Black Point Ocean Grill

Boaters, bikers and closet karaoke lovers congregate here for some frugal seafood and live music. Black Point Ocean Grill resembles many spots found all along Overseas Highway in the Florida Keys. It overlooks a  tiny marina within a city park in Homestead, and it appears to be packed all the time.

     The wait on this Sunday evening was 45 minutes, and service was very slow. Once we were seated, it took fifteen minutes before we placed our order, and that was because a waiter happened to notice that we had been sitting unattended for a while. He brought our Cokes out quickly, but our entrees took another twenty minutes to arrive.

     It got better after that. I ordered the swordfish filet with long grain and wild rice and a spinach souffle. John ordered the seafood Alfredo. My swordfish was not the fanciest of filets but it was generous and well seasoned, and flash fried so the breading didn't distract from the fleshy and flavorful fish. I'm willing to bet my rice came from Uncle Ben's cupboard, and what they called a souffle is actually creamed spinach, but it was warm and savory and a good partner for the fish. John's pasta dish was generous enough for him to take some home, and he found it predictable but satisfying.

      This time we assessed how pleased we were with our entrees before making a decision on dessert. Considering our track record, our new rule is if the entrees disappoint, we skip dessert no matter how whimsical the name. We liked our meals so we ordered the Coconut Bomb and it was quite pleasant- a moist vanilla cake filled with coconut cream and covered in flaky coconut frosting. Coconut is one of those flavors from which I expect zero subtlety. It has to stimulate my taste buds from the first bite. This cake fulfilled that expectation quite nicely. It wasn't a 'WOW!' but it was certainly a 'Well done!' just like the rest of the meal.

                                                                                                                                                            

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Mellow Mushroom

I don't know... would hippies pay $13 for a four-slice pizza? Maybe trust fund hippies. Mellow Mushroom is themed to attract just such a subgroup. Paisley on the walls, psychedelic lights, bulbous lamps, a neon bar, and a VW van customized into a lounging area. The appropriate 60s playlist pipes in to complete the polished 60's atmosphere. Even the dessert menu contains several suspicious "brownie" selections. I'm just playing. I'm sure I'm reading too much into it.
      I'm not a pizza aficionado, but I've had a few that have earned my respect, mostly deep-dish versions, but not always. I had a thin-slice pizza in Venice that could inspire an epic poem, but in general, pizza is not my first choice for a meal. The Mellow Mushroom we visited was in the preppy South Miami area and was the first in my neighborhood, so the buzz was positive. It's sad when buzz turns out to be just inflated hype.

(Since the original writing of this post, this location has closed permanently.)

        I was impressed to see a cocktail menu and happy to sample their raspberry vodka cocktail, but it was watered down and ordinary. I kept stirring it absentmindedly hoping to generate some flavor from it, I suppose, but there was none to find.
     My companion on this 'magical mystery tour' was Jackie, and we shared a small pizza whimsically named Kosmic Karma made with a red sauce base, feta and mozzarella cheeses, spinach, sun-dried tomatoes and Roma tomatoes with a pesto swirl. I ordered a Mighty Meat to go for John, also in a red sauce base with mozzarella, pepperoni, sausage, ground beef, ham and Applewood smoked bacon. I found ours comparable to a Domino's or Little Caesar's pie, but that could be that I don't really have a discerning palate for pizza. John liked the Parmesan-dusted cornmeal crust, which apparently is their specialty.
     In honoring my new rule of 'dull eats means no sweets', we skipped dessert, but the varied menu compels me to give this 'groovy' place a second chance.

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Charcoals Steak & Grill

Let me just start by saying that I don't really know why I'm blogging about Charcoals. Nothing about this meal was extraordinary, or new or even featured a favorite food. I could've easily skipped this post altogether as if the meal hadn't happened, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something about it that had to be said.
     Any establishment that has steak in its name is going to attract my husband, the carnivore, so after driving by several times, we decided to try it. We quickly realized that it was simply a Hispanic (primarily Venezuelan) barbecue restaurant with all the predictable staples- fajitas, churrasco, tostones (plantain fritters), rice with black or red beans, among others. One pleasant little gift sitting at the table was a perfect chimichurri sauce, a must-have with beef, if you ask me.

     John ordered the Baby Churrasco with sauteed onions and I the steak sandwich. Both of us found our meat a bit leathery but very well seasoned. My yucca fries were done just right, tender on the inside, crispy on the outside. John said he recognized his fries from the frozen section at our local supermarket.
     A little voice inside told me that no matter how intriguing the Pio Quinto with vanilla custard dessert sounded, it would just be as ordinary as the rest of the meal, but I wouldn't listen. Not only was it ordinary, I didn't quite understand it. At the very least I expected a piece of proper rum cake with custard on the side or draped over it. What we got was a cup of pudding with some kind of soggy crumble drowned at the bottom. I should've listened to the little voice, except I don't like when it tells me to skip dessert.
     So there you have it, the whole meal and nothing I couldn't put together with a grill in my own backyard. Even as I write the last few sentences, I struggle to find something of significance in the experience. The chimichurri, the yucca fries and the flavorful meat... there. Those are the elements that stand out for me. I suppose I'll characterize this meal the way my husband does his usually brilliant guitar improvisations- a whole lot of nothing.

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2015 Kitchen Experiment #3- Monkey Bread

     I'd seen it, I'd seen people's faces light up in its presence, but I had never tried it or knew what it was made of exactly. Then, I found a recipe in a compilation put together by my mother-in-law's ladies' church group, The Merrymakers. This group of Southern belles gathered together all their kitchen secrets and published a beautiful book to raise funds for their church. I've been looking through it the way you look through an old trunk preserved as a time capsule in someone's attic, and it does contain a treasure trove of recipes, from appetizers to desserts and everything in between.
     I looked at the ingredients and the prep time and it seemed innocuous and something I could manage. Simple, inexpensive and oh my! the results.

Ingredients:

3 cans of biscuits
3 cups of sugar
6 teaspoons of cinnamon
2 sticks of butter, melted

Preparation:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Separate and cut the biscuits in quarters. Mix sugar and cinnamon. Dip each quarter in melted butter and then dredge through sugar and cinnamon mix. Drop them into a greased tube pan. Bake for 30-40 minutes.

I served it with salted caramel ice cream, but even a cup of coffee will do just fine. Enjoy!

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Yard House

130 different varieties of beer course through gargantuan metal veins hanging from the roof. They all lead to a beer estuary, a  keg room at the far wall of the space, dimly lit with foggy red lights and barely visible through opaque glass. These are the most distinctive elements of the decor at Yard House in Coral Gables, Florida.

     The rest consists of oversized wood booths with severe black seating that dramatically contrasts the metal on the roof  and the nebulous keg room. I asked if I could take a picture inside the mysterious chamber, and suddenly troops of servers seemed to mobilize as if I had given a secret code. The manager, a friendly man by the name of Shane, knelt beside me and in furtive tones explained why he couldn't let me in this impenetrable room. He talked about little black boxes with blinking blue strobe lights, all part of a 'proprietary' system to keep the beer pure and sanitary. It all sounded very clandestine, as if I needed security clearance just to hear it all. Basically, I understood "we invented this system, it's classified, and if we tell you anymore, we'll have to kill you." And I don't even drink beer!
     John, however, does like experimenting with hop juice, and this time he chose the Lost Coast Tangerine Wheat which they served with two orange wedges on the side. I guess they're supposed to enhance the tangerine flavor. After squeezing the juice of both wedges, I asked him if he detected the citrus and he said there was "something there." Hmm... I don't know what that means.
     I ordered the sweetest cocktail on the menu, the Malibu Peach, a mixture of rum, vodka, and island punch. I wondered where the 'peach' would come from, but there it was mixed in the punch, the delicate nectar to complete my confection in a martini glass.
     Besides the covert mission adventure, other things made this meal enjoyable. The menu is extensive and varied. John and I picked items from the Snacks and Appetizers sections, and the portions were the most generous I've ever seen for starter dishes.We even had enough to take home! John ordered the sliders, and four chubby sandwiches came with a hill of shoestring fries. This is an appetizer? I ordered the crispy Brussels sprouts and the chicken strips. Now, everyone would eat their veggies if they were always served like this- crispy, tangy, served with roasted potatoes over a malt vinegar aioli. The chicken strips were standard issue and also arrived in the company of a mound of shoestring fries. However, they also came with a captivating maple mustard dipping sauce. Without a doubt, mustard's romance with maple syrup is sweeter and happier than its traditional relationship with honey.
     You can't help feeling content when you're fed so generously even if the dishes aren't spectacular, and contentment leads to dessert. I love when I see a dessert sampler option on the menu because it means I can get a real taste for what that particular kitchen does with sweets. The Mini Trio Sampler included a chocolate soufflé cake, a peach apple cobbler, and a lemon soufflé cake. The lemon cake was the only disappointment. Lemon desserts should go "Bam!" in your mouth with the perfect balance of sweet and citrus.You really had to search deep for any hint of lemon in this version.The chocolate soufflé cake was rich and pillowy. Surprisingly, I thought the headliner was the peach apple cobbler. I don't care much for apple desserts, but this one was luscious in its sweetness, the peach adding an extra layer of flavor, the crunchy sugar of the crumble topping remaining in your mouth as a souvenir.

     Maybe not every dish wows, but the menu contains a little bit of everything, and many offerings, although commonplace in most American fare menus, have whimsical elements that set them apart. No matter what you order, though, you won't go hungry at Yard House.

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The Green Flash

     What is a 'green flash'? It's a rare optical phenomenon that can happen right at the end of a sunset for maybe a second or two when a green spot appears on the rim of the sun. I started with that factoid because it's the first thing I wanted to know when I got the recommendation for this restaurant. That business out of the way, let's get down to the food facts.
    
     The Green Flash is spacious and bright with a lovely dock where boats can glide in for a leisurely lunch or dinner before sailing off once again into the bay. The art on the walls consists of images of beach landscapes and people dressed in elegant beach attire reminiscent of The Great Gatsby.
     We stopped for a quick lunch before heading back home after our Spring Break weekend. John ordered the bacon-wrapped barbecue shrimp with fries. I ordered the Maryland crab cake sandwich with fries and coleslaw. We were warned that John's dish would only include five shrimp, but somehow we were still surprised that it looked so poor. Maybe we thought the shrimp would be bigger. Maybe it was the uninspired fries.
     My Maryland crab cake was generous but on the bland side. Crab meat comes alive with the proper seasoning, and I don't mean hot spices. It came on a simple hamburger bun which made it easier for me to skip the bread altogether. Nothing like unimaginative food to help you watch your intake. The sandwich also came with some of those lackluster fries.
     One notable element was the coleslaw. It was fresh with just the right amount of mayonnaise in the dressing to keep it light. I couldn't detect any ingredients outside of the traditional recipe, and yet this coleslaw had a hint of green apple that made it exceptional. It had to be something in the dressing.
     Our lunch was so mediocre, we weren't even curious about the desserts. It was time to go home.

Traditions On the Beach

Who knew? The best meal of our Spring Break weekend happened right on our backyard, literally. Traditions is on the grounds of the Island Inn, our home during our stay on the west coast of Florida.

     White plantation shutters frame this large space. The wooden tables stand bare, prettified simply by forest green napkins, silver utensils and wine glasses. All seating is arranged in a horseshoe around a dance floor and a piano, so that every table party is equally able to enjoy the lovely standards being performed by the pianist and a female vocalist. If I hadn't been chasing the sunset, Hubby and I would've stayed to dance.
          John added to his beer collection with a Florida Avenue citrus ale and I ordered the Sanibel Sunset, recommended by our server, Josh. John actually verbalized an opinion about his beer. He said he detected the difference in flavor provided by the citrus. This time, my sunset cocktail was divine, and it gave me that happy, gentle buzz. Coupled with one of the most spectacular sunsets I've ever seen right from our balcony, it all made for a sublimely romantic evening.
      For dinner, I had the hazelnut crusted tuna steak with olive Salmoriglio, a Southern Italian condiment made of lemon juice, olive oil, minced garlic, chopped oregano and parsley, salt, and pepper. A citrus sauce and ginger shavings completed the dish. Tuna steaks are traditionally cooked medium rare, which is not my preference. I know the chef must have cringed when I asked for mine to be well done. Our wonderful server, Josh, asked me to trust the process. He promised that he would coerce the chef into cooking the fish as much as his professional ethics would allow without ruining a great piece of fish. It came slightly rare and I loved it. Many times the 'crusted' features get lost in the flavor of the protein and end up being just decoration. This time, every bite of my fish had a lovely hazelnut aftertaste. The ginger shavings served as a flavor booster for the fish. That was a new experience for me.
     John had the Ravioli D'Aragosta di Maine (Maine lobster) in a creamy brandied lobster bisque. He slurped every bit of that bisque and sulked because there wasn't any more.
       Even the dessert menu had several attractive choices. Our server recommended theValhrona lava cake with bourbon vanilla ice cream. Josh was three for three. The whimsical circle of French chocolate cake had a dense but spongy texture and the perfect ganache topping. The ice cream needed a bit more bourbon but even with just a hint, it was the ideal companion to the cake.
     I collect sunsets like others collect seashells. Like the beachcomber, I look for diversity in colors, patterns and shapes. In some ways, it's also the way I approach every new dining experience, always trying new ingredients, new pairings and new flavors. Will I ever get tired of chasing sunsets? How could I when every one is different?

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