Ask anybody who’s really been in a band what being a musician is like, and they won’t tell you about the moments that make it into the Hollywood biopics. To them, the experience is not the hero-shot onstage, or the girls they picked up after a killer set, or anything you saw in Ray or Bohemian Rhapsody. The reality of being in a band is of driving from place to place. Think of Bob Seger’s baleful “Turn the Page” with its opening lyric setting the place: “On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha,” where he’s “ridin’ sixteen hours and there’s nothin’ there to do.”
This raises an issue of where to drink in Miami. Of course, everything that’s magic about the Magic City comes from the fact that it’s stuck way out on a peninsula into the Caribbean Sea, only a hundred miles from the Bahamas. But sometimes you want to drink with live music, outside some big Ticketmastered event planned months in advance. And by van, Miami is five hours down I-95 from Jacksonville, seven from Savannah, and nine and a half from Atlanta. So usually only the biggest bands that tour by plane, or DJs who need nothing but a laptop, can make the economics of a tour stop in Miami work. If you want to grab a drink and catch some impromptu tunes, Miami’s not your city.
So what’s a music-loving drinker to do in Miami? Luckily, there’s a great answer in Lagniappe, a New Orleans-style wine bar with a tiny room, a gigantic patio and live music every single night. Walk in and head to the wall of fridges filled with affordable bottles and tightly packaged meats and cheeses. Pick a few, bring ’em up, and the staff will make you a beautiful charcuterie plate for a few bucks while you tap your toes. If you’re not into wine, good news: the craft beer selection can’t be beat.
On a busy night, you’ll find hundreds of the best kinds of Miamians, the ones who aren’t trying to look like they own a yacht or get bottle service. The only thing to interrupt the music is good conversation, good drinks, and the sound of the Brightline, America’s only privately-funded train — and therefore our only reliable and pleasant one — running between Miami and Orlando through Palm Beach. It speeds right by, reminding you you’re not really in NOLA. You’re in a city where anything’s possible, even catching great jazz and rock with a nice cold Sancerre, if you keep coming back. You’ll want to.
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s July 2023 World edition.
