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A sub is a sandwich made on a lengthy loaf of crusted bread that is layered with cold cuts, lettuce, tomato, and numerous garnishings, splashed with olive oil and vinegar, and dashed with salt, coarse ground pepper, and, if you're lucky, oregano. You can also call a sub a hoagie. Or a grinder. Or a hero. Or a Blimpie if you hang with the wrong sort of people. The right sort would be the types who frequent Marco's Boulevard Subs, where they pile on the ham, salami, capicola, and provolone and top it with salad, pickles, and peppers -- hot and sweet. A dozen types of hefty cold-cut-based subs are tossed together with aplomb, including a kick-ass BLT. Sub rolls come in whole wheat too for those who wish to delude themselves into thinking they're eating health food. Does Boulevard finish its sandwiches with a sprinkle of oregano? Of course -- this is, after all, the top stop for those to whom subway means only that train in NYC.

Turkey. Turkey dull. Still, turkey good. Turkey tries. Could be better. Turkey meets rye. Turkey improves with mustard, oil, and vinegar. Turkey makes good with usual lettuce, tomato, pickles, and olives. Then turkey tackles pepper. Hot pepper! Sweet pepper! Green pepper! Cherry pepper! Banana pepper! Turkey tastes tangy, tantalizing, titillating. The hyperactive hots! The salacious sweets! And it comes in a hulking, fist-tall wad of a $7 sandwich that only a hippo could bite through in one chomp. Oh, if only lunch came more than once a day!

Liz Taylor will wear colored contacts before you'll have a bad brioche at Bonjour. Here we have le vrai McCoy. This sliver of a bakery just east of the Bimini Boatyard again proves that if you have what people want, there's no such thing as a poor location. Whether wolfing a Napoleon at a table next to one of the fabulescent Art Institute students who love this place or settled into a lounge chair for a quick croissant, café, and an eyeball of Le Monde, you can't go wrong with Chef Alexandre Rohfritsch's handiwork. Order a delivery of a sugar-paste dessert for your next affair, or hunker down on-site with a baguette stuffed to order with field greens, cornichons, and brie and you'll ditto the words of M. Chevalier: "C'est magnifique!"

As you probably know, bread was invented by the Duke of Sandwich, who was looking for something to put around his bologna. Unfortunately for the duke (or was he an earl?), creating bread was more difficult than he thought, and as the endless baking experiments bankrupted his beloved Sandwich, the angry peasants of that territory rebelled and exiled the duke to Hallandale, where he continued his attempts at forging a food from flour and water. After many years, the desperate duke finally succeeded and even came up with the idea of adding eggs to make an exceptional challah, though, sadly, by this time, he had become too impoverished to afford bologna. After the duke's death, his recipe for bread spread far and wide, and though an infinite number of bakeries have produced many a fine loaf since, few have mastered the art of baking like the Bakehouse. Since 1996, this retail/wholesale shop has offered a mind-boggling variety of artisan breads: honey wheat, whole wheat, onion rye, pumpernickel raisin, kalamata olive, sourdough, and, of course, the duke's challah. All breads are natural and made by hand -- no preservatives, no sugar (except for the chocolate cherry bread, available at Christmas), and no fat (except in the jalapeño-cheddar loaf). Loaves weigh up to one and a half pounds each and run $3.75 to $5.95. The bread here is, in fact, unbelievably good.

Morning has broken, the sun is up, and it's time to check in to Flakowitz Bagel Inn, the deliciously bagel-heavy breakfast restaurant in eastern Boca Raton. Flakowitz's bagels are homemade in the Boynton store, and its selection includes a diverse dose of doughy delight, such as cinnamon raisin, egg, rye, bialy, marble, and pumpernickel. Take your pick, and add some cream cheese ($1.45 per quarter-pound for regular, $1.60 for fat-free), scallion or veggie cream cheese ($1.70), or nova spread ($2.19). Like any good breakfast restaurant worth its weight in dough, Flakowitz is hardly a secret. Once noontime draws near, the waiting line stretches clear out the door. But don't be intimidated by the numbers; you really won't wait that long. Despite the crowd, not everyone's there to dine inside. The walkup window around the side of the building is an added convenience for a quick bagel to go. Flakowitz Bagel Inn is open 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday through Saturday and from 7 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Sunday.

It's Friday night, and you're hosting a party to celebrate your, uh... Well, there's no real reason; you just wanna get drunk. But you also want to take care of your guests, and yourself, for that matter. So instead of buying the same old, run-of-the-mill domestic beer from the corner store, take a trip to Case & Keg Beer World, where you can browse the more than 600 beer types and more than 140 keg beers. Gaze in awe as you choose from the huge selection of imported/micro ales and malts from breweries in the United Kingdom, Israel, Poland, India, Japan, the Czech Republic, and more. There are also plenty of wheat beers and sodas and even such creatively packaged stuff as Scotland's Legendary Heather Ale, which comes in a castle-shaped box. You can even get beer brewed with any name you choose on the label. Just imagine the possibilities! And if you're too busy with party-planning to pick up your keg order, Case & Keg will deliver it right to your door. Though it's probably best to just go there. It may take a few trips, but your guests will love you for it. How can anyone say no to this party?

They're $8, lack jalapeños, and the chips sometimes come singed. But, lawdy, if you want to make a meal of nachos, you've found the right place. Start with a pile of red, white, and blue chips, toss on chunks of mesquite chicken, Monterey jack cheese, two kinds of olives, and a mortar-like layer of spicy beans, then top it with an eruption of pico de gallo and sour cream. The whole mélange arrives in a skillet, which has exactly the sort of walls you need to scoop up stray beans and sauce using a single corn chip, as nature intended.

Why do the Brits fare so well with pub grub when they strike out so often with the rest of culinariana? (Bubbles and squeak? Boiled parsnips?) But here's one place where the Limeys can fly as many Union Jacks as they want. The building's 19th-century façade, including eight-foot-high English-oak front doors and stained-glass windows, was on London's historic Chancery Lane and was shipped across the pond in 1996. On nights when the Brit rock band Mad Cow is shivering the timbers of this Atlantic Avenue English pub-with-a-pedigree, you might find it hard to concentrate on the top-flight fish and chips in front of you. But persevere. Take a bite of just-right filet, get up and move to the beat, and then get back to your booth and try one of the homemade meat pies (suggestion: steak and mushroom) or Scottish fish cakes or even bangers and mash. Take a sip of one of the dozen imported beers (suggestion: Newcastle Brown Ale). Booty-shake a little more. Then finish with one of the fine fruit crumbles or a sherry trifle, followed by a glass of port and a hearty wedge of aged English Blue Stilton. There now. Life isn't so bad after all. And not one boiled parsnip in sight.

So you just ate the best meal of your life, but you're not sated. You still need that little buzz that makes a damn good meal perfect. You could smoke a cigar, but that's not allowed these days. Pot? You crazy? So how about a snifter of the finest French cognac? No better place to try this final step toward gastronomic paradise than Side Bar at the Himmarshee Bar & Grille. They have the three top brands -- Courvoisier, Remy Martin, and Hennessey -- in both VSOP and top-drawer types. Side Bar is connected to the restaurant -- which is fantastic -- so you can just walk around the corner for a toot or drop in after eating somewhere else. Prices range from $9 to $25. So relax, whirl it around a little, and let the fumes make your head spin, then sip slowly. All is well with the world, no, mon ami?

"Don't be a chickenshit!" "Smack my ass and call me Sally!" These are two of the more involved names of the 12 sauces (four regulars and eight rotating ones) in the bar at Tijuana Flats Burrito Co., daring you -- make that double-daring you -- to "Give heat a chance." As soon as you walk in the door, you're seeing red; the walls are a deep shade of it and decorated with photos of hot-sauce survivors. (If you're a glutton for punishment, try the aptly named "Ass in Hell.") The sauces, of course, are all there to accompany Tijuana Flats' budget-conscious menu, which includes drool-inducing dishes like the toasted blackened chicken burrito ($5.75) and the spinach artichoke quesadilla ($5.50). In fact, the most expensive thing on the menu comes out to a whopping $7.75. But your pockets won't be the only thing paying.

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