I grew up in a relatively salmon-less household. It was a pink, dangerous-looking piece of meat. The fish aisle at the supermarket always seemed out-of-bounds and untouchable. My family always considered salmon to be a fishy fish and instead opted for the agreeably bland tilapia, which we inevitably deep-fried and ate as tilapia nuggets. We were lying to ourselves, eating tasteless fish masked in oily, delicious batter just to say we were eating fish.
There had to be mo…Continue Reading
This is a French 75. It looks wimpy and inappropriate for most drunken occasions. I have often found myself in the middle of a sports bar delicately sipping on a champagne glass adorned with a lemon peel while a bunch of sweaty bros elbow me in the face during a celebratory cheer.
They don’t know the secret.
Everything about the French 75 is deceiving. The fragile glass. The bubbly champagne. The stupid, curly lemon peel. It’s secret weapon is a healthy dose of gin h…Continue Reading
Each year, Miami is gifted with an improved highway system, another two thousand-floor condominium and sometimes even a statue of a Pegasus killing a dragon. Building these things seem to take a really long time in this city. Sometimes it takes so long that businesses in the line of fire are forced to shut down due to lack of foot-traffic (RIP Umami Burger.)
So when I heard that Drunken Dragon had opened up smack-dab in the middle of construction hell on Alton Road and 14th…Continue Reading
A macaron is a sweet French pastry constructed by two outer cookie shells filled with one layer of buttercream or jam. They are delicate and colorful, a much more refined and cultured version of the good ol’ American whoopie pie.
People squint their eyes, purse their lips and use baby talk whenever they hold a macaron in their hand. This is a substance from another planet where unicorns reign free and elves with glowing cheeks take up gardening and drink afternoon tea. It …Continue Reading
After an unreasonably warm summer stroll down Lincoln Road, my sweaty pedestrian friends and I ducked into Oolite Restaurant and Bar for air conditioning and lunch.
Formerly occupied by Cooper Avenue, Oolite’s space on 16th and Pennsylvania inspires a sense of familiarity and warmth the second you walk in. The sunny floor to ceiling windows, the wood/limestone accents, and the smiling staff all boosted up my Sim Mood Meter.
Oolite touts itself as a “healthy-dining conc…Continue Reading
“Do not underestimate this book, mi hija,” my mom tells me as she hands over a book with a faded pink cover, an artifact that’s been in our house since the beginning of time.
“This book smells like café,” says my sister, scrunching her nose as we pass the book around the kitchen.
As I page through the coffee-stained pages of my mom’s copy of Nitza Villapol’s Cocina Criolla, which is pretty much the Cuban cooking bible, I see familiar characters from my upbringing. There’…Continue Reading
Just across the Brickell Key bridge and behind a guarded residential gate, lies a hidden, unmarked room full of Japanese treasures. If you arrive just before the six and nine-thirty seating times, you’ll spot a small woman peeking outside a black tinted door waiting to snatch disoriented patrons inside for their meal. Some people are here because they heard it was the best Japanese restaurant in town, others are here to try to recreate the Jiro Dreams of Sushi documentary the…Continue Reading
Every morning before school, I’d wake up to the familiar clink-clink-clink of a spoon stirring around a metal cup as my dad toiled over the morning’s coffee. The smell of roasting Bustelo wafting toward my bedroom only meant my dad would come lumbering in any second now to drag me out of bed and into my school uniform.
As an adult, the daily clink-clink-clink sound became the promise of an awesome, new day. Sweet, delicious cafecito is here to punch you in your face, and yo…Continue Reading