Lisa Marion Smith

If Fred Sanford and the Queen of Hearts opened a restaurant, this would be it.

You come as much to see as you do to eat. Come at night, when the lights are on full display. The décor is junk yard chic—heavy on the hearts and Catholic religious references—comprised of old car parts and detritus someone fished out of the recycling bin. Painted bottles with bent spoons for handles make cocktail glasses. Old metal work lamps decorated with images of the Virgin Mary hang from the tin ceiling. She smiles beneficently, blessing painted ceramic platters piled high with fried meats and alcoholic concoctions drunk from painted gourds. The generic latin music is loud. Couples bob and shuffle across the dance floor under rotating colored disco lights and the obligatory mirrored ball.

Then the food arrives, and it is divine. Chicharrones come first. They are exquisite, bite-sized parcels of pork fried to perfection, served with 4 sauces: chimichurri, picadillo, guacamole and ahogado. Another side: miniature arepas, small balls of white cornmeal. We lament their diminutive size, and wish for more.

Next are patacones, a staple of Colombian cuisine—mashed up green plantains fried in oil. These are unlike any I’ve ever seen. Each is the size of your face, and just a few millimeters thick. One has melted cheese on top. They arrive on a plate which might have been a hubcap in a previous life.

In a nod to something healthyish, we order the roasted vegetable plate: asparagus, baby corn, red peppers, mushrooms, eggplant. Serviceable, but not what we’re here for. We down everything with Club Colombia beer. The Red is slightly darker, but not fully bitter like a German pilsner. Please don’t order a Budweiser, which is also on the menu.

Throughout it all, roving bands of trumpets and drummers and young women and men dressed as clowns tour the floor, animating the crowd by singing songs and getting up on tables to dance. Ah, Latin America. One young man is dressed in drag in a nun’s habit. A young woman is decked out in full Aunt Jemima costume, worn without a whiff of irony. Yikes. But the youths, they are charming and loud, playing and singing over the salsa music. And they do a good job getting the party started.

The wait staff are all beautiful, young, efficient, wearing Brooklynesque versions of pinned and decorated TGI Fridays aprons, but in black and brown canvas. They probably couldn’t skin a pig, but they sure do look good delivering your drinks. Trust them when it comes to ordering.

Security is tight. And extensive. Which is good, considering the amount of cash and alcohol being traded. Inside the restaurant, private security guards walk openly, making their presence known.

In the road in front, a small battalion of guards direct traffic, and indicate where to park in the vast open lot. “Always be selling!” I imagine Andres said as he was laying out the parking lot, which has its own attended bathrooms, snack stand and bar. At 3:00 am when the revelers from the restaurant make their way outside, they order up hot dogs and bowls of steaming broth to sober up.

If you are the introverted type who does not like loud music and even louder crowds, skip this one. Or, maybe get your food to go at the Andres Express store across the street. 

You are on an island. You expect seafood. Fresh seafood. At prices that won't break the bank. Yet, the sheer number of restaurants in Funchal's city center is paralyzing. Where to go? Marisqueira O Barqueiro. It's a little out of the way if you don't have a car, or know your way around. Take a cab. Admire the seafood mural on the outside of the building. It's not a great work of art, but it makes one thing clear: they have fish. The inside of the restaurant is a bit lacking in ambiance. It's well lit and clean, but the decor is barebones, with the fish and lobster tanks taking pride of place. Again, it's as if they feel the need to make to clear with substance over style: they serve fish. The service is excellent. The staff speak English, and they know what you're looking for. For example, we wanted a bottle of wine. The server recommended the house white, which I immediately questioned. No problem. If I didn't like it she would not charge us for it. She was right. It was the perfect pairing for our selection. If you are 2, or even 4 people, and you want to try an assortment of the local fish, the seafood platter for 2 is the way to go. This cornucopia of the bounty of the sea has something for everyone. Our favorites were the marinated clams, the white fish and the shrimp. The potatoes were also wonderful. That's right: boiled potatoes. Apparently, potatoes are a popular crop on Madeira, and their flavor is to be savored. Dip them in mayonnaise. The quantity of food was enough that we were able to take about half of it with us for a picnic lunch the next day. When on vacation, fish restaurants are not something one wants to be adventurous with. Go with a classic. Trust the professionals. Next time we're in Madeira, we'll be back.

From the minimalist architecture with its carefully curated selection of natural fiber objets in creams and browns--to the bossa nova and Miles Davis playing in the restaurant--down to the pearly white Stan Smith Adidas tennis shoes on the attractive staff--Les Roches Rouges is the perfect marriage of Southern California and the Côte d'Azur set in 1972. That tiny room in your Paris hotel? This one is smaller. But who wants to be inside when every room has a private terrace with a view of the ocean. Tremendous thought has gone into every detail, down to the pannier and bath products in your room (and the tags that say all are for sale). The service is the best we've had in France. The madness of Cannes is a good 30 minutes away by car. The closest sights within walking distance are the hills for hiking. The crowd is quiet; guests lounge under umbrellas by the ocean water pool, or swim languid laps in the warm water pool. All set against the constant crashing of waves against the rocks. Breakfast is a comprehensive buffet. Food and drinks are available poolside, or in the garden by the pétanque court. The first night we were there, they ran out of bottles of rose in the restaurant. In Provence. Ran out. How is that possible? But the cod was delicious. The tomato salad is other worldly, as are the fried smelts. The lamb and potato dish offered just two small cubes of lamb. Skip the cocktails at the bar, get a bucket of ice, and crack open one of the bottles of their homemade cocktails in your room. They're better. And, you'll have the sunset all to yourself. We'll be back.

If you’ve never been to Madeira, the site of concrete angles jutting out from a cliff can seem jarring. But look again. Now, take the elevator from the ground-level entrance to the lobby up on the cliff. Walk through property. Let the steps and elevators lead you from level to level. Walk through winding paths bordered by blooming hedges and up wide staircases that lead to enormous views of the sea and skies that go far beyond that fine line where the two meet.

The rooms are spacious, airy and light-filled. Sleep with the sliding doors open, and your night will be filled with gentle ocean breezes and the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below. Nap by the pool, a blissfully quiet retreat for readers and sun worshippers, with no EMD for miles. Have a cocktail on the front lawn as you watch the sunset.

Seeking adventure? Hiking the local levadas, sea kayaking along the coast, going for a dip in the bracing sea—that’s about it. Ponto da Sol, the town, is charming but hardly bustling. The John dos Passos cultural center is the community hub, hosting art exhibits and local events. Stroll the main street, then head back to the beach to grab a beer under an umbrella.

Back up on the cliff, the service, though attentive, can seem a bit slow in the restaurant during prime time. It would be nice for us non-smokers to have the smokers confined to just one area on the property; the smell lingers. And someone to show us around and help with the bags when we first arrive? It took us 2 planes and 8 hours of traveling to get here. Maybe a welcome cocktail? We came so far just to see you. These are details, but when the setting is so idyllic, they can rouse one unexpectedly from vacation bliss.

Still, the views alone are worth going back for. And far from imposing its order on nature, the architecture and grounds are the perfect frame through which to take it all in.

As the home is a mirror of its inhabitants, one look at this store will tell you all you need to know about its gloves. Luxurious, high-quality, trend-resistant—treat them with the care they merit, and their ageless style and good looks will serve you well for years. 

Inside the diminutive boutique, you choose from those on display. Your size? The woman behind the counter, she knows just by looking. A leather cushion slides across the counter. Your elbow is propped up, then she slides the glove onto your hand. Inside, the softest cashmere envelopes each finger; outside, buttery leather gleams on the hand. Another pair—silk-lined. The fit is sublime, as if made from a mold of your hand. “Like a second skin,” the woman behind the counter says. The cashmere would be warmer, but the silk is irresistible. As if it is the glove that chooses the owner, not the other way around.

Buttery brown leather lined in cream silk are slipped into more silk—the store’s signature bag—and taken to their new home.

Cork! Who knew you could do so much with it? Bags, shoes, wallets, tea pots, jewelry, egg cups—all made from the bark of the Cork Oak. Throw a rock in Lisbon, and you’ll hit a store selling cork bags and pouches. Look a little deeper on a quiet street in the city center, and you’ll find Rutz. 

I think the men’s shoes are their real strength. For the gentlemen, the cork is featured with fabric and leather details that infuse the shoe with Mediterranean masculinity. Translation: your gay friends will ask your boyfriend where he got his mocs. 

In comparison, most of the women’s designs feel a bit too on-trend. White rubber soles on square-toed sandals abound, as do pull-on sneakers and trainers. I did find a lovely pair of pointed-toe flats with a tropical fern print that came home with me. And my boyfriend—who does not wear denim. ever.—brought back a lace-up derby in cork and blue denim.