Food & Drink

It doesn’t advertise. It doesn’t have an outside phone number. Its entrance is literally hidden at the back of the gifts department on the second floor of the Neiman Marcus store in the Galleria Mall. And yet, every day at lunchtime, every seat at the twin curved counters of the Little Mermaid is occupied, and more eager patrons are queuing up in front of the cash register, waiting to pounce on any vacancy in this cramped, wood-paneled nook. How to describe these patrons? Well, to overgeneralize, they are mostly women of a certain age (50s and up — sometimes way up), a certain income level (likely big, big fans of eliminating dividend and estate taxes), and a certain social station (their day planners are full of words like foundation, fundraiser, and gala). Their fashion sense can best be described as expensive casual: Yes, many are wearing slacks or even jeans, but the crisp blouses, tailored jackets, gleaming purses, and the glint of a brooch make it clear that these ladies like to shop at… well, Neiman Marcus. And what could be better to fuel yourself for an intense afternoon of shopping than a smoked turkey Reuben with homemade Thousand Island dressing? Or a ham-and-hogwash sandwich (hogwash being a tangy-sweet, horseradishy sauce) on grilled egg bread? Or perhaps one of the Mermaid’s salads: Niçoise, cobb, or caesar — the latter available with grilled chicken or shrimp? The homemade soups are always excellent, so one can’t go wrong with the Mermaid Sampler: a cup of soup, half a sandwich, and fresh fruit. Ladies who really know their lunch always order a side of the orange soufflé; it may look like a Jell-O mold, but trust us, it’s much, much more. And if a lady just wants tea — including a warm scone with crème fraîche and those little sandwiches with the crusts cut off — does she have to wait until 4 p.m.? Hell, no! Says right there on the menu: “Tea Time Anytime.” The cakes certainly look tempting, but a full slice is huge. That’s why these ladies almost always travel in pairs: the better to split a slice of deliciously moist carrot cake, my dear! Now, let’s have a look at those new hats that just came in.

With so many Europeans living, breeding, and cooking in our midst, South Florida eaters expect ethnic authenticity at our ethnic restaurants. In this regard, Old Heidelberg exceeds on every front. From the voice and smile of the hausfrau hostess, the spaetzle that tickles going down, frost-rimmed glasses of Tucher Weissbier or Diebels Alt, to the dark pine and leather interior, Old Heidelberg’s old-country charm is far from forced. The owners’ names are Dieter and Heidi, for crying out loud. Almost every night, Ingo Froehlich transforms the accordion from the second-most-hated instrument into an oompah-pah sine qua non. Bavarian comfort food is succulent and sizably portioned, so this means you’ll leave completely stuffed, possibly from the pork tenderloin with a crisp layer of fat just as crunchy as a chicharron. Maybe from roast suckling pig or the bratwurst platter. Maybe from that final, ill-advised bit of Black Forest cake. But at least your indigestion will be well-earned.

Last year, this treasured restaurant took two Readers’ Choice categories — Best Restaurant in Broward and Best Restaurant When Someone Else Is Paying. This year, the venerable spot became a victim of unsettled times. Citing heightened security that kept diners from easily accessing Port Everglades — a direct response to terrorist actions and threats around the world — the owners decided to disband the 18-year-old establishment. The last supper was served in June, and as the eatery’s been gone-and-departed for almost a year now, no doubt this will be its last tribute.

If you don’t live near Ambrosia, it might be time to move, because this Italian pizza joint doesn’t deliver outside of about a mile radius. It’s not that the 26-year-old restaurant is snobby. Its spot south of downtown West Palm Beach used to be in a pretty ratty neighborhood before yuppies started rehabbing houses in Flamingo Park and El Cid. It’s just that Ambrosia’s business is good enough to make customers come to it. The novel-length menu has all the Italian standards, plus some signature items like the spicy chicken fra diavolo in a tomato basil sauce. With dim lights and old wood tables, the décor is somewhat GoodFellas-esque, which goes with the restaurant’s slogan, “Where you’re only a stranger once.” And the pizza is anchored by a stuffed 14-incher with a buttery crust across the top. It puts the pie back into pizza.

If your idea of kosher consists of that deli down the street or food made by Hebrew National, it’s time to try the upscale cuisine at Eilat Cafe, which calls itself the best kosher restaurant in the country. The Boca Raton eatery has an eclectic menu spiced with Middle Eastern dishes including baba ghanouj and Turkish salad but also features a range from Oriental stir-fry to Cajun linguine. Best of all, the rabbi’s blessing won’t cost you 10 percent of your salary. Most lunch items are under $10. At dinner, pasta dishes are less than $15, and the seafood dishes, all below $20, include medallions of salmon and dolphin in a spicy banana rum sauce.

If you’re an epicure, you probably yen for that yuppie Cuban cuisine, maduro soufflés and the like. We hate that stuff. What we like is Black Beans. What we like is Felix Pereira, who arrived from the island in 1956 and has run restaurants virtually since the first day. What we like is lamb stew with savory raisins, succulent pork roast, and enormous, whole, fried snapper that comes with the head on. What we really like is the prices at this nondescript but scrupulously clean joint of 14 tables that opened the day after Christmas in 1993. At lunch, there’s almost nothing that costs more than six dollars. Breakfast is similarly cheap. Two eggs, toast, and potatoes go for $1.55. Dinner’s cheap too. Pereira, you see, followed the path of others in Broward County’s community of exiles from el exilio. He and his wife, Herenia, spent almost three decades running a small restaurant in Miami, bought a bigger one in North Miami, then moved even further north to Hollywood “because Miami was getting really bad, and Hollywood is a nice, small town.” This guy is dedicated. He raised his three kids in his restaurants and still works at Black Beans seven days a week from 8:30 a.m. to 10 p.m. He’s 72 years old, so he needs a little more sleep than he used to — and there’s an air-conditioned room in the back. But he expects to be serving up moros, batidos, and tres leches for a very long time. So, hey, stop in, sip a cortadito, and tell him how you like real food cooked by a real macho!

If you think all Thai food tastes alike, then you obviously haven’t been to the Beach. In this second-story walkup restaurant that features an unexpectedly bright view of the Atlantic, authenticity and originality reign, resulting in locale-suited dishes such as “Thai on the Beach Seafood Stir-Fry,” the region’s freshest scallops, mussels, calamari, and crab encased in a garlicky pepper-ginger sauce. Or Thai shrimp scampi, jumbo crustaceans sautéed scampi-style with mild curry sauce and ground peanuts. And rock lobster pad Thai, one of chef-owner Wannapa Eapros’ most popular specials. Then, of course, there’s the spice factor — the heat in these chili-laden dishes can challenge the South Florida sun. A fact to which we respond the same as any dedicated sun-worshiper: Burn, baby, burn.

Call it Florida French if you’d like. It bears only a passing resemblance to fares you’d find on Paris’ Left Bank. Likewise, the Caribbean-inspired décor at Sugar Reef does not evoke scenes from snooty bistros and pretentious cafés. But the food… ah, the food. Oui, it is decidedly French — French-Caribbean, that is. Open for nearly ten years and run by husband-and-wife team Patrick Farnault and Robin Seger, Sugar Reef takes the best of France, dusts it with island and Asian accents, and serves it all in a tropical dining room where nearly every table has an unobstructed view of Hollywood’s beautiful beach. The beachfront casual atmosphere is perfectly offset by the elegant and inventive menu, and Parisian native Farnault has no reservations about reconstructing Continental classics with New World spices. The food selections are accompanied by Sugar Reef’s substantial wine list, which features a number of selections from Farnault’s homeland, offering ample ways to wet a dry palate.

Game for game? Serious about service? And awash in alliteration? Clearly, Black Orchid Café fulfills all implied requirements. This elegant restaurant has produced consistently for the past six years, thanks to chef-proprietor George Telles’ know-how and experience. Classic technique dominates the preparations — the au poivre sauce deserves an award of its own — and allows the conservative culinarian to remember those days when an exacting Hollandaise sauce wasn’t all that unusual. And the back page of the menu, which lists exotic sustenance ranging from wild African pheasant to buffalo carpaccio to lobster tails from crustaceans raised in rice paddies, offers adventurous gastronomes the chance to expand their collective subconscious. Sure, you’ll pay for such pleasures, and both your scale and your wallet may require some penitential time via diet and budget. But dinner here is still a worthy lark of crime.

Il Mulino has great food, good prices, and terrific service, but it’s not well-known outside of the Victoria Park/Middle River Terrace/Coral Ridge area, so you can get a table in less than 30 minutes during season. Our bottom line for an Italian restaurant is garlic rolls that would kill a vampire, and Il Mulino is definitely unsafe for any of Anne Rice’s creations. With pasta dishes all in the $9 to $11 range, pizzas under $10, and only three specialties that will cost you more than $15, you can still afford a movie at the neighboring Gateway Cinema after the meal. Some of our favorite dishes are a Caprese salad with more fresh mozzarella cheese than most pizzas, an appetizer called fagottino we like just because the name makes us laugh, and six versions of anelli, a concoction of anything from artichoke hearts, asparagus, and sun-dried cranberries to chunks of filet mignon with mushrooms, roasted peppers, and mozzarella inside a crusty baked dough. Traditionalists can get eggplant parmigiana, veal marsala, or linguine with clams, but don’t expect the fish-flavored broth they serve in lesser establishments. Here, your linguine will be prepared with Little Neck clams, basil, wine, and, of course, the garlic.

Although Ferdos bills itself as “the home of the kabob,” the restaurant could crow about nearly anything else on the menu, plus a few side items that aren’t. Everything from the hummus to those aforementioned kabobs is cooked up just like Mom used to make — assuming your mom hails from the eastern shores of the Mediterranean. Plus, Ferdos is one of the only places north of Tantra in South Beach where you can get a hookah delivered to your table. Nothing beats a nice, long drag off a hookah after a hearty Middle Eastern meal. Choose from a variety of fruity flavors — rather like smoking a pack of Skittles.

Aptly named, indeed. You don’t have to dress like royalty or haul around bodyguards, but the kingly fare will make you feel as if you’ve got the right to consider hiring some robes and rogues. Or at least a personal trainer. Along with standard chutneys, pakoras, and naan, you can feast on zesty crab masala, creamy butter chicken, and tandoori salad, a combo of onions, peppers, and mushrooms marinated in rock salt and vinegar and then roasted. Among the pleasant elements here include a nicely appointed dining room, bistro-chic and contemporary; a decent list of wines and beers; and a party room where princes and princesses of all ethnicities can get their ghee on.

Yup, it’s true. We’re biased. We’ve been fans of the Gourmet Diner since it was located in a wooden shack in North Miami so close to the railroad tracks that it shook every time a train roared by. We followed it across the street to a shinier outfit, then stayed with it when the original owner sold it to Sia and Nicole Hemmati, and we started frequenting the Gourmet sibling when it opened in Weston. And still we dine. That’s because they took the Gallic diner concept and kept it alive and so far haven’t renamed anything to include the word freedom. Which means we can still get classic Dijon vinaigrette for the vine-ripe tomatoes and shallots; onion soup gratinée, snapper française, and steak au poivre, among other items, just the way we like them — à la française.

If your two key words when it comes to steak houses are cheap and good, then Beef Eater is for you. This Argentine meatery distinguishes itself in a variety of traditional ways, from steak empanadas to steak Milanesa to sirloin, all of which console the carnivore’s palate with terrific beef flavors and textures. But if you’re a skirt-steak cheapskate, then you’re just as pleased with the price: No dish over ten dollars. Even the specials, “tango’s sirloin” (a strip draped with a pair of fried eggs) and the assorted “gaucho’s grill,” come in at $9.95. Which is why we’re happy to provide Beef Eater with a new slogan, free of charge: “Beef Eater, the Short Rib Stop for a Ten Spot — Not Including Tax and Tip.”

Yes, it’s a chain, and of course, this publication often takes shots at such bastions of the Establishment. But sometimes you just have to acknowledge that, to do things right, one needs a certain amount of money and booze. See, it takes the right number of dead presidents to hire a food-and-beverage director or sommelier who has trained his or her palate for years, teetering on the edge of poverty, just to be able to tell us if that Bordeaux has aromatics of glove leather or tobacco and flavors of menthol or tar. It behooves a corporation to court, by sponsoring winemakers’ events and fundraisers, the savviest purveyors and distributors, who can maybe come up with that last case of limited-production cult Cabernet that was purportedly sold out. Most of all, an excellent wine list requires the capital that is needed to lay down an extensive cellar, a good third of which needs to bottle-age before it is even sellable to the dining public. Judging by its 175-bottle list, ranging from New World Sauvignon Blancs to Old World Burgundies, Morton’s got not just the bucks but the props.

“Shake your booty” takes on a whole new meaning here. Namely, wiggle those hips, gyrate that middle, raise some arms, snap your fingers, and love that jiggle. The belly dancer who performs nightly in this North African restaurant-nightclub is neither shy nor modest, as befits a woman who is an expert with the navel maneuver — and we’re not talking the armed forces here. And after she’s done performing, it’s your turn. Who cares if you look like a scene from Aladdin gone wrong? Not the old ladies playing their finger cymbals in the corner. But don’t worry — if anyone does jeer, the music is simply too loud for you to hear them.

You’ve got the music factor — live blues, funk, groove, tribal, rock, and jazz bands nearly every night of the week. Not teeny-bopper local acts either but nationally acclaimed artists such as Pat Travers and Rosco Martinez, who no doubt agree to play here in exchange for bowls of the award-winning gumbo. ‘Cause that’s the other part of the equation for a sum of popular outcome — the truly high-end bar food like Kilmo’s killer chili, oyster po’ boys, and sautéed or deep-fried gator bites. But then AA goes a step further toward customer satisfaction by also purveying a wide range of microbrewed beers, and damn if that doesn’t help lubricate the awards process as smoothly as a warm hand on a trombone slide. UPDATED: This location is now closed.

You might not think so come summer, but for at least three seasons of the year, this venue has the fresh, sea-air edge. Or, at least, the dock. Located just a tad northeast of the Swimming Hall of Fame, Forté couldn’t be set more in the Atlantic than Atlantis. Though elegant and ritzy enough inside to appeal during 95 percent humidity, it’s the oceanside tables and generous tiki hut-style bar that attract customers for a night of eavesdropping on lapping waves and fish thumping against unyielding hulls. It doesn’t hurt, naturally, that there are also plenty of martini-lapping and fish-thumping-against-plate options. After all, there’s more to outdoor dining than sweating. There’s being tremendously satisfied by all four measures — location, fare, service, and price — whether you want a vibrant, loud experience for a group or a pianissimo night for two.

The Floridian’s popularity could be due to the free Tootsie Rolls at the cashier’s counter. Or the politicos and wannabe politicos strutting around as if they own the place. Or maybe it’s the establishment’s willingness to give the back room and a highly experienced waiter to nonprofit groups for their meetings. Or it could even be the after-club boys mixing with the men in suits early in the a.m. Or maybe what fills the restaurant’s seats is the fact that one can order breakfast, lunch, dinner, or dessert 24 hours a day in a room with a whole lot more atmosphere than any Denny’s. While the rest of Las Olas is filled with high-priced haute cuisine and your waiter may have more attitude than the haughtiest diva, the Floridian is basic food, without too much grease, and a comfortable atmosphere where no one will rush you to vacate your table. Customers know to tip well; the servers treat them accordingly. You won’t find anything with kiwi on the menu; instead, you’ll recognize every item: omelets, hamburgers, sandwiches, salads made with iceberg lettuce, though you can also get a veggie burger on a toasted bun. No one will try to take the French out of the fries in this establishment, but if you listen carefully, you’ll hear about the next crazy idea some local politician is hatching weeks before you read about it in the Sun-Sentinel.

Let’s be honest. You’re cheap, and you always will be. So you might as well put on the plaid pants and baby-blue blazer and go for the early-bird special at Spoto’s. Between 5 and 6 p.m., the upscale raw bar in downtown West Palm Beach throws in a salad, dessert, and drink for the price of your entrée. That’s a value of about $20, which, you might as well admit, is more than you spent on your mother’s last birthday present. The deal includes a spicy tomato, mozzarella, and red onion salad with a well-aged vinaigrette. It’s a good complement to the onion-crusted yellowtail snapper at $21.75. Or pair the house salad, with its wheat-beer vinaigrette, with the bouillabaisse, which includes a half-pound lobster, clams, mussels, and nearly still-swimming chunks of fish. Eat quick and you can be in bed by 8.

It’s no secret that Chinese takeout isn’t always healthful. But there is hope. Wingloon’s lengthy menu features all the traditional Chinese-American fare; sweet and sour chicken, moo goo gai pan, beef lo mein, among others. But this drive-through and takeout restaurant is looking out for today’s health-conscious consumer. In addition to a vegetarian menu including broccoli and mushrooms with garlic sauce, and sautéed string beans, any of their chicken or beef dishes can be prepared with tofu, and they will omit salt, sugar, or cornstarch. You just have to ask.

If the name seems like a mouthful, well, the large servings of fresh fish and shellfish justify it. A retail seafood market on one side and an attractive, casual dining spot on the other, Waves isn’t all foam and froth like some of its trendy contemporaries. Yet its preparations are still modern — Asian shrimp-noodle soup, coconut shrimp, lump crab “fingers,” shrimp scampi with roasted tomatoes. Feeling traditional? Waves also offers lobster dinners à la beach parties in Cape Cod, with a Maine steamed lobster, mussels, clams, ears of corn, and new red potatoes. Best of all, your belly may make you feel as if you won’t be riding any waves too soon lest you get a cramp, and your wallet won’t be much lighter — Waves is as reasonably priced as it is filling.

For Indian food regulars who want to avoid those awkward moments of ordering beef curry from a Hindu waiter, the simple way is to go vegetarian. Bombay Cafe has powerfully tasty vegetarian dishes that’ll make most carnivores forget about the lack of animal flesh. The chick peas in the chole-bhatura are cooked perfectly al dente in a potent tomato-based broth, and the plain uttapam combines the simplicity of a poster-sized rice pancake with aromatic lentil soup. Everything at this simple restaurant is made on-premises, even the yogurt, which flavors the sweet lassi so well, and the roti, an oven-roasted bread. Best of all, your vegetarian feast will set you back only about $5 — not a bad price for a clear conscience.

When you’re in Mulberry Street, do as others do: Order as many courses as you think you could possibly eat. Then, after you tuck into the first dish, order three more, making sure to drip whatever it is you’re eating onto the menu. That way, diners who come in after you can follow in your knowledgeable, if greasy, thumbprints. The desire to sample a wide variety of the delicious fare is by far the biggest reason Angelo’s has been launched into the “expensive” category. In other words, things tend to add up, especially if you ask for a bottle of the Ornellaia Super-Tuscan to drink with dinner. But in the end, the quality and value of the portions jibe so right with the Little Italy pedigree of the restaurant that chances are you’ll remember the meal and “fuhgeddabout” the final bill.

Q: Ever watch reality-TV shows?

A: I watch absolutely no TV. I work every night.

Q: Never?

A: All right, Monday. My day off. On Monday, I have to watch Fear Factor because my 10-year-old daughter, Margeaux, insists on it. It’s kind of fun to watch with her. She’s always comparing herself to the girls on the show. She says, “I could do that.”

Q: Are there parts of the show you don’t like?

A: When they eat slugs and things like that. I’m not crazy about that.

Q: Is that the restaurateur talking?

A: Not really. That whole segment of the show — I usually walk away from it. It’ll definitely kill your appetite.

Q: How about your daughter?

A: She can stomach it a little better than I can.

Q: Is the show in any way real?

A: It’s interesting to see what people will do for $50,000. Is that real? I don’t know.

Q: Can you learn anything from Fear Factor?

A: Jeez, I don’t think so. It’s kind of like a strange sports game.

Q: What does your daughter get out of it?

A: Just the sensation of it, I think. She’s very competitive, very athletic. A major soccer player and a junior lifeguard. I think the competition is what she enjoys, especially when the girls are competing against the guys. That’s Margeaux.

Q: Ever watch reality-TV shows?

A: I watch absolutely no TV. I work every night.

Q: Never?

A: All right, Monday. My day off. On Monday, I have to watch Fear Factor because my 10-year-old daughter, Margeaux, insists on it. It’s kind of fun to watch with her. She’s always comparing herself to the girls on the show. She says, “I could do that.”

Q: Are there parts of the show you don’t like?

A: When they eat slugs and things like that. I’m not crazy about that.

Q: Is that the restaurateur talking?

A: Not really. That whole segment of the show — I usually walk away from it. It’ll definitely kill your appetite.

Q: How about your daughter?

A: She can stomach it a little better than I can.

Q: Is the show in any way real?

A: It’s interesting to see what people will do for $50,000. Is that real? I don’t know.

Q: Can you learn anything from Fear Factor?

A: Jeez, I don’t think so. It’s kind of like a strange sports game.

Q: What does your daughter get out of it?

A: Just the sensation of it, I think. She’s very competitive, very athletic. A major soccer player and a junior lifeguard. I think the competition is what she enjoys, especially when the girls are competing against the guys. That’s Margeaux.

It’s one of the truly wonderful things about living in South Florida: the ready availability of genuine island-quality jerk chicken. God help us, we love it so. The restaurants can be found in strip malls all over town, but our favorite happens to be in the center of the county, on the northwest corner of State Road 7 and Broward Boulevard. Donna’s comes with the classic Caribbean food counter, where you watch as they take a cleaver to succulently spiced meat, lay it down on a delicious bed of red beans and rice, and smother it in delicious gravy. Then comes the standard spare salad (finely chopped lettuce, carrots, and a tomato slice) and some of the best-tasting, sweetest plantains you’ve ever had. For eight and a half bucks, you get a meal that is generally too much for one big man and quite enough for two 110-pound women. If you don’t want jerk, go curry. And if you don’t want chicken, get the oxtail, goat, or fish. There are a few tables if you’d like to dine there, but we suggest you take it home — and make sure to save some for breakfast.

With the advent of this year’s Oscars, the Moulin Rouge obsession may be publicly overshadowed by a fascination with Chicago. But the “gay Paree” theme survives at Satine, where the luxe atmosphere is slightly wicked and the Caribbean-French fusion fare is a trifle sinful. So live a little. What makes this restaurant surprising is not that veteran executive chef Donna Wynter’s food is so darn good or that its afterhours nightclub fetes are so well-attended but that Satine is located in the lobby of the restored Diplomat Hotel. If the can-can heralds a new age in hotel dining, then do-do book us a room.

This place ain’t much to look at, but try finding a joint in these parts with tastier Jamaican food. Run by two sisters from Jamaica, Dutch Pot is part of Westgate Plaza at Broward Boulevard and 441. There are only three tables in the triangle-shaped dining area, and service is negligible, but the food is great and, judging by the high percentage of island clientele, quite authentic — and not overspiced in an overcompensating, American sorta way. You’ll find all the usual suspects — jerk and brown-stew chicken, stewed chicken, oxtail, rice and peas, escovitched fish, curry goat, jerk pork, steamed veggies, plantains, dumplings, yams, boiled bananas — in all their succulent glory. Best to just order ahead, pick it up, take it home, and enjoy.

A few months ago, executive chef Nick Morfogen placed an order for a pound of truffles. To his extreme surprise, not to mention his great pleasure, he received his order in a lump sum — a black Perigord truffle that weighed one pound. Being the savvy cook that he is, Morfogen immediately set about devising and advertising a menu that would highlight this rare treasure to its fullest potential, rather than exchanging the truffle for smaller ones that he could parcel out pasta by pasta. The customers who were fortunate enough to sample the truffled dishes that week were indeed impressed. This type of inspired opportunity-taking is only one of the reasons why 32 East has the edge on the competition, not just on the avenue but in the county. The others? Oh, just the usual: Morfogen’s outstanding technique and great imagination, stellar service, and superb wine pairs. If the East stands for all things rising, then we can expect 32 East to continue to grow in stature — even without the benefit of a one-pound truffle.

Kids love stories, and the history of this place is quite a tale. Why are the men’s room walls 16 to 18 inches thick? Because they are part of an old vault used by gamblers. See, the Rainbo opened in 1933 and was, until the 1950s, a casino that hosted gangsters including — and this is documented — Al Capone. It was closed until 1990, when Jim Durfy first unlocked the doors. In Rainbo’s modern incarnation, scenes from the film Cape Fear, with Robert DeNiro, were shot here. Then there’s the 124-year-old potbellied stove and the sitting area that Durfy has established in the front window. Our kids love wandering around the joint. They also get a kick out of the life-size dancing Santa Claus that Durfy, who is 70 years old, places outside the door every Yuletide. Our kids especially like the fact that there is no kids menu. If you are a clueless parent, you might not have realized that kids hate kids menus. Makes ’em feel inferior. But just a word to the waitstaff here and they will whip up kid-size portions. For breakfast, a pancake shaped like a rabbit goes for a mere $1.25. At lunch, a hot dog and fries sell for $1.95. But the real reason the Rainbo tops this category has little to do with any of this. Rather, it’s that all of Durfy’s nine children, as well as four of his grandchildren, work here. If he can deliver this many kids to this downtown Hollywood institution, then you should bring your tiny brood too. The place is open from 6:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day except Christmas.

The best part about eating at Yíasou comes when you order the flambéed cheese appetizer. A slice of the salty saganaki cheese comes sizzling to tableside in a shot of vodka that’s quickly set on fire. That’s cool, but what comes next is even better: The owner, or another family member working at this quaint restaurant, yells out “yíasou,” the Greek word for “hello,” as the alcohol sends flames to the ceiling. You might be thinking this sounds as genuine as the “Happy Birthday” songs at chain restaurants, but the sincerity of the gesture is indicative of this family restaurant. Follow the saganaki with the chicken Mykonos, a stuffed breast filled with spinach, feta, onions, and tomatoes. Finish with the unpronounceable galaktobouriko, a custard pie in honey-glazed phyllo.

Every year, it has become a challenge not just to find a truly fine Mexican establishment to rave about but to find the one that will topple chef-owner Eduardo Pria’s long-running institution from its near-permanent number-one position. The obstacles for newcomers are many — they have to visualize items like fresh diver scallops that have been dry-rubbed with Mexican herbs, skewered on sugar cane, pan-seared, and finished with a smoked chipotle aioli. Or learn to make empanadas like the ones filled with duck and topped with a green chili-toasted pumpkin seed sauce. Or become such an expert with chili peppers that pistachio nut-crusted pan-seared Keys yellowtail spiked with guajillo chili sauce is simply par for the course. So far, the only real competition has been Anita’s — and that Coral Springs restaurant is Eduardo’s sibling. But we’re begging you. Isn’t there any chef worthy to take up the blue crab-stuffed Gulf shrimp with pickled jalapeño tapenade gauntlet?

Go ahead, write in to the editors. We know that technically, this isn’t a new restaurant. The Sundy House, where De La Tierra is located, was restored about five years ago and has since undergone various menu and design changes. But the most recent transformation, which took place at the end of summer last year and continues in its evolution to date, is the one that has truly made Sundy House a dining destination of national note. The truth is, we could have given the De La Tierra restaurant any number of awards — Best Outdoor Dining for its tables poised under fruit trees so ancient they could have inspired Adam and Eve to sin with a mango instead of an apple. Best Organic Fare, not just in terms of the lack of pesticides that many of the tropical, locally grown ingredients boast but in the sense that the New World dishes derive naturally from the very land on which they are served. And let’s not forget Best Chef on the Fast Track for a James Beard Award, Johnny Vinczencz, who migrated northward from South Beach and has recently been tapped to cook at the James Beard House in New York City. So you might prefer the word reinvented or maybe even renovated. But we’ll stick with new, not just because this eatery has been so dramatic in its turnaround but because that’s how we feel — new as a just-born, subtropical, martini-lovin’ babe — every time we dine there.

Given the lack of a written menu in this trendy, eat-what-they-serve Italian bistro, prices are an equally unknown entity. Allow us to give a general guideline — they’re high. Really high. You just don’t know it till the bill arrives. Which is why it’s always wise to be supping with someone whose favorite phrase is (insert South Philly Italian accent) “Lemme take care of that.” When it comes to chef-owner Steve Martorano’s establishment, where gangster movies play ad nauseam and the scenes where characters get beaten down get turned up by The Man himself, trust us: There’s no forgot-my-wallet, dishwashing option here.

Judging by the dearth of Vietnamese restaurants in these parts, it seems that South Florida hasn’t been the first choice for emigrants from that Southeast Asian nation. At the very least, that’s a culinary pity. Maybe it’s the French influence, but Viet cuisine is a refreshing, light affair compared to, say, its Thai cousin, which usually comes slathered with rich sauces and big hunks o’ meat. Take, for instance, Pho Nam’s house specialty, the Vietnamese pancake: a thin, crispy crepe stuffed with onion, yellow beans, bean sprouts, and finely minced bits of shrimp and pork. At $7.50, it’s about the most expensive thing on a menu of meals that average about $6. The spicy beef salad, a $7 specialty that won’t leave you feeling bogged down after dinner, is made of thinly sliced beef, tomato, cucumber, basil, and ground peanuts over lettuce. You won’t find fancy décor at Pho Nam, which lies just south of Commercial Boulevard, but you will see a steady stream of Vietnamese customers.

Drive east on Atlantic Boulevard and evidence of the Brazilian enclave of more than 20,000 leaps out at you, from flag symbols on hair salons, cafés, and newsstands to the Saturday special called feijoada served up by Panorama Restaurant. The eatery has been preparing top loin steaks such as picanha e alcatra panorama, picanha a cavalo, and other favorites such as oxtail stew and tripe for a largely Brazilian clientele for nearly a decade. The only other thing that may divert your attention from the waft of seasonings coming from the kitchen is the large-screen TV in the front that broadcasts the jogo bonito — the beautiful game that is Brazilian soccer.

Remember the good ol’ days, when chain restaurants like TGI Friday’s were good enough to inspire hour-long waits for tables? Those days are here again at Houston’s, and it’s due in large part to the quality and consistency of the largely wood-grilled, American food. This is the place to count on for an accurately cooked steak, a juicy piece of chicken, a tender rack of ribs, and a decent and fairly priced bottle of California Cab to wash it all down. It helps too that the atmosphere is buzzworthy, that the bar is an ideal place to either take or pick up a date, and that no one throws peanut shells on the floor, wears silly buttons on their uniforms, or sings obnoxious songs in honor of some patron’s tenth birthday. In short, Houston’s is a chain restaurant for our inner adult, a part of ourselves we all must learn to understand and indulge.

Take into account the décor, dotted with memorabilia and photographs. Consider the manner of service, warm and hospitable. Above all, note the menu, dotted with dishes like “Grandma Kay’s farfalle,” “pollo alla Alfred,” and “Ginny’s shrimp fra diavolo.” Clearly, the quintessential Italian family is alive, well, and cooking in Pembroke Pines. Indeed, Bruno’s claims that it is “proud to celebrate the time-honored traditions of La Familia Italiano… shar[ing] love, laughter, and of course, the most wonderful food.” In turn, we’re just as proud to honor this family restaurant for permitting others to partake of the love, laughter, and especially the lasagna.

Competition has become tough in these parts for Argentine steak houses. There are just so darn many of them. That’s why it’s the ones that stay tender — like Argentango Grill — that win out. But juicy, marinated steaks and grilled sausages aren’t the only reasons this place rules the Latin roost. Argentango also presents delicious South American and Italian options ranging from excellent empanadas to superior pastas, tangy shrimp ceviche to succulent Caprese salad, and grilled sea bass to caesar salad. The result is that you feel neither energetic nor sexy enough to follow a meal with what the name of the restaurant implies, but at least your palate will be dancing in delight.

Out of sight, out of mind. If you want to disappear with that special someone from your office without your co-workers finding out, you’ll find ready concealment here. Many of Punjab’s tables are located in the center of its open and airy dining room. Around its periphery, however, await a dozen or so lace-shrouded alcoves. Seating up to four, these six-by-five-foot niches are a shelter from prying eyes and ears. For you romantic types, these cubbyholes of love are private enough for confessions of love and kisses that need not be stolen.

The delicious smells emanating from this place tell the complete story — the fare here is elegantly prepared, flavorful, and satisfying. Granted, you won’t be finding jellyfish and sea slugs on the menu, nor will you see shark’s fin soup or tripe. But while Jasmine might stick to regional basics such as yu-hsiang lamb, lobster Canton, and shredded beef Szechuan-style, you can rest assured it’s also sticking close to quality control — the lamb is succulent, the Maine lobster fresh, and the beef fiery. An array of noodle dishes also yields items like the sesame chicken lo mein, an item more readily available in Boston’s Chinatown, which makes sense when one considers that the sibling restaurant to Jasmine stems from Andover, Massachusetts. No matter its origins, though, what you can depend upon is results, and like the night-blooming jasmine itself, you can bet this place reaches its peak every evening.

The focus on Spanish food these days seems to be all about the avant-garde gelatins and foams with which the young chefs, many from the Basque region, are playing. Imagination has its place, but so does tradition, which is why we’re grateful to chef-proprietor Jorge Luis Fernandez. Where other Spanish chefs are taking paella and putting it in the blender, Fernandez is serving the rice dish as it should be, though he is hardly ignorant of progress and process — the vegetarian paella, for example, is made up of organic roots and vegetables with the rice and saffron. Fernandez has as firm a handle on international flavors as he does on his classic mustache. Thus, you can get anything from Australian lamb chops to French cuts of meat. But keep in mind that the tapas, including sautéed cuttlefish or pickled white anchovies, are generally so good that it’s all too easy to fill up on the first wave.

Mancini’s has a voguish-looking interior with a huge, bristling chandelier, like a cluster of giant pods. But it’s on the broad sidewalk outside, where the restaurant has staked out an impressive chunk of Las Olas Boulevard with a couple of dozen linen-swathed tables, that you’ll see the deals being made. All the usual suspects are there, the same folks who used to frequent Mark’s on Las Olas (which has decided not to serve lunch during the off-season): politicians, developers, well-heeled tourists, the yacht crowd, and the occasional celebrity. The ambiance has a certain European feel to it, including the service, which is, oh, a half-step slower than that in some of the clattering establishments a block or two farther south. (I mean, are you here to suck down food or to eat?) For their epicurean indulgence, patrons get savory, steamy food with all the requisite olive oil and garlic. A caesar salad goes for $7, a tasty linguine alle vongole, $14, a slice of fresh grilled salmon adorned with greens, $16. Good and somehow entrepreneurially satisfying. As the waiter serves the cappuccinos, that condo tower project you’ve been talking about with the guy across the table should really start coming into focus.

Given the crowd you’re likely to see gathered around the entrance of Galanga on any given night, you might not expect much attentiveness once seated. But the energized waitstaff at this stylish establishment seems to thrive on its patrons’ food lust. They bob and weave about the tables — and around one another — at a healthy gait. Like Siamese royalty, you’ll likely have two or more servers waiting on you during any given meal and another troupe of young men whisking away dirty dishes with military precision. The service bonus: a tiki bar outside the front entrance that makes any wait for a table a bit more palatable.

Q: Do you watch reality-television shows?

A: Is that an oxymoron?

Q: Maybe.

A: I don’t really watch them, but my wife does, so I have no choice. Fear Factor, American Idol, Survivor, the one with the bride. My favorite is The Osbournes. I’m an Ozzy freak.

Q: What do you like about it?

A: It really interests me to finally see what goes on behind the music. The home life, the everyday life. I always defended him over the years. I said he was not such a bad guy, that he was a family man.

Q: Is it real?

A: Definitely. Especially all the vulgar language.

Q: Is that a good thing?

A: Well, I can see some conflict from it. You’ve got children saying, “Oh, Mommy, the rest of the world is acting like the Osbournes. Why can’t we?” But then Ozzy displays family values. Maybe that’s a good thing to see on TV. A lot of parents will know they’re not alone.

Q: So reality television is a mixed bag?

A: I think it’s sad that, for all the things we used to do as human beings, now we think we have to turn on the TV to see how to do it.

Down a driveway festooned with flowers, inside this clean, well-lighted place, the deep-red, juicy, sun-ripened tomatoes of your dreams and memories beckon. These are the kind of tomatoes that your mama liked best sliced thick, slightly salted, doused with a couple of drops of vinegar, and sprinkled with chives. The kind of tomatoes that had so much flavor that even that light treatment seemed like dressing up the already divine. The kind of tomatoes that you grouse about not finding in the supermarket anymore ’cause they keep picking ’em before they’re really ready. At Batten’s, they’re choosy about the produce they sell. Forget that awful trepidation you’ve come to feel when faced with those bright red strawberries or deep orange tangelos that tempt you with their visuals and taste like cardboard once home. Batten’s takes care with the produce it trucks in. But, most important, it grows its own — tomatoes, eggplants, cucumbers, strawberries — and has been offering its agricultural bounty for sale for 33 years. The owners know their produce, and they also sell fresh-cut snapdragons and sunflowers from their fields from time to time. Usually in March and April, Batten’s offers a section of the strawberry fields for customers to pick their own. Inside the store, employees stationed at a strawberry counter fill quart and pint containers of strawberries all day long. At $1.25 a pint, take two. For real produce bargains, check out the discount table.

Yeah, we know his products are everywhere, from airport terminals to frozen food sections in supermarkets. But truth is, Wolfgang Puck is the granddaddy of the designer pizza, and his signature, wood-fired pies — those made in his restaurants and cafs, that is — never disappoint. That’s because, from a global perspective, there’s something for everyone: Thai chicken pizza with sauted bok choy, chili-peanut sauce, and cilantro; a “BLTA” version with applewood bacon, romaine lettuce, Roma tomatoes, and avocado; and the famed smoked salmon-dill-creme fraiche combo. Traditionalists looking for New York-style pizza can be just as satisfied with the classic Margherita, pepperoni, or the “mushroom-mushroom” pie. Given his worldwide success, no doubt we’re not the only ones to appreciate Puck’s well-rounded talents.

It’s easy to forget that fast-food-created image of a hand-held burrito filled with some greasy attempt at meat when you sit down to the ones at La Bamba. Here, they’re swimming in sauces, including the earthy ranchera or the slightly sweet green tomatillo. They’re stuffed with carefully marinated beef, chicken, or hearty chunks of crab meat. And most noticeably different, the five burritos on La Bamba’s massive Spanish and Mexican menu are the size of a small Chihuahua (the dog, not the state). They’re served with refried beans and yellow rice — which, here, is packed with the flavor of garlic and onions. The lunch burrito special (imagine the size of a Chihuahua pup) rings in at just $6.50 — and should make those fast-food varieties obsolete.

Palm Beach County Commissioner Burt Aaronson ruined this category for us recently when he proposed punishing the homeland of Balzac, Renoir, and Moliere by renaming the fried potato. Responding to the French preference for conversation over ammunition in Iraq, this loon actually suggested terming spuds “freedom fries.” In an effort to punish the frogophobe, we disqualified all Palm Beach restaurants from this category. Instead, we looked to Hollywood, where ragtag antiwar demonstrations were a staple of the spring. Argentango, the best of the bunch there, offers two kinds: regular and Provençal. The regular ones are crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, and go for $3.50. The Provençal types cost $4 and are sauted with garlic, parsley, and olive oil. The true epicure can skip the ketchup and add chimichurri, an Argentine steak sauce that includes lemon and garlic. Sure, the cost is steep compared to street-corner fast-food shacks, but Argentango’s insistence on providing a full place setting for a mere side order of fries makes the extra couple of bucks a worthwhile investment. And though it can take 15 minutes to get the little papitas out of the kitchen, you won’t regret visiting. At McDonald’s, you can’t drink Bud Lite while watching Jennifer Lopez dance half-naked on television.

Age-old question: What makes a hot dog great: the meat, the bun, or the toppings? Those of us who won’t settle say you need all three to be truly satisfied. That’s why we don’t hesitate and aim right for the “Big Italian.” A half-pound of all-beef dog is grilled, slapped on a ten-inch-long ciabattini (grinder bun), then smothered with sauted potatoes, peppers, and onions. The counterpoint of textures, from crisp skin to toothy potatoes, the medley of flavors from spiced beef to bell pepper, the lingering indigestion that brings a warm feeling to your heart all night long — you couldn’t score better from a pushcart on the streets of Little Italy during the San Gennaro festival while quoting Moonstruck and waving an Italian flag. You prefer the dogs somewhere else? Snap out of it!

It’s hard for a place that offers 50-plus burgers to displease. After all, if a customer doesn’t like the taco, teriyaki, or turkey burger, he or she can always go further afield and sample something like the sea burger (barnaise and seafood salad). But even more important than not going wrong is going raw, which is the easiest way to prove the quality of the product here. Indeed, only a supremely confident burger joint would offer a tartare burger — seven ounces of raw sirloin mixed with raw egg and served with toast points. Match a burger, raw or cooked, with a basket filled with deep-fried onion rings or sweet potato fries and you’ll see why Lindburgers does the lindy around the competition.

An outstanding barista possesses all the skills you’d expect in a top-notch bartender: sense of humor, gift of gab, willing ear, and flair for mixology. But a barista does so while manning a scalding espresso machine. Shaven-headed and occasionally goateed, Franklin can quickly turn the first-time patron into a regular by recalling a drink or a name or some other personal minutiae on a follow-up visit. He has a knack for drawing together strangers in line awaiting drinks by handing them a topic to kick around. He can regale you with the tales behind the dozen-or-so concussions he’s received in his life, a few of which are certainly worth the price of a cappuccino. Eventually, he might tell you about how he once cajoled a Two Street regular into brewing up a pot of Scandinavian “egg coffee” on the premises. Of course, let’s not forget Franklin’s commission behind the counter in the first place: to deliver caffeine treats. In this, he’s scrupulous, so don’t be surprised if he dumps out a shot of espresso that he judges to have come out not quite right.

Now, we know this statement is tantamount to wearing a Che Guevara T-shirt in a Cuban-exile neighborhood, but it needs to be said: The cafe con leche at Tulipan Bakery rivals any cup you’d get in Little Havana. But as a warning to those who think coffeehouse means comfy couches flown in from Seattle, this place is far from the chains. Here, there are no seats; you drink girlie sips of cortadito while leaning on the drab counter, which separates visitors from the team of women frothing milk behind it. Make sure to accompany those potent cups of joe with finger-shaped croquetas bursting with bits of gooey, hammy goodness. Or stuff yourself on flaky cheese pastelitos, with a caramelized coating of sugar and smooth cream cheese on the inside. And even though you’re 60 miles from Miami, feel free to order in Spanish.

This special Albertson’s has one of the largest and most eclectic selections of prepared foods in South Florida. The hummus with whole chick peas or fresh pinenuts is worth a trip in itself. It’s not even in the same family as the pasty spread sold in most supermarket deli cases. Roasted chicken, stuffed derma, cholent, stews, soups, spring rolls, dozens of salads (eggplant, cucumber, vegetarian mock chopped liver), and a rabbi-certified kosher bakery will satisfy even an Orthodox grandmother. But if you want to mix your milk with your meat, they won’t throw you out of the store. Two separate deli counters line an entire wall of the emporium. The non-kosher department has a full selection of meats and cheeses along with hot wings, fried chicken, half a dozen kinds of potato salad, cole slaw, and macaroni and cheese. Where else can you get a real knish for your bubbe and a ham and cheese sandwich for your Aunt Teresa?

A visit to Penn Dutch is a celebration of Broward County’s distinctive polyglot of humanity. The pathway to the cash register is blocked by a Haitian woman. The dairy case is momentarily inaccessible while a French-Canadian couple holds a culinary conference. Before one can grab a hot loaf of freshly baked Cuban bread, one must wait for an African-American family, shopping cart larded with shrink-wrapped rib eyes, pork loins, cold cuts, multiple packages of hog jowls, and several loaves of French bread poking out of the cart like strange cacti, to move. Mondays and Wednesdays are the slow days, according to an employee. But slow is a relative term at Penn Dutch. It’s a madhouse on other days, she says. For the seafood consumer, that’s exactly the point. Busy is good for seafood. Busy means the product moves. Busy means fresh. Penn Dutch must replenish daily. Plus, buying the quantity it sells, its prices are cheaper than most other markets. In the early spring, for instance, salmon steaks were $3.49 a pound, grouper filets cost $8.99 a pound, and yellowtail tuna filets were $7.99 a pound. At those prices, eating healthy won’t give you an ulcer.

Fourteen years ago, Jeffrey Fisher decided that his future came down to one word: macadamia. So he planted more than 100 trees from a special hybrid that produces easy-to-crack nuts on his two-acre farm in Davie. But it wasn’t easy — Broward County officials told him that macadamia nuts couldn’t grow in South Florida and refused to give him the regular agricultural tax exemptions. Out of that frustration was born his rather scandalous slogan, “Let Me Show You My Nuts.” He proved them all wrong, and despite numerous setbacks, his vision has come to fruition. When he opens his farm to the public on weekends, he sells trees (from $30 to $75) and, of course, bags of nuts (at six bucks a pound). If you’re lucky, Fisher will also have some of his delicious macadamia-nut honey and cookies for sale. The place is more than a real treat — it’s a great testament to a true South Florida visionary, however nutty he might be.

On a hot South Florida day, a frosty draw of vitamin-C-packed succulence sure slides down smooth. That’s why the shake counter at Bob Roth’s stays busy. This is a fruit stand where you can take home a slab of alligator meat or a fresh-baked key lime pie. And when it comes to shakes, you can bet they’ve got the real thing, none of that gooey strawberry syrup-type flavoring, thank you. Just fresh and frozen fruits, blenderized. You can order a creamy orange mango shake, plain and simple, or have mango complemented with banana, or mango-strawberry-banana, mango-coconut-peach, or mango-coconut-peach-banana. Or mix them all together. If you don’t like mangoes, you can order any of those other fruits separate or combined any way you want to suck it. All at the sweet price of $3.50 for a three-fruit combo.

Two ways to enjoy a slice of New York-style pizza — fresh out of the oven the first time around, and fresh out of the oven the second time. Many of us who grew up near that venerable town prefer it the latter way, as reheating tends to give the crust a firmer edge and bottom and the tomato sauce more chance to meld with the cheese. The Primantis have the method as down-pat as a Soprano frisking a rival Mafia gang member. Any time of day or night, bunches of pies hang out in the shop, waiting for customers to point out the perfectly aged piece for another embrace of wood-fired heat. And if you don’t believe the results are as good as we say, we’ve got blisters on the roofs of our mouths that prove it.

Caviar, lobster, truffles, pate, prosciutto ham, excellent wine — you know, the finer things in life. Some of the price tags will blow your mind. It’s all behind a little Las Olas storefront, and if you have to ask the cost, you probably can’t afford it. Leave that for the hoity-toity folks who frequent some of the more ridiculous shops in the tourist district. What really makes the Mediterranean special are the gourmet sandwiches and salads at the deli, and at under six bucks each, they can be had by us hoi polloi. We’re talking thinly cut seared tuna over a bed of mesclun with fresh tomatoes, a dab of wasabi, and oriental dressing. Try the chicken caesar, which comes with a cup of fresh pasta and deli pickle. Or the outrageously tasty tomato and mozzarella salad. If you’re wondering why you never heard of the place, it’s because it doesn’t advertise. The originality and quality of the stuff sells itself.

Oh, sure. You can go to one of those other farmers’ markets and buy your fresh produce. But when you’re done here, can you go to the circus, grab some fast food, and then pick up a knockoff designer dress and some cartridges for the ol’ Atari 2600 before returning home? We didn’t think so. Of course, the Swap Shop’s farmers’ market has all the usual apples and oranges, but you can also locate a lot of those hard-to-find fruits and vegetables in the market’s stalls. You’ll find papayas, mangoes, ginger, cactus, a multicolored rainbow of peppers, malanga, chochos, and even those cute little baby bananas. (OK, OK, they’re called platanitos, but baby bananas just sounds so precious.)

In a world of supermarket-sized health food stores, complete with mergers and corporate takeovers, we love this little individually owned gem tucked away in a tiny shopping plaza in Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. Nature Boy has a small but specially selected stock, a full menu, a handful of aromatic daily specials, and a long counter staffed by a friendly proprietor. The place screams, “Welcome.” The shelves feature vitamins, a focused array of packaged and canned goods, and a refrigerator full of healthful drinks. The Far Out Salad takes us back to the ’70s, as does the prominently featured brown rice and the alfalfa sprouts you can add to any of the dishes. A dozen types of smoothies, miso or seasonal soups, salads, sandwiches, nori rolls, and a couple of varieties of tofu round out the menu. The store closes at 5 p.m., which guarantees friendly service — who wants to buy food guaranteed free of artificial growth hormones from a cranky, overworked proprietor? This woman knows how to take care of herself so she can come back the next day and provide you with some tasty nutrition.

The stars of this upscale French bakery glimmer in the capacious glass pastry cases: fruit and lemon tartelettes, pear and apple amandine, napoleons, croquembouche, baba au rhum, clairs, and fruit pies. Once you’ve fulfilled the difficult task of selecting one of these delicacies, sit down and enjoy an ambience unusual for a bakery. The store’s interior design includes elements of a street in a small French village. As a water fountain gently trickles at one end of the high-ceilinged boulangerie, it’s easy to imagine you’re eating in the land of the Gauls.

Chesapeake always smells like bagels. That’s how you know you’re in the neighborhood of the real thing. Owners Carolyn and Darlene keep a vat of bagels boiling (gives it that shiny crust) and the oven ready for baking all day long. The kneading machine looks like a water chute. Starting at 6 a.m. on weekdays when the doors open, the customers pour in here. Open seven days a week, Chesapeake is there for your fresh-bagel jones. Saturday and Sunday, Chesapeake opens at 6:30 a.m. And it’s only 65 cents for a single. The best deal, though, is the day-old. When toasted, the outside becomes crunchy, the inside light and chewy. All this at six-for-$1.

The new chocolate shop on Wilton Drive will raise your blood sugar to lethal levels. If you’re a diabetic, stay clear. If not, take the name of the establishment seriously — you’ll find yourself being engulfed by the cozy, foresty environment. The warm darkness makes you feel like you’re under a canopy of trees, and the big-cat faux-fur furniture is atmospheric rather than tacky. The ambience is perfect for ingesting cacao and sugar. The caf has managed to put together a creative mix of cakes, candies, and drinks, along with some original treats: cheese cake hand-dipped in Swiss chocolate; chocolate spoons, also hand-dipped, that retail for 75 cents; and the aptly named Chocolate Beast Cake. The Chocolate Forest is also one of the few places outside of Las Olas where you can enjoy sidewalk tables in balmy weather. So what if it’s a little humid. You can’t get cappuccino truffles in the rain forest.

By now, we shouldn’t have to tell you about those delicate Krispy Kreme donuts that melt in your mouth. Like the rest of us, you’ve probably stuffed three, or a dozen, glazed pieces of heaven into your drooling chops on your way home from the gym. We don’t have to tell you the ol’ KK has the best donuts, because you’re surely already addicted and because there’s simply no competition out there. A dozen local bakers we called say they don’t sell donuts, knowing they can’t compete with Krispy Kreme, our perennial Best Donuts winner. And let’s face it, good coffee aside, Dunkin’ Donuts just hasn’t figured out that serving those fried rings of dough warm makes them that much better. So in honor of the king, let’s go grab a few while they’re hot.

Your shirt’s clinging to your back, your tongue feels like cotton — and it’s not even summer yet. Eesh. It’s times like these that we’re grateful for Flip’s Ice Caf, a new-‘n’-cool refuge from South Florida’s smothering heat and humidity. This ain’t your grandma’s ice cream parlor. Rather, this hip little spot — a cheerful oasis of blue, white, and yellow — offers just about every frozen dessert you can dream up. There’s ice cream, water ice, cream ice, gelato, yogurt. Or perhaps you crave a sundae, banana split, flying saucer (ice cream sandwich), yogurt cone, ice cream cake, or pie? You get the idea. There’s also a flavor for every taste: cannoli, peppermint stick, cinnamon, malted milk balls… “People die for the maple walnut ice cream,” says owner Brian Manna, who, along with partner Pete Floris, opened Flip’s in April. “And the coffee-flavor gelato will blow your drawers off. One spoonful and I’m buzzing around for an hour.” The partners, who also own six Ice Cafs in New Jersey, make all their desserts from scratch with ingredients imported from Italy. “We moved down here,” Manna says, “because we wanted to be in a market where there’d be demand for frozen desserts all year.”

Italian-style gelato that’s handmade on the premises. Popular Latin combinations such as dulce de leche and zabajone, not to mention refreshing fruit flavors ranging from strawberry to kiwi. A host of desserts, including banana splits, profiteroles, and sundaes, along with choice of beverages that run the spectrum from ice cream sodas and milkshakes to natural juices and cappuccinos. We might expect this from any decent ice cream parlor or gelateria in South Florida. But one that also takes credit cards and delivers? Those options make i Fiori the Dairy Fairy, though we suspect she gets kickbacks from the Tooth Fairy when we’re not looking.

Besides having the Florida kitsch factor down with a scenic Intracoastal view, a cozy bar, and funky antique tubs and toilets, Le Tub has some damn good food too. Its decadent key lime pie is one of the finest this side of the Seven Mile Bridge. After devouring a slice, you’ll be dreaming about it for weeks. That’s right. You and a tub full of key lime pie — the stuff dreams are made of.

>Where do I love Tea? Let me count on Lily’s.

I love Tea to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach,

Which is usually up the staircase to Lily’s finely decorated tearoom.

I love Tea freely,

Though I’ll gladly shell out the $2.75 to $4.50 for a freshly brewed pot here.

I love tea purely,

But others might crave Lily’s soups, salads, sandwiches, and quiche.

— Elizabeth Barrett Darjeeling

A caesar salad by any other name smells as pungent, peppery, and Parmesan-y, right? Well, not always. That’s why we rely on this catering and carryout luncheonette for a satisfying caesar that revolves around crisp romaine, fresh garlic, a smidge of anchovy, and a perfect smattering of Parmesan. You can get this baby topped with grilled chicken for an extra buck, and given the courtesy and customer service extended to everyone who walks through the door — or calls on the phone to have lunch delivered — you can also request a scoop of the homemade chicken or tuna salad on top. Not to mention a host of salad “extras” ranging from Portobello mushrooms to roasted peppers to sun-dried tomatoes, that Delicaseas will toss onto a sandwich or any other salad should you desire. But our favorite is a recently discovered combo that adds a bit of salt and spice: Delicaseas’ homemade crab cakes, which are breaded and fried to a crunchy golden brown. Try this on top of the traditional caesar and you’ll be well and truly hooked.

There’s no polite way to eat ribs. Knife and fork just don’t get at those narrow, grainy slices of pork, and it wouldn’t be any fun if they did. But you don’t want a rib that has to be gnashed into submission. Too much tearing at the bone and next thing you know, the barbecue sauce is all over your face and dripping down the front of your shirt and your jaw muscles are getting tired. For $13.95, Wings N Curls gives you a full rack of St. Louis pork baby backs that are heavy with tender meat and easy on your clothes and your mandibles. The juicy pork, enough for two diners with fairly big appetites, has just enough staying power to cling tenaciously to the bone while you gnaw your way through it. The barbecue has a fine, dark, smoky flavor (the recipe is proprietary, of course), no cloying sweetness there, making it a meat-eating experience for adults. The restaurant is a basic tables-and-chairs sort of place, with no-nonsense waitresses who cart the food in efficiently. For the full experience, go on karaoke Monday night, when diners can get up and sing Hank Williams or Patti Page songs.

A walk down Fort Lauderdale Beach may yield a variety of smells — some good, some not so good. But just try to walk past Aruba Beach Cafe and ignore the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting through breezy open windows. The Bimini Bread here is served in half and whole loaves, coated with a mouth-watering Aruba honey glaze and served with whipped honey butter. The whole loaf is a meal in itself, so if you’re looking to feast on an entre as well, be warned: All your energy may be spent licking your fingers.

Slow night at the diner this Monday night. So John Wilson, the middle-aged, wiry fellow who handles the counter, is taking care of a few chores. He’s atop the back counter, straddling an espresso machine and soft-drink dispenser, vigorously wiping the expansive wall mirror. He’s using coffee filters to swab, pages from the Sun-Sentinel to dry. He hops down, takes an order for a bowl of homemade chili, and hustles away to another task. “You folks don’t look like smokers,” jokes a nearby waiter to four elderly men and women who’ve plunked down in the heart of the smoking section. They remain, and the two women soon light up. The chili arrives. It’s thick. So viscous, in fact, it heaps. Slightly sweet in the first spoonful. A mounting spicy heat builds with each new bite. The beef is finely ground, the red beans firm and flavorful. “More iced tea?” Wilson asks. Indecision. “Hey, as long as you’re not driving…” he says as he whisks the glass away for a refill.

Once upon a time, a young man named Sindbad was wandering through the Everglades, lost and famished. Near collapse, he happened upon a tin can. He rubbed it to see if there was perchance food within, and suddenly the top popped off, smoke billowed forth, and a genie appeared. “I’ll grant you one wish for setting me free,” the genie intoned. “Falafel,” the starving man croaked. Poof! Sindbad instantly found himself seated at Sawaf’s, a plate before him crowded with 12 falafel, which, for the genie-less, costs $4.99. They were sorely large and of a deep golden brown. He bit into one and discovered it to be crunchy on the outside, moist and spicy on the inside. Just then, a waiter placed before him tahini, pita bread, and a heaping plate of olives and green peppers. “From the genie?” Sindbad inquired. “No,” the waiter replied, “we always include these with an order of falafel.”

If you’re the type who’s up with the early birds, sunrises aren’t the only breathtaking vision to behold. This friendly eatery offers up two eggs, potatoes, and toast for $1.69, Monday through Friday, or for $2.10 on weekends. For the heartier cheapskates among us, turn it up a notch with two eggs, two strips of bacon or links of sausage, and two pancakes for $2.99 on weekdays, $3.40 on Saturday and Sunday. Offer to buy breakfast for a couple of friends here and you’ll still get change back from a ten spot. Of course, if you want to indulge your frugal pleasures by your lonesome, you can take a seat at the counter. Sure beats dining on that early worm.

Buffalo aren’t endangered anymore — they got ranches full of them out West. And their meat is not only tender and tasty but it’s also good for you. Seriously. The American Heart Association has buffalo on its list of “Heart Healthy Foods” list. Why? Because it’s tofu compared to beef, having 70 percent less fat, 30 percent more protein, and half the cholesterol. Bison is the other red meat — and at Ernie’s, you get a delicious burger, along with the requisite fries and slaw, for just $7.25. If you don’t yearn for buffalo, eat something else. With a slogan like “Where conch is king, barbecue is a way of life, and the bar is open late,” you can’t go wrong at Ernie’s, a long-time staple in the area.

From 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. every weekday, you can stroll into the Cheetah Room, sit down, and choose from a full menu of food. That’s right, they got steak, pasta, pizza, and appetizers all for the taking. It’s free, but alas, there is a catch: You have to watch beautiful women dance naked on the stage. We are willing to make that sacrifice, however, as much as it upsets us, just to be able to say that there really is such a thing as a free lunch.

Remember how exciting going to the Melting Pot used to be? No? Hmm… well, fondue isn’t exactly the most exciting food, especially for a meal that leaves your pockets empty. In the heart of Delray’s Pineapple Grove sits Fásha, a hip, classy joint that wants you to know fondue isn’t boring. Its menu includes fancy cheese fondues for any palate, from wild mushroom to Caribbean habanero chile. For the main course, dive into a delicious helping of mahi-mahi or chicken breast with mango dipping sauce. And for dessert, enjoy bananas and chocolate or a toke of apple-cinnamon flavored tobacco from a hookah. (Yes, you read that right.) Fondue just got a bit more exciting. Dip, baby, dip.

Time flies when you’re having tzimmes. This sibling to Miami’s Rascal House celebrated its fifth anniversary this year, and Boca-ites couldn’t be happier that the doyenne is still dishing up the cholent, brisket, matzo balls, and babka. Unless, of course, they’ve decided to sup on some corned beef-and-pastrami sandwiches, which are overstuffed enough to provide a second meal the next day. Throw some half-sour pickles and onion-pumpernickel rolls into the doggie bag and you’ve got tradition as well as value — the very definition of a top-notch deli.

All you knee-jerky flag conservatives can pour out your French wines in protest if you wish. But even Toby Keith fans have to admit that the French know their desserts. What other country has done so much for (and with) flour, eggs, sugar, and chocolate? Pair that culinary tradition with a perfectly picturesque Las Olas location and you’ve got Caf la Bonne Crepe and its Paris-ready sidewalk tables, all packed with those who choose to linger over coffee and something sweet. Whether you’re tempted by a classic crepes Suzette drizzled decadently with Grand Marnier sauce, you prefer the purity of bananas and ice cream coated in a caramel sauce, or you’d be happy just to have any of the other 16 items on Caf la Bonne Crepe’s dessert menu awaiting your fork, then sit, stay, stop counting calories, and rediscover why, about 60 years ago, we thought those Frogs were worth saving — or perhaps why, about 220 years ago, they thought it would be a good idea to help us gain our independence in the first place.

In a rush? No groceries on hand? Don’t feel like cooking even if you had the strength? Don’t bother with the drive-through when you can just as easily hit up the King. Poultry lovers go forewarned with the knowledge that this takeout delicatessen in the Festival Flea Market Mall offers rotisserie fare that is neither chain-oriented nor mass-produced. In fact, there are so many options that it’s difficult to make up your mind, unless it’s to be healthy. From skinless fried chicken to balsamic-glazed chicken breast to spit-roasted whole birds, the King offers dozens of ways to keep your weight and cholesterol down without having to do the cooking yourself. But those who don’t diet don’t need to worry — there’s plenty of delicious chicken Parmesan, chicken-in-a-pot, and chicken cordon bleu to keep everyone on the home front happy.

Aroma is what is proposed, and aroma is what you get — the endearing whiff of leek dumplings in the morning, the inescapable scent of turnip pudding, the rich perfume of chicken feet in black bean sauce, the steam therapy of pork or chicken buns. Don’t get us wrong. We’re not complaining — we’re rejoicing. All too few Chinese restaurants offer this quintessential, scintillating snack cuisine, and we’re frankly just grateful that this shopping-plaza eatery does, not just for brunch but made-to-order at any time of day or night. The bonus is that Aroma lives up to its literal name as well as its implied one, Flavor. There is, of course, the stereotypical drawback: We’re hungry five minutes after writing this item. But then, there’s always the option of an early lunch.

The single person and the takeout-Chinese restaurateur have an interesting relationship. With the barber and the mechanic, there’s banter. With bartenders, there’s chat. But with the Chinese takeout guy, there’s not much to say. You order, “Szechuan chicken, hot-and-sour soup, and an egg roll. For one.” He gives you the price. You arrive ten minutes later to pick it up. You each pretend that you don’t know each other, but you do. You’ve seen each other before. Way too many times. This man knows your eating habits. It’s a relationship as personal as the one you have with your drycleaner (the man who knows your truly disgusting secrets). At East China, conveniently located in the Hub Plaza near the Firm Fitness Center (targeting those who want to eat kind of healthy but are too lazy to cook), the food is fresh and prepared just for your order, perfectly flavored and cooked, piping hot and waiting to be consumed in front of the television. The portions are large enough to lend themselves to tomorrow’s lunch. For those too lazy to cook and too lazy to pick up dinner, East China delivers within a limited area. But it’s closed on Sunday, maybe because nobody eats Chinese while watching The Sopranos.

Ragin’ Red’s isn’t much to look at, tucked away in a strip mall in suburban West Palm Beach, but its piled-on portions of Southern staples pack in those who don’t give a damn about dcor. The place is a barbecue joint by definition, with three kinds of ribs and well-smoked chicken. But Red’s (slogan: “Put some South in your mouth”) is also chock-full of Southern dishes like collard greens, cooked with a little vinegar and a mound of pork fat, and Brunswick stew, which has a little bit of everything on the menu thrown into it. Just like your mom would’ve cooked if she came from Dixie, nearly everything on the menu has some kind of meat in it, including baked beans laced with smoked pork. Red’s throws barbecued beef and cheese on top of French fries as an appetizer and stuffs an eight-ounce loaf of rye bread with barbecued pork and cheese for a dish called the Steamboat. You may leave Red’s with somewhat narrower arteries — and a new Southern drawl.

Originated by the slaves in the American South, “soul food” has become canonized, standing in for everything these days from the glue that holds a family together to a dieter’s guilty pleasure. Let’s not put too romantic a point on it. Truth is, the dishes were born out of a need for tasty sustenance — to make palatable meals out of remnants of bones, poor cuts of meat, and vegetables that were more like weeds. They were also meant to supply people who were forced to work way too hard with enough energy to keep them going. Fortunately, we have places like Soul Food 2 Go that keep it real — as in really good collard greens, highly caloric mac ‘n’ cheese, barbecue you don’t need to chew, beans you don’t need to fear. No icons here, just slow-cooked fare served quickly enough to be eaten at your own pace. And while soul food itself has unpalatable origins, the modern version of it proffered here is nothing but savory sustenance.

Barbecue devotees, bow down. Proprietors Tom and Helen Wright claim, via the restaurant’s motto, that they “give the glory to God.” We of the less-celestial stance lay the credit for their long-running success at a couple of secular doors: the plate-glass portal through which lovers of ribs, baked beans, collard greens, and rice with gravy surge on a nightly basis. Kosher worshipers can indulge in the moist and juicy chicken, smeared and seared with the eatery’s signature secret sauce; the not-quite-so-strict can head straight for sliced pork, pork chops, and fried shrimp. Regardless of religious leanings, however, Tom’s fans have one thing in common — they’re all true believers of the barbecue.

Given the recent political alliance between the U.S. and Great Britain, we’d say the year-old Frog & Toad has excellent philosophical timing: Each of the two amphibians, pictured in the logo arm-in-arm wearing flags as shirts and hoisting mugs of beer, clearly represent the individual countries, joining together in brewski compatriotism. Our question is this: Just who is the frog, and who is the toad? OK, that’s not really the query, especially when you consider the competitive trivia games that take place here every Wednesday evening. Then the questions get a little tougher, some even hard or obscure enough to baffle aging Ivy Leaguers whose formal education was, well, a long, long time ago. Fortunately, for the fish-and-chips aficionado, the fried cod remains tender, as do items like mussels in curry sauce and steak-and-mushroom pie, and just as hard to forget as the answers to such questions as “What is the best pub in Fort Lauderdale?”

Certainly the best raw bar in Broward County’s second-largest city on the strength of its raw seafood alone, Shuckums takes a step up into the pantheon of raw-bar gods this year by offering a 4 a.m. closing time, live bands, and a three-hour happy hour every weekday from 4 to 7 p.m. Got nothing prepared for dinner? Then a heap of shrimp with a couple bottles of suds at Shuckums should be in your future. The beachside location is ideal — there’s just something about being near the ocean when you’re sucking on a shrimp.

Surrounded by water that’s chock-full of fishies, South Florida has basically two kinds of restaurants: seafood and other. So it stands to reason that we eat a lot of sushi. Once the bastion of the brave, sushi bars are now nearly as American as hamburger stands — only wimps and wussies are afraid of chowing down on a little raw fish sittin’ on a ball of vinegared rice. So, we’ve selected Sushi Blues because it’s not for the ramen rookie, gari greenhorn, nigiri neophyte, nori novice, or temaki tenderfoot. Once you’ve mastered the beginning levels of the sushi/sashimi maze, the nothing-if-not eclectic Sushi Blues is ready to take you higher. Kenny Millions, the jazz trumpeter who also runs Sushi Jazz down the street, has messed with the menu here, adding odd items like filet mignon tataki in chardonnay wasabi, weird rolls (barbecued eel with… papaya?) that you won’t even hear of anywhere else, plus wonderful (and hard-to-find!) unfiltered sake — slightly sweet and milky-white, with a faint ester of banana — the perfect accompaniment to Sushi Blues’ slightly adventurous fare. So raise the bar, raise your chopsticks, and accept Sushi Blues’ challenge.

Let’s list the individual ingredients in the roasted chicken sandwich: chicken (of course), pesto, roasted peppers, sliced tomato, and arugula. Sounds pretty tasty. You could assemble all those ingredients on two slices of bread and have a pretty good sandwich yourself. At Gran Forno, though, the sandwiches vault somehow from pretty good to great. Partly it’s the bread onto which these ingredients are layered — fresh-baked ciabatta, one of many breads Gran Forno bakes daily. Ciabatta offers a satisfying combination of good crunch on the outside and a feathery-soft interior. But it’s also the proportion — of chicken to tomato to pesto to roasted peppers. There’s none of that gargantuan piling-on that Americans savor, not so much for the flavor as for the feeling that they possess more sandwich than they can eat comfortably. There’s a sense of rightness, of pleasure in limits at work here that causes the ingredients to meld together into a greater oneness of sandwich than any ordinary mortal can obtain. That’s why people line up to buy them on the weekends.