The other evening we had drinks with a friend who is renting a house in our neighborhood. She and her husband are boaters, and had sailed their boat across the Atlantic in November (her husband is European). They are not young, but the prospect of spending weeks on a small boat in the open ocean doesn’t faze them. They’ve done it a number of times, our friend said casually.
At one point she mentioned an exhibition of murals they’d seen at the Hirshhorn in Washington last year. I mentioned the murals in Wynwood, and she said she’d never been there. I found this surprising, as she loves art and stays here every winter.
“I won’t drive on I-95,” she said.
Paul Reiser was at the Fort Lauderdale Film Festival last night, where – after the showing of his 2024 film The Problem with People and a montage of his numerous roles over the years – he was given a Lifetime Achievement Award. I had forgotten that he was in Diner. During the Q&A, he told Wil Shriner that he got that role by accident, having accompanied an actor friend to the audition. He also said that one of his favorite films is Local Hero, and he always wanted to make a somewhat similar movie, about an American who goes to another, beautiful country. The Problem with People, which Reiser wrote and stars in, is set in Ireland. He admitted he likes the Irish sense of humor, which has a melancholy to it that resembles Jewish humor.
Shriner mentioned that the next night (tonight) Reiser was going to be appearing at The Parker and after that he was performing at The Villages. “From old to older to oldest,” said Shriner.
“And after that,” said Reiser, “I’m doing a cemetery.”
I had a bad feeling about the restaurant as soon as we arrived. Actually, as soon as I learned we were going there. But family were in town and they wanted to eat at a place with a view of the ocean, and a menu that would appeal to both adults and children.
The entrance was so crowded it took a few minutes to get to the hostess. We were led upstairs to a closed-in veranda overlooking the ocean. We ordered drinks and then food, which included blackened mahi mahi and chicken tenders. We caught up on news. A half hour passed. Forty-five minutes. An hour.
“I’m going to go to the men’s room,” I announced. “Usually when you go to the men’s room the food arrives.”
I returned from the men’s room to a hungry table. Hania went to the ladies room, and returned, with no food in sight. I headed back downstairs to the hostess to tell her of our marathon wait. She said she’d send the manager up.
Returning to our table, I found the manager, and our food being served.
It was not very good.
Over the weekend we had guests from Philadelphia, and Saturday I gave them my tour of Miami. We started with a quick drive through Coconut Grove – cafes on Main Highway, peacocks on a residential street – before heading across Route 1 to Coral Way with its banyan trees. At the end of Miracle Mile we found a farmers’ market next to the Coral Gables City Hall, parked, and strolled the stalls (blue cauliflower anyone?) and food trucks. Back on Coral Way, the live oak section, we turned onto Columbus Ave. and crawled past the statuesque ficuses and handsome Spanish revival houses until the Giralda-like tower of the Biltmore Hotel appeared. Inside, we admired the lobby, and the birds in their covered cages; outside, we gazed down at the swimming pool, where one brave swimmer made his way across an immensity of blue. The Venetian Pool, just down the street, was also quiet, and we were allowed past the entrance to examine the black-and-white photos of the place in the 1920s.
Lunch at Bulla – gazpacho, ceviche, crispy calamari, shrimp in garlic sauce, shishito peppers, croquetas de jamón – followed by cafecitos at Versailles. In Little Havana we walked with the tour groups to Ball & Chain – I showed our friends the Pineapple Theater in the back – and Dominos Park.
Then we drove through Brickell – almost Manhattan-sized crowds at the intersection where the Brickell City Centre stretches – across the Miami River, and up Biscayne Boulevard, pointing out Bayside, the Freedom Tower, the Zaha Hadid-designed residential tower (“like the gills of a fish,” said Helena), the Arsht Center, the former Bacardi headquarters.
In Wynwood we crawled again down the side streets, admiring the murals that covered every inch of wall. One showed a smiling woman streaked with blood getting attacked by a school of sharks. Steve and Helena, who have lived abroad, said they’d never seen anything like it.
Onto the MacArthur Causeway in time to see the line-up of cruise ships – including the world’s largest, the Icon of the Seas. On the beach, we cruised down to Joe’s Stone Crab (“not new, not improved”) and then headed up Collins. We parked on 15th Street and walked to the beach, then down Ocean Drive, stopping for photos and a rest in the lobby of The Betsy, one of the house labs lying peacefully behind the reception desk. (Our friends were amused to learn that the hotel’s full name is The Betsy Ross.)
Drove past the Frank Gehry-designed New World Center and the award-winning Herzog & de Meuron parking garage before getting on the Venetian Causeway just as the sun was going down, painting the sky orange. Back on the mainland, I pointed out Trinity Cathedral and then finished in the Design District, where crowds of people strolled the brightly lit designer shops.
Our friends were dutifully impressed. Seeing Miami through their eyes, I realized again how rich the city is, possessing incredible variety in its neighborhoods, from lush to elegant, from artsy to resorty, from urban sleek to urban gritty. And, thanks to the water and the bridges, it throws in dramatic scenery as well.
For years, Hania and I have been going to Ann’s Florist and Coffee Bar and for years I have thought it would be a wonderful place to play chess. People linger over laptops and lattes, why not a chessboard? The game would give an added touch of class to the establishment.
Unfortunately, my one friend here who plays chess was still employed. But last week I attended Mark’s retirement party, and yesterday morning we arrived at Ann’s, chessboard in tow. David, the waiter, greeted us outside.
“I didn’t recognize you at first with the new haircut,” I told him.
"I didn’t recognize you,” he said, “without your wife.”
Mark beat me handily though not, as I had feared, swiftly. Evenings he plays people online around the world; I last played regularly during martial law in Poland. I was a little disappointed that no one came over to observe our moves – as they do with players on Calle Ocho – but perhaps the sight of two men playing chess on Las Olas Boulevard was too much of a novelty. We need to make it a habit.
Saturday we drove to the just-opened Old World Polish Deli in Fort Lauderdale to buy kabanosy (small sticks of garlicky sausage) and stuffed cabbage. On the way, we passed the new Kimchi Mart where I buy my kimchi. Both stores are small gifts of the immigration that our burger-loving leader is trying to stop.