Food & Drink

Make no mistake, Tom Jenkins is the granddaddy of ’em all. A business that started as a traveling weekend barbecue, this 40-seatery doesn’t pull any punches with its hickory-infused products; it just pulls pork… and chicken, spare ribs, baby-back ribs, baked beans, hush puppies, and the like. After eight years as top player, it’s only natural that Tom Jenkins should spawn. In this case, the offspring is inspiration: the aforementioned Soul Food 2 Go in Hollywood and Jack’s Bar-B-Q Smokehouse in Fort Lauderdale have both been opened by Tom Jenkins’s barbecue alumni. Imitation, they say, is the sincerest form of flattery.

Know what? You can eat frog’s legs. Sure you can. They’re yummy! They taste just like fish-flavored chicken. And they’re bigger than you’d think — these Catfish Dewey’s frogs must have been strong jumpers, what with those quadriceps. Just a few words to the wise: Though Dewey’s specializes in all things fried — shrimp, fish, oysters, et al. — eschew the hot-oil treatment when you order the legs and opt for sautéed instead. You’ll be glad you did. Unlike the frog, of course.

The printed menu in this breakfast/lunch/early dinner eatery isn’t much to marvel at: some grilled chicken and fish, a tuna-salad sandwich, a quiche du jour. But the old British-style décor, proper china, and candlelight practically scream “high tea.” Fortunately, for countess wannabes, Talula complies with a reasonably priced midafternoon opportunity to pour out the Earl Grey, munch on cucumber or tomato sandwiches, and spread some clotted cream on scones. It may be a bit heavy for a Florida summer afternoon, but the air here is cool enough and the tea hot enough to remind us all of more temperate climes.

You might think that with a name like Swig, this place would be destined to win this particular award. And indeed, we do admire the countless martini combinations you can glean here, from sour apple to chocolate to classic cosmo. We also love the way the servers bring iced shakers to the table and pour the wonderful substances out into a chilled glass that beckons the diner’s lips the way a baby does a kiss. But our real favorite isn’t about vodka or gin; it’s about shrimp. Specifically speaking, the shrimp martini, a few colossal specimens curled over the rim, just waiting to be dipped into the puddle of tangy key lime cocktail sauce. The only problem? This appetizer might tempt you into ordering a bloody Mary instead of a traditional gin-vermouth combo. But don’t fret. At Swig Bartini, you can get anything — even your check — served in a martini glass.

What sets this restaurant bar apart from every other watering hole in Fort Liquordale is its bartender, Steve, who can mix more than 35 kinds of margaritas. Even when he’s not on duty, the place offers plenty of agave goodness: For $4 each weekday happy hour (4 to 7 p.m.), you can try any of the 47 brands of tequila Olé Olé offers, including the Beverly Hills-grade Herradura. For flavor, choose from strawberry, melon, peach, raspberry, mango, or guava. Steve, who works until midnight on most weekends, says the strangest margarita he’s ever made was a Pineapple Mango Mist with a splash of guava. By the time we ordered that, we had trouble speaking. It’s a good thing Steve happens to be fluent in sign language.

Ah, the bloody Mary: the ultimate hair-of-the-dog drink. Crazy but true. Who would ever have guessed that a hangover would be so gently assuaged by a mix of vodka, tomato juice, Tabasco, salt, and pepper? And in another surprising twist of fate, Café Iguana at BeachPlace makes a great bloody Mary. Have them use Absolut Peppar if you want the real deal. With any luck, as you smack your lips over the spiciness of this thick, red cocktail, you’ll forget about all those shots you downed the night before. Step across the street for a swim in the ocean. Your hangover cure is complete.

Chef-proprietor Michael Blum calls his market restaurant “The Cure for Boring Food.” Perhaps an equivalent credo for the wine list would be “The Remedy for Over-Oaked Chardonnay.” Blum has put together a reasonably priced group culled from small producers that runs the gamut from vin blanc to vin rouge. Given the extensive refrigeration at the back of this appealing place, you can count on a perfectly chilled bottle of Far Niente or Bonny Doone (for examples on both sides of the wallet). Keep an eye out for cult cabs and niche pinot noirs too: Michael’s Kitchen has promise as Michael’s Cellar as well.

Yes, they prepare it tableside. Yes, they rub the garlic into the sides of the wooden bowl until it disappears, seasoning the wood. Yes, everyone who has tried it raves about it. And no, we are not staring at the door that leads to Pure Platinum in hopes of catching a glimpse of the naked chicks. Stop looking at us like that.

If you can define a neighborhood restaurant simply by who in the neighborhood hangs out in it, then this place has hardly any competition: Practically everybody in Lighthouse Point visits here on a regular basis. Among the more consistent customers? Try the LP city commissioners, who often swing by for a drink or two after more official meetings. Then, of course, there’s the something-for-everyone food angle: original Chicago hot dogs for the kiddies; wings, clams, mushrooms, and other fried goodies for the adolescents; lemon-ginger chicken salad for metabolically challenged parents; and of course a host of chuggable imported beers and sippable margaritas for those single-and-looking individuals who want to hang out on the patio until closing time — which, incidentally, is refreshingly late for your average neighborhood joint.

How do you want it? A verde burrito stuffed with savory chunks of beef or chicken slathered in a tangy tomatillo salsa? A steak burrito with chopped onions and tomatoes that’s topped with the house red sauce? Or the eponymous Acapulco Lindo burrito, bursting with either beef or chicken with mushrooms and covered in melted cheese as well as their “Nippy-Hot” sauce? Not a loser in the bunch, not one costs more than $7.95, and you won’t find any better in a sit-down eatery north of Homestead.

Ahh, CityPlace! Who could ask for anything more? Well, actually, let’s not get into that right now. Let’s think pleasant thoughts. Let’s take a little stroll a couple of blocks east to the as-yet-ungentrified blocks of Dixie Highway, where an unassuming little storefront houses Pita Place, a humble lunchroom serving Middle Eastern foods. There isn’t much on the menu, but what’s there is fresh, tasty, and cheap, cheaper, and cheapest (unlike the fare at some faux-urban mall dining spots we could name). Vegetarian is the way to go, though the richly flavored chicken noodle soup is mighty tempting. Baba ganoush and tabouleh make reliable platters, but don’t miss the falafel sandwich. At right around three bucks, it’s nutty-sweet and wholesome, the scrumptious chopped chickpea balls spicy and crunchy under a small mound of romaine and tomato drizzled with yogurt sauce to take the edge off the chickpea mixture’s faint peppery heat. A meal in itself, and a darn yummy one. Get it while you can: The CityPlace effect on local rents probably spells doom for a small-fry like Pita Place.

Nothin’ says lovin’ like good barbecue. Heck, there’s really no such thing as bad barbecue, only barbecue that isn’t quite as good as other barbecue you’ve tried. Jack’s, however, is damn good barbecue. A good smokehouse can be judged on the quality of its pulled meats, and Jack’s has some excellent pulled beef. And then there are the high-caliber sides. Collard greens are not too sweet, cornbread is steaming hot, and mac-and-cheese comes with the little burnt bits of cheese that say it’s homemade. Of course, sauce can make or break a barbecue pit, and Jack’s sauce is just tangy enough, with each meal served with plenty of it. This is barbecue the way it’s supposed to be.

When an order of spare ribs goes by the moniker “James Brown Gettin’ Down!” and a full slab of baby-back ribs is called “Baby Got Back,” you know you’re in the right place for a little pork on the bone. Make that off the bone, as in falling off. The barbecue here is Tennessee-style, slow-cooked over smoky oak and softened with a just-sweet sauce that has diners hard-put to tell the difference between the edible parts of the ribs and their own sticky fingers. Sides work for us, too — the cornbread muffins are homemade, and the mac-and-cheese pleases the pickiest kid — but we’ll return for the ribs first and foremost. And despite the casual packaging of Styrofoam and plastic, you don’t even have to hit the road to dig in, as “2 Go” implies: A half-dozen picnic tables are available for those who just can’t wait.

Admittedly, a British pub is not the first place you’d look when seeking out good chili. You’d expect to find it at someplace called Big Ed’s Bean Bonanza or maybe the Lone Star Bar and Grill. But the Brits put on a surprising show at Ye Olde Falcon Pub. A bowl of chili at the pub (which also has a decent beer selection) comes steaming hot and in large quantities, the way chili ought to be. It’s lip-smackin’ spiciness could make a good ol’ Texas boy pull his guns and shoot out the lights — except that would be ill-mannered. ‘Tis a British place, after all.

The unspoken ending of this name is obvious: When in Rome, eat pizza. The owners of this ultrapleasant wine bar and café also run three eateries in Rome, so if you bet that the goods in the Fort Lauderdale place are authentic, you’d win. What’s the prize? How about the thinnest crust imaginable, topped generously with items like prosciutto, capicolla, eggplant, black olives, or even a whole fried egg? Simply put, this isn’t designer pizza. It isn’t outlandish. It doesn’t compete with local pizza chains or take-out/delivery empires. But it is as classic and timeless as Rome itself, and when it comes to pizza, that’s plenty.

Ah, cornado! You need no help to complete yourself. No tangy tomato sauce. No mustard goo. You skinny, you golden, you crunchy, you subtle, sweet corn-based variation on les pommes frites. At a crepuscular table overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway, with a scallop and shrimp wrap and a Bass draft, in the gloaming of a day. Mmmm. Tasty.

If a phrase like “Gimme the Big One” sets your heart a-pounding, then you, as we did, probably had a thing for the ‘boys. Direct from the classiest armpit on earth — the Jersey shore — Fatboys gave us double cheeseburgers that horrified our doctors and mystified our private trainers: hip-stretching, medium-rare beef slathered with melted cheddar cheese, chili, onions, and (wouldn’t ya know it?) French fries. No doubt, we’ll miss the quick caloric fix, though can’t say we mind not trotting all those extra miles on the treadmill. And for the record: We never really did believe that “gourmet” bit.

OK, so the burger we have in mind here isn’t the usual patty-on-a-bun job. It’s more of a patty-on-a-salad. But that’s precisely why we like it. The Fat Cat’s Salad is a toss of lettuce, onions, tomatoes, and peppers, topped with mushrooms, bacon, mozzarella stick, and a quarter-pound of ground, freshly grilled beef. Creamy ranch dressing ties the whole fattening thing together the way a good mayo does on a classic sandwich. But if you’re not a greens kind of guy or gal, you can always go the Original Fat Cat route and get two quarter-pound burgers on a hoagie roll. With fried cheese and waffle fries stuffed in with the condiments, this baby puts the Big Mac to shame.

A phalanx of ornate hookahs keeps a stately vigil atop the pastry display case in this spacious Middle Eastern restaurant. They’re an eye-catching bunch — blue and green glass bowls, brass and silver stems, curlicued tubes resembling spotted goat tails. Purely decorative, they add a certain je ne sais quoi to this strip-mall eatery, but the restaurant’s extensive menu stands on its own. By no means pass up one of the half-dozen hummus appetizers. Al-Salam whips chick peas and tahini (a crushed-sesame seed cream) into a beige delight. First-timers should order fatet hummus, which comes with a crunchy pita, lemon, and parsley.

Whether your definition of a power lunch involves discussing serious business decisions, impressing venture capitalists, or simply socializing with local politicians, Mario’s is likely to fit (but not foot) the bill. The casual upscale Italian restaurant, tucked in a small off-the-beaten-path shopping plaza just east of Town Center Mall, offers either a diverse menu for à la carte dining or a reasonably priced lunch buffet featuring a salad bar, several hot pasta dishes, and a variety of handmade pizzas. Choose the indoor booth seating for meetings requiring privacy, or dine outside for the social schmooze-type lunch. The cordial and professional service makes for both a pleasant meal and a distraction-free meeting. Lunch buffet is served from 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. on weekdays. Don’t miss the restaurant’s heavenly garlic rolls — but don’t forget to pick up a mint or two on your way out.

Think going out for kosher means standing at a deli or crowding into a neighborhood hole-in-the-wall? Well, Baraka offers gourmet glatt and a classy milieu for the observant set — and gastronomes of any religious bent, for that matter. Upscale kosher restaurants are a rarity in these parts, but Baraka’s eclectic menu provides a variety of ethnic cuisine to hold your interest over repeated visits: seared tuna, sushi plates, Mongolian marinated veal chops, Cornish game hens, and tofutti cheese ravioli. The wine list includes whites and reds from Israel, as well as standard Italian and California vintners. Entrée prices are, as our French friends say, dear, running from $24 to $38. But hey, the Talmud never promised it would be easy. Baraka is open most of the year Sunday through Thursday, 5 to 11 p.m., and by reservation on Saturday evenings. Days and hours are reduced from May to September, however, so call before making the trip.

There are plenty of New Yorkers in South Florida, but there’s not nearly enough New York. Most expatriates judge any city outside of the Big Apple by the Chinese restaurants, but a really good bagel is harder to craft than moo goo gai pan, thus making it a much better measure of a city. The best bagel in South Florida can be found in Pompano Beach, a hairsbreadth outside of Palm Aire. Bagel Snack features bagels in all the traditional New York varieties: plain, poppyseed, sesame, rye, pumpernickel, onion, and garlic, but you won’t find anything as sacrilegious as jalapeño or cranberry in the big plastic bins. They make bagels the old-fashioned way: First they boil ’em; then they bake ’em. Pick your favorite flavor and you’ll get chewy, not doughy, bagels with a crust that requires teeth but won’t break one. Bagels cost 50 cents by themselves, 99 cents slathered with butter or $1.39 with a smear of cream cheese. A baker’s dozen of 14 will run you six bucks. Bagel Snack also has the only decent bialys in South Florida and fresh cream cheese that will make the prepackaged stuff taste like paste.

The number-one reason this place is kid-positive: It’s loud. Thanks to the minimalist décor, even the crankiest of two-year-olds will be drowned out by the echoing conversations of other diners or by the sounds emanating from the open kitchen. Not that there are many reasons for a child or an adult to wail here. Almost as soon as your party is seated, the fruit of your loins will be handed a fruit, vegetable, and quesadilla plate. This is the first of three courses from the outrageous “keiki” (kid’s) menu, which features entrées like teriyaki chicken breast, broiled short luau ribs, and flat-top seared Hawaiian catch of the day, as well as the standby favorite, pasta. While you peruse the extensive wine and sake list, your progeny can munch happily on her food or scrawl all over her menu with a crayon. The children’s selections are as artfully prepared as the adult’s meals, and they are as beautiful as they are delicious, served sizzling, freshly made, and decorated with flowers. Parties with children are not relegated to the dark corners of the restaurant, mostly because there aren’t any. All the servers are professionally friendly without being too cute to your kid or too personal with you. The only thing missing from this restaurant is a diaper deck in the men’s bathroom, though dads can pop next door to the Holiday Inn and use those. That’s a small price to pay for the glee in your child’s eyes as she is led away to the kitchen to watch the pastry chef prepare her sundae. The three-course kid’s meal costs $9.95, which is less than you’ll pay for a sitter; the whole evening will certainly cost less than a family trip to Hawaii.

Clever name, considering that this storefront coffeehouse is at the junction of Second Street and Second Avenue. But that’s not why we fall for the joint, which is all about high-octane fuel that’s not even close to motor oil. It’s actually refreshing to have this nonalcoholic haven to fall back on after we’ve tied on a bender at Tarpon Bend or chased with one too many sidecars at Side Bar. And unlike at most garages, the service here is actually friendly, encouraging those whose engines are stalling to stop in for a quick fix. The only irony? Well, parking on this street is a little tough.

First, the bad news about golden crabs: They’re as ugly as a hockey player’s nose, and their dining habits are macabre. Bearing a striking resemblance to giant spiders, they live in the deep sea and feed on corpses and carcasses, especially favoring rancid eyeballs. But the meat within a golden crab is oh-so-sweet — not to mention plentiful. Some weigh up to five pounds. It was only in the 1980s that researchers discovered them in great quantities in the deep waters off the Florida coast, and since then, they’ve been slowly catching on with seafood aficionados. Captain Mike’s gets its golden crabs off the shores of Miami Beach from depths of about 1200 feet and sells them whole for $2.69 a pound. Once cooked, they glow like burnished bullion and taste like a million bucks.

At the Twin Marketplace, the tuna is a little redder, the shrimp a little pinker, and the lobsters a little livelier. Hell, the ice even seems a little colder. It’s just that kind of place. You choose from a wide variety of seafood at the Ocean’s Harvest Seafood Market, which makes up half of the little store (one of the twins, as it were). And there, you can often get unbelievable specials on such wonders as Maine lobsters. On our most recent trip, we bought up a couple of those kicking beauties at a mere $6.99 a pound. God, they were good. But the really unique thing about the place is that there is also a top-flight bakery and deli to provide you with everything else you need to go along with your feast from the sea. In the other half of the store, Stephane’s Deli, you have tomatoes, portobello mushrooms, and zucchini, all stuffed with goodies like spinach and cheese. There are various salads and rice dishes and casseroles. And you have delectable cheesecake and other sweet treats. To wash it all down, there is a serviceable selection of wines available. The only problem is that the place is so good, it’s addictive. Our mouths are watering like golf-course sprinklers as we write this. Time for a return trip.

Just a block east of Old Schoolhouse Square, the Delray Green Market is a sweet place to wile away a Saturday morning. From 8 a.m. to 1 p.m., about 35 vendors set up in Worthington Park, where magnificent banyans provide shade and park benches welcome the shop-weary buttocks. Produce is available from four vendors. Hippocrates organic farms sells vegetables and fruits as well as juices and wraps. Triple C, a citrus grower, sells citrus and fresh-squeezed juices. Nancy and Charlie Roe, who operate a community-supported farm in Boynton Beach where a monthly subscription brings a weekly bag of seasonal produce, bring a selection of fresh vegetables. There’s also barbecue, fresh fish, crafts, and usually musical entertainment. The only bummer: Like pretty much all such gatherings in these subtropical climes, the Green Market is open only from mid-October through the end of April.

When first confronted by the produce section in a Whole Foods Market, your immediate reaction might be a double take to see if you’ve accidentally wandered into an art gallery by mistake — the food is that beautiful, and beautifully arranged as well: walls of glistening greens, row upon row of perfect fruits. Once you’ve gotten your bearings, however, you’ll realize you’re in produce paradise. Much of what you’ll find is the usual supermarket fare, although invariably fresher and much more carefully displayed. (Some of the arrangements are so artful that you have to pick gingerly to make sure they don’t come toppling down on you.) It’s the variety that overwhelms. There are red potatoes and white potatoes, but there are also sweet potatoes and yams — there’s a difference, you know — as well as tiny fingerling potatoes and purple potatoes. Other exotica include black radishes, yellow tomatoes, white asparagus, and two kinds of kale. Then there’s the fruit section, which, depending upon the season, can feature cactus pears, purple-streaked pepino melons, wrinkly passion fruit, huge fuyu persimmons, a horned melon called kiwano, the appropriately named ugli fruit, and the truly bizarre tropical delicacy monstera deliciosa, which comes with detailed instructions on how to ripen and eat. And if the array of fresh mushrooms and the dozen or so fresh herbs don’t impress you, maybe the edible flowers, including orchids and pansies, will — or should.

OK, for one thing, it’s counter service, so you don’t have to worry about annoying a server. Two: Yes, there is a high chair — maybe even two — on the premises. So what if they’re not quite the same height as the bar-style tables? Three: The utensils are plastic. The plates are paper. The floor is tile. Throw those tortilla chips. Really, no one will notice till they step on them. And finally, the cooked-to-order Mexican food here is actually healthful, prepared without added lard or other extraneous animal fats. Not that you would know it by the taste: rich, full of flavor, spicy with peppers and onions, and perfumed with herbs. This might indeed be the one place where you could get your kids to eat anything, including fish. After all, it’s in tacos. And you can’t dress up fish better than that — not even as sticks.

Consider the prototypical deli: a convenient haven of roasted meats, cheeses, pickles, condiments, and home-meal replacements. Antonette’s takes that basic model and improves on it by providing Boar’s Head cold cuts, fresh mascarpone and ricotta salata, Sicilian olives, eggplant caponata, and homemade “dinners to go” like spinach lasagna or chicken Parmesan. Then the eatery goes one step further by importing a host of products, such as jars of minced truffles, marinated artichokes, and pepperoncini paste, directly from Italy. Prices might be a little bit higher than Publix, but that’s a given, given the assortment of hard-to-find goods. One caveat: The aroma of made-on-premises sausage and peppers is so seductive and the service so pleasant, chances are your one-stop shopping could turn into quite a lengthy excursion.

Part Zabar’s, part Xanadu, this stupendous compendium of comestibles is a testament to the opulence and abundance of the American 21st-century good life. Here — serendipitously located at the intersection of Prosperity Farms Road and PGA Boulevard — is where your amber waves of grain, your fruited plain hit the table and the palate. Of course, the pot of food at the end of the rainbow is in a yacht harbor in a municipality that christens its main public thoroughfare after the ruling body of a ruling-class sport. Of course, the leisured white folk of the country-club set steer their SUVs this way at day’s end, weary of the sun and the cart, to pick up a gourmet delicacy or two for dinner: black-and-white sesame-seared tuna, herb-crusted sea bass, rapini-and-sausage-stuffed breast of chicken, and meats Milanese, Francese, parmigiana, and piccata. There’s an extensive wine selection, produce section, and bakery near at hand. It’s pricey — prepared foods top out around $19.99 per pound — but hey, it costs to eat the dream.

Alex’s Flamingo Groves mashes locally grown Indian River oranges into juice — a fresh batch daily of Valencias, navels, honeybell tangerines — and sells the sweet byproduct by the half-gallon ($3.25) and gallon ($5.75). The roots of the business go back to 1927, when Floyd Wray opened Flamingo Groves in Fort Lauderdale. Flamingo Groves merged with Alex’s Citrus and Packing Plant in 1979 and set up operations in Dania Beach. The packing plant is now located in Palm Beach County, but the storefront on Federal Highway still has the feel of a roadside stand. And like a roadside stand, it’s open only during the citrus season, which runs from November through April. In addition to juice, Alex’s sells jars of marmalades and jellies, including tangerine and jalapeño, chocolate and gummi alligators, and other treats. But the juice is the dulcet draw. Take a sample swig. It’s like drinking sunshine cold.

From the get-go, the friendly hospitality typical of Mediterranean culture is evident by the way the Israeli owners greet you and make you feel part of the family. “Sit down, relax, how are you doing today? How are the kids? I hope you are hungry!” Expect to see and even talk to the chef in this down-to-earth and casual café, and definitely count on hearing some lively conversations. There are several appetizers and pita sandwiches to choose from, including Moroccan cigars, eggplant with peppers, hummus, or a pita filled with delicious falafel, which, according to our intelligence sources, is just like what’s being served at Tel Aviv’s falafel stands. For an entrée, try the heavenly shawarma, thinly sliced rotisserie curry turkey strip, or the schnitzel, the breaded and seasoned fried chicken breast. Boca Pita is glatt kosher as well.

Any reasonably good bakery really needs just one thing to entice you through its doors: the aroma of freshly baked bread. Once inside, however, a little more is required, such as crunchy baguettes, buttery croissants, perfectly shaped dinner rolls. Croissan’Time has all this and much more, from nearly a dozen varieties of cookies to such decadent classic French pastries as éclairs and napoleons (which also come in miniature versions) to cakes and pies as simple as lemon tarts and apple pies or as fancy as pecher mignon. And then there’s variety within variety. The namesake croissants come plain or with any of ten fillings. Fruit tartelettes are available with nine fillings over either a custard or an almond-cream base. Breads and rolls come in whole wheat, rye, pumpernickel, and sourdough; seed options include caraway, poppy, and sesame. The bakery, which opened in 1986, has risen to acclaim under the leadership of owner Bernard Casse, a Frenchman who underwent a variety of apprenticeships, then worked at such tony New York City restaurants as La Grenouille and Regine’s before moving to South Florida. He was employed at the Little French Bakery in Palm Beach, detoured briefly to Houston, Texas, then worked at Miami’s Ovens of France, where he met his future business partner for Croissan’Time. The partner has since retired, and the bakery has added a sandwich counter and a gourmet shop that offers wine, cheese, meat, pasta, and various delicacies. But it’s the breads, pastries, and other baked goods — all made fresh on the premises daily — that keep people coming back.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that ice cream is almost an afterthought here. After all, no store has stocked so much paraphernalia and housewares dedicated to our feline and canine companions since Garfield and Clifford were popular. Not one place keeps so many candles on the shelves unless it’s hurricane season. And very few shops can offer such a plethora of products made with key lime juice — north of Key Largo, that is. But this kitschy little store is indeed an ice cream parlor, serving up scoops of some of the most luscious frozen dairy treats around. Keep it simple with pure vanilla or rich chocolate; give it jazz with concoctions that combine caramel, fudge, walnuts, cookie dough, peanut butter, and even some of that healthier fruit stuff known as “strawberries” and “bananas.” Follow it up with a stroll of picturesque Lake Avenue. Given the district’s relatively short length, you probably won’t burn anything off. But going to the end of the block certainly gives you a reason to turn back around and pass Key West Crossing just one more time.

Chocolate fiends, look no further. The homemade chocolate-chocolate-chip gelato is, for starters, a wonderfully rich end to any meal. But it’s even better when paired with a molten chocolate cake with a center as gooey as any romantic’s heart, or with the fudge brownie truffle that’s moistened with raspberry and white chocolate sauces. Of course, for the few folks in this world who actually don’t like chocolate, other dessert options are just as tempting: crispy coated cheesecake, Bistro apple pie, and our particular favorite, the hot fruit cobbler of the day baked with an oatmeal cookie topping. Zenith is right: This bistro is our summit for sweets.

Sisters are great at many things — trading clothes, doing each others’ hair, scheming against Dad for later curfews, and, naturally, the occasional cat fight. But they may just be best at making subs. Home of the “Big Sister” — a six-foot Italian hoagie stuffed with ham, Genoa salami, cappacola, cheese, and a host of condiments including black olives and hot peppers — Sisters’ Subs is steps above any would-be sibling. The place also takes its theme seriously. With the exception of the “Ricky” and the “Rocky,” two cheesesteak-type subs, all sandwiches, salads, and side dishes are named for women. Is there anything more to say than, “You go, girls”? Yes, apparently, if you ask a man whose fondest dream it is to say, “I’ll have the Marilyn.” Or whose biggest nightmare it could be to admit, “I’d like the Mom.”

If you judge a sushi restaurant not by what’s familiar but by what’s exotic, then Kawai is completely for you. Sure, the eatery stocks the raw basics: superb salmon, glistening tuna, supple hamachi. And yes, the menu offers the requisite rolls, 30 in all, ranging from combos highlighting barbecued eel to those featuring soft-shell crab. But Kawai also keeps the Arctic surf-clam lover in mind and enjoys displaying specials that have come in fresh that day, posting hand-lettered signs on the sushi bar. Here, you can glean sea urchin, tangy and mineral-rich, or raw, sweet prawn that’s served with a side of the shrimp’s deep-fried head. If you grow bored with experimentation, there’s always the cooked Korean food to sample, an endeavor well worth undertaking — and a culinary journey that can’t be replicated in any other South Florida eatery.

If you consider that won ton, according to food writer Gretchen VanEsselstyn, actually means chaos (named so for the imprecise edges of the dough), then Bamboo Garden is certainly the place to experience it. And we mean that literally. The crowd that gathers here for dim sum on weekends is often so manic — and so darn hungry for pork-filled dumplings, won tons, sausage rolls, smoked vegetable spring rolls, and the like — that the atmosphere is indeed rather charged. We suggest you frequent the eatery during the weekdays, when you can enjoy this Chinese feast in relative quiet and comfort. After all, when Bamboo Garden says dim sum all day, it’s no snake offering forbidden knowledge along with apples — it’s the real, edible Eden, so savor at your leisure.

If your neighborhood contains folks who like window treatments designed by Ralph Lauren and upscale comfort food cooked by chef-partner Grant Johnson, formerly of Max’s Beach Place/Prezzo fame, then Henry is your man… er, dog. Owned by Burt Rapoport, who named the restaurant after one of the most important members of his family — his Prince Charles toy spaniel — Henry’s is an urban version of a country bistro. Pine hutches filled with ceramic knickknacks and an open kitchen and wine room fill the air with as much rural warmth as Johnson’s pork T-bone with sweet potato gratin and country chicken casseroles bring to the belly. The only drawback: Henry’s has become so popular with the locals that it’s tough to squeeze in even for an after-movie hot fudge sundae. But no one really minds. After all, rubbing designer-clad elbows in a tightly engineered space that dedicates itself to a spaniel is precisely what dining in a Palm Beach County neighborhood restaurant is all about.

Admittedly, it’s not cheap to eat here, and men will need a jacket to dine in the main dining room. Lunch entrées run $12.50 to $20, and dinner main courses cost $18 to $35. But it’s an experience guaranteed to renew your faith in Italian food. As you are seated, you are walked past a window to the kitchen where someone is preparing the day’s cannelloni, rigatoni, angel hair, fettuccini, and ravioli. Arturo’s is a family operation, and the namesake, Arturo Gismondi, now retired, spends his winter days tending the extensive herb garden that lines the sides and back of the restaurant. Arturo’s son, Vincenzo, and Vincenzo’s wife and children are intimately involved with running the kitchen. Vincenzo’s daughter, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, is the pastry chef, and it certainly tastes like she chose the right profession. The wine cellar is fantastic, with an enormous selection from Italy and virtually every wine-growing region in the world represented. If you’re a high-roller hosting a dinner party for ten to fifteen people, you can request that dinner be served in the wine cellar. The family has been in the business so long it doesn’t need the services of a sommelier, even though the restaurant has won awards for its wine list from Wine Spectator for the past several years. Some of the favorite pasta entrées are the fettuccini with black truffles, rigatoni con porcini, mostaccioli al cognac, and the bane of all cholesterol-busters, fettuccini al la carbonara, prepared at your table. In addition to the noodles, you can get all the carne and pesce dishes you would expect from an old-world Italian restaurant. In a place where restaurants come and go, Arturo’s has been consistently great since the late ’50s.

Americans don’t truly have a counterpart for the Spaniards’ tapas. Sure, we’ve got bar snacks: popcorn and peanuts, the occasional breaded, deep-fried whatever. And tapas too have traditionally been served as bite-sized morsels to sop up the deleterious effects of sustained quaffage of beer and wine. Tapas, however, aren’t a sideshow to drinks; they get equal billing. Anyone who’s spent any time at taverns from Bilbao to Barcelona has witnessed the faithful throng that attends the tapas bars. Unfortunately, tapas remain scarce around these parts. Thank the heavens for Café Seville, in the heart of Fort Lauderdale, which offers up the genre’s essentials: treats like Spanish sausage sautéed in sherry; mussels simmered in tomato, garlic, wine, and red pepper; garlic-sautéed escargots. Create a tapas fete at your table with goodies whose prices range from $5.95 to $9.95.

Pan-roasted, soft-shell crab with lemon cream and smoked bacon: $12.50. Bakers dozen sampler plate of raw oysters: $20.

Grilled beef tenderloin with braised short ribs and Brussels-sprouts mash: $31.

Venezuelan chocolate mousse with praline foam and peppermint ice cream: $7.

A glass of Louis XIII cognac: $120.

The moment your father-in-law picks up the check: priceless.

Fish and chips shouldn’t be a stumbling block for a British pub, but all too often, the results are greasy and unpalatable. Not here, where the fish is flaky, the coating a light golden-brown, and the chips as perfectly fried as a swimsuit model. Of course, basic fare isn’t the only thing this upscale pub does well. Windsor onion soup with clotted cream and port is an appropriately English take on the French classic. Baked tilapia stuffed with scallops and shrimp and napped with a brandy-sweet pepper sauce entices the palate away from standard bangers ‘n’ mash. And West Country pork tenderloin slowly cooked in a Devon cider reduction makes a proper diner forget all about ordering a burger — even if said burger is a half-pound of mouth-filling beef that goes down oh so easy with any of the 25 drafts, some of which are so rich and hearty that they can be counted as meals in themselves.

A buffet by any other name usually smells the same. Not so at Kyojin, where the sushi buffet offers some of the freshest fish around. The only odors you’ll get from this 50-item assortment are of seaweed and wasabi. Of course, if you move on down the line, you can inhale some steam from the soba noodle soup and the hotel pans replete with spring rolls, sesame chicken, and tempura vegetables. At the far end of the feast, a grill chef waits to cook you a steak or shrimp to order, much like the omelet chef at a brunch. The beauty part is, you don’t have to stand and wait for it: Kyojin’s servers are happy to bring it you, putting the lie to the rumor that all a waiter in a buffet restaurant has to do for 15 percent is fill your water.

The top diner around has to fit a few criteria. First, it’s got to be open 24 hours a day. Second, down here in the South, it’s got to have at least a minimum of Southern-fried fare. And finally, a convenient location along a major thoroughfare is preferable. And while it nearly gets the nix for the lack of biscuits ‘n’ gravy on the menu, Joe’s nevertheless fits the bill. Situated just off SE 17th Street, where A1A and Federal Highway merge, Joe’s never stops dishing out the grub, whether it be noon or 4 a.m. The breakfast items are suitably greasy, and the lunch stuff is usually served hot and in large portions. And while rumors persist of a secret passageway linking the diner with the School of Culinary Arts with which it shares a wall, the food served here is the sort no chef would claim, lest they be the short-order kind.

From the street, this place looks like any old nameless waterfront dive bar. No windows but for the two small portholes in the doors. But at the Southport Raw Bar, many people don’t enter from the street. Here, patrons can pull up in their boats, dock, and take a seat at a table to order a pound of Old Bay-seasoned shrimp, prepared just the way they do it in Maryland (home of all things Old Bay). In fact, no less a personage than Jimmy Buffett dubs this place tops. The king of the Parrotheads was a fixture here for a number of years and still makes the occasional appearance when he manages to get to this neck of the woods. If you’re a fan of seagoing finger foods and a cold pitcher of Key West Ale or three, you could find yourself turning into a regular as well. If you own a boat and have yet to visit, what the hell is wrong with you?

There isn’t much in Juno Beach except pine scrub, sand, and ocean, and the locals like it that way. It isn’t Old Florida anymore — too many condo communities now blanket the coast — but the sense of connection to the sea lingers. Boating is a big deal here, and some of Palm Beach County’s most dedicated fishermen call the area home. Bringing high expectations to the dinner table when they’re in the mood for seafood, these folks skip the crab-house tourist traps around the Jupiter Inlet to the north and head to this inconspicuous boite on U.S. 1. A casual atmosphere, moderate prices, and succulent fresh fish, any style, are the heart of the place. The chef’s flair for pastas and appetizers by way of the bayou and the islands is a kicker. The joint is jammed every night in season, but it’s worth the wait.

Like most steak houses these days, Angelo & Maxie’s is a chain. Even more telling, in some people’s opinion, is that it’s a chain run by the folks of Chart House fame, those who first took the idea of fine dining and made it a comfortable commodity for the middle classes. Well, they’ve applied that concept to the formerly formidable steak house, and the fact is, it works. The Payless of meat palaces, A & M offers quality product for not so much money. And in keeping with the upcoming summer shoe season, it’s mostly wedges — of lettuce with blue cheese dressing, of veal chops, of filet mignon. Order a couple of sides of creamed spinach and garlic-laden smashed taters, a martini (you can keep the glass for an additional fee), and a dessert that will no doubt be served à la mode, and you, along with the Angelo guy and that Maxie dude, have got it à la made.

Drag shows are a dime a dozen in much of gay-friendly South Florida. Drag shows in which the performers also serve you dinner, however, are the sort of thing you don’t expect to see this side of Lucky Cheng’s in Manhattan — that is, unless you’ve been to Lip Service at Georgie’s Alibi. One Monday night a month for the past two years or so, the little New Orleans-style café adjacent to the sports bar in this ever-popular bar complex has been transformed into a reservations-only dinner party for 50 or so people. And that’s not the only transformation: Three area bartenders — Rickie Lee (who runs the show), Snowy, and Diva — get gussied up in their finest female gear to entertain even as they’re dispensing dinner, which comes not from the café’s regular menu but from a more elegant one designed especially for the occasion. There’s also usually a theme that runs through both show and décor. Last fall’s Back-to-School Lip Service, for instance, started out with the servers delivering cocktails while decked out in full nun habits. They reappeared later as “schoolgirls,” and before the night was over, they and their assistants (waiters dressed as nerdy schoolboys) morphed into the Brady Bunch. All this for $21.95, which, for dinner and a show, is certainly no drag.

Not only does Fisherman’s Wharf have the finest coconut shrimp in the known universe (though we are convinced at least 40 percent of that yummy goodness is in the sauce) but it is also one of the few restaurants to bring in national acts. Competing head-to-head with clubs of equal and even greater size, the Wharf has brought down a few well-known names such as David Gans, the Grateful Dead Hour host who also happens to be a surprisingly accomplished singer/songwriter. And speaking of the Dead, South Florida’s Deadheads know the Wharf as the place to be on Thursday nights at 10, when Grateful Dead cover band Crazy Fingers plays its weekly show. The place isn’t completely tie-dyed, but much of the music has that boogie-woogie groove, so bring your dancing shoes (or sandals) — as well as your appetite.

United Nations Resolution #02-2002ROW WHEREAS the following nations are represented by cuisine found in and about the Gateway strip mall, to-wit: Mexico at Tipico Café; Colombia at Archives Book Café; Japan at Heart Rock Sushi-Grill; Thailand at Sukho Thai; Italy at Big Louie’s Pizzeria and Il Mulino; Texas at Canyon Southwest Café; New York City at Subway; and Transylvania at Monster Subs;

THEREFORE, be it RESOLVED that this patch of real estate is hereby designated a restaurant row.

South Florida chefs always pride themselves on their willingness to help. Ask just about any high-profile toque to participate in a fundraiser like Taste of the Nation and you can be sure that plenty will volunteer. But world-renowned Yamaguchi (chef-proprietor), Theisen (executive chef of the Boca location), and Olinsky (pastry chef at the Boca location) don’t wait for the big events that will help national organizations. They go to the community. For instance, Yamaguchi will be hosting “Tastefully Yours” on May 20, a fundraiser to assist the Haven, a nonprofit group residence for abused, abandoned, and neglected children and teenagers from Broward and Palm Beach counties. Theisen gives free cooking demonstrations at malls. And Olinsky visits the schools to make cookies with the kids. None of these activities is high-profile, but all are beneficial. If you think of your dinner check as helping to fund these projects, it certainly makes a meal at Roy’s a worthy investment.

The nonsmoking section, 4:30 p.m.: “I want a nice hamburger, that’s all.”

“Ma, look at the menu.”

“You eat. I don’t have to eat. It’s this medicine.”

“Ma, you’re gonna be hungry later.”

“How much is the hamburger?”

“It’s better to get the whole meal. You get more for your money. You get coffee, soup or salad, and dessert. With the chicken parmigiana, that’s $8.95.”

“I don’t want that much.”

“Well, you’re the one who asked about price.”

“Hmph. I guess you know better than me. I’m eating too much. I don’t want to get fat.”

“One pound. You gained one pound.”

“One and one makes two, and then what do you got, hmm? How much is the hamburger?”

The Breakers has always been known for the quality of its services, and that operating credo extends to its restaurants. At L’Escalier, the waiters are more like butlers, just waiting to pull out your chair or refold your napkin should you retire to the restroom. Water glasses are filled like pools — should the liquid drop below a certain line, an infusion is immediately added. And like the service, the fare is as exquisite as the tapestries that grace the walls: venison carpaccio, vegetable-hazelnut cannelloni, roasted duck with eggplant caviar, and mascarpone strudel. Only a year old, L’Escalier provides such a beautiful yet unpretentious experience that we wish other hoteliers and restaurateurs could take classes here. Is that too much to ask?

To be honest, we weren’t sure Johannes would make it when it opened up in this eatery-heavy stretch of Boca Raton. Though we were confident in former Plum Room coordinator and Johannes chef-owner Johannes Fruhwirt, we just didn’t think the neighborhood would respond to this exclusive — and exclusively priced — South Beach-style eatery. Fortunately, we were wrong. Not only has Fruhwirt managed to maintain with only a handful of tables and a velvet rope to his name; he’s thrived. A few years later, patrons are returning to lay out the big bucks for his vichyssoise with caviar and his entrecôte with veal-bone marrow sauce. Though we’re risking our own easy access to a table here, we’ll also tell you the secret to finding the no-name place: A big J-shaped handle on the door. Pull it open and you’ll quickly see that you’ve arrived.

The American Heart and Lung Association would probably give this outstanding restaurant its vote, since the entire place is smoke-free. But while we are as politically correct as the next alternative weekly, that’s not why we love it. We’re delighted because after it took this veritable Southwestern institution just about a year to complete a much-publicized and much-anticipated move into larger, more sophisticated quarters, the eatery didn’t lose any of its luster. In fact, it gained some via a reworked wine list that offers cult vintages and a menu that loyally supplies regulars such favorites as grilled ostrich tenderloin with a port wine-sun-dried cherry sauce or cedar-planked salmon with a chipotle-mango barbecue sauce. And just like it used to, the new version of Armadillo tries to incorporate Davie as much as possible, going so far as to source hydroponic greens from the town’s producers. As evidenced here, loyalty is not always its own reward.

A contemporary restaurant is one that speaks to today’s tastes without succumbing to yesterday’s trends. Bizaare takes that credo seriously. Set on a street filled with antique shops, this retro living-and-dining room speaks to the comfort of a coffeehouse. But rather than being passé, the place is up-to-the-vintage-minute — every item is for sale. And we’re not talking about your mother’s dinette set. We’re talking about your great-grandmother’s dinette set, ugly when you were a child, cool now that you (and the rest of your social set) are into collecting. While you’re at it, you might as well snag some menus too. Surely you’ll want to return not just for the latest in estate-sale acquisitions but for those spring rolls, crab cakes, and chicken-artichoke crêpes. Just as it sounds, the fare is light and tasty, ideal for those following the five-small-meals-a-day plan. Dr. Atkins’ fans may find this short-on-steak place a bit challenging, but what do they know? They’re behind the contemporary times.

Expect the best, pay for it, and you just might get it. At least, that seems to be Sopra proprietor David Manero’s motto. He and a partner laid out a cool three mil for this renovated spot, then bought the building in which it’s housed for $6.3 million more. We give him credit just for his balls — that is, the roasted garlic meatballs that nestle, along with braised parsley sausage and Parmesan braciola, with trenette. Chef Glen Manfra also whips up superb entrées like oak-grilled Atlantic swordfish with cannelloni mash; salt-and-pepper jumbo shrimp sautéed on stone with Sicilian bread pudding; and a Bell & Evans chicken breast cacciatore. Open only half a year or so, Sopra currently attracts diners as much for the decorative eye-candy — terrazzo steps, mosaic floors, a pool on the sidewalk — as it does for the new-age fare. But guaranteed that if you go for the architecture, you’ll stay, and return, for the expertly constructed dishes.

True, the food’s not much. But in the middle of the night in West Palm Beach, there just isn’t any competition, outside of Denny’s and the 5 a.m. bars out west. And for atmosphere, Havana’s all-night takeout window, located as it is in a light-industrial/low-rent-housing area of Dixie Highway, can’t be beat — especially if you’re a Raymond Chandler or Elmore Leonard fan. Down these mean streets, a man must chew, and sitting out front under the street lamps on Havana’s bus-stop-style bench, the 4 a.m. diner has a front-row seat on the graveyard shift’s lunch break — a democratic mix of cops and other city workers, deliverymen, clubgoers, and restless suburbanites who don’t wanna go home. Mixed rice and beans with plantains at hand, styro cup of Cuban coffee venting steam, sip deep and drink in the humanity. That clean, well-lighted place you seek is here.

We always found this beach-bum-friendly, New Orleans-like establishment to have some of the most serious fare on the Strip. Indeed, it was one of those places, given its fresh fish and spicy blackening seasoning, that helped transform Fort Lauderdale from spring-break joke to culinary capital. Sadly, the days of sipping bloody Mary’s and turtle soup after a long evening of pub crawls have come, like the crawls themselves, to an undistinguished end. But rest assured, Evangeline: You’ll always be in our oyster-loving, crawfish-craving, porch-sitting hearts.

Taking the kids to an eatery is, pardon us, a pain in the ass. They don’t like this. They don’t like that. They fidget. They get up and walk around. They waste your hard-earned cash on food they refuse to eat. Well, we have the answer. And it’s not one of those chains where you gag when walking in and then are bored for hours thereafter. It’s a French restaurant. C’est vrai! The Safari Café is located on a delightful — and generally toddler-secure — terrace overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The breakfasts are outstanding. Try the Safari Special: two eggs, home fries, toast, meat, and coffee for $3.95. Lunches include quiche, goat cheese salad, or fried brie. Dinners are good too. Trout Meuniére with rice, veggies, and salad for $13.60. Kids dishes? For lunch, try hot dogs, $3.50. Or at dinner, there are hamburgers for $4.95. Both, of course, come with French fries. If the young ‘uns start to complain after a half hour at the table, you can take them in back to see the giant stuffed gorilla. Or walk ’em out to the beach for a little romp. If they are age 12 or older, just send them onto the sand to frolic on the nearby lifeguard stand if it’s after hours or — during the day — to swim under the watchful eye of authority. Relax for a little while, and enjoy a bottle of St. Emilion Chateau Haut Cormey for $30 (the most expensive wine they have). Let the ocean breeze wash over you. They open at 8 a.m. and close around 9:30 p.m. during the week and Sunday and 10 p.m. on Saturday. The doors are shuttered all day Tuesday.

Founding owner Chuck Muer sleeps with the fishes — the legendary seafood purveyor was lost at sea trying to outrun Hurricane Emily in 1993 — but the Palm Beach institution he started more than 20 years ago with real estate maven Harold Kaplan soldiers on. Top-notch fish is the highlight of the menu, but the kitchen, while never adventurous, is versatile enough to offer a constantly evolving, stylish array of dishes. The building’s original, Mizner-style architecture and interior are a knockout, the front room originally serving as a railway waiting station in the 1920s. The sidewalk seating out front overlooks the broad, palm tree-lined expanse of Royal Poinciana Way, Palm Beach’s north-end main street, a more sedate alternative to the south side’s Worth Avenue (which is overrun with tourists and off-islanders anyway). Tired of watching the swells roll by in their luxury vehicles? You can go inside and still dine under the stars — the interior Garden Room’s roof is retractable.

OK, so Gary Woo is about as Chinese as tortillas. So the place is about as much like a bistro as a convention hall. When it comes down to the fare — which is about as Hong Kong as, well, New York City’s Chinatown — it hardly matters. This is the stuff New Yorkers’ dreams are made of: an endless bowl of crisp, fried noodles with duck sauce to start off the meal, along with a stiff drink from the bistro’s fully stocked bar. Plus, just the appetizer list alone, featuring nearly two dozen dumplings, deep-fried seafood rolls, and pork ribs, is the equivalent of a good dim sum buffet on Spring Street. Add in beef chow fun with black bean sauce, eggplant and chicken served braised in a hot pot, royal lobster casserole with the mysterious XO sauce and chef’s suggestions such as bean curd, shrimp, and crab meat sautéed in a tiny wok and you’ll be hard-put to get the snowbirds to leave the snow peas behind.

Park your horse outside, mosey on in, place your cowboy/girl hat on the wall hook, check your piece with the hostess, and take a comfortable seat at one of the booths. At this particular Roadhouse Grill, like all of its sibling eateries, you are always welcome, unless of course you are “wanted dead or alive.” Right from the start, the friendly staff treats you cordially and with due respect. The décor is definitely saloon, and they have both kinds of background music: country and western. Drinks are served in huge, old-fashioned glass mugs, and napkins are abundant (and necessary). The not-quite-rusty metal pails sitting on the tables are kept full with peanuts, a complimentary appetizer for the weary rider while waiting for the real food. The waiters seem to stay employed by this establishment for more than three months — uncharacteristic for South Florida — which means that you can expect to actually recognize who will be serving you. You can also expect the smiling manager to drop in during the meal and check how everything is going — and fix it if it’s not right. The food portions are generous and stand out for being cooked just right. The heavenly sourdough bread is deliciously fresh. While other Roadhouse Grill locations in South Florida fare quite well as far as food is concerned, the Delray location excels by far when it comes to making its guests feel welcome. This eatery is often packed with jovial patrons, so please mind your spurs.

Thanks to Moulin Rouge, the general public’s interest in French dining has been remarkably renewed. This year, restaurateurs scrambled to take advantage. But the most successful eateries are usually the ones that precede the trend, and Oh La La is no exception. Open a couple of years now, Oh La La is oh-so-good with a blackboard menu that one evening might offer vichyssoise and on another might feature pheasant paté. Inspired regional cooking ranges from north to south with entrées such as roast duck breast with green peppercorns and a bouillabaisse so light and flavorful that the competitions’ versions seem like fish-scrap soup. The only drawback is that dishes have a finite shelf life — once they’re gone, they’re erased from the blackboard. So if you’re a late diner, you might find your choices somewhat limited. But never fear. Regardless of your reservation time, your palate and stomach will still be stretched to satiated capacity.

Granted, dishes like the shrimp Mona Lisa, a plethora of jumbo crustaceans sautéed with wine and mushrooms and dressed with a creamy pink sauce, can run you — gasp! — up to $15. But that’s about the limit, and if you consider that the salad, garlic rolls, and pasta all come with it, you’ve got yourself a full-course meal for less than the cost of a tank of gas. But the beauty of the place, besides its clean-line décor and refreshingly polite service, is that not only do most pasta dishes hover around $8 and a large Sicilian pizza (16 inches) goes for just a dozen bucks but that the ziti with broccoli sauce and baked stuffed shells is actually savory and generously portioned. A good selection of starters (hey, who can argue with homemade fried mozzarella?) and a kids menu offering manicotti seal the deal. Unless you’re in the mood for dessert, whereupon it’s the cannoli that quickly clinches.

Chef-owner Steve Martorano likes it when his establishment is compared to a place you might see on The Sopranos or spot in a Godfather film. In fact, he even plays gangster movies and runs modern mob episodes on the multiple televisions posted throughout this South Philly-style trattoria and turns up the volume when a particularly, er, juicy part comes on. Despite the plethora of F-bombs bursting in air, both fare and service are far from coarse. Indeed, the place is so popular that you can count on a one-to-two-hour wait, but Martorano makes sure his clients are taken care of while they tap toes — he sends out his hometown Philly cheese steaks as amuse-bouches. Like any true artist, Martorano doesn’t care much for convention and won’t accept reservations — or even phone calls, for that matter. But he has been known to send out his signature meatballs, veal Parmesan, or fettuccine Alfredo to celebrities like Dan Marino, who has been spotted lounging in his car rather than at the bar. Like a starting lineup, the dishes might change daily, but the talent that went into preparing the game plan never fails to win praise.

Do a little dance, make a little tzatziki, get down tonight. That’s the motto at this risqué Greek eatery, where the staff clambers onto tables to dance and the crowd, usually the worse for wear on ouzo, follows suit. Too bad the clientele isn’t as talented as the hired help. While some of the waiters are a pleasure to watch serve up the moves, the patrons often provide more photo ops — and subsequent bribery attempts — than not. Still, it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye to the snooze factor, a.k.a. bedtime.

If what Thucydides writes is true, then the Greeks certainly do “cultivate the mind without loss of manliness.” But men of Broward and Palm Beach, take heart: There’s also no question, as proven by Taverna Milos, that the Greeks cultivate the stomach without loss of appetite — manly or otherwise. Indeed, no shame exists in pointing to a fish, laid out on ice, rather than catching it yourself. No harm lies in requesting the kitchen sear it quickly with lemon and thyme rather than starting up the ol’ grill back home. No embarrassment could possibly appear in eating the whole damn thing with undisguised gusto and then ordering a skewer of chicken served over rice pilaf or a lamb gyro to wash it down. We understand. After all, what’s the mind without brain food?

This two-country restaurant has a double-sided menu big enough to hide behind. Three oversized laminated panels feature more than 200 dishes: Chinese on one side and Japanese on the flip. With plates almost as big as the pages that describe the dishes, you won’t need more than fortune cookies to end the meal with. Seating options are tables, booths, and the sushi bar, where you can watch the chefs work. The five dozen sushi choices include dancing eel roll, crazy roll, spider roll, and birthday roll. You’re warned twice about spicy food noted with red ink and stars; obvious choices like dynamite roll, spicy tuna roll, and red dragon will kick-start your palate. China-Tokyo will add flying fish eggs to any sushi roll for a buck. The list of Chinese offerings is long, but it’s mostly standard fare: moo shu pork, broccoli with garlic sauce, kung pao beef, lemon chicken, happy family, fried rice, chow mein, and chop suey. That said, the food is fresh, well-seasoned, and served in large enough portions to guarantee a doggy bag for tomorrow’s lunch. If you read the Chinese section all the way to the end, you’ll find the one unusual section: lamb with broccoli, lamb with scallions, spicy lamb, and basil lamb. Most of the dishes are under ten bucks; you’ll pay a little more for teriyaki and the sushi and sashimi combinations.

You expect good food and good service when you go out to eat, but how often do you get entertained just by reading the menu? The Try My Thai minichain not only has the most interesting variety of Thai food in South Florida; it also has the best names for its dishes. They prepare the requisite pad thai, but the menu is chock full of dishes like Evil Jungle Princess (chicken or beef in a slightly spicy coconut curry sauce), Golden Arches (baby-back ribs designed to look like the McDonald’s arches), the Biggest Mermaid (a seafood stew with clear noodles in a chile and lime sauce), Kiss Me Squid (named ironically for the garlic sauce), and Lost on the Reef (no one there remembers how the name came about). You can get either Macho Gator (the hottest dish in the restaurant, seven stars on a five-star scale, the staff claims) or Foster Care Alligator (developed when the restaurant first opened ten years ago without much money — one of the early investors owned an alligator farm, and the Foster Gator dish was born). We love Three Amigos Tofu because there’s nothing Mexican about the dish; it was named for the three different tastes in the sauce: sweet, sour, and wine. The delightful menu hints at another Try My Thai strong point: customer service. Last time we were at the Fort Lauderdale location, with a party of eight adults, our reserved table was in a room that was overwhelmed by two families of screaming kids. The waiter quickly changed our reservation to the quieter room so we could enjoy our food in peace.

Intimacy is all about eliminating distractions — forgetting the day at work, ignoring the mass of people around you, creating a funnel of focus. The senses must remain alive to the one you’re with, but the surrounding static needs to be squelched. The restaurant in a chamber just off the raucous pub at King’s Head is just such an oasis of dimly lighted calm. The dark wood walls are like a black hole that suck disharmony into their very grain. The waitresses at King’s Head know how to take an order, deliver it, and let you dine in peace. No “How are we doing here?” every five minutes. If you’ve a conspiracy to concoct, a proposition to put forward, or a confession to divulge, slip right in.

While many Chinese takeout places appear to have been built from the remains of a Denny’s or Taco Bell, Henry’s is an institution. Since 1959, the place has been dishing out Chinese food, from Szechuan to Mandarin to Cantonese, from 11 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. Monday through Saturday and 4 to 10:30 p.m. Sunday. All of it is pretty good stuff, though they do Szechuan best of all. Nice and spicy. The reasonable asking price, typically from $5 to $10, makes Henry’s a viable option for all but the most low-end budgets. Ask them to make the Szechuan beef or pork really spicy if you’re in the mood for the oral version of a nuclear meltdown. But having your stomach lining dissolve from extreme spice and then screaming in agony as the acids digest your body is a pretty nasty way to go. So perhaps you should just understand that, in this instance at least, the Chinese are bigger men than you and that, to many of them, a whole bowl of super-spicy Texas chili es nada. We’ve had a couple of centuries to perfect our recipes. They’ve had millennia. Come back when you are ready, grasshopper.

Any place that calls itself “home of the kebab” pretty much tells you its intentions up-front. Problem is, not so many restaurants can make themselves into a home you’d like to live in. Ferdos succeeds not just because the décor is cozy, the dining room is clean, the wine list is reasonably priced, and the menu is extensive but because its kebabs really are that good — juicy, marinated lamb, chicken, shrimp, beef, and even veggie skewers for the vegan. A touch of Mediterranean sophistication in the mussels poached with Pernod and the escargots nestled into puff pastry only adds to Ferdos’s allure. But for all the Barazi family’s success in cookery, it just might be the kibbeh — raw lamb seasoned with cracked wheat, chopped onions, and olive oil — that closes the deal.

Yes, this joint tucked right next to a movie theater does offer beef, lamb, and chicken selections on the menu, but there is no shortage of vegetarian choices. The place is open until 10 p.m. every day of the week, which means a real dinner after a movie is no longer out of the question for vegetarians. Many of the vegetarian selections are actually vegan. Go for lunch and the server will immediately bring a pitcher of cold water and a basket of warm, fresh slices of pita bread with butter. (Why not hummus? Small quibble.) Follow that up with a bowl of hearty, nutty, red lentil soup, and it just gets better from there. There are no fewer than nine vegetarian entrées to choose from, including dolma (stuffed cored zucchini and green peppers), spanakopita (spinach pie), türlü (vegetable medley in red sauce), and eggplant sauté. All are less than $15. So why doesn’t this place make it as veggie heaven? The small matter of the rice, which is made with chicken stock to give it added flavor. That’ll scare off the vegans — which leaves more of those tasty stuffed grape leaves for the rest of us.

Face it, herbivores: In these parts, going vegetarian means going ethnic — usually Mediterranean/Middle Eastern, or Asian. And if the Red Thai Room isn’t already at the top of your meatless-dining list, it should be. Heck, the place even writes “Lunch, Dinner & Vegan” on its takeout menus. Said menu also features a helping hand — a little icon in the shape of a hand giving the “peace” sign — to guide the fleshphobic to their very own tasty treats. One peace sign means no meat; two means vegan — no animal products of any kind. And those who are used to finding veggie meals banished to the back of the bus will be happy to spot those little hands all over this menu: three of twelve appetizers, four of six rice/noodle dishes, and 13 of 19 specialties are meatless (all have a couple of vegan options). And the taste? The pat khi mao, with its spicy chili paste, julienned bamboo shoots, bell peppers, and mushrooms, is a great example of the subtle flavor and delicious heat these meat-free meals offer.

Just in case you were wondering, the “Porto” stands for Portuguese, as in one of the peoples who settled the Brazilian region oh-so-long ago. Oh, OK, they usurped it. But aside from its obvious (and somewhat dubious) gift of salt cod to the area, Portugal isn’t ultimately represented in the cuisine at this authentically ethnic Brazilian eatery. Instead, the native influences and the imported African influences are more widely seen in dishes like moqueca, a fish stew, and picanha, a steak topped with a double bonus of two fried eggs. For dessert, crema catalana is given a tropical influence with passion fruit, but the real passion inspired here will be your own — a desire to return for some traditional, well-prepared Brazilian fare that takes as much care with quality as a Brazilian teenager does picking out that perfect thong bikini. Now that’s serious business.

Once the bastion of fast-food joints, now Coral Springs gets a nod from gourmets, thanks to fine-dining restaurants like Anita’s. See, we’re not talking chicken burritos here at this sibling of Eduardo de San Angel; we’re talking cilantro-flavored crêpes filled with cuitlacoche (corn fungus), onions, and chopped Serrano peppers. And we’re not looking at your standard chile relleno; we’re gazing at a poblano pepper, fire-roasted and filled with salmon mousse that’s been enhanced with minced pasillo chilis and topped with a creamy ancho chili sauce. In fact, chili lovers can peruse the full palette here, from the guajillo sauce that dresses the grilled yellowtail fillet to the cascabel barbecue rub that enhances the grilled, 16-ounce pork chop. Nor do you have to worry that with all this highly spiced fare, you’ll be hung out to dry. Service is as professional as the chef, which means frequent refills on water and wine, replacement of silverware, and a much-welcomed, no-rush policy.

This “Little Colombian Corner” will warm the heart — and the belly — of not only the homesick paisa but of anyone seeking simple, hearty, skillfully prepared fare in ridiculously large portions. Pull up a chair at one of the tables or just belly up to the bar under the eaves of the barrel-tiled faux balconcito and tuck into a breakfast of arepas, white cheese, and the soft, sweet, cheese-infused rolls known as pan de bono — baked on-premises and also sold at the pastry shop next door. Come on back for lunch: Perhaps an appetizer of papas rellenas (mashed potato dumplings wrapped around ground beef, then dropped in the fryer) and one of the stick-to-your-ribs soups — the Saturday special of sancocho de gallina (hen soup with onions, potatoes, yuca, and plantains) is a can’t-miss. For dinner, go all-out for one of the bandejas, a huge platter offering a skirt steak, rice, red beans, two kinds of sausage (options include not only the standard chorizo but the very authentic morcilla blood sausage), a strip of chicharron (fried pork skin), and a fried egg. Or perhaps you’ll opt for the sobrebarriga, a falling-apart pot roast stewed in a tomato-onion sauce and served with yuca. Whatever you choose, you’ll have plenty left over for lunch (and possibly dinner as well) the next day.

As you sit before a heaping platter of rice and beans, white cabbage, and curried goat at Tasties, the fullness of its spice builds slowly, from tropical depression to storm to hurricane. Halfway through the meal, your face is hovering over the plate, vacuuming like a water funnel. The piquant sauce brings on a kind of equatorial madness, a subtropical food lust. Your mind maniacally calculates when next you’ll hunger, what next you’ll order — perhaps the curried oxtail, cowfoot, or chicken. Some day, you revel, there will be a chance to feast on the jerk dishes. A five-spot covers most of Tasties’ meals, which are served 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., Monday through Saturday.

Haitian food is no different from regular Caribbean fare, right? There’s no good reason to seek out authentic Haitian grub, right? Wrong. While Haitian cuisine has a similar body to Jamaican — a lot of chicken, goat, ox tail, plantains, and red beans and rice — it’s dressed up in a totally different set of clothes. Haitians don’t do jerk or curry; the sauce is thick, soupy, and red, with onions and hot peppers and garlic to spice it up. Reflection Restaurant, hidden in the snug corner of a little strip mall along Sunrise Boulevard, does a beautiful version. The sauce is just spicy enough to make your mouth sing but not so hot as to make it scream. Once you start eating, it’s hard to stop, so it’s a good thing the fine and friendly folks at Reflection hand out generous portions. They offer poisson (fish), legumes (vegetables), queue boeuf (ox tail), griot (fried pork), cabrit (goat), ragout (cow’s feet), lambi (conch), and kalalou (okra and beef), most of which can be had with a mountain of beans and rice for a mere six bucks. Relax and eat inside the diner-like atmosphere of tables and booths with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths. Or order out. Either way, you’re in for a Haitian treat.

Any way you look at it — from a blue, golden, stone, or king crab perspective — if you order the signature dishes in this overgrown waterside shack, you’ll be hanging around for a while. That’s because portions of the crabs, especially the blues steamed in garlic and oil, a house specialty, are large enough to satisfy the biggest eater in your life. Because wooden mallets are mandatory utensils here, flecks of shell and drips of oil tend to mark patrons after they’ve consumed even just one crab. But rest assured, you can separate the gluttons from the pack by the state of their clothing. They’re the ones proudly strutting straight to the dry cleaner’s, who can (most of the time) get out all the stains. So stop making excuses, prospective piggies, and get cracking.

This cheerily painted, tin-roofed eatery is doing for Jamaican food what Pollo Tropical has done for Cuban food — offering traditional favorites in a fast-food setting, complete with drive-through — but the menu at this favorite Lauderdale Lakes lunch spot is far more varied and traditional than its Greater Antillean-inspired counterpart. Case in point: Chicken is offered in jerk, mango barbecue, and simply grilled. All are well-prepared, tasty, and go for a paltry $2.99 including rice. But what really wins us over is the pumpkin rice, in all its orange, slightly sweet glory.