The world is so, so, so much better in color.

When I told my brother-in-law I was participating in something called The Color Run, he thought I was running in a race for racial equality. The Color Run, he stressed to me. Racing for racial justice, right? he asked.

Not quite, bro. What The Color Run is is a 5k run that’s more about fun and colorful hijinks than medals and finishing time. Its self-proclamation as the “happiest 5K on the planet” is no doubt appropriate. In its first year, The Color Run leads all other 5K races with the most participants, about 600,000 finishers in 2012. It’s even made the cover of the recent Runner’s World.

The recent downtown Fort Lauderdale tour stop was this past Sunday, Cinco de Mayo of all days. And as someone who’s participated in a handful of races, yes, this one was easily the happiest one in which I’ve raced. (Man, they are good at their slogan creation!) There’s such happy camaraderie amongst complete strangers. Unlike other races I’ve participated in, there’s absolutely no pressure to perform, no expectations and no disappointment. Without all that silly pressure, it absolutely makes sense that an air of joy and happiness permeates.

Interested in running one? Here’s what to expect:

Race
- It’s for people of all experience levels. Walkers are welcomed, strollers as well. Kids, adults, teens, seniors, and everyone in between were there on Sunday.
- Since all types of runners/walkers will be there, definitely don’t expect a typical, more serious race. For some, this will be their first-ever official run. So if you’re a serious runner, take this race with a grain of salt. For example, I had a hard time remembering that some folks may not know to keep to the right if they are a bit slower. My bad if I bowled you over!
- Since there are so many participants, the race blasts off in waves that are about 10 minutes a part. So you don’t have to strictly arrive on time as you can get in with subsequent waves.

Color
- The colors are made of some sort of colorful dust. Not harmful at all, but definitely don’t mistake it for Pixy Stix. Yuck!
- It’s inevitable. You’re going to be color bombed. Deal with it.
- There were five main color stations. At our race, separate stations are strategically located  to blast you with either orange, yellow, green, pink and eventually blue.

Tips
- Wear some sort of eyewear to protect your eyes from an unsuspecting color bomb. Cheap-o sunglasses are a good thing.
- To prevent the color dust from seeping up your nostrils or in your mouth, wear a bandana or cover.
- While the color is meant to wash off, understandably some stains can be pretty stubborn. So don’t wear anything you don’t want to get colored on.
- As if this wasn’t obvious enough: Bring a change of clothes and at least two towels to wipe off with and/or use to protect your car seats from staining.
- Normal race-day prep is suggested: Sunblock, lip balm with SPF, hydrate like a mofo, yada, yada.

Here four members of our seven-member team, which we aptly named Live Free or Dye Hard.

The start line is packed with runners.

With clean clothes on our backs, we present our “before” shot.

The Color Run’s mascot is, well, a unicorn that runs – which makes it a Runicorn.

Word.

Why, thank you! I do feel welcomed.

A little post-race jumping never hurt anybody.

Looks like he’s auditioning to be the next Beast in the “X-Men” movie.

And there goes some more color.

What is it like to lose a body part? How devastating is it to miss a physical part of you? After one woman coped with the concept of losing her breast after surviving cancer, one plastic surgeon rallied to give back a part of her that could have been lost forever.

With no health insurance, Laura Ostrer (left) underwent breast cancer surgery and reconstruction. Ostrer did not know how she would pay for the reconstruction, but Dr. Matthew Goodwin (right) was the physician who got her through the reconstructive surgery. // Photos by Edward Linsmier.

Whenever Laura Ostrer lifted her shirt, she said she looked like a monster. Her left breast was gone. Her nipple was removed as well. In their places were a half-dozen protruding scars and a lumpy bubble where an expander was placed under her skin. When she gazed in the mirror, she couldn’t see herself – at least not the self she knew. That feminine, spunky woman she’s known for the past 59 years was no longer looking back at her. And that was devastating.

“I had all kinds of drainage scars and a big gashing scar under here,” Ostrer says, tracing a line with her index finger from her mid-breast laterally to her side, under her arm. “I had another big scar that made me look like Frankenstein.”

She lets out a deep sigh and looks up.

“You get used to it. Sort of,” she shrugs quietly. “Then you realize these are battle scars.”

After undergoing a total mastectomy on April 17, 2012 perpetuated by three tumors in her left breast, Ostrer’s chest was decimated. And, if surviving breast cancer and undergoing invasive surgery wasn’t enough, to compound matters Ostrer didn’t have health insurance. To put it simply, she didn’t have many options.

Sadly, no part of Ostrer’s story is unique. It is expected this year alone that about 232,340 new cases of invasive breast cancer will surface in women living in the U.S., according to the American Cancer Society’s estimates. And with about 23 percent of Broward County women and 21 percent of Palm Beach County women ages 25 and older living without health insurance, the treatment options for these women – much less reconstruction of the breast – are limited.

A little history

In 1998 the Women’s Health and Cancer Rights Act was passed that made mandatory coverage of reconstructive surgery and the cost of the implant for women undergoing mastectomies who were covered by insurance. Too, symmetry procedures to ensure the other breast mirrored the prosthetic one were covered. Breast reconstruction and implants were no longer considered solely “cosmetic” or “elective.” The revolutionary edict changed the lives of thousands of women who were devastated not only with the cancer diagnosis, but also the loss of a body part so associated with their sense of being a woman.

But for the thousands of other women who don’t have insurance or who are denied coverage, they have to find other routes to pay for their mastectomies. And once that’s discovered, reconstruction is a whole different animal.

Like everyone else, Laura Ostrer never thought she was going to get sick. By all previous estimates, she was a healthy person. Up until the diagnosis last year, her skin glowed, her hair shined, and admittedly, she didn’t like to lie down unless, as she says, “I was on my deathbed.” The only time she needed to see the doctor was a few years ago to remove a piece of iron from her hand when she tripped and fell on an ill-placed garden sculpture.

Ironically, Ostrer was diagnosed with cancer during the only time in her life in which she wasn’t covered by health insurance. They say cancer doesn’t discriminate, and in this case, it doesn’t discriminate between those insured and those who are not.

Originally from Great Neck, N.Y., Ostrer moved to Boca Raton in 2005 with some savings she amassed from her real estate career. After moving to Florida, Ostrer got a license to sell real estate and do property appraisal. She was self-employed, and when it came time to buy health coverage for herself, Ostrer was stuck deciding whether or not she could pay the $10,000-a-year coverage. The vacillation became a moot point when one insurance company denied her coverage after her New York general practitioner did not send her medical records in time. Ostrer thought she could manage living with no health benefits until the real estate market picked up so she could comfortably afford coverage and stop living off her savings. After all, she was healthy.

And then she got cancer.

“I never thought in a million years that this was going to happen to me,” she says from her screened-in back patio, where she sits on a cushioned chair, right leg dangling atop her left. Dressed in a loose, black cotton long-sleeved shirt with a scoop neck that shows just a peek of the star tattoo above her left breast that she got when she was 17, Ostrer looks far healthier today than she did a year ago. She lives with her Yorkshire terrier, Cricket, in a quiet Boca Raton town home that was left to her and her brother after their father passed. With the sound of Bob Dylan’s scratchy voice from her iPod speaker filling the dead air, Ostrer recounts how her life took a turn. A remarkably independent, educated woman who raised her son alone and saw him through law school in Michigan, Ostrer never felt the need to rely on anyone except herself.

And then she got cancer.

She first felt the hard lump in her left breast in January 2012. Like most women, she wasn’t even looking for it. Her thumb grazed it as she was shifting around. The lump was firm, pea-sized and stationary. It didn’t hurt when she touched it, but her breast ached. Right away, “I knew it wasn’t good news,” Ostrer says. “My breast was achy for about a year, but I didn’t know there was a lump growing in there.”

Insurance is a funny thing. Just like an eager waiter who checks on your table too many times when you don’t need him and then disappears when you do, insurance seems to come and go at inopportune times. Now with no health benefits, Ostrer called a radiologist friend from North Carolina for advice. Call Komen right away, the friend said. Get into their system because they have grants for people just like you.

Ostrer picked up the phone and dialed Susan. G Komen for the Cure, the nation’s largest breast cancer organization, and asked how she could qualify for a breast cancer grant that would cover her surgery. And – get this – she hadn’t even seen the doctor yet. Her cancer wasn’t yet diagnosed. All she knew was she needed to get into the Komen system if her fears were met.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Ostrer remembers. “I never had cancer before. And, I never had been without health care insurance before.”

Ostrer received that Komen grant, which covered the mastectomy. Relief hit her. The majority of a surgery that was potentially $80,000 in costs was going to be covered. And after getting an MRI on her breasts, it was discovered she had not one, not two, but three lesions in her left breast. Her surgeon, Dr. Robyn Moncrief, said there was no choice but to do a total mastectomy. Bluntly put, Ostrer’s left breast was going to be taken from her.

Medical Mavericks

In many ways, Ostrer is the county’s luckiest unlucky woman. She’s a woman who rolled the dice in a high-stakes gambling game, went all in on a promising hand, only to end up losing the lot. But as they say, all you need is a chip and a chair, and you’re still in the game.

On March 30, during her second visit with Dr. Moncrief, the physician brought up a name that would forever impact Ostrer: Dr. Matthew Goodwin. Moncrief said that because they were probably going to take Ostrer’s entire left breast, she’d need a good plastic surgeon to reconstruct it, and Moncrief recommended Goodwin.

On her first office visit with Goodwin, weeks prior to her surgery, Ostrer remembers Goodwin greeting her with a friendly, “Oh, so you’re Laura O. I’ve heard so much about you,” alluding to Moncrief and Goodwin’s previous conversations about the patient.

“Keep in mind, I hadn’t cried yet,” Ostrer says. “But when we started talking about reconstruction, that’s when I broke down. Because it really hit me that I was losing a piece of my … my breasts.”

For those who go through life never having to worry about losing a limb, a physical part that helps identify a whole, it’s difficult to equate the profound impact of losing one’s breasts. No amount of writing, no epic documentary or movie will ever be able to emote the profound feeling one has when confronted with the removal of his or her body part.

Chances are Goodwin will never personally know what it’s like to lose his breasts. (Statistics show that 1 in every 8 women will be faced with invasive breast cancer, whereas it’s 1 in 1,000 for men.) But as a plastic surgeon who completed a fellowship in breast reconstruction, the Palm Beach County-based doctor has worked with countless patients who have lost their breasts from cancer treatment – and can understand the loss is much deeper than aesthetics.

“I would think if someone was cutting off a part of me, I would miss it,” Dr. Matthew Goodwin empathizes. “If someone was cutting my arm off, I’d miss it.”

A humble man who approaches his job with workman-like tactics, Goodwin is perhaps the antithesis of the Hollywood-inspired “Dr. 90210” and the narcissistic plastic surgeons on “Nip/Tuck.” He grew up in Virginia with a peripheral interest in becoming a doctor. His father’s friend was a physician, and Goodwin remembers laughing along with Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable on “The Cosby Show.” But after applying to medical school and watching a plastics case, Goodwin was hooked.

“I was just amazed,” he recalls. “It was like engineering with people’s bodies on the outside.”

And as he accepted Ostrer as a patient, that’s what he was hoping to do: Give her the body that would make all the pains of breast cancer go away and allow her to smile again.

Moving Forward

“I don’t remember the first time looking at myself after the mastectomy,” Ostrer says. “I really don’t remember what it was like. It looks like that the second, the third and every other time you look at it, so you forget about the first time you look at it.”

What she does remember are the scars, her lack of a nipple, and the tarnished look of a woman who had gone to war and come back to fight again.

Ostrer never considered going without reconstructive surgery. She didn’t want to be left with one side of her chest intact and the other flat. Some studies say reconstructive surgery and implants improve the psychological and emotional health of a woman who has had breast cancer, and for Ostrer, it was something she felt she needed. But there was one problem: The Komen foundation did not cover reconstructive surgery. And Ostrer didn’t have the money to pay for this procedure that could cost up to $8,000.

As Ostrer says, “I was going to beg, borrow and steal” to pay Goodwin for his service.

“I couldn’t think of dollars and cents at that point,” she says. “They give you enough time to recover from surgery physically, but not mentally and emotionally,” she says of the medical system and surgery schedule.

“It’s hard,” she says, her voice trailing off. “It was hard for me,” her voice repeats.

Goodwin was in the operating room for Ostrer’s mastectomy, there to place the expander once the breast tissue was removed. He saw her a handful more times throughout the year for follow-up visits, to fill the expander with saline, change to a permanent implant, and then perform the nipple construction.

It wasn’t until about the third visit that Ostrer discovered her reconstructive surgeries (three in total) were going to be done at no charge to her. As she sat in a chair at Dr. Goodwin’s office, Ostrer was in total disbelief.

“I told him I was so grateful,” she remembers. “And then I started to cry.”

Dr. Moncrief, Ostrer’s breast surgeon, isn’t surprised by Goodwin’s actions. As a breast surgeon, Moncrief sees several hundreds of patients a year. And, in her estimates about 4 to 5 percent of them do not have health benefits. In fact, when she mentioned to Goodwin last year that she had an uninsured patient about to undergo a mastectomy, he said to Moncrief, “Send her my way. I’ll see what I can do.”

“We have a multitude of plastic surgeons in Boca, but there are only a handful of surgeons who want to do this type of surgery,” Moncrief says, referring to breast reconstruction surgery in general. “Matt is one of my go-to guys all the time. He cares about what he does. Laura’s story is what it is. There are plenty of women who are insured and not insured. … We are very fortunate in Boca to have doctors who donate their time and get companies to donate the implants. They really go above and beyond. And Matt’s one of them. He’s really good at his craft, well trained and really generous.”

To this day, Goodwin downplays his free procedure as something anyone would have done if they could. He says he’s not the only doctor who takes on cases like Laura Ostrer’s. He’s careful to say he’s done nothing extraordinary. He brings up the fact he knows several plastic surgeons who mitigate cleft palates and do other forms of mission work that are greater than his own actions. He thinks it’s a physician’s duty to provide for those in need, as he has in the past with Project Medishare, a non-profit that provides care for those in Haiti, his mother’s birthplace.

He’s here to make a living and provide for his family, Goodwin says, so he can’t do all cases pro bono, nor would that be fair to his office and surgical teams and the slew of other people whose time and talents are involved. He can count the number of times on both his hands and feet that he’s been able to donate his work since he moved to Florida six years ago with digits left to spare.

But some part of Ostrer’s story must have struck him. “She’s already going through a traumatic experience of going through breast cancer and having her breast cut off, so she should have the right to have reconstruction,” Goodwin reasons. “I think every woman should.”

As for Ostrer, life is picking up for her. She just needs to get her areola tattooed, and her reconstruction will be complete. She’s in the process of renewing her real estate license and currently taking continuing education courses for it. She has a boyfriend, Larry, who stood by her during the mastectomy, and her son is considering moving from New York to Florida to be closer to his mother.

Ostrer still doesn’t have insurance, which is one reason she hasn’t made appointments for follow-up breast diagnoses. But despite her hardships, she knows life has dealt her a fortunate hand in which she’s thankful she can continue to play. With much appreciation to a few remarkable people, Ostrer managed to turn a chip and a chair into a new life.

Tucked away from the bustling Atlantic Avenue, the Sundy House is a nod to Old Florida.

The first time I heard about the Sundy House was nearly seven years ago. It was when I began working at Gulfstream Media Group, and we printed a mention about its restaurant. And, we misspelled its name.

“Sunday House,” we called it. We wrote that the “Sunday House” has the area’s best Sunday brunch. “Sundy” and “Sunday”: The bloody venue name and day of the week are just asking for us to misspell something! Still, in journalism circles, that’s what we call an #epicfail.

Today the Sundy House – and its spelling – are pretty much indoctrinated in me as I write. And after finally attending a Sunday brunch last week, there’s no way I’ll ever misspell the name again. Here are some highlights:

Brunch: The Sunday brunch here is glorious. The food is spread over a series of rooms, basically overflowing with fine and fresh cuisines. There’s a seafood station (crab legs, oysters and cooked shrimp), a dessert bar, omelette station, carving station, salad bar and make-your-own bloody mary station. Champagne, mimosas, bellinis and bloody marys are all unlimited. And confirming our suspicions, our server has said that yes, there tends to be a correlation between the unlimited drinks and things “getting out of hand” and “interesting” toward the end of every brunch hour.

Chefs: Chef Lindsay Autry is hands down amazing. I had the pleasure of meeting and dining at The Omphoy when she opened it alongside her mentor, Michelle Bernstein. I can still taste the phenomenal octopus dish she created that night, nearly three years ago. Chef Lindsey Autry came onboard the Sundy House last year to much fanfare. After watching her religiously on “Top Chef Texas,” where she nearly won the whole thing, it’s incredibly humbling to know a chef of this caliber has chosen to call South Florida and the Sundy House her home.

Since she’s arrived, Autry has eased back the restaurant’s roots to a more organic, locally cured, seasonal menu. She’s utilizing the property’s magnificent gardens and growing some fresh produce there. “We have so many beautiful fruits here on property, that it’s a shame if we don’t use them,” Autry says of the more than 5,000 plants on site.

Too, she’s scaled the dinner and lunch menus to a refined, yet approachable style. She takes chances when she can (“I’ve even introduced octopus on the menu,” she says) and notes modifying guests’ palates will take some time (“There’s a group of ladies who lunch all the time here,” Autry says. “And when we took the chicken salad sandwich off the menu, they were so upset. We just told them they could get a great chicken salad sandwich down the street, but here we’re serving other things.”)

Not to be outdone is Chef Sarah Sipe, the restaurant’s pastry chef, also from The Omphoy. Her dessert creations touch every part of the Sundy House restaurant, from brunch, lunch to dinner.

Not just for brunch: “We want the public to know that the Sundy House does more than brunches,” says Bruce Siegel, the GM of the property. Another Omphoy employee, Siegel has a point I had yet to think about. With Chefs Lindsay Autry and Sarah Sipe on board, it would be worrisome to confine them to supervising only vats of bacon and omelette stations (which I wouldn’t be against, by the way). While we may automatically think of the restaurant as place to dine on a relaxing early Sunday afternoon, it’s looking to become more of a destination for your weekday dinner or romantic spot for two.

Water: The water served at the Sundy House deserves a bullet point all by itself. It’s that notable. It’s a triple-filtered variety purified by HydroSecure. I was told the filtration system (located on property) is commissioned by the U.S. government and basically is better than the Brita filter I buy for my home.

Venue: Sundy House was established in 1902 for the city’s mayor, Mr. John Sundy. It’s registered with the National Register of Historic Places, and with all this rich history, it’s no surprise the property is a relaxing respite from the hustle and bustle of South Florida. Put your flashy clothing and jewelry away, and just enjoy what nature has in store for you. The dining areas include outdoor options among the gardens and gazebo, as well as open-air rooms.

The Sundy House is also an inn with 11 guest rooms and suites. They average two weddings a weekend during the peak season. There’s even a Cenote swimming pool, the only naturalized freshwater hotel swimming pool in the state (no chlorine touches this water).

A gazebo serves as a dining area at the Sundy House.

Make-your-own-bloody-mary station

Former NFL player Twan Russell founded his Reading Room for at-risk youths. // Jason Arnold Photography

Quite Literally 
Former NFL player Twan Russell looks to tackle illiteracy.

Twan Russell has a Kermit the Frog figurine sitting at the edge of his desk, perched toward the back of his L-shaped workspace. There’s a wind-up lever on the back of the foot-high statue that belts out a tune when twisted. And in Russell’s sheepish words, “My office was the only place I could put it… I mean, I couldn’t put this in my home.”

The figurine’s a bit out of place in Russell’s otherwise sparsely decorated office – the only other form of décor is a huge University of Miami “U” sticker affixed to one credenza – located on the third floor of Sun Life Stadium, where he works as the Dolphins’ director of youth and community programs. But if the Kermit the Frog statue symbolizes anything other than an ill-advised tsatske purchase, it’s Russell’s ability to tap into his fun side and connect with area youths with his foundation, The Russell Life Skills and Reading Foundation.

The former NFL linebacker who played seven years in the league, including three seasons with the Miami Dolphins, co-founded a non-profit organization that quite literally does what its name says. It not only works to improve the reading skills of children in Broward and Miami-Dade counties, the charity also strives to push youths to be better people, students and members of society.

To understand why Russell decided in 1999 to create an organization that looks to eradicate illiteracy, one must understand his background. The middle of five boys, Russell describes his South Florida childhood as “humble.” He played football at St. Thomas Aquinas High School, where he says he was a decent student. But something happened around his sophomore year that changed everything: He read his first book.

“Well, I mean, I’ve read books before,” Russell, the tall, fit 37-year-old, clarifies as he chuckles. But he said he finally read a novel on his own from cover to cover. A man with an easy temperament and a strong belief in his faith, Russell says that moment lead him to where he is today. Up until that point, he flew under the radar at school and home by reading books via CliffsNotes and other shortcuts. But when he finally sat down to actually understand how a novel evolved, that’s when he realized he was missing out.

Russell can’t remember what that first novel was (he thinks it’s The Great Gatsby), but he uses that feeling of literary awareness in his foundation. Nearly 10,000 kids have enrolled in the foundation, which offers after-school teaching in areas like Hollywood, Miramar, North Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Currently 60 certified teachers work for the foundation and each have a goal of improving enrollees’ reading skills by at least one grade level. “Our brains are atrophying,” Russell says, acknowledging everyday activities like texting and tweeting may be leading to poorer reading and spelling skills. “Our program looks to work it out,” he says.

And he’s a follower of his own de-atrophying code. To this day Russell, a father of three who lives in Plantation, refuses to write “UR” instead of “your” in his text messages.

The Ritz-Carlton, Sarasota melds sophisticated elegance with casual Gulf Coast style.

Feeling Sarasota
Florida’s wild west is explored.

My memories of Sarasota include tensing up my body with the thought of seeing a naked woman parade down the processional aisle to the sounds of “Pomp and Circumstance.” You see, in 2000 my brother graduated from Sarasota’s own New College, an honors college for the liberal arts. And if you know anything about New College, well, at important affairs, like graduation, business suits are often substituted for birthday ones.

So more than 11 years later, I figure eradicating that thought would only do me some good. This past summer I saw Sarasota in a new way – as an adult. Doing adult things. Like enjoying refreshing frozen drinks at the only luxury hotel in the area. We stayed at The Ritz-Carlton, Sarasota, which actually happens to be two properties: one located on the bay and the other on the beach.

Let’s start with the bayside property. This is where all the guest rooms and suites are located, and where the fabulous Mobil Four-Star signature restaurant Vernona sits. Upon arriving, our affable bellman introduced us to the property, answering the normal amount of annoying questions journalists tend to have. We arrived just in time for Sunday brunch at Vernona, to which our bellman politely walked us. The restaurant has outside seats available overlooking the beautiful bay, and the non-pretentious atmosphere makes dining there appropriate for couples, families and everyone else in between.

And if the bayside property is where guests go to rest, then The Beach Club at Lido Key is where guests go for fun. A shuttle ride away from each other (complimentary shuttle service is available), The Beach Club is a members-only club that hotel guests are able to take advantage of. Two pools and a gorgeous beach are at guests’ disposal as well as the yummy casual cuisines and drinks from The Beach Club Grill. Ritz staff members are always within a few steps in the event you want to order something while lounging on the beach or at the pool.

Did my recent trip to Sarasota erase any cringing memories I previously had? Sure it did. No longer is the thought of a naked body cruising down the aisle the only thing emblazoned in my mind when I think of this great city. But in case you were wondering, no, a naked body did not appear 11 years ago at my brother’s graduation. Only the multiple threats of one did.

This article originally appeared in the Dec. 2011 issue of Gold Coast magazine.

Chef Angelo Elia is the owner of D’Angelo Trattoria and Casa D’Angelo. // Gina Fontana

This article originally appeared in the March 2012 issue of Gold Coast magazine.

Food Maestro
Chef Angelo Elia has cooking in his blood.

Chef Angelo Elia doesn’t get much sleep these days. He’s lucky if he clocks in two or three hours. On New Year’s Day, after working at his restaurant until 4:30 a.m., he managed three and a half hours of sleep. And that might have been too much for him.

Born outside Salerno, Italy, in 1962, Elia’s story is not unlike other Italian immigrants. There are lows, there are highs, there’s speaking Italian, learning English, poverty, pride, love, regret and, finally, deep reflection. But most of all, there’s food. Lots of it.

A thoughtful man with street-smart intuition and a chameleon-like ability to speak about a potpourri of subjects, Elia has worked his way up from poverty to being one of the most respected chefs in the Southeast. Today he’s quietly sitting in the corner of his latest restaurant, D’Angelo Trattoria in Delray Beach, one of five restaurants he owns, drinking a Lavazza espresso with one Sugar in the Raw packet stirred in.

Life is good, he begins. I work hard, but I love it, he says. It seems Elia knows no life other than working and working harder. The son of restaurant and butcher shop owners, which included a mother who “is a wonderful, wonderful cook,” Elia has worked ever since he was 12 years old. And as he puts it, he grew up with cooking in his blood. He left Italy when he was 14 to visit a cousin in the States. And, to the dismay of his parents,  he never left.

He worked his way up from dishwasher to chef of New York’s prestigious La Sistina restaurant. He left New York after being recruited by Dennis Max to open one of the restaurateur’s establishments in South Florida. Finally, in 1996 Elia opened his first restaurant under his own name, Fort Lauderdale’s Casa D’Angelo. A family man who’s fiercely devoted to his two children, Elia also works with his wife, the Brazilian-born Denise, at his Fort Lauderdale restaurants. I couldn’t imagine a better partner, he says.

One could say Elia today is a far cry from that 14-year-old boy who came to America 36 years ago. Just last year, Elia was asked to prepare a white-truffle meal for the famed James Beard House in New York City. Elia and his team brought in 21 pounds of white truffle and infused them into his dinner of risotto, bison filet mignon and foie gras.

“I was told it was one of the best dinners [the organization] ever had,” Elia says proudly.

A man with a simple motto (“I like to treat everyone the way I want to be treated”), Elia dreams of making great dishes each and every day. If he were to prepare his finest meal to serve to others, perhaps a last meal, dinner courses would include fettuccine with fresh white truffle and veal chop with Barolo sauce.

And when asked what he’d want for his last meal, Elia is contemplative. “A really juicy, well-done corned beef sandwich,” he says with a hint of a smile. “I love corned beef sandwiches.”

But then he takes a second to rethink. “No, I’d probably want something different,” he murmurs.

“Homemade fusilli pasta with fresh tomato and mozzarella,” he concludes. “Simplicity. That’s what I like. It’s one of my favorite dishes my mother makes.”

And who would you share this final meal with?

“My family. If it’s my final meal, why wouldn’t I want to be with the people I love?” he asks, smiling, while taking the last sip of his espresso.

David Maymon wants to impact the world. // Jason Arnold Photography

This article originally appeared in the March issue of Gold Coast magazine.

A Leading Advocate
David Maymon has his eyes set on changing the world.

Chances are if you ask David Maymon how he’s doing, he’ll reply, “I’m grateful.” And on any given day, that’s exactly how he’s doing. The businessman, sometimes-politician, activist and innovator has led a life of extreme gratitude. And now he’s looking to pay it forward and backward.

Sitting forward in his executive’s chair at his Lauderhill office, hands intertwined, Maymon looks poised to change the world. And at 34 years old, there’s no doubt in his mind he one day will.

To understand why Maymon is so grateful, one only has to look at his past life. A lawyer by education, Maymon was working in a high-profiled, high-pressured law firm in Chicago. After toiling through the strenuous, ungrateful days, simply put, Maymon was fed up.

“It was 8:23 p.m. on a Sunday,” Maymon remembers with pinpoint accuracy. “It was at that second that I experienced a moment of clarity.”

He got up, walked to his co-worker’s office and said he was leaving the firm. And that marked the first day Maymon began his journey of changing the world.

A man with great conviction and belief in his ideas, Maymon didn’t call it quits in any other part of his life. If anything, he was invigorated. Born in Broward County, Maymon came back home to start the change. He began one segment at a time. First, he began looking at the senior and baby-boom generations. As a man who always engaged well with seniors (“I was always close to my grandparents,” Maymon explains), in 2007 he created Advocate Home Care Services, a unique agency that brings qualified health-care aides to a patient’s home for care ranging from a few hours to round-the-clock.

But how he differed this agency from others was through the level of care he required each aide and administrator to provide their patients. New aides must go through a sensitivity training class to better understand the natural impairments older individuals deal with on a daily basis. Maymon says he’s even implemented an exercise that mimics what it’s like to be a senior citizen, asking new employees to wear foggy goggles to stimulate visual impairment, all in an effort to gain the perspective older citizens have.

“Some people have left that training in tears,” Maymon says.

And it seems the training is paying off. Advocate Home Care is expanding to provide aid to the west coast of Florida.

Beyond Advocate, Maymon has had a recent foray into local politics, running as a Republican hopeful for the house seat in the 91st district. With little political experience, he narrowly lost in the 2010 election. When asked about the loss, Maymon remains upbeat.

“You know what?” he asks. “That meant a lot: something like 6,000 people voted for me.”

One of his heroes hangs on his wall: a framed poster of Muhammad Ali overlooking and staring down the fallen Joe Frazier. And just like Ali, Maymon doesn’t look like he’s ever willing to let up. Beyond Advocate, Maymon is in the advanced stages of developing a health-care plan with the focus of funneling streamlined communication for patients. And does he plan on running for office again?

“You never know,” he says with a slight smile. “I’d have to say politics would somehow always be in my life.”

A Mediterranean cruise begins in Monte Carlo. // Nila Do

A Moveable Feast
Welcome to a place where stately décor and luxurious amenities are merely accoutrements for gourmet dining and epicurean delights. Welcome to the ultimate foodie cruise. 

It’s never good in this business to have your BlackBerry go off between midnight and 5 a.m.” From his seat at the head of a circular lunch table at Jacques, with the sun beaming on his shoulders through the starboard side’s windows, Oceania Cruises President Kunal Kamlani just admitted what no well-established company wants to confess: Mistakes happen. And mistakes happen to them.

With his hands calmly folded into one another and resting on the white tableclothed table, Kamlani describes what it was like to wake up to a phone call at 2 a.m. in regard to, of all things, lobster. During a cruise, the lobster aboard the Marina had gone bad, he was told. The crustaceans started to smell, continued the voice on the other end. We can’t serve bad lobster aboard our upper-premium cruise ships, Kamlani concluded. And, “You can’t be on an Oceania cruise without lobster,” he flatly states.

So what did they do? “We spent a fortune getting fresh lobster mailed to the next port of call,” Kamlani says. Why? Because that’s the type of company Oceania Cruises is, he says.

Kamlani, a Miami native and Coral Gables resident who was born into a “cruising family” (he says his first cruise was as a baby lying in a bassinet on the ship), epitomizes the Oceania Cruises brand: affable, articulate and affluent. And as he sits inside Jacques on Riviera, crisp blue blazer, sans necktie and all, it’s apparent he’s as much the brand as the brand is he.

If the handling of Lobstergate is any indication of how food and service is the lifeblood of Oceania, then let’s examine the heart of the beast. Oceania’s four ships have become synonymous with fine dining – and Kamlani wasn’t joking when he said not serving lobster was not an option. As with its newest ship, Riviera, guests aboard the mid-sized vessel (capacity is 1,250) are overwhelmed with an onslaught of fine dining options – all served while moving along at sea. It’s a moveable feast, if you will.

 ***

Frank Del Rio, Oceania’s co-founder, uses the word “cuisine” a lot. Except he doesn’t mean it like the rest of us. Nor does he pronounce it like we do. “Kew-zeen,” he enunciates. “The kew-zeen on Oceania is an experience you won’t get on any other ship,” Del Rio says. And he’s not wrong. Where most every cruise ship has a fine-dining restaurant with white tablecloth service and exceptionally conceptualized fare, the difference on Riviera is there are five of these fine-dining options. In fact, every restaurant on Riviera, fine dining or not, boasts an impressive menu meant to entice the erudite gourmand – and separate Oceania’s kew-zeen from other ships’.

Hailing from Miami, where Del Rio as the chairman and CEO of Prestige Cruise Holdings (the parent corporation of Oceania Cruises and Regent Seven Seas Cruises) oversees the company, Del Rio is himself a foodie. His fleet of ships, including Riviera’s sister ship Marina (named Ship of the Year by Ocean & Cruise News), and Regatta and Nautica, have all been marketed to people like him – those who enjoy food to the highest degree and those who appreciate the culinary arts.

The baby of the family, Riviera is simply beautiful. It’s a paradise moving atop a massive hull, 16 decks of exquisite design and furnishings. To put it bluntly, this ain’t your grandkid’s cruise ship.

A sophisticated country-club ambiance is achieved through the rich wood décor, marble and granite flooring, and stylish art pieces (including an original Pablo Picasso painting located near Deck 6’s stern). Spacious staterooms are elegantly designed, with the penultimate rooms being the top suites, each designed by iconic interior designer Dakota Jackson and featuring rich Ralph Lauren Home furnishings.

Aboard Riviera, there are seemingly as many chefs as there are forks and knives. One hundred thirty-nine chefs of varying titles fill the six distinct galleys, each tasked to incorporate their components delicately on the plate.

Using Hemingway’s famous phrase and novel title in its literal sense, there is no better way to describe a trip aboard the cruising Riviera other than as a moveable feast. But sadly for Hemingway, he never got to experience a meal on Riviera, or else Paris’ 1920s scene might have an alternate title.

Perhaps the closest thing Oceania has to offer to Hemingway’s Paris is Jacques Pépin, famed French chef and culinary master for which Riviera’s restaurant Jacques is named. A signature restaurant on the ship, Jacques is the second of Pépin’s seagoing restaurants, with the first being onboard Marina.

As executive culinary director of Oceania, Pépin oversees each of the menus of the distinct restaurants onboard Riviera, which explains why the other four restaurants also appeal to a sophisticated palette. Red Ginger is the ship’s signature Asian fusion restaurant, with Chef Ricky Pang (who Oceania plucked from the illustrious Nobu London) heading up the kitchen’s execution. And if Polo Grill, the ship’s classic steakhouse, is for the more carnivorous, then Toscana is for those with a deep love of Tuscan flavors and memories. Also not to be missed is the Grand Dining Room, a stately restaurant with a menu that changes daily and even includes a special Canyon Ranch selection for the more health-conscious passenger.

A sixth restaurant could easily slide into the same esteem as the aforementioned five. Terrace Café, though a bit more informal than the five signature restaurants, still serves phenomenal buffet-style food with prime carving stations and flavorful accoutrements. The chefs and their foods are displayed right in front of you, like a craftsman creating his masterpiece in front of an audience. With a few friendly smiles and gentle chants of “Hello, madam” from the multitudes of chefs in front of their stations, Terrace Café is no ordinary open-seating restaurant. It’s no less still touched by Jacques Pépin’s fine hands and brings to life dishes from all parts of the world.

 ***

As the newest ship in Oceania’s fleet, Riviera has much hype to live up to. Setting out on its christening cruise in May 2012, Riviera looks to get out of its sister ship’s shadow. Marina was birthed a year before and sits, along with Riviera, in an upper-premium cruise market, a demographic that isn’t quite luxury (which markets to a smaller than 1,250-capacity group) but is still above the premium line.

And as proud of the award-winning Marina that Del Rio is, he admits the brand-new Riviera has a special place in his heart.

“It’s as close to perfection that one could have, at least in our eyes,” the humble Del Rio says.

He says 727 changes – small dimples, if you will – were made from Marina to Riviera. Imagine that, 727 changes made on an already award-winning ship. And the result is truly something to behold.

Being a ship for foodies, it comes as no surprise Riviera offers its patrons a chance to immerse in the joy of cooking at the Bon Appétit  Culinary Center. A hands-on culinary studio at sea, the center gives master chef instruction in a professional kitchen atmosphere. There are 12 cooking stations, each with an induction stove (“Ugh, can you imagine if we had gas stoves on a moving ship?” jokes Chef Kathryn Kelly, a Harvard professor and executive chef who serves as the culinary enrichment director for Oceania Cruises).

At the end of November, Riviera will set sail out of Miami and sail around the Caribbean. It is a chance for the South Florida-based cruise company to show its stripes to the Eastern Hemisphere, to display how moveable her feast really is.

This article originally appeared in the October 2012 issue of Gold Coast magazine.

Jozy Altidore is one of the country’s best forwards. // Ian Dawson

This article originally appeared in the December 2012 issue of Gold Coast magazine.

His Kick Start
From his early days in Boca Raton to his current days in Europe, soccer star Jozy Altidore gets a kick out of life.

This story begins with a bunch of socks.

Some old, white socks. Lumped together and haphazardly bound by strategically placed tape, they form some type of quasi-concentric shape. A soccer ball, if you will.

For American soccer star Jozy Altidore, this ball of socks represents an ingenious loophole he and his three siblings contrived, a loophole to their father’s ban on kicking a real ball inside their Boca Raton home.

After a ceiling fan was broken, a wall bashed in, a window smashed, some vases shattered, Pops had enough.

Don’t kick the soccer ball in the house anymore, Joseph specifically warned his youngest son. After fixing every wall, every chandelier and every home accessory in the house over and over again, Joseph was done.

I won’t, Altidore complied.

As the saying goes, you can take the soccer away from the boy, but you can’t take the boy away from the soccer. So Altidore ended up rigging the best worst excuse for a soccer ball this side of Palm Beach County.

It seems like things paid off. He’s come off one of his best seasons as a professional, where Altidore led his Dutch club team, AZ Alkmaar, in goals with 22. He’s been on the cover of FIFA by EA Sports, already scored a hat trick with AZ Alkmaar in the fifth game of the new season, inspired the nation with the cult goal celebration, the Stanky Legg, and now with an adidas endorsement in tow, he has enough socks to strew dozens of makeshift sock balls.

And he’s not done yet.

Six years ago, when he was thrust into the then-microscopic American soccer spotlight as a 16-year-old and 17th overall MLS draft pick, Altidore and compatriots Landon Donovan and Clint Dempsey began carrying the heavy weight and low expectations of American soccer on their shoulders. Adding elite goalkeeper Tim Howard into the mix, the four have become the base legs to a rising soccer table.

As of late, the United States Men’s National Team is the personification of the word underdog. It is the Cinderella story that has this Cinderella coming up just short when midnight hits. Out of its nine most recent World Cup appearances, it has only reached the round of 16 twice. Last World Cup, the team won its group – ahead of favored England – only to lose 2-1 to a competitive Ghanaian team out of group play.

 ***

Upon meeting Altidore, two things are immediately apparent: 1. He has the upper body strength of Bruce Banner gone mad, one reason why it’s so difficult to take him down in the box, and 2. He’s the soccer star America has dreamed of. Powerful, quick and with a supernatural fire in his belly to score. A man with a plan.

The United States could have done a lot worse than find a superstar in Altidore. A well-spoken young man with a smile that could melt any girl’s heart and a hearty laugh that you could pick out of a crowd, Altidore makes money off his physical skills, but has won fans with his charisma and character.

Twenty-three years ago, Josmer Volmy Altidore was born to Joseph and Gisele, in New Jersey, where Joseph worked as an electrical engineer and Gisele a nurse. He was the fourth of four children, the runt of the tight-knit Haitian-American family. The family eventually moved to Boca Raton, where Altidore played under the tough tutelage of Coach Josef Schulz, who went on to create one of the most elite private soccer programs in the state. It didn’t take long to realize Altidore was not just any gifted club player. Nor did he want to be.

“I would practice every day,” he says as he sits back in the wooden chair at a local French bakery. “Even when there wasn’t practice, I’d practice.”

“He just wanted to play,” his sister, Lindsey, says from across the table. “Everyone used to tell us how good he was, how amazing he was.”

She pauses. Then it hits her. “It was like he was born to play.”

After a few seasons with Schulz, Altidore moved to Bradenton to play at the IMG Academy, a sports factory that churns out professional athlete after professional athlete, where the days began with “you waking up and playing soccer,” Altidore says. “There, you would play MLS teams at 14, 15 years old.”

It was at IMG that “Jozy” was born. Literally. “His teammates and coaches from IMG had a hard time pronouncing ‘Josmer,’ so they just went with ‘Jozy,’” Lindsey explains.

At 16 years old, he was drafted by the MetroStars (now the New York Red Bulls), a professional athlete barely old enough to drive. What the striker lacked in experience, he made up for in sheer athleticism and brute strength, scoring 15 goals in two years with his foot, head and any other body part he could legally use.

His talents didn’t go unnoticed. In 2008 Villarreal, a club in Spain’s famed La Liga, signed him to a deal worth $10 million, the largest ever for an MLS player. That was the good news; the bad news was Altidore’s impact on the team was minimal at best. He spent three terribly disappointing years with Villarreal, thrice being loaned out, and constantly having to answer questions about his intensity level and work ethic.

Now with AZ Alkmaar since 2011, Altidore has found a major resurgence in his play. Though he may have other loves in his life, it’s doubtful they produce the same feeling as when that ball hits the back of the net.

“Even to this day it’s so surreal,” Altidore says of scoring a goal. “It’s like being a kid again. Living this life
is so surreal.”

***

Today Altidore has a moment to rest while on break and at home in Boca Raton, where he recently bought Mom the dream house he long promised her. Away from the hooliganed world of European soccer, Altidore can now breathe. He’s where he wants to be. And for him, it can’t get much better.

Sitting in this Boca Raton bakery on a Tuesday afternoon in jeans, sneakers and a white printed T-shirt, Altidore is completely incognito. A rock star without his groupies, Manny Pacquiao without his jogging entourage, Rory McIlroy without his gallery. To the throngs of customers, he’s just another 20-something-year-old uninterested in drinking the coffee served today. No doubt today is a welcomed change to Europe’s soccer-crazed life (“If you lose a game in Europe, you can’t even go out to the grocery store for fear of your life,” Altidore hyperbolizes) and an opportunity to pause and realize there’s more to life than soccer.

And that’s not without encouragement.

Raised on the idea that education will get you anywhere, Altidore was forced to hit the books as hard as the soccer ball. When he wasn’t on the pitch, he was studying. Mom’s rules, he says.

“My mom was a brainiac,” Altidore explains. “Education came first in our family.”

Even today Altidore takes online courses to hopefully fulfill his other professional goal: to become an electrical engineer, just like Pops.

“Seeing what I’ve seen, soccer is just a game,” he underlines. “Soccer will be over soon, and I need to think about having another career.”

Perhaps it can be said his vision on the soccer field pales in comparison to his vision of his future life. He owes much of his humility to his family, who, between brother Janak, sisters Lindsey and Sadia, and his parents, keep him grounded. The Haitian-American clan is as close as a family living on separate continents can be, with their youngest son acknowledging to talking or Skyping with his family at least once a day, even while in Europe.

Sister Lindsey has even taken a leadership role in Altidore’s personal foundation, the Jozy Altidore Foundation, which has a goal of helping children in the United States, Haiti and any other part of the world through education, awareness and leadership. A nurse living in Los Angeles with daughter Aaliyah, Lindsey has been entrusted to lead her brother’s charity, something she doesn’t take lightly.

Recently the non-profit organization, with Lindsey at the helm, paired with My Generosity Water to provide clean drinking water to those living in Haiti. The Altidores, who last visited Haiti after the 2010 earthquake, have made it a priority to invest time and effort to their parents’ homeland.

“This foundation is very important to my brother and my family,” Lindsey says. “I’m thankful that he trusts me with the decisions.”

“I just felt that there’s a lot more to show people, that people of my platform can influence and be an example,” Altidore says.

As he reaches the peak of his career, it seems Altidore has become that role model, both on and off the pitch, that he has worked toward. Not too bad for a kid who used to kick around a bunch of socks.

Randy Starks is a Pro Bowl DT for the Miami Dolphins. // Jason Nuttle Photography

The article originally appeared in the December 2012 issue of Gold Coast magazine.

Playing With Style
Who says jocks don’t know how to dress? This one does. Miami Dolphins Defensive End Randy Starks shows he has style both on and off the field.

The plush beige couch sitting in the middle of the penthouse suite of a posh Fort Lauderdale beach hotel never looked so small. Probably because it never had Randy Starks sit on it. Until today, that is.

At 6 feet 3 inches and 305 pounds, Starks is a big boy. His hands are the size of pizza pans, his thighs the circumference of oak tree trunks, his shoulders the width of the 17th Street Causeway Bridge. The defensive tackle debuted with the Miami Dolphins in 2008, brought from Tennessee to do damage against offenses, sack quarterbacks and wreak havoc on run plays. And today, on his off day, Starks is dominating this once-mighty couch.

To say there are a lot of expectations on Starks’ shoulders is an understatement. An eight-year NFL veteran, by the time week 9 of the 2012-2013 season came, Starks’ career numbers included 298 tackles, 31.5 sacks, four interceptions and a 2010 Pro Bowl ticket. He’s no longer the 20-year-old rookie drafted No. 71 by the Titans. No longer the 17-year-old kid who started as a true freshman at Maryland. No longer the young Army kid who lived in Germany for five years and had to then adjust to the American life in Virginia. At this point in his career, no one is forgiving Starks if he makes a mistake. No one.

Reticent by nature, Starks has long let his playing do the talking. If he can answer a question with as few words as possible, he does.

So how will you handle the pressure of being a veteran? “I don’t mind the pressure,” he says, shrugging his shoulders as if to say, “It doesn’t bother me.”

When did you know you were good at football? “Making it as a true freshman,” Starks says, looking down at his shoes. “I just made it happen.” Period.

For those who know Starks, he’s never going to be the guy who cracks the loudest joke, never the one who’ll laugh the hardest. At best, you’ll get a nice half-smile from him, maybe a chuckle or two. That’s Randy Starks for you: cordial, polite, taciturn. But put Starks on the field, faced against an offensive lineman, and you get another person.

Starks’ athletic prowess began with basketball. A power forward who rebounded like his life depended on it, he excelled at the sport, tallying more than 700 boards in high school. And then football came knocking. He picked up the sport in high school, where his coaches used to tell him “you’re a football player playing basketball,” perhaps a polite way of saying he’ll never quite be the inside man Charles Barkley was.

After a successful collegiate career as a Terrapin, Starks left the University of Maryland (never once missing a game) after his junior year and entered the NFL draft as the 71st overall pick. After playing four seasons with the Tennessee Titans, where he forced fumbles against Peyton Manning and recovered a Drew Brees fumble, Starks came to the Miami Dolphins in 2008. Today he’s developed into one of Miami’s star defensive players flourishing under Coach Joe Philbin’s 4-3 defense.

 ***

The first time Starks came home with a tattoo he was 18. And his mom was livid.

“I didn’t tell my parents,” Starks says. “And when my mom found out, she was hot.”

You see, the Starks household was an orderly one. With Randolph Sr., a 20-plus-year Army veteran, as the patriarch, the Starks family didn’t color outside the lines too often.

And then their teenage son came home with a permanent tattoo.

“He just shook his head,” Starks remembers when his father first saw the tattoo. “He’s a quiet guy, and that head shake said a lot.

“My father is disciplined, a neat freak. … Everything he do [sic] is on schedule,” Randy Jr. describes. “But now that he’s a little older, I can see that he’s loosened up a bit.”

Today Starks’ body is covered with ink, the most notable one is on his left forearm, of his father’s countenance – perhaps a homage to the man who didn’t kill him after Starks began coloring outside the lines. Fiercely devoted to their family and son, Randolph Sr. and Beverly Starks never missed their son’s collegiate football games, sometime leaving their Maryland home on a Thursday to drive to Randy’s Saturday away games.

And it’s these qualities of devotion and selflessness that Starks looks to show his 6-year-old son, Trey. As a single father, Starks wants to set an example to his son that, even if there is some ink, it’s the heart and fight of a person that really matters.

“I want to be somebody that puts his all into things, someone you can count on, be loyal … I want to be an example to my son,” he says.

***

If there’s one thing Starks isn’t afraid to admit, it’s that he can’t coach his son in soccer. In fact, he says he doesn’t even know where to begin. “I can’t help him there,” Starks jokes, referring to fútbol. Too bad because this past summer all Trey’s been talking about is getting on the soccer pitch.

When asked what his best moment as a football player was, without hesitation Starks says it was making the Pro Bowl. When asked what his best moment as a father was, Starks is a bit more contemplative. Perhaps there are too many memories with Trey that Starks can’t narrow it down. After some thought, he smiles his trademark half-smile, looks down at the ground and says, “Last year’s Christmas school play.

“Trey was singing,” Starks continues. While he can’t pinpoint any of the songs or what Trey’s exact role was, he says he’s never been more proud. “That’s when it really hit me that I need to do things like my parents did. If I’m going to be a father, I’m going to be a good one.” And then he looks up, and gives a half-smile.