Move over, every other restaurant I’ve ever been to, because Blue Collar is here to put some goddamn hair on my chest. If you can find the place nestled on the corner of a fuck motel with an “I hope I don’t get towed” parking situation, you’ll be rewarded with glorious mouth porn.
The phrase, “I don’t feel like cooking tonight,” is code for, “Pay someone to cook for us.” Every guy knows that. That’s how I ended up at Blue Collar on Friday, the day the world was to end according to imbeciles who think ancient people who sacrificed humans to their sky lords could predict the future. All they did was stop adding dates to a calendar. Some dude was told, “Bro, stop working on that stupid calendar, you’re due up for sacrificing in two months, you won’t be alive much longer anyway.”
So anyway, it’s in a shitty location. It’s on 67th and Biscayne, a mere half step from the ghetto in Little Haiti, situated on the tiniest corner in the sketchiest little motel. You know it’s a fuck motel when they quote their prices by the hour. I’m sure a German family or two have accidentally stayed there, but that place is strictly for affairs, hookers, and Russian hit-men. The restaurant is on the southeast corner, so you’ll see it from Biscayne if you’re paying attention. When parking, try to find a spot that’s relatively well-lit so you can safely see from a distance if your car is suspended on bricks when you go retrieve it.
You know it’s a fuck motel when they quote their prices by the hour.
Enough foreplay, let’s get to the food. The first things we ordered were the mac and cheese, and the saffron aroncini. I tried the aroncini first. They’re these little breaded risotto balls with Parmesan and good feelings in them hanging out on a bed of tomato jam. Fucking JAM made out of TOMATOES. That’s like making frosting out of cucumbers, except it’s surprisingly delicious. Whenever my girlfriend tries something she likes at a restaurant, she doesn’t say, “We need to come back here one day.” Instead she says, “I’m going to learn how to make this.” So, you know, I win. The mac was solid too. It’s a big-ass plate, so don’t get it expecting it to be your side.
Oh God, mac and cheese?
We decided on one entree because she’s got the stomach capacity of an Ethiopian fashion model. We went with the mahi mahi for two reasons. One, I didn’t want to eat the snapper which comes with a predetermined side (veggie fried rice). Two, I don’t need to explain myself to you. The mahi let you choose two sides, out of 23. How many places offers so many side dish varieties? I’ve spent holidays with white people and even they had less to choose from. We decided on the sweet potato plantain mash and the warm bacony potato salad. The mash was heavenly. The potato salad tasted Latin as fuck. These guys put their menu together by Americanizing spic food. It’s like an abuela married a white guy. I love it. At one point one of the chefs, and I assume by his presence the owner, came up and asked how the food was. I didn’t say a word. I just chewed and gave him that, “Bro… it’s… wow” face.
Can you show us?
I couldn’t put into words how great everything tasted. I felt like a 12-year-old Bieber fan seeing him pump gas or some other mundane shit I shouldn’t get so excited about. It was just food.
At this point I was pretty full, but we had to press on and try a dessert. He said some words and then I heard “blackberry cobbler” so we stopped him here. I’ve never had a blackberry, and I wasn’t entirely sure what a cobbler was, but it sounded like something kids eat in fairy tales so I was into it. It’s basically a small pie, except the crust tasted like full-on flavored cocaine. Then they give you a little scoop of ice cream (in a separate container) and dare you to leave anything on the plate. Don’t quote me on this because I’m making it up, but if you leave any dessert your entire meal is free.
All in all, best goddamn food in Miami at a very reasonable price. We paid like $66 for all that and two drinks. When we were leaving, some drunken old man at the bar said something I had to pull my phone out and note, because it was so perfect. He said, “If these are the end of days, I’ve made my night.”
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 6730 Biscayne Blvd
- Miami, FL 33138
- (305) 756-0366