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If Cohiba can be considered the Queen Mother of Cuban comfort food, then we're clasped to her big, warm, soft bosom. From her we get our basic nourishment: black beans and rice, fried yuca, chicken noodle soup. From her we draw strength: pounded palomilla steaks, roast pork so tender it brings a quiver to our lips. From her we gain confidence -- or is it sugar? -- along with coconut flan. She gives it to us straight when we need it (just a plain ol' Cuban sandwich) and dresses things up with a flourish when we deserve it (shrimp with mushrooms and brandy). Call us mama's boys and girls if you must. But we're never going to leave her, so you might as well get used to it.

Why such passion for a sandwich that's not even good for you? Because it tastes so good, that's why. And the sandwich at Tropical Café is an exemplar of the genre. A huge, pressed Cuban roll stuffed with ham, Swiss cheese, and home-cooked pork (roasted to tenderness for four and a half hours) can easily get you through the day and only set you back $4.99, including a small bag of potato chips and a soda. But if you're especially hungry, there's a special or even a supremo, each a third again as large. If you'd rather not take all your daily cholesterol in one shot, a medianoche is a smaller version on a sweet roll with honeyed ham substituted. And if you're just not in the mood for the Earl of Sandwich's clever device to enable him to stay at the gaming tables during meals, Tropical Café boasts a diverse menu of Cuban specialties such as shredded beef, carne con papas, or lechón asado (that's roast pork to you, gringo) -- each served with rice and black beans, plantains, and that ubiquitous soda. Tropical Café is owned and operated by Humberto Fajardo and his wife, Sol Maria. While the operation on Andrews Avenue is an open-air experience where patrons perch on high stools lined along a sidewalk counter, the Searstown café is an indoor 50-seater. Maybe the latter is not as picturesque, says Berto, who came to Miami from Havana at age 19 and has worked in Cuban restaurants since, but it is air-conditioned!

If you think, given the name, that this corner delicatessen must serve some awesome steak sandwiches, you're right. Some of the tastiest Philly cheesesteaks originate here, along with other grilled sandwiches such as the steak-and-egg special, chicken Parmesan, or even a Cuban sandwich pressed as beautifully as a shirt. But if you think, given the name, that there's no way you could get a real New York deli sandwich filled with just-fatty-enough corned beef or spicy pastrami, you'd be wrong. The Steak Shop carries those items as well and even has a full Greek complement of gyros and souvlaki, as well as chili-cheese fries, Chicago-style hot dogs, and sausage and peppers. In the end the only assumption you really can make about this deli is that, while it may be all over the map, any direction you go will be correct.
This elegant little café offers a wide range of happy endings -- from a simple ginger cookie to a sinful Chocolate Decadence. It's all good. In addition to classic cakes, this neighborhood favorite mixes things up with trendy chocolate bread pudding or an upscale rendition of carnival fare. "It's all air and sugar," laughed one recent customer after happily biting into an elephant ear. A fitting description: The main ingredients at Stork's are sweetness and light.
It wouldn't be dim sum without shrimp and pork playing leading roles. And in this otherwise nondescript strip-mall Chinese eatery, the little crustaceans and the "other white meat" combine to steal the show -- which runs from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. daily. (The restaurant is open until 10 p.m. on weekdays and 11 p.m. Friday through Sunday.) Whether steamed whole with leeks inside a dumpling; minced and blended with dough, then fried into a fluffy ball; or chopped and wrapped with a won ton skin in a siu mai, the shrimp here is uniformly delicate and tasty. The pork siu mai also bursts with delicious meat, peppers, and ginger, while the sweet barbecued-pork pastry is somehow both comforting and sophisticated. Top it all off with a few squares of pan-fried turnip pudding and some sticky rice wrapped in lotus leaves, and Hong Kong won't feel quite so far away anymore. Prices aren't bad, either. They run from $2.15 to $3.95 per plate.
The stainless steel restaurant is a true classic, having been manufactured in 1953 by Mountain View Diners, a New Jersey company that was one of the nation's premier eatery makers. Father-and-son team Denis and Steve Grenier bought the place back in 1989 and have steadfastly maintained the diner's throwback vibe. Their main ingredient: a 73-year-old chef named Louie, whose specials include two stuffed mushrooms and two stuffed shrimp for the bargain-basement cost of $8.95. Prices for other victuals range from 94 cents for coffee to $9.95 for fried, broiled, or stuffed jumbo shrimp in four different combination platters. Now Denis is pondering retirement, and Steve is considering a career in law enforcement. Though Jack's is on the market, along with a building next door, that doesn't stop a multitude of coaches, cops, and Québecois from filling this place almost around the clock. (Restaurant hours are 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily.) Indeed, even on a weekend morning, you can find five or ten people lighting up cigarettes in true French-Canadian style while they down their eggs and coffee. If you don't smoke, heck, head for the back room, where such unhealthy behavior is prohibited.

Yes, we named this place last year, too. But when something is the best, it's the best, and that's all there is to it. Krispy Kreme rules the donut world; all else is just fat-fried dough. Arrive when these deliciously soft, airy treats are fresh out of the oven, and you'll finally understand why the good Lord gave you taste buds.
Owners Suzie Ludlow and Jon Robichaud have been serving cranky drivers from this charming little stand for seven years. They peddle edible chocolate and almond cigars, which are delivered every morning from Protano's Bakery in Hollywood, as well as low-fat muffins, apple turnovers, and coffeecakes from local distributors. But it's the coffee that makes drivers line up around the block every morning. Ludlow and Robichaud purchase 42 varieties of the stuff from a local roaster whose beans are picked up fresh from the docks of the Miami River. They have one huge espresso maker, one huge American coffee machine, and two smaller devices for regular and decaf. Their most popular item is a 12-ounce cuppa joe called Morning Express: a Viennese roast Colombian blend with a bit of cinnamon for $1. "Coffee and driving go together," Susie comments. "We don't cater to the Starbucks clan. We serve just straight coffee, no foo-foo stuff." That formula seems to be working just fine.
The restaurant prefers to call them "sunset specials," which made more sense before the end of daylight savings caused the sun to set at, oh, 8 p.m. or so. But why quibble? The fact remains that this eatery, which opens daily at 4 p.m., offers a great gourmet deal: soup or salad, main course, potato and vegetable of the day, nonalcoholic beverage, and dessert. Prices range from $11.95 for a perfectly roasted chicken in lemon-thyme broth to $16.95 for herb-marinated lamb chops. Then there's the Wiener schnitzel, the potato-crusted salmon, and the duck in wild berry sauce, all of which are freshly prepared and served with an extra dose of friendliness -- and plenty of sunshine.

Michael Gadaleta, a former car salesman who describes himself as an "American-Italian-Argentinean from Brooklyn," opened Empanada Only in 1997. "Once I was the best car salesman in the nation, I'm not bullshittin' you," he declares. "But here I don't have to worry about managers or lawyers. I'm my own man." Indeed he owns and operates the shop by himself; he makes his own dough; chops the onions, peppers, and olives; grinds the beef; bakes the empanadas; and sells them from behind the counter. Articles about the one-man wonder and his store wallpaper the tiny shop just off Hollywood Boulevard. The empanadas are available about every way imaginable: frozen or baked, by the dozen or one at a time. His specialties include a whole-wheat variety stuffed with pineapple or pumpkin and less-unusual ones with guava and cheese, apple slices, or broccoli and cheese. He declines to explain the process: "I can't tell you how I make them, because then everybody will do it," he says. "Who knows, maybe I'll sell a franchise and have 20,000 of these, like Colonel Sanders."

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