South Beach Has Soul 🌴☀️
You just need to know where to look for it
When you think of Miami Beach, you might picture the pastel hotels and the party scene. But beneath the gloss and glow is a neighborhood with grit, depth, and a food culture that’s uniquely its own. In this Palate Passport™ episode, I spent a few days chasing the real flavor of the beach, and what I found was more than neon and noise.
We start where any self-respecting Miami Beach night should: at Macchialina. This isn’t a tourist pasta spot. It’s quickly become a local institution. It’s understated, low-lit, and full of swagger. The menu of handmade pastas shifts just enough to stay fresh, but the heart of it stays the same. Everything hits hard; al dente, well-seasoned, and confident.
Sweet Liberty is the kind of bar locals are proud to claim. Tucked just off the beaten path, it balances award-winning cocktails with an easy, come-as-you-are energy. The menu is playful but serious, equally good for a stiff drink or a late-night snack.
At the end of Española Way, Tropezón brings a sultry, Andalusian-inspired vibe with gin-forward drinks and small plates. It’s tiled, dim, and transportive, the kind of place that makes you linger long after the first round.
Then comes the post-everything reset: La Sandwicherie. Open late, it’s always reliable. After the club. After the beach. After you wake up. Whenever, really. There’s a rhythm to it. You order, you watch the baguette get layered with pressed meats, tangy vinaigrette, a confetti of vegetables. You unwrap it sitting on a curb or leaning on a bike rack, and it somehow makes you feel like you belong. It’s like a rite of passage.
And then there’s Mac’s Club Deuce, the dive bar that holds Miami Beach together. Pool table, neon, regulars, cash only. It’s open nearly 24/7 and doesn’t need to explain itself. This is where off-duty service workers, beachgoers, and old-school locals sit shoulder to shoulder with anyone who walks in. The jukebox has more history than your Spotify playlist. The floor is sticky in a way you know it’s a good dive. It’s not trying to be anything more. It just is.
All that said, I couldn't leave Miami Beach without cooking something of my own. Something pulled from the soul of this place and the flavors I grew up with in Florida. So I did just that.
Blackened Mahi Mahi with Creamy Habanada Sauce is a dish that channels the heat, the brightness, and the layered spice of South Florida. The mahi gets a deep, smoky sear in cast iron, then it’s topped with a silky sauce made from sweet habanada peppers. I plate it over farro for a bit of earthy chew. It’s vibrant, a little fiery, and full of memory.
