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.