Inspired by my buddy and neighbor Mike La Monica's post last week on the South Miami Farmer's Market, I finally made a bee line to city hall parking lot, skipping Winn Dixie for a change. I can't believe I've been missing out on this for so long!
The market is small, but I left with a decent variety of veggies and fruit. I would have brought more, but since I'm cooking for one, I'd rather buy just enough at a time so food won't spoil.
A little feast for the single gal's kitchen: cilantro, guava, baby eggplants, mamey, tomato, cucumber, avocado and sugar-free jam.
Freakin' Flamingo posing with her goods.
The best part of my morning was bumping into my Twitter friend Renée Joslyn (@rjflamingo), a very funny gal with whom I've had the pleasure of clinking a glass or two. She is the entrepreneur behind Freakin' Flamingo, where she makes delicious micro-batch jams. She's also a South Miami neighbor. Talk about supporting local business!
I brought the last sugar-free jam today; they're popular and she runs out of those quickly. Sweetened with xylitol, the Starfruit Vanilla is absolutely delicious, especially if you are a fan of that fragrant orchid seed pod. I enjoyed some of the jam over Whole Foods unsweetened peanut butter and Ezequiel toast for breakfast.
Easy peasy quinoa salad. I haven't cooked any rice since I discovered this versatile, high-protein grain.
Lunch was just as good with the produce I had purchased earlier in the day, and the perfect, spontaneous meal for one. Chopped tomatoes, cucumber and cilantro, plus an onion I already had in the fridge, mixed with extra virgin olive oil, white balsamic vinegar and salt -- all added to some cooked and cooled quinoa. So ridiculously easy and tasty! I made two servings, so it will be even better tomorrow.
I'm looking forward to sautéeing the baby eggplants in garlic and making milkshakes with the guava. I'll spoon the mamey pulp straight off the skin, sprinkling it with a little nutmeg.
I spent about $20 on the whole shopping spree. The jam was the most expensive item at $9, but well worth the price. The guava and avocado were grown locally. I'll definitely be going back to South Miami Farmer's Market.
Single ladies, don't tell me it's boring and pointless to cook for one! It's one of the best things you can do for yourself. Look at it this way -- at least you please yourself and don't have to worry about feeding other mouths!
Please stop over at Mike La Monica's blog to see a great video about the people and musicians at the market: Saturday in my little town.
Foraging for fritos in a garbage can instead of shellfish in the mangrove beds. Caught in the act at Matheson Hammock Park.
"What happened to the $35 mangrove oyster special?" asked the wily raccoon. "Scavenging aint what it used to be since the humans arrived."
Talk about eating local and authentic, there's a forward-thinking South Florida conference coming up highlighting on doing the best we can to make the greater Everglades a viable agricultural food economy. Learn more at this home-grown organization and summit at Earth Learning.
Listen to a podcast by Leticia del Mello Bueno from Gastronomisti and Mario Yanez, founder of Earth Learning over at my radio show, co-hosted with Tonya Scholz. Locals at Social Chats -- Earth Learning Podcast.
It was a breezy afternoon this past week when I sat down for coffee on Brickell with local writer Jeremy Glazer. Rush hour was upon us and suited executives were buzzing by on the sidewalk. But I was in no hurry; my eyes were rapt on Glazer, whose stories, recently published at WLRN's Under the Sun, prompted me to secure an interview. I just knew I had to meet the man who could write so beautifully about Miami experiences.
Glazer is one of those rare Miami natives who contradict every negative stereotype about Miami. He’s handsome, charming, intelligent, cares for the community and his heart seems to be in a really good place.
Born and raised here, Glazer set off for college in Massachusetts where he studied anthropology, lived for a spell in Guatemala and pursued grad school in Philadelphia where he earned his teaching certification. Had it not been for an unfortunate situation, this prodigal son may have never returned to the magic city. Sadly, Glazer’s father fell ill, forcing him to settle here.
Once back in Miami, Glazer worked as an English teacher in several high schools, including a rough one in Liberty City, but also elite schools in upper-crusty sections of Miami-Dade. He became involved in teaching as a result of his work in community development for Coconut Grove. Social service guided him into the role of a teacher. “I think education is so vital for our society,” he said. “The classroom is an important place to be. I fell in love with it. It’s as close as I’ve ever come to a calling. I’m my best self in the classroom. It's a real contrast to who I usually am.”
But the rigors of teaching also took their toll. “It’s a thankless profession,” he explained. “Teachers were not respected and I wore myself out. I admire anyone who can stay in the classroom.”
And Glazer wasn’t too happy with forced curriculum either. “There was too much test prep. It was all about FCAT.”
So Glazer’s career segued into local politics, where he’s been working as a legislative analyst for commissioner Katy Sorenson. After elections this month, Glazer will follow Sorenson to the University of Miami, where the Institute for Excellence in Public Service will help educate elected officials about the local community.
Well into the hour of our interview, I was eager, of course, to get the dirt on Glazer’s short stories about dating.
Mismatch.com, a tale of online dating gone bad, is based on a true story. Bad, really bad -- as in getting his crotch grabbed at a Design District club by a woman he had only known for a few hours. The experience was a killjoy and spoiled online dating for him. “I only go for online dating about one month a year,” he joked. “It’s like childbirth. You easily forget how painful it is until it happens again.”
And as he’s already tried online dating in 2010, his quota has run out this year, leaving this bachelor to brave the thorny terrain of singledom in Miami without relying on a service.
Glazer has been doing the single thing for a few years now. In another life, he enjoyed a long-term relationship with a woman he met in the northeast. When I teased him about not finding love in Miami, he laughed: “Yes, I had to import that one from New York.”
Another short story, They Always Leave, is fictional but strikes a raw nerve for its realism. In a nutshell: the main character meets an interesting woman on a bus; has a four-month relationship with her; and it ends as she dashes off to to Chicago. There wasn’t enough in Miami to hold her interest here, not even the main character’s heart. The breakup happens on a bus in South Beach:
My boss wants me in Chicago. They’re scaling down in Miami. It’s just not ripe yet. And to be honest, I jumped at the chance. . . . I need to be back in a city with a real Chinatown. A city where the major cultural event of the season is not a dog Halloween parade.
On the subject of fiction versus non-fiction, Glazer noted: “emotional truth is more powerful than fact.” And it’s true – whether or not any of this actually happened to Glazer is irrelevant. I think it’s safe to say that the story resonates on an emotional level with anyone, male or female, who has dated in Miami.
Dating is challenging in any city, but Miami is particularly hard. “There are a lot of different Miamis in Miami,” Glazer observed. “It’s hard to find fellow residents. Gathering places tend to be clubs instead of open, public spaces. But what if that’s not your thing? There’s no Central Park or subway, where you are bound to see hundreds of people each day. Miami is not a participatory city in that sense. It separates people.”
No better proof of this was the condo canyon of Brickell where we were sitting – all buildings with interior lives and no pedestrian friendly plaza in sight.
Drawing from his background, Glazer looks at dating from an anthropological perspective. The process can be educational. “Dating is a window into cities,” he said. “It’s interesting to see how people feel and react.”
His favorite Miami-Dade city is Miami Beach, where he’s been living since 2002. “South Beach feels like a real city,” he explained. “All these different neighborhoods are crunched together. There’s the old Miami there, the tourists, and being able to go to the ocean in the evening helps me wash the day off after work.”
Although Glazer hasn’t had that much luck with love in recent years, he certainly has had a love affair with words. Writing wasn’t always in Glazer’s career, though he did start out young. “When I was a little kid, I liked to write anything creative,” he recalled. “My mom taught me how to type because I had terrible handwriting. My first typed story was about baseball because I was really into that at the time.”
As a teen, Glazer attended Coral Gables High School. Amy Scott, a teacher and mentor, inspired him to write. Though his career path would initially focus on teaching and public service, that inspiration evolved into the writer he is today. Glazer has written a novel called Catching Holden, which follows the lives of a high school student and teacher over a period of a week as each tries to figure out who they are while reading J.D. Salinger’s novel, The Catcher in the Rye. Currently, Glazer has an agent and is looking for a publisher.
“It’s a split narrative,” he explained. “I told myself I would write every day, and this is what came out of it. When writing is going well, it’s magic. Those are the best moments.”
Let’s hope Glazer has more of those moments. Miami deserves a great, fresh voice to document the contradictions of a city that confounds and fascinates people from all over the world. As he puts it in the short story Home: “A Fellini film of a city.”
Here's Glazer reading Mismatch.com at Lip Service at Books and Books:
Note: Coincidentally, Glazer and I went to the same high school, knew the same English teachers and several people in common, but being a few years older, I never crossed paths with him, until now. Oh and Amy Scott was one of my best friends and colleagues in graduate school. Neither Glazer nor I were aware of this when I contacted him. Such a small world Miami is ... really.
Tired of asking for the sheets to be changed at the corner swinger's club on Dixie Highway? Tired of squeezing your fat ass into pleather every time you go to a fetish party at some warehouse west of the Turnpike? Or worse, tired of waiting in lines at a South Beach club only to be wallet-raped every time you order a drink?
Maybe it's time for a little wholesome Mayberry style adult entertainment for you. Maybe it's time to get back to basics and that's exactly what Playdate is: a time for grown-ups to get together and play games. No, not mind games, mind you, but real games, like the ones you played when you were a kid: chess, checkers, UNO, Monopoly, Jenga and more.
Playahs making moves on some big-ass pieces.
I had the chance to attend Miami's first Playdate last month with some friends and spent a joyful, entertaining evening. It's the most fun you can have in a room full of adults without any of the oversexed hype of any club -- think romper room at your 30-year kindergarten reunion. A DJ, MC, cheap drinks and a reasonably priced buffet complimented the event. Everyone let down their inhibitions to do terribly risqué things like participate in hula hoop and twister contests. The group was varied with twenty, thirty and forty somethings in the crowd. Refreshingly absent were the typical club jackasses ready to mount on the first rump that wafts by.
Couples and singles go -- gaggles of girls and batallions of boys. One couple I met was there on their second date and the girl didn't seem to mind watching over him play chess. If you're a single woman, I suggest you go with friends, but if you go alone and are a social butterfly, you'll probably make new friends while you're there.
Playdate nights take place all over the country. Miami style returns this Friday night, July 16, 2010 at the Newport Resort, 16701 Collins Avenue in Sunny Isles, 10PM to 2AM. Cost is $10 (food and drink extra, but reasonable). 21+ only, please. Click on Playdate for more information.
Travelers often ask me if it's worth visiting Little Havana and my answer is always yes, yes and yes! There's so much more to South Florida than Miami Beach and for a real taste of Cuban culture in Miami, you've got to cross Biscayne Bay to the mainland.
But if you're like many South Beach visitors who don't rent cars, the idea of taking a municipal bus in Miami-Dade County is hardly appealing. (Heck, I wouldn't do it and I live here.)
Luckily for the curious, a taste of Cuban culture is now available right at everyone's doorstep in South Beach -- a taste so good, even locals from the mainland make the trek over the causeway for it.
SIT, EAT AND LISTEN
Behind his shy demeanor, musical powerhouse Steve Roitstein -- a Jewish white guy originally from Connecticut who makes fun of his own unlikely attraction to Latin culture -- has always been deeply inspired by Cuban music, food and culture. So inspired was he, in fact, that seven years ago he started his own Afro-Cuban funk band and since then PALO! has never missed a beat.
Combine Steve's music with the culinary artistry of Chef Douglas Rodriguez and you've got one of the best damn things you can enjoy in South Beach without having to stand in line behind a velvet rope: great food, drinks and music all centered around Cuban culture.
For several months now, PALO! has been playing in the charming side courtyard at The Hotel Astor on Washington Avenue, also home to D. Rodriguez Cuba, an upscale Cuban restaurant offering contemporary twists on traditional dishes. The courtyard is small, but surrounded by jasmine vines and bamboo trees -- a lovely green oasis off busy, gritty Washington Avenue. The setting is decidedly intimate and a great spot for a date.
PALO! plays on a terrace facing comfy lounge chairs and tables where, once seated, you can feel the sensual tones of Leslie Cartaya's voice swirl up in the air while rhythmic drumming on bongos and snare beat close to your heart. Combine that with Roitsein's jazzy keyboard inflections and a sax's players funky riffs, and you've got a top quality South Beach live music gig in a most unexpected location. Live music isn't staple entertainment in South Beach; thank the orishas for this!
If I had to describe Cartaya's voice, it would be like sweet molasses with a dash of spice, flying through high and low notes like her beaming smile. And I can sit at the bar, literally an hour or more, staring mesmerized at the fierce percussion moves by Phil Armanteros on bongos and Raymer Oladle on drums, which would surely resound deep into the night through mountains and valleys, if we only had them.
Through all this, you will also find me tapping my feet to the clave, a specific rhythm that underlies all Cuban music, which is easy to hear but difficult to master. I may not always "get" the clave, but I do mouth the lyrics, which are in Spanish and quite catchy, describing typical Cuban daily life experiences. Roitstein always explains the lyrics to the audience, so English speakers don't miss out on the themes.
THE FOOD
A typical night at a PALO! performance here involves drinks, dining and spontaneous bursts of dancing by newcomers and regulars alike.
D. Rodriguez isn't your typical Cuban mama's home cooking but it takes an interesting departure from the traditional. For starters, try the homemade plantain chips with sofrito dip made with roasted peppers and rich in cumin, garlic flavor.
Don't miss the malanga beef and black bean tacos; the soft shells are made from a tuber root common in traditional Cuban fare. The flatbreads also use a tuber root, yuca, for a crust; the duck and foie gras version is delicious with smoked dates and radishes added to the toppings.
For the main course, try the Crispy Skin Cuban Pork with pickled sweet peppers that lighten up the rich meat. Seafood lovers should go for the Mahi Mahi Fricasee in a rich tomato Creole-style sauce. If you're new to Cuban food, take your pick of classic plantain side dishes like fried sweet plantains, tostones con ajo (double-fried plantains with garlic, not sweet like the former), and fufú de platanos (mashed plantain with bacon).
If there's room for dessert, the vanilla flan with pineapple is a tropical must.
Dining is also available indoors but PALO! show guests can sit outside and just order appetizers or drinks if they want to pass on main courses. The Dark and Stormy Mojito (Myer's Black Rum muddled with mint and topped with Ginger Beer) or the French Mojito (Hendrick's Gin, lemon and tarragon on the rocks with a splash of champagne) are both refreshing.
IF YOU GO
PALO! at D. Rodriguez Cuba may not exactly duplicate the street life of Little Havana, but it's the closest thing you'll get to an authentic Cuban cultural experience in hyped-out, over-saturated South Beach. Completely original, it's not a kitschy tourist trap. Trust me, there aint nothin' else like this in South Beach right now.
For performance schedules, check the PALO! website or blog.
This Saturday, July 3rd 2010, PALO! celebrates its seventh anniversary with a performance at D. Rodriguez Cuba. A $7 cover includes a free CD, which you will not want to leave Miami without after hearing this band. The bar will pour $7 mojitos. Keep in mind, PALO! shows rarely include a cover but this is a special event.
If grabbing a bite at D. Rodriguez Cuba, reservations are highly suggested. Call (305) 673-3763 for details. Buen provecho!
I'm very proud to announce that Tiki Tiki Blog published my first contribution today. I love this blog; it celebrates everything about being a Hispanic-American woman and then some! One of its founders, Carrie Ferguson Weir, is not only a wonderful gal and savvy entrepreneur, but also a writer whose work I greatly admire over at Bilingual in the Boonies.
My first piece is about tostones (twice-fried plantains) and how my American boyfriend is learning about Cuban food. It's also a travel story about where to eat the best of this Cuban staple in Miami. And of course, it wouldn't be Manola if it also wasn't about the love. Here's a teaser:
I love el hombre as is, but ever since he had the first bite of a tostón, I’ve been noticing some changes. That twice-fried plantain, smashed flat to look like a big round cracker, has been working its homey magic on my fledgling Cubanaso. Actually, he would be a Jewbanaso, because he’s a Jewish New York transplant. And you know if there’s one thing Jews and Cubans have in common, it’s a healthy appetite for good food.
Served hot and fresh, with a little salt, a good tostón is crispy on the outside but creamy on the inside. Adventurous Cubans may squeeze a lime on their tostones or dip them in a simple mojo – minced garlic lightly fried in oil. . . .
But in truth, I think the friendly feud is just a front for a bromance. Mutual admiration is just oozing from their pores.
For me, the answer is no. Sef is just a really nice guy who likes to eat burgers and share his love of the humble patty with the rest of the world. And he's doing it in a clever way, using social networking sites. I mean seriously, if Sef is a social media whore, that would make me an old, washed-up harlot by now. More on Sef at my Miami New Times blog: Burger Beast Eats Up Social Media.
By the way, if you haven't been to Charm City Burger, you don't know what you're missing. The joint is small and unassuming but the burgers are large and in charge! Try the kobe beef with foie gras.
On October 10, Schnebly Redland's Winery in Homestead hosted a special event to benefit four local high schools with culinary arts and agricultural programs. The goal was to beat the Guinness World Record for largest guacamole and they did it!
Under the supervision of their chef instructors, students mashed 3,428 pounds of avocados, diced 489 pounds of tomatoes and squeezed the juice out of 478 pounds of limes. Mixed together with 98.5 pounds of mayonnaise, the guacamole beat the previous record by 103 pounds for a whopping 4,114 pounds of the green stuff.
Later, the guacamole was seasoned with cilantro, green onion, a little hot pepper and salt for individual sale to the public. Guacamole wasn't the only avocado treat served up -- the sale of avocado ice cream, pies and bread also helped with proceeds. The event raised $4,789, which will help the young chefs-to-be in cook up even more in their daily classroom adventures.
If the idea of avocado ice cream seems strange, don't forget that it's a fruit. And yes, Schnebly makes a crisp and delicious wine from the creamy pulp. The alligator on the bottle's label refers to the old days when Florida pioneers called the fruit gator pear.
Students also competed for best recipes, with local chefs Allen Susser, Michael Schwartz, Darren Lee and Giancarla Bodoni as judges.
Michael Schwartz of Micheal's Genuine in the Design District had worked with students earlier in the week to come up with recipes. "We went to the schools, talked to the kids and game planned what they would prepare," Schwartz said. "They came up with recipes and ideas, and we tweaked them a little bit. But really they did all the work. The program is amazing."
About 1,000 people enjoyed the lovely grounds at Schnebly Winery that day.
You still have a few days left to catch the Wolfsonian Museum's Beauty on the Beach: A Centennial Celebration of Swimwear exhibit.
Located on the top floor, the exhibit adds to the museum's already rich collection of twentieth-century artifacts. The room is filled with actual swimsuits from the 1920s to the present, all from the archives of famous apparel manufacturer Jantzen. By far the most interesting is the oldest one -- a bathing costume knitted from heavy wool. It's a wonder women didn't drown in those darn things!
Swimming, as opposed to bathing, became popular just before the First World War. Posters, magazine covers, postcards, advertisements -- all which were designed to entice women to the water -- are on display. A short reel of vintage film clips complements the printed material.
The bathing suits, all lined up in a row in chronological progression, show how the shapes of women's silhouettes have changed in the last century. In the early years, freed from the constraints of Victorian dress, women were suddenly able to flex their muscles and expose their bodies in new ways. Fast forward to postwar 1950s and women became bombshells with hourglass bodies. And just ten years later, with the invention of Lycra, 1960s women sported a more natural, less exaggerated look.
As you browse the exhibit, think about what was going on in each decade of the last century. It's clear that the history of bathing suit design in America also reflected the history of women.
The exhibit made me think about how women dress in South Beach today. On the streets of the island, there's a very fine line between swimsuit and club dress. There's also a very big line between nudity and good taste.
But that's what we see outside. The Wolfsonian exhibit focuses more on design: how it was influenced by changes in attitudes as well as advances in manufacturing techniques and materials.
On the ground floor, the exhibit also features large framed black-and-white photographs by New York-based photographer Miles Ladin. Sun Stroke Stimulus asks the question "what does beauty on the beach look like here and now--on Miami Beach in 2009?"
The photos are humorous and playful, capturing just a few of so many South Beach bodies.
The brochure reads: "His intention is to reveal the unadulterated beauty and intensity of nature -- whether the beach or body-- as well as man's foibles and vulnerabilities."
Unadulterated? I find this quite ironic, considering that the aim of all things South Beach is to be nip, tucked and artificially enhanced -- even the buildings!
Food for thought.
The exhibit runs until October 11th. Visit the Wolfsonian for hours and directions. Plan on browsing the museum's permanent collection as well. It's always worth a look.
Sidenote: In the last couple of years, Miami Fever has masterfully documented women's street and beach wear.
Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.
SEASONAL AMNESIA
Not long ago, I bumped into my high school English teacher while taking the Metrorail downtown. Peggy Hall is retired now, but she and her partner Sandra Riley (another former teacher) have been writing poems, books and making films for years.
I just love Hall's homegrown South Florida verse in the form of a classical Italian sonnet. What local can't relate to this?
Seasonal Amnesia
Miami summer skies, puff-bloated black by three o'clock, chase faces red or pale from pink cabanas by the pools, assail slow picnic parties with swift thunder cracks and scare us all with lightning rickrack quick-basted down from sky to sea—I shall desist from piling up these dire details and simply ask, Knowing this, who'd come back?
The old, who rise to take diurnal walks, the young, who bed the day until sunset, some Witnesses, who knock from door to door, flambéed tourists, who come to shop and gawk, and optimistic natives, who "forget" each daily storm and crowd the blonde seashore.
As a highly creative team, Riley and Hall started a non-profit arts and culture organization that puts on some shows each year. This coming Saturday, July 12, Hall and others will be performing some of her poetry at the New Theatre in Coral Gables. Other events will follow in the summer. Visit Crystal Parrot Players for details.
The theme that night was Cunnilinguistics: Erotic Poetry. You'd think that'd be a natural for me, right?
Our gorgeous, vivacious host welcomed me warmly but the audience reception was lukewarm. Not that there was anything wrong with the audience or with my little verses; my coffee-house-meets-boudoir groove was simply out of place. Kind of like that movie Save the Last Dance -- ballet in a hip-hop world.
However, I just loved the down and dirty rhythmic spoken word style of the other poets, so deliciously raunchy and unabashed. One woman sang a beautiful, soulful song -- a weekly crowd favorite. Surrounded by such talent and loungy DJ interludes, I can't think of a better way to spend late night on hump day, even if it will occasionally interfere with beauty sleep. I'll definitely be back, but first this white girl better play some funky music.
SEX AND THE GARDEN
I think I might have to change the title of this blog. After all, what could be sexier than a tryst in a lush, tropical garden, surrounding by the sweet, intoxicating scent of ylang ylang? Well, if you can get past the heat, humidity, bugs and pesky raccoons ... but heck, at least you wouldn't have any sand lodged in your crotch!
I started a new blog where I can go crazy with plant porn, but the only tryst I'm having in this garden is with those gorgeous trees, flowers and shrubs. And even if I just happened to slip on a banana peel and fall on top of a hunky, shirtless gardener, I wouldn't tell ... or would I?
Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.
Have you ever been out on a date and felt exactly like this? Photo by Shveckle.
LOVE/HATE
A forum member at Talk Night Life posted a link to my Raleigh Runway Caper piece and inspired a little discussion, mainly about tourism. One member, however, expressed his opinion about Sex and the Beach:
that blog is pretty lame.
ohhhhh south beach, i love you i hate you i love you i hate you i blah blah blah
I realize this opinion was meant as negative criticism, but that second line is brilliant! Actually it made me laugh my ass off and I hope it gives my regular readers at least a good chuckle. Enjoy.
BARGAIN BLOW JOB BUS BUSTED!
Just when you thought Lincoln Road's Chabad bus synagogue-on-wheels was quaint, another bus comes along that gives whole new meaning to local culture, and by culture I don't mean the seat stains on the 25 cent South Beach local!
Nope, if you've seen that big-ass limo bus tooling around town, you've spotted a movable feast that would put Hemingway's debauchery to shame. According to The Herald, we now know for whom the bus blows:
Undercover Miami Beach detectives Sunday busted a brothel-on-wheels, which charged $40 admission and offered sex for sale inside.
On board: prostitutes, fully stocked bars and the bus' madame -- Christine Morteh, 29, of Miramar.
Cops have charged Morteh with engaging in, directing others to and deriving support from prostitution, as well as operating a business without license.
Oh for pete's sake! What took so long for this cult of fellatio bus to arouse erections instead of suspicion?
In an unconfirmed report, one male tourist arrested for soliciting prostitution on the bus claimed he was confused by false advertising. "Me no speak English. Me thought it was Duck Tour! D-U-C-K. Duck like quack quack, yes?" [via 411]
SPINSTER BASHING
In the movie Baby Mama, Kate (Tina Fey) has this interesting exchange with her mother, Rose (Holland Taylor). Rose doesn't understand why her daughter wants to be a single mom.
Rose: "Now, we have all adjusted to your alternative lifestyle." Kate: "Mother, being single is not an alternative lifestyle." Rose: "It is when you are 37 years old."
Ugh. Whenever I tell people I'm single, most react incredulously. "How's that possible? Why have you never been married?" And I quickly reply: "Because I avoided two divorces." That usually shuts them up.
"Full of shit, impossibly snobby." -- The Locals Guide to BS in SB
So last Sunday some friends and I decided to meet at The Raleigh Hotel for a leisurely afternoon of mojitos, sandwiches and good conversation -- an activity we've enjoyed more than once in the past.
At one such gathering, I had spoken with a hospitality manager who told me that The Raleigh wanted to bring class and sophistication back to South Beach. "It's not all about the clubs anymore," he explained. "We want to make the hotel more attractive to locals."
I couldn't agree more. The Raleigh is a historic Collins Avenue property with great class appeal -- sophisticated, yet casual. It's more expensive, to be sure, than hanging out at Flamingo Park with a bottle of Mad Dog, but heck, when you "do" hotel on Collins Avenue, you're paying for the fantasy of genteel grace, even if it means farting Krugerrands out of your ass.
When we arrived at the hotel on Sunday, we had no idea that the property would be closed to the public on Monday for an entire week. Apparently Karl Lagerfeld would be in town to present Chanel's cruise collection. And by cruise, I don't mean the verb, you know -- smack talk such as gay men looking for bathroom sex, papi chulos wagging their tongues at chongas in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Ocean Drive, or hookers pulling tricks by the Setai, no -- by cruise I mean clothes that wealthy women wear on big boats.
Since we knew nothing about this fashion event, we thought that the pool had been cordoned off for maintenance. Mind you, the only unusual feature about the pool on Sunday was some kind of white sheeting wrapped around its shallow edge, which we couldn't see very clearly from our lounge chairs at the far end of the tree-covered patio.
One of my friends had used his telephoto lens to capture the fountain above the pool when a security thug, dressed in black CIA-style, approached him. "Let me see the photos," he demanded. "Don't take photos of the pool," he grunted firmly. "Chanel people."
Chanel people. Holy houndstooth! Did you hear that? Chanel people! The hotel pool was being held hostage by Chanel people!
We had to suck on our sugar cane sticks just to keep from laughing. God forbid we should be undercover paparazzi spying on the precious runway! But what runway? There was no fucking runway! Good grief, I was already hastily scribbling on a napkin -- The Mystery of the Phantom Runway.
Since none of us intended to leak photos to Women's Wear Daily, we continued carrying on in our own little corner of the patio, minding our own business and having a darn good time. We took occasional snapshots of ourselves, sent messages to Twitter and live stream video to Qik, but never aimed any of our electronic devices at the God damn freakin' pool.
What's more, we saw no evidence of the so-called Chanel people. Well, actually -- one plain, unremarkable-looking woman walked by with a Chanel bag, but she could've been a regular hotel guest sporting a knock-off. Other than that, we saw no models, no fashionistas, no celebrities, no hairdressers, no make-up artists, no stagehands, no lights, no props -- NOTHING. We never even caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5, although the scent of clothes dryer did waft in from the laundry room.
Men in black: Karl Lagerfield sworn in as director of Homeland Security. The Chanel anti-polyester task force has recently uncovered 12 bails of polyester/cotton/spandex blend smuggled via a container unloaded at the Port of Miami. The illegal cargo has an estimated street value of three mojito pitchers at The Raleigh Hotel. The find will hopefully lead to a bust of a highly dangerous international bad fabric cartel.
We did get a runway show all right. Security thugs, hotel managers, waiters and a man who might've been a Chanel person lorded it over us. As you already know, first it was don't take photos of the pool. Simple enough, right?
But later it was don't take photos in the general direction of the pool.
Eventually, it was don't take photos of yourselves followed by don't take any photos at all.
Finally, after one of my friends asked why we could no longer take photos of ourselves, it was I'm going to confiscate your camera and I'm going to call the cops.
Huh?
I could see the headline now:
LOCAL BLOGGER VIOLATES COUTURE QUARANTINE OF RALEIGH HOTEL POOL
Perhaps it sounds like my friends and I were acting like a bunch of uncooperative assholes, but consider this: we spent a total of $666 at The Raleigh Hotel, valet parking included, over a period of several hours and we graciously refrained from taking photos of the pool. Had we been told the moment we walked into the hotel that ALL PHOTOGRAPHY WAS ABSOLUTELY PROHIBITED, PLEASE PARDON THE INCONVENIENCE, we would've obliged, but the message was never clear, until the words cops and confiscation came up toward the end of the evening.
For real? Can a hotel confiscate your camera and threaten you with police action if you never signed a release?
And all this over a fucking fashion event that wasn't yet even taking place?
Oy vay! Raleigh, darling: why so much tough love? Please, we adore you! Next time you have some high-falutin' I'm-too-sexy-for-mere-mortals show come into town, do me a favor, don't spoil our sweet mojitos with a bunch of sourpuss faces and passive aggressive security measures. I bet Carl Fisher is rolling in his grave right now!
Besides, you never know if those wacky locals who patronize hotel lounges are up to their asses in social media. Heck, one of them could be a forum editor whose opinion is trusted by thousands of readers worldwide!
Oh, yeah. It's all my fault. I was wearing Guerlain!
Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently. If you are easily offended, do not read on!
Businesses of South Beach, you better be on your best behavior and nurture some class, because Manola doesn't mince her words! Photo by the amazing Miami Fever.
I just wanted to point out that while I am a lover of all things Greek, including hot poolboys who work without green cards at expensive Miami Beach hotels, I will NEVER patronize Taverna Opa South Beach for as long as I live, because I actually like to EAT food and not have napkins strewn all over the table while I am nibbling, much less have some skanky ho from Baltimore purloining a Mediterranean ethnicity while shaking her ass over my tzatziki, furthermore forcing me to scream in my dining companion's ear, because the music is so loud, only worsening my already bad case of tinitis.
However, the food is good. Pity ... maybe you can do take-out and open an otolaryngolist office next door.
And to add insult to indigestion at this part half-assed tourist trap strip-joint, part eatery is the utter rudeness of some bartenders. My first tender poured me exactly what I wanted for $9. Now call me crazy, but on a writer's budget, that's already pretty pricey, but he was young, short, dark, fabulously gay and the citrusy martini was perfect. What could possibly go wrong if the end product of fun, social and warm banter between a lady and her tender is a refreshing beverage? Nothing, right?
Now about an hour and a half later, my second tender poured me the same drink for $12. She was bleached blonde, highly bitchy ... come to think of it, if Jane Austen were alive and writing the sequel to Pride and Prejudice, she would've been one of Bingley's intolerably arrogant sisters.
I asked the first bartender why I was now paying an additional $4 for the same drink even though there was no clear distinction of happy hour. A discussion ensued between both bartenders and she averted her gaze while I signed my tab. He smiled politely. Kudos to him, for not letting his vagina get in the way of good service.
So let me get this straight ... at Taverna Opa, the grand central of all South Beach kitchiness, only one wikipedia entry away from absolutely tacky (I'd rather go to Mango's, at least you're expecting tacky!) ... you will pay more for goods and services, if you happen to have a vagina and another vagina is serving your drink. Not only that, but you have to eat with a vagina shimmying on the table and she's not even stomping on grapes or mortaring your chick peas!
And now this has me concerned. Is South Beach really all that unfriendly to the heterosexual female tourist? I should hope not. I'm a toughened local, but shame, shame, shame to these bitchy servers who would get all PMS on your ass when it comes to hospitality.
Do y'all think we walk around taking blood samples in white slacks and white leather pumps like Calleigh Duquesne on Miami CSI? Or are there real women in this town who want a fair price on their martinis, served happily by gay bartenders? Oh, where's Horatio Cane and his brand of justice when I need him?
PS ... more kudos to Joe's Take-Away, they unquestionably provided change for the parking meter, even though I didn't buy a damn thing. I'm definitely going back there for some quiet nosh.
Why is this woman smiling? Satisfied from an incredible meal, meeting groovy people AND having her photo taken by the fabulous Miami Fever!
Last Sunday, Gus and Michelle from Miami Beach 411 generously a hosted a dinner for 18 local bloggers, as well as contributors, staff members, forum participants and business associates of 411. The soiree was held at the Tuscan Steak on Washington Avenue just South of 5th. I wanted to write some comments about the food being orgasmic, but charming Verticus, whom I had the pleasure of meeting that night, beat me to it! Let me delight you with some choice quotes here.
"The food will make an athiest cry and thank God for the opportunity to eat such food as this."
"Then comes the three mushroom risotto (yes, we're gluttons and it will only get worse). It's finished with white truffle oil and shaved parmesan reggiano and it's like having sex in public without getting arrested."
Oh, it did get worse for us gluttons, but Verticus' food porn only gets better -- foreplay included! Please stop by Miamivisionblogorama and treat yourself to a hilarious and sexy restaurant review. You may even get all hot and bothered! You'll definitely salivate.
I'm sure that anyone who has tried the food at Tuscan Steak would agree that in some cases, some things are definitely better than sex. Dinner was two days ago but I still feel satisfied, evening though I'm fantasizing about the next time I may have that melt-in-your-mouth mushroom risotto and tender T-bone steak. Oh, baby!
The decor is elegant and the lighting is just subdued enough to feel quite cozy -- in short a great place for a hot date. Be prepared to fall hard for the food, if not your dinner companion. Prices are a little steep but worth every penny on a special occasion.
If you decide to go to Tuscan Steak make sure you mention Miami Beach 411. You can also stop by 411 to read more user reviews or conveniently make an online reservation (scroll down to the end of the page to fill out a form).
