Jack's Old Fashion Hamburger House
Chelsea Scholler

There was a time in this country when fast food meant something other than overprocessed, frozen, globally distributed chunks of sodium (that should probably not be called "food"). The old concept was a brilliant one: fresh, hot food for the working folks who put in long hours and didn't have time to make dinner, served by clean-cut young Americans in paper hats. It's an old-fashioned idea that has been alive and well at Jack's since 1972. The patties are made from nothing but lean beef, cut and ground twice daily on site. The fries are soft, cut fresh. And the condiments and toppings are abundant — not squeezed from a tiny foil packet. It's not often you say this of a hamburger restaurant, but if every "fast food" joint were more like Jack's, the world would be a better place.

Slow Food Glades to Coast leader Diane Campion has to keep a lot of balls in the air, but she makes juggling Florida eggplants, oranges, and rounds of fresh mozzarella look like a breeze. Apart from a full-time job as a sales rep for Prime Line Distributors, Campion has organized and hosted the jolliest food events of the year: a fresh, green smorgasbord of slow food shindigs including lavish dinners at Café Boulud and 3030 Ocean, locavore cocktail parties at Forte and "green drink" menus for Earth Day, panel discussions on buying local, and demonstrations on creating edible gardens. Campion is a regular presence at national conferences advocating for humane, ecologically sound farming practices. She shows up to participate in strategy sessions for the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, which has lobbied Gov. Crist for recognition of the plight of enslaved Florida farm workers. And she's a walking encyclopedia of worldwide food knowledge — sourcing rare cheeses from Italy, spreading awareness of Florida clam farming, gathering under her wing families who raise beef humanely and farm fish safely, and working with chefs to encourage them to buy from local growers. Campion has changed the way we eat in South Florida. But just as important, she's brought gastronomic joy to the table.

The Cove Restaurant and Marina

Most waterfront restaurants in Broward County are good for oysters and other bounties of the sea, but French fries? Usually you'll get your standard fries to accompany a grouper sandwich, and you're happy if they are at least somewhat warm and your squeeze container of ketchup isn't empty. Ho-hum. Not at the Cove. That large and sprawling restaurant on the Intracoastal has fries that make you drool like Homer Simpson on a Krispy Kreme. They're all battered up and don't so much melt in your mouth as meld with your taste buds in a way known to make burly, full-grown men become giddy. We don't know the secret. Frankly, we don't want to know the secret. They put a smile on your face — isn't that really all you need to know?


True Italian gelato is not ice cream; it is richer and creamier and has a velvety texture that melts in your mouth. Paciugo knows this, and it shows. The amaretto chocolate chip, for instance, has a rich almond-cookie flavor that washes over the tongue and lingers for a couple of seconds before it's augmented with a hint of dark chocolate. The chocolate/black-cherry swirl has a similarly complex taste, alternating between milk and dark chocolates with cherry overtones. It's more like drinking wine than eating ice cream. Cristina and Ugo Ginatta and their son, Vincenzo, brought their gelato-making method straight from their hometown of Turin, Italy, and spent the past decade perfecting it, starting with a store in Dallas. The family business has grown to include nearly 50 gelaterias nationwide and a repertoire of 200 recipes. With hundreds of rotating flavors, Paciugo will keep your taste buds entertained year-round.

The dance of the seven veils makes a fine diversion, but no belly-wobbling, sphinx-eyed siren can stop a hungry stomach from staging its own entertainment: Sometimes you really want spectacular spanikopita rather than smashed crockery and drop-dead dolmades instead of dancing dames. Ouzo Blue provides the sustenance to maintain your mood with classic Greek dishes straight out of Chef Otis Giakis' mama's recipe files. Smoky spit-roasted lamb is stuffed into an insanely soft pita with yogurt as thick as cheese for a fabulous gyro; oversized dolmades dress a super-rich filling of minced lamb and spiced rice in a swaddling of sour grape leaves; a secret recipe of jumbo shrimp with warm spices arrives, like all Ouzo's entrées, with a side of addictive green beans stewed with tomatoes — just the kind of fuel you need to carry you through the rest of the evening, because you won't be going anywhere. By 10 p.m., the party crowd has drifted in to quaff Ouzo's Greek-themed cocktails, flirt, toss napkins in the air, and shake booty with the belly dancers — order the pistachio-studded baklava for a late-night energy boost and you'll be hoofing it on a table by midnight.

Palm Beach Grill

In 1939, Eleanor Roosevelt took a lot of flak for her plan to entertain the visiting king and queen of England with a picnic of hot dogs. The king, it turned out, was so smitten with the "delightful hot dog sandwich" that he begged for another one. Lately, the dog is having its day again — the American frankfurter has become so exquisite that it's hardly recognizable as junk food anymore. The 100 percent kosher beef frank served at Palm Beach Grill is of this refined, purebred species: It comes cradled in the downy folds of an artisinal roll, oozing char-flavored juices beneath blankets of sautéed vegetables and imported cheese. Modern-day kings and queens arrive straight from society balls to scarf down these bejeweled ballpark snacks, and PB Grill has even upped the ante by pairing its "silver service hot dog" ($12) with a side of creamy, mustard-infused, herb-flecked deviled eggs. Word is, local royalty is asking for seconds.

Vinny's All Day Cafe
Liz Dzuro

Look, this place has incredible chopped salads, chock-full of meats, cheeses, fresh romaine lettuce, peppers, colorful veggies, and tangy original sauces. You can even get your "salad" in a huge, tightly rolled wrap too big to finish in one sitting. The prices are reasonable, and the service is great. But there's a problem: The fun stops and the doors close at 6 p.m. Even earlier on the weekends. Now, it's no secret that a large percentage of the Boca population is, shall we say, mature. And sometimes, with such maturity, the daily schedule skews forward a bit. Mornings move up, evenings get earlier, and the air conditioning gets warmer. But if you happen to stop by Vinny's All Day Café for dinner (at a normal dinner time, not Boca time), you'll find the place closed. And it's frustrating to stand outside a restaurant with "all day" in the name when it's closed. The food is fantastic, but even in Boca, that isn't all day.

Carolina's Coal Fired Pizza & Pasta

The Roman gods smiled on Delray Beach and dished us up one of their famous mythological hybrids: not a centaur or a satyr but an Italian restaurant set in an old Florida Key West cottage, complete with tin roof and breeze-ruffled, wraparound porch. Let's call this amazing chimera a trattorishack. The scent of night-blooming jasmine through open windows mingles with smoke wafting from Carolina's chimneys, a vapor redolent not of pit barbecue but of coal oven pizza. Genial, bespectacled owner Enrico Esposito brought the recipe for his pie crusts from his mother and grandmother's Neapolitan restaurants, along with their versions of meatballs in fresh marinara sauce ($9.95) and baked clams oreganata ($10.25). Pair Esposito's vinegar-tart chopped salad ($8.50) with a two-glass quartino of Italian Sangiovese or baby Amarone ($11), delicious with oven-baked bread sticks dipped in the EVOO and fine balsamic set out on every table. Pizza Carolina ($16.50) requires nothing more blissful than fresh mozzarella and handfuls of torn herbs; handmade cheese ravioli ($14.95) begs only for a dusting of fresh Parmesan. Like so much soft applause, the rustle of palms outside seals the bargain.

Marumi Sushi
Chelsea Scholler

Marumi Sushi doesn't look like much from the outside — just your generic strip-mall eatery with a few Asian-looking frills. But the nondescript décor is no sign of mediocrity. Here, it's an indicator of a single-minded devotion to food. Owner/chefs Tetsu-San and Teru-San serve a nightly menu of Japanese (and some Korean) food unlike any in Broward County. At Marumi, the traditional — natto beans! — blends with the wildly inventive — sea urchin pasta! — and the incomparably fresh — whole fish, caught that morning, served four or five or six or seven ways. The service is friendly — if you go two Fridays in a row, the staff will likely remember your name and drink order on the second. They'll be happy to guide you through the five-page menu, editorializing freely on the merits of various exotica, and they're thrilled to help you decipher the huge specials board that gets plunked in front of every diner's table.

Blue Boar Tavern

A scrawled sign outside the Blue Boar advises that bare feet and tank tops are forbidden after 8 p.m. ("Dress Code Enforced 7 Days!"). But once you've got your sandals and T-shirt on, this high hog is serious about late-night hunger management. Blue Boar purveys homemade chicken noodle soup, beef quesadillas, char-grilled cheeseburgers, garbage fries, and a full lineup of classic greasy bar bites until 4:30 every morning. From all over the county, waitresses and line cooks point their sore feet and foul moods straight for the Boar; they keep showing up in shifts — midnight, 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m. — to shoot pool and throw darts or fuss over the pinball machines, to slump at the bar and watch ancient Mike Tyson fights on the dozen TV screens — until brain, belly, and aching hooves have at last fully recovered. Even the bleariest dishwasher wouldn't call these onion rings or hot roast beef sandwiches gourmet fare, but in the deepest hours before dawn, there's a whole lot of comfort to be had from a gooey grilled cheese and a shot of Jack.

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