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.