Thanks to the enterprising folks over at Rose Vine Winery, you can now do in a Federal Highway shopping plaza what it took Robert Mondavi acres and acres of expensive Napa Valley real estate to do: make your own wine. First, a winemaking specialist lets you sample a range of flavors and explains concepts like fermentation, clarification, and aeration. Do you want to make a fine Merlot? A peach Chardonnay? Something more akin to Boone's Farm? Once you've decided, mix different varieties of grape juice concentrates, which makes the potion more oaky or as sweet as you please. Add yeast (yeast + sugars = alcohol), take the temperature, and leave the mixture at the shop for about 45 days. (A winemaker will monitor it.) When you come back, you bottle your wine using high-tech electric bottling equipment, design your own labels, and stick corks in each of the 24 bottles your batch has produced. It costs $249 — just over $10 a bottle!
Over the past 20 years, this boutique has evolved from humble roots: It started as the Stock Exchange in Wilton Manors, a tiny closet of a shop jam-packed full of vintage textile treasures. Now (and for the past 16 or so years), it calls the Gateway Plaza home and has expanded its inventory to include every adorable shiny trinket you could possibly desire for your nest. From dishes cartooned with pictures of bad girls with even worse tattoos to atomic-print diner-style napkin holders, Jezebel turns your low-rent hellhole of a kitchen into a charming '50s diner. Need to add a little joy to that dank, windowless bedroom? Browse through sunshine-yellow blankets or snag any number of hanging paper lanterns. Sniff your way through tables of sweet and savory candles or take home feng-shui friendly room diffusers. Finally, scrub your whole pad down with aromatherapy cleaning products, sit back, and relax. Your digs will look, feel, and smell so good.
We all know that the softest, most sublime, and supple leather comes from Italy. Whether it's shoes, a jacket, skirt, pants, or even chaps, the Italians can make even the most loyal vegans want to wear it. And at Minimalista Furniture in the Gateway Shopping Plaza — where Sunrise Boulevard and Federal Highway converge/diverge — you'll want to strip off whatever you're wearing right there in front of the salespeople and the giant windows facing that busy intersection just to get as close as possible to the leather. Most everything in the elegantly and purposefully sparse showroom is featured in white and black — in true minimalist fashion. The prices aren't minimal, however. When you spend upward of $4,000 for that upscale leather sofa, can you really afford that extra end table?
He could have said it was the flux capacitor, and sadly, I wouldn't have known the difference. So you can imagine my surprise when the vehicle that I had nervously abandoned only 15 minutes earlier was already prepped for surgery, diagnosed, and broken down into words that even I understood. Nick said the "scary gasoline smell" that needed to be checked out was legitimately "A Scary Gasoline Smell" and that its cause was a laceration in my fuel line (then the term death trap was tossed around lightly). Instantly, cartoon dollar signs replaced my pupils, I clutched a nearby window ledge for support, my knuckles went white, and I asked the question that every owner of a wounded vehicle must ask: "Soooo, how much?" His response floored me even further, "How's $13.50 for parts and labor? Oh, and we can have it ready in about 20 minutes. Oh, and hey! Congratulations on quitting smoking — it must feel good knowing that you would have exploded if you hadn't!" Was I really getting my car fixed for less than the cost of an oil change and in about the same amount of time — as well as receiving moral support on a major life decision? Yes! But that's because I brought my plush whip to Rothe's. The Rothe family, Nick, and the rest of the crew at this busy little shop approach auto repair with an uncommon Zen-based flair: They not only see the inner beauty in every hoop-ride but they feel it deserves to live (and occasionally die) with dignity. So if your beater just quit beating or you're not emotionally ready to pull the plug on your '87 Pinto or hell — you're just scared of slick-talking grease monkeys, take it to the wrench-wielders who will give it to you straight. Take it to Rothe's.
Outside Competition Cycle Center, a hulking doorman sits on a chair, his vest appliquéd with rock 'n' roll patches and an embroidered outline of a middle finger. Inside, rows of gladiator-style body armor hang from waterfall racks like a daredevil army. Across from them, a weathered man in sun-faded denim and a beard worthy of a ZZ Top roadie examines the 40-foot-long, double-sided shelves of polishes, waxes, and soaps — searching for just the right combination of potions to make his first love glisten and shine. But it's the staff that really sets this joint apart. Competition's hog doctors know the best solution for every motorcycle dilemma. (Question: "Should I get real leather saddle bags or fake?" Answer: "Fake. Real leather cracks and falls apart. You only think you want it.") And they patiently dole out their knowledge to the newbies with credit cards and old-school highway hustlers who use only cash. So whether you're born to be wild or mild, Competition can help you look good doing it.
For a place with sand instead of soil, South Florida's got some persistent native plants. And if the long drive west on Griffin Road is any indication, there's no shortage of businesses that want to sell those plants to you. But the question you have to ask yourself is: "What kind of Eden do I want my yard to be?" And then, consider why you put so much work into maintaining grass — you can't eat grass. Start making your yard work for you by turning it into a lush mingling spot for edible plants, fruit trees, and sweetly fragrant night bloomers. To do that, you've got to go to the right nursery, and Flamingo Road Nursery has got your back (yard, that is) with the best selection of snackable plants in town. Increase your yard's cocktail-hour garnish potential by picking out a kumquat bush, a key lime shrub, or a lemon tree. Score an instant vegetable and herb garden from the mini potted starter plants. And when the grass-to-delectables transition is complete, pick up an Adirondack chair from the furniture section, take it home, relax, and enjoy the fruits of your labor by sipping on some homemade lemonade.
To get voted Best Pet Store, a place has gotta have pizzazz! It needs spunk, it needs that certain something that really puts it over the edge, it needs (drum roll here) "Parrotphernalia." Yes, that's right. Chippy the Pirate is as authentic to Florida as margarita lunch breaks, because at Chippy the Pirate, you can pick up any number of new, shoulder-clutching sidekicks and more dangly-rope pecking toys than even the most well-versed avian enthusiast could have predicted exists. Tiny suitcase-shaped cages are nested captives inside of giant bell-shaped ones and are then hung together from the ceiling or stored on shelves, snacks for the peckish that resemble trail mix or breakfast cereal wait patiently in their bins, and far in the back, hatchlings in incubators warm themselves in front of tiny light bulbs. While walking laps through the shop, browsers get more catcalls than are worthy of a New York construction site; but here, the flirtatious whistlers in question are the dozen or so parrots, each one lookin' for a little love. A braver shopper extends a forearm offering to a massive African grey and waits nervously as the creature wraps one, then two, talon-tipped feet around the makeshift perch. Others find themselves bobbing their heads along with the bebopping cockatiels and look as though they're sharing an iPod. Still others have discovered the endearing traits of the caique parrots, who cheerfully roll on their backs until someone scratches their bellies, then casually pick the pockets of the would-be adopter. It's so easy, in fact, to become enamored of the personality-rich companions that the shop's employees often have to double as the voice of reason. As far as their birds are concerned, impulse purchasing is discouraged. "If properly cared for," one girl explains, "many parrots will outlive their humans, and it isn't uncommon to include them in a will." So if you're ready to commit ("Polly wanna legacy?") or just prefer to visit — this pet shop has exactly what it takes to ruffle your feathers.
Musicians know that one of life's greatest pleasures is to plug in and turn on an amplifier: The hum as it warms up, a familiar sound promising future tones and harmonics served up loud. Knowing that she has a willing slave, the glowing red beacon of an LED bulb beckons the musician on. But she's a cruel mistress, that power-driven siren of rock — especially when nothing comes out of the speaker, the light goes off, smoke rises from the machine, and everyone in the venue is staring. A pain matched only by the frustration of knowing that the amp had already been "fixed" three times before, by some wanker who supposedly offered a good deal. Alpha Kinetix was created by Gary Philips in 1979 and has since grown out of its home in a cubbyhole at Ridenour to take over a bay on Dixie Highway (just north of Cypress Creek). Philips wields his massive knowledge of tube amplifiers, speaker cabinets, solid-state technology, advanced electronic circuitry, and history of power-driven music like a finely honed surgeon's scalpel. He fixes anything and everything that lets musicians make their music louder, and he does it expertly. More to the point, the stuff Philips fixes stays that way. He is at home with everything from superexpensive vintage Blackface Fenders to ultramodern boutique hybrids and doesn't turn his nose up at run-of-the-mill, workhorse solid-state circuitry. Don't expect the cheapest prices; do expect expert craftsmanship with incredible attention to detail and a severe lack of bullshit.
This Deerfield Beach discount store, between a Pier One outlet store and Costume World, is one of about a dozen in a locally owned chain. If the little girl in you can resist the pink plastic "Fancy & Cutie" comb-and-mirror set, perhaps the grown-up you could use the TGI Friday's hurricane glasses or a pack of three shower caps featuring colorful bowties. There are other gems mixed in with the usual dollar-store fare of cleaning supplies, toilet paper, and fruit baskets — like the decorative wall hanging that defines the word forever as "for all future time." Best deal in the house is the ceramic vase with Jesus smiling on the front — it's 99 cents for two of them. If you can't find something, the friendly staff will enthusiastically escort you through 12 giant aisles. Don't be surprised when a member of the crew of octogenarian regulars stops them to catch up on the neighborhood gossip. Debit and credit cards are accepted, and gift cards are available. So you can keep your cash tucked away. Try securing that cash with this impulse buy currently next to the register: a wallet chain.
As Gen Xers age, they take their love of thrift-store scavenging with them. The only difference now is that nobody has the time to dig through rack after rack of hideous garments to find the real treasures: sexy '50s hot pants, girly '60s swing coats, or coy '20s sheers. Time is too precious a commodity to run all over town, so hip kitties hit the ultimate shop for modern multitaskers: House of Vintage. This fashion nook is inside a '50s-era cottage, and from the foyer to the kitchen, every room is themed and its walls painted with bright retro murals. The living room acts as one giant jewelry box: dangly, heart-shaped, Lucite earrings hang above deco metal-mesh necklaces and bakelite bracelets with unlucky insects trapped inside them. The boudoir holds closets and racks of adorable dresses, neatly stacked vintage sweaters, and '50s circle skirts. Need a snack pick-me-up? Head back to House of Sweets, the shop's original (now revamped with black-and-white tile) 1950s kitchen, where sweet-tooth shoppers refuel with glass-bottled Coca-Colas and homemade cupcakes, cookies, and candies. So pop in, find an outfit, accessorize it (or let owner/stylist Michele Parparian do it for you), grab something slinky in case your date goes really well, and then stay perky with a sugar rush — because, after all, at House of Vintage, they understand that you're a busy gal.

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