By Amy Pigeon
Some places find their way back to you when the timing is just right. Just last year, we celebrated the launch of VeraVita with a story on Sofia Toronto. Tonight, we found ourselves at Sofia Miami, in the heart of the design destrict. Another first for our young venture sharing stories from the United States, toasting not just to a dear friend’s birthday, but to new beginnings, new partnerships, and the magic of stories unfolding exactly as they should. We were celebrating a different kind of beginning—though it felt like picking up where we left off—a story that felt equally exciting, and equally full of possibility.
Bathed in shades of rose and romance, Sofia Miami feels like the sun-kissed little sister to it’s red-lipped, sophisticated and sultry predecessor in Toronto. One seduces with a knowing smirk, the other enchants with an infectious laugh, but both share the same irresistible charm that make Sofia, Sofia.
The decor was unapologetically feminine, draped in velvety pinks, softened by candlelight, and brought to life with the contemporary pop art that is a signature of hospitality and restaurateur mogul Charles Khabouth’s establishments. Charles, the visionary behind INK Entertainment and, of course, Sofia, once told us how deeply he values designing spaces that women love, knowing that their presence breathes warmth and energy into a space. That ethos was woven into every inch of Sofia Miami—from the flirty scalloped patio umbrellas to the sultry glow of the sleek marble bar inside.
Our night began with Salvatore. Representing Italian hospitality at it’s finest, “Sal”—our impeccably polished, charming, suave, yet incredibly relaxed, warm and natural server, was the very definition of sprezzatura—the Italian art of making effort look effortless. When I told him about VeraVita and asked him where he was from, his eyes lit up. “I’m from Marsala,” he shared, pulling out his phone to show me breathtaking photos of the impossibly clear waters where boats appeared to float in midair. Just like that, my travel list had a new must-visit. “You’ll love it,” he promised.
We raised our first glass. I went for my usual—a Hugo Spritz—but with a Sofia twist. The Hugo Italiano swapped out elderflower for the more complex floral notes of Nolet’s Silver Gin, kissed with limoncello, brightened with prosecco, and made vibrant with Fever-Tree yuzu lime soda. It was citrusy, refreshing, familiar yet unexpected—just like the night itself and the theme of my life as of late.
The appetizer selection was a battle of indulgences. I nearly caved for the fiori di zucca, a ricotta-stuffed zucchini blossom laced with honey and pecorino, a dish I’ve been dreaming about trying since my discovery of it on The Pasta Queen’s series on Prime. But that night I craved comfort, something nostalgic, something I knew would never fail me. I wanted to experience the delicious warmth and safety of melting into a loving hug—via my plate. So, I went with three classics: something cheesy, something cured, and something hearty.
The prosciutto e melone arrived first—silky ribbons of prosciutto di Parma draped over cantaloupe, punctuated by aged balsamic and a scattering of mustard seeds, a surprising yet delightful pop of texture that brought playfulness to a classic dish. The burrata was as it should be: so melty and comforting it sighs into the plate, nestled among roasted cherry tomatoes, kissed with olive oil and aged balsamic, and served with grilled ciabatta to scoop up every last bit (it is considered a sin to not wipe up any remaining sauces or spreads with your bread in Italy—so sin we shall not!). But it was the wagyu tartare that stole the show. Glistening in a vibrant basil oil, each bite melting into a delicate harmony of truffle yuzu aioli, parmigiano reggiano, atop the gentle crunch of ciabatta.
As we moved into mains and I was ready for a top up with my aperitivo, Sal grinned mischievously. “I want to see if you’ll order my favorite drink on the menu.” I was game—but I failed miserably at guessing. “A Pisco Sour,” he finally revealed, selling it to me with as much non-waivering confidence and conviction as he had sold me on visiting Marsala. I could not, not trust this man’s recommendations.
The Love Affair arrived at our table like a Sicilian sunset—raw, wild, beautiful, glowing, and hopelessly romantic. The Don Julio Blanco tequila and pisco intertwined in a dance of unforeseen and complementary profiles, one with it’s herbal and drier, agave-bite, and the other with it’s delicate sweetness. A bold, intoxicating, undeniably smooth fusion of fire and silk. Passion fruit and lemon sparked with brightness, a citrus kiss as electric as a stolen glance. The orgeat and chili tincture added a slow, lingering heat—one that built gradually, leaving behind a taste of warmth that refused to fade. Finished with a delicate Fee Foam topping the cocktail, you are taken to a secret world in Italy where only those who know where to look can see the hidden magic just beneath the surface. A love affair, indeed, and a description that serves more as a testimonial to trust your server with their recommendations – especially if it is Sal.
For my main, I couldn’t resist the cacio e pepe al tartufo, a dish I’ve had countless times before in Roma, but never quite like this. The choice of bucatini over spaghetti is always better, in my humble opinion—its hollow center clung to the creamy pecorino-truffle sauce, each bite a perfect balance of earthiness, indulgency, and a peppery bite. Chewy, ooey, gooey, and heartening. Across the table, the costata di manzo was a feast for the eyes and the palate—a 22 oz ribeye, perfectly medium-rare, draped in a deep red wine jus, with balsamic onion marmalade and vibrant Calabrian cherry peppers, generously lending a pop of color and heat to an already bountiful and beautiful steak.
Savouring the meal slowly, letting anticipation build, allowing flavours to unfold, and never rushing to the final bite, our appetites had become nearly as full as our hearts. But there is always room for something sweeter that lingers long after the last taste. The torta al cioccolato was a crescendo of textures—velvety hazelnut crunch, warm caramel, and milk ice cream. The panna cotta, however, was a showstopper. Adorned with edible flowers, crowned with a delicate guava gelée poured tableside, and accompanied by a coconut sorbet, this creation was a Michelangelo painting telling the story of a love unfolding in an Italian summer, brushed on to porcelain. Like a true best ending, it left me wanting more.
By the time the last sip of Love Affair Pisco Sour was gone, I felt it—the warmth of human connection and the thrill of new beginnings unfolding in real-time. There’s a consistency in Khabouth’s establishments that always impresses me. The flawless execution of flavours, the polished yet unpretentious service, the elegance woven into every detail—it all carries across borders, from Toronto to Miami, proving that no matter where you go, the right experience, with the right company, can make you feel at home.
Images courtesy of Sofia Miami
