Bars & Clubs

Men want her; women want to be her. Wait a sec... Women want her, too. We know, ladies, you're not gay; you just have a girl-crush on Julie. And who doesn't? Her bewitching green eyes. Her hair gelled into a little fauxhawk. An armful of ice cold Polish brews nestled in her glistening bosom. Just because PRL is a beer-and-wine kind of place doesn't mean the bartender doesn't need talent. Instead of memorizing some trendy shot every week, Julie spends hour after patient hour explaining the difference between a stout and a lambic, and she knows which pint glass or snifter to pour them in. Julie can beat you at chess while holding a snappy conversation — and my God, the way she wields a bottle opener! Just as you begin to feel totally intimidated, she'll pull some sweet and dastardly trick, like telling you how much she loves her puppy. Come with lots of tip money.

The lobby bar at the Ritz Carlton in Manalapan serves a delicious little plate of olives with its dry Sapphire martinis. There's so many of them, and they pair so satisfyingly with the cold gin and the light streaming in from the beach, that you can't help but have another drink. And then you're doomed. What to do? You don't want to go to Florida Stage, which is just across the street — it's very uncool to pass out in the middle of serious theater. And nearby Sushi Bon, though delightful, is probably not an option, as even good sushi can make drunk people yak. Anyway, you've just spent plenty of money. So why not just... walk? We recommend heading north. In just a mile or two, you'll see some extraordinary things. Just recently, we spied Ann Coulter standing outside of what was presumably her house, watching as a cute young valet from a nearby country club parked a car. Even if Ann's out of town on one of her peerlessly illuminating book tours, you might catch Rod Stewart weeding his lawn, Rush Limbaugh grazing in his, or Henry Paulson sitting glumly on his front porch, wondering how it all went so wrong.

The taxidermy foxes have seen better days. Their fur is matted and thinning in areas, but the artist captured them in that moment of frisky scuttling — just before some Brit shot them both full of lead. You can't help but make up stories like that about these furry scamps while knocking back pints of lager at the Fox and Hound. After all, their eyes stare at you — one pair from the fox on the bar and the other from the fox high up in a picture box on the wall. You suspect they used to wear monocles, or perhaps top hats. Surely they carried pocket watches and spoke with refined British accents that bordered on purring. Sometimes, around the holidays, the bar fox is decorated with a tiny Santa hat: That's got to piss off the fox on the wall, on top of the fact that the bar fox is already closer to the packets of crisps. Taxidermy décor does more than make us feel classy when we hang at the Fox and Hound; it makes us wonder. And for that, we're thankful.

There are two things you cannot school Kilmo on: playing the bass and cooking great bar food. Alligator Alley is Kilmo's joint, and it's his knack for combining freely flowing live music with a southern/Cajun menu that keeps us stopping in for dinner year after year. Ideal bar food must be absorbent, and the Alley has the best selection of fried in town. Kilmo uses a secret batter, but there have been less sober moments late in the night when he's dropped a few clues to its components: buttermilk, specially seasoned breadcrumbs, and "love." Check out their shrimp po' boy: this generous hoagie overflows with shredded lettuce, breaded and deep fried tiger shrimp, and remoulade sauce. It's enough to make Atkins quiver in terror and us squeal in delight. The rest of the menu offers fried gator, fried oysters, gumbo, ribs, and more. Everything is great. To eat a bad dish at this bar, you'd have to phone in an order to another restaurant and have it delivered.

Some smokers like to sit in a dense fog while they imbibe cocktails, absorbing just as much second-hand smoke as they do first-hand. But others, the more enlightened smokers, prefer to toke outdoors. And in the warm South Florida clime, that should spell out lots of options. Except that a surprisingly large number of bars here are hidden inside shopping centers. Then there's Anglesea — which looks like a funky little fishing shack and boasts a relaxed vibe to match. Technically you can't smoke at the bar inside Anglesea Pub. But hardly anyone sits at the actual bar anyhow. That's because the outdoor covered deck, and a few picnic tables near the canal, are where the action (and the occasional breeze) is at.

A room full of beer-swilling pirates swaying to loud AC/DC near the beach would be the best place to take the cool guests you're hosting — that is, folks you want to get drunk with, and set to reminiscing, not people you need to impress. This would be true even if the Pirate Republic were nothing more than a laidback bar across the street from the beach with cheap beer and good-looking girls. But it's a little more than that. Take the décor: Its walls are covered with pirate paraphernalia – skulls, planks, and more black flags than a Henry Rollins scrapbook. Plus, there's a store next door that sells mementoe ss, including "I want your booty" panties and life-size pirate dolls.

Not all DJs feel compelled to overwhelm their audience. And as an audience, we usually prefer they not try. Be content with more muted feedback: a foot tapping to a subtle beat or hips swaying in time with a record's mellow groove. That's the jazzy mood that comes from a Haviken Hayes set. HH consists of DJs Manifesto, JG, and whomever they feel like inviting to a gig. They have old school tastes in hip-hop, which they mix with funk and soul. Though this duo is based in Hollywood, its most recent appearances have been in Miami nightclubs like the White Room and lounges like the one at South Beach's Catalina Hotel. Here's hoping that for the rest of 2008, Haviken Hayes is a more familiar sight on the Broward and Palm Beach nightlife scenes.

Spirits features a wide variety of music from DJs that all know their stuff. That means you aren't just getting Top 40 diversity a la Rihanna and Sean Paul. Expect to hear some of the hottest jams in pop music, period — including hip-hop, Latin, R&B, dance, and electro. With distinct dance rooms, there's always multiple vibes being set by the DJs, and the club tends to draw sexy girls of all ethnicities — and hot guys, too. There's no shortage of skin here on summer nights, and as folks consume their fair share of spirits, the sexual energy in the club grows. Nowhere else does that manifest itself better than on the dance floor. Salsa lovers can get a workout here, as can dancehall fans. As for coolness, folks here seem to be more down to earth than the South Beach crowd. It's not because those with money don't hang; there's just a lack of pretentiousness as everyone parties on the same plane.

A gay bar is not to be confused with a gay club. A club is a very different matter — bright lights, hot bodies grinding against each other, cute underage boys shoving ecstasy tablets up their bums in the bathroom. Bars are for something else: for sitting there and drinking your beer and minding your business until some totally wasted freak ambles over and strikes up a conversation. This happens all the time at Monkey Business, but it's not oppressive — most nights, you can sit with a friend or three and be left in peace while the aging, bearish regulars and one strange old lady from the apartment complex across the street catch up on the gossip at the next table. Granted, plenty of people don't think a great bar is necessarily a peaceful one, but there are lots of places for those folks: Scandals, Sidelines, Georgie's, etc. Basically, nearly every gay bar in existence ever. But if you're one of those who want to get serenely blotto among good, unassuming folk, Monkey Business is for you.

Too often, happy hour means watery macro-brews and insipid appetizers. It's cheap, but you get what you pay for. The Grape on Las Olas gives this pub standard a sophisticated twist, offering discounts on its stock of over 100 wines, available by the glass for $4 to $7. Between sips, spread gourmet cheese across the pita chips, or munch on the sweet tomato bruschetta. Sounds a little more palatable than Bud Light and buffalo wings, doesn't it?

It's not blowing smoke to say the most appealing part of an evening at the Funky Buddha Lounge is the list of microbrews — there are more than 50 and they come from all over the country, brewed from all manner of fruit and vegetation. There are also almost 50 wines and more than 40 different kinds of teas. You can drink beer, wine, and tea in a lot of places, but you'd be hard-pressed to find another establishment with that and 40 flavors of shisha like the Funky Buddha. Have some cider before you start pulling on a bowl of some of the original house mixes like California Dream. Check out the freaky, nipple-centric art on the walls and listen to some acoustic tunes. Bonus if you can impress your friends with your ability to blow smoke rings.

Whereas many drink-slingers say they're only working the clubs until they land that modeling contract, win the Nobel Prize, or meet a sugar mama across the counter, Don Singleton treats his job like a profession and a craft. Even when he's off duty, he has kind words for his co-workers and gets people psyched about the bar. He can always be counted on for a Hawaiian shirt and a sly smile that intimates he's in on a secret. He deftly helps customers navigate a complex beer selection, and he never runs out of drink suggestions, which may include his secret-recipe Mango Madness. Request some obscure, show-offy drink and ask "Can you make that?" and Don will just chuckle. Of course he can.

This is not your mother's Chippendales. But it might be your father's kind of testosterone parade. The boys at Boardwalk dance in briefs, for an almost entirely male clientele. And, oh, the variety! Boardwalk employs buff guys, twinks, even bears — all young and tender. Buzz-kill alert for the male patrons: Many of the dancers like women as much as, or more than, men. Females have to sign a waiver promising not to have physical contact with the dancers — although maybe it should be the other way around, 'cause these boys are frisky! They'll slap a girl on her ass, pin her against the wall during a grind session, even give her a peek at their packages. Like any strip club, the drinks are overpriced, but what entertainment! And each night has its own theme, like Wednesday's "Spring Break Amateur Strip Contest." Yowza!

Hunting for the best margarita is a fun job. Aside from getting drunk in the name of research, you can learn a lot about what goes into making a quality margarita. While on the quest, you'll notice that size does not matter. Some restaurants serve margaritas big enough to dive into while some upscale haunts will dish them out in a martini glass. What's important is quality, and the folks at Azteca Real know how to make a quality margarita. Starting with a stellar tequila selection and fresh juices instead of simple margarita mix, the result isn't your average cocktail. Unfortunately, there is an intangible cost: The service at Azteca is borderline comical. But while some of the bartenders may lack tact, they make up for it tenfold when it comes to mixing.

For martini-drinking ambience, head for the lounge at Fort Lauderdale's St. Regis Hotel, where a jazzy score rolls across a vaulted ceiling of blond wood. But the St. Regis, like so many other upscale joints in South Florida, has an unexotic array of gins, and that's bound to rankle the true martini snob. He's liable to follow the scent of juniper berries a few blocks north along A1A to the Trina lounge, inside the Atlantic Hotel. Here one can find Martin Miller's, a brand whose British makers followed their gin obsession all the way to Iceland for glacial waters that are the world's purest. This is perhaps the deft touch of mixology and hospitality guru Nick Mautone, a consultant to the bar and restaurant. Mautone seems to have also imparted a few lessons to the bartending staff, who are wise to the subtle ways of martini creation.

It's dark, dank, and delightfully drunken. The old-timey wooden bar and chatty bartenders say, "Come in and spill your guts. We won't spill a drop of beer." The shadows and TVs constantly playing sports say, "Just have a beer and relax. Life isn't as bad as you think." And even if it is, what's better than a nice neighborhood bar to forget about who said what to whom. So your real next-door neighbors don't like you, and you're not about to stop playing Pantera at top volume when the mood strikes. Come down to Mickey's and meet your new neighbors: the doctor on the next stool who wishes he hadn't married young, the recent divorcee who wishes she'd fought for a bigger settlement, the Red Sox fan who won't shut up about how much he hates A-rod. It's like an episode of Cheers — with better nuts.

In Fort Lauderdale, you'll be hard pressed to find a bar as deeply connected to one neighborhood as Kim's Alley Bar is to Victoria Park. The pub is also a staple for a lot of city residents regardless of neighborhood — there's an allure to Kim's that is stronger than a zip code — but the folks of Victoria Park still love it the best. Everyday from 4:30 p.m. onward, you see locals headed there on foot. That's the best way to go because you can get blind drunk and not need to drive afterward. Kim's has pool, darts, ping-pong, and a killer jukebox, which makes it easy to lose track of time in this watering hole. The friendly bar staff treats everyone like Norm from Cheers, which isn't easy to achieve in today's rushed society. Kim's is a throwback. They're celebrating their 60th year in business for a reason — they know how to treat their customers right.

You want three things from the perfect bar. 1.) You must be able to smoke inside. 2.) Your fellow drinkers should be fun, interesting, approachable, and represent all neighborhoods and backgrounds. 3.) They've gotta have a lot of beer — like, over 100 varieties. In Hollywood, there's only one place that does all this right: PRL Euro Café. No matter what time you show up during business hours, from 5 p.m. to 2 a.m., you'll be pleased. During happy hour, from 5 to 7, you get two-for-one drinks. We're not talking just domestic Rocky Mountain swill, either. Think Old Speckled Hen, Belzebuth, and other tasty treats from far-off lands. Pop by in the evening and the long, narrow space is shoulder-to-shoulder with other Euro-brew aficionados. It's an easy environment for mingling since you all share a love of good beer and a loathing for shitty domestic draft. On the weekend, walk into (and stumble out of) underground art shows and drum 'n' bass DJ sets — all with a lit cigarette in hand. PRL might be heaven on Earth. It's definitely the perfect bar.

Sporting events are a drunkard's paradise in every respect but two: The tickets make a vicious cover charge, and getting a round means either waiting for the beer guy or waiting in a beer line, the last place you want to be when the game's big play goes down. You won't find those obstacles at Dania Beach Jai-Alai. You get the same vicarious, hop-induced ecstasy from athletic competition as you do at the football game, but without ticket charges or long lines. Jai-Alai being a European game, a certain amount of hooliganism is tolerated if not encouraged. So boo lustily, good sir! The more pickled you become, the more this bizarre sport seems to make sense. Soon you'll summon the courage to lay a wager on that boy in the yellow jersey, just because you can pronounce his name. And remember: All it takes is two friends to start a wave.

Your boy toy left you. Your momma yelled at you. Or you gave your phone number to a hottie who never called — and you scribbled it on the backside of your winning Powerball ticket. There is only one thing left to do: throw your worries in the fuck-it bucket and get totally schnockered. It has to be someplace where you won't run into the boss.  A place where there is a decent chance you could end up playing tonsil hockey with a good-lookin' stranger. It's imperative that the dress code allow you to wear a revealing tank top. At Mr. G's, fun-loving bartenders and a friendly crowd will support you in turning your frown upside down. Start off with a game of Beer Pong (on Tuesdays) or by observing the college-aged eye candy. Wash down those sorrows with a Jager bomb and keep your stomach in check with the Axl Rose egg salad sandwich (or just nachos). On a good night, the band will be loud enough to drown out your whine, the bar will be clear enough to dance on top of, and by the time G's closes at 5 a.m., a slew of silicone-enhanced dancers will have stopped in after their shift to help you refine your moves on the five stripper poles.  If you need anything at all, darlin' (a cab, maybe?), just ask the manager: his name is Bubba and he's totally got your back.

Once upon a time, gold digging was an art form. You had to master that "No, I'm not just into you for your money" look and not cringe when grandpa swooped in for a tongue kiss. But nowadays it's part of a mutually convenient, publicly acceptable arrangement. For validation, see Larry King and his string of ladies; Anna Nicole Smith and that really old rich dude; or former GE CEO Jack Welch and his 30-years-younger wife — who have been spotted at Seasons 52. If a man's there eating the filet mignon with veggies in a thyme-shallot reduction, he can afford to buy you a drink. And maybe later, a new wardrobe. And a penthouse in Manhattan. In return, you're expected to step up the appearance a notch: heels, manicure, short dress. Boys, you're in luck, too: A young male spy who was once scooped up by four European women and spoiled all over Palm Beach adds, "There's a lot of cougars there, too — a lot of women looking for young beefcake."

New Times has visited the Naked Grape thrice. The first time, we got into a long conversation with a toned fortysomething stud about the relative virtues of Renata Tebaldi and Maria Callas. The second time, we met a queeny young thing who had very interesting things to say about why Wilton Manors would instantly become a bastion of heterosexuality if ever viewed through a Hegelian dialectical lens (we had our doubts about that one, but it's what the man said). The third time, one of the Grape's crack sommeliers effused to us about Schopenhauer's Essays and Aphorisms. This is not the kind of track record you accrue in any old gay bar — and probably not even in most gay wine bars, of which the Naked Grape is one. Nay: this is a weird, weird confluence of forces. Comers to the Naked Grape should bring cleared palates, a desire to socialize, and big brains.

To be fair, most of the people you'll meet at the Women's Theatre Project are not lesbians. Hell, they might not even be women — though there's usually a chick-dominated crowd, there are some nights when the WTP audience is an even split. But plenty of lesbians do show up, and figure anybody bright enough to show up at WTC is one smart cookie. WTC is appallingly underfunded and confined to a tiny (though charming!) studio theater, but it is nevertheless one of the very best arts organizations in South Florida. They tackle smart playwrights like Wendy Wasserstein and Cheryl L. West and tackle them well — figure anyone with enough good taste to appreciate the WTC is gonna be a helluva conversationalist.

Nova Southeastern University boasts colleges of psychological studies, allied health and nursing, dental medicine, medical sciences, optometry, and pharmacy. What NSU decidedly does not offer is anything like a college town and campus. This leaves many very smart people socially frustrated. That's where you come in — to the Health Professions Division Library, perhaps weighted down with Journals of Cranial-Maxillo-Facial Trauma, or better yet, the Archives of Sexual Behavior. Play doctor with these students before they graduate and take the Hippocratic oath.

Who's to say that mastering quantum physics or molecular biology is any better a measure of intelligence than slaying D&D monsters or naming all the planets in the Star Wars solar system? At Tate's Comics one scores IQ points for these latter bits of esoteric knowledge, and one can also score a phone number. That's the object of Geek Singles Night, an event launched this year with the help of a flyer that shows Captain Kirk locking lips with Princess Leia. The boldest geeks go through a gauntlet of speed dating booths, where future sweethearts can compare comic book collections. More bashful geeks might prefer to take up a game of Jenga or challenge a rival to a light saber duel. Also, there's beer — because geeks need social lubricants, too.

Stork's is not a bar, and that simple fact is a big part of the reason Stork's is the best place in three counties for chatting up single gay guys. Bars are oppressively loud places where the getting-to-know-you chitchat constitutes gesturing at a stranger in such a way that he knows when to meet you at which bathroom stall. Stork's, on the other hand, is a lively little coffee shop and bakery where the chatter is buoyant but soft. Anyway, lattes make for friendlier conversation than liquor. Drunks are obnoxious.

Stork's again! Unlike most queer joints, Stork's has a poly-chromosomal clientele, and everybody's better for it. Viva la difference.

There are dueling theories about the best ways to meet single men. One is to hit a bar with a busy ladies' night; where the bait is, the sharks will follow. The problem that way is that you can run into too much scantily-dressed competition and the boys tend to behave like they're in a who's-got-the-crispest-striped-button-down-shirt contest. The other way is to hunt the prey on their turf. But sometimes dudes can't divert their eyes from the game and a plate of wings, and it's hard to sneak into the Marlins locker room. You need a place where you can get to know people in a group setting, relieved of the one-on-one pressure of dating; a place where you don't have to dress like a slut and can just stick your hair in a ponytail; a place where getting drunk isn't a prerequisite, although it's an option. You need a place reminiscent of high school. Here's a secret: The World Kickball Association has very little to do with kickball and a whole lot to do with guys wanting to flaunt their athletic prowess while watching you run around in knee socks. And they have nine divisions in Broward and Palm Beach counties.

So you don't have a girlfriend or a career? Then the one thing you do have is time, so why not put it toward a pursuit with some social value, especially if could help end your loveless streak? Volunteer Broward acts as a broker, connecting its deep pool of active do-gooders with roughly 600 nonprofits who depend on free labor to serve the community. The women you'll encounter here are totally unlike the ones who shot you down at the bar. Plus, when you're toiling side by side, ladling chicken soup for the unwashed masses, there's no need to coin the perfect pick-up line. Chances are you've already impressed her just by showing up.

Tired of scratching in your quest for a spot to play some serious pool? Chalk that cue and head to Corner Pocket Billiards on Oakland Park Boulevard. The place boasts 10 pool tables and three billiards tables, beer, wine, and cheap rates and specials. It' s spacious, clean, and well-lit, and the professional tables have plenty of room between them for pool sharks to circle. On a weekday afternoon, Corner Pocket is a great place to pick up a trick or two from the scores of old gentlemen who look like they know what they're doing, but any time is a good time to have a drink, flaunt your jargon, and play a few games to try to prove you're the best ball-breaker in town.

The poolside bar might be one of the greatest inventions ever — what better place to imbibe than with the dripping wet and scantily clad? And there's something sexy, seductive, and sneaky about invading high-class resorts for an afternoon of luxury. As poolside bars go, Cascades is all that and a bag of chips. Chill with half-naked tourists around a massive pool, groove to island music while bartenders whip up strong concoctions, or grab a table on the boardwalk and enjoy a stunning ocean view. The bar also serves burgers and salads to enjoy alongside your fruity umbrella drink. Treat yourself to poolside margaritas and enjoy eyeful after spectacular eyeful of beach and bikini. You'll never go back to your neighborhood dive.

A pint of Guinness should be a little shorter and a little thicker than your forearm. If you're in England, it should be a little cooler than room temperature. In America it should be much colder, but still a little warmer than the other beers at the table. The beer should not appear creamy — the foam and the brew should be cleanly separated, with the foam forming a neat little corona, a little over an inch thick, at the very top of the glass. It is acceptable if some of this stuff should ooze over the glass's edge and soak your napkin. This is a sign of bounty, and it should be appreciated. In our experience, nobody can pour a Guinness as quickly, consistently, and perfectly as the fine folks at Maguire's.

It's hot, loud, and way too crowded. But would you expect anything less from a rock club? The Culture Room books an eclectic mix of bands. On any given week they might have David Allan Coe, the Misfits, Johnny Winter, a local group of hardcore rockers, and northern Europe's meanest-sounding death metal makers. What sets the Culture Room apart from the other hot and sweaty clubs around, though, isn't necessarily what goes on atop the large stage; it's the nice, refreshing atmosphere just outside the main concert room. If you don't care so much about seeing your favorite rock stars up close, in the flesh, you can still rock out a few feet away, under the beautiful Florida sky — and watch a video projection of the show while you sip a beer. Or if you're really hardcore, as you pound Jägermeister and break the bottle over your own head.

Hotels near the freeway aren't normally hot spots for salsa. But Coco Locos, on the second floor of the Ramada Inn on Marina Mile Boulevard, makes short work of skeptics. The Caribbean sounds that blare from the DJ booth can turn the shy footloose, and by midnight, everyone's on the hardwood dance floor under the raspberry- and lime-toned strobe light. Señoritas get in free before 11; those looking to learn salsa moves will find obliging gentlemen. And should you have too much to drink, or wish to have your next dance horizontal, you're already at a hotel.

A sports bar cannot be built on plasma TV screens alone, and the weight of its success cannot be shouldered by girls in orange short-shorts. Merely serving wings won't ensure success any more than kegs of Bud will. To be the best sports bar you need added value, maybe by mixing the sports with a lingerie show, or Wednesday night Wii competitions, or live music from bands such as Knuckle Busters and Rug Burn. Connolly's does all that, plus it offers darts and pool leagues four nights a week, serves the requisite bar food, and always has the game — NASCAR, baseball, whatever — on its 20 TVs. We also love that it's independently owned — by a chick, no less. A word to the wise in football season: At Connolly's, it helps to be a Steelers fan.

This Irish pub has lots going for it, with full-bodied beers like Guinness on tap and a full menu with comfort food like shepherd's pie. Drink enough pints while sitting in one of its dark corners and you might actually feel like you're visiting the Emerald Isle. But the real action is outside, on Waxy's covered front patio, where yachties — the captains and crews of those multi-million-dollar floating exuberances — hang when ashore. Why Waxy's? It's just always been that way, since the place opened in 1997. Its proximity to Port Everglades and several large marinas likely helps draw the international boat-hand crowd. Rugby and football matches on the telly help, too. And the breezy front porch is sailor heaven.

On Friday evenings starting at 5:30, the portholes at Wreck Bar in the Sheraton Yankee Clipper (91140 Seabreeze Blvd., Fort Lauderdale), become inhabited by a half-woman, half-fish named Marina. For 30 minutes at a time, she glides through the pool, eyes open, with perfect grace, a marvelous feat considering she's holding her breath and being assaulted by swimming pool chemicals. In the earthbound world, she's known as Marina Duran-Anderson.

NT: Where did this phenomenon of mermaids swimming over the bar come from?

It was popular in the '50s and '60s to have mermaids in a restaurant. It was this gimmick during the golden age of tourism. It's fallen out of fashion, but I'm a pop culture enthusiast. I love all things retro and kitsch.

So you decided you would bring back the mermaid?

Yes. I went [to Wreck Bar] and it was beautiful. It was untouched. I asked the manager, 'Do you have any mermaids?' He said 'No.' And I said, 'Have you considered it, because I would love to swim through those portholes.' He looked at me like I had a third eye, but he said, 'Go ahead.' What could I do? It had to be done.

Why aren't there any mermaids in B-movies?

There are! There are some really funky mermaids. She Creature came out in the '60s, I think, and it was recently re-released by Stan Winston, the famous special effects guy. But he took some artistic license, recreated the mermaid as a monster. She was nasty — like mermaid meets werewolf. She's kidnapped by these carnies who want to make money by showing her to people, but she whacks their heads off with her tail.

There are a handful of places in Broward and Palm Beach counties that offer 100 or more different brews. And there's nothing wrong with that. We'd give them all commendations for bravery in the service of beer if we could. However, one small, independent brewery that's sat in suburbia unnoticed for ten years deserves the highest honors: Big Bear Brewing Co. The upscale brewpub does not have a large selection. It doesn't stock rare English imports, indie microbrews, or even Budweiser. What it does have is eight masterfully crafted beers made in-house, in the large silver kettles that decorate the restaurant. Brewmaster Matt Cox is the wizard behind the cauldrons: He imports Belgian malts for Big Bear's award-winning Kodiak Dubbel, sources fresh cascade hops for the Hibernation Pale Ale, and brews seasonal fruit ales, porters, and stouts with adoration and care that more than makes up for the drive to the far reaches of Broward — especially when the place has Bourbon Double Barrel IPA on tap, perhaps the best beer ever crafted in Florida.