Have you caught an episode of Swamp People on the History Channel yet? No? You should. When that asteroid that is scheduled to hit the planet in about twenty years finally lands, the only people who might survive the big kaboom will be -- you guessed it -- Swamp People. They will re-populate the earth with primates, ooops, people, who know how to hunt, catch, kill and masticate whatever moves.

The premise of the weekly TV show is: a History Channel (HC) journalist follows some hunters into the heart of Louisiana's murky, dangerous, alligator-overpopulated swamp lands. In one recent episode Blake and Austin go catch something bigger than the small pirogue they are paddling in, with a hook, some line and a big powerful gun. The History Channel films them bringing the grub back to their hungry kin. Viewer discretion is advised. Ratings are up.
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Nothing says spending Valentine's Day unattached like flying solo for the whole day (week, month, year...). Forget the sappy crap that's happening around you, though.

Don't you dare hide in your apartment that night. Spread those chainless wings and get out there!

Options?

Singles Cruise
Screw work, and leave behind the troubles of your everyday routine. You're single! Get out there and flaunt the goods. You can have more fun than anyone who's in a serious relationship... they call it "serious" for a reason, you know.
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Love Bites is a regular column on Short Order. Find other installments here.

Mr. Yum has been around for a few months and the owner has a great reputation from Sushi Rock -- it was the perfect place for distraction. When visiting last week for the first time, I was instantly charmed by the ambiance: low ceilings, lots of orange and white accents. My guests and I put in our app orders and instantly began to dish about the hot topic du jour, failed relationships. By the time our steamy miso soups and iced green teas arrived, they were champing at the bit for details about my last breakup. But before we got too deep in the menu, they asked the one question I should know to anticipate by now: "Why don't you date a chef?"
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Love Bites is a regular column on Short Order. Find other installments here.

After a recent breakup, a man who once told me I was "growing on him" invited me to Red Fish Grill. The offer was simply too enticing to decline.

I 'd always wanted to check out Red Fish on Old Cutler Road, anyhow, but most of my dates had bitched it was too far from the beach. I was ready to see if they were missing out and, of course, if a man I once abandoned was worth reconsidering.
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​Love Bites is a regular column on Short Order. Find other installments here.

The phrase à la folie translates to something like "to madness." Usually it would be included in a French expression such as "I love her to madness."

A La Folie near Purdy Avenue is a pretty good place to watch the sun set and munch on some French goodies. When I recently ate there, love wasn't on the menu, but there was plenty of "mad" by the time our crêpe stuffed with bananas and dark chocolate arrived. More like anger.
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​​Blah. Rainy Sunday. You're at Regal Cinemas and don't want to head for the usual list of suspects. Books & Books? Nah -- had it for lunch already. Segafredo? Not so cool in the rain. Nexxt? Too touristy. Maybe Nespresso? There's something about that place that makes me feel like people go just to waste money. All those disposable capsules, overpriced beverages, and expensive machines are pretty, but...

Ah! Burger & Beer Joint! After a quick assessment, we decided we were dressed appropriately in our T-shirts, shorts, and sneakers, so off we went. We found parking lickety-split and were seated within seconds. Our server brought our iced teas without delay. I started to warm up just from all the heat coming off the bodies swarming inside.
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​Love Bites is a regular column on Short Order. Find other installments here.

Walk down Miracle Mile and you'll come to Lotus Garden, a little place near the west end of the street. You'll pass dozens of bridal gown boutiques, as I did recently with my boyfriend, Matlock, and grandma, who audibly sighed as we passed each window. My guy and I ignored her unspoken expressions and stepped inside the simply decorated, average-size restaurant, and grabbed a four-top near the windows.

At first things seemed to be going well. We split a not particularly exciting house salad and some spring rolls. The salad included all of the requisite ingredients: crisp lettuce, a sliced hard-boiled egg, artfully sliced cucumbers, bright red tomatoes cut in quarters, crunchy noodles (Lotus Garden uses those flat Chinese noodles, though I prefer potato sticks), and a dollop of peanut dressing. After I doled out helpings and a little too much of the sauce, our server saw sadness on my face and quickly brought over a full boat of more peanut dressing. Our spring rolls arrived hot and golden brown. I was tempted to try one, but thought perhaps keeping my mouth available for defense was a better option at the moment.

Soon grandma began asking Matlock about his job and eventually the two were comparing memories of their trips to Thailand. But it was about to get ugly.
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Love Bites is a regular column on Short Order. Find other installments here.

This week's column is going to focus on the nuptials of one of my favorite Miami chefs, Sean Bernal, and his lovely bride, Natalie, formerly the marketing specialist at Whole Foods in Coral Gables... and, of course, the vittles I devoured at their wedding this past weekend.

Now one may think one of our city's top seafood chefs would've had a raw bar and maybe a do-it-yourself ceviche station and that his bride may have demanded that everything be locally grown, sustainable, and organic, but I'm happy to report that they both bucked the system and went for -- wait for it -- barbecue!.
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Love Bites is a regular column on Short Order. Find other installments here.

In any relationship, there comes a time when one half of a couple is victimized for a few low-down, embarrassing, horrific, pitiful, flat-out disgusting days. You just want to die. Some people call it the flu. I call it The Exorcist Returns.

The mate shows much by his/her reaction. My new boyfriend Matlock decided to tame my stomach nightmare with some Jewish penicillin. (You gentiles probably refer to it as matzo ball soup or "that chicken broth with the big, spongy balls floating around inside.")
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​Love Bites is a regular column on Short Order. Find other installments here.

Garfield, my favorite fat cat cartoon character when I was just a lass, once said, "Diet is 'die'... with a 't,'" and that's how I've always viewed the process. It's like a slow, painful death, especially for a food writer. Aside from sex, money, and general human interaction, food is the most important thing in life.

Matlock, my beau of just over a month now, may be under the impression that dieting is just a girly thing, But he is wrong, wrong, wrong. I would never deprive myself of any food if my doctor hadn't put the brakes on my carb consumption after South Beach Wine and Food Festival. I can't blame the chefs for presenting me with so much pasta, wine, bread, and chocolate, but I am miffed at World Resource Café and Gigi -- and, yes, even Matlock -- for not being very supportive in the aftermath.
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