Mouth Beach

I spent the final four days of July in Miami for a company get-together. My boss, a Miami transplant, invited his eleven American employees residing in four work-from-home locales: Los Angeles, Atlanta, Jacksonville, and Enfield, Connecticut (home to two of us, or the same number of our Florida employees combined). He’d invited me down to the Magic City last September to meet him a couple months into my tenure, a trip largely highlighted by numerous outstanding meals (burrata cheese pizza with fresh ginger and cracked pepper will never be forgotten) and returning to such unpleasant heat and humidity meant chewing would be the primary focus for the sequel.

Sam, the other Enfield resident as well as my friend since high school, and I made preliminary lists of places in South Beach where we hoped to dine, sharing them with one another during the buildup. Aside from eating, I wanted to get out once each day for alternate entertainment, a goal achieved on all but the final day. Still, food was the star of the trip as I crafted a brief top ten list honoring the oral peaks. Here is a fleshed-out version of said list presented in reverse order Letterman style.

10. The cilantro lime yogurt dressing on a side salad from Lobster Shack
My realtor, who is a diehard Miami fan (her husband has ties to the Miami Ink tattoo shop), had one complaint about the forthcoming rankings: How could I, a New Englander, opt for Florida lobster when I’ve eaten Maine’s glories? Sam insisted on getting a cold lobster roll prior to the trip, and due to its proximity to our hotel, I capitulated by joining her for lunch on the final day. (Plus, I wanted to take a walk to get the food.) Now I can proudly claim Maine lobster’s superiority because the southern crustacean was too chewy. However, as a proud coriander stalwart—a friend once literally winced when I put a fistful of cilantro on my salad—I’m a sucker for any creamy cilantro-based dressing or dip. My nightly bowl of salad is always topped with red wine vinegar and/or lemon juice, so this was the bee’s pajamas (the cat forgot her EpiPen).

09. The gravy in the short rib poutine and cottage pie at Mickey Burkes
No group meal was initially planned for our first night in the city, but as everyone converged at a dive bar across the street from our hotel, the need for an impromptu eatery became essential. Yelp revealed a dimly lit Irish pub several blocks from the bar where nearly all appetizers on the menu were shared. Green goddess hummus? Fine, but I’ll take agnostic hummus. The poutine likely seemed better than it was due to my being famished, but by the time the cottage pie, topped with gruyere cheese, met my mouth, the second dose of meat juice liquid sauce reminded me of an imagined childhood in Belfast. It’s true that Harrison is a Northern Irish surname; Mr. Burke, the namesake Irish hurler, likely would’ve wanted to bludgeon me for this geographical affront, yielding an altogether different kind of gravy, but as any cartographer knows, my people are on top for a reason. (The gravy went to my head because that’s my first ever—and let’s hope only—Protestant flex. Irishmen can refer to me as The Green God.) Oh yeah: great gravy!

08. Caesar salad with salmon at the SLS Hotel
Upon arriving at the hotel, I checked my luggage along with the pile of records purchased at Technique, a sublime store on the upper east side of the city, before walking out to a shaded patio where my co-workers were eating lunch. Encouraged to order whatever I wanted, and fully aware eating healthy would wane during the subsequent days, I selected a Caesar salad and opted for salmon as the protein because I’d never had it in a salad. Attempting to order the Brutus salad first, I was informed they were out of blood until the next shark attack. While I’m not a diehard fan of romaine lettuce, a good Julius never fails to satisfy, and the evenly coated, but not gloopy, leaves delivered the creaminess exactly the way I like them. Chomping down while those around me vaped and puffed cigarettes gave the salmon the added smokiness it didn’t need. I guess we’re thinking the same thing: there’s only so much one can say about a quality salad.

07. Organic Florida oranges from Winn-Dixie
After mi amigo Andy showed me Key Biscayne, its expensive and colorful houses reminding me of the Cuban scenes in The Godfather, Part II, I insisted on stopping at a Winn-Dixie for my virgin visit. Traveling south regularly results in detours to grocery stores uncommon to the northeast, and while there’s nothing overly thrilling to report about its standard setup, the organic oranges were a citrus celebration. I rarely purchase oranges as part of my weekly produce rotation because despite being one of my favorite smells, peeling them is a serious patience tester. Quivering at the two-dollar-per-orange price tag, I recalled my per diem and bought four, or one for each day, ultimately saving the straggler for breakfast on my first day back home in the Enfield satellite office. Nothing revelatory to share here: oranges are delicious, organic oranges are deliciouser, Florida organic oranges are deliciousest. And organic copy editors avoided this paragraph.

06. Crispy rice with shaved truffle from Katsuya
Attached to our hotel was Katsuya, a Michelin star sushi restaurant with high ceilings, exquisite ambience, and a single morsel of food I tried: one piece of crispy rice topped with shaved truffle, which was delicious (and not ruined by our server’s resemblance to Carlos Alcaraz, the top-rated tennis player in the world who has surpassed Rafael “Asspicker” Nadal on my Most Hated Athletes list). One co-worker insisted this location easily bested the one in Los Angeles aka Truffle City. Sam ordered eight pieces of spicy tuna, but I declined for three reasons: the price she paid, how much she loves spicy tuna, and to save room for what would become the number five spot on this rundown. Had Doppelcaraz lobbed a piece of sushi into my mouth, this may have rated a bit higher. I kind of wish restaurants that earned the honor had to put the star on their door since it looks like a tacky Christmas ornament.

05. Midnight sandwich from Versailles (Miami International Airport Terminal D location)
Andy and I left the airport to eat breakfast at the Versailles restaurant, a shimmery room full of mirrored walls a la the namesake French palace, which was terrific, the Cafecito as good as it gets. The place claims to be The World’s Most Famous Cuban Restaurant, the Cuban sandwich naturally their signature foodstuff. I’d purchased one at the airport last year, got high not long after arriving home, and devoured it in ten minutes. Due to the lax rules in the south, I puffed my weed pen in an airport restroom then ate this sandwich, essentially the same thing but on a sweet roll with a side of mayonnaise, and it lasted maybe eight minutes. I cannot recall ever eating a subpar Cuban sandwich; pork, ham, Swiss cheese, mustard, and pickles between cinnamon raisin bread would still yield two hooves up. Much like the oranges and non-Maine lobster, there’s something to be said for consuming items in their natural environs. Something. Clear your cache and cookies after that groaner but leave me a few bills and crumbs. Oh, fuck you, Me!

04. Yuca nachos from La Cocina at LoanDepot Park
Sam, her boyfriend, and I were the only people interested in attending a Marlins game, securing seats twenty rows up directly behind home plate for thirty-five dollars per ticket. After an inning, we patrolled the wide-open lower level concourse, and while they opted for Miami-style onion-heavy hot dogs, I had to try the fried yuca sticks with cilantro lime crema, pulled mojo pork, and pickled red onions. They rank among the finest ballpark eats ever, a massive pile of savory indulgence available only in Florida’s Urethra, the future nickname of this park. Fearing an inevitable spill if I ate them sitting down, I skipped returning for a forgotten fork, stood at a steel countertop, and devoured them with my pincer claw in an inning, washing them down with a Pepsi Max. This scenario usually invites self-loathing, but when on vacation the morning run of fruit offsets the thousand-calorie appetizer masquerading as lunch. I would eat these before almost any other “nachos” I’ve ever had, yet they rank fourth on this list. Wow. Nice ballpark too.

03. Apricot crostatina, lemon cream bombolone, and double espresso at Rosetta
Top shelf paisan bakery across the street from the hotel, I visited five times in four days, buying all in tow coffees and/or pastries on our final day in town when we hung out in the hotel lobby for six hours chatting prior to our flights. (Hangovers, heat, and humidity were the culprits.) Possibly my biggest food gripe is the lack of quality independent bakeries in New England, or at least in smaller towns where grocery stores own the water/flour/yeast market, so the easy access to affordable and delicious pastries was bound to rate high on this list. I also tried one bite of mortadella on olive ciabatta, the tastiest mortadella yet to grace these lips. Given my propensity for near bladder explosions, I have no defense for not relying on espresso throughout the years, especially during road trips when fully aware toilets won’t be nearby. Using coffee as speed is the best way to reminisce about (and channel ingesting) cocaine without the attendant downsides (largely the inability to access a hooker’s tits as the snorting vessel). Okay, okay, this shouldn’t end on such a note. Could go for a snort quart of their Americano with a pistachio cream cookie right now. 

02. Fried chicken and key lime pie at Joe’s Stone Crab
This eighty-eight-thousand-square-foot city block may be the single biggest restaurant in which I’ve ever dined. Earning thirty-nine million dollars in profit per year—despite being closed for three months—it is the most successful independently owned American restaurant! The staff, who we estimated easily numbered over one hundred, dress in bowties and divulge history lessons prior to taking orders. Twenty of us were on hand for this meal—I delighted in the company of my boss’s father as he jokingly eviscerated our COO—which earned the ability to sample a wide swath of the menu. No disrespect to the crab legs in garlic butter, creamed spinach, pretzel bread, or signature stone crab claws (ethically sourced by returning the clawless crabs back to the Atlantic), but the fried chicken, all of eight ninety-five for half a bird, was the star. Some of the moistest poultry you’ll ever find, I ate an entire one myself, but thankfully had barely enough room for a slice of the luscious key lime pie. Wish our resident noshhead had ordered the coleslaw, but I will never forget this meal, in part because almost everyone at the table wore a bib. Shamefully, nobody removed it Hulk Hogan-style.

01. Eggplant parmigiana at Lucali
Aside from bread, there is nothing in this world I enjoy eating more than eggplant, and this was the best version of this dish I’ve ever eaten. When none surfaced along with the dozen other items exiting the kitchen, I inquired to my boss about its absence and he custom ordered me the plate, handing it to me with a big smile. Six skinless aubergine cutlets topped by ample basil leaves with a dollop of ricotta cream that practically melted in my mouth were never going to be topped by anything on this trip but sharing one of them—generous by any measure—with Sam and her boyfriend produced equally ecstatic convulsions. I’ll never comprehend how people dismiss eggplant for its texture or flavorlessness; it is the chameleon of the vegetable kingdom, adapting to whatever is used to add flavor, tasty whether broiled or baked, smoked or fried, grilled or mashed. As much as I love countless types of international cuisine, my childhood obsession with Italian food reigns, and this or rollatini have supplanted a bygone fondness for chicken parm. Which came first, the chicken or the eggplant? The eggroll or the eye-roll? Grazie!

When in Miami, beat the heat and eat each treat. I’m done here. “Wish you’d never begun.” Fair.