Where the Boys Are

I've had a love/hate relationship with Miami since 1997 when I was employed there for one rocky year. I had an amazing time... some of the time. Day-to-day life was a trial. It took four hours to open a checking account. My cell phone worked at the intersections of Lincoln & Collins, and Alton & 63rd. There was no such thing as service. Wait, that's unfair. There was service alright: glacial. God help you if you intended a quick bite before a movie, or thought you could duck out at lunchtime and pick up the dry cleaning. But oh, the coral white beaches! The cerulean water of Biscayne Bay! The nightlife! To friends back home, I described the clubbing as "hot and cold running [heavily edited]." I was out six nights out of seven, stumbling into my bed around 4 or 5 in the morning and coaching masters rowing by 6:30AM. Oh, to be young again. By the time I left, exhausted, all I could say about Miami is that it's a great place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. Still, returning - even now - is a homecoming of sorts.

Like always, I stayed with old friends Gregg & Jimmy, two perfect hosts and great chums from back in the day. Jimmy has retired since my last stay, so he kept me on the golf course and in pool halls as much as possible, but I did manage a couple of workouts at the gym with Gregg to maintain my girlish figure. Neither Gregg nor Jim are slouches in the kitchen, but they do like to show off their town, and so we ate out several times during my visit. Of course we hit Kingdom for their phenomenal burgers. It's a ritual I adhere to, and as always, I stumbled walked away fat & happy, and one night, drunk off my ass after the owner spied my university shirt. All the men in his family had attended my institution, and in a show of solidarity, there was never an empty beer bottle in front of me for very long. I should have paced myself.

Biscayne Boulevard had another new dining entry for review, Balans. It's a London-based chain with three restaurants now in the U.S., all in the greater Miami area. They serve a sort of World Café mix of dishes, not at all cohesive, but all competently prepared. The dining space is very open and very chic in that Miami sort of way. Think CB2 with an Indonesian bent and more expensive materials. The best thing about the restaurant was the staff. A warm greeting and lighting fast seating by the hostess, and a confident, personable waiter who remembered drink orders and possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of sports, of all things. They could have served an old boot and I would have left impressed.

The food was tasty if not particularly memorable, the one stand out being the black bean soup. An interesting blend of mild and hot spices, smooth consistency with the liquid and beans cooked to perfection. I could have had that with a bit of melon on the side as a palate cleanser for a satisfying meal.

Balans, Biscayne 6789 Biscayne Boulevard Miami, FL  33138 (305) 534 9191

Not everything was merely adequate this time around. One rainy day, we headed up to Aventura to see Inception (hated it!!!). Beforehand, we did our best imitation of Ladies Who Lunch at Café Bistro in Nordstrom. I know, who knew?!?!? Personal pizzas with thin crust. A turkey club with fresh herbs and whole turkey breast meat, not sliced processed crap. We should have eaten afterward to get the bad taste of that horrible movie out of our mouths.

Cafe Bistro at Nordstrom Aventura Aventura Mall 19507 Biscayne Boulevard Aventura, FL 33180 (305) 937-7267

On my last weekend, I convinced Gregg and Jim to head to South Beach to one of my all time favorite out door stands, La Sandwicherie. I discovered LS during my time as director of one of the rowing clubs in Miami. When I became the freshmen coach at one of the NYC universities, I would treat a few kids to lunch there daily during our winter training camps on Indian Creek. It was a hit with everyone with whom I ever shared it. The joint is about as wide as a broom closet and just a little longer than your average hallway, but the friendly French staff churns out the most amazing and delicious treats you'll ever eat. Pâté-filled baguettes, a Salade Niçoise authentic right down to the tiny bitter green olives. Their cornichons rival those found in little Provençale market stalls, and you'll want to savor the espresso coffee all afternoon. Bits of Spanish, French, German, Italian and even English make perfect eavesdropping entertainment as everyone stands or sits on barstools munching away on these marvelous creations. For me, no trip to Miami is ever complete without at least one stop at La Sandwicherie.

La Sandwicherie 229 14th Street Miami Beach, FL 33139 (305) 532-8934

As luck would have it (or not), Mac's Club Deuce is happily located right across the street from La Sandwicherie. The Deuce Bar has been featured on Anthony Bourdain's travelogue "No Reservations", and made the cut in Playboy Magazine's 2010 Best Bars list. This is a no-nonsense dive bar at one of the major poseur intersections in the world, and if you wait long enough, just about every South Florida denizen will pass through its doors. There are the earnest daytime drinkers, political wonks, the Gay Mafia, leather-clad bikers, toothless old salts, addled tweekers, A-list pop stars. Every sub-group in human culture is democratically represented at some point during operating hours. When I was a local, I could be found there dependably at least three nights a week, pre-gaming before heading to Twist, holding court on the pool table, or ordering "one for the road" after the foam party at Salvation. I've made so many overnight best friends there, I feel I should pay a membership fee. The interior is dark & dingy and the decor a rundown Art Deco Moderne. The jukebox is epic. Some of the best graffiti ever penned stares you down from over the urinals. Two-for-one Happy Hour runs from just after sunup to sundown. You'll walk in a boy and strut out a man at Club Deuce.

Mac's Club Deuce 222 14th Street Miami Beach, FL 33139 (305) 531-6200

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Plan B

I am a creature of happy accidents. Fate has never had any interest in my plans, big or small, but has always imposed a somewhat more adventurous scheme. This past weekend was no exception.

I had intentions of photographing (and buying) late summer's bounty at the Union Square Farmer's Market and posting beautiful shots of heirloom tomatoes, red onions, artisan breads, purple basil and autumn greens. The blog was gonna write itself. Hell, all I had to do was hold the camera steady. A no-brainer, one would think. Trouble was, it was Sunday and there was no market that day. That small fact somehow never penetrated my euphoria as I was planning my strategy. Call me distracted, but after Saturday's deluge I was just grateful for some sunshine.

But back to happy accidents. What could have been a disappointing morning was saved by my buddy, let's call him El Diablo, and his fur trapper's knowledge of Manhattan. After meeting me at Grand Central and hopping a subway to Union Square where our date with destiny awaited, El Diablo promised Technicolor tomatoes and more just a few blocks away. In the process he turned a simple blog entry into an informed and totally awesome walking tour of the east Village.

We walked south on Broadway and then east on 11th in the direction of Thompson Square Park. At 11th and 2nd Avenue, E.D. claimed that we just had to stop for a snack: Plump Dumpling. This place is no wider than the hallway in my apartment building. When you enter, you're practically on top of the cook and his wok. There's literally just enough space to stand and order, then you better move out of the way for the next guy. Plump Dumpling is a favorite with NYU students and the hippies - young & old - who call the east Village home. Plump Dumpling does offer a full menu, but you go there for their little doughy pockets of goodness: fried or steamed, in a broth or standing alone. You can choose from meat, vegetable, chicken, seafood, or shrimp. The intriguing choice of "meat" was a tease. Beef? Pork? Something, shall we say, more exotic? I was just getting up my nerve when I noticed that "meat" was cheaper than both chicken and vegetable. In this instance I decided bargain hunting would be imprudent.

We settled on pan-fried chicken dumplings. They came 8 to an order for $4.25; a real bargain. We stood on the sidewalk just outside the entryway dipping our dumplings in sauce trying to outdo one another with hyperbole. They were superior dumplings.

We completed the last few blocks to Thompson Square and meandered through the park before confronting the stalls along Avenue A. We stopped to watch the dogs and owners in the dog run, a generous space with pools and deep, coarse sand for the pooches, and lots of benches for the bi-peds. Thompson Square Park is famous for a riot that went on there in 1988 when local officials tried to remove the vagrants who congregated in the park and squatted in the surrounding vacant buildings. Police officers were particularly zealous that day, brutally beating protesters, bystanders and even reporters. Lots of archived footage of the protest can be found on the web. Here's an excerpt from gothamist on a punk rock concert commemorating the protest last month.

The 20th Anniversary of the Tompkins Square Park riots was celebrated over the weekend with two days of punk rock, pot smoking, rabble rousing and slam dancing. According to Neither More Nor Less, they “slammed with a physical intensity that TSP has not seen in many years. Someone threw $1000 in dollar bills to the crowd and this crowd of celebrants burned the dollar bills. The celebrants also burned a flag; being polyester it mostly melted in flaming gobs.”

Today, drunks, young professionals, skaters and tree huggers share the park and mostly get along fine.

There were plenty of stalls with beautiful, open-pollinated tomatoes, a dozen types of peppers from green to chocolate, chilies of every size and heat, late corn, and early squash. The fishmonger was there right next to the cheese lady. At the very end of the row was Andrew's Honey stall. Andrew himself was selling a beautiful amber-colored clover honey and a molasses-brown buckwheat variety. Both were amazingly rich and light at the same time. Andrew and his assistant were singing the praises of bee pollen to fight local allergies and promote a healthy immune system. It was hard not to walk away with an armload, but we were on foot. We stopped at every stall, admiring the produce and trying to get the vendors to open up to us a little bit. I sampled a delicious white peach at one stall but the seller was so taciturn that I quickly walked away noticing his dirty look when I bought peaches one stall down. I could have gorged myself sick on these peaches. How does one describe a peach flavor? I've developed a vocabulary for characterizing wine, but fruit? Sweet, juicy, and just firm enough not to disintegrate in one's hand. There's something too, about the skin of a ripe peach which adds complexity to the sweetness of the meat. I know what it is. These peaches aren't picked hard and green. They've been allowed the time to develop their natural sugars and peachy distinctiveness. There is a meatiness to them as well. I bought a half-dozen, and they're already gone.

After one more turn through the park while finishing our peaches, we decided to head along St Mark's Place in the hopes of coming across something or someone interesting. Not two blocks away El Diablo announced our next port of call, Crif Dogs.

A stoner's oasis, Crif Dogs will actually deliver a "wake and bake" special right to your door. Crif deep-fries his dogs and must have taken a puff or two himself before coming up with his one-of-a-kind bill of fare. (I don't know if there really is a Crif, but the idea lends itself to a flowing narrative.) Interpreting the menu, one quickly surmises that the hotdog is basically treated like a hamburger here. I went for the Tsunami because, who ever heard of teriyaki and pineapple on a hotdog? E.D. settled on the Chihuahua: a bacon wrapped delight with avocado and sour cream. Each cost $4.50. The judges ruled and it was four enthusiastic thumbs up for deep-frying and unconventional toppings. By now, it was beer-thirty. St Mark's Ale House was jammed with the Sunday football crowd, but luckily, McSorley's was just around the corner.

McSorley's Old Ale House is famous, and thoroughly New York in every possible way. It is NYC's oldest continuously operated saloon. Abe Lincoln patronized McSorley's. Women were not allowed in for its first 115 years, and even then it took the Supreme Court to open up the doors for them. There's sawdust on the floor and not a square inch of empty space on the walls. The whole place is a living museum. Their Happy Hour is legendary. With two beers apiece, El Diablo and I marveled at our good fortune. But in the end it wasn't Fate that provided us with such an excellent day, it was our own good devices and a willingness to accept what our town had to offer.

Cheers - Blog O. Food