“What’s it all about, Alfie” is a song from my generation that recalls Michael Caine and not the remake of the film that came out years later. Allow me to use the words of the song as an introduction to more memories of the South Beach in Florida.
We took a leisurely walk along the ocean, if one can be leisurely in South Beach with all the people that want to be seen, and advertise the concept so blatantly. It is fun though to walk around and look. One can see the Armani mansion right off of the beach, with the gates surrounding it. Then one has to walk over to the New Café to have a drink, grab a periodical, relax and watch all of the people that are milling around. This has to be one of the busiest newspaper shops that I have ever been in. Not only the papers and magazines, but a drink on the ocean and a good cigar shop as well.
Later on we walked the shops and boutiques in South Beach, and finally ended up at our destination for the evening. We were going to have dinner at the South Beach Brasserie, which is owned by Michael Caine, hence my opening line. It is in an Art Deco building, as they all seem to be on Lincoln Road about six blocks from the famed Collins Avenue. The décor had a lot of mirrors, more in keeping with the area, as opposed to what I would consider a proper Englishman’s haunt. The menu was what I would refer to as “fusion” as there was a mix of European dishes with an Oriental dash of flavor. There were a couple of classic English dishes, which we passed on. I had a pan seared Red Snapper that was served with Asian sides, and my Bride had a Seafood stew with Jasmine Rice (that caught her attention).
We enjoyed a Chardonnay from the Carneros district of Napa Valley made by the Benziger Family Winery. It was a pleasant Chardonnay with some buttery softness that did not fight the flavors of the food. When the wine is in sync with the entrée, the whole evening seems to be better than it should, especially when you are people watching with a room full of people that seem to be doing the same thing.


