South Beach Gets Smart About Sex with Sexposé

That's me just wondering: if they sold this at IKEA, foyer or family room? Photo by yours truly.

In all my years of writing about South Beach, I never once imagined that I’d be sauntering up to the World Erotic Art Museum, a quirky treasure trove of naughty art that displays everything (and I mean everything) from a giant golden phallus to delicate figurines enclosed in glass cases -- to attend an educational event.

Imagine grandma’s tchotchkes and then take a closer look: “why grandma, what BIG tchotchkes you have!”



It’s in this fun and inspired space that Meli Blundell Osorio, founder of Night School, hosted the first annual Sexposé evening of sex talk this past October. Imagine that! Getting all dolled up in cocktail attire not to have sex but to talk about it in a space that pays tribute to sex. It's better than a Dolphins game; come here and you might even score.

Throw in a little sip, a little nosh – and you've got yourself a great way to spend a Saturday evening in South Beach with sophisticated folks, or as Night School puts it: “curious night owls.”



Night School seeks to “offer classes and events that foster curiosity and build community for the intellectually adventurous in Miami.” In a city where adventure often involves speeding to a vapid party in a Lamborghini followed by a morning-after walk of shame, Night School promises to cure boredom for the jaded.

Getting night schooled with a few laughs thrown in for good measure.

Perhaps I speak for myself, but I’m sure the other guests at Sexposé were thrilled with the evening’s program. Presenters regaled the audience with topics ranging from sex and marketing, to myths and facts about Jewish sex to straight talk from a sex worker – with interludes featuring Cock Ring 101 and spoken word poetry.

Many eager hands were raised during the question and answer sessions what with so many juices flowing from such intellectual stimulation. Hilarious emcee Shaka Brown kept us on schedule but I almost wish we could have had a sleep over! The craving for discussion lingered … and it’s no wonder.

THE TALKS

MsKitty Black, Sarah Epstein and Zoey Chen (l-r), speakers at Sexposé.

University of Miami marketing professor Zoey Chen started the evening with a talk about sexual imagery and marketing. Looking back at ads from the 70s, she showed us the progression of gender representation in modern advertising – with women increasingly taking the foreground in positions of sexual power. Her thesis centered on the idea that sex doesn’t just sell, but that consumers sell sex, too, in the products they choose to buy.

Take that Miami: a passing mention to your penchant for living beyond your means to seduce the opposite sex was the topic of academic discussion. I’m not sure that I agree that men are the only ones who buy into status symbols to get sex; women also spend thousands on fake boobs and butt implants to attract men. That being said, there’s one thing we all probably get: stimulating the sex drive decreases the drive for food, although it doesn't explain Burger King's 7-incher ad.

Virginia Jimenez of Spark Your Mind took to the stage in between talks to read her poem Thumping Hearts in a sultry and sensual voice. My favorite line was “loving more and less fearing,” which was all about surrendering to love after resisting it with fear. Her candor was refreshing.

Meli Blundell Osorio and Virginia Jimenez.

Sarah Epstein, a Yeshiva student turned sex educator, debunked many myths about the sex lives of Jews in her talk “How Jews Do the Deed.” Oy vay! Now we can sleep at night when we're done screwing knowing that orthodox Jews don’t, in fact, use a sheet with a hole in it to copulate.

Sex is a little more personal than that according to Epstein. It’s not about “hey, we got penis in vag and we’re done,” she quipped. Jews view sex as a way for couples to connect. After all, the Hebrew word “to know,” applies to sex. You know this. Everyone calls it carnal knowledge.



Although men wrote the Talmud – and this is a question I would have asked: how the heck would they know about a woman’s sexual satisfaction? – the same text says that a Jewish man must sign a contract that obligates him to provide his wife with food, shelter and sexual satisfaction. It gets better: a woman can divorce a man if he doesn’t perform his sexual duties.



Judaism prohibits pre-marital sex – no chuppah no schtuppah – but it does encourage intercourse for married couples if done according to the book, of course.

Epstein left us with this final tip: kosher isn't just for the kitchen. You can also get your kosher on with sex toys – and no, I’m not suggesting you use a Hebrew National Hot Dog as a hot beef injection. Who knew? A rabbi runs an online adult shop where modesty and pleasure seem to make holy bedfellows. Read more at BeBetter2Gether.

Sex and Jews, folks. Here's the lesson for us gentiles: it's more than just matzoh balls. Read an article by Epstein over at Jewrotica.

All this gabbing about sex toys and orthodox Jews had a perfect segue. One of the event sponsors, Perfect Fit Brand, spoke next about cock rings and gave us this mighty bit of trivia: “It’s one of the oldest sex toys. The only thing older than a cock ring is a dildo.” Jewish nookie was still on my mind. "Really? It's old as Methuselah?"

He then alluded to the gifting of this sexual enhancement tool as “a different exchange of rings,” at which point I imagined a bride fitting her groom with a cock ring at the altar: “with this ring I thee wed.”

Any educational event where you can wear a black leather corset is good in my book. Pictured here: MsKitty Black.

The evening was dominated, er, pardon the pun, by professional dominatrix and former escort MsKitty Black in her talk “So You Want to Be a Sex Worker?”



Black has extensive experience in BDSM, fetish, leather and kink, but it was her recounting of the challenges sex workers face that I found interesting from a sociological perspective. “The closer you are to the street, the greater the risks,” she said. “But the Internet has changed all that.”



Marginalized people do it more for the hustle, but escort work is different. “You can be more choosy,” she explained.



After the talk, I had a chance to speak with Black. In her line of work, she claimed, she has great power: “Guys don’t even have to touch you, but they still pay you.”

It’s still never easy. She has to do all her marketing in a business that for her is also very spiritual. It isn’t just about wham-bam-thank-you-mam sex; she’s also a life coach of sorts when she channels a goddess of sacred sexuality. “It’s about intimacy. I give them what they think they want.”

The next Sexposé takes place in 2016. It’s too bad we have to wait this long to keep abreast of such titillating subjects. Who wouldn’t want to spend a Saturday night talking about sex? It’s the best kind of foreplay.


And I won’t tell you what I did after Sexposé, but let’s just say that sexy black dress I wore? I didn’t wear it for long.



For more information, visit Night School.



All photos by Andrea Máté unless otherwise specified.

Sexo y la Playa: Because Everything Sounds Sexier in Spanish

Photo by @antjjphotog.

Last Sunday, I gathered with friends at the chic Hotel Chelsea on Washington Avenue to celebrate Sex and the Beach's 10th anniversary. The location couldn't have been more appropriate, right in the heart of South Beach, where it all started.

The art deco boutique hotel serves up drinks in an updated and elegant lobby bar, which was perfect for this intimate gathering. Outside, a cozy patio is set with tables and couches for food service from Alex's Kitchen at Chelsea.

The lobby bar at Hotel Chelsea was already decked out for Halloween.

It's here we enjoyed some tasty libations with Martin Miller's Gin, the cocktail I created with Robert V. Burr in 2011 as a "trade up" to the old classic Sex on the Beach.

To this day, I still have to remind people whenever they ask about my blog that it's called Sex and the Beach, not on the beach. There's a big difference between the preposition on and the conjunction and  -- the former is a state of mind; the latter involves sand in the orifices, which can get quite itchy.

Born on the sultry shores of Miami Beach, of course, the cocktail sounds more exotic en Español. Under the Florida sun, beautiful bodies tan in the white-sand beaches of an alluring, glossy town -- never mind the darker, gritty underbelly of this urban beach, which keeps it raw and real: just how I like it.

And so inspired by the blog that was, in turn, inspired by this city, we created a cocktail with unexpected zing: muddled jalapeño and ginger beer offset the sweetness of peach nectar. The botanicals in the gin make for a drink that's as good to smell as it is to sip.

The bar manager at Hotel Chelsea did a fantastic job of modifying a single-serve highball recipe to self-pour in a glass keg.

Tempted? While in South Beach, ask your bartenders for an elegant Sexo y La Playa. Let them know the soon-to-be-world-famous cocktail garnered rave reviews at its public debut from a distinguished panel of experts hanging out at the fabulous Hotel Chelsea. If they look at you all funny, ask them to tweet @vicequeenmaria for the recipe or send them to the Martin Miller Gin vault.

(Whatever you do, while in South Beach, please drink like a local. I beg you. Kindly refrain from ordering those fish bowl cocktails served in Ocean Drive cafés with two Corona beers standing neck down in some tacky mockery of the classic Margarita. I'm pretty sure a kitten dies somewhere each time one of those monstrosities is consumed.)

But I digress. Back to the party.

As classic 80s music played in the background, we chatted and savored fresh sushi rolls from Fung Ku, which delivered my favorite: spicy tuna. If you've been following my #vicequeenkitchen tag in the social networks, you know how particular -- and particularly bananas -- I am about food. Fung Ku's sushi -- how do I explain this without sounding pervy? -- was tight and crisp in texture as I rolled each morsel in my mouth. We love this, because there's nothing sadder than something limp and soggy in your mouth.

We also licked our lips while devouring two gorgeous cakes from It's A Bundt. The frosting alone gave me dirty thoughts and (shhh!) I stuck a finger in it when no one was looking. The bundt may have a hole in it, but it sure was full of love. Yeah, that's it. Our favorite love hole comes surrounded by something moist and tasty. Dig in!

The spread.

Soul of Miami, another long-time Miami website, stopped by to say hello.

Clearly, I skipped cake eating etiquette 101 at charm school.

Good grief, I wanted to write about my shindig and all I think about is the food. Because it's always about sex or stuff that's more interesting than sex, namely, food.

Sex and food, folks. That's all she wrote. And then some.

I really didn't want to celebrate anything at all, but I thought, what the heck? A decade is kind of a big deal. I could never have imagined the doors that this blog would open or the joy I would experience from meeting so many amazing folks along the path.

And all this because one day, back in October 2005, I decided to write about how convenient it would be to have a pap smear while getting your vaj waxed. (I still think it's a good idea.)

Damn. I guess that alone was worth a toast. Here's to another ten!

Created with flickr slideshow.

The businesses mentioned in this post happily supported this event by providing goods and services, for which we are very grateful! All opinions my own, as always.

When Baristas Talk About Sex at Starbucks

Classic Sex and the Beach. Cartoon by Yours Truly, circa 2007.

"She does everything but vaginal when she has her period," said one Starbucks barista to his coffee colleague.

And so begins my tame evening in Miami Beach this Wednesday night with a creamy decaf to keep me company. After a few years of living on the mainland, I've returned to the scene of the crime. The heart of South Beach is my home for a spell.

I've come to the coffee shop to write and I overhear a conversation about sex during menstruation. So when baristas talk about sex, you have mundane epiphanies.

Ten years ago, I was amused by the fact that hunky Argentinians -- blessed with legs molded by soccer, limbs thicker than a juicy churrasco that would make any girl chimi her churri -- populated SoBe like so many cigarette butts in the sand. They were all named Alejandro. Seriously, all of them. Just ask the U.S. census. A massive cloud of chéromones clung to the atmosphere and blew our miniskirts like a warm, breezy douche spray on our stuffed empanadas.

Sex was in the air. Sex was everywhere. Sex and the Beach was born.

I worshipped at the altar of wanton.

Ten years later, it seems like the blog went from Lolita to Luddite over night. Where did the sex go? Did it really get 86'd at Lost Weekend? Did it end up in the bathroom stall at Club Deuce? Where is my futbol Adonis of yore? Having coffee at Manolo's with his wife and rug rats?

Ouch. Lights on, last call. Walk of shame toward this adulting thing. So very dull.

Maybe the sex got wiped out after a hurricane. Maybe it oozes out with the floodwaters in the storm drains. I told you South Beach was shallow. Literally. A barrier island afloat under the weight of luxury condos, silicon boobs and gold digger's pockets.

Cartoonist Hugh Macleod said it, too.

Ten years later, I write at Starbucks with a warm Americano instead of a sizzling Argentino. I worship at the altar of vagrant buddhas. I attend Town Hall meetings about the homeless and hang out with environmental activists who, like me, are witnesses to a paradise trashed. It's everything but shallow. Damn. People who live like they live here. People who care.

Don't let the hookah bars on Lincoln Road, the fishbowl drinks on Ocean Drive and the used condoms strewn on the beach fool you. Toss that glossy tourism brochure in the recycle bin. This is a real city --gritty and grimy, gaudy and glamorous -- all at once.

But yawn. How unbearably prosaic.

And then tonight, a glimmer of hope. The fucking barista is shouting in Spanish about the sexual proclivities of his girlfriend. A young woman walks in for a latte with boy shorts riding so far up her curvy butt cheeks, I'm reminded of the great South Beach sanitation crisis of 2006.

Thank God you didn't get all Kendall on me, South Beach, you crazy-ass island full of contradictions. Oh Beachhattan, I love you in all your decadent glory. Like me, you tell it like it is. You really do.

Except for one thing.

I lied. I know where the sex went ... I'm just not going to tell you.

Two Dudes Looking for True Love in South Beach

Yesterday, I was on my way to a blogger party at the Versace Mansion and these two charming comemierdas were hanging out on the sidewalk by Ocean Drive. When I walked by, one of them asked me: "I'm a little bit lost. Where can I find true love?"

Now, as a former forum editor for Miami's premiere travel website, I've fielded many questions, and I suppose I wear the sign of "Miami ambassador" on my forehead because even on the street, dogs ask me where to find the nearest fire hydrant.

A friend on Twitter told me in jest that these two guys were actually comedians he'd seen at Hollywood's Laugh Factory last week.  Another buddy said they seem Dominican because of their "papi chulo swag."  They definitely weren't local; we know a good bluff we see one.  What kind of Cuban doesn't know purée de malanga?

Anyway, I bet they were surprised I would call them on their bluff by whipping out my iPhone for an impromptu interview.  My answer to them: "True love is in your heart or you can ask some of those fine ladies working 23rd street and Collins."

And remember: All a man needs is "love and steak, love that's FREE 99."

You Can't Blame the Guy For Trying

I know I said I was going on hiatus and I still am sticking to my word. I'm up to my ass in alligators ... so busy making movies about Hialeah and organizing HeartCamp.

However, this story was too good to pass up.

I've experienced many strange and exciting things in South Beach, but getting this love note from a German tourist on my windshield -- instead of a parking citation from Miami Dade police -- well, this was simply priceless!

I guess this is a new stalker pick-up technique. Hey, it even involves social media.

Every Day is Halloween in South Beach

Who is that woman? Taken at the fabulously renovated Hotel Breakwater. The rooftop terrace lounge is great. You can't beat that view of the ocean and Lummus Park.

Remember when I took a random stroll in South Beach a few months ago and bumped into a guy with a lemur on his shoulder? (And no, this wasn't the same recent lemur experience at Jungle Island.)

Well, on Saturday I was part of the freak show. You see, I wear a pink wig every time I go to a fundraiser -- it's something I've been doing for about two years now -- so when we left the Miami Rat Pack party to go for late supper at the 11th Street Diner, I was practically accosted by people on the street with hollers of "Nicki Minaj" and even one "OMG Lady Gaga."

Seriously people? You see a honky big ass over-40 Cuban woman wearing a pink wig and you confuse her with a young slim African-American hip hop star? Well, that's ok. I had a couple of martinis in me too. It was all in good fun.

On the way back, a camera crew stopped me on the corner of 10th and Ocean Drive, where the street was buzzing with energy, music blasting from the Clevelander. Apparently some very young heart throb Portuguese singer -- he was about 12 years old in menopause years -- was working the sidewalk crowd for some video footage.

His name is Carroral, but I can't find a darn thing on him in Google. For some reason, he said "Shakira" when we asked him what his name was on tape -- not exactly a smart marketing move, buddy. Anyway, although I am far from playing cougar, he serenaded me right there on the spot. He did have a sweet voice.



Never a dull moment, I tell you. If you miss South Beach for Halloween, don't worry. The show is on 365, 24/7. You don't have to go to a club to be entertained. Check out Ocean Drive, Washington Avenue and Lincoln Road for the best people watching south of Manhattan.

Special thanks to my partner in crime @miamishines for capturing the video on my iPhone.

South Beach Meanderings

Damn it. I was in the market for used panties.

Last weekend, I attended a daytime event in South Beach and when it was over I had a few hours to kill. I was in no rush to get home, so I walked about a mile from Waxy's to The Raleigh and took my sweet old time to do it.

It was all rather surreal ...

Is it just me or has Washington Avenue become even dirtier, smellier and skankier than before? I had to cover my nose on some corners. And the sight of homeless people! One woman must have been 100 years old, a wizened, leathery sack of flesh, wearing a bikini top under her dowager's hump. She broke my heart.

I stopped at Lush to see if I could find my friend Ipanemic. He wasn't there, but his photo was. Lush is a beer and wine only type of dive, an oasis of normal in the middle of fantasy land. Nevertheless, the bartender and a guest went on forever about fake boobs and fitness.

Ipanemic's photo is above the pool table.

Next stop, Club Deuce, which was fun as always, cheap and lively. You can never go wrong at South Beach's oldest remaining dive bar.

Eventually, I found Ipanemic eventually at his workplace and caught up with him. Thankfully, he wasn't making deliveries that evening.

Near Sum Yum Gai, the Chinese restaurant on Washington Avenue, some dude was walking around with a Madagascar lemur on his shoulder and no, it wasn't an animal act. He was, however, sporting a toy alligator puppet on his arm, which he used to scare unsuspecting girls on the sidewalk.

Is it even legal to own a pet lemur in Florida?

Further still, in some shit hole shop, I was terribly disappointed to find I couldn't buy used panties. (See photo above.)

As I passed by the nightclub Cameo some guidos on the corner made a flattering comment about my cleavage and then as I walked by the strip joint Club Madonna I wondered about the value of that comment.

On the corner of Lincoln and Washington I saw a bevvy of beauties going to a club ... or was it a pack of hos? They were all dressed the same: five inch heels and micro mini black dresses so short I could see their ovaries.

Turning the corner, I patronized the bar a new club called Vice, which promises to be ... yet another South Beach club. The same cocktail here was twice as much as the one at Club Deuce and the atmosphere not nearly as good -- very pretty interior design, though.

On Lincoln Road, some guy in a wife beater was peddling hard as he used a locked up Miami Beach Deco Bike as a stationary exercise machine. This trumped the lemur. Classic!

Why pay for a spinning class at gym when you can use DECOBIKE for free?

On Collins Avenue, a storefront somehow reminded me of some messed up holy representation of motherhood.

Hope she be carryin' some milk in dem jugs!

Things got better. As if the evening hadn't been weird enough! When I finally arrived at The Raleigh, I decided to have a nightcap. Are you sitting down? My bartender was a wholesome, handsome tall and tan blonde model from the Midwest who wasn't gay and played rock and roll music at the bar.

Pinch me.

A Saturday on South Beach

By the grace of God, what am I supposed to do with this yumminess? Serve it up on a platter with a side of coleslaw?

It has been about two years since I moved from South Beach to South Miami. I don't miss the beach at all, but sometimes I have to go back to experience a dose of non-reality.

Yesterday, traffic was more backed up on the causeway than the bowels of a constipated goat. And forget about finding parking. Oh and I refuse to pay ass-rape prices for taxis.

As a result, I walked up and down Ocean Drive in wedge heels for a total of four miles just to take advantage of my super secret free parking spot. (You could kill me and I still wouldn't tell you where it is.)

And heck, all that walking burns vodka calories, right?

The main occasion was a pre Ultra Music Festival gathering for Cirque du Pool on March 26th, which promises to be a classic South Beach bash.

Yes, a party to celebrate another party a week before ... that's how we roll in the 305, which was completely acceptable to the friendly tourists I met from Iowa.

The Terrace Bar and Cigar Lounge affords an excellent view of 5th street and Lummus Park from a wrap-around terrace, where you can while away the hours watching bumper-to-bumper traffic below. The $25 all-you-can-drink-all-day bar featuring premium liquor was probably the best deal on the beach yesterday, and if they keep that up, this casual lounge could easily become a local's favorite.

But not so cool: how repugnantly touristy Ocean Drive has become north of 5th street. Is it just me, or has it gotten worse over the years? This is what I observed as I walked from 5th street all the way to The Delano.

Tourists, why are you ordering those mega cocktails the size of a football field? What a waste of booze and offense to the art of mixology!

And what's up with the tacky food displays? Didn't the City of Miami Beach outlaw them a few years ago?

The City of Miami Beach was certainly on duty yesterday when code enforcement showed up and forced us to take the music inside, which made me wonder: who in their right mind lives on Ocean Drive not expecting noise?

Seriously, if noise offends, so should those visual displays at restaurants.

In any case, the beach was buzzing yesterday in all its urban glory, and if you blinked, you might have missed the fact that it's a barrier island on the Atlantic Ocean. I had a blast. And today I need a foot massage.

Behold the photo dump below.

Lummus Park at South Beach's busiest intersection.

I don't know why, but I kept thinking strap-on dildo when I saw this babe drumming.

Dude, you can wear a hoodie, but you can't hide the fact that you are filling in that speedo quite well.

The human slinky was really cool. Travel Channel was in the house shooting B-roll for some show ... not sure which one.

The dancer on the left looks a lot like Amy Winehouse, doesn't she? Lovely girl, but someone please take her to La Carreta for dinner.

This redheaded cutie had been pouring cocktails in a bikini and heels earlier in the day. She went ultra beach preppy after a while.

Dancing and texting at the same time! And what's up with the school bus in the background? Kids going out on a Saturday?

Pals from Web City Girls stopped by for a bit.

South Beach Wine and Food Festival, Part 3

The Italian pavilion at the Grand Tasting, which was actually a pretty straightforward assembly line of wine pours with delicious Grana Padano cheese for nibbles.

My second experience of the Food Network South Beach Wine and Food Festival started on Friday morning when it took me one and half hours to drive 15 miles from South Miami to South Beach at 9:30 AM. After securing what was probably the last parking spot at the Anchor Shops garage across from the Loews Hotel, and being nearly rear-ended by an antsy valet driver asshole who thought he was a Nascar champion, I walked unscathed over to the Media Welcome Brunch at the Betsy Hotel.

(By the way, this is a great municipal parking garage. $16 is the most you'll pay for a 24 hour period. A true South Beach bargain.)

Quiche, mimosas and hobnobbing were on the menu at brunch. It was here I overheard journalists discuss important matters like "are you a true food writer or simply someone who writes who happens to be passionate about food?"

Well, if we're going to ask questions, I also want to ponder: "How can you be a food writer and wear a size zero? You see, food is this stuff you put in your mouth, chew and swallow. You don't eat, girlfriend."

Holding up a sign at the Grand Tasting line. Somebody please put this man out of his misery.

No cattle call ever looked so sunny and bright.

But I digress. From brunch, I traipsed over to the Grand Tasting at Lummus Park, which was open only to trade on Friday. After waiting 40 minutes in line to get our wristbands, friend and fellow writer from South Florida Food and Wine Blog and I proceeded to the gate. Once inside, we would spend three hours on our feet in what I can only call the most glorious "People Watching Festival" I have ever attended -- mobs of people were there and this wasn't even open to the general public! I think every restaurant owner with relatives in Hialeah had entire clans infiltrate the inner sanctum of this gourmet fair.

Bitches were walking around in their mini-skirts and high heels (seriously, on the beach, ladies?), Eurotrash was well represented and the requisite ass models in boy shorts were giving out booze samples. Ah yes, it was South Beach all right ... all the sex and none of the sophistication.

The mob of wine and food enthusiasts. At closing time, a voice over a loud speaker repeated: "stop pouring now." I kept hearing: "stop whoring now."

No South Beach event would be complete without the selling power of pussy.

And behold: there wasn't much food at the Grand Tasting at all, and what little there was, required a ten to fifteen minute wait in line for a small sample.

No, no. This wasn't about food. This was about wine and booze. By closing time at 4 PM, most folks were rip-roarin' tipsy, because those thimble-full alcohol samples really do add up. This reminded me of the Gasparilla pirate festival, where frat boys were wasted by 11 am, but minus the bead flinging and police arrests.

This vodka was actually pretty good. It's made in Central Florida from 4 different varieties of Florida oranges. I tried some neat. It was not as sickeningly sweet as other citrus flavored vodkas.

Refreshing prosecco. Probably my favorite pour of the day, besides cold Amstel (yes, beer!) which is about all I could tolerate under the hot tent.

The Grand Tasting is a true tribute to Bacchus for the masses, where sampling a bazillion different wines isn't really going to teach you anything about being an enophile. Come on, folks! You cannot appreciate anything in large doses. Discreet tastings of food and drink, spread out over time, is the only way to educate your palate.

The grapevine of seasoned journalists who were festival veterans informed me that the event would be doubly insane over the weekend. Scalpers abound, people try to bum wristbands from strangers at the gate and security is on hand to pick up the lightweights puking and passing out. Geez, I'm so sorry I went on the more "civilized" trade day and missed all that.

Even the dogs were getting drunk.

Two ladies getting their tan on at the South Beach Wine, Food, People Watching and Tanning Festival.

Arugula and duck salad was one of the few samples of food I saw at the event. Mind you, that doesn't mean food wasn't there, but it was so crowded, it was hard to spot.

So what to expect if you are a layperson: lots of wine, lots of waiting, lots of bumping into strangers, not so much food and fantastic people watching.

There is, of course, much more to the festival than the Grand Tasting bacchanalia and geeze, if the PR companies had been open to including more local writers, I might have been able to pen some stories about those worthy events, too. But word from the grapevine was that press passes were as tight as Madonna's ass.

As my friend put it: "If you really want to learn, go to the seminars and tastings and know that your contributions are helping Florida International University's hospitality and tourism program."

And this I did, right after, with my sand-coated feet dog tired after walking around for three hours. A small, cozy wine and cheese event at the roof deck of the Betsy Hotel was just what the doctor ordered and that kind of investment of money and time is what I would recommend to anyone interested in attending next year. If you want to gormandize, don't do fast food -- do so wisely and elegantly. Avoid this cattle call.

SEE IT ALL IN A GROOVY MONTAGE

P.S.

I don't know what it was about this weekend that turned everyone into an animal on the streets of South Beach. By the time I left around 7:30 PM, it was bumper to bumper everywhere and people were driving as if they were jonesing for crack. I have never seen South Beach like this, not even during Boat Show or Memorial Day weekend! Other South Beach residents corroborated my observations. Foodies are crazy!

MORE PHOTOS ON FLICKR

South Beach Food and Wine Festival, Part 2

I had problems with my camera so only a grainy photo from my iPhone today of my favorite dish.

Oh rum, why do you tease me so? Is it not enough that I have shared the finest grog with pirates, that I dream about a creamy guava rum punch I had in St. Lucia, staring out at the Caribbean sea, and that I loyally follow the rum gang at Miami's Rum Renaissance Festival?

Well, earlier today you teased me again, at a press luncheon showcasing the Guatemalan born spirit Botran paired with the food at D. Rodriguez Cuba, featuring two guest chefs.

PASS THE RUM

I am by no means a rum expert and I'm not going to use hoity-toity terms like "it tastes oaky" or "it reminds me of my abuelita's arthritis ointment." But I do know this -- some rums are so good, you drink them neat or on the rocks like a fine scotch. They are made with painstaking craftsmanship supported by the science of distillery. Combine craft and science and you have art. The path from sugar cane to fine rum is a long one and I'll save that for another post, but it's all involved with the rich colonial history of Spain and the New World.

For pete's sake, please don't even consider rums like Bacardi Dragonberry a real rum. Even a shipwrecked pirate on his last breath wouldn't drink that crap. That is rum gone ghetto, appealing to the audience of Real Housewives of Miami -- indiscriminately tasteless. Real rum should be enjoyed alone or with combinations made from ingredients like fresh fruit, herbs, spices and bitters. Flavored rums are blech.

Does this make me a purist rum snob? I don't know. Actually, I don't care. But I do know that Botran's Reserva was good enough to mix and very palatable in a Manhattan made with sherry, sweet vermouth and bitters. It's not a light, white rum, though. Save that for your basic, traditional mojitos. And the Solera (aged longer) was tasty but lighter than other rums I would prefer to savor neat or on the rocks.

RUM AND EATS

I'm not crazy about drinking sweet rum drinks with food. Wine or some dry cocktail just makes more sense because too many intense flavors confuse the palate. So today was an interesting exploration in pairing.

The first cocktail we enjoyed was created by Thomas Merolla, Botran's Director of Mixology. The Yellow Tail, curiously named after a snapper, consisted of Reserva blended with Aperol, ripe passion fruit, ginger, mint garnish, a bit of citrus and topped with champagne. It reminded me of an Old Cuban without the old in it -- very refreshing, like a South Beach model with personality.

The Yellow Tail was served with passed hors d'oeuvres that were prepared by Chef Carmen Trigueros of La Bottega in Coconut Grove. Her little bites were absolutely delectable, including the passion fruit ceviche, baby lamb chops with mole crust as well as Spanish tortilla with chorizo and pimentos, all of which were worthy of trying in full serving size.

We also sipped on this this cocktail with Chef Rodriguez's first course: a ceviche that made my mouth so happy, I really do hope they keep their word when they say it will be a regular menu item. Imagine this: loads of tender lobster meat and shredded stone crab in a cilantro based soupy mix with local heirloom tomatoes and avocado. The "gourmet" part was topping it with stone crab mustard and Botran rum ice cream, which had melted but certainly didn't hurt the dish, adding a light creaminess to your otherwise typically watery ceviche. You couldn't really taste the rum or the mustard, but somehow it worked.

Chef Mario Pagan from Puerto Rico was in town to help with second courses. I particularly liked a yuca hash he made to side with coconut crusted shrimp, which he said was "bringing back the '80s." (Well, if you bring back the '80s, make sure Crockett and Tubbs show up, too.) The humble tuber root was cut into bite-sized little squares, lightly fried and not at all greasy. Coated in cilantro and garlic, the hash offered a unique adaptation of the Cuban and Caribbean staple -- I would love the recipe.

Dessert came in the form of Blackberry and Goat Cheese Tart from D. Rodriguez Cuba's Executive Pastry Chef Christian Cobos. Since I don't like overly sweet stuff (have you noticed that yet?) I enjoyed the balance between the savory cheese and rich berries. Our drink pair for dessert was Botran Solera on the rocks, but I think the rum could have stood well on its own.

FOR YOUR INFO

See, I don't want to talk about some famous food network chefs whose asses everyone is kissing. I want to talk about good grub and drink that we can all enjoy right here in our own backyards once all the hoopla is over.

• D. Rodriguez Cuba on Washington Avenue at the Hotel Astor has closed and re-opened on Ocean Drive inside the Hilton Bentley Hotel. Sit down and hold on, for you shall be shocked: they offer free valet for all restaurant customers! Yes, you heard that right, free valet in the heart of South Beach. Happy hour features $5 mojitos from lunch to 6 PM.
  

• Carmen Triguero's La Bottega is a newish place in the Grove. Sadly, her website is under construction but she does have a Facebook page. I haven't tried the restaurant, but based on what I ate today, I'm raring to go. She seemed very dedicated and wanted to make sure we gave her honest feedback. I'm not complaining.

• Rum lovers, don't forget Rum Renaissance is happening again this year at the end of April.

South Beach Food and Wine Festival, Part 1

Ah, the South Beach Food and Wine Festival ... the buzz, the booze, the stars, the food! It's enough to make folks spend three days of total debauchery of the palate, like spring breakers on a gastronomic orgy. And event passes are worth about the same as college tuition, too.

Those much coveted tickets are swooped up so quickly by the affluent that mere mortals such as journalists and (gasp!) bloggers are left standing outside the pearly gates of foodie heaven. I had no intention of going, but it pays to have friends in low places who can bat some eyelash and pull some serious pork. As a result, I have gained entry to the inner sanctum of exclusivity, and all this without having to suck on Anthony Bourdain's coq au vin.

Gosh, I feel almost human.

So in the next couple of days, I'll probably be the only rogue blogger reporting from the lofty heights of Ocean Drive, eating and drinking more calories than any human should legally consume in a span of 24 hours.

But in the meantime, here's some breaking news: thousands of vegetarians are running for their lives from South Beach, as beef fumes from the Burger Bash choke their delicate lungs!

Why I Hate Miami Beach Clubs

A recent discussion about club bashing at Miami Beach 411 has inspired the following rant. While club culture is fun for some and extremely important to tourism, you couldn't pay me enough to go to a local club and here's why:

Nostalgia ... as a Miami native, I miss the old days.
Back in the 1980s when most of today's club goers were still in diapers, you could get into a spot like the Cameo or the Kitchen Club, listen to great alternative music and not have to take on that extra job as a Publix cashier just to support your clubbing lifestyle. And the pickle bucket at Wolfie's was really good at 2 am. And Cactus Cantina ... oh, I'm gonna cry now!

I may not be rich, but I have class.
Clubbing attracts the wealthiest scumbags on planet. Money and class don't necessarily mix.

Clubs and assholes mix quite well, however.
A night at the club wouldn't be the same without some belligerent and dangerous thugs thumping their chests with their gorilla size egos. Sometimes people get shot and clobbered at clubs. You never hear about that kind of crime happening at the Van Dyke jazz lounge, do you?

What did you say? Whaaaa?
I don't want to start wearing hearing aids until I'm 80. My iPod causes enough hearing damage, thank you. Boom boom bass with no melody line blasting like a jumbo jet turbine doesn't do my ears good. Seriously, that powerful vibe should only be on my magic rabbit, if you know what I mean. When I go out, I want to talk to my friends and not end up with a case of laryngitis by the time the evening is over.

If you're at a club, you're indirectly supporting drug culture and some weird mafia scene.
I had enough of seeing friends of mine lose their careers and lives to cocaine in the 80s. Don't care for that shit. Over it. And it's there ... in the bathrooms and behind secret handshakes. No thanks. REALLY no thanks.

$20 well martinis served with a 30 minute wait from an arrogant bartender.
No additional comment here.

It's called dancing, not fornicating.
Everyone dances like a drug-crazed baboon. What happened to the art of dance? These days it's not Fox Trot but Hot Twat. Every woman dances like she's a hoe-bag stripper or pole dancer, and that's all good, except that she's not actually working a shift at Tootsies! Oh and the dry humping couples, that's just lovely. Look, if I wanted to see couples fucking, you know what kind of club I'd go to in Broward. If you want to bump uglies, get a freakin' room at El Nido on 8th street.

People stress out about clubs.
"zOMG what am I gonna wear? How am I gonna get in? OMG OMG OMG!!!" Listen people, there are children starving around the world, the cure for cancer still hasn't been found and homeless people are sleeping in their own vomit in the alley right behind Washington Avenue. Get a grip and sense of perspective.

You put yourself under unnecessary scrutiny to be judged.
It's a club, for pete's sake, not the gates of heaven! Listen, life is bad enough as it is to have some random doorman tell me my big fat Cuban ass isn't good enough to get past the velvet rope. Let me tell you something: Maria never waits in line for stupid shit like this. Love, career, prosperity, the first orgasm while making love to a man you love and a good movie with a tub of buttered popcorn ... those things are WORTH waiting and working hard for.

The dress code makes pasties look like convent wear.
In a city where even the mannequins are double D's, I wouldn't dress the part, even if I was back in my skinny bitch body. I mean even a Collins Avenue hooker looks more elegant with her tampon hanging out than the typical club chic skank. What ever happened to sensuality and leaving something to the imagination? Listen women, if I can see your nipples and your skirt is so short you're leaving your vaginal excretions all over the place when you sit down, then that's not a dress, but an over sized maxi pad you just paid good dollars for at Bebe on Lincoln Road.

Who are you kidding?
Clubs are all about SEX SELLS. You're paying for a mental vacation from your day job. Is your life that boring and is that the only culture you've ever been exposed to? It's a theatrical experience, for sure, but it's not the same as going to a great show at the Fillmore. Bring the sexy into other aspects of your life and maybe you won't feel like you have to mortgage your house to be cool. Clubs are elitist, exclusionary and overpriced by nature, so who wants to be part of that bullshit?

There's more to Miami than clubs.
With what you spend for cover and bottle service, you could probably grab a show at the Arsht Center, have a fabulous dinner at a gourmet restaurant, cocktails at a lounge and still have money to spare for the South Beach cab driver that's going to mistake you for a tourist and price gouge you.

Photo credit: The incredibly talented Miami Fever at Flickr. Wish he was still photographing Miami!

Memorial Day South Beach: Not Just About Booty

While everyone is talking about Urban Beach Week and how crazy it is, I haven't heard anyone mention the fact that there is a temporary war memorial in place at Lummus Park around 9th street and Ocean Drive. The memorial, set up by Veterans For Peace, flanks the eastern side of Ocean Drive and provides a sober and solemn reminder of the real reason for the holiday.

On one side, a bumper-to-bumper parade of tricked-out cars and a booty-to-booty display of flesh, while on the other, the make-shift tombstones of service men and women, carefully placed and marked by their surviving family members.

Now mind you, I'm not sayin' there's anything wrong with this celebration on South Beach -- I just want to point out what everyone seems to be overlooking.

Many of the tombstones mark identified fallen soldiers in their late teens and early twenties. A bereft father has turned his car into a moving memorial for his children. Amid the revelry on the streets, the contrast is shocking and heart breaking.

Yet a silent and invisible boundary seems to protect this tribute to veterans. "Everybody respects it," says Sam Feldman, president of Veterans for Peace's local chapter. "The place stays clean. This is the story that isn't told, but even here, there is respect for the memorial. We've been doing this for three years and only had two incidents."

It's actually fitting that a war memorial exist on Lummus Park. During World War II, South Beach turned from tourist town to military post. Homeowners donated iron gates from their homes for weapons manufacturing. All those quaint little art deco hotels on Ocean Drive became barracks. Mitchell Wolfson, South Beach's first Jewish mayor, served in Europe as a communications officer and came back to establish a media empire through Wometco Cinemas and South Florida's first TV station, WTVJ 4. South Beach's history is very much tied up with war, though luckily, it has never been fought on our shores.

It's not too late to check out the war memorial; it will be on display until Sunday, May 31st, after a service held at 5 PM on the same day. So if you didn't pay your respects this weekend because you were afraid of going to South Beach, next weekend, you have no excuse.

If you'd like to learn more, visit Veterans for Peace or email Sam Feldman at vetsforpeace [at] the-beach.net.

Rum Running in South Beach, Part 2

The Rum Renaissance Festival grand tasting event on Saturday was everything it promised and more: a veritable feast, nay an orgy of rum tasting galore. As a rum newbie, I learned more about the spirit in one afternoon than a lifetime of drinking could afford me, for which my liver is obviously grateful!

Robert Burr, one of the event's founders, is happy. "The festival exceeded all of our expectations," he said in a phone interview. "We had an excellent turnout. And that is an indication of my theory that rum will have a renaissance is pretty valid. Rum is not new: it's old. But it has been under-appreciated."

Held at the Shore Club hotel on Collins Avenue (which I affectionately call the Whore Club), the event also offered some prime people-gawking, South Beach's favorite pastime. My friend MKH and I, members of the American-Cuban Alliance of Honky White Folk Who Never Sunbathe, were fully clothed in pants and hats.

We stuck out like sore thumbs what with all those snowbirds traipsing half-naked through the courtyard on their way to and from the pool. I just love it how people travel hundreds of miles to be in a large tub of chlorinated water with about 500 hundred other bodies, when -- lo and behold -- a perfectly good Atlantic Ocean sits neglected nearby.

(MKH pictured here with a modestly dressed and buxom Bacardi babe.)

But I digress ... back to the rum business!

No sooner did I hobble up some stairs with my crutches (Whore Club is not handicap friendly, by the way), I was happy to see Paul Sevigny from Splash Cocktail -- my new favorite bartender -- at the first exhibitor booth. He was improvising cocktails on the fly with a French fruit concentrate product called Les Vergers Boiron, a thick fruit purée that is 100% pure, with no added sugar or artificial flavors. It's perfect for professional pastry chefs, so why not bartenders? Unfortunately, it's not yet available retail, but I hope it will be soon enough -- the intensely rich mango, passion fruit and blackberry flavors I sampled made me reconsider my usual distaste for syrupy, sweet drinks.

As for the other booths, oh my! Where do I begin? There were dozens of exhibitors, a dizzying number that made it impossible to try them all in the span of a few hours. And by dizzying I don't mean sloshed: you can't get tipsy and expect to take good notes!

Even though some exhibitors were serving cocktails, most were actually eager to supply rum enthusiasts with small portions of their spirits, which is really how you should "taste" the rum -- neat or with a single ice cube (see video below).

Among those I managed to sample: Rhum J.M from Martinique, Cruzan from St. Croix, Appleton Estate from Jamaica, Mount Gay from Barbados, Zaya from Trinidad, Oronoco from Brazil, Castries Rum Creme from Saint Lucia, Caldas from Colombia, Zacapa from Guatemala and of course, the ubiquitous Bacardi from Puerto Rico.

Do you see the variety of countries from which these spirits hail? I find the history of rum to be just as interesting as the beverage itself. For example: Zacapa is aged at one and half miles above sea level; Mount Gay is the oldest brand in the world (since 1703); and Castries Rum Cream relies on locally grown peanuts and spices.

To know the history of what you're drinking makes the beverage all the more interesting to imbibe. I encourage anyone who is new to rum to explore the history behind each distillery. You'll learn quite a bit about our little corner of the world here in the tropical western hemisphere.

I also learned much about distinguishing one brand and type from the other by color, flavor and aroma. No, they don't all taste the same, and to arrive to this conclusion you need to instruct your palette in the art of subtlety, not to mention patience!

What I loved the most from the whole festival? Hands down, the rich, dark rums that you can sip slowly like brandy. Mount Gay, J. M Rhum, Zacapa and Zaya come to mind. Zaya has some incredibly fragrant vanilla and chocolate notes; it's like drinking a rain forest full of orchids.

On the other hand, I could definitely do without Bacardi's fruit varieties. The Dragonberry (dragon fruit and strawberry) tasted more like a corn syrup pop tart than real dragon fruit, but I suppose these varieties are good for mixing.

Nowhere to be found was the chilled swill that you'd find at Wet Willie's down the street at Ocean Drive. However, a frozen nitrogen drink featuring Don Q, while impressive in its elaboration and a decidedly tasty mix of guava and mint, could not, unfortunately, hold up to the Florida humidity. A 7-11 slurpee stays colder longer.

As I suspected, after the VIP tasting during Part 1, Castries Rum Creme was absolutely yummy in the hands of a capable bartender. Rob, Paul's business partner (my second favorite bartender!), made an incredible Thai Basil drink that is even somewhat healthy: muddle some jalapeño, basil and ginger, combine with vanilla vodka (he was using Stoli), Domaine de Canton (ginger liqueur) and Castries, shake, pour over ice in a highball glass and garnish with basil leaves (see video below). Again, the savory and sweet combination really adds zing to any aperitif. Castries Rum Creme was also wonderful all on its own, over ice.

A CONVERSATION WITH ROBERT BURR

Burr, with whom I shared a delightful phone conversation about South Florida and Caribbean history a few days after the event, hails from a long line of South Florida pioneers and influential Miami citizens. He publishes the The Great Gables Guide and is also very involved in promoting the Redlands.

Burr used to publish a magazine about scuba diving, which led him to the islands, where he would, invariably, taste rum and collect stories about rum. "Somewhere along the way, I decided I should get every bottle of rum that exists," he said.

And that's how it all started. Burr believes that rum drinking is really a journey. "When someone begins to discover rum, there's so much variation," he explained. "Everyone will find a rum they like. It's a way to celebrate island cultures. Every island has wonderful attributes and I think we see those reflected in each rum. I know a lot about rum, but I am always discovering."

Though an expert, Burr is definitely no rum snob ready to preach some hoity-toity gospel about the spirit. He reminds me of Gary Vaynerchuck, who has done for wine nationwide what Burr is doing for rum here in Miami -- making it cool and groovy, accessible to everyone and a joy to discover.

Burr shares my taste for cocktails that have clear, defined flavors. "A true, original daiquiri is really simple -- lemon juice, sugar and rum. The simplicity of it cannot be duplicated," he claimed. "Also, ginger beer and rum were made for each other."

And clearly, rum has found a friend in Robert.

Want to learn more about rum? Grab a copy of Robert Burr's Gifted Rums Guide; this inexpensive, small booklet features a few articles and a comprehensive listing of different brands and types of rum. For tasting events in South Florida, subscribe to Robert's mailing list. Each event costs about $20 and introduce tasters to about a dozen fine rums. Expect more events as the season picks up later this fall.

Ministry of Rum is an additional online resource.

LIVE STREAMS AND MORE PHOTOS

HOW TO PROPERLY TASTE RUM (AT ORONOCO BOOTH)



SAVORY COCKTAIL: THAI BASIL BY ROBERT ORTENZIO FROM SPLASH COCKTAIL