Foodstuff

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

Call it the college fix if you have to. But there's really no better remedy for anything ranging from depression to overindulgence -- except the freshman 15, of course -- than the San Loco taco. Whether you go for soft or hard, request chicken or beef, ask for it vegetarian or lacto-ovo, it doesn't really matter. The secrets are in the freshly made ingredients and the assembly, which is darn near perfect every time. And that's just the basic versions. Slap a soft shell filled with guacamole around a hard corn shell taco and you've got yourself a guaco loco -- Prozac, Pepto, and pure gustatory pleasure, all folded up in one.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

>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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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 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.