolate layer cake.

As soon as you step into Jaxson's parlor, you'll find yourself remembering the "good old days" as you survey the vast display of Necco Wafers, jawbreakers, and other sweet treats. But if you're not in the mood for candy, a heaping helping of the stuff that makes Jaxson's famous should do the trick. Jaxson's has been serving its homemade ice cream for 42 years. Whether dining in or walking up to the takeout window, you can sample perennial favorites like rocky road and chocolate chip, or try one of the fat- or sugar-free frozen desserts. If you're really feeling adventurous, try one of the unique flavors of the day, such as black raspberry. During one of our visits, Gummi Bear was the ice cream du jour. Though it's probably a winner with the age-ten-and-under set, we passed on it and played it safe by ordering a mammoth-size chocolate sundae followed by a milkshake with the proverbial cherry on top.

A family restaurant's one thing, but if you're talking about a place that caters specifically to kids the Chuck E Cheese's chain has mastered the art of "fill 'em up and wear 'em down." That goes for kids and parents; you literally have to psyche yourself up for this place, because it's a no-holds-barred assault on the senses with its primary-color playground equipment, grocery store rides, and boardwalk-style video games. Here's the idea: Line the kids up at the deli counter, where sandwiches, salads, and pizzas go for reasonable prices; then sit 'em down in the Show Room, where life-size, Muppet-like characters, including Chuck E himself, entertain the wee ones; then let 'em loose for the next hour or so. For the rides and games, tokens are a must (at $5 for 20), and they sometimes pay off in the form of tickets redeemable for prizes. Service is quick and friendly, the food is good, and the entertainment choices are endless -- all for a not-too-expensive night out. Just one suggestion: Make this a middle-of-the-week treat for the kids. The place is a zoo on Saturday nights.

It's the United Nations of cuisine. Twirl pasta, fork up crepes, slice into steaks, sup on sushi. From South African cuisine at ZAN(Z)BAR to pan-Asian fare at Indigo to New American specialties at Mark's Las Olas, the street for which the last eatery is named pleases most of us most of the time. The only time we hear grumbles, in fact, is when diners can't decide where to go and their beleaguered stomachs start doing the talking.