You’re a complex person.
Sometimes you need an off-the-grid wine bar. Sometimes you need a quiet date spot. Sometimes you just need a burger.
Good news—there’s a polished little spot on Española called Flame Caffé & Grill, here to handle all of the above, now open in South Beach.
This is a tiny spot—maybe 30 seats total—and sort of hidden among the trees and charm of Española’s sidewalk cafés. Inside, it feels a little like the Starship Enterprise—polished concrete floors, mod white chairs, blue LED lights lining the floors, photon torpedoes. (Okay, we’re kidding about the torpedoes.) Or actually, like a particularly sunny day on the Enterprise—couples with dogs, German tourists, windswept business guys with sand in their hair.
Course of action: bring someone you want to get to know over bottles of Chilean reds and fried calamari. Chat. Pour. Repeat. If you work up an appetite for something more substantial, there are burgers like the New Yorker, a 10-ounce patty topped with pancetta, grilled eggplant and pepperoni. Or a platter of Kansas City–style BBQ ribs.
At which point you’ll chat. Lick your fingers. Repeat.
Sometimes you need an off-the-grid wine bar. Sometimes you need a quiet date spot. Sometimes you just need a burger.
Good news—there’s a polished little spot on Española called Flame Caffé & Grill, here to handle all of the above, now open in South Beach.
This is a tiny spot—maybe 30 seats total—and sort of hidden among the trees and charm of Española’s sidewalk cafés. Inside, it feels a little like the Starship Enterprise—polished concrete floors, mod white chairs, blue LED lights lining the floors, photon torpedoes. (Okay, we’re kidding about the torpedoes.) Or actually, like a particularly sunny day on the Enterprise—couples with dogs, German tourists, windswept business guys with sand in their hair.
Course of action: bring someone you want to get to know over bottles of Chilean reds and fried calamari. Chat. Pour. Repeat. If you work up an appetite for something more substantial, there are burgers like the New Yorker, a 10-ounce patty topped with pancetta, grilled eggplant and pepperoni. Or a platter of Kansas City–style BBQ ribs.
At which point you’ll chat. Lick your fingers. Repeat.
