She digs deep into a well of Haitian folklore and dance to convey life-affirming tales that will stay with you. A twin set of thin, toasted slabs of baguette is heaped with fluffy goat cheese blended with herbs de Provence thyme, rosemary, bay, basil, savory and topped with caramelized sweet red onion. Tables are double draped with white cloth, and if Boukatch didn't have my credit card number, I'd have run off with the clever napkin rings, thick pewter bands topped with a knife, fork and spoon.
Over several visits, it's largely a female audience, and one that's not shy about midday cocktailing. When was the last time you saw people slurping martinis and full bottles of wine at the noon hour? Opening the season for the Miami Stage Company, the production, set in present-day New York City, explores the generational differences between a grandmother and granddaughter. A twin set of thin, toasted slabs of baguette is heaped with fluffy goat cheese blended with herbs de Provence thyme, rosemary, bay, basil, savory and topped with caramelized sweet red onion. Bubbie, a lovable sharp-witted granny in her 80s, desperately tries to find her independent and liberal something granddaughter Isabelle "Izzy" Grossman a husband. A third topping supposedly contains chips of grilled chicken -- I don't find any, but I'm not looking that hard anyway, pleased as I am with an aggressive chop of French olives, red onions and capers. The charming little cottage with its hardwood floors and lace curtains used to be a balloon and party-planning company that for some reason included target practice in its back hallway. Sophie's crusty rolls, served sans bread plate and awkwardly torn apart on the tablecloth, are sufficient dippers, but French fries are better yet for juice sopping. Before you request no anchovies, please, taste them first -- the salty fish are just the electric charge this mellow dish needs. Sophie's doesn't seat until all members of a party are present. Fancy names aside, the food at Sophie's is entirely approachable. Regular folks wanting to eat at Sophie's would do well to have a job -- a well-paying one, at that -- or at least have a date who does. But waiting is made easier with a front-yard patio and a cozy lounge replete with a bar and baby grand piano live music from Larry Reed Friday and Saturday nights. And this is simply because the poisson in question is monkfish, also known as anglerfish and rare to these parts. Here's the creepy part and a slight tangent from our tale: Simple chicken breast is nicely moist, bathed in a heady sauce of roasted garlic, tomatoes, mushrooms, herbs and Burgundy. The filament resembles a worm and attracts smaller fish that are soon engulfed by the angler's huge mouth. A figure not quite as beloved in France as Jerry Lewis, Costes, who often favors performing naked, can brag of being repeatedly dragged into French courts owing to the violent, racist, and brutal content of his songs and his tendency to incite violence via his art. She digs deep into a well of Haitian folklore and dance to convey life-affirming tales that will stay with you. As the restaurant gets up to speed, Boukatch says he's working on a few more exotic daily specials -- yes, even sweetbreads and rabbit. It's an act play, or as Costes like to call it, a "porno-social ritual," boasting intricate sets and costumes, and a cast of Tables are double draped with white cloth, and if Boukatch didn't have my credit card number, I'd have run off with the clever napkin rings, thick pewter bands topped with a knife, fork and spoon. The party starts at 6: One person you're guaranteed not to see at the show tonight: No bullet holes remain, covered by warm beige paint and a flurry of colorful framed prints on every available wall surface. There's simply no way to stop nibbling on the lavish mound of crispy, skin-on shoestring potatoes, served as an embarrassment of riches in an oversize bowl. French olives, gathered before they're ripe, tend to mimic the gloriously bitter bite of Greek Kalamatas, and add a marvelous zing.
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