A Tale of Two Lincolns or Two Roads Diverged on Miami Beach

Far from the knockoff Downtown Abbeys located off the banks of Ludlum Road in our beloved Pinecrest lie the maddening crowds on Lincoln Road in Miami Beach. All of us, at one time or another feel compelled to make the journey to the beach, and especially if we have relatives in tow, inevitably, we exercise an obligation to pop in on the pedestrian mall between and parallel to 16th and 17th Streets. 

There was a time when Lincoln Road was in its heydey with Bonwit Teller, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Burdine’s. Then there was a time when Lincoln Road was in decline, a strip only Scarface could love. Then, it began to rebound in the late 90’s. Now ... it’s hard to tell what’s going on there. Dylan’s Candy Bar, H &M, and Taschen have outposts. So do GNC, Bikini Village, and Payless. Draw your own conclusions.

There is, I suppose, looking at the bright side, something for everyone there. Old timers still ride their cruisers with parrots or Speedos on. Locals roller skate by. Folks that resemble the cruise boat crowd that frequent Bayside are in evidence. You hear Spanish, Portuguese, French, Russian, Chinese, and Hebrew routinely. Tomato-faced English loiter on Lincoln, walking like Frankensteins to keep the sunburn from chafing too painfully. Shirts unbuttoned to the pupik broadcast hairy chests and gold rope chains as if Donna Summer and the Bee Gees are still in concert. The Rolex still lives on Lincoln Road. LAst but not least, every failed plastic surgery victim seems to teeter totter by sooner or later, everything stretched and protruding. Forgive me, but it is not as uplifting for us as it is for you. 

New World Symphony has relocated to new digs. Ghirardelli is gone. So is almost all the sophistication which Carl Fisher envisioned when he created Lincoln Road as Miami Beach’s version of Beverly Hils’ Rodeo Drive. In its place is a gallimaufry of people, places, and things. A hodgepodge. A confused mess. Don’t get me completely wrong. It’s still enjoyable at times, especially if you hail from Wilmington North Carolina, Huntsville Alabama, Youngstown Ohio, or Topeka Kansas. Around the perimeter of Lincoln Road, you see these folks in hundreds of red rented Mustang convertibles circling the area, radios blaring, teenagers occasionally standing and screaming. Forgive them -- they know not what they do. It’s worse when they are walking, but better when they sit in the bad restaurants seducing them nearer Washington Avenue. There is some quality remaining on the eastern reaches of Lincoln, but not much. Paul Bakery, straight out of Paris, still has a good product. Rosinella received praise, most ending a decade ago. Nearly all are despised by any local clientele.

On the western side of Lincoln Road, Alton Road side of Lincoln Road, there is hope. The designer parking garage is a marvel; Juvia drains only the best of credit cards from its gorgeous penthouse. (Check out its website, and I guarantee it will give Gone in 60 Seconds new meaning thanks to an insufferable soundtrack.) Alchemist on floor five in the garage will stop you in your tracks, but you will need the fattest stacks to buy anything there. Picasso prices! The Nespresso store below is like Crayola for adults. Nearby Banana Republic is housed in a gorgeous old bank.  Base USA succeeds. Books & Books always dignifies itself. The Frieze, a few steps off Lincoln on Michigan is sublime. Juicy Couture, Victoria’s Secret, Mac, and Kiehl’s trump the cosmetic appeal than those Perfumania and CVS, both closer to Washington and Collins. At its worst near Collins, Lincoln Road is the new Ocean Drive.

All said, the further west you go, Lincoln Road becomes the road less traveled, and if you stay at that end, it will make all the difference.

Bread Lines

photo by Matt Degreff

I owe a bunch of my friends an apology. They warn me that with the way that things are going, I shouldn't be surprised if people end up in bread lines again. I argue with them, hoping that things will not deteriorate so badly, but alas, they are right -- sort of.

Much to my surprise, I have seen this happen repeatedly at the Green Market in Pinecrest. For the last several months people have lined up patiently waiting for their bread. In a time where people fight desperately to claim and gain the status of victim, this is the ultimate irony: the bread is organic and the people lined up are from the -- forgive me -- upper crust. The cause of all this misery is a young fellow known as Zak the Baker.

There seem to be no breadlines for the privileged that I can recall, but Zak the Baker causes a ruckus among the gifted at this Farmer's Market. Every Sunday morning, a line begins forming before 9:30 near the caramel corn stand. One of Zak's apprentices cuts a loaf which, immediately after sampling, creates a sort of mysterious instant addiction, especially for those patrons who have ever visited Europe. Clearly, Zak is harming the community by offering addictive sourdough breads baked under the cover of darkness in a secret location somewhere west of US 1. He is an artisan, but witness the lines, and you make think he is a magician, shaman, or charlatan. 

Zak hypnotizes those who queue up by playing jazz on a little throwback phonograph. The daily offerings -- olive and za'ater, cranberry walnut, multigrain, and whole wheat -- are thoughfully carefully wrapped in plain brown paper. Returnees to the line looked hopelessly hooked and spaced out in the moist summer steam -- give us today our daily bread they seem to say.

Zak the Baker’s website (http://zakthebaker.com/) is a thing of beauty. Frankly, the video made by Matt Degreff is medal-worthy. With all the, forgive me, cheesy crap that passes us posing as art, these few minutes are aesthetic and inspiring. What you hear and see makes you feel, and what you feel makes you want to eat. It defines perfectly what Zak is doing, and it seems, what he is thinking. Please let me in on the longer length documentary, brothers! 

If you want go to the Green Market and avoid the bread lines because you somehow have come to feel guilty about the economics in America which now makes the wealthy have to stand in the sun just to get their favorite staple ingredient, the good news is that Zak is sold out, wrapped up, and on the road before your teenaged kids wake up. 

An Eye for Beauty Part 1

Miami has been endowed by its creator with some extraordinary beauty. The sky, the clouds, the sea -- as Wesley Snipes once said to Angela Bassett -- absolutely splendid. For me, there is nothing more lovely than a stand of oak trees. On the other hand ...

Miami's southern suburbs are a monument to bad taste. The monstrous mansions and spacious gardens are built and maintained by the very immigrants that the (Republican) voters who own the obscene spaces would like to evict from the country. I'm not sure how long one's string trimmer or hedge cutter has to be in order to reach Pinecrest from Mexico, but I suspect that local churches might want to avoid screening A Day Without a Mexican to avoid a widespread panic in the pews.

Summertime

It’s summertime, and the livin’ is easy. Mosquitoes are bitin’, and the grasses are high. Your daddy’s rich (in some cases), and your kids are good looking (or so we like to tell our friends). So hush little suburban baby. Don’t you cry.  One of these mornings, you’re going to wake up on holiday, then you’ll spread your wings, pump up your tires, and take to the streets. Until that morning, you can prepare for the sultry weather by dreaming of another ride through the green thicket that wraps its vines around us every summer, as you drip happily with sweat and pleasure.

Years ago when I first moved here, I complained to new friend and current Ransom Everglades Athletic Director Claude Grubair about summer’s oppressive humidity as he picked me up on a warm June evening with his windows rolled down. “Summer’s the best time of the year,” said Claude simply. After thinking about it – no kidding – I had been transformed and converted. Last week, I bumped into Claude while I was on my bike and he was running, and I reminded him of the story. I have loved the summers here ever since.

The earlier the better, but as long as one avoids the lightning, riding in summer is all good. You don’t need a plan, for residential streets in Pinecrest, Palmetto Bay, South Miami, Cutler Bay, and Coral Gables overflow with things to look at. Yes some of it may not be what you might choose to see in front of homes if indeed you had the power of choice – a big pair of badly carved lions, gilded gates, stars and stripes on poles – but there is a feast for the vigilant eye. 

You can make a little checklist if you like. Pink flamingos in the flower beds – check. Ceramic dolphin above the garage door – check. Lighthouse mailbox – tick it off. Shells embedded on a wall – got ‘em. There is no end to the kitsch. For all who recoil at this, shall I call it art, just look at the giant, graceful Poinciana trees.

Architectural quirks lie just around every bend, decades of design shaped by the times and the shapes of our lives. We all know that homes keep getting bigger and bigger, c’est la construction. These days, you can still see the 50’s bungalow which George Jetson may have loved next to the new McMansion which the 1% love. This love of course, trickles down to contractors, real estate agents, tax collectors, and gardeners – I’ll leave it at that. If you are on a bike, the former is cool like Americana and the latter grand like Downton Abbey.

Depending on your route, a brain freezing smoothie is just a few revolutions away. Aside from all the knowledge dropped by the big guy at Smoothie King, the faded, grandfathered-in glory provided by the chatty staff at the Wayside Market, and the proximity to Whole Foods and Fresh Markets along the way, South Miami’s Sun Juice has been my favorite for years, keeping my hypochondria at bay with the Cold Curer.

More and more of us in South Florida have taken to the streets on our bikes, riding with friends and family, rolling back the years. It’s summertime, and the livin’ – as long as the hurricanes mind their manners – is easy.