Over-the-counter remedies
The 11th Street Diner was moved here in 1992 from its original home in Wilkes-Barre, Pa., but there are few enough of these genuine aluminum dining cars left (this one was built by Paramount Dining Car Company of Haledon, N.J.) that they’re a treat wherever you find them. And the fact that this one fits into its neighbourhood, not coming across as a kitschy condescension to working-class dining but as a genuine example of it, seals it as a stop on any fun South Beach stay. 1065 Washington Ave.; 305-534-6373; www.eleventhstreetdiner.com.
Cuban delicacies
Open 24 hours, David’s II – a Cuban counter diner with a dining room attached for fancy folks – is nearly perfect. Prices are about $2 higher than they should be (a reflection of the hot location), but the food’s real and good. The roast pork chunks achieve the precise balance of pig, cooking oil and fat that has made the meat the anchor of Cuban cuisine. For the best David’s experience, though, stop by the coffee and empanada window at 6 a.m. and have a cortadito (a small espresso with steamed milk and, unless you ask for it sin azucar, lots and lots of sugar) alongside some Cubans. 1654 Meridian Ave.; 305-672-8707; davidscafe.com.
The art of salesmanship
Romero Britto, the art world’s greatest gift to merchandising since Keith Haring, is the perfect Miami artist and he knows it; in 1993, he opened this permanent gallery of his shameless, colourful appropriations of Disney, Leonardo da Vinci and everyone in between right in the middle of the Lincoln Road mall. Brazilian by birth but South Beach in every other conceivable way, Britto has sculptural installations around the city (including one in Emeril Lagasse’s restaurant at the newly renovated Loews Hotel). In any other city, they’d seem silly, and possibly crass. In South Beach, they’re virtual mascots. 818 Lincoln Rd.; 305-531-8821; www.britto.com
A sober moment
The first time you see the truly powerful Holocaust Memorial Miami Beach, the contrast between the bleached bright sun and the gruesome dankness of Kenneth Treister’s sculpture is shocking. A massive bronze hand rises out of a pink Jerusalem stone with dying figures in poses of Dante-esque horror reaching out from the forearm. Surrounding it are emaciated, dying and dead figures from the camps. There’s no serenity; just anguish, terror and death. This is by far the most affecting monument on the continent. 1933 Meridian Ave.; 305-538-1663; holocaustmmb.org.
Special to The Globe and Mail
