Bite the beaches

Read This First

What follows is honest commentary—sometimes humorous, sometimes blunt—but never meant to be malicious. I’m not here to tear down restaurants or root against them. Quite the opposite. I want to see them thrive.

These observations come from experience and from paying attention. If something sounds critical, it’s because pretending everything is perfect doesn’t help owners improve or guests make informed choices. Consider this an outside perspective, shared with good intentions and a sense of humor.

This week’s review comes with a mix of curiosity, history, and a few raised eyebrows.

Before we even talk about what’s on the plate or in the glass, it’s worth starting with the building itself. Both Proof and its next-door neighbor Ethos were constructed years before either space ever had a restaurant concept in mind. And honestly? For their time, they were very well designed—clean lines, modern proportions, and a look that felt far more urban than suburban.

You could even say they were a little… ahead of their time.
Maybe too ahead of their time for Wilton Manors back then—a small town that hadn’t quite decided it was ready for sleek, progressive architecture that looked like it had wandered in from a much bigger city. These buildings showed up early, dressed for the future, while the neighborhood was still figuring out the present.

In other words, they were doing modern before modern was cool around here—and they’ve been quietly waiting ever since for the right concepts to catch up.

Over the years, this building has played host to a revolving cast of restaurant concepts—Pinche Taqueria, Mind Your Manors, Chef Nate’s, and now Proof. Think of it less as a single address and more as a culinary witness protection program.

Each concept arrived with its own vision, menu, and optimism, hoping to be the one that finally made it stick. Some stayed briefly, some hung on longer, and all left their mark in one way or another. If these walls could talk, they’d probably ask for a cocktail and a nap.

Now, Proof steps in as the latest chapter, carrying both the opportunity and the challenge of a space that’s clearly not short on personality—or history.

I think it note worthy to bring this up so we don’t get confused, You may notice Proof proudly mentioning a “#1 Chef” award. For clarity, this was a reader-voted honor decided earlier in the year—before Proof ever opened—and not an award based on this kitchen or its current menu. It also helps to remember that at Bubbles & Pearls, the chef most people associated with the food was Chef Josie, which longtime locals will recall.

So think of this less as a culinary trophy and more as a community popularity nod. Perfectly fine for marketing—but, as always, the real proof is what shows up on the plate.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s talk about Proof itself—because credit is absolutely due where it’s earned. The interior transformation is very well done. The space finally feels intentional, polished, and comfortable in its own skin.

The color palette works beautifully, the design feels cohesive, and—perhaps most importantly—it no longer looks like it’s waiting for its next identity crisis. Everything feels thought through, from the tones to the textures, with just enough warmth to invite you in and just enough style to remind you you’re somewhere a little special.

For the first time in a long while, this building doesn’t feel like it’s auditioning for its next concept. It feels like it knows who it is.

Now time to eat !!!

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Let’s talk about the menu. Proof offers several categories: Small Plates, My Size Plates, Salads, and—last but not least—“Feeling Fancy.”

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love options as much as the next person. But this is where things started to get a little confusing. I found myself staring at a menu that, honestly, made no sense at all. Small Plate I understand. Salad—fair enough. But My Size Plate? Feeling Fancy? At that point I wasn’t ordering, I was taking a personality quiz.

After much internal debate, I landed on the Naan-Stop Curry Mussels, which lives in the “My Size Plate” category. It arrived with a side of bite-size pita bread, and to be fair, the mussels themselves were very well prepared—perfectly cooked, nicely seasoned, and with just the right amount of curry.

That said… when you label something “My Size Plate,” expectations are set. And I have to say, eight mussels does not feel like my size. It felt more like a suggestion. Or perhaps “My Size, If I Already Ate Somewhere Else.”

Delicious? Yes. Filling? Not exactly.

My dinner guest ordered the Dumpling Pot Pie, also from the “My Size Plate” section. What arrived, however, was not what either of us would reasonably describe as “my size.”

Instead, sitting in the middle of the table was a tiny little baby ramekin, topped with a delicate puff pastry, looking like it had somehow wandered away from its family. The look on my guest’s face went beyond surprise—it was the quiet realization that expectations and reality had just had a very brief meeting.

Honestly, it made you want to pick it up, cradle it, and reassure it. There it sat, all alone, doing its very best, but clearly overwhelmed by the title it had been given. If this was “My Size Plate,” then apparently my size is closer to espresso cup than dinner entrée.

Charming? Yes. Comforting? Possibly. Filling? Not unless emotional nourishment counts.

Both dishes were priced at $16 each, which on its own isn’t unreasonable. But when the plates arrived, it quickly became clear that what we’d ordered felt less like ” MY SIZE PLATE” and more like a very polite snack.

The food was enjoyable—but the portions left us with that familiar feeling of having eaten just enough to still be hungry. The kind of hunger where you start looking at each other and silently agreeing that this was the pregame, and now we needed to go somewhere else for the main event.

At that point, the question wasn’t what to order next—it was where.

Final verdict

If you’re “feeling fancy,” you’ll be happy—if you’re feeling hungry, eat first. because the real proof should come on the plate, not in the marketing.

Until the next time ” Take these thought’s with a light heart playful view ” Wishing Proof and staff all the best with their new venture.