I don’t often venture into the middle of Aventura, but this was a special occasion, and damn I haven’t seen so many Jews since I visited an electronics store clearance sale in Tel Aviv.
That’s not true, I’ve never been to Israel. I said it because it made the joke work. I am a liar.
…I haven’t seen so many Jews since I visited an electronics store clearance sale in Tel Aviv.
I was there on a date with an Italian girl. You might be wondering, “Orlando, what are an Italian chick and a spic doing going on a date in some random restaurant in the neighborhood where old New York Jews go to die?” Well, see, we decided that was a good halfway point between us. She lives way up there in northwest Broward, and I live in the fucking awesome cosmopolitan part of Miami where civilization and fun exists. I didn’t want to drive all the way up there, she didn’t want to drive all the way down here. So to compromise we behaved like married adulterers concealing an affair from their spouses and met at a random-ass discrete location. This location happened to be a Latin restaurant surrounded by the house of every lawyer and doctor you’ve ever had. I’m such a classy date, you should try me some time.
So I arrive early, because I’m awesome, and I’m watching the geriatric show going on in front of me; old-ass people with dusty yarmulkes (a yarmulke is the little skullcap Jewish people wear, which everyone pronounces “ya-muh-kuh”… yeah, it’s spelled yarmulke, seriously.) When my date is parking, she calls me and I tell her where I’m seated. I say, “when you walk in, I’m to the right in the back corner.” Sure enough, she walks in and heads to her left. Then she waves at some stranger as she approaches him, then notices she had the wrong person and quickly turns around. Thoroughly embarrassed, and probably more so as she reads this, she starts walking toward me. I made fun of her about that shit for a good while and the next couple of times I saw her I brought it up.
…I arrive early, because I’m awesome, and I’m watching the geriatric show going on in front of me…
If a Latin food place has churrasco, I’m ordering it, that’s a fact. I had that, sweet plantains, rice, and beans. If I died and went to heaven committing some sort of terroristic act and Allah was all like, “yo, dawg, I heard you killed some white people with TNT, so we’re giving you 72 virgins” (because Allah talks like Xzibit on Pimp My Ride) I’d be like, “nah, thanks man, I’ll just take some platanos maduros, some rice and beans, and some churrasco with chimichurri.” She had some chicken smothered with about 19 lbs of cheese or something. It was strange.
They made sangria, badly, and we had some of that. To make a good sangria you need to let those fruits soak up that wine, so you make it a while ahead of time and then serve. No, these people bring out a jug of ice, a cup of fruit, and a bottle of wine. They dump the fruit with the ice, then open the wine bottle and pour it in and use a wooden spoon to stir it for 10 seconds. That’s unacceptable. That may be the way Ira Silverstein taught them to make a sangria, but that’s not the way it should be made.
What happened when you Googled Ira Silverstein?
In addition, we capped it off with some crème brûlée. I love that shit, but I wasn’t completely into the one they served there. It wasn’t terrible, it was just mediocre. After that, we walked around the pier behind the restaurant and checked out the million-dollar yachts, then we talked about stealing one and watched two ugly-ass crabs almost get into a fight. You know, romantic shit.
If you live in Aventura and like the food your Guatemalan housekeeper makes you, give Barrio Latino a try. It’s worth it.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 3585 NE 207th St Ste C1
- Miami, FL 33180
- (305) 692-4455