MIAMI SPICE IS 25 YEARS OLD.
Happy fucking Birthday.

Since 2010, at this time of the year, I was already losing the few parts of sanity I had left, and I was already physically wrecked by the program. And I remember when people asked me if I was enjoying myself or if I liked it; the only thing I could do was smile and nod. That was my max; I just couldn’t do more. Because if I’d opened my mouth and spoke honestly, I would have trashed it without mercy and as ruthlessly as I could. So for the sake of everybody, it was better that I shut the fuck up.

The worst part is that I have lived and experienced it on both sides of the pass since I arrived in Miami. First, as a GM and then as an executive chef. So I am in the perfect position to talk about it. Been fucking there, done fucking that.
But it’s the first year I can have a look at it from a very comfortable distance because, for once, I am neither in a kitchen nor a dining room, and you have no idea how good this feels. I know I should feel sorry for all my peers, but I don’t. Seriously. Fuck it, you all asked for it, so you got what you wanted.
The thing is, what I hear, read, and see from my ivory tower doesn’t look so fine this year, and to be blunt, I’m sorry to shit on its parade, but Miami Spice has turned into a farce.
Why am I not surprised?

If we go back in time a bit. In 2002, hospitality in Miami was struggling after the 9/11 attacks that shattered tourism. So the Greater Miami Convention and Visitors Bureau came up with an idea: launching a rescue program for restaurants and hotels that would allow guests to have discounted menus in places they were not necessarily going on a regular basis. Noble, democratic, generous, and interesting.
About fifty-six brave, independent restaurants participated because they hoped it would be a lifeline. Although it was not supposed to become a fucking institution. It was just created to help hospitality cushion the blow during the dead summer so restaurants could pay the bills.
Back then, it was a bargain; the price was dirt cheap: a three-course lunch for $22 and a three-course dinner for $35.

2010 is the year where it took off for good and grew rapidly. So quickly that it ballooned past South Beach into Brickell and Wynwood. By then, 200 restaurants, give or take, believed in it and decided to rally the movement. This would have stayed a good idea if it had remained like that. If only. But nothing stays as is in Miami; we should know better.
But for some spoiled and ungrateful restaurant owners, it was no longer an emergency lifeline; it became part of the decorum. Worse: It became a trend, a habit.
So neighborhood joints started relying on it just to make sure they could get through the low season before the “winter”; I know there is no fucking winter in Miami, but you know what I mean. The GMCVB were so confident they slowly increased the price up to $39 and $42 to keep up with food costs. Bold move and nicely done. Sneaky fuckers.

In 2020, right after COVID, begging for its survival, they lowered the price to $25 for lunch/brunch and $39 for a three-course meal. A temporary sacrifice to help a decimated dining scene. Rest assured, this act of contrition did not last very long because by 2021 the city came back with a vengeance to reclaim its old glory with $28 for lunch and $42 for dinner.

Then came 2025. Miami Spice is in full swing, spiking to 300 disciples and presenting itself like the savior. The 60-day treatment for empty dining rooms and restaurants on the verge of financial breakdown. Have these people ever worked in a restaurant? Do they really think that just by mentioning its name or putting its logo on the window, restaurants will be able to appease high-end kitchens complaining about the margins getting tighter and tighter? Anyone?
And that year the exact opposite happened. Because the mother of all mistakes was to forget where it came from and why and who it was done for. Even worse, it turned back on its values and abandoned the flat pricing and came up with a multi-tier system at $45 and $60. Evidently more expensive, so restaurants could hide their true food costs behind a higher paywall.

Finally, 2026. Here we are, celebrating its 25th anniversary.
This year is a good vintage; more than 300 establishments showed up to the party. They all blew out the candles and stayed loyal to the program. But what did customers have in return? A $95 wrapped-up gift: GMCVB and restaurant owners sneaked the controversial “Miami Spice Reserve” tier. So regular dinners now run $50 to $65, while fancy venues can charge nearly a hundred bucks for a promotional menu. I even saw menus at $125.
A hundred bucks for a discount menu? Are you fucking serious? Who are we kidding?
It’s outrageous but logical, because the pricing now perfectly mirrors Miami’s bloated, overpriced dining scene.
Messiah complex? Lunacy? Arrogance?
The whole nine years.
But look at the numbers from the past 2 years. Have we reached the peak, or is something else going on?

Yes, things are moving. It’s the first year that I see dissidence rising, and a whiff of revolt is starting to split restaurant owners into two categories.
You got the corporate herd on one side. Obedient, still sticking with the program no matter what, trying to hold on to the margins because they could not survive on the old cheap prices, even though some are big guns belonging to groups with cash in their hands and PR on retainer. But those flashy tourist traps are completely terrified of a quiet dining room in August. And as they cannot afford to serve actual high-quality food at a true discount, they chose to continue to play the game…but…with a twist. Three actually.
Anything to stay alive, right? Even if it means to bend the rules?
So they came up with three strokes of genius. And the latest tricks of these corporate magicians are dishonesty, lies, and greed. In that order.

The secret menu strategy: Guests walk into the restaurant, but they don’t see the spice menu on the table. The managers hide it. They push guests to ask for it out loud, hoping that awkwardness or distraction will cause the poor suckers to cave and order from the expensive, full-priced à la carte menu instead. Clever bastards. Indeed, who wants to look cheap in front of their date?

The big lie: the $95 scam. Some luxury trendy apostles successfully lobbied for the new $95 “Reserve” level. It allows restaurants tailored for the happy few to slap the “Miami Spice” logo on their marketing while charging near normal prices. Wait, I thought the program was supposed to be the opposite, allowing people to eat for cheaper. Not anymore, apparently.
Well, at least not in Miami, because the city was more than happy to agree to it.

And finally, the big bluff: To protect their tight margins, kitchens aggressively cut portion sizes, substitute premium items with cheaper proteins, and pack plates with heavy starches. It still looks a little flashy because a sweet potato or a mashed potato looks good on a plate or on a post, and it fills the stomach. Voila!
Shameful.

But there is hope on the horizon, and Miami Spice should be careful because for a long time, restaurant owners believed that skipping it was commercial suicide. But in today’s dining landscape, walking away from it is clearly a declaration of independence. And it might be the solution.
This is where we find the other clan, the idealists, standing their ground. The mutiny has already started, and some now refuse to be under the cheap spell anymore and opt out of this two-month clusterfuck for three reasons:

One, being part of the club is far from being a free public service. It requires an upfront entry fee of around $1,000 just to get their names listed on the roster. That’s quite the admission fee to be part of the congregation.
Two, the books are cooked. It doesn’t add up. Now we know with experience that flooding a dining room with discount chasers who skip cocktails, split plates, share a glass of wine, and tip poorly on small checks cannot cover Miami’s skyrocketing rents, labor costs, and the inflation of goods. It just doesn’t fucking work anymore. But has it really ever?
That’s an interesting question. Actually that is the only one we should answer.

So some finally grew a pair, and now restaurants have the courage to protect their DNA: they’d rather save their identity and take better care of their yearly loyal regulars instead of surrendering to a massive and sudden flow of customers who will hurt the consistency of the kitchen and their reputation.
Well, I said, “Courage.” Forgive me, it’s common sense nowadays.
Refusing to surrender means you do not have to serve uninspired and falsely inflated menus.
You do not have to hide behind cheaper prix-fixe menus from regular customers to upcharge for basic ingredients.
So in the end, kitchens keep their sanity. Staff avoid the grueling burnout of executing hundreds of discounted three-course meals a night.
And customers are satisfied.
1+1+1=3.
For me it’s the only viable outcome. Because for the past 5 years, Miami’s glamorous dining scene has become completely disconnected from the everyday population. There is a reality that is becoming hard to ignore: over half of Miami-Dade households cannot comfortably afford basic necessities, yet the dining scene is obsessed with $275 omakase counters and $95 “reserve” tiers. If you want my opinion, there is something rotten in the kingdom of hospitality.

So here we are, stuck between a rock and a hard place, between plague and cholera, between cheap fast food and predatory, hyperglamorous trendy concepts where dinner for two requires a second mortgage.
But was this the plan all along? Isn’t there something seriously fucked up in the making?
Let’s admit that it is quite an achievement to have sacrificed the local crowd for social media clout, overpriced cocktails, and transient vacation spending. and in the meantime, waving bye-bye to the middle class. I have to give them that. Although I have to tip my hat off, talking about sweet talking—and coming from a French person, you can take it as a compliment—they made diners believe that they were experiencing a chef’s true talent during Spice. In reality, they are getting a rushed, high-volume catering service.
Let me tell you this: at this pace, this farce won’t last long because it’s a lose-lose for both the restaurant and the guests.

The good news is that there is a cure for this madness. And we now know how to slow down this frenzy and come back to earth. We need neighborhood bistros where locals can actually go instead of getting ripped off in those so-called temples of gastronomy. Restaurants where there is a straightforward menu, honest food, and consistent reasonable prices. We need places where the focus is on the regular neighborhood guests, in a nutshell, normal restaurants for normal people, instead of 14-word tacky meal descriptions.
I know it’s easier said than done; it sounds like a fairy tale, but hospitality shouldn’t need a two-month corporate band-aid. We need to rise and break ranks. We must have the balls to ditch the promo merry-go-round and open stable, honest, neighborhood-focused spots for the local community that actually lives here.
Now that’s a fucking ballsy pledge; the problem is who is willing to take it.
The truth is if you listen to chefs, we are all on the same page. We are the first ones who are fed up with those corporate luxury marbled cafeterias with chandeliers, a fucking DJ, and no soul.
Me, I’d sign it today if I could; that’s the exact restaurant I’d open. Ok, I don’t have the money to open a restaurant. But some restaurant owners will have to.

Let’s face it, the model is broken, and sooner or later, it will be clear that reclaiming the Miami dining scene is the only option. Because Miami Spice has lost its purpose and has completely broken the promise it was supposed to deliver. To give every day local residents the chance to try the expensive spots or fine-dining scene for two months. The illusion of the seasonal discount is officially shattered. And the recent wave of high-profile restaurant closures across Miami proves that the flash-and-hype business experience is on thin ice. So I guess I’m not that wrong.
But it won’t happen without the will and the help of investors, landlords, and restaurant owners. The problem is, they have different agendas, so good luck.
So the future of the program has never been so uncertain because of the GMCVB’s stubbornness and the illusions of grandeur of Miami’s hospitality. Both actors are so out of touch with reality that it might force drastic changes within a year or two. And we have already seen the premises of it.

Two restaurants that opened here with real fanfare last year—Las’ Lap and La Grande Boucherie—have both decided to close for the summer, with no reopening date, right in the middle of Miami Spice season. Sound familiar? Byblos, Lucky Cat, and Sereia—the same move as last year. The bad news is we have already seen places shutting down out of the fucking blue, and some never came back.
Ironically, La Grande Boucherie is still listed by GMCVB as a 2026 spice participant, while its own site says it’s closed. We can agree at that point that nobody knows what the fuck is going on anymore.
Careful, it might give ideas to others; sliding back to the old rhythm—closed for the dead months.

This is a real concern for the GMCVB and for restaurants if they don’t want the city to become abandoned and forgotten for two months every goddamn year. And if this program wants to continue to exist, it will need to get back to the roots of its identity; otherwise, we might see a drastic change.
At the same time, we desperately need to find a way to revitalize neighborhoods and bring life back to those streets; otherwise, I am afraid the wake-up call is going to be brutal. So before we end up with empty spaces, dead blocks, massive unemployment, and people only ordering on Uber Eats, Miami needs to wake the fuck up.
Otherwise, it will be too late—for the city, the restaurants, us employees, and you, the guests.

8/20/26

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