ABC Liquors

Of course there's no shortage of liquor stores around these parts, and some of them are truly great - Total Wine comes to mind. But examples of that chain are few and far between, and mom-n-pop stores are sketchy and unpredictable, same as everywhere else.

Fortunately, Florida has a network of ABC stores that are damn nearly as ubiquitous as Starbucks. In Florida, at least along the coasts, you are never far from an ABC. As with Starbucks, some may find that disquieting and homogenous; me, I find it glorious. ABC's like an old friend who's with you everywhere you go in your Sunshine State safari, your alligator-infested Interzone vision quest, your sojourn amongst the Floridian philistines.

They're huge, they're well stocked, they're clean (well, there is one in Gainesville that's kinda dumpy) and best of all, they feature deluxe walk-in cigar humidors with a fine selection of sticks. I can't tell you how many times ABC has saved my ass when I've found myself out of cigars some mornings, what with tobacconists in Florida generally opening appallingly late and/or closed on Sundays.

Agave

One of my newest obsessions in Naples dining: Agave at 2380 Vanderbilt Beach Road, where this fine BBQ pulled pork slider and lobster macaroni and cheese were obtained and enjoyed.

Joe Peppy, the Singing Bartender

You never know what's going to send my mind spinning into an obsessive flurry of research down a rabbit hole. Like right here, see. This is an advertisement for the rather clunkily-named Mac Mascioli's Dolphins Locker in Hialeah, taken from the May 2, 1970 edition of the Miami News.

Looks like an interesting enough place. I wouldn't mind going back in time and checking it out. Remind me to do so sometime next week when I find the time. But what interests me most about this ad is the spectre raised of one Joe Peppy, Dade County's greatest singing bartender."

And so it was, my curiosity piqued, that I've spent the last hour combing the interwebs for more information about Mr. Peppy. And found, exactly, nothing. You'd think being the greatest singing bartender in Dade County would have warranted some kind of write-up somewhere, sometime, that I could find online. But no. Nothing.

Well, hang on, not exactly nothing: I did find this link wherein a bunch of oldsters are sitting around a forum talking about the good old days in Hialeah. And lo and behold, we find one random commenter making this random comment:

My favorite Italian restaurant in the 80s was the one in The Circle in Miami Springs named "Joe Peppy's." The owner/chef was a friendly, heavy-set man who used to come out of the kitchen every half hour to say hi to the patrons and ask them how they liked the food. He made great mussels marinara.

This sounds like it could, just possibly, be our man.

I'm tempted to spout with wrath like the detective in Barton Fink who, after all Barton can remember about Mad Man Mundt is that "he liked Jack Oakie pictures," and rant, "Usually we say 'anything you can recall might be helpful, but I'll be honest with you, that is not helpful." But I'll take what I can get. So the singing bartender went on to open his own joint, let's postulate, and he made great mussels marinara. Okay. But did he sing?

Even in a restaurant operating under his own name, that Peppy still was adept at staying under the radar, it seems. There is only one other online reference I can find to indicate that this Joe Peppy's restaurant ever existed. It is found here on a foodie forum where someone called "MiamiDon" drops this datum:

I used to order a dish called "Veal Dante" at Joe Peppy's Italian Garden in Miami Springs over twenty-five years ago. It was presented as a golden, breaded sphere about four inches in diameter, wrapped in foil. The waiter would peel back the foil, and cut it open, and ladle on a Marsala sauce. The bulk of it was mostly thinly sliced veal, but there were mushrooms, peas and cherry tomatoes, too. Evidently the lightly breaded sphere was fried, and then wrapped in foil and baked. I can't for the life of me figure out how they made it hold together for the first step.

I have found a variety of "veal dante" dishes online, but none that seem to match my recollection. Unfortunately, the restaurant closed.

Trying another approach, I researched Mac Mascioli's Dolphins Locker and found... nothing. Nothing but the same lone advertisement from a 1970 newspaper.

I'm leaving this casefile open (but of course, they all are open forever, really, aren't they?) If you know anything about this singing bartender, do file a report.

Boot Hill Saloon

Without a doubt, the place to be during Bike Week in Daytona is Boot Hill Saloon, located at 310 Main Street. Not just for the beer and the biker-bro camaraderie, but for, of course, the bikini contests.

However, the Boot Hill Saloon has another claim to fame: it's allegedly one of the most haunted places in Florida. It's unclear when and how it all got started, but for many years now bargoers have reported objects moving by themselves, toilets flushing spontaneously (do ghosts use the bathroom?), and the jukebox coming to life and playing music even while unplugged. Then again, maybe everyone's just drunk.

Then again again, the Boot Hill Saloon is located right across the street from Pinewood Cemetery, which is also legendary for hauntings, and it's not much of a stretch to surmise that maybe spooks from over there come wandering over here, perhaps to watch the aforementioned bikini contests.

The bar, whose very name is a reference to cemeteries, has been instrumental in preserving and maintaining the once-abandoned graveyard. They've held fund-raisers during Bike Week and Biketoberfest in order to raise tens of thousands of dollars toward its upkeep.

Some have tried to do guerilla "ghost tours" on the grounds, but that's strictly a no-no and you must now actually pay to enter its closed gates. According to an article in the Orlando Sentinel, "Some pay to enter because the cemetery is one of the few places on Main Street quiet enough to talk on a cell phone."

The Garden of Undisclosed Delights

It's a beautiful thing when a man finally, after a lifetime's search, finds that especial watering hole that previously only inhabited his dreams. A secret exotic den that can become his home away from home, his second office, his base of operations. And my base of operations has lately been this majestic old-timey Asian bar that personifies completely the wonder and splendor that is Interzone.

For security purposes, the whereabouts of my fortress of solitude must remain classified; but if you ever want to drink and think with me, I'll take you there. As everyone from Dick Cheney to D.B. Cooper knows, undisclosed locations should stay undisclosed.

The place is like traveling back in time to the 60s/70s, and their menu appears not to have changed since then. It reads like an encyclopedia of "old people's drinks" that were already old-fashioned when our parents were young. The Tom Collins and its ancestor, the John Collins. The Stinger. The Jack Rose. The Rob Roy. The Rusty Nail. The Clover Club.

They also list drinks that are classic 1970s staples, and so clearly dates their menu to that time, such as the Pink Squirrel and the Harvey Wallbanger. (Though the Harvey Wallbanger is said to have been invented in the 1950s in Hollywood and named after a popular local surfer, there is in fact no mention of it anywhere in print until it appears in a 1971 issue of Sports Illustrated.)

I'm systematically going down the line and trying every single one of their wares; once the fact-finding mission is completed in totality, I'll file a report. But early favorites so far are their Blue Hawaii, Pina Colada, and something called a Tahitian Scorpion. I can also report that this establishment carries fried banana bites, which I now declare to be the ultimate Floridian bar food, countermanding all previous policy papers issued on the subject by this bureau.

The mere act of writing this, dear reader, already has me in a mood to take a road trip and call a business meeting at the secret stronghold. Be seeing you.

Gala's Gelateria

It's located in a really bad hard-to-find spot on a block of Clearwater where not much goes on, but Gala's Gelateria will hopefully collect such a following by word-of-mouth that it doesn't matter. It's in the 331 Building at the corner of Cleveland and Osceola.

I had a chocolate and peanut butter gelato sundae. Well, after trying two dozen free taste spoons.

Sea Sea Riders

It just goes to show, don't judge a restaurant because it has a terrible name. And Sea Sea Riders in Dunedin has, indeed, a terrible name if you ask me and I know you didn't. But I was hungry and it was sitting right there.

I'm glad I went for it. The clam chowder and grouper cheeks were fantastic, and I'll definitely be back. The ambience of their homey front porch was most pleasant with the shoreline just within sight of it.

The Sanibel Sunset Cocktail

There are three Doc Ford's restaurants in the vicinity of the Estero Bay Islands, I think. I went to one right on Sanibel. The grouper sammitch was splendid, but what I really came here for was the Sanibel Sunset Cocktail. You should also go, and you should also get one. Don't put it off. Later is now.

What's in it? I don't know, man, rum and stuff.

Boston's Fish House

We were in Orlando after a hearing and we asked a judge where a good seafood restaurant is. He immediately responded without a moment's thought, "Boston's Fish House". Okay. Anyplace else? "Boston's Fish House". Right. Got it.

And he wasn't wrong. The food is indeed fantastic, and the servers carried themselves well. Try the mussels and fried whole-belly clams. Their Philly Cheesesteak is not so great - huge chewy cubed chunks of meat isn't fun to eat at all. Then again, I'm a cheesesteak snob and your mileage may vary.

The really weird thing about this place, however, is that the moment you walk in you are faced with a roped-off maze line which you must get in. And when you get through that, you have reached a counter at which you must order, and then and only then are shown a table and a waitress. That sort of system might make sense if you were some kind of place that only sold 5 or 6 items and had them in huge letters on a wall menu, but no: it's a full menu. You grab a menu when you walk in, and you have to make up your mind what you're ordering before you reach the cash register. I think it's ridiculous, but if someone knows of some advantage to doing it this Rube Goldberg way, please educate me.

Mel's Diner

There are several of these Mel's Diner restaurants in Florida, and while in Ft. Myers I finally decided to check one out. I didn't have high hopes for it, but it was walking distance from my hotel and, well, you know.

Though I love their mid-century-modern décor, I was put off initially by the fact that there was a line to get in, and that most of the patrons were elderly. This old man is still young enough to want to flee from anyplace that serves meals catered to old people's palates. I was also discouraged by the name, which may or may not be intended as a direct reference to one of the worst television shows ever to air on prime time, Alice.

I thought I read once, or maybe I dreamed it, that Vic Tayback long ago started a chain of his own "Mel's Diner" restaurants that never took off. I don't believe these Florida specimens to be related, though if I'm wrong, someone will no doubt pop up like a gallery duck to tell me.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that the food here is great, and also cheap. Almost too cheap - I don't know how they do it. I had the Surf-n-Turf combo of lobster tail and Filet Mignon, a couple of martinis (only three bucks!) and a crème brulee for dessert.

My only real complaint would be about the crème brulee. It comes in a small swankyswig-sized glass, rather than a large shallow ramekin. This rather defeats the entire point of crème brulee, since there is only a tiny amount of it that gets seared by the torch in this presentation. So basically it's like eating a glass of flan.

But the steak and lobster and vodka were superb, and for the price the place can't be beat. No, really, I mean it literally can't be beat - when was the last time you had a martini that was worth a damn for three bucks and it wasn't even a Happy Hour special? It's so great, I'm even willing to forgive them for the egregiously wrong apostrophes that pepper their menu.

Fruti Cuba Coppelia

When in Tampa, I love to stop in at Fruti Cuba Coppelia on Kelly Road, for an authentic batido made from Mamey. They have plenty of other goodies, too, but since I'm a confirmed Mamey junkie, I never try anything else.

The fruit of the Mamey tree, aka Zapote, aka pouteria sapota, is popular in Mexico, Central America, the Caribbean, and Florida. But for some reason, this open-secret ingredient is hard to come by everywhere else. Mamey is usually eaten raw and is often made into milkshakes, smoothies, and ice cream. (It's also widely considered in the Latin-American world to be an aphrodisiac.)

Mezze

When I lived in the San Marco district of Jacksonville, I was walking distance to this enchanting little grillery called Mezze. Although I enjoyed coming here and was a regular purchaser of their margherita pizza (pictured below with some Green Room IPA), it only takes one bad experience to sour me on a place.

I had the misfortune of ordering their parmesan cheese fries, which was a plate of plain fries with three or four tiny melted globs of cheese amongst them, rather than evenly covering all the fries. When I explained to the waiter, and in turn the manager, that cheese fries are supposed to be fries covered in cheese, they looked at me as if they genuinely had no idea what I was talking about. No, they explained, our cheese fries are supposed to be just a plate of fries with a couple tiny pieces of cheese stuck on top of it.

Oooookayyyy then.

In an grudging half-hearted effort to placate me, they took the plate of fries and promised to put more cheese on it. When they brought it back, it was absolutely no different than before. I thanked them, paid the bill, left without eating the fries, and never returned.

But, dear friend, do not let the high standards of your humble Walkout King discourage you from visiting here and having some of that fine margherita pizza. Just avoid those fries, and don't get into a prolonged argument with them.

Smokin' J's Real Texas BBQ

My other perennial sandwich obsession besides the Philly Cheesesteak is the Pulled Pork Sandwich, and though I don't have much nice to say about Gulfport's dining options, a notable exception is Smokin' J's. Even now, typing these words, I find my tummy grumbling, crying out for more of their fine products.

They have plenty of dining-in space, and a cute little patio with picnic tables, but they were so close to where I lived that I mostly chose to use their walk-up window and pack these little piggies home to my porch.

In fact, I daresay the only places in Gulfport even worth your time to eat would be Smokin' J's, O'Maddy's, and Siri's Gourmet Burgers. Tell 'em I sent you by!

Bleu Cellar

Their website calls it Bleu Provence, but their sign says "Bleu Cellar". Whatever. It's a fantastic little bistro and enoteca right by the water's edge in Olde Naples.

Their wine selection is so deep, they not only had everything I tried to play "stump the sommelier" with, they had scores of stuff I'm far too lowbrow to have heard of. One could spend a lifetime here going through their holy archives... and I probably will.

(They serve food too, so I hear. I dunno. I came for the wine, and stayed for the wine.)