Get Forked in Miami

When work told me that they were sending me to Miami for a week, it was a rare moment of sunshine in the oft-grey drudgery of my daily toil. In my mind, I would go and fill the breaks between meetings with seaside runs, I would find time to explore and I would extend my trip to spend a weekend eating the food of diverse cuisines - soaking up the culture of expatriate communities from Central America and the Caribbean. Unsurprisingly, this was somewhat ambitious. However, whilst my daily runs failed to materialise;  my trip, and Miami itself, were exactly as I expected them to be. The sky was invariably blue and the sun shone on beautiful people driving ostentatious cars.

Although principally there to work, my secondary aim was to eat as much as I could within a week. Food between meetings rather than exercise. My experience of the Miami restaurant scene veered from the sublime (excellent seafood served in view of the sea) to the mediocre (I visited a number of chain restaurants of the sort that will sell the unsuspecting diner vast quantities of generic, under-seasoned food). Somewhat disappointingly, in a week of Miami eating, I managed only a relatively small number of memorable food experiences. Fortunately, these were sufficiently brilliant to make up for the alternative: slightly generic American fare. 

The first part of the week, the work bit, was almost a write-off in terms of good eating. Hotel-based conferences tend not to be filled with opportunities to eat well. Instead, as is always the way, I spent five days gorging myself on tiny pastries and sneaking out to a cafe in order to find an acceptable cup of coffee. After a week of this, I needed to begin the first real day of eating in an appropriate manner. To do this, I was joined by an old friend, a proper Londoner turned New York city girl, who leapt at the chance to support my greedy endeavours.

Breakfast at Balans seemed to be typical of Miami's relationship with eating. Transplanted from a London chain, although  without staying particularly loyal to its smoggy muse - there were no hipsters, cabbies or Beefeaters in sight; the concept seems to have been more successful in Miami. Our breakfasts were bland but sun-kissed. However, as we found throughout our trip, good food is not the most important part of a restaurant's offering in Miami. For who cares if your breakfast burrito is a homogeneous yellow mass of egg and cheese, if the sky is blue and there are Ferraris to ogle? We felt as if we shouldn't be eating all those carbs and fat anyway, instead it would have been better to order like a unfeasibly healthy local and stick to egg white omelettes, black coffee and Florida's excellent orange juice.

Breakfast burrito at Balans

Likewise, we should have known that Graziano's, a small chain of Argentine-style steakhouses, would disappoint. Vast portions of fairly flavourless meat in unimaginative but pleasant surroundings typified the mediocre places it seemed all too easy to fall into in Miami, especially if you wander out of South Beach. Graziano's stood out by virtue of its one exceptional quality: its wine list. A comprehensive selection of Argentinian wines are displayed on the wall, giving the impression that you are drinking in a rather boozy library. Well presented and full flavoured, our malbec was excellent value for its price range. If only they could refine their cooking, the place would have potential.

Look, a decanter: this place must have class

Having failed to find amazing food, we had much better luck with our search for an afternoon drinking spot. True Englishwomen, our ability to eat is matched only by our skills in sniffing out cocktails and beer. Our afternoon of weak beer and people watching at the Clevelander was, therefore, perfect. Its brilliance was derived from the omnipresent sunshine, the dirty swimming pool and the inescapable feeling that we had accidentally travelled back in time to an era when bling, cut-offs and straightened hair were de rigeur. 

Put your pants on, get out of the pool and drink me

Not willing to be disheartened by our failures, we continued our search and finally happened upon a gem: The River. The cocktails, cooking and service were as good as I've found anywhere. The service was phenomenally friendly without being cloying or irritating and the martinis met with approval from my highly-qualified New York accomplice.  Whether it was just an over-excited response to fresh ingredients after a few days of stodge or because the cooking was truly inspired, we had our best meal in Miami here. We began with an interesting selection of oysters including some wonderfully petite and tangy kumamotos before moving on to try several smaller dishes on the menu. Coconut scented ceviche, which finally converted me to the idea of matching that hateful milky fruit with good fresh fish, and some smoky blackened octopus with gigantes beans were the clear winners.

Oysters at the River

Chemistry set glassware? Is this Shoreditch?

At the other end of the dining spectrum; the traditional singing, low prices and strong flavours of Little Havana were more fun than the self conscious cool that radiates from other parts of the city. From the wide selection of cheerful places that throng Calle Ocho, we chose Exquisito for its lechon asado, traditional band and the large party of neatly-coiffured ladies who started to sing along after a few glasses of wine. Here was the diversity of culture and cuisine we had hoped for, from the famous domino park to a delightfully quaint juice bar which sold freshly squeezed, but impossibly pink grapefruit juice and Cuban sweets (more coconut, sigh).

Fried plantain and Moro y Cristianos

Roast baby pig at Exquisito

Inside this juice is really pink

More coconut

However, and much to my shame, the culinary highlight of my trip was a gloriously tacky indulgence in food kitsch. Despite its ambitions to hyper-coolness, Miami still manages to have a few proper American supermarkets. I marvelled at the fridges dedicated to cookie dough, the variety of deep pan pizza bites and the vast selection of Oreos. It alone could have justified the airfare.

Macaroni cheese like tiny soggy Wotsits - heaven

I left Miami happy: I had a tan, a new pair of pink sunglasses and I had eaten well. Nonetheless, in some ways I was disappointed. Some fantastic meals were punctuated by disappointing experiences that failed to live up to the potential of Miami's position at the point where so many culinary traditions meet. With more time and a car (exploring Miami by taxi and on foot was an unsatisfactory experience), I am certain I could find more places that fulfil Miami's tropical promise. In the meantime, I will console myself with my cupboard full of the finest American junk that money can by.