Food & Drink

Don't say we never did nothin' for ya. Because if we had half a brain or one selfish bone in our body, we'd stay mum about Spicy Jenny's. This tiny, three-table storefront eatery, just off Lake Worth's main drag, is one of those little-known places so unfathomably good that we should just shut up about it, because the only good that will come of publicizing the place is that it will be overrun with hordes of lunchtime drones. So, just briefly: chicken thighs in Veracruz peanut sauce tempered with red wine, served over carrots and white grapes; pork chops in soy-ginger sauce with mango salsa and mashed potatoes; spinach enchiladas suiza. And those are just a few of the daily lunch specials. None is more than $6, and all are comparable to dishes you'd pay three times that amount for at any restaurant with amenities (like, say, table service). You want more? The best Philly cheesesteak in town, bar none; huevos rancheros that will leave you forever unable to eat the tepid eggs served at most breakfast joints; ham-and-corn chowder that will make you wish for a nice 30-degree day and a stiff wind; and… oh, forget it. We're off to Spicy Jenny's right now, before you unwashed masses tarnish the place forever.

OK, so it's not much of a chain -- yet. This pan-Latin eatery, a conceptual sibling to T.G.I. Friday's, has only two other locations nationwide. Still, more are planned, including two in South Florida, and they're so uniquely suited to our region that we have no problem looking forward to more. Like everyday life in multicultural South Florida, the Samba Room menu puts various Hispanic dishes side by side regardless of country of origin. Where else could you find a ropa vieja sandwich next to Colombian arepas -- with a corn salsa, no less? Or wash down xinxim (Brazilian stew) with a Cuba libre? Granted, the Samba Room, named for a Brazilian dance, takes some liberties by fusing Latin ingredients with Asian ones and palming some Caribbean ones off on unsuspecting Anglos. But all in all, the place is good fun, especially late in the evening when the furniture is cleared away, the dancing begins, and the Samba lives up to its name.

If the aroma of fresh-baked cookies wafting from the café's kitchen doesn't clue you in, allow us to do so: Proprietors Dennis Williams and Ken Rzab make their own. And they're not just tollhouse toadies, either, although the chocolate-chip yummies here are so popular the boys sell 'em by the dozen. This pair gets into the groove with sweets both simple (try the brownies) and sophisticated (sample the cappuccino-chocolate-chip layer cake). And as for the peanut butter cream pie, it straddles the line between delicious and, oh, how about rockin' good. Talk about rhythm -- the sweets here make your taste buds do the tango.

What do you do when confronted with a horny green iguana? Drink it, and fast -- otherwise the aged tequila in this innovative martini might lose its just-shaken chill. Then, once you're sufficiently warmed, take time to examine the rest of the offerings at this splendidly creative Tex-Mex joint. This eatery on trendy Clematis Street has chile-napped winners in such items as chicken breast mole and tenderloin of pork with pumpkin-seed sauce. And you can't dismiss even what would normally be incidentals (that is, chips and salsa) in another restaurant, because every piquant sauce here is made on the premises. Indeed while the mixed drinks tame even the prickliest Mexican-food fans, the fare peps 'em right back up again.

Granted, the name's a little strange, perhaps just a bit too weird to be taken seriously. And the sushi part can easily seem like a backup plan for non-Thai food lovers or for those disappointed in the pad Thai, for instance. And yes, the place doesn't look like much more than what it was before chef-owner Todd Boonya took over: a classic roadside diner. But once you're safely ensconced in a booth and served steaming tom yum soup, a brothy blend spiked with lime leaves, lemongrass, and chile peppers, you'll just have to trust your palate. This is fine Thai dining indeed. Mee krob is exceptional, neither greasy nor too sweet, and curries are supremely well balanced. Ask for your dish spicy and you'll get it that way, which makes Eddie Hills and Sushi Thai not only a pit stop for quick Asian fare but a cure for the common cold as well.

Not only does this place offer 40 different selections of wine by the glass, but you can brush up on your varietals during happy hour every Monday through Friday from 4 to 7 p.m. with half-price "flights" of wine. A flight is a tasting of three wines related to one another by taste, geographic region of origin, or type of varietal grape from which they are vinted. And during happy hour, the staff will supply you with a paper place mat and three different samples of wine for between $3.50 and $8. Each glass is placed in the appropriate circle on the mat, and beneath each circle is a short description of the type of wine found in the glass. So what the heck, why not learn to keep your cabernets and your merlots straight while tying one on after work?

Sure, the tomatoes here are sweet. You can pick 'em up off the salad bar, you can spoon 'em out of your soup, and you can even find the juicy fruit on focaccia bread. But that's not all you can eat at this, well, all-you-can-eat, serve-yourself, prix fixe restaurant. The enormous salad bar -- the first thing you see when you enter the eatery -- offers a tremendous array of choices: Chinese noodle salad, pickled beets, hard-boiled eggs, and chicken tarragon salad, to name just a few. Indeed just wish for a vegetable, sunflower seed, bacon bit, or shredded cheese to garnish your lettuce, and it's there. But salad and its kin aren't the only things at your gluttonous disposal here. How about six different soups daily, plus an assortment of fresh-baked muffins, breads, and desserts like strawberry shortcake? Leave your best intentions at home. Sweet Tomatoes may present plenty of healthy fare from every food group imaginable, but even if you take just one bite of everything you see, you'll still be full for a week.

Proper linens? Formal service? Decorous clientele? It's all under the rainbow at this gorgeously outfitted Chinese restaurant. On the outside the place looks like just another ethnic neighborhood eatery, but indoors the place really is a palace of sorts, with walls glowing with mauve paint and fresh flowers blooming on every table. And the fare served here is reminiscent of the dishes served in the fine hotels of Hong Kong and Singapore. Stir-fried dishes have unusual twists -- combos of mushrooms splashed with sherry, for example -- and are uncommonly delicious. Dumplings may be stuffed with pork or bursting with lobster. In fact just about everything is refined here except for the appetites inspired by the finely tuned fare, which are nothing short of voracious.

We've tried to find a better sub than one from Laspada's. Really. We've had a year to do it, and we've scoured Broward and Palm Beach counties. But now we have to admit we've failed. So once again we're awarding this minichain the blue ribbon in this category. But trust us, it's not our fault. Blame instead the folks who whip together these overstuffed sandwiches faster than Superman can change into his cape and tights: fresh-baked rolls, layered with deli meats or, say, chicken salad. The garnishes: sweet peppers, hot peppers, pickles, onions, tomatoes. The splash of oil/vinegar/oregano, plus a swipe of mayo and a seal of provolone cheese. See? It's irresistible. OK, we admit the staff isn't always the politest -- hesitate a bit too long in your decision-making process and you're likely to lose your turn -- but then, we're not giving them the award for Best Service.

What could be more satisfying than the burrito loco, a tortilla stuffed with your choice of beef, chicken, or beans, then topped with cheddar cheese, sour cream, taco sauce, chopped onions, shredded lettuce, guacamole, tomatoes, refried beans, Mexican rice, and -- whew -- jalapeños? Two of them, of course -- if you can handle them. Frankly we dare you to try. We know you'll be tempted. The burritos here tend to make one forget all about dropping the chalupa, or whatever the nonsense of the week is at that ubiquitous Mexican fast-food chain. But our advice for here is: savor. Such burrito brilliance is best enjoyed singly, and besides, it'll leave room for you to try the signature guaco loco taco.

Though it originated in Mexico, the caesar salad is one of those beloved foods that have jumped all boundaries, invaded all countries, and brought all chefs to their culinary knees. Or we should say most chefs. Danish chef Per Jacobsen, who is also the proprietor of this classy, crowded bistro, has raised the caesar to exceptionally well-balanced heights. There's not too much Parmesan, not too much anchovy flavor; the salad's not too oily, nor is it unreasonably creamy. And Jacobsen uses ultrafresh romaine and crisp, homemade croutons. Recipe for success? In our eyes, at least, if not those of the envious world.

Ask a New Jerseyite what a real diner is, and the answer you'll hear -- a wide-ranging menu, friendly and efficient service, and oh, it must be owned by Greeks and serve great Greek pastries -- could just as easily describe Boca Glades. In addition to the usual egg dishes, sandwiches, and burgers, this spacious eatery offers souvlaki (grilled skewered meats), moussaka (like lasagna), spinach pie, and gyros. Not in the mood for Greek? Not to worry. The diner also presents terrific grilled fish dishes in addition to the more sinful specialties such as sautéed chicken livers and Romanian skirt steak. Then you can finish up with a slice of any number of cakes and pies. It's been said that no restaurant can please all the people all the time, but when you come right down to it, Boca Glades comes the closest to succeeding.

No one smashes plates. No one swigs ouzo. Is this really a Greek restaurant? You bet, although an elegantly subdued one. Not only do the décor and the behavior of fellow clientele satisfy propriety, but the traditional fare -- avgolemono (lemon-egg) soup, romaine-fennel salad, swordfish souvlaki (skewered fish) -- is simultaneously sensual and reminiscent of the old country. Indeed, it's one of the few restaurants where you can scan the menu and utter the cliché "It's all Greek to me" without negative connotations. Then you can order some red wine and a portion of flaming saganaki (flambéed cheese), and sit back and enjoy the dramatic presentation of the fare.

This tiny 40-seater, a renovated luncheonette, can be a little cramped if large parties are in the house. But for the most part, tables for two and four are the norm, which allows couples to whisper conspiratorially and foursomes to gossip about friends and neighbors without being overheard. Even more significant, chef-owner Tony Sindaco's open-kitchen cooking commands other customers' attention, so no one eavesdrops. Murmur to your heart's content, at least until your food arrives. Be warned that Sindaco's way with fish -- he makes a mean tuna Bolognese sauce and wraps salmon with thinly sliced potatoes -- tends to silence patrons temporarily, if not shut their mouths completely. Except for the appropriate chewing motions, of course.

Call it "le spécial d'oiseau." Or something like that. The French have survived Jerry Lewis, EuroDisney, and Michael Jackson, so why not subject them to the most dynamic of South Florida culinary inventions, the early-bird special? L'Anjou doesn't dare call its presunset dining extravaganza an early bird, but all the ingredients are there. And we call a oiseau a oiseau when we see one. Show up between 5 and 5:45 p.m., and for $16.50 you get an appetizer, an entrée, your choice of dessert, coffee, or tea. The food is unimaginative but hearty and well prepared. Appetizers include duck pâté and marinated herring, as well as tomato juice. (You call that an appetizer?) As for entrées, there's half a duck à l'orange, mahi-mahi pan-seared with tarragon sauce, and many other dishes you won't encounter at Piccadilly Cafeteria. L'Anjou also delivers that other staple of early-bird culture: hordes of retirees who will take out your kneecap with a walker if you tell them they've missed the 5:45 cutoff.

We can go to the store and pick up a nice low-end bottle of Kendall-Jackson wine for, say, $12, so why would we want to sip the same wine at the inflated restaurant markup of $35? Exactly. So in choosing the best wine selection, we went looking not just for an exhaustive list of bottles but for one that featured choice and fair prices combined with some out-of-the-ordinary finds. We discovered just such a splendid combination at Pineapple Grill. We knew we were onto something right off the bat when a quick scan of the list brought us to the section for rosé (or blush) wines, and instead of the standard Sutter Home or Beringer white zinfandel, we found bottles of Buehler white zin from Napa Valley ($17.69) and Saintsbury vin gris pinot noir ($18.59) from Carneros. And by using various area wine distributors rather than shacking up with one exclusively, Pineapple's proprietors have kept out of a rut, offering a sprinkling of Old World favorites (Chateau Des Rontets' $37.83 pouilly-fuissé and Georges du Boeuf's $19.91 Beaujolais-Villages from France, for example) amid a wide variety of New World vintages. Notable on the list of whites are a Roberta Pecota Sauvignon Blanc ($18.59) and a Matanzas Creek chardonnay ($49.43), both from Sonoma, and a couple of selections from California vintner Rabbit Ridge. A Stags' Leap cab ($52.26) from Napa jumps off the list of reds. You might find some of these by snooping around nicer liquor emporiums, but you won't beat the Pineapple prices by much, and these bottles certainly won't turn up on grocery-store shelves.

Note scribbled on a bar napkin while researching this category: "There's something beautifully poetic about drinking martinis in the middle of the afternoon at Mark's." Sinatra would agree, and isn't that really what a good martini is all about? We think so. Mark's mixes a mean one, with a rack of gins and vodkas from which to choose, a knowledgeable bar staff to help you do so, and the right atmosphere in which to swill. Straight up or dirty, they always come shaken, not stirred, accented with three fat olives on the swizzle stick. Poetry in a glass. If you're lucky the lovely Martha will be your mixologist. Stir in the tastefully hip surroundings and the passing parade on Las Olas Boulevard, and we can't think of a better way to wile away a South Florida afternoon. But remember to bring your plastic -- premium martinis at Mark's will set you back $9 each.

Whether it's a snowbird paying you back for lodging or the boss treating you on the company's plastic, it's always a delight to be taken to dinner. When this rare occurrence materializes, you want elegance and a worthy wine list. At the Grill Room, you also get quality cocktails, multiple servers, and an appropriately pricey menu, all accompanied by live piano music. And the Grill Room has the feel of a club, not some trendy eatery with a noisy, bustling atmosphere. Indeed, its stated intention is to "transport you to a gentler time when British officers enjoyed all the splendors of exotic locations under Colonial rule." Well, we don't know if it's all that, but it's close. Disregard the prices and start with a dram of smoky, single-malt Scotch, then move on to a robust cabernet. Once you're past the appetizer, try the rack of lamb, and polish things off with an adequately aged brandy. And then, when the bill arrives, it's tallyho, old chum!

So the décor's not much to look at -- a couple of tables in a plain eatery stuck in a strip mall. But what do you care? You're here for the take-out, which is a good thing, because that's what this place specializes in. Choose your region: classic Cantonese, Mandarin, Szechuan. The woks here spew forth all manner and style of noodle dishes and stir-fry items, from chow fun to savory tofu. In addition the cooks are fast and the staff is efficient, so your order is finished, packed up, and ready to go within minutes of your call. Plus, Henry's caters to any diner, be it in-house or at-home. Special dietary requests? Not a problem. Vegetarian in your midst? Plenty of options. Allergic to MSG? Henry's doesn't use it. All in all, Henry's exceeds typical take-out expectations, because when you get home, your food is hot and savory rather than a soggy mess. And that's a point in your favor.

If you're honest about it, Acquario is a mall restaurant. OK, so that mall is the Esplanade, on chichi Worth Avenue, the aptly named street of commerce in Palm Beach, where real estate is mogul territory. And yes, the complex is hardly Jersey mallrat quality, since all the stores are both genteel and pricey. Perhaps it's fitting, then, that Acquario, located in the back of the structure on the top floor, is a sedate, plush dining experience. Check loud voices at the door and sink into plush carpeting. Traditional décor, including oil paintings and crystal light fixtures, evoke the charm of European drawing rooms. But it's chef Theo Schoenegger's contemporary Mediterranean cuisine -- quail grilled with so many herbs it's a veritable Simon and Garfunkel song or lobster risotto with asparagus -- that clinches the deal with the decisiveness of a CEO. Of course, you might need your friendly CEO to pick up the bill, which like everything else in the area can be, um, a little high. But then what's pleasure that you don't somehow pay for?

If Fort Lauderdale's known for anything, it's raw bars. In addition to the old guard, avant-garde clam shacks pop up all the time. That makes the competition in this category especially fierce. But sometimes it takes an old-timer to show the young'uns how it should be done. Southport doesn't have fancy bloody Marys garnished with oysters, or tequila-oyster shooters, or oysters flown in from other places around the country. It just has good, honest seafood, served raw or cooked, according to your preference. No matter how you like your clams and oysters, be sure to get the smallest ones, which are often the sweetest. Those who forgo raw fare aren't neglected, either -- they can order fried shrimp, steamed oysters, or stuffed clams, to name a few alternatives. And the prices? They haven't changed much since the place opened about 27 years ago, which can't help but soothe the saltiest patron.

The name of this upscale sushi and sake bar may sound rock-hard (or rok-hard), but the sushi itself is nothing less than supple. Not soft, because that would imply textureless. Not pliable, because that would denote elasticity. And not flexible, because that might be stringy. No, we're talking fresh raw fish, cut thick enough to give your teeth just the tiniest moment of resistance before yielding. If there's one thing you can count on here, aside from the sake cocktails (or coktails), it's the reliability of the sushi chefs. Fish, after all, is only as good as the hands that cut it, and these are caring hands. You could even call them, well, supple.

If the place first strikes you as a nightclub, that's because it is, at least on weekends. But this Jamaican-Chinese restaurant is also an unpretentious but sophisticated example of island cuisine. The curried goat is meaty, not bony. The brown stew fish is rich and flavorful, not greasy. And chicken sautéed with peanuts and coconut cream is priceless. Make that reasonably priceless. The fare here is affordable enough to allow patrons to partner everything with fried rice and finish it all off with banana bread pudding, so you can partake of the plentitude, mon, and not sweat the check. Best of all, the service makes T.G.I. Friday's look unfriendly; in fact the staff pretty much treats everyone here like… well, like a native.

Hollywood's struggling downtown is either in or out, depending on the year. This year: in, with new eateries such as Red Thai Room and Burt's on the Beach drawing customers from counties to the north and south. Last year: out, with noteworthy restaurants such as Revolution 2029, Tac "O" the Town, and Impromptu all biting the ghost town dust. Le Pastis, a quaint Provençal restaurant with owners hailing from Bordeaux and Marseilles, promised to persevere despite the sudden dearth of customers roaming the Harrison Street area. But despite such delicious dishes as frogs' legs in white wine sauce and traditional lamb chops crusted in herbes de Provence, Le Pastis couldn't hang on and took down its shingle. So much for the sunny skies of southern France in southeastern Broward County.

Here's the neighborhood part: La Brochette is located in a typical suburban strip mall in southwest Broward County. Here's the restaurant part: an interior crammed with culinary collectibles, a professional staff, and a well-chosen wine list. Now, here's the best part: conch fillet schnitzel with caper-lime sauce, roast duck with ginger-orange sauce, and homemade milk chocolate crème brûlée. Chef-proprietor Aboud Kobaitri makes everything from French onion soup to hazelnut mousse, and his dedication to his eight-year-old eatery shows. Even more apparent is Kobaitri's commitment to the area -- for the past 16 years, the Lebanese native has made his home in Davie and Pembroke Pines. If you go by the credo that only locals know what locals want, then Kobaitri has everything we need.

The absence of antelope chops notwithstanding, this cheetah-spotted steak house fulfills the hearty beef-eater's expectations: luxe décor, high-end meats, and seriously good martinis. You couldn't ask for more in an American steak house, even one that's named for a trek across the savanna. Steaks aren't the only items to stake a meal on, either. Jumbo lump crab-and-avocado cocktails, iceberg salad with homemade blue cheese rich enough to tempt a politician, and swordfish with hollandaise satisfy the beef embargoists. Otherwise it's a carnival for carnivores, with steaks and chops seared on a grill that heats up to 2000 degrees Fahrenheit. Hot stuff indeed.

Yes, we know this restaurant is part of a chain with more cousins than a family from Appalachia. We're also aware that the outlet-mall setting may make some diners feel as if they're eating in a trendy airplane hangar and that the service can decay into assembly-line style. And yes, we realize that the sea fare here says very little about South Florida as a region. That's precisely why we love it. When you're bored with yellowtail snapper and conch chowder, Legal Sea Foods is the place for broiled bluefish and New England clam chowder, the latter of which is concocted in overcast Boston and shipped by air to sunny Florida. Then, of course, there's the famous stuff no one who has visited the original Legal in Boston can quite resist: mussels au gratin, steamed Ipswich clams, and baked Maine lobsters stuffed with crabmeat and cracker crumbs. Frankly we'd break the law to dine at Legal.

Chef Drew Rosen has said it before, and he'll say it again. His eatery, which serves items ranging from a soft duck taco with mango chutney to a rib steak marinated in bourbon and juniper berries, is more of a gourmet restaurant that serves natural foods and plenty of vegetables. The fact that it's Glatt kosher should only reassure diners, since, as Rosen reminds us, kosher is "the purest way of eating.... You know exactly what you're getting. There's complete truth in the menu." There's also absolute honesty in how Rosen's cuisine tastes -- good. Really good. But it's not too surprising, since he has an impressive pedigree, having worked at Mark's Place and Scoozime Trattoria and on Williams Island. So don't think of Terrace Oceanside as kosher. But if you need to label it, try this: a no-brainer for vegetarians, a relief for the lactose-intolerant, and a pleasure palace for the gastronomically minded.

It sounds like a dessert shop. It looks like an elaborate mausoleum, with marble and flowers everywhere. But Hot Chocolates eats like a gourmet's fantasy. The upscale fusion fare, rife with European influences, ranges from ragout of escargot to homemade spaetzle to confit of duck with tomatoes and mushrooms. Not bad for a supper lounge that turns into a disco after hours. Stick around if you want to see where Hot Chocolates gets its name -- couples tend to melt all over each other on the dance floor. And definitely drop in for a fine meal served with flair but thank goodness not with marshmallows.

This contemporary eatery in Towne Center makes the most of the pan-Asian fad with a menu of mixed-up ethnicities. Fortunately most of the dishes are not fusion Asian -- they remain true to the countries that inspired them, like chicken imperial rolls (Vietnam), Shanghai noodles (China), and teriyaki salmon (Japan). No matter what ethnicity you feel like noshing, you can satisfy your craving here. And if you can't find something on the menu, you can visit the "market," where a host of veggies and a dozen homemade sauces await the customer, and create your own stir-fry. The guys behind the counter will then toss your combo into a wok for you. Hard to find a restaurant that caters to the patron more or one that has a more complete handle on what exactly pan-Asian is -- or should be.

It no doubt sounds like gastronomic blasphemy to declare that a chain restaurant turns out superior ribs. But the barbecued ribs at J. Alexander's really are something special: big slabs of Danish baby-back ribs covered with a dark sauce that's not too tangy and not too sweet. The ribs are pork -- beef can't compete -- and they're slow-cooked to moist, falling-off-the-bone perfection. And unlike the highly variable ribs at so many barbecue joints, they're consistently good, which to our mind is an undervalued virtue when it comes to ribs. Skeptical? We took a gang of folks from the Deep South's Barbecue Belt to J. Alex's for the ribs, and they left with their bellies full and smiles on their faces.

And you thought Sicily's top export to the U.S. was goodfellas? No, it's pizza, stupid. Nick and Joe, who were both born in Sicily, started making pizza in Queens decades before hunkering down in Plantation 21 years ago to bring real ethnic taste to that vanilla town. And what a taste it is: whole-milk cheese, plenty of succulent sauce, and from dough made fresh every morning, a crust with a just-right chew that gives the jaw a wonderful workout. Throw on some sharp, spicy pepperoni and some freshly cut onions, and you really have something. One of Nick's credos is "No skimping." And he doesn't. But other than top-shelf ingredients and plenty of them, he says there's only one real secret to making kick-ass pizza: hard work. And his bustling restaurant -- which makes a quick pizza and almost never gets an order wrong -- is a testament to that.

If the coffeehouses of the 1990s are a throwback to the Cheers era, Chocolate Moose is a perfect example. It's a place where, if not everybody knows your name, at least owner John Helverson makes a point of it. "That's Joe," he says, pointing to a white-haired man in his fifties. "He's having some personal problems and comes here every night. It's his home away from home." The customers are an eclectic group ranging from teenagers to seniors. On a recent Thursday night, the place was packed for open-mic night (there's also singles' night, psychic night, and gothic night). Two dozen or so people sat at tables, at what passes for a "bar," and on recliners, listening to a young blond woman in jeans serve up a decent guitar-backed rendition of an Emerson, Lake & Palmer song, of all things. In the back of the room, a tattooed twentysomething couple sitting on brushed velvet couches played a lively game of chess. A bookcase offers such diverse fare as The Guinness Book of Records, Favorite Houseplants, and Smart Women, Foolish Choices. The owner samples hundreds of coffee beans before choosing his faves, and one of his proud inventions is the White Cow, a blend of espresso, white chocolate, and vanilla. There are also a few wine choices for those who prefer a stronger form of liquid relaxation, and the décor is warm and inviting, with a roaring fake fireplace, heart-shape candles, and miniature stuffed moose scattered throughout. But as on Cheers, the friendship and good-natured ribbing are what bring people back.

Qualifications for fine outdoor dining are few and simple: The outside of the restaurant has to be especially appealing in some way. Whether that allure comes in the form of foot traffic, as it does on Las Olas Boulevard, or from a great view, as it might from a beachfront eatery, doesn't matter. Or does it? Remember, outdoor dining is nothing without the dining part. And Sundy House is easily the most magical place to dine outdoors because of the aromas, not just from the botanical garden, with its ponds and bridges, but from the innovative New American cuisine being prepared inside. It's also hard to argue with the tropical flowers bedecking this beautifully restored house and porch, especially when your entire body is being caressed by temperate breezes and your palate is being stroked by local fish garnished with fruity salsas.

Stainless steel and neon outside; deep-cushioned booths, a thick menu, and friendly waitresses inside. Lester's is one of those old-fashioned diners that beckons with its authentic look and its home-style comfort food. And at the restaurant's original location in Fort Lauderdale (250 E. State Rd. 84), the 24-7 schedule beckons even those with munchies in the weest of hours. Whatever has kept them up, nocturnal eaters will find something to satisfy their hankerin' in the pages and pages of menu items. Eggs always hit the spot, and they're here in every form imaginable, from tangy eggs Benedict and fluffy omelets to eggs served with corned-beef hash and grits to eggs and gyros. Breakfast offerings also include thick Belgian waffles topped with ice cream or whipped cream, as well as French toast and buttermilk pancakes. That covers maybe a quarter of the voluminous menu, which also boasts Italian and Greek specialties, steak and seafood specials, stir-fry, barbecue, and mainstay diner fare such as burgers and deli sandwiches. The lengthy list of dessert items baked fresh on site features such favorites as brownies, key lime pie, and Black Forest cake. Of course, no retro diner worth the chrome on its napkin holders is complete without a soda fountain, and the one at Lester's offers an assortment of sundaes, splits, ice cream sodas, and thick, creamy shakes.

The key to a good margarita is real tequila, about which plenty of amateurs don't know the first thing. Hint: If you think tequila looks like warm piss after a tennis match, just give up now. You're probably one of those folks who believe the best pizza is made by Domino's, in which case you shouldn't be drinking anyway. But if you understand that real tequila has to be made from only 100 percent blue agave cactus, then you know what it's supposed to taste like. Not only does Canyon use blue agave, but Canyon's patented recipe calls for a second variety of cactus, the prickly pear, in lieu of lime juice. Used to being questioned about their regionally recognized margarita, the waitress is quick to point out the purple-liquid-filled vat on the bar where Sauza Hornitos tequila infuses the peeled prickly pear fruit for 48 hours. The finished product, to which sour mix and triple sec have been added, is served frozen or on the rocks (the house's recommendation) in sleek martini glasses. We prefer it frozen, so that every icy, biting sip burns a trail down our throats. If you're looking for the typical margarita experience of washing down chips and salsa with gulps from quart-size glasses, this place is not for you. But if you're looking for a memorable margarita and don't mind spending around six bucks for one, saddle up and head down to Canyon.

We should note right off the bat that this eatery isn't really one of the most expensive; in fact it just barely makes it into this category. That's fine by us -- we can just order more courses. And a four-course meal is truly impossible to resist in this 50-seater where everyone is treated like "family" even if you've never stepped foot in here before. Start with antipasto, laden with roasted peppers and fresh provolone, before moving on to thick, rich pasta e fagiole. Main courses, whether they're enormous portions of linguine with white clam sauce or plates of chicken scarpariello so overburdened you can almost hear them groan -- no, wait, that's your stomach -- will bring endless (read: endless) pleasure. But that's no excuse to wave away the espresso with anisette and a dish of crème brûlée topped with stewed strawberries. Just be sure to give as good as you get -- the staff likes to tease if you don't clean your plate.

When a restaurant resembles a trailer from the trailer park that sits behind it, you can bet it's reasonably priced. In fact the motto at Little Italian Tavern (LIT) is that it's cheaper to dine here than it is to dine at home. Cheap doesn't always mean good, but fortunately LIT lights a fire under typical Italian fare -- fried mozzarella, for example -- and gives it a welcome boost. Choose from a zillion pastas priced under ten bucks, sophisticated blackboard specials such as beef braised with leeks and endive, and a decent selection of South American and Italian wines, and you can still get out for less than $25 per person. Despite the parity, do make sure to stock your wallet with cash: LIT doesn't take a shine to credit cards.

This "doctor's" chicken soup will cure whatever ails you. So will his lobster bisque or any of his other six hot soup selections daily ($3.75 to $4.50 for the 12-ounce serving; $4.50 to $5.50 for the 16-ounce) or the dozen or so refrigerated soups sold in pints ($4.25 to $5.50) or quarts ($7.25 to $9.75). Raymond Schamis, age 28, learned his trade in French restaurants, a fact most obvious in, say, his rich sweet potato soup made with puréed sweet potatoes, nutmeg, cinnamon, a little brown sugar, and some cloves. And while we're not about to knock your grandmother's chicken soup, Schamis' version is, well, different. It contains so much garlic, there ought to be a warning label: Do not attempt to go out on a date after eating this soup. Sorry, this doc doesn't accept health insurance; he doesn't even accept credit cards.

Frankly you can't get more proper (read: stuffy) than Churchill's. This elaborate English pub, designed like a country manor, is crammed with antique furniture. Decorative and architectural pieces from eight different centuries, plus two enormous fireplaces, further enhance the dining rooms, which are named the "Medieval" and "Churchill" rooms. Indeed, gentlemen are required to wear ties and jackets in order to dine here, a formality almost unheard-of in this subtropical region and this contemporary era of casual supping. Yet this upscale restaurant doesn't age-discriminate. As long as your babies are properly dressed (read: shoes), they can dine here, too, in luxurious highchair comfort. That's the English influence for you -- youngsters, as long as they're well behaved (read: confined), are welcome to be with the folks, even in a bastion of culinary civility. After all, how else are they supposed to learn good table manners? Better from Churchill's than from, say, Barney.

Sure, country-and-western music gets short shrift among the R&B, jazz, and karaoke easy-listening that often accompanies our meals these days. But if you have a hankering to be a country boy (or girl) while you down an enormous porterhouse steak, take the country road home to Boonie's. With few decorative frills and lots of Marlboro men populating the bar, this budget steak house can seem a little intimidating at first. We say brave it and head straight for the lounge, where some reasonably good live musicians and bands play classics ranging from country-and-western to Southern rock. No sense in not crooning along, either, or in keeping yourself from that dance floor. It's all good clean American fun in a county that's often too ritzy for its own good. Slap some boots on that thar Kennedy, folks, and let's remember what Palm Beach used to be like, when you could still tie a hoss to a hitchin' post.

If your definition of a family restaurant is one where you can take relatives ranging from grandparents to grandkids, fill their bellies with wholesome food like meat loaf and roast chicken, and come out with a bill so reasonable you wonder whether the server included everything, then you're obviously thinking of Penn Dutch. As are we. Not to be mistaken for the Penn Dutch retail center on the other side of I-95, this eatery, where mashed potatoes are served with gravy rather than Gorgonzola, epitomizes the family restaurant. The restaurant opens early (6:30 a.m.) and closes early (8 p.m.), even then serving dinner only four evenings a week, Wednesday through Saturday. That's OK with us and with most of the other patrons, since folks like to cook at home early in the week and eat out later in the week, when everyone's energy has ebbed. At times like these, Penn Dutch provides an infusion of home cooking just like Mom (or Dad) would -- if the restaurant didn't prove that it's actually cheaper, faster, and tastier to dine here than to do so at home.

No doubt we could use some more Southwestern cuisine in this part of the country -- or county, for that matter. But Canyon doesn't take its solitary status for granted. Instead executive chef Chris Wilber continues to reinvent his regional cuisine, providing diners with the likes of smoked-duck nachos, chicken quesadillas with mango-black bean salsa, and filet mignon with poblano-pesto goat cheese. Even more of a draw, Canyon offers a menu of rare, smoky tequilas, either to wash down the peppery fare or to start a fire all their own. In any event diners can be assured of a hot time in the Canyon tonight.

Browsing Batten's gives the fruit-and-veggie savvy a place to meditate. Watch how shoppers glide quietly along while contemplating such seasonal goodies as honey tangerines, acorn squash, and vine-ripened tomatoes. There's a definite reverence toward the bins spilling with gleaming eggplants, plump limes, black radishes, and cactus pears. This open-air market sports the kind of bounty that looks almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. During the months of November and December, Batten's grows its own strawberries, peppers, Kirby cucumbers, sweet onions, and various tomatoes. Step out behind the store and you can see nature in action: Batten's Farm fans out behind the market. If you get hungry while shopping, there's a walk-up window where you can order fresh juices or fruit milk shakes -- "fresh" as in they cut and mix the stuff right in front of you. The market also sells fresh-cut flowers and prepackaged gourmet goodies like pepper vinaigrettes, all-natural spices, coffees, and homemade jellies and jams. And best of all, Batten's is open year-round.

Cheeburger Cheeburger is a hamburger joint, but it's not a fast-food hamburger joint. In other words you have to wait for your food rather than have your food wait for you under a heat lamp. This is a good thing. Everything on the menu is cooked to order, including the French fries, which means that they're made from scratch, not frozen. The fries are sliced from the finest Idaho spuds, fried (with the skin on) to a golden brown in peanut oil, and then sprinkled with what the restaurant insists are "secret" seasonings. If you find yourself on Las Olas Boulevard with some time to kill, stop in and order a basket, and try a burger while you're at it.

Since the average hamburger is made not of ham but of beef, we feel no qualm about awarding the blue ribbon to Shuck-N-Dive's burger, which is neither ham nor beef but buffalo, and there's nothing average about it. Yes, buffalo. Humpback on a roll. The good ol' buffburger. The meat from farm-raised buffalo is generally leaner than beef, but the way chef-proprietor Staz prepares 'em, these burgers are just as juicy as ones made from ground chuck. Toss in a couple of sides of fried okra and fried green tomatoes, and you have yourself a meal so many culinary steps removed from the typical burger and fries that it's almost a shame to finish it. Almost -- because, hey, you can always order another one.

It's a piece of sin in a crisp paper bag. And you can get through the shiny chrome façade's double-barreled drive-through so fast your conscience won't have time to stop you. Then it's a simple matter of snaring one of those 69-cent, melt-in-your-mouth, fat-soaked Kremes and making it disappear. They taste so good that, for at least one mouthwatering, donut-devouring moment, you forget that your choice to be the next President is between Gore and Bush. That's right: Gore or Bush. Sorry, but it's true. Thanks in part to Krispy Kreme, however, America is still a relatively decent place to live. Be thankful you have a Krispy Kreme shop nearby, because, believe it or not, not all locales have these culinary staples. (Try to find one on the other coast in, say, Fort Myers.) What's life without guilty pleasures?

Ah, ice cream. In this age of diet and fitness, it's almost a taboo to savor a scoop, let alone think about ordering a sundae somewhere. Well, we have the perfect solution. Abandon this age. Go back in time, just a little, to when ice cream was a sweet pleasure too rare to be scorned for its fat content. Got the fantasy set in your mind? Now make it reality at Jaxson's, a 44-year-old ice cream parlor and candy shop designed like a general store. The place even smells like the old-fashioned ice cream-candy emporium that it is, with scents of chocolate and malt mingling with the cool air wafting out of the freezers. With a choice of 60 flavors made right on the premises, it's almost a sin not to ask for the famous "kitchen sink," a sundae that has so many scoops, toppings, whipped cream, sprinkles, and nuts it could feed an entire Little League baseball team. In fact just spooning it up is so much exercise you can practically count the calories you're cutting.

The term New World may be heading out of favor, but it's a pretty safe bet that chef Oliver Saucy's innovative cuisine never will. As one of the originators of this style of cooking, which uses local ingredients and incorporates tropical influences from the Caribbean to Asia, Saucy produces an incredible complement of dishes. Because the menu changes daily, you can't depend on any single item being available on any given day. What you can expect is a reliance on regional fish such as grouper or snapper -- for good reason, since Saucy cooks it to flaky tenderness -- and a tendency to encrust it in anything from Vidalia onions to pistachios. A few heartier meat dishes, such as pesto-dusted veal chops, sate the carnivore, and there's always pasta, such as gnocchi or ravioli, on the menu. Go for anything oyster, since buttermilk-bread crumb ones are excellent and raw ones are superior. Since 1984, Café Maxx has been amazing its patrons, who expect -- and receive -- nothing less in the new millennium.

There once was a lass named Biddy,

Who spoke of what she could foresee:

That a pub named for her

Would have the best beer,

And therefore never be empty.

So her prediction came to pass.

The folks came to drink in great gasps

The Irish lager, stout, and ale,

And with each pint without fail

They'd toast: Thanks be to the lass!

The word bistro conjures up certain images: an elegant yet homey atmosphere, homemade fare, and a good beer to wash it all down. Darrel Broek and Oliver Saucy's newest venture, East City, makes good on all these qualifications, especially the last one. After all, there's no better way to follow mixed greens with house-made blue cheese dressing than with a swig of freshly cracked Anchor Steam. Or supple oysters with a Sierra Nevada pale ale. Or even hearty prime rib with a honey brown ale. The ideal American brews for the most noticeable American bistro to hit our shores thus far. But for those who think bistros -- and microbrews -- belong in the hands of the Europeans, there's frothy Warsteiner and solid Guinness stout, too.

Tom Jenkins' rib shack isn't open on Sundays, because it isn't nice to worship with messy hands or bibs. The menu's motto -- "Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift" -- doesn't immediately call to mind good eatin', but don't let the proprietor's inarticulate speech of the heart dissuade you from trying the food. Instead heed the other phrase used to trumpet the restaurant's fare: "A taste you'll never forget." The smell emanating from the place permeates the air for blocks, and the down-home bonhomie cuts through socioeconomic strata, as businessmen mingle with construction workers, young with old, white with black, rich with poor -- in other words, anyone with an appreciation for good victuals can be found standing in line to place an order or hunched over the big communal picnic tables. Highly recommended: the ribs. There's a swell selection of other Southern specialties, too, like catfish with hushpuppies, barbecued chicken, and salty-sweet greens. Beer and barbecue is always a good combo, but TJ's doesn't cotton to swillin', so there's homemade lemonade on hand instead. And make a valiant attempt to save space for dessert: sweet potato pie and, on Fridays and Saturdays, peach cobbler and apple dumplings. Stay on the straight and narrow, follow your nose to Tom Jenkins', and reward your taste buds. Religiously.

If we could judge best new restaurant by pedigree alone, Zemi would still win. Located in Towne Center, this handsome, trendy spot is owned by executive chef John Belleme and manager Allison Barber, both of whom are veterans of a Dennis Max restaurant, Max's Grille in Boca Raton. The connection to Max is convenient, since Zemi itself used to be Nick and Max's and, before that, Maxaluna. In fact Stephen O'Leary, the former pastry chef at both Nick and Max's and Maxaluna, has stayed on at Zemi. What all this boils down to is simple: chili-crusted shrimp pizza, roasted bobwhite quail and homemade duck sausage, homemade goat-cheese ravioli with pancetta-sage butter; and day-boat scallops with braised oxtail and sweet potato-parsnip mashers. Then, to wash it all down, you can order the truffle chocolate cake, which is garnished with peppermint whipped cream and vanilla-mint syrup, an ideal way not just to end a superb meal but to freshen your breath at the same time.

Ask a dozen barbecue aficionados about their favorite barbecue, and you'll usually get a dozen different opinions. But lately all eyes have been trained on the same prize: the meaty back ribs offered at this casual, laid-back joint. It's hard to quibble with both the quantity and the quality of the fare at TSoM, especially the beef brisket, which has been simmered until tender, or the chopped boneless pork. Extras are also worthy: The side dishes include rich baked beans and roasted corn on the cob; the appetizers range from jalapeño poppers to Texas chili rife with kidney beans and ground beef. Even the grilled chicken breasts are doublewide and juicy. Of course the star of the show is the sauce, which is tangy and aromatic. Wash it all down with a Texas-size iced tea, bring your friends, and watch 'em all fall in line with your -- and Texas' -- way of thinking.

Forget the old song of the same name about a woman who shot a man for two-timing -- this place is about love and crabs (but not the kind that ticked off Frankie). It's also about addiction, which is not uncommon in South Florida but is usually less justified. For lovers of shellfish, stone crab claws rival addictive drugs as desired pleasure, when they're in season -- and unfortunately that's not summer. The best place to get them cheap is from this produce-and-fish stand. They come only hours off a boat from the Keys for less than $10 a pound. That's less than half the cost of the fresh claws sold on East Las Olas Boulevard, for example. When the owners get the claws from elsewhere, such as the Chesapeake Bay, the price drops to $6.99 per pound.

We all know Margate ain't exactly Marseilles. In fact, it's strip-mall and fast-food-chain central. But in the midst of all this urban sprawl, this charming French café brings a little country into the city. Aside from the lace curtains and cabbage rose carpet, the restaurant offers up some excellent cassoulet, bourride (Provençal fish stew), and coq au vin. Indeed the French countryside dishes, mostly one-pot meals, are so yummy and filling it's hard to hone in on the more sophisticated fare like a Brie-asparagus omelet and puff pastry stuffed with shiitake and portobello mushrooms glazed with brandy. No matter. Whatever your order, you can't dispute the quality and care that go into the food here, which makes this restaurant not only "the life in pink" but also the life in sated pleasure.

OK, so the place isn't strictly Cuban. In fact pan-Latin might be a more appropriate modifier, since dishes like honey-glazed salmon with mango coulis and a half duck marinated in citrus juices and then glazed with raspberry-sesame sauce and honey are on the menu. But it's with his Cuban fare that owner George Quesada really proves himself: flavorful black beans and rice, terrific papa rellena. Two of his best appetizers, a tamal with pork and caramelized onions and crunchy-tender ham croquetas, are equally hard to resist. With all the Elián-inspired antics of late, Cuba's getting a bad rap. But trust Quesada to make sure that the island's cuisine never does.

Making our kids happy is important. There's no doubt about that. But entertaining ourselves is equally important, whether we admit it or not. That's why we take the youngsters to GameWorks. We start with dinner, where the kids get huge portions. The food is good, too, and we found the service to be excellent (as rare as that may be in our fair county). We went during a drink special and were lucky enough to nab a few $1 drafts. (Don't worry, the kids had soda.) But we didn't really come here to sit around and eat and drink. We came to play. The place encompasses 21,000 square feet and has a tremendous game room with all the beeps and pings and computerized explosions that light up the kids' imaginations. More than 100 games fill the place, from virtual batting practice to rowing through rapids to a hell of an Alpine ski experience, all three highly recommended. None of the stuff is, like, real, but it's all a kick. If you're too adult for those games, then you can kick back at the bar. With its easy-on-the-eyes lighting and constant pop-rock music playing, the place has the feel of a cheesy nightclub, which is pretty decent for a night out with the kids. After we were done, our family of four had gone through 70 bucks, which makes it a bit expensive. But for a now-and-then treat, it's worth it.

The logo here features a guy in chef duds trotting around with a tray of steaming bagels. We'd have to say that's pretty accurate. The bagels here are worthy of a chef's efforts. In fact they're what every picky New Yorker looks for -- crusty, chewy, with an indefinable sweetness to the dough -- and that in itself is a rousing recommendation. Not hard, dense, and stale, like some bagel shops' products, or slight and puffy as rolls, like the ones you get in the supermarket. In addition the Works has, well, the works on the premises: lox, whitefish, vegetable cream cheese, chopped liver, herring, tomatoes, onions. Fix up your bagel however you like. Just be aware that -- unlike in some places, where you have to pile on the toppings to cover up the bagel's flaws -- here you want to go sparingly and let the virtues shine through.

When you're talking pub fare, you're not referring to delicate little bites of carefully arranged goodies. No, you're looking for home-style country dishes that elicit moans of joy before eating, when the diner is confronted with a steaming platter of well-prepared food, and groans of satisfaction after, when the diner is too full to move. Sally O'Brien's fits the bill. Despite its BeachPlace location, this authentic Irish pub is hardly commercial, what with its dimly lighted interior, live Irish music, and draft beers. Best of all, the grub is authentic: corned beef and cabbage, potato soup, shepherd's pie, and even a full Irish breakfast (eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, and sausage), which means that not only does Sally dish out the best pub fare, it also dishes out the heartiest breakfast.

Here's a quick geography lesson: Peru is on the continent of South America. Now here's a quick history lesson: Peru has a large Chinese community. So large, in fact, that Chinese food is a staple in that country. Traditional Chinese fare influenced classic Peruvian cuisine, and the results are served at little places called chifas. Kona Kai, Sunrise's own chifa, continues in the grand tradition of Latin-Chinese fusion with dishes like stir-fried chicken with tangy tamarind sauce or roast pork with pickled turnips. The décor here isn't much, but that's not a problem, since all eyes are usually on the sea bass eggs, and all mouths are busy with pork lo mein.

This five-year-old, family-run restaurant -- once a fancy French restaurant, hence the dark woods and linen tablecloths -- is not only the best place for walleyed pike, it's probably the only place. At least that's what owner Eddie D (short for D'Ambra) says. He wouldn't even be serving it if it weren't for some business associates who once took him fishing in Minnesota. From then on he was hooked on this cold-water whitefish. So mild. So tender. So flaky. So delicious when it's sautéed in lemon butter and white wine, which is how Eddie D prepares it. Served with fresh vegetables and your choice of starch, the pike, flown in from Minnesota, will set you back $17.95. But go ahead anyway, and while you're at it throw in another three bucks for the authentic Rhode Island clam chowder (the D'Ambras are from Providence), a clear version not to be confused with the creamy New England variety.

You can scorn Toojay's for being a chain. You can forswear it for trying too hard, for having a huge menu with every type of Eastern European delicacy imaginable. You can even boycott it for its non-delilike name. Go ahead. That just leaves more for us. And we not only don't argue with the quality of Toojay's delicatessen, we laud it. Corned beef here is flavorful without being fatty. Matzo balls are light, rather than heavy like the cement found at other local delis. Blintzes, potato pancakes, and chopped liver could all win over Grandma despite her best intentions to remain loyal to her own recipes. But you don't have to take our word for it. Stop in yourself for a deep whiff of the spices that fill the air. When it comes to delicatessens, the nose, as they say, knows.

Nobody cheered when Boca Raton's Nick & Max's restaurant, a joint effort between nationally known chef Nick Morfogen and restaurateur Dennis Max, went out of business less than a year after it opened. But the gastronomically minded were delighted to see both land on their ladles and were particularly thrilled to see Morfogen remain in the region, going straight to 32 East. Already a local favorite for fine dining, 32 East went up a notch when Morfogen took over the kitchen. His signature fusion style, blending classic American ingredients with European technique, is complemented by superior service and a wonderful drink list. (Try infused vodkas or microbrew draught beer.) Now 32 East is attracting patrons from all directions, not to mention multiple counties and even states. What can we say? We can't get enough of his solid, satisfying cooking.

It all depends on what you mean by power. If you mean business suits and cell phones, you'll probably see a few of them here during the lunch hour. But if you're talking supremacy, mastery, or even just some serious clout -- that kind of power -- then you're speaking about executive chef-proprietor Eduardo Pria. The return of the founding chef to this wonderful regional Mexican restaurant has resulted in more than sumptuous dinners stemming from such areas as Oaxaca and the Yucatán. Now the gourmet hacienda has started serving lunch for the first time ever, a practice we hope becomes an institution -- and a powerful one at that.

It's 1 a.m., you can't sleep, and there's nothing on TV except infomercials and Bewitched reruns. What to do? Hightail it over to Rickey's, where you're sure to find a few other friendly faces: nurses from Hollywood Memorial Hospital, police officers on the night shift, and other night owls. Take advantage of a special on chicken wings -- 25 cents each -- from 12:30 a.m. to closing, which, by the way, is 3 a.m. during the week, 4 a.m. Friday and Saturday, and 2 a.m. Sunday. The unassuming rust-color building that has been a mainstay of Hollywood since 1955 is a favorite hangout for Herald reporters, the guys from Hollywood Woodworking, and firefighters, who get a discount if they're in uniform. With its high-backed wood booths, expansive center bar, stained-glass Coca-Cola hanging lamps, seven TVs blaring sports and a popular trivia game, and a jukebox in the back, the small room has a cozy feel, although the din can be deafening during the peak hours of 6 to 9 p.m. Most come for the weekday special -- a pitcher of beer and a platter of 20 wings drowning in mild, medium, or hot sauce, all for $9.95. The chicken wings are shipped three times a week from Alabama, and the sauce is so popular that the owner bought his own plant in Louisiana and exports the fiery condiment to Europe and the Middle East, which apparently have a huge appetite for the stuff. As does Hollywood.