Food & Drink

Lauren DeShields is a young chef with discipline. She assembles dish after graceful dish with local products that transform the craft of cooking into an art. An acolyte of chef Dean Max of 3030 Ocean, DeShields is among the most pedigreed young chefs in town. If you've got coin, splurge for the grand tasting menu: a 17-course tour de force full of surprises, from the amuse-bouche teaser down to the whimsy of dessert. You may find the snapper and shrimp ceviche layered with red pepper, lime, and cilantro — a palate cleanser with a bite of heat. Or antelope — a brawny plate, dressed in savory soy and ginger marinade, served over a bed of quinoa. You may wrap things up with a cheese course, with raw-milk blue and Morimoto Soba Ale cheddar. Served with a tangy beet/date chutney and Marcona almonds, they're one of many delicious bites on a memorable journey.

There's a danger in getting too attached to any one dish at Dennis Max's "farm to fork" restaurant in Pineapple Grove. Although one may be tempted to develop a dependency on pan-seared gnocchi spiked with morel mushrooms and truffled fondue, or a tempura-battered squash blossom stuffed with creamy goat cheese, that would be a mistake. With its reliance on purveyors like Green Cay Farms, Heritage Hen Farm, and Farmer Jay Pure Organics, the restaurant's daily menu depends entirely on what is good, fresh, and sustainable. There are mainstays, of course, but dishes evolve with the seasons, following nature's arc of availability. With two outdoor seating areas (one streetside and the other on a quieter back patio complete with a waterfall) and two dining rooms, the environs can vary just as much as the offerings on the table. The kitchen is open, a wise design move that gives diners a bit of a show. Executive chef Chris Miracolo and crew work magic with their fleeting stock, finessing, say, something as flat as microgreens into a vessel that one uses to sop up every last speckle of a guava pepper jelly. If it's something you can't live without, order seconds. Nature is an ever-fluctuating supplier, and Max's Harvest intends to keep up.

Shortly after Tap 42 opened, New Times panned it in a January review, and commenters on Yelp and Urbanspoon went nuts complaining of lax service and uneven food. Some restaurants shutter after such a rough start, but Tap 42 responded by hiring a new chef, a new manager, and a staff that's nearly unrecognizable from opening night. The changes are dramatic. The service is now spot-on, with a staff that's educated about the extensive beer, bourbon, and wine lists. The kitchen is putting out consistently stellar food, from a burger that's among the best around to salads locally sourced at Marando Farms. Then there's the stunning space, including a sweeping bar backsplash made of 15,000 pennies and cross-cut wood beams that are sunk into the back wall. The bar has been crowded since day one, but where you'd once hear grumbling about servers who'd gone missing and food that came out wrong, nowadays the talk is about Tap 42's comeback.

The naysayers claimed it couldn't be done. They sniffed and smirked, saying a noodle bar with an edgy style and fun concept couldn't survive in a brisket-loving city of grayhairs. But more than half a year after opening, this Mizner Park restaurant can thumb its nose at early detractors. The spot is flourishing, thanks in no small part to the challenging but accessible dishes streaming out of the kitchen during a slamming dinner hour and an aesthetic that is simultaneously trendy and unpretentious. The restaurant specializes in steaming bowls of noodles swimming in fragrant broth, but it's the small plates — a sticky bun crammed with smoky mushrooms, hamachi with grapefruit-ginger poached pears — that give one pause. With a young chef eager to prove her chops and a team of experienced restaurateurs to steer operations, it's a story of controlled experimentation — and South Florida diners are fortunate to reap the results.

Angelo Elia has nothing to prove. He has already earned his reputation as a terrific chef, this Florida resident who arrived from the region near Naples, Italy, more than 20 years ago. At his elegant namesake institution and four spinoffs, he offers stunning dishes and graceful service. Humble cuts like osso buco are elevated from simple veal flanks to lust-worthy plates, served with sides of marrow. Carbonara is the perfect combination of egg, cheese, guanciale, and herbs on homemade pasta. Some recipes come straight from Elia's mother's restaurants in Italy, and many of his ingredients are well-traveled too, all the way down to imported yeast. An original DIY-er, Elia makes bread in-house and makes some cheeses too. He employs four pizzaiolos, and his restaurants offer the most extensive wine selections around — some 20,000 bottles. Despite all this, he's prepping for more. Two restaurants will debut in Palm Beach County this year, and a bakery and gelateria is on the docket for Delray. Thanks, chef.

Amid the demolition rubble of the Gold Coast skate rink and the Fort Lauderdale airport is the rockabilly haven and cool-cat hangout 5 Points Lounge. This is the type of bar where music lovers flock to relax, kick back, and enjoy some tunes. Dripping in a tiki theme — which works like a dream — dimly lit lanterns dangle up above a well-sized corner bar adorned in bamboo, and a stage is opposite the front door with a cozy lounge area off to the side. Behind the bar, pinup-style girls donning red lips and victory-roll hairstyles serve the drinks. Bonus: No smoking allowed inside. The venue is filled with Polynesian charm and nostalgia from the days of Sailor Jerry, complimenting the style of its neighboring Kreepy Tiki tattoo shop.

Hanging out at the Speakeasy Lounge in Lake Worth is like going to two bars in one night. The front bar area is narrow and cozy. Its long bar has ample seating, ideal for intimate conversations with a date or relaxing after a long day at work. Pass through into the back bar area and it's as though you've entered an entirely new venue. Complete with a stage that's often packed with live music acts or a burlesque show, the second bar area is quite lively. There's even a pool table to keep you occupied.

No, this isn't the most extensive wine list around, but it's among the most welcoming of wine bars. Owner Candace Proctor steers a selection at this locals joint for which Wednesdays and Fridays serve as in-house tasting nights. With more than 150 wines to choose from, this charming spot also knows its pairings and provides tasty delights to complement a glass or bottle. A knowledgeable staff, friendly regulars, and heavy pours cinch its spot as an oenophile destination. Cigars on the patio or flamenco indoors add fuel to an already festive environment. Go early, those who want to learn. The later it is and drunker regulars become, the more likel y your civilized evening will result in a swillfest. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's why we like it here.

Dim lights, red wine, dark-chocolate-covered strawberries — all the essentials are here. Yet the Blind Monk's genius goes far beyond the menu. It's a vibe that makes you want to linger, sipping your petite Syrah, listening to a soulful guitarist strumming on a Tuesday evening. Such sumptuous yuppie havens are common in New York or Chicago, but in South Florida, the Monk is a gem. It's small, with a cozy cluster of tables and a long leather couch under a TV screen that plays classic, black-and-white flicks. No need to worry about drunks in Ed Hardy shirts stumbling or spilling Bud Light at this bar. The ceilings are high, the décor sparse. There are craft beers for your date and enough cheese and prosciutto to soak up the booze. Sit down, stay awhile. This is the perfect place to hide from the world.

It's another Saturday night in Fort Lauderdale. You and your friends want to grab some drinks to forget about a shitty breakup that happened earlier in the week. Or perhaps it's someone's 30th birthday, maybe a bachelorette party. But heading to the same ol' spots just isn't what you've got in mind. Dripping in hot pink, glitz, and six-foot-tall, fast-talking, sassy drag queens, Lips is a 24/7 party spot where the frozen cosmopolitans flow freely. On the disco-ball-shimmering stage, drag queens dressed to the nines saunter about as they entertain the room with their spot-on diva impressions and cabaret numbers. As the signature cocktails keep coming, so does your liquid courage, and before you know it, you'll be getting a lap dance by the colorful-haired bubble butt named Twat LaRouge. Anything is bound to happen inside Lips, as long as you've got a few drinks in you and you're ready to give those hard-working performers a few tips.

Walking through the doors of Mystic Water Kava Bar is like being on a psychedelic trip. In one fell swoop, you'll go from standing on a concrete sidewalk to being surrounded by a magical, fairy-tale forest. The interior looks like a giant tree house illuminated by purple and green fireflies. Paintings of mystical wizards adorn the walls, casting a spell on your senses. Although the bar serves only kava — no liquor or beer — the décor alone will have your mind feeling tipsy.

Here's a happy-hour riddle: If the way to a man — or woman's — heart is through the stomach and not the wallet, how is it that flat, flavorless beer and baskets of deep-fried appetizers became synonymous with the postwork pick-me-up? Sure, that cup of Coors and basket of breaded-and-battered whatever may come cheap, but at what cost? The "happy-time" block offered weeknights at Kapow! doesn't half-ass it with the low-cost offerings. House wines and draft beers — an ever-changing assortment of familiar and strange domestic crafts and imports — are half-off from 4 to 7 p.m. But the real kicker is the menu of $3 bar bites. Instead of offering odds 'n' ends that you'd shovel down only if forced to by a beer buzz and budgetary concerns, these are treats — steamed buns, shishitou peppers, roasted cauliflower — that are well worth full price, drunk or sober. Add to that the cool tunes, hip décor, and energetic crowd and you've got a solution to the mystery of how to build a happy hour that doesn't compromise standards.

There comes a time in every drinker's life when you realize New Year's Eve and St. Patrick's Day are for amateurs and that it's much more pleasing to stay home to make one's own party. Similarly, there comes a time when you turn away from three-for-one shots, put down the Solo cup of Budweiser, and go toward the light — which is shining from the end of the docks behind the Hyatt Hotel at Pier 66. Pelican Landing, one of the Hyatt's restaurants, is a little tricky to find. Wander behind the hotel, past an assortment of multimillion-dollar yachts to the little building on the water and up the stairs above the marina office. There you will find stunning sunset water views, a lovely calypso musician bonking on his steel drum, perfectly refreshing specialty cocktails, and some of the tastiest ceviche this side of Peru. Best of all, drinks and select foods are half-off from 5 to 7 p.m. weekdays.

Carrie Bradshaw and her gang of high-heeled NYC ladies popularized the art of drinking pink martinis. However, there are two things Ms. Bradshaw never told us: (1) Walking in heels while attempting to sip from a martini glass isn't easy; and (2) cosmopolitans may look pretty, but they're rough going down the hatch. Luckily, places like Dapur know how to make martinis taste good. The venue's signature drink, the "dartsmoor," is comprised of fresh lemon juice, gin, and St. Germain and topped off with a cucumber slice. It's like a spa day for your taste buds. But ladies, beware: This drink is so refreshing, you'll barely taste the booze.

When you're penning your postcards poolside at this hotel, it's certainly not the dreary eggs Benedict you'll be waxing poetic about. The cuisine at this waterside bar/restaurant is of the standard mid-'90s hotel issue: bland, likely frozen at some point, and largely forgettable. Service can, at times, be painfully awkward. Best to avoid this altogether and make a beeline for the bar. Order a few bottles of imported beer or a festive tropical mixed drink and take in the watery panorama, watching as luxury yachts cruise from Lake Boca Raton through the inlet out to the Atlantic. When spring break is nigh, you may be able to ogle some hotties taking a dip or catching rays at the adjacent pool. If humans fail to entertain, take a short stroll to the railing on the lower deck, peek over the edge, and watch the rainbow of tropical fish that congregate on the seawall abutting the restaurant.

Some things about America really are all they're cracked up to be. Like the diner: lots of chrome, a carousel of cakes, raspy grandmas behind the Formica counter, and free refills in a tiny mug. Occupy a booth or air your grievances at the counter: This is food for the 99 percent at its most satisfying and no-nonsense. Chicken-fried steak is a crispy caloric splurge; an omelet's enough to see you through most of the day. For a few bucks, you can dig into a more advanced diner staple like a meat-loaf sandwich, or check out the full dinners to forget about all those fussy ahi tuna sliders you've been scarfing with your silly nouveau-riche pals. It's a great place to bring friends from out of town on the way to or from the airport; those from more diner-friendly climes will quickly recognize Lester's as the real deal. The loyal clientele includes cops, firefighters, and other such people you really should be eating breakfast with more often.

Darbster has a way of lulling even finicky carnivores into a veggie adventure. Start with a palm-cake sandwich, which pairs the restaurant's popular hearts of palm crab-cake knockoff with arugula salad on a wheat bun. The lightly fried palm cake crumbles in your mouth, and the crunchy veggies round out each bite. For those eager to go raw, try the flax tomato sandwich. The bread is nutty and rich, covered in a garlicky spread and bright, beautiful slices of avocado and tomato. This concoction is better than a slice of cheesy pizza and skips the lump of grease in your stomach. Equally tempting are the raw wild berry pancakes and the tempeh Reuben sandwich. Rather than drown ingredients in oil and spice, Darbster highlights the fresh, essential charms of nature.

From the exterior on Las Olas Boulevard, Luigi's seems a standard pizza joint: a modest sign, a red awning, basic tables, tiled floors. And then you see the menu. Though meat eaters will find what they're after, vegetarians will absolutely rejoice. A "small" salad — with fresh mixed greens dressed in citrus as the base, then layered with olives, pickled peppers, ripe tomatoes, green onions, and feta — serves three people. A vegetarian pizza offers a trio of peppers, tomatoes, and rapini. Paninis on terrific bread are stuffed with seasonal greens, pesto, roasted sweet peppers, and mozzarella. So much better than picking at another veggie burger.

The two sisters who run this homey little lunch spot think menus are boring, so they don't offer one. Instead, they write four or five choices on the "specials" board every day and trust that their customers are equally weary of the same old, same old. Falling into a rut is not an option, so diners are essentially forced to mix it up every day of the week. There's always a meatless option and sometimes even a vegan choice. Because nothing is deep-fried or made with highly processed crap, it doesn't sit in the gut waiting to derail an afternoon meeting. From a goat cheese and tomato tart to fennel pear soup or a tuna salad served with house-made crackers, the choices are varied, but the quality is always consistent.

Coffee snobs looking for an artsy hang and Intelligentsia-brand beans, this is your spot. This eclectic coffeehouse plays the perfect host for painting exhibits and photographer meetups, and it's great for just hanging out. It's also on top of the latest coffee trends. Special-order a siphon brew for a miniperformance that results in a beautifully mild cup of coffee. Go minimalist with a pour-over java. Or stick to a demi cup of espresso. Get a coffee education while you're here: The well-informed staffers will tell you how a French press affects flavor, why Ethiopia produces coveted beans, and how to sharpen your palate to detect notes of floral, caramel, or toast in your roast. Stay till dinnertime — baked goods and minibites will tide you over.

Hellooo? Anybody out there want to make a million dollars? Frustrated parents beg you, please open a restaurant that offers more for kids than the obligatory highchair. It would be slammed! Until then, there's 15th Street Fisheries, where diners are greeted by koi fish swimming in a pond at the entrance, and a koi food dispenser allows you to feed them. (Bring quarters.) Don't go upstairs (that's for fancy dinners) but rather downstairs to the Dockside Cafe. Once seated outside along the Intracoastal Waterway, crayons come in a cutesy tin bucket, and a kids' menu has the standards — hot dogs, chicken fingers — for $5 a pop. The best part: While waiting for your food, walk to the adjacent marina store, grab a pack of frozen bait shrimp ($3), and take them out on the docks to toss to the tarpon. (There's also a tarpon-feeding show between 5 and 6 p.m.) Your young'uns will never distinguish one Happy Meal from another, but they will grow up with cool memories of the times you went to "the fishie place." To make it even more special, arrive by water taxi.

This spot is located in Fort Lauderdale, but its heart is in N'Awlins. The guy next to you might be sucking crawfish meat from shells. Another might be singing along to a Rebirth Brass Band tune. Chances are, someone will offer you a hush puppy from his plate or at the very least invite you into his conversation. Be sure to return the favor by sharing your poor boys, gumbo, or boudin: The portions are so large, it's impossible to finish one on your own. Wrap up with a round of Abita brews.

If you thought you looked great before your date, wait till you get to Tapas 210 — you'll be a stunner, even before booze. Candlelight works magic like that, as does lush tropical greenery, which frames the entryways to the brick patio, a huge sheltered area that's home to a delightful breeze. A wine room serves as a cozy nook for couples or a group interested in overtaking a farmhouse table. As for the cuisine: Seafood is the star at this Spanish spot. Rosemary and thyme announce the arrival of a shellfish medley. Bocados of olives and jamón ibérico tempt as snacks. Artichokes and mushrooms in white wine make a favorite tapas dish, as does bone marrow with a beef cheek marmalade. More-ambitious diners might opt for paella or, better yet, wait for Friday supper. The special is roast pork: Served with white beans and garbanzos, it'll be among the most memorable pig roasts you've had.

Inside this slip of a restaurant, pompano fillet is dressed as simple as it gets in butter and white wine with a splash of citrus. Scallions, cubes of butternut, tomato, and almonds add acid, sweet, brightness, and crunch. No matter what the day's catch may be, rest assured each dish will end up this harmonious, since the seafood is doctored by a master. Tony Sindaco, former chef at Sunfish Grill, helms this 22-seat eatery, a former coffee shop. Chiclet tiles, Florida murals, minimalist seating, and an airy vibe make it a refreshing place to dine.

If you take apart one of the burgers from this Himmarshee hot spot and dissect it into its basic components, you'll figure out why Rok:Brgr deserves this award. Take the Las Olas burger, built with a ten-ounce American Wagyu beef patty, cave-aged Gruyère cheese, caramelized onions, garlic aioli, and a brioche bun. Any one of those ingredients stands alone — you could put the cheese on a charcuterie plate; the aioli would make a fine dipping sauce for anything; and the beef patty, you could eat it with a knife and fork. But why would you? Put together, the ingredients form a burger that'll send juices rolling down your arm, friends to their cell phones to take photos, and you, back for another sooner than you intended.

During a recent visit to Canyon, someone at the table asked the server to name a few of his favorite dishes. "Oh, I like them all," he said. That's usually a server cop-out, a refusal to exclude a dish from the list. But at Canyon Southwestern Café, it's understandable. You can't go wrong with the red-chili-braised risotto, black Florida grouper, or ancho chili-rubbed pork. But sometimes you just want a steak. And you want it with more than just a steak-house sprig of parsley on the side. Here, the filet comes with a Zinfandel sauce, cilantro-mashed potatoes, caramelized zucchini, and a poblano pesto goat cheese — any of which could be the star dish of the meal. Well, no, the star is the steak, just lightly seasoned and charred. Tender, juicy, and... now that we're talking about it, the waiter ought to just recommend the filet.

This dish right here puts a line in the sand between the Café Martorano lovers and haters. It's $24. For that, you could buy two appetizers at most places. Or ten raw eggplants. But this dish also typifies what's special about Café Martorano: Its chefs put tremendous care into every single ingredient. Those slices of eggplant come crisp on the outside — difficult when you're essentially stacking them in a salad — and warm and soft in the center. The mozzarella is of the fresh-pulled variety, the greens are dressed in a fantastic vinaigrette, and the tomatoes are thick slices that seem right off a vine in Napoli. Like all the dishes here, it's served family style, put down in the middle of the table, sliced up by the waiter, and passed around. It will be, perhaps, the first time ever that your family fights over eggplant. Well worth that $24.

When pondering what makes a good rack of ribs, two things naturally come to mind — heavy metal and Coral Springs. Rock N Roll Ribs is run by Nicko McBrain, drummer for legendary band Iron Maiden. Though the interior of the restaurant looks more like an Iron Maiden shrine in a teenaged boy's bedroom than a rib joint, this place knows barbecue. The coma-inducing combination of crispy charred pork slathered in the restaurant's sticky, sweet, and tangy barbecue sauce is a recipe for one totally bitchin' rack. Sauce junkies looking for a fix can load up on three additional barbecue sauces — mustard, hot, and tangy. These smoky, fork-tender baby back ribs present diners with the enjoyable challenge of eating the meat before it slides off the bone. A full rack of baby back ribs, two sides, and a thick-cut slice of garlic toast will run you $18.95, but the Iron Maiden videos on a loop are free.

The tourist's dream of fresh fish at a beachside pub is often a fantasy in South Florida. Too many restaurants offer the same dry, tasteless grouper between slabs of boring bread. Not here. The Whale's Rib is the neighborhood dive where Hillsboro cops grab takeout while a constant horde of shorts-and-sandals customers queues up for a seat. Inside, the wood-paneled walls are decorated with license plates and the mounted jawbones of a 305-pound bull shark. Kids slurp Coke out of small pitchers. From the kitchen in the center of the dining room, someone shouts, "Dolphin sandwich." That's why many people are here — the fresh dolphin Key West sandwich. The spice of the blackened fish pairs perfectly with creamy Thousand Island dressing, topped with crunchy red cabbage and melted Swiss cheese, all on a hearty, toasted bun. Eat this with a bowl of thin-sliced potato "whale fries" and you'll never need a Big Mac again.

Charm City Burger Co. took home the top award at this year's Riverwalk Trust Burger Battle, its beloved burgers holding sway in a heated battleground for beefy supremacy. But the restaurant deserves another honor, for its creamy milk-shake concoction: the Binge. A genius and outrageously addictive blend of caramel and sea salt, the Binge is made with Blue Bell ice cream, and the quality shows. This is one of the most indulgent sweet treats in all the land (and it's enough to make a vegetarian venture into Charm City's meat-perfumed air on a semiregular basis).

The idea is that we should name a specific dish at Ristorante Sapori, an item for readers to hone in on with laser-precision focus. But that would be something of a disservice both to the reader and to chef/owner Marco Pindo. Pindo — like anyone for whom a passion for good food and cooking runs deep — uses instinct and experience to dictate "what's good tonight" instead of being a slave to the menu. His Thursday-night pasta sessions bring the craft of pasta-making out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where guests can watch the meals come to life. On these nights, Pindo will create a few specials that put the freshly rolled and cut pasta center stage. The carbs are dressed with light sauces or olive oil, topped with fresh vegetables, and perfumed with herbs plucked from the restaurant's patio garden. Choose whatever sounds good out of the two or three dishes being offered, or ask Pindo for his recommendation. Just be flexible and trust that what you get will be simple, clean, and prepared with considerable skill.

Quick! Close your eyes and think of the perfect mashup of foods. OK — open your eyes. Did your dream meal include creamy cheese, slow-braised beef, and tater tots? If so, you're going to want to head over to the next food-truck roundup starring Dim Ssäm á GoGo, an Asian-fusion truck covered with tattoos, for an order of chunk'd tots. A gentle rain of creamy cheese sauce flows over a mountain of tots (tots are back, friends) before being smothered in sweet, spicy, Kalbi-marinated beef, slow-braised until practically falling apart. At $7.99, this is an indulgent dish that can be shared as a side or gobbled up all by your greedy self.

Circumstances and the economy being what they are, a trip across the Atlantic for authentic Italian gelato isn't likely to happen for most of us. In the meantime, the hazelnut gelato from Sonny's Gelato Cafe will help us pretend. The environs are in no way reminiscent of those little Italian villages where tourists whisper sweet nothings to so many tiny cups of frozen cream, but the Boca store's freshly made gelato acts as a tasty little stand-in for the experience. The ratio of sugar to cream is just so; this isn't one of those gut-busting frozen scoops that will leave you gasping for water and swearing off sweets. If anything, it borders dangerously on demanding a weekly habit.

The "World Famous" designator is generally as meaningless as calling oneself an expert: Says who? Although we can't speak to the real-world measure of fame afforded to Terry's Famous pies, it's fair to say they enjoy a steady following. This classic version of Florida's official state pie is tart and creamy with a crumbly graham crust. Though the whipped topping — instead of meringue — may make some purists balk, it's hard to argue that this isn't one delicious slice of Sunshine State nostalgia. Part of the appeal of a Terry's pie is taking a Saturday-afternoon trip out to Davie to the Old Florida roadside fruit stand to pick one up. Slurp down a delicious fruit shake and grab a bag of oranges while you're at it.

Naming a best pizza place is like kicking the hornet's nest. There's no faster way to stir shit up between two otherwise reasonable adults than by asking them to agree on the style, region, or topping selections that make for the perfect pie. It's a divisive issue, to say the least (particularly if one of the people involved hails from NYC). That said, there's little to argue about with Tucci's, unless it's whether to choose one of its signature coal-oven pies (we suggest the savory eggplant pizza or the simple Margherita) or to go rogue and build your own using piles of arugula, Kalamata olives, broccoli rabe, or prosciutto. Patience is required, as these puppies are made-to-order and won't be served until the crust has achieved just the right amount of char, the cheese has browned on the edges, and the sauce is blistering to the touch. Let others argue about the merits of thick versus thin; there are better ways to make use of your mouth in the presence of such flavor.

When pork belly and tasting menus have pummeled your diet, stop in at PL8 for a break in more ways than one. PL8 offers lovely salads with delicious accompaniments, such as this arugula favorite, lightly dressed in mustard vinaigrette, complemented with a cascade of wood-roasted corn. Toasted almond slivers add crunch, while strawberries punctuate with sweetness. The salad is the work of chef Joel Christy, who took the helm at PL8 in early January. The restaurant transformed from a neighborhood restaurant like Himmarshee Bar & Grille to a small-plates menu in September, to much fanfare, and this is another indication that it was a fine change indeed.

"We're all about flavors here," says proprietor Will Rubino. They're also about the cake décor. A tower of frosting and intricate toppings add extra flourish to cake that's spongy, moist, and fresh. Stop in the shop for a latte and watch bakers at work behind the glass divide. If you're lucky, you'll see them piping buttercream and adding the finishing touches to make these sweet treats even sweeter. Cupcake flavors include salty caramel, red velvet, Boston cream, lemon dream, Key lime, carrot cake, and a specialty creation called Seventh Heaven — a mix of dark-chocolate fudgy cake with chocolate chunks.

Nine times out of ten, the breadbasket is junk property that does nothing but take up valuable stomach real estate. It's a restaurant throwaway — something to mindlessly gnaw on while awaiting an item of actual interest to appear at the table. But at Saquella, it's actually better to take it easy on the main course in order to reserve more space for the café's bread and croissant basket ($4.95). The basket comes with Dutch butter, but the melt-in-your-mouth croissant has no need for such assistance, nor do the various breads — cranberry, cheese, etc. — require the benefit of the homemade jams. This isn't a complimentary offering, but it certainly is a gift.

This market, featuring all manner of Jewish delicacies, truly lives up to its name. In one deli case, a baker sets out rainbow marzipan bars and rugelach in apricot, berry, and chocolate. Nearby, an employee doles out servings of smoked fish. Bagels are still the hallmark, though — they're baked here hourly, so the smell of the vaguely sweet, aromatic rounds fills the space. Kettle-boiled, then baked, each bagel offers a crispy crust and a chewy interior: These are the New York-style bagels of legend. Nonstandard flavors include veggie, cinnamon crunch, sourdough pecan, and seven grain. Pick up a selection of cream cheeses to go with.

With whitewashed wood, metal chairs, and concrete floors, G&B is a stylish, open-air restaurant — a sibling to Coconuts, the dockside restaurant next door. No matter where you sit, you'll have a front-row seat to the shucking station, thanks to the giant mirror overhead. Upon round metal trays filled with shaved ice sit wheels of raw shellfish that smell clean and fresh. Lemons serve as garnish. Red-wine vinegars serve as dipping sauces. A shucker slides the knife into the hinge, angled down toward the oyster's cup. A flick of the wrist, a twist of the knife, and the oyster yields. To an oyster lover, this meat is more prized than a pearl. And the menu is a dining adventure: How many other local restaurants have sardines paired with citrus, boquerones, and Hawaiian poke? Conservative eaters may prefer a juicy burger or a fish fillet, but try to steer them at least toward the terrific muffuletta, served with an array of meats dolloped with olive relish on a crusty roll, just like in New Orleans.

Inside the hollowed-out crusty Italian roll are finely chopped rib-eye, gooey American cheese, a hint of garlic, sautéed peppers, and onions. This is no withering sandwich; it's a monster, football-sized and more expensive than the average Philly cheese steak: $18. But elevated ingredients ensure that this is likely the best rendition you've ever had, and the pricey Italian joint, run by Philadelphia native Steve Martorano, is worth the trip, regardless of the staff's bravado and Martorano's signature "Yo Cuz!" meathead routine. In addition to decadent plates, the place offers some of the most attentive service in town.

Say it with me now: Vienna beef hot dog on a bun, yellow mustard, onions, tomatoes, bright-green relish, pickle spear, sport peppers, and a dusting of celery salt. And absolutely no friggin' ketchup. This is a mantra known dearly to every Chicagoan, and it should be yours too: There's no better way to eat your tube meat than with this eclectic garden of condiments. Of course, if you're feeling heretical, get the truly fine folks in Heaven to slather your dog with chili and cheese or even cook up a hamburger patty. But you'll soon find that the real magic here is the French fries: There's almost always a small batch cooking up fresh in the deep fryer. Every fry is the simple epitome of what a fry should be: light and golden, just crispy and greasy enough, holding its shape, well-salted. Get the combo of a large dog, fries, and a Pepsi and appreciate the simple pleasures of American melting-pot innovation as you munch and stare across the street at a Honda dealership. The hot dog is a commodity food, and it's often overrated or eaten simply as a matter of convenience. But ritual and tradition — and, for Chicagoans, a little taste of home — really can make all the difference.

This dingy but lovable hole in the wall is known for thick-cut bacon and mouthwatering barbecue. But once a week, around 11 a.m., construction workers, cops, students, and retirees line up outside the doors. Why? Fried chicken Fridays. Crisp, double-fried skin sheaths juicy chicken inside. Ask for a side of white vinegar to douse on the chicken and make a delicious bite transcendent. Eight bucks buys light and dark meat, rice, gravy, and black-eyed peas, which can be swapped for potato salad or slaw.

Let's get one thing straight: This isn't diner food. At this nook in the Himmarshee district, crisp home fries nestle beside deep-green, sautéed spinach, creating a bed for eggs so fresh that their yolks are orange. This Technicolor breakfast is made decadent by an oversized slice of bread from Gran Forno bakery, lovingly slathered with plenty of butter. OB-House offers exceptional ingredients, creative dishes, and a skillet pancake that will satiate even the biggest carb lover. The tone is set by clean and bright décor, fresh flowers on each table, and a soundtrack of Johnny Cash and Simon and Garfunkel. Attentive service is a bonus. What an indulgent way to start the day.

The buffet is not typically a hallmark of quality restaurants, but here you have it. With a menu that can lead down so many intriguing paths — do you go with a spicy curry? A basmati rice with potatoes? An uthappam Indian-style pancake? — the buffet allows you to survey one interesting creation after another. The dinner hour also is perfectly suited for exploration, with nearly every entrée priced lower than $10 and dinner specials that are less than $20 and provide bites of everything from a savory lentil stew to palate-cleansing yogurt cream. Service is beyond gracious, and while the strip-mall environs are less-than-stimulating, the food wouldn't dare to put you to sleep. Word to the wise — don't miss the mango lassi; it will come in handy with all of those spices at play.

Silver Pond is as close to an authentic Chinese culinary experience as you'll find in South Florida. The menu is an epic of Cantonese dishes, differentiated by mellow spices, savory sauces, seafood — such as sea cucumber, abalone, and conch — and a smattering of preserved meats and fish. That is, if you order from the green restaurant menu (the full one) as opposed to the white one (which is an abbreviated list of Chinese takeout's greatest hits). The highlight of that authentic green menu is the flash-fried one-pound lobster, a savory dish to share, garnished with piles of pulverized black beans, garlic, and pork. Once you've emptied the shells, you'll be tempted to fork the remaining sauce. One caveat: It's a messy dish. Don't be ashamed if you end up wearing it.

Don't be fooled by appearances. Chen's is just a hole in the wall; paint peels off the walls, and the tabletop is sticky. But you're not here to stay, and the food is from another world. The hot-and-sour soup is light and spiked with heat — not oily in the least. Ho fun noodles are wide, rice strips of slippery sweetness. Even the most basic lunch special, chicken with broccoli, is an eye-opener. The chicken looks and tastes like slices of meat — not the strange, chewy, clover-shaped things too often found in takeout Chinese. The broccoli is bright green and healthy, mixed with big chunks of carrots. The white sauce is light and subtle, like a savory chicken broth. Who knew cheap Chinese could taste so fresh, even when you're not drunk, hungover, or itching for an egg roll?

Dinner on a rainy evening begins with warm cups of rice barley tea, which tastes like toasted almonds and brings an immediate, earthy comfort. Next up is bulgogi, the classic barbecued beef dish that will make your mouth water for hours afterward. Gabose is one of the few Korean spots in South Florida where the thinly sliced beef is grilled at the table and accompanied by a cornucopia of side dishes essential to the meal. There's spicy kimchi cabbage and zucchini, sautéed mushrooms, perfectly pickled cabbage slaw. Mixed with the savory marinated beef and a bowl of rice, the vegetables create an addictive blend of flavors unlike anything else in the Asian food oeuvre. Then there's dolsot bibimbap, Korea's version of paella. In a sizzling cast-iron bowl, white rice and vegetables are topped with a sunny-side egg and chili pepper paste. The rice gets slightly burnt and crunchy on the bottom; the egg holds the mix together. It's impossible to stop eating, so instead you stay, listening to the laughter of kids at the next table and sipping that warm, toasty tea.

The pupusas, man. It's all about the pupusas. They might look like pancakes, but they're full of pork and cheese and beans, and if you put a takeout container of them on your passenger seat, it'll make your car go crooked. You'll never eat a Crunchwrap Supreme again — La Molienda's pupusas are $2.75 each and come with all the fixings you'll ever need; if your server doesn't speak very much English, just point at those bad boys on the menu, hold up two fingers, and try not to hug any of the staff when the meal is over. The service is great, and the food is inexpensive without sacrificing quality. Also check out the chicharróns and sugary plantain empanadas.

Sushi Bon is known for having the freshest sushi around, and there's a reason for that: Because of its location near a marina, it is one of the few restaurants legally allowed to buy fish fresh and straight off the boat from fishermen. (A weird Florida law stipulates that unless an eatery is next to a marina, fish must be bought from a distributor.) Sushi junkies stick to blackboard specials: often triggerfish, grouper, wahoo, or tilefish. But no matter what you order, the artful presentations will wow you. Chef Ebi Hana assembles simple, beautiful dishes in a traditional Japanese setting. No wonder this place is a destination for foodies and chefs off work. If you have not been, you must go.

Perhaps as a testament to the strength of the offerings at El Jefe Luchador, one can order an item sans a seemingly crucial ingredient and still fall madly in love with the result. Such was the case with a recent experiment with the namesake "quesadilla champion" at El Jefe Luchador. Though it arrives with al pastor (split roasted pork loin), the quesadilla with grilled pineapple, fried sweet potato, queso blanco, and salsa verde remains compellingly addictive when ordered minus meat. The combo of savory and sweet is a can't-lose proposition whether you have to go slightly "off menu" to order it without the swine or you choose to order it as written. Either way, spring for the chips and an order of guacamole as your sidecar and prepare to obsess over these.

Unlike a certain successful faux-talian restaurant chain, Talia's low prices don't come from middling-quality food and an efficient corporate formula. It's cheap because chef Andrew has cut out anything resembling a frill, including wait staff and nice table settings. Hell — there's even a self-serve beer station. All of the focus is on the food: Hero sandwiches stacked as thick as phone books with salty meats, homemade mozzarella, and piles of fresh vegetables; meatballs made on-premises; and pasta platters dressed in house-made marinara. Who needs table service — or greasy, bottomless breadbaskets, for that matter — when ten bucks is all it takes for a meal that would make Mom proud?

Entering this space, you may feel like you've wandered into the living room of a family member — a hip but slightly eccentric favorite aunt, perhaps. A splash of bright-pink paint here, a Victorian-style couch there, and small clusters of people everywhere giggling over glasses of wine and ripping apart pieces of pita to dip into dollops of creamy baba ghanouj and garlic-laced tabbouleh. The familial vibe makes sense; owner-chef Numan Unsal is joined by two of his sisters in operating the Pineapple Grove venue. Together, they turn out fun Turkish dishes with a subtlety that you won't find at other paint-by-numbers tourist Greek joints that dot the coastline.

Inside Sweetwater, the bar is brooding, framed by exposed brick, hardwood floors, and low light. Behind the bar, you're likely to find Sean Iglehart, a self-proclaimed bar man whose passion is mixology. It may take awhile to get a drink here, but that's because these handcrafted cocktails are among the finest around. Quality ingredients — homemade bitters, fresh fruit juices, esoteric gins, or bitter Amaro — go into classic recipes from yesteryear, such as a Ramos gin fizz, made with Plymouth sloe gin, lemon, simple syrup, club soda, egg whites, and a garnish in a highball glass. Or go for the Aviation, a lovely concoction of gin and the purplish Creme de Violette. Allow yourself the time and piece of mind to savor one (or three).

A proper British tea has no place in the heat of a South Florida summer, until that lazy afternoon when you crave an escape from the blazing sun. Behind the shade of white lace curtains, pastel-colored ladies' hats and gauzy wedding veils decorate the walls. From a bookshelf, a picture of Princess Di brings an aura of propriety to the proceedings. Tea arrives in pots covered in flowery cozies. This is a meal designed for long hours of gossip and languid sipping. Each of the tea sandwiches arrives in finger-sized slices — the crusts cut off, the main dish accompanied by slices of watermelon, greens, and flower-shaped curls of carrot. There's curried chicken salad, quiche, slices of cucumber, and cream cheese. But the scones are the main event. Warm and moist, just out of the oven, decorated with sweet morsels of cranberry, they are accompanied by lemon curd, jam, and a heavenly creation called clotted cream. This miracle bears no relation to tin-flavored Reddi-wip. It's like sweet, whipped butter, impossible to stop mopping up with crumbles of scone. That's why there's a full pot of tea — so you can keep sipping and munching for hours.

There are lots of reasons to love Riverside Market: It transformed the sleepy Riverside Park neighborhood into a beer lover's mecca with plenty of regulars. The charming location is across the street from a red-and-white Bozo's sandwich shop and a little park and a stone's throw from a quaint swing bridge. And the beer selection is vast (529 kinds at last count) — and self-serve. Once you've hemmed and hawed and opened and closed the fridge doors eleventy billion times, grab your bottles, find a church key, and pull up a seat. (An informal hierarchy seems to dictate that the superregulars get the couches.) Fish tacos, fish dips, sandwiches, and soups are good for balancing out your beer intake. Event nights include tap takeovers (the place gave away a whole keg of Swamp Ape during Craft Beer Week in May) and winetastings, and a neighborhood secret is the dirt-cheap breakfasts: croissant sandwiches and produce-stuffed omelets.

Contrary to popular belief, vegetarians really love to eat. And no, not just piles of leafy greens and cold tofu. They want good, hearty meals as much as their steak-loving friends do. And that's just what Sara's Kosher Restaurant delivers. Family-owned and operated for more than a decade, this quaint eatery boasts an extensive menu of vegetarian and vegan options. Try the Rooster, a savory "chicken" breast golden fried in tempura and layered with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, and cheese (dairy or vegan) on a fluffy challah roll with special sauce. In the mood for Italian? Snack on the Boston Beauty, a personal pizza dripping in vegetables and marinara sauce and topped with an extra layer of dough. Treat your bacon-craving friends to a dinner at Sara's and they might renounce meat-eating altogether.

When we discovered this place, our hearts beat faster than Charlie Sheen's during a sex-a-thon. Plenty of elbow room, enough barstools, and a lacquered bar? Throw in large plates of gourmet food and, sweet Jesus, we just had an aneurysm. The fuss is over the Falcon House "great plates": better-than-your-mom's mac-and-cheese, grilled rib-eye quesadillas, and hellfire spicy jerk chicken lollipops, for starters. The price helps: only $8.88 for each.

At first glance, the Floridian is an assault to the eyes, with its tacky '80s décor, shiny metal chairs, and clutter everywhere, particularly on the walls, where photos of celebrities and politicians paper every square inch. You're not here for the design, however. You're here for the fuel. Expect heaping servings of eggs and potatoes or other greasy-spoon standards like cheeseburgers and patty melts. They're perfect for soaking up chagrin over bad decisions from the night before. As your vodka haze dissipates and you regain your strength, you may muster the energy to put on your dark sunglasses and venture onto Las Olas Boulevard to face the day. Think twice before you leave, though — there are mimosas on deck 24/7. Perhaps you're ready for one now?

This beer mecca is a stunner. Reclaimed wood from Washington, Montana, New York, and Oregon textures the walls in a rhythm of varying widths and subtly different shades of brown. Douglas fir from Oregon outfits tables. Floors are lapped with concrete, while the bar base is made of steel. Rebar runs the length of the ceiling overhead. The only "art," if you'd call it such, is a drawing of a tree that explains each beer's origin as a lager or an ale, and a gas station sign from a West Texas artisan. Fifteen thousand pennies serve as a backsplash behind the row of taps, 42 in all.

Hey, nice boat. Seriously. How many feet? It's a real beauty. Hey, if you're around one weekend, and want to hang out... we can go fishing or something. Then, when we're good and sunburned and haven't caught any fish, we can cruise on down toward the 17th Street Causeway and turn in toward Southport, a shining beacon at the end of the canal. The inside is fishy dive bar; the outside is more backyard picnic. The seafood options wash in on a tide of cold, cheap beer: raw or steamed clams, raw oysters (shucked to order), fried shrimp, conch fritters, a couple of chowders and soups. The fresh, simple, possibly alive options are better than more processed creations (don't bother with the stuffed clams). Over cracking cephalopods and fizzing beer, conversation and daydreaming are the dominant pursuits: The TVs are too small to bother with, so the real entertainment is right there in front of you. Us. Together. Just enjoying a day out on your boat.

A great brewpub doesn't force good beer to make up for mediocre food. Big Bear's huge menu goes beyond standard bar food, featuring fancy vittles like steak, seafood, volcano shrimp, and "Brie pillows." But the burgers remain a must-try; wash 'em down with an eight-beer sampler (eight types of beer are brewed in-house) for $8.50 and you're having a good night. The atmosphere has the dimly lit, cloth-napkin feel of a much more expensive restaurant with the din (and giant metal tanks) of a more rough-and-tumble brewery. Combine that with quick service and you've got a happy dinner experience.

This place looks and feels like the collision of a greasy spoon and a sports bar — napkins are replaced by a roll of brown paper towels on each table, the condiments are held in bent-up license plates, and the walls are covered in pictures of guys holding big fish. It's got burgers and milk shakes, but Diner 24's breakfast is the best in town if you've got ten bucks and an empty stomach. Its omelets are stuffed full of whatever you want, and it never skimps on the cheese. Sign yourself up for the home fries too — they come with onions and peppers mixed in. Combine that with a biscuit and jelly and you'll be all set. (Don't let the name fool you, though — it's open 24 hours on the weekend, but it closes at midnight during the week, so stumble over there before it's too late.)

Bravo offers a whole list of delicious entrées, but its sandwiches are edible miracles. The lomo saltado sandwich is easy on your wallet but fancy in your mouth, and the fish sandwich is so good you won't even mind that you don't like fish sandwiches. You can go there for a quick dinner, but it's perfect for lunch — just be prepared to be really full. It offers takeout, but you can sit down at a table without getting embarrassed about getting rocato sauce on your face — it's not a cloth-napkin joint, and nobody's ever been judged over an Inca cola.

This little shack on Andrews Avenue is perfect if you want good food but are easily startled by the fast service at Burger King. The drive-through, at first glance, looks like a breakthrough in Asian food purveyance but in actuality must be an elaborate ploy by oil companies to whittle away at your gas tank. It's fine if you call ahead, but if you order from your car, be ready to wait. There seems to be only one frazzled young gentleman taking orders. There's a little dog running around in the kitchen, and the old battery holding down the takeout menus just fell over, so the guy is in no mood for your attempts to swap out the free egg roll for half an order of boneless ribs. Don't let the chaos deter you, though — Wing Loon stands alone atop the Oakland Park Chinese-food takeout game.

You might have heard someone say they'd "never live west of 95." You might have heard Fort Lauderdale residents talk about the rough reputation of Sistrunk Boulevard. But in a region subtly divided by racial and socioeconomic boundaries, there's no better place to cut through the BS than Betty's: just west of 95, on Sistrunk Boulevard. The highway roars overhead, and commuter trains chug past the front door. But a procession of people from all over comes through the doors for the area's best fried chicken, slow-cooked wonders like oxtail or ribs, and macaroni and cheese that's richer than a Palm Beach heiress. This is Southern food, cooked in fat and nestled in styrofoam. The menu is fairly extensive — catfish, chicken gizzards — and Betty serves down-home breakfast items starting at 6 a.m. Start out with classics like the fried chicken and expand from there on subsequent visits. If unacquainted with Betty's, your dining companions may squeal and groan about how rich and sinful the food is. Pay them no mind, and enjoy your dinner.

After you've crossed the typical tourist destinations — beach, Everglades, and, heaven help you, Sawgrass Mills Mall — off the list, it's time to prove to your visitors that you are the kind of person who's privy to insider info. That's when you load 'em into the car, drive through a nondescript residential neighborhood, and stop in the marina parking lot reserved for Cap's customers. A short ferry ride across Lake Placid will deposit you at a set of historic buildings. Steer your party to the creaky-floored shack slightly to your left. Inside the storied walls, your guests will get a glimpse of a Florida that disappeared decades before terribly unsubtle developers like Donald Trump even set their eyes on this state.

Boynton Beach, once an affordable paradise for grannies and fishermen, has somehow gentrified into Palm Beach South, now overrun with expensive cars and multimillion-dollar condos. But one minuscule stretch of A1A still gives off a hometown feel. Here, sun-kissed beach babes pick up sundries from the legendary Nomad surf shop, and next door, regulars swarm to the Seaside Deli. At a counter in the back, the owner's son, Richie Parker, crafts about 50 kinds of sandwiches with moist fresh breads and Boar's Head meats, burstingly ripe tomatoes and bright green slaps of lettuce, all wrapped in wax paper and sealed with a piece of tape — precisely how a deli man should do it. Can't say Richie always smiles when he hands over the goods, but perhaps he is overwhelmed by the line that perpetually snakes around the aisles. An awesome drink selection takes up two walls and includes everything from Yoo-Hoo to import beers and minikegs to a machine that squeezes fresh orange juice before your very eyes. The deli is open from 6 a.m. to 8 p.m., and it delivers locally — not just food but cigarettes and newspapers too.

Mai-Kai's cocktail menu is ominous. The shrunken skull is "dangerous and deadly." The Bora Bora is an "adventurous challenge," and the 151 swizzle is "only for the sturdy." Although all are tasty concoctions that will have you slurring after a few sips, the real standout is the aptly named black magic. This potent snifterful of dark rums, lime juice, coffee, and other mystery ingredients is frighteningly refreshing and surprisingly complex. From the first sip, the flavor of coffee lingers on the taste buds without overwhelming them. After a few gulps, the stinging jab of various rums subsides, leaving the gut warm and tongue loose. If the $14 price tag is a turnoff, just get to the bar during a daily happy hour, when all drinks are half-priced.

This actually is a hole in the wall, and you wouldn't notice it but for the small sign sticking out into a side street, bearing the word HUT in plain lettering. There's something about bars next to package stores — if you're farther north in Wilton Manors, you'd do well to stop by Red's — that provides a genuine friendliness that 10,000 hipsters couldn't manufacture or reproduce. The bar here circles the middle of the room like a welcoming sandbar for battered ships, open daily at 7 in the morning. Unlike most nightlife spots, this one isn't unbearably seedy in the daytime; its day-shift bartenders are just as good as the night ones, though the bullshit detectors will be turned up high. Be sure to say hi to Zero, the guy who looks like Einstein (he owns the place), and peep the many photos of his travels around the world while you say goodbye to one light beer after another and shuffle over to the shuffleboard, then back to your barstool, then finally into the daylight to go back to work.

In the burgeoning FAT Village Arts District is Laser Wolf, a year-old bar that has quickly made a name for itself among the local scene. Far away from the beachy tourist traps, fist-pumping clubs, and beer-bong-playing crowds, Laser Wolf has established itself as the quintessential neighborhood watering hole. Its hometown feel is emphasized by the long, hand-crafted bar, the murals painted by friends, and, naturally, the Bellus brothers behind the bar serving drinks to customers in the place they brought to life.

There's no sign outside alerting you to the newest Hollywood music venue and fine brew hot spot. But somehow you'll find your way into the Native Florida Tap Room and Music Hall. The venue is owned by Carl "Kilmo" Pacillo, whose beloved venue Alligator Alley closed in 2009. After many years of waiting to open in another spot, this joint's perks make the wait worth it. Since its doors opened early this year, Native Florida Tap Room has booked a solid lineup of musical acts, featuring blues, rock, jazz, punk, funk, and folk, both by locals and out-of-towners. The comfortable bar sports an impressive array of microbrews, craft beers, and cider, both bottled and with 18 options on tap. Don't forget your cash, shirt, and shoes. These are required. Oh, and your taste for live music.

The ideal where-to-go-for-your-daily-pint bar strikes a healthy balance between "record stops when a stranger walks in" and "a stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet/would you like to hear our drink specials?" insincerity. The atmosphere at the Irishmen certainly strikes genuine notes. Live music, plenty of horny and happy college kids, more than 30 beers on tap, servers who are friendly with newbies but tend to spend a bit more time shooting the shit with the regs? Yeah. That's how your neighborhood bar should be.

It's another Tuesday night at Kim's Alley Bar in Victoria Park. You're sharing a table with your significant other at the front bar thinking about all the fighting you two have been doing lately. After gaining some liquid courage, you decide it's time to pull the plug on the relationship. The room is dark, good for hiding any tears and runny makeup. The jukebox is loud, and drunks are shouting the lyrics, perfect for masking any fighting. And when it's all said and done, you can head over to the second, back bar to get away without being too far from a drink.

By the time Sunday night rolls around after a long weekend of fun, it's not uncommon to experience an aversion to activities like cooking and putting on shoes. If this sounds familiar, find your perfect weekend-capper at Rockout With Your Cookout, the weekly Sunday hangout put on by Brotherly Love Productions at Hurricane Lounge. Each week, a different local, regional, or national band is featured — usually of the jam, funk, or reggae sort and often in a stripped-down configuration to match the laid-back mood of the scene. While the band plays, free-spirited folks who smell like incense enjoy free food from the grill accompanied by the last drinks before the workweek.

It's 2 a.m.; most of the bars on Himmarshee have closed out tabs and shuffled the drunks out the doors. You and your gang want just one more drink. Hell, maybe you want two or three more. Nobody is judging you; we want somewhere to hang out late night too. That's why we head over to the Poorhouse. Open until 4 a.m., this legendary local dive is the place to go before calling it a night. There's usually a late-night band onstage, and if not, the jukebox is packed with drunk-sing-along anthems. The bartenders' pours are heavy, and the atmosphere is completely relaxed.

Just as Lake Worth stubbornly refuses to shower, shave, and dress up for tourists, Havana Hideout remains an ungentrified gem. Sand crunches beneath your flip-flops when you sit at picnic tables shielded by thatched tiki huts. Beer and sangria are served in plastic cups, and there's no gin or tonic here. On cool nights, the regulars crowd inside at the tiny bar, but on Taco Thursdays — when tacos are $1.50 apiece — the outdoor picnic tables overflow with people. Always, there is live music. It might be the hesitant, meandering twang of open-mic night or a Beatles cover band that makes the whole neighborhood stop and listen. On any given night, Lake Avenue is more alive because of Havana. When the breeze rustles the palm trees above the tiki huts, this bar reminds us why we moved to Florida and why it's so hard to leave.

A canopy of trees, under the stars, on a swath of Jupiter Inlet where the water laps sweetly at the shoreline. Pull up a barstool near the waterfall and listen to a surf-reggae band croon. This is the way your guests imagined Florida, so it's only fair to give them what they seek. Every inch of Guanabanas murmurs vacation, from the tiki huts to the wooden deck chairs where you can sit, nurse a beer, and contemplate moonlight on the water. Greenery this lush doesn't exist much anymore in South Florida's concrete jungle, so the perfectly landscaped paths here have a slightly Disney feel. But it doesn't matter. The trees are real, the breeze is comforting, and your guests are tipsy and guzzling conch fritters. Welcome home.

Located just off of a particularly industrial stretch of Andrews Avenue, the Bimini Bay Bar has no windows, no lights, and no hope. There's a gun shop one block south, a tractor-trailer dealership one block north, and a "grocery store" attached to one side of the building that offers little other than potato chips, Slim Jims, and the pungent smell of old seafood. The bar itself is a musty, disorienting cave, chiefly illuminated by two televisions playing hard-core porn that occasionally features the bartenders. Women's underwear and a sombrero hang from the ceiling, and the bartenders wear bikinis even in the afternoon, which is also the only time enough light sneaks in to reveal, whenever someone opens the door, that one of the walls is made of brown plywood. Phil Collins is on the speakers, a giant NASCAR schedule hangs on one wall next to the dartboard, and a giant mirror behind the bar is almost entirely obscured by a red-eyed Jolly Roger. A can of Bud will cost you less than $3, but be warned — if you're not addicted to cigarettes on the way in, you sure as hell will be on the way out.

Mickey's Bar may look different from other "family" establishments , but it is just as worthy of the title. Like a model family, Mickey's patrons gather to celebrate birthdays and holidays and, occasionally, to pay tribute to a family member who has passed on or who is going through tough times. Truly, the regulars here share something deeper than being fans of motorcycles. But one glance at the place or the folks who fill it daily and it's easy to see that Mickey's is worthy of the "biker bar" title as well.

Can't decide between getting drunk while doing some grade-A people-watching or taking the more contemplative route of imbibing to the point of inebriation over a dramatic view of the ocean's vastness? If that's the case, pull up a seat on the porch of Organic Brewery along Hollywood's Broadwalk and do both. The natural ebb and flow of Broadwalk strollers is a veritable conga line of flabby old-timers, trashy-T-shirt aficionados, and disappointed tourists. Tilt your head at the right angle and the railing of the porch blocks out this meandering gaggle of entertainment, leaving only the big blue sea in your line of sight. Some great beers are brewed on-site, and they don't carry the pretentious price tags often associated with microbrews. A hefty 35-ounce chalice of stout will set you back about $10, or you can go for a standard ten-ounce glass and save a few bucks and not look like a total lush. If your boozy sweet tooth takes over, just flip to the dessert menu and order the beer cake, a blend of hazelnut, raisins, dark beer, and two types of cheese. Have fun digesting that one.

The Treasure Trove is an institution on Fort Lauderdale beach. Neither hurricanes nor avaricious landlords can shake it from its moorings. But in rough seas or calm, it's Jenny who keeps things shipshape. She'll scold you for making a mess of the hot-sauce bottle on Taco Tuesday. She'll outright yell at you for using cocktail napkins to clean up a spill. But she'll also bring you a much-needed shot on a bad day, hide a friendly note in a to-go taco order for a coworker left back at the office, and generally make you feel like you've come home the minute you walk in the door. She's like your big sister forced to baby-sit you on a Saturday night. Yeah, she's having some friends over for a party, but if you shut up and play nice, she'll let you drink with the big kids.

Sometimes, all you need is a good meal, a cold beer, and a clear view of the game. In times like these, a visit to Hott Leggz will be nothing short of therapeutic, especially if you're a fan of Chicago sports. The laid-back, Chi-town bar just a mile or so from the beach is a favorite among locals for ending a day or beginning a night. Vintage Vienna Beef signs litter the walls, but the menu is not limited to hot dogs. Bayou favorites like gumbo and poor boys, an array of burger selections — including a delicious roasted veggie burger — and crab legs are among the most celebrated items. Wash down your meal with two-for-one drinks while seated at a high top equipped with a personal, high-def, flat-screen TV.

Guinness is a beverage all about time. It should be imbibed the same way it's poured — with steady efficiency and a sense of purpose. Just the way it comes at Maguires Hill 16 in Fort Lauderdale. The first sign that you're getting a proper Guinness is that it takes at least twice as long to arrive as it does the rest of the drinks at the table — as well it should, since it takes 119.5 seconds to properly pour one. If you want a show with your drink, order your Guinness at the bar and watch how it's built. If it's still foaming when it arrives, wait for the head to fully settle. You want to palm the glass firmly and finish the pint in about ten manly swallows. Don't rush through it, but no sipping either. Just tell the bartender you're there to learn to appreciate Guinness. She'll teach you. It just takes time.

Situated in the heart of Wilton Manors and exemplifying that happily beating heart, Matty's is known and loved for its friendly atmosphere, which only gets friendlier as the cheap drinks go down. A favorite happy-hour spot, the bar serves two-for-one drinks daily until 9 p.m. and lots of party beyond that early hour. Although each night offers different specials on booze and tasty menu items, Wild Wednesdays is Matty's claim to fame. To ensure that everyone makes it completely over the hump, 75-cent drinks are offered until the wee hours of Thursday morning. More important, what is offered every day is an environment where you can relax. Pop in to enjoy a martini, shoot a game of pool, dance your ass off, or watch Glee. If you've not become acquainted already, you will quickly makes friends with this inviting Wilton Drive locale.

We know, we're not surprising anyone with this one. Yeah, the line stretches out the door around lunchtime on Saturday, and they retail their sauce in bottles. Yeah, at certain times of the day, it's not as good (though it's your fault if you expect great barbecue at odd hours). But goldangit, Tom Jenkins' and all of its carbonized, log-cabiny kitsch is just the most fun and satisfying place to get your rib-stickin' meat in this fair county. The building was repurposed and renovated years ago by the owners (neither of whom is named Tom Jenkins, despite the congratulatory letters addressed to him that are framed on the wall). Step inside and you're basically in the barbecue pit already, soaking up the smells as you stand in a line past rustic wooden tables and vintage kitsch. Once you get your meal, the magic is revealed: the burnt ends on the chopped pork border soft, pink morsels with just enough fat; ribs don't fall off the bone so much as gracefully pirouette into your mouth. The sauce, a tangy, just-sweet-enough concoction, isn't really necessary but a welcome compliment. Sides, like collard greens and baked beans, are dependable, and you get a hunk of corn bread for dippin'. Just as it should be.

If smiles are at all contagious, there is one clear, sparkling reason that New Moon is a favorite "gayborhood" hangout for ladies who love to show off their pearly whites. Owner Carol Moran, whom one loyal patron describes as a "peach," sports a perma-smile bright enough to light the pages of a Jeanette Winterson novel, and regulars at the bar always add to the light. To infect those outside of their Wilton Drive headquarters, the folks at New Moon consistently show support for others in the area who are working to improve life for the LGBTQ community and beyond.

Knowing the origin story of a food doesn't inherently make it taste any better. That's usually just a pleasant side effect. The lightly beer-battered squash blossoms from Max's Harvest are born at Green Cay Produce in nearby Boynton Beach, but it's not the proximity to the source that makes these so delicious; it's the preparation. Executive chef Chris Miracolo's blossoms are stuffed with an airy mix of goat and feta cheese and set upon upland cress. The kicker is a tomato-olive vinaigrette that you'll be damned-near tempted to lick off the plate.

2 ripe avocados, scooped out with a fork

1 tomato, chopped

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 jalapeño pepper, seeds removed, finely chopped

sprig of cilantro, chopped

juice of one lime

Add salt to taste.

Put in a bowl and stir like mad. That wasn't so hard, was it, big boy?