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
When I traveled to Spain on my honeymoon, I went absolutely ape-shit on the concept of tapas the second I stepped foot in the country. Eating forty-five meals a day and mid-day naps were within the realm of what was socially acceptable, and I was prepared to integrate into the local culture ASAP.
I must’ve been on my tenth meal and ready for a siesta by the time I walked into this one tapas bar in Seville, a city in the Andalusian region that’s as rich in architecture as it…Continue Reading
It’s time I reveal my relationship status with My Ceviche, whom I’ve been booty-calling on the regular for over a year now.
Every week without fail, there will be that one random night I come home after 9:00 from work, plop down on my couch pitying myself for not “making time” to cook myself a proper dinner and resort to a box of sugary cereal before bed. But before the shame has time to sink in, I remember that My Ceviche exists, and it brings a huge wave of relief. Not on…Continue Reading
It’s our second date. I’ve never been to a sushi restaurant but I’m not really thinking about what it’ll be like, or what I should order. A lifetime of eating at the same rotation of Cuban and Chinese restaurants makes me feel empowered to order rice and some variation of conservatively saucy chicken anywhere I go. Instead, I’m making sure my boobs look great in this shirt and cursing myself for missing a strip of hair on the back of my leg.
After we arr…Continue Reading
I used to be a very picky eater, a likely result of my mother cooking the same rotation of seven dishes for the entirety of my childhood. This perfectly orchestrated dinner schedule suited my risk-averse personality, and the fact that my parents are Cuban meant dinners always comprised of protein, rice, and magic mom sauce.
On weekends, we deviated from the traditional and went for some “outside” food — cheese pizza from Pizza Hut or some lo mein and orange chicken fr…Continue Reading