Mango’s – South Beach, Miami, FL – Guest Writer

by brendan on February 27, 2007

Since the Man on the Street is happily married and when he travels for work, he rarely heads out to any restaurants and simply gets room service. However, when I was in Miami a month or so ago, my colleagues happened to head out to great restaurant in South Beach. I suggested that Matt write up a review of Mango’s in South Beach. Here it is:

Sandwiched between a Caribbean breeze and the Vice-like neon glow a few friends and I strolled without plans down the famous Ocean Avenue of South Beach, Miami. A single truth, or what was once believed, shared among the trio of software salesman was that we were starved from eight hours of meetings and banquet food that was as attractive as pastel sport-coats and white pants worn anywhere outside of Miami. We needed a meal and cocktail that would be Miami-like, in order to return home to the January cold of the Bay Area and actually feel like we returned home from some place tropical.

Dropped off at the mouth of Ocean Avenue, we began to work ourselves through the heart of South Beach. While my two amigos may have felt more like Crockett and Tubbs, I felt more like the thug from Grand Theft Auto: Vice City preparing to forcefully hop into a powder blue caddy, incite a riot, and elude the police for hours. Consumed by the ocean air, neon glow, and Donatella Versace wannabe’s we strolled in search of cuisine perfect for the night. Walking among sidewalk diners and freshly legal temptresses spouting discounted meals and free bottles of wine for our business, our options seemed all to abundant and never-ending, however we would soon find they were not.

Ironically, the restaurant that captured our business and attention did not have a single discount to offer, but instead offered us everything our imaginations told us about Miami. Quickly, we were lured into Mango’s by salsa music blasted at deafening levels as women danced on the bar wearing bikini tops and pants that seemed spray-painted on. I do not recall much about the food other than I ate without complaint. The Mojito’s tasted imported directly from Cuba and re-enforced my belief that I too, could dance salsa. Our waitress was a Cuban doll with a smile that said “Sure, I’ll have another,” and provided service that exceeded every expectation when she dropped off our lime-marinated steaks and jumped onto the bar for a routine that took our minds off of the dinner we ordered and the negotiations training we previously went through with the alpha-female. The teamwork by the staff was admirable as everyone worked flawlessly keeping our attention. Another employee busting out of her top with spray-painted pants approached the table with test-tubes of booze, offering a unique, Miami way of taking a shot. Teased and straddled I had the best shot of my life and could not recall, for the life of me, what it was. For any guy within a five-hundred mile radius of South Beach, Mango’s is a must stop. Thirty-six pictures, four Mojito’s, and a satisfied appetite ( among other things) later, I walked out of Mango’s a giggly teenager, having seen everything I ever dreamed Miami of being.

So there you have it. It sounds awesome. I wish I would have gone out too, but the Man on the Street stayed home with my warm milk watching Matlock.

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