No one smashes plates. No one swigs ouzo. Is this really a Greek restaurant? You bet, although an elegantly subdued one. Not only do the décor and the behavior of fellow clientele satisfy propriety, but the traditional fare -- avgolemono (lemon-egg) soup, romaine-fennel salad, swordfish souvlaki (skewered fish) -- is simultaneously sensual and reminiscent of the old country. Indeed, it's one of the few restaurants where you can scan the menu and utter the cliché "It's all Greek to me" without negative connotations. Then you can order some red wine and a portion of flaming saganaki (flambéed cheese), and sit back and enjoy the dramatic presentation of the fare.

This tiny 40-seater, a renovated luncheonette, can be a little cramped if large parties are in the house. But for the most part, tables for two and four are the norm, which allows couples to whisper conspiratorially and foursomes to gossip about friends and neighbors without being overheard. Even more significant, chef-owner Tony Sindaco's open-kitchen cooking commands other customers' attention, so no one eavesdrops. Murmur to your heart's content, at least until your food arrives. Be warned that Sindaco's way with fish -- he makes a mean tuna Bolognese sauce and wraps salmon with thinly sliced potatoes -- tends to silence patrons temporarily, if not shut their mouths completely. Except for the appropriate chewing motions, of course.

Call it "le spécial d'oiseau." Or something like that. The French have survived Jerry Lewis, EuroDisney, and Michael Jackson, so why not subject them to the most dynamic of South Florida culinary inventions, the early-bird special? L'Anjou doesn't dare call its presunset dining extravaganza an early bird, but all the ingredients are there. And we call a oiseau a oiseau when we see one. Show up between 5 and 5:45 p.m., and for $16.50 you get an appetizer, an entrée, your choice of dessert, coffee, or tea. The food is unimaginative but hearty and well prepared. Appetizers include duck pâté and marinated herring, as well as tomato juice. (You call that an appetizer?) As for entrées, there's half a duck à l'orange, mahi-mahi pan-seared with tarragon sauce, and many other dishes you won't encounter at Piccadilly Cafeteria. L'Anjou also delivers that other staple of early-bird culture: hordes of retirees who will take out your kneecap with a walker if you tell them they've missed the 5:45 cutoff.

We can go to the store and pick up a nice low-end bottle of Kendall-Jackson wine for, say, $12, so why would we want to sip the same wine at the inflated restaurant markup of $35? Exactly. So in choosing the best wine selection, we went looking not just for an exhaustive list of bottles but for one that featured choice and fair prices combined with some out-of-the-ordinary finds. We discovered just such a splendid combination at Pineapple Grill. We knew we were onto something right off the bat when a quick scan of the list brought us to the section for rosé (or blush) wines, and instead of the standard Sutter Home or Beringer white zinfandel, we found bottles of Buehler white zin from Napa Valley ($17.69) and Saintsbury vin gris pinot noir ($18.59) from Carneros. And by using various area wine distributors rather than shacking up with one exclusively, Pineapple's proprietors have kept out of a rut, offering a sprinkling of Old World favorites (Chateau Des Rontets' $37.83 pouilly-fuissé and Georges du Boeuf's $19.91 Beaujolais-Villages from France, for example) amid a wide variety of New World vintages. Notable on the list of whites are a Roberta Pecota Sauvignon Blanc ($18.59) and a Matanzas Creek chardonnay ($49.43), both from Sonoma, and a couple of selections from California vintner Rabbit Ridge. A Stags' Leap cab ($52.26) from Napa jumps off the list of reds. You might find some of these by snooping around nicer liquor emporiums, but you won't beat the Pineapple prices by much, and these bottles certainly won't turn up on grocery-store shelves.

Note scribbled on a bar napkin while researching this category: "There's something beautifully poetic about drinking martinis in the middle of the afternoon at Mark's." Sinatra would agree, and isn't that really what a good martini is all about? We think so. Mark's mixes a mean one, with a rack of gins and vodkas from which to choose, a knowledgeable bar staff to help you do so, and the right atmosphere in which to swill. Straight up or dirty, they always come shaken, not stirred, accented with three fat olives on the swizzle stick. Poetry in a glass. If you're lucky the lovely Martha will be your mixologist. Stir in the tastefully hip surroundings and the passing parade on Las Olas Boulevard, and we can't think of a better way to wile away a South Florida afternoon. But remember to bring your plastic -- premium martinis at Mark's will set you back $9 each.

Whether it's a snowbird paying you back for lodging or the boss treating you on the company's plastic, it's always a delight to be taken to dinner. When this rare occurrence materializes, you want elegance and a worthy wine list. At the Grill Room, you also get quality cocktails, multiple servers, and an appropriately pricey menu, all accompanied by live piano music. And the Grill Room has the feel of a club, not some trendy eatery with a noisy, bustling atmosphere. Indeed, its stated intention is to "transport you to a gentler time when British officers enjoyed all the splendors of exotic locations under Colonial rule." Well, we don't know if it's all that, but it's close. Disregard the prices and start with a dram of smoky, single-malt Scotch, then move on to a robust cabernet. Once you're past the appetizer, try the rack of lamb, and polish things off with an adequately aged brandy. And then, when the bill arrives, it's tallyho, old chum!

So the décor's not much to look at -- a couple of tables in a plain eatery stuck in a strip mall. But what do you care? You're here for the take-out, which is a good thing, because that's what this place specializes in. Choose your region: classic Cantonese, Mandarin, Szechuan. The woks here spew forth all manner and style of noodle dishes and stir-fry items, from chow fun to savory tofu. In addition the cooks are fast and the staff is efficient, so your order is finished, packed up, and ready to go within minutes of your call. Plus, Henry's caters to any diner, be it in-house or at-home. Special dietary requests? Not a problem. Vegetarian in your midst? Plenty of options. Allergic to MSG? Henry's doesn't use it. All in all, Henry's exceeds typical take-out expectations, because when you get home, your food is hot and savory rather than a soggy mess. And that's a point in your favor.

If you're honest about it, Acquario is a mall restaurant. OK, so that mall is the Esplanade, on chichi Worth Avenue, the aptly named street of commerce in Palm Beach, where real estate is mogul territory. And yes, the complex is hardly Jersey mallrat quality, since all the stores are both genteel and pricey. Perhaps it's fitting, then, that Acquario, located in the back of the structure on the top floor, is a sedate, plush dining experience. Check loud voices at the door and sink into plush carpeting. Traditional décor, including oil paintings and crystal light fixtures, evoke the charm of European drawing rooms. But it's chef Theo Schoenegger's contemporary Mediterranean cuisine -- quail grilled with so many herbs it's a veritable Simon and Garfunkel song or lobster risotto with asparagus -- that clinches the deal with the decisiveness of a CEO. Of course, you might need your friendly CEO to pick up the bill, which like everything else in the area can be, um, a little high. But then what's pleasure that you don't somehow pay for?

If Fort Lauderdale's known for anything, it's raw bars. In addition to the old guard, avant-garde clam shacks pop up all the time. That makes the competition in this category especially fierce. But sometimes it takes an old-timer to show the young'uns how it should be done. Southport doesn't have fancy bloody Marys garnished with oysters, or tequila-oyster shooters, or oysters flown in from other places around the country. It just has good, honest seafood, served raw or cooked, according to your preference. No matter how you like your clams and oysters, be sure to get the smallest ones, which are often the sweetest. Those who forgo raw fare aren't neglected, either -- they can order fried shrimp, steamed oysters, or stuffed clams, to name a few alternatives. And the prices? They haven't changed much since the place opened about 27 years ago, which can't help but soothe the saltiest patron.

The name of this upscale sushi and sake bar may sound rock-hard (or rok-hard), but the sushi itself is nothing less than supple. Not soft, because that would imply textureless. Not pliable, because that would denote elasticity. And not flexible, because that might be stringy. No, we're talking fresh raw fish, cut thick enough to give your teeth just the tiniest moment of resistance before yielding. If there's one thing you can count on here, aside from the sake cocktails (or coktails), it's the reliability of the sushi chefs. Fish, after all, is only as good as the hands that cut it, and these are caring hands. You could even call them, well, supple.