If a phrase like "Gimme the Big One" sets your heart a-pounding, then you, as we did, probably had a thing for the 'boys. Direct from the classiest armpit on earth -- the Jersey shore -- Fatboys gave us double cheeseburgers that horrified our doctors and mystified our private trainers: hip-stretching, medium-rare beef slathered with melted cheddar cheese, chili, onions, and (wouldn't ya know it?) French fries. No doubt, we'll miss the quick caloric fix, though can't say we mind not trotting all those extra miles on the treadmill. And for the record: We never really did believe that "gourmet" bit.

Ah, cornado! You need no help to complete yourself. No tangy tomato sauce. No mustard goo. You skinny, you golden, you crunchy, you subtle, sweet corn-based variation on les pommes frites. At a crepuscular table overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway, with a scallop and shrimp wrap and a Bass draft, in the gloaming of a day. Mmmm. Tasty.

The unspoken ending of this name is obvious: When in Rome, eat pizza. The owners of this ultrapleasant wine bar and café also run three eateries in Rome, so if you bet that the goods in the Fort Lauderdale place are authentic, you'd win. What's the prize? How about the thinnest crust imaginable, topped generously with items like prosciutto, capicolla, eggplant, black olives, or even a whole fried egg? Simply put, this isn't designer pizza. It isn't outlandish. It doesn't compete with local pizza chains or take-out/delivery empires. But it is as classic and timeless as Rome itself, and when it comes to pizza, that's plenty.

Admittedly, a British pub is not the first place you'd look when seeking out good chili. You'd expect to find it at someplace called Big Ed's Bean Bonanza or maybe the Lone Star Bar and Grill. But the Brits put on a surprising show at Ye Olde Falcon Pub. A bowl of chili at the pub (which also has a decent beer selection) comes steaming hot and in large quantities, the way chili ought to be. It's lip-smackin' spiciness could make a good ol' Texas boy pull his guns and shoot out the lights -- except that would be ill-mannered. 'Tis a British place, after all.

When an order of spare ribs goes by the moniker "James Brown Gettin' Down!" and a full slab of baby-back ribs is called "Baby Got Back," you know you're in the right place for a little pork on the bone. Make that off the bone, as in falling off. The barbecue here is Tennessee-style, slow-cooked over smoky oak and softened with a just-sweet sauce that has diners hard-put to tell the difference between the edible parts of the ribs and their own sticky fingers. Sides work for us, too -- the cornbread muffins are homemade, and the mac-and-cheese pleases the pickiest kid -- but we'll return for the ribs first and foremost. And despite the casual packaging of Styrofoam and plastic, you don't even have to hit the road to dig in, as "2 Go" implies: A half-dozen picnic tables are available for those who just can't wait.

Nothin' says lovin' like good barbecue. Heck, there's really no such thing as bad barbecue, only barbecue that isn't quite as good as other barbecue you've tried. Jack's, however, is damn good barbecue. A good smokehouse can be judged on the quality of its pulled meats, and Jack's has some excellent pulled beef. And then there are the high-caliber sides. Collard greens are not too sweet, cornbread is steaming hot, and mac-and-cheese comes with the little burnt bits of cheese that say it's homemade. Of course, sauce can make or break a barbecue pit, and Jack's sauce is just tangy enough, with each meal served with plenty of it. This is barbecue the way it's supposed to be.

Make no mistake, Tom Jenkins is the granddaddy of 'em all. A business that started as a traveling weekend barbecue, this 40-seatery doesn't pull any punches with its hickory-infused products; it just pulls pork... and chicken, spare ribs, baby-back ribs, baked beans, hush puppies, and the like. After eight years as top player, it's only natural that Tom Jenkins should spawn. In this case, the offspring is inspiration: the aforementioned Soul Food 2 Go in Hollywood and Jack's Bar-B-Q Smokehouse in Fort Lauderdale have both been opened by Tom Jenkins's barbecue alumni. Imitation, they say, is the sincerest form of flattery.

How do you want it? A verde burrito stuffed with savory chunks of beef or chicken slathered in a tangy tomatillo salsa? A steak burrito with chopped onions and tomatoes that's topped with the house red sauce? Or the eponymous Acapulco Lindo burrito, bursting with either beef or chicken with mushrooms and covered in melted cheese as well as their "Nippy-Hot" sauce? Not a loser in the bunch, not one costs more than $7.95, and you won't find any better in a sit-down eatery north of Homestead.

If you can define a neighborhood restaurant simply by who in the neighborhood hangs out in it, then this place has hardly any competition: Practically everybody in Lighthouse Point visits here on a regular basis. Among the more consistent customers? Try the LP city commissioners, who often swing by for a drink or two after more official meetings. Then, of course, there's the something-for-everyone food angle: original Chicago hot dogs for the kiddies; wings, clams, mushrooms, and other fried goodies for the adolescents; lemon-ginger chicken salad for metabolically challenged parents; and of course a host of chuggable imported beers and sippable margaritas for those single-and-looking individuals who want to hang out on the patio until closing time -- which, incidentally, is refreshingly late for your average neighborhood joint.

Yes, they prepare it tableside. Yes, they rub the garlic into the sides of the wooden bowl until it disappears, seasoning the wood. Yes, everyone who has tried it raves about it. And no, we are not staring at the door that leads to Pure Platinum in hopes of catching a glimpse of the naked chicks. Stop looking at us like that.