I can unequivocally state that this place is, in fact, the best thing Doral has to offer. The second best thing is the awful traffic, and the third best is that it’s still technically in America. Doral has a lot going for it.
I haven’t decided yet whether I think Doral is shittier than Kendall. On the one hand, Doral contains everything I hate about Miami, but on the other hand, Kendall contains everything else I hate about Miami. It’s like trying to decide whether Honey Boo Boo’s mom hit rock bottom when she gained enough weight to personify “rock bottom”, or when she started dating a sex offender. It took me a bit of tabloid magazine browsing to figure out that the guy is a sex offender because he molested a child, not because he offended everyone by hooking up with Lard Boo Boo.
I haven’t decided yet whether I think Doral is shittier than Kendall.
So anyway, I only go to Doral when I need to visit my parents. This past weekend, Dana and I decided to just eat in the area, and Green Plate seemed like a good enough option. I didn’t go in with high expectations since it used to be a buffet, and the only time I eat at a buffet is when I’m at some all-inclusive Mexican gluttony fest. Yeah, it’s in Mexico, but it’s only white people eating it. It’s such a western thing to know most of the world barely hits a caloric equilibrium, and we’re here challenging people to eat as much food and norovirus as possible for a low, flat rate.
Even though I didn’t expect much, I was pleasantly surprised. So pleasantly surprised, in fact, that I had Dana take photos of our food. I never give enough of a shit to do that, mostly because I’ve always silently openly judged people who do that, but I ate some cognitive bias for breakfast, so I gave myself a pass. Plus, technically, I wasn’t the one taking the pictures, so I’m clear.
Stop saying things. What are some of the dishes?
The menu looked appetizing. The first thing I picked were the chicken and waffles. If there’s a menu with “a big stack of cash” and “chicken and waffles”, I’ll take the chicken and waffles every time, mostly because I’d have to pay taxes on that cash. I don’t know what that red sauce they poured over the chicken was, but even if it’s dog blood (which according to the Internet is a real possibility), I’d order it again. That waffle was so good it made me adventurous enough to eat sushi. I mean, yeah, the sushi was cooked and then fried (America.), but it’s still sushi so that’s a huge step for me. It’s like getting Honey Boo Boo’s mom to admit that maybe dating the guy who molested her daughter is a terrible fucking idea. I won’t admit whether I liked the sushi or not, but the fact that I’m not talking shit about it is probably pretty telling.
What else did you eat?
If I ever opened up a restaurant, I would give items the least-appetizing names I could think of. Bacon-wrapped figs? No, it’s a ficus dropping enveloped in fatty flesh from a swine’s carcass. I would open this restaurant up somewhere on Kendall Drive and people would be like, “oh, finally, good things to eat around here.” Just like the other stuff, these figs were tight. I almost ordered another, but I looked at an ice cube in my drink and remembered the wise words of ’90s Ice Cube before he sold out: “Check yoself before you consume too much LDL cholesterol which, according to the American Heart Association, increases your risk of heart disease.” It’s just like Ice Cube to start off thug as fuck, and morph into a family-friendly shell of a gangsta.
Shame about Ice Cube. Any more food?
If someone gives me the choice between duck or chicken, I’ll choose duck every single time. It’s like leveling up. It’s a bit gamier, and every time I eat it I imagine I’m tearing apart one of those annoying-ass canal ducks we have all over Miami. This duck didn’t taste like a canal duck, though, because it didn’t immediately give me duck AIDS, which I know must be a thing.
It’s getting a little long, wrap it up. Dessert?
Desserts are my kryptonite. Bullets, knives, parasites, fungi, prions, bacteria, viruses, cancer, accidents, gamma ray bursts, etc. are my kryptonite as well, but desserts are what’s gonna kill me. Any time a place has key lime pie, it doesn’t matter if my stomach feels like what Honey Boo Boo’s mom’s stomach looks like it feels like all the damn time, I’m always going to order the key lime pie. If it’s what causes my stomach to rupture, so be it. Lots of times, they end up disappointing, but this was not one of those times. My favorite part is the crust, and if I could just order a big bowl of crust, that would be my Valhalla.
For now, though, Green Plate will be my Valhalla in Doral, and when I go back, they better have a bowl of pie crust for me or I’ll amend this entire review.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 9901 NW 41 St
- Doral, FL 33178
- (305) 513-8518