It was 2:30am in Miami, and we had just left a nightclub with my brother and his fiancé. Knowing there was a 10-year-old sleeping soundly at his grandparent’s house who’d be up at the crack of dawn anxious to hit the beach, I was thankful to be heading home, despite the fact that at that hour there was STILL a line of young folk waiting to get into the place and BEGIN their evening. But it was at that moment that my baby brother turned to me in the car and said, “Do you mind if we stop to get a quick bite to eat? I’m hungry.” Now, I’m getting old, but I’m not THAT old that I don’t still remember what it was like to leave a bar late at night with a case of munchies and a need to soak up some alcohol, but I didn’t have to worry about being beach-bound by 10am back then, either. I reluctantly capitulated, but insisted that it be a REALLY quick bite.

In Jersey, the place to go after a night of drinking when I was younger was either a diner or White Castles, and the only thing I ever got at the diners was “Disco Fries” which were covered with melted, gooey cheese and came with a bowl of gravy to dip them in. But Miami isn’t much for diners, and even less for gravy. So after about 10 minutes in the car we pulled up to a place downtown called La Moon, which apparently specialized in something called Perros Colombianos (Columbian Hot Dogs). I didn’t bother to look at the menu since I knew I wanted to try whatever the specialty was, and honestly, any hot dog with a quail egg on top of it sounded too damned good to pass up. Thoughts of the ten-year old were quickly relinquished to the deepest recesses of my mind as I sat at the small metal table, licking my chops in anticipation of this meatfest.

perroI apologize for the piss-poor photo, but I had been taking photos during the evening and forgot to change the camera’s settings for shooting food. Well, it was that and the fact that I had taken a bite by this point, and all I could think clearly about was taking ANOTHER. Let me describe this bun full of heaven: One grilled hot dog, about 9” long, sits at the bottom. On top are slices of pan-fried chorizo and crumbled bits of bacon. All that diet food is smothered in melted cheese (I think mozzarella but couldn’t slow down enough to really tell) and the cheese, in turn, is covered with mounds of crunchy potato sticks. The texture is the perfect counterpoint to all the other goodies. All that is then drizzled with 4 different condiments, only 2 of which I recognized: ketchup and mayo. The third seemed like a mildly spicy cayenne-kissed cream, and the fourth (which runs straight across the top) was a sweeter, tropical-fruit tasting sauce. My only disappointment was that I was hoping the quail egg would maybe be fried, so I could break the yolk and let it run down everything, but it was hardboiled instead. Kind of a waste to add a quail egg that way, no?

White Castles—fuck off. Hamburger Deluxe—get bent. Even my highly esteemed disco fries can take a walk. THIS is the new face of drinking night’s aftermath. THIS is what all food served between the hours of 3 and 5am should aspire to. On your knees and bow, boys.