Welcome to Miami...Bienvenidos a Miami

We are now going to see all the hype about this city.  You know the m.o. sexy, Latin, ocean view etc.  Coming in with the rain, gentle and cooling, a needful thing in 103 degree weather, the place was quiet.  Remembering that it is Sunday, perhaps the reason why, but tonight, regardless of it being the 7th day to rest, we were not going to rest, but indulge in they hype of why Will Smith wrote a song about the place.



We check in, sneaking our dog in disguised as a baby wrapped in a beach towel, as we pray that something doesn't tick her off to bark.  Finally making into the room we draw the shades to a beautiful view of the roof.  Yes, mucho scenic.

Tonight we were doin' another oldie, but goodie, as we were going to meet with a good friend from 10 years ago, a Florida native and Miami habitant, who was to show us around.  The literal translation of that being, hooking us up!

We meet at what is claimed to be the most successful Hooters in the United States, smack dab in the heart of the Bayside Marketplace - a popular shopping and restaurant area for locals and tourists a like.  The place is packed and our friend is definately VIP with the waitresses giving him hugs and kisses.  There is  a waitress with her baby at the hip as she slings drinks, an ugly dog laying on the floor next to his owner at the bar, and plenty of smokers under the covered balcony.  This was definately the place for regulars, and the rules certainly did not apply to them.

With hunger roaring in, what else do you get at a Hooters besides wings?  And so we do.  I decide to order the boneless wings with blue cheese on the side, less mess and it looked like the dish had been regurgitated.  We also ordered a regular wings and it looked like there was enough greese to refry a second batch at the bottom of the plate.  Let's call a spade to spade, these people definately weren't here for the food.  The bartender is nice enough though to put an ice filled Ziploc in your pitcher to keep it from getting warm.

As we pretend to be interested in the Dolphins defeat the chargers we come across a very 'happy' (a.k.a. drunk) couple who works on yaughts, million dollar ones, out of Mexico.  They do admit that getting paid in pesos does not make for the best cash, but do admit that this is the best life to live.  Sleeping in a cellar, with fully paid two week vacations anywhere in the world make it all worth while.  The owner of their yaught is actually Jewish Mexican.  Hmm, who knew there was such a thing.  I always believed that Mexicans were always God fearing Catholics. 

The final verdict comes down to checking out the bars along South Beach.  Okay, I was preparing myself for this hot spot that I have been hearing all about.  Heading over in a cab we pass the neighborhood of the rich and famous.  Not a whole lot of property for the money you're spending, but I guess they don't mind that since there is primo parking for their boats.

When we get out of the cab and walk up the street we are in the midst of resto overload.  Fine dining establishment, one after the other with its best dishes prepared and on display, each with a very aggressive hostess with menu in hand.  The sidewalk certainly had many people stomping on it, but these restaurants didn't seem as full as they should be.  This was one of the most obvious signs of where we are at in the economy that I have seen on our trip thus far.  There was even a dog begging for money, I'm so serious!

Past the Versace Mansion and into the very chic Hotel Victor for a VIP (Very Important Pee) where we dried our hands with some very thick paper towel, and we soon found ourselves in the midst of a drag queen performance of Whitney Houston's It's Not Right, But It's Okay, where the grand finale was her running in the traffic filled street.
 

We stopped for a drink at an Irish pub, where the bartender bought us a round that we took to go - yep, you can do that there.  Vegas style, baby!  We then stop at Clevelander, a large outdoor bar with great live reggae music.  Here the bartender gave us a three for one special.  A rum cigarello later, I hail us a cab to Ted's Hideaway, a dive bar at the end of the strip.  If you do make it here, you'd better have a good grip on your shoes or you may lose them to the sticky floor.  Oh, keep your forearms off the bar, it just doesn't feel right.  Having too much fun playing Black Eyed Peas, Gladys Knight and the Pipps, and Metallica's Turn The Page, my stomach is yearning for food.  Looking at the time, it is past midnight and all I have combating the dozen Malibu and Cokes is the gourmet meal I had at Hooters, this is going to hurt in the morning for sure.  Late check out please.   

Special Thanks to Rick Sink

Fort Pierce

At first glance I am forced to look a little harder, as it doesn't even seem like I'm in Florida anymore, but am.  Looking around: palm trees - check, ocean - check, sand - check, but abandoned streets, homes and stores mirror imaging each other made of cement from foundation to roof, not really part of my check list.

As we continue on our quest of a grocery to replenish our cooler, we stop at one "grocery" and when we go in it smells like wet dirty rag, and didn't really provide that fresh obsessed feel with their produce.  The second one, we didn't even bother going in.  Was this what we were in for?

We finally arrive to the "resort", we both agree that perhaps they are thinking a little too highly of their property, but it is on the intercoastal, right on the water, at a perfect position to admire the sunset later on this evening poolside or on the fishing docks.  The folks here appear to be pleasant.  There seems to be a lot of locals here this weekend.  Fort Pierce seems to be that sort of getaway.  Taking it all in again at second glance, I'm beginning to see why.

* * *

Today we are in the cabana, reheating pizza on the grill while staying in the shade to keep cool.  Our dog is on the sand outside of the pool deck because surprise, surprise - no dogs allowed, but she is loving the scene.  As we are working away on our laptops, we cool down by taking her into the water, where she won't go on her own.  When we do so, the minow and nedel fish tickle our legs.  There's just so many!  A few moments later, having returned back to the previous position of checking emails, what do I see in the corner of my eye, but Animal Services.  A woman (questionable if she really is one) steps out of her vehicle as she puts on a pair of gloves and proceeds to our dog.  Oh my, what the f#&%!  After apologizing for the inconvenience and misunderstanding, a police cruiser pulls in - gong show!  I at this point feel like I am on Jerry Springer, completely trailer trash explaing myself, "Yes, she has a bowl full of ice water...she just finished going in for a swim...we're sitting right here and can't let her past the fence because there are no dogs allowed."  Clearly, it was a guest at the hotel that called.  Perhaps someone even swimming in the pool.  Ask around much ass h%$&?

* * *

This evening we are totally localizing it - another term that we have adapted into our vocab.  The dive is The Ramp.  It is supposed to have some really good food.  Walking into the place, it resembles a fish and chippery, but it smelled a lot better, not like old greese.  With the kitchen in full view, we were excited to see what the menu was all about.  They have Dirty Oysters, which are raw oysters topped with caviar, Bermuda onion and sour cream, a dozen for $8.95.  Another interesting item was the Dolphin, broiled, grilled or blackened, for $14.95.  It is also served as Dolphin Parmesan with pasta or yellow rice, for $17.95.  Of course they had gator and also conch, which we ordered as a red chowder, a cup for $2.95.  The conch in the chowder was a bit chewy, but the flavor was great, with a little kick in the back.  We also ordered the Peel 'Um Shrimp, steamed with Ol' Bay seasoning sprinkled all over it and melted butter on the side, a half pound for $8.95.  I ordered a bowl of Seafood Jambalaya served on yellow rice, which turned out to be a large bowl, and therefore a meal in itself, for $4.00.  I know what you're thinking, 'Why didn't she go crazy with the oysters?'  Believe me, writing this now, I am totally upset that I didn't.  I was sick most of the time with a bad stomach flu and a fever which hit me both nights.  Go figure, raw oysters on the half shell, a dozen for $7.95 and I'm sick.  Let's stop it right there.  Let's not mention it any further.  

Walking back to the hotel, are tummies are satisfied, mine is cursing me, but I am content with whatever happens as the jambalaya was so good.  The meal was great!  We now know why it is a local fave, it's one of those diamonds in the rough types.

The sound of country twang coming from the hotel next to us draws us into their Tiki Bar.  Desperate fishermen have crowded their docks hoping for that big daddy to bite, while their wives are dancing with a beer in one hand and their baby in the other, to the latest Brooks 'n Dunn single.  Everyone is having a great time.  This is how to do it on a Saturday night, netting bait, fishing for grouper or snapper or baricuda or shark, heck, whatever bites, good music, friends, and fresh sea food.  

Jacksonville

As soon as we cross the border into the sunshine state a wave of heat hits us like siafu ants (sorry, for the odd comparison, but it is ant week on Discovery) when we open the car doors to stop at a service station.

This evening we were going to see an oldie, but a goodie – a good friend who has been living in Atlantic Beach for a few years now. We meet at a local bar, Sun Dog along a beach strip type, laced with bars and restaurants. Interestingly enough as narrow the road which ran through this palm sized district, the yellow line that divided the road also distinguished Atlantic Beach from Neptune Beach. A quick drink at this 50’s diner type bar, we decide to head over to another spot, as the band seems to be warming up, and it didn’t look like the type to compete conversation with.

However, before we head over to the restaurant, we quickly side track over to the beach, to feel the sand in between our toes and dip our feet into the water. Amazing! I have never felt ocean water so warm. It felt luke warm, the ideal skinny dipping temp, for sure. We didn’t do that though.

Still with the fine, sugar like sand stuck between our toes, carefree, we put our shoes back on and had toward the Ocean One Hotel to Azurea, and ocean side restaurant with a killer patio. We walk through the lobby and then through the corridor with blue and white mosaic tile, aqua marine colored rocks and sea shells. It was as though we were entering Poseidon’s palace.

We decide to do drinks (please notice the pluralization on that) and apps, as the menu selection is too delicious to commit to a single meal for the evening.  To begin we order the Seafood Platter - 4 oysters, 2 whole shrimps, complete with heads on, and tuna and pineapple tartar.  All flavors did something different for the pallet and the tartar was definately provided a pallet cleanser with a fresh surprise because of the pineapple factor in it.  The second app that we order are the Lamb Lollipops.  An amazing flavor with a badass reduction.  We were definately smacking our lips together.

It was a great night full of stories from way back when and now.  We even learn that St. Augustine is the nation's oldest city.  Huh, go figure.  As we look up into the star filled sky, we also realize that we have been having all this fun under the careful watch of Venus. 

Special Thanks: Derek Frey

Myrtle Beach, South Carolina

The longest ferry ride of my life, over two hours which left Ocracoke and sailed us into Cedar Island, en route to Myrtle Beach. We drive along the strip that I have renamed the déjà vu strip because there is always a WINGS beach apparel store, a Bargain Beach apparel store, a sea food and steak buffet and a mini golf adventure place that ridiculous in size and theme i.e. Jurassic Park, Treasure Island, Gilligan’s Island, complete with at least one giant waterfall. Laughing about it, we conclude that there must be an incomprehensible demand for mini golfing in the Myrtle Beach area and a ridiculous obsession about out doing one another on the complexity of their mini putts.  The tada factors look like paper maché gone insane. 

Accommodations for this evening is at a modest hotel further down the strip, but surprise, surprise, right next to a mini putt, but just walking distance to the beach. We check in with a very nice gentleman, laid back with a real southern twang in his voice and a signature “Y’all take it easy, now.”

Dinner was a feat of cleaning out the cooler and that consisted of leftover pasta and yes, the Johnsonville Brats. Since our room was without a stove of course, we were sort of indoor camping as we cooked on our camping stove, but we did so after we disconnected the smoke detector.

We spend the next day beaching and the water is refreshing minus the gashing shell border that you must first pass before you get to a decent depth. As we jump over the high waves like dolphins, hunger strikes and we head back to shore for some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and beer.

The sun begins to go down. Having been in total sunlight and now in the shade, we knew that our beach day had come to an end.

With us being super economical last night, tonight called for a good dinner. Since the thought of sea food and especially steak that has been sitting out for hours didn’t tickle our fancy, we were going to have the next best thing, ribs. Damon’s Grill on the water front, famous for their ribs lured us right in. With a half rack each we were licking our fingers. The dinner was delicious, but the service was outright rude. The next course was already being served before the previous one was done and the bill before we were even done our meal. Oh don’t worry, we left a much deserved tip, but not without putting down our thoughts on the credit card receipt. If you have ever worked as a waiter, you know that all credit card receipts must be turned in to reconcile at the end of the evening, so we knew for sure, there was no walking away from our constructive criticisms.

OBX aka Outer Banks

On the road again…destination: Outer Banks, specifically Ocracoke Island, pronounced oh-kruh-khok. The drive is certainly one of a kind, with plenty of eye candy. I don’t mean men, but lots of interesting things to look at. Not being from South Carolina, I had a lot of, “Hmm, you don’t see that everyday” moments. Par example: The largest hammock, which we found at Nag’s Hammock store in Point Harbor, sand dunes that were inches away from taking over the highway, multilevel homes with porches that wrapped almost around the whole house for every floor on stilts striving for that non-impaired view of the ocean, a flying saucer home and plenty of fresh produce along the way from local farmers.

Passing through little town, after little town, we couldn’t help but feel like such outsiders with our eyes growing over what is to the local, just the way things are, such as a drive through liquor and cigarette store or a restaurant bathroom with a curtain for a door.

We just make it for the ferry ride to Ocracoke, and it’s a beautiful sail into the sunset. Beer in hand with our dog in the other loosing fur due to her fear of the ocean, it was a romantic time with the breeze in our hair pushing some of it in my mouth. I will never be that woman with her hair literally flowing in the wind, but will always be the one with it stuck on my gloss and on my tongue, yum!

Just a 10 minute drive into the hotel district, was to our surprise the entire island. I have to say when I Google mapped it, I was under the impression that there was quite a ways from one point of the island to the other, but it was literally a sneeze. Our accommodations, from the exterior looked like the most descent place to sleep, but so goes the cardinal rule, never judge the book by its cover. With it looking like a pretty busy night on the island, quite surprising for midweek, we were completely ripped off for a rate, hello it’s September! That was just the beginning, the room was atrocious, with pink faux marble countertops, a stench that would make your grandmother’s moth ball filled attic smell like the Body Shop, and to top it off, windows that did not open. The only thing that would save us tonight would be our scented candles that were lit as the first order of business.

Since the sun was now completely down, and the moon as the only exterior light on, we knew that if we wanted dinner we didn’t have much time to do so. Being on an island, I of course wanted oysters, and he wanted crab. The place which claimed to have the freshest seafood on the island was already closing up. It was eight o’clock and the servers were already counting their tips. The next place to go was three quarters of a mile away, but with two glasses of sauvignon blanc in hand, it was far enough to allow us to finish them.

The restaurant that was seemed to be poppin’ with a parking lot full of cars was Howard’s Seafood and Raw Bar. It was a casual resto with wooden booths and a screened in porch with license plates from all over the United States as their wall feature. We of course ordered the oysters which were very local, judging by their freshness, size and barnacles still intact. The crab legs, which were just Alaskan snow crab, and not king. The piece de resistance was supposed to be the Hawaiian grilled mahi with green beans and rice, but that was like chewing on a dish rag, the rice tasted like it was reheated over and over again (and I know rice, I’m Asian), the best thing on that plate were the green beans, and those were most likely frozen. It was like a gong show on a platter. The wine was great! But that was probably because we had a head start three quarters of a mile before.

We were not looking forward to the 30 minute walk back, but the half bottle of wine that we took to go helped a bit. It was very dark and desolate with the occasional bike rider that went by, but this was island living, up early and down early, with the sound of sea gulls and crashing waves, boats bobbing in the harbor and air of hard working souls at rest.

Virginia Beach

What a way to spend a Saturday night…on the beach, perfect temperature, with live music to set the ambiance. So this is how you do it in Virginia Beach on a Saturday night. We were on Atlantic Avenue, along VB’s famous boardwalk, to check out the annual Festa Italia. You got it! The first thing that comes to our mind is great food.

Sponsored by local radio station 93.7 BOB FM, it’s only 2 bucks a person, at the threshold of a large white tent and the first thing they say is, “You can’t bring your dog in.” I am used to hearing this all the time, it just isn’t fair that this isn’t a more dog friendly world, but we figure that this would be the case with this event, with all the food (little did we know). So, we decide to leash her up against one of the barricades, as the nicer ticket collector assures us that she will keep an eye out.

As soon as we enter, high school is the immediate déjà vu, with the stage at one end and rows of tables. Where in high school the stage was used for public embarrassment purposes, this time the epitome of the Italian American male was on stage singing “Spanish Eyes”. We’re definitely going to need some wine for this, and so we did - a $15 dollar bottle of 2008 Centine, a pinot grigio, produced by Banfi.

We find a seat at the end of one of the rows and the Italian Don Juan, Detroit native Aaron Caruso, has something to say to pump up the crowd, “Is this Saturday night? (With the red collar popped dress shirt and black high waist slacks, I didn’t think he could channel John Travolta any deeper.) The more wine you drink, the better I sound.” That’s enough encouragement for us, and so we did.

Seeing that the line up to the single restaurant, La Bella Italia was much shorter, it was the perfect time to get us some Sicilian fare. A slice of pepperoni from Stoneheads for $3.00, quick side track, ricotta and mozzarella stuffed pasta, $10, with a side order of one meat ball, $3.00. In all honesty, we are big Italian food fans, but this was a disappointment. The pasta should have only been priced at $5, it wasn’t anything special, and the portion was like an Italian appetizer, and for a 3 bucks, this meat ball wasn’t even the size of my fist! Needing a little bit more for our pallets, we decide to go for some gelato, vanilla, and that saved the meal. It really did!

Feeding gelato to one another, a tap on my shoulder from the woman who promised to watch our dog, we have to move her. Seems that the other ticket holder is having a bit of a power trip, so we plant ourselves at a table closer to the outside of the tent and move our dog to another barricade, but he won’t let us even do that, so I did what any true Italian would do, I did not let the good wine go to waste. I poured our two full glasses back into the bottle, threw the bottle into my purse and hauled ass out of there.
We headed down the board walk onto the beach to finish the rest of our bottle as we unleashed the dog to run fanciful and free by the ocean. She was loving it as she went mach 3 up and down the sand.

Tonight’s accommodations were at First Landing State Park, complete with our own water feature – a small pond of stagnant water, and sleep machine, the sound of whooshing vehicles on the interstate in front of us. No hook ups either, but the fact that we were a two minute walk to the beach, was not too shabby. You can’t have it all, but believe it or not, that evening we felt like we did. After a 12 pack of wine coolers we headed to the beach. With nothing but the waves in the background, underneath a blanket of stars with the small dipper in full view, fresh, sweet air, no one else but us, how could we ask for anything more?

The morning was a rude awakening to the sound of crows hawking down for scraps. As we step outside of the tent the smell of campfire is about and we remind ourselves of the beach that a waits. A healthy breakfast of cold cereal, a hard-boiled egg and two Johnsonville Brawts cooked on a stick, gives us enough sustenance to pack up our site and head to a day at the beach. As soon as our feet hit the hot sand and we hear the waves hit the shore, I let out a huge, “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS THE END OF SEPTEMBER!!!”

The Inaugural Stop...Washington D.C

What better way to kick start this US expedition than to first receive the blessing from our forefathers in our nation’s capital? And of course Julia Child’s.

After fifteen stops on the Metro, we come to our stop “Smithsonian”. Not being a huge political junkee, a quick snap of the US Capitol Building and the Washington Monument, looking more phallic than ever, suffices my appetite. What I was craving for was the Julia Child exhibit at the Smithsonian.

A quick check through security and a glance at the map, and I felt like a little girl racing to grandma’s house. As soon as we were in front of the thresh hold my eyes lit up. We were here! In Julia’s kitchen! And I heard it, coming from one of the television sets; I can still hear it resonating in my head, Julia saying “Bon Appetite!” After carefully reading all about Julia’s cooking gadgets, we were drawn to a television set which featured Julia thoroughly explaining how to prepare roasted chicken. “First you must wash the chicken thoroughly…” Julia even layers strips of bacon on the top of the chicken, so it can self baste, and she trusses the bird as though it were a mental patient in solitary confinement. By the time it was ready for the spit, that poulet was paying homage to Hannibal Lector. You could hear great laughter from everyone visiting the exhibit, as Julia was effortlessly funny and endearing. Looking at her stove, kitchen table, cupboards and all, I envisioned what it would be like to be over for dinner with the Childs. The love they had for one another translated into Julia’s delicious cooking. A few more shots of any foodie’s Mecca, one last glance and there it is Julia’s mantra, “Never apologize in the kitchen.” Never again Julia, never again, I promise.

We walk around the Smithsonian a bit more, and come across a collection explaining all about oyster fishing in Chesapeake. Typical of me to have paid any attention to it, as I absolutely LOVE oysters! Quick snap of the oyster plates from the 1930’s.

Exiting the Smithsonian onto Constitution Avenue we head over to the infamous 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, just to say, “Hi” to the Obamas. We both think, how far do you reckon we’d be able to get if we jump the fence?

We were now off to The Palm, an institution for businessmen, political figures and celebrities. Founded in 1926 by John Ganzi and Pio Bozzi, they opened their first location in New York City. Today they are located all over the United States, with now three international locations.

As we enter through the front doors, we make our way over to the bar. What a treat! We just walked into happy hour. Apps ranging from $7 to $12 were now all $3.50. How exciting. Kobe beef, filet mignon and, oh no baby! Oysters at a dollar each, how did they know?
Hoping to try a little bit of everything, we dive right into the menu with our first round; filet mignon, crab cakes, and of course oysters on the half shell.

The filet mignon was served like mini sliders, a cold trio with a very fresh and clean taste to the pallet. The medium rare cooked beef stacked with a fresh basil leaf, imported buffalo mozzarella and balsamic aioli, served in between two mini buns, make you put both hands up in the air. What a well thought out flavor combination. Talk about a capri twist.
The crab cakes served with a mango salsa and chipotle mayo was next. Not in usual crab cake form, it looked like a macaroon. Staying true to my ways of wanting all the flavors on my plate in one bite, I take a hearty piece of crab, top it with the mango salsa and dip it in the chipotle mayo. Yum! There’s a smokiness to the crab, the chipotle kicks it up a notch and the mango provides that cooling sensation your pallet is looking for.

La piece de resistance was my oysters. House made cocktail sauce with horseradish on the side, it was definitely an aphrodisiac that made me cross my legs! The freshness of the oysters with the tanginess of the house made sauce and lemon, I almost stood up with excitement. Paired alongside Kim Craford’s Sauvignon Blanc, from New Zealand, was a decadent orgy on my tongue.
Round two, kobe beef, chicken tenders, jumbo shrimp and yes, oysters. As we order another glass of wine, we brace myself for what’s to come. Could we handle more food?
With these flavors, yes! The kobe came out with a flavor that no Canadian could ever be exposed to (me). It was like beef butter melting on the tongue, with the fixings of any burger, of course prepared under Canadian Health Standards, at medium rare. Let me reassure you, if was not “any” burger.

Sit down for this one, because the chicken tender, were more than tender, it was Atila The Hun and Napolean battling in my mouth. The penko and parmesan cheese dusted, pounded out chicken breast was a flavor I still cannot describe to serve it justice. Paired with their Asian plum sauce, it was a FUSION! And yes, I am yelling it.
The jumbo shrimp was accompanied by the house made cocktail sauce which was also served along side my oysters, complete with horseradish on the side. But, darling, the shrimp was massive! It was succulent and sweet, a great taste to leave on your tongue and pallet at the end of the evening.

Visiting The Capital was short and sweet, but left us with enough to keep our eyes out on coming back. A patriotic feeling, with the backdrop of the White House and the Washington Monument, makes you feel good about your country. Like a big, “Hell Yeah!” The weather was perfect, although cloudy, it was the ideal temp to venture into the downtown core. What was a long walk, did not seem like such. If anything, we weren’t guilty at the end of dinner. For a city, I was surprised with the amount of open space, especially along the Ellipse, which was where we realized was the foreground to the most famous protests in history.

We ride back on the Metro, and I feel like I am being transported back into time, with it’s tangerine leather seats and matching carpet that runs from end to end of the car, it was like remnants of a 70’s airplane. 13 more stops to go, and our minds, hearts and stomachs are happy. Good night D.C. it was a pleasure.

Special Thanks To: Kurt Hamilton, Assistant GM of The Palm Restaurant (www.thepalm.com)

Pack Your Bags

Hitch along for the ride as we travel around the United States. We'll keep our optimism as we've left a lot behind, but don't think we're not going to love our new found freedom. Whatever comes our way; we'll be resourceful, mindful, and will eat and drink well. So pack your bags, as we Keep Left!