In Florida, spring routinely swings our way weeks early, regardless of what one overhyped furry creature in Pennsylvania might sometimes suggest. So you might expect that, to a bunch of jaded Floridians getting sand between their toes in February, this vernal equinox thing is a a month late and some sunscreen short.

But if you’re a foodie like me and you score an invite to the Seasons 52 Spring Menu Launch, the equinox means something. Think artichoke and lambchop glamour shots and lighthearted hashtag harassment among your fellow diners (via Twitter). All in good fun, and as Darden’s newest concept in Jacksonville proves without reproach, all in great food.

So on March 20, about 15 self-professed food bloggers, food lovers (I’m in some limbo contest between those first two) and news media types converged on spring, and the changing of Seasons’ menu, with a fair-and-balanced assessment in the Jacksonville restaurant’s Napa Room. This multimedia-equipped private dining area also connected us to the Flagship Orlando restaurant via webcast, where Master Sommelier George Miliotes and Culinary Director Cliff Pleau navigated our group (and several other not-quite-as-cool-as-us Seasons’ tasters) through the hows and whys of the spring sampling. Think virtual press conference, with us hungry media people lobbing our tweets at the podium some 150 miles away.

Artichoke-Stuffed Artichoke Leaves and Flatbread shared the opening stage for us hungry foodies at Seasons 52's Spring Menu Launch.

Of course a video feed alone wouldn’t pacify this unruly group. Only plates of exotic bites tinged with garlic, truffle oil and arugula would do. And our attentive wait staff didn’t leave us hanging, delivering porcelain and stainless platters chock-full of family-style morsels. I started my evening with the Zardetto Prosecco, an engaging, vibrant white that was like a Taser to my sweet tooth. It set the stage for my palate to progress to Seasons’ signature flatbreads (Ripe Plum Tomato and Artichoke & Goat Cheese), where basil, balsamic onion and roasted peppers perfectly balanced the sweetness with mature zest. Then arrived the Artichoke-Stuffed Artichoke Leaves, sleds loaded down with you-know-what in fields of coarse Parmesan and balsamic glaze. I practiced my vertical stacking of these now-empty sleds in a move that surely would have embarrassed most conventional dining companions (but foodies, like the celebrated honey badger, don’t care).

Next up was the salad, and a plethora of “good fat” in the Tomato & Haas Avocado Salad. Think of oversized chunky salsa tossed about a torrid sea of organic arugula, balsamic glaze and grilled bruschetta. If you prefer your veggies finely chopped and pureed to insignificance, let this dish pass you by. I would have opted for a tad-bit more spice (read: jalapenos), but as presented it was thoroughly enjoyable.

Kick it up to 88 in the DeLorean and we’re approaching the entrees – Columbia River Steelhead Trout and Lamb T-Bone Chops. The former was a solid contender – mild but not as flavorful as I would have liked. Blame it on Mrs. Paul or the Gorton’s Fisherman while I was growing up, but I still can’t get used to skin-on filets. The accompanying spring vegetables were crisp and delightful, as was the basmati rice and lemongrass sauce (although I would have liked some more kick in the sauce). The lamb chops were divine, simple as that. From tenderness to flavor to portion size, this was the big-screen star to beat this evening, along with supporting actor Oscar nominations for the asparagus and truffle mashed potatoes. As Arnold Schwarzenegger once said, “I’ll be back.”

The stars of the show: Lamb T-Bone Chops with Asparagus and Truffled Mashed Potatoes

Aside: The Spicy Snow Peas & Shiitake Mushrooms with roasted almonds were a welcomed addition to my plate, offering a sweet and spicy balance the entrée plate needed.

And last, but never least, all of us skimped on a seventh lamb chop (excepting our No-Meat March participants … God bless you) to stretch our stomachs for Seasons’ signature Mini Indulgences. The restaurant pioneered the concept of tasty treats in shot glasses nearly 10 years ago, and the original formula does not disappoint. If you’re a chocolate lover, by all means, go for the Rocky Road. Other noteworthy MIs include the mango cheesecake, key lime, red velvet, strawberry shortcake … and five others that make my stomach ping me in a readiness posture. For the record, I did consume one of the fresh fruit MIs, which unfortunately garners ire and neglect from most of our sugar-happy brethren. They don’t know what they’re missing. I’ll be missing a mile or two from my run tomorrow because I swayed from the sweet side momentarily.

Of course no meal at Seasons is complete without a parade of Mini-Indulgences.

Our hosts paired each of the above courses with an appropriate vintage, so there was no lack of whining at our tables. I don’t gravitate toward the grape in most situations, though, but for those who do, Seasons does an admirable job of seeking out small-production vineyards and “before they were famous” labels, often offering them exclusively at S52.

It goes without saying that our wait staff was impeccably trained (the Darden way), well-mannered and eager to remove plates, replace silverware at every course and ensure we were ready to “reload.” Executive Chief Partner Stephen Hicks joined us to fill in the gaps when George and Cliff were offline, and Field Sales Manager Amy Drafts was an engaging hostess as always.

Spring at Seasons 52 is a special time, with special people devoted to creating special moments for their diners (no matter what that silly groundhog sees). Visit the Seasons 52 website for the complete spring menu, and call 904.645.5252 for reservations.

State Road 9A East on the way to ... where else? ... the Town Center and one of those infamous Apple Store Genius Bar appointments. I was 20 minutes late.

When I drive, I like to complain. Usually about people or things that hinder my progress from Point A to Point B as quickly as humanly possible. Some people obviously are not on my time schedule, or obviously concerned about anyone else’s, as they plod along the roadway in blissful passive-aggression. But this blog entry is not primarily concerned with them, for once (rest assured, they will get a splatter of sweet-smelling karma all over their rubber necks). This entry will instead focus on some of the other obstacles I encounter that must be wiped out immediately.

And for those of you who are worried I’m actually not blogging about some restaurant I visited, and all the grandiose things I tried, rest assured I’ll be posting a new review of Seasons 52’s winter menu here … very, very soon.

So who determines the placement or quantity of manholes or manhole covers on a roadway? Why are some so clustered together, to the point where I can’t avoid them while driving over them? This is especially bothersome on Riverside Avenue, between Memorial Park and King Street in Jacksonville. I now avoid this stretch of asphalt (and its omnipresent metallic “zits”) and favor Oak Street’s relatively clear complexion. Maybe there’s a forum on the JEA website that explains this nonsense… Nah … that’s too much trouble.

Also, when I’m going north (or really “west”) on Interstate 295 (Buckman Bridge) toward Orange Park from Mandarin, I can’t help but notice the overhead sign telling me it’s unlawful to cross the “double white line.” This is presumably so rush-hour commuters don’t cut each other off on the approach to the U.S. 17 exit (nice idea in theory). However … and I’m talking to you, FDOT geniuses … the “double white lines” were modified years ago and now they’re “single white lines.” I remember from my road rules book (yes, when I was as pimply as the roads in my above anecdote) that only the double-white lines are unlawful to cross. So shouldn’t you be taking down those signs, or restriping the roads? This ambiguity will not be tolerated!

I applaud the rollout of new signage along State Road 9A indicating that it is, at long last, interstate-grade and part of Jacksonville’s Interstate Highway System (and the continuous beltway that I’m sure makes folks in Orlando drool with “perfect-circle” and “no-toll” envy). But wait … there’s a problem (why else would I mention it in this blog?). The only updated signs at this writing are clustered near the I-95 junctions. If you get much beyond those on the “East Beltway,” you’ll see those familiar signs for 9A once again, with nary a mention of 295. As a 15-year Jax resident, I get the whole 9A thing. Thank God we don’t get a lot of tourists here. Boy would they get confused fast once the 295 signs evaporate and they’re traveling on mysterious State Road 9A East. Let’s hope the DOT catches up on erecting the new signs systemwide, and GPS makers also follow suit.

Well, I guess there are less advantageous ways to get around than by car. This sorry cycle was found in Manhattan's Little Italy one unfortunate Saturday night in November 2011.

OK, I can’t resist anymore! Getting back to one of my earlier analogies … rubberneckers. Ugh … these people need lives, and fast. If you revel in viewing the carnage of others’ automotive follies, you are a sorry individual and you need to focus on the task at hand … getting out of my way. Even when an accident is completely cleared of the travel lanes, it’s inevitable that a cadre of capable doofuses—probably the same trolls who are appending their unemployed, curmudgeon vitriol to every story on Jacksonville.com—will muck up your otherwise foolproof plans for making it from Mandarin to the Town Center in 15 minutes (because those “geniuses” at the Apple Store’s Genius Bar don’t like it when you’re late to their appointments). At one point not so long ago, I wondered if deploying opaque tarps around these alluring aftermaths (which ends up being about 90 percent of the traffic snarls) would discourage dawdling. But then I realized, given the state of our not-so-private lives, some drama hounds would probably slow down (or God forbid, get out of their cars) for a sneak peek at the action and some smartphone YouTube postings.

Makes you wonder if those guys selling papers at the intersections would do any better if they gave up the newsprint and started peddling lives. We’ll keep ‘em at 50 cents so as to encourage rapid sales.

Ace Pear Cider

The past several years have played stage to a culinary resurrection along King Street in Riverside. Upstarts jostling to make “the scene,” including Intuition Ale Works, Walker’s, Carmine’s and The Loft, cry, “I’m cool, too!” next to neighborhood stalwarts such as Kickbacks Gastropub and Whiteway Delicatessen. Together, these palaces of old-world cool make maneuvering the sidewalks of King anything but a pedestrian taste treat.

And then you come to King’s intersection with Park Street and new proprietors submitting their Awesomeness Application along the 32204-05 line of demarcation – Pele’s Wood Fire. Judging from this writer’s recent visit, the Hawaiian goddess of fire has set up shop in a hot corner, and she means business. Fire up those property values!

Pele’s officially opened January 1 at a coveted corner previously occupied by a pharmacy. Inside you’ll find a modern yet cozy space for 162 diners and barflies in an open-kitchen design, where two oak and hickory-fired ovens create the conversation piece, and lots of modern Italian-American fare. One oven is exclusively for the establishment’s signature pizzas, while its twin manages breads, steaks and other duties. The adjacent bar stocks more than 50 beers on tap—from far-flung labels to Bold City’s and Intuition’s best—with a loyalty card program on the way. You’ll also find 40 wines by bottle, 12-14 by the glass.

But getting back to the reason for this place’s birthing … the pizza! It turns out that restaurant partner Matt Tierney’s wood-fire mobile pizza cart has been feeding hungry patrons at Riverside Arts Market and Intuition for some time. Marry Matt’s pizza acumen with the entrepreneurial drive of investor Mark Frisch, who has long professed a love of NYC pizza mecca Grimaldi’s and its 1200-degree coal-fired ovens, and the pizza cart parked itself at a new brick-and-mortar home that hipsters and Avondale elite alike will revere.

Mushroom Formaggi Pizza

Along with pizza, Pele’s breads, pastas and cheeses are crafted in-house, which itself is a remarkable example of “insourcing.” What makes the pizza unique is its prep time—two minutes to stretch the dough and 90 seconds to bake at 1400 degrees—along with a certification that means fewer than 50 places in the US can employ Pele’s process. Reverse-osmosis water filtration brings a flavorful, substantive dough that is a formidable stage for cheeses and toppings to take their rightful places. While you’ll find three published pies here—a Margherita, Prosciutto di Parma and Mushroom Formaggi—you can also build your own.

Our seven-course meal commenced with—what else on a Friday at 5:30?—bar refreshments. I took a leap of faith with the Ace Pear Cider,

Iced Seafood, including Mayport Shrimp

and I’ll look and leap again and again on this sweet-but-not-candy-sweet brew. Soon after, platters of fluffy, homemade pan rustica alighted on our table, followed by a seasonal selection of iced seafood, including BIG Mayport shrimp, crab legs and Apalachicola Bay oysters. Oh … and the cocktail sauce! I’m not sure what went into that delightful, tangy, hot mess, but it dressed the seafood properly for the holidays.

Next up were the Lemoncello wood-fired wings, served with shaved Parmesan, chilis and olive oil. All I can say is take your buffalo sauce and ship it back North! These wings had tang and pizzazz, and ultimately, class. No red sauce to muck up your fingers. Score! Your date may go out with you again, bucko. Just don’t try eating them with a fork and knife, K? That’s what the wet-naps are for on the table (nice touch).

Two tangled bowls of greens next arrived on our birchwood scene—a Chicken Caesar with smoked white balsamic dressing, and an Arugula and Sweetgrass Dairy Brie arrangement with red pepper, roasted onion vinaigrette, truffle-infused honey and pistachios. Both were outstanding in their own right, but the novelty nod went to the latter, with brie chunks the size of Long Island (well, after a few thousand years of erosion).

We’ve already mentioned the p-word a few times. Being the “fun-guy” that I am, I bowed to the Mushroom Formaggi pie, with garlic ricotta, fontina, fresh thyme and a plethora of roasted seasonal mushrooms. Your wimpy button ‘shrooms are banished to Pizza Hut and Papa John’s forever! I would have eaten a few of these pies if my neighboring diners did not look menacing with their fork tips glistening in my general direction. The Margherita varietal needed more “hardware” (aka: robust toppings) but it definitely brought much flavor.

Black Pepper Spaghetti Carbonara

Can you believe we’re only to Course Five? The new arrival, the Black Pepper Spaghetti Carbonara, was my idea of “carb-loading,” complete with smoked bacon (c’mon, let’s just call ‘em pork bellies!), Parmesan, tomato and egg-yolk cream. I would eat this every other night of my life … assuming morbid obesity suddenly became en vogue and heart-healthy. Sadly, Bizarroland is still for the comic books.

Coal-Fired Manhattan Ribeye

Finally, we arrived at the Main Event: the Coal-Fired Manhattan Ribeye, dry-aged and served medium-rare with whipped potatoes, sautéed spinach, onions, sliced garlic, sugo and horseradish. Hands-down (but not forks and knives down), this was one of the best cuts of meat I have ever been served. It was obviously hand-carved and lean at that, with perfectly proportioned accompaniments. Being medium-rare, my carving prowess was tested, but the velvety textured meat was worth every turn of the knife.

Zeppole Italian Donut Holes

Our four-hour culinary odyssey wound down with La Dolce Vita (dessert) and three premium selections. First to our table was an Italian standby, the Tiramisu. It was a competent dessert by all standards and met all inspections, but (and if you haven’t picked up any hints of a theme so far, this is the spoiler) it didn’t transcend expectations. If the Tiramisu was the hard-working, quiet student, the White Chocolate Cheesecake with amarena cherry glaze and chocolate-espresso pot de crème was the valedictorian – supple, delightful, flavorful, and destined to go far. Then you throw in the Zeppole Italian Donut Holes with hazelnut-chocolate sauce, orange sea-salt caramel and lemon custard, and you’ve got the boisterous class clown, with lots of color, sugar and sass. They joined an excellent Segafredo coffee service to usher us out of our food comas.

Pele’s will be open seven days a week for dinner until 10 p.m., with a limited menu and full bar service beyond that. Breakfast and weekend brunch seatings are on the way in a matter of weeks at 7 a.m. and 10:30 a.m., respectively. Free wifi and ample electrical outlets abound for your laptopping or tableting pleasures, along with a private room available for reservations at no additional cost. Speaking of which, online reservations are in the works, too.

You’ll find Pele’s at 2665 Park Street, across from Walgreen’s. Call 904.232.8545 for info and reservations, or visit facebook.com/peleswoodfire for menus and more.

If you haven’t yet already, meet the new neighbors at Park and King. They’re totally HOT, and a welcomed edition to this burgeoning corridor of taste in one of the River City’s great neighborhoods.

View Jay’s photo gallery from Pele’s Wood Fire at https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150438041561739.355764.562301738&type=1&l=63187693ce.

If you’re ever with me in a big-time crush of humanity, you might hear me say (quite loudly, actually), “I’d like to make a video game out of this.”

In the context of my recent trip to LEGOLAND Florida in Winter Haven, picture me as the lone warship at the bottom of the screen in the 1981 arcade thriller Galaga, and all those battleships above me a motley, melting-pot stew of strollers, power scooters, wheelchairs, screaming, unattended kids, costumed characters, lost parents, pooper scooper-wielding sanitation staff (oops, that’s saved for Disney’s post-parade horse mop-up crew), and yes, even a few Technicolor, life-size Legoized sculptures. It’s only a matter of time until one of them gets me. And they all see me as the sole single guy/warship – an easy, isolated target that can’t move forward or back – just side to side.

Such is the chaotic scene (unless you’re a parent used to chaos) at the “new” central Florida park, which opened October 15 on the site of the former Cypress Gardens theme park/botanical garden in the heart of Polk County’s lake country. Less than an hour from the established tourist haunts near Orlando, it’s an easy add-on for out-of-towners looking for Disney respite, and an easy daytrip for the local yocals.

Oh … before I get too deep into my review, I’ll give you the all-important disclaimer: I am single and I don’t have any kids. Thus, LEGOLAND was not built with my “customer profile” in mind. I came to the park with a general understanding of that profile, though, and visions of old Florida grandeur left over from St. John Vianney Catholic School field trips eons ago.

Much like Walt’s empire, LEGOLAND Florida is an A-list theme park, complete with corporate dotage on many of its 50-plus rides and attractions, a variety of “lands” in a generally circular formation, and a glossy, fold-out map to tell you where the restrooms, stage shows and chicken-finger vendors are. Its owner, Merlin Entertainments Group, owns other Lego-themed attractions worldwide and throughout the US, primarily in the Midwest and in Southern California.

After we deposited $12 for the privilege of parking on the property, we were guided to our space in a very Mouse-like configuration. Only one fly in that ointment, though — no parking lot trams, the absence of which is a big fail for families with little ones (in other words, for EVERYONE GOING). You may be able to pay more for “preferred parking,” but honestly, tired feet need trams and corporations need not be cheap.

Once you’re past the turnstiles, it’s obvious that LEGOLAND is a land ruled by the little ones who are obsessed with the colorful Danish blocks and their trillions of configurations. Between the established junior-level coasters and carnival-style rides and freestyle playgrounds, you’ll find thousands of untethered children bouncing between attractions – mostly between ages 4-10. There’s plenty of seating on the sidelines for the adults, who can keep watch over all the action. And know that the legalese is THICK on welcome signs, placards … anything telling parents what they can or can’t sue about because of their kids’ adventures.

You’ll also find LOTS of interesting Lego constructions throughout the park – from cartoon characters and alligators (you knew I’d find a way to get that in, right?) to a Miniland complete with to-scale cities (New York, San Francisco, Washington DC, etc.), skyscrapers and amazing animatronics (check the escalators in Grand Central Terminal!). This is smack-dab in the center of the park, and I suspect many adults harboring long-lost love affairs with ancient Legos hang here to reminisce. Even as a former Lincoln Log addict, I couldn’t help but dwell (and drool) in awe over the detail of the Miniland constructs. I mean, they even have a Lego Space Shuttle launch (complete with countdown timer and rumbling sound effects). What 6-year-old aspiring astronaut’s not all over that?

[Interestingly, Miniland doesn't depict Orlando or any of its park-style attractions, an interesting and no-doubt strategic slap in the face to the competition for a park sponsored by a CVB (visitcentralflorida.org) that claims “Central Florida” is Polk County, and only Polk County. As a card-carrying Orlando native, I laugh at this provinciality. Tampa, Miami, St. Augustine, Key West, Tallahassee and other Florida scenes have been Legoized, though.]

You’ve got three junior-level coasters (The Dragon, Coastersaurus and Flying School), an Adventure Land-like area with Egyptian themes, a Fantasy Land-like world (home to The Dragon), a water-themed area near the lakefront ski stadiums (more on them later), and plenty of opportunities to pick up boxes of those tiny blocks (stores are mainly clustered near the front entrance). I would have liked to see a fastpass-style system to reserve seats for the bigger rides, but posted wait times were generally accurate or slightly liberal. And that says a lot for a busy Sunday afternoon the weekend before Thanksgiving, when many were beginning weeklong vacations.

Aside from the kid-centric attractions, it’s encouraging to know that the last vestiges of the park’s former majority tenant weren’t bulldozed (such as the fate of Boardwalk and Baseball, just a little ways up US Hwy. 27 in Davenport, which is home to a few dozen big-box retailers 21 years later). LL’s corporate masters have retained elements of the former Cypress Gardens botanical park, which lived here from 1936 to 2009 – about 30 acres, owned by Polk County. The ski stadiums that ring the old park’s entrance are intact and entertaining with a variety of ski and pirate shows. Beyond those, you’ll find tree-lined walkways with amazing foliage, statues and placards that pay homage to days gone by, and even some Southern Belles (Legoized, of course). Sadly, access to this tract is limited, and the main access point is hard to find, the result of poor signage. Perhaps that’s just to keep the marauding kids away from trampling the beauty, so I might thank the park for strategically creating this bottleneck.

Now it’s time to get down to dollars and cents. Day passes are in Disney territory, — $75 for adults and $65 for kids 3 to 12. With an AAA membership, though, you get steep discounts – to $56 and $50, respectively, for a one-day pass. With up to three trips a year, an annual pass pays for itself ($129 and $99, respectively, for the basic pass). The cost of food also isn’t a trendsetter – hamburger platters will run you $8-9 without a drink. You’ll find a variety of foods for every taste (and most diet sensitivities, although I didn’t test gluten-free fare) between food carts and cafeteria-style indoor spots.

So the question looms: Is it worth the money? If you have children who fit the age demographic (4-10, and not kids much older or younger), it’s a standout among the region’s other tourist meccas. For budding teens who want rides that push the limits, look instead to Universal Orlando or Busch Gardens. If you want an overall theme park experience for a diverse family of tastes, Disney’s cornered that market in Florida for 40 years.

After all was said and done in seven hours (and a long walk back to the car – parking trams, people!), I have to say that I’ll be back to LEGOLAND Florida … with my child(ren), who WILL exist one day (as I calmly reassure my mother). Until then, my sights are set on the Dali Museum, Ringling Museum of Art, Gatorland Zoo and other adult getaways that don’t require trams and might not be very exciting backdrops for video games. That suits this non-gamer just fine.

View Jay’s Facebook photo gallery from LEGOLAND Florida

When I say “roadside restaurant off busy highway,” if you’re from these parts, I suspect you immediately find visions of Waffle House’s “scattered, smothered, covered” hashbrown goodness wafting through your mind (better that than your stomach).

That’s the old Jacksonville, though. Now we have JTB and the St. Johns Town Center, and all the happening, glam and gleaming eating places are within an imaginary short exit ramp from westbound SR 202. At one in particular, Seasons 52, you can kiss your hashbrowns good-bye.

An upscale “fresh grill” concept from Orlando-based Darden Restaurants—whose portfolio includes The Olive Garden, Red Lobster, Bahama Breeze, Longhorn Steakhouse and the nearby Capital Grille—Seasons saunters into the Northeast Florida market October 24. And I can tell you, it’s unlike any dining spot I’ve encountered in my 14 years of stalking First Coast eateries (with a knife and fork, of course).

But first, a disclaimer’s in order. I’m very familiar with Seasons. I grew up in south Orlando, Darden’s corporate home, and every February my mother and I enjoy our joint birthday dinner at Seasons’ founding/flagship home on Sand Lake Road in O-town. We have a good relationship – Seasons and I (well, Mom and I, too).

So I was delighted to garner an invite for Seasons’ Jacksonville incarnation at an Oct. 14 food-blogger tasting and tour. I love seeing morsels of “home” (read: Orlando) arrive in my “new home” (read: Jax), just like when UCF-spawned Tijuana Flats opened its first local space. It tells me that Jax has arrived.

When you arrive, you’re smacked up face-first with extreme architectural fit and finish, the likes of which you won’t see frequently in Duval. Before your stomach can cry in protest, your eyes feast on mahogany accents, amber sconces, staggered stone walls, exposed-beam ceilings and a bevy of indirect lighting that is ample and “just right.” They call it “casual sophistication,” but everything being relative, it’s downright “upscale” and “put on a sportcoat and a button-down, Tex.”

Our attentive welcome team quickly offered each arriving guest a flute of Chartogne-Taillet Cuvee Sainte Anne Champagne, then whisked us away on a tour of the various dining rooms and piano bar. It became obvious during the tour that S52 is courting the “special-occasion” market in a big way – rehearsal dinners, retirement parties, anniversaries, birthdays, corporate retreats, etc. Not so much in a quiet, intimate Matthew’s sort of way, but important gatherings with important people to celebrate “big deals.” With big checks to match, no doubt. From flip-down multimedia screens to soundproof thresholds and zoned climate control, you’ve got refined versatility at every turn … or as I call it, the BMW 5-series of restaurants … for a capacity of about 390 diners.

The bar area is dark, almost Old World, and a showcase for the restaurant’s award-winning international wine list. You’ll find 23 varietals here and quite a few native to S52, as selected by master sommelier George Miliotes. You’ll also see colorful cylinders of fruit-infused vodkas and a live piano player, performing seven nights a week.

Throughout the tour our welcome team brought along provisions. Flatbread Exhibit No. 1: Artichoke & Goat Cheese with Leaf Spinach, Balsamic Onions and Roasted Peppers. Tasty and crisp, with just a little more goat cheese flavor than I would have liked. The Chipotle Shrimp rendition restored my faith in balanced flatbreads, with roasted poblano peppers, grilled pineapple and feta cheese goodness. But alas, to save real estate for our sit-down feast to come, I half-heartedly held out my palm in a vertical fashion (vs. the horizontal “yes, please, more” fashion).

Eventually we found our way to the head table in the main dining room, where each diner was greeted by a personalized place setting and at least seven empty wine glasses, ready for action. Each of our six courses was professionally choreographed and narrated by our welcome team, including sommelier George; Jeff Carcara, senior director of operations; Cliff Pleau, master chef and senior director of culinary; Steven Hicks, executive chef; and Sean Wiseman, managing partner. It’s obvious they practiced.

One thing to note before I dig in, literally: each course at Seasons is engineering to set you back on the elliptical no more than 45 minutes (or 475 calories, by my imprecise calculations). Plus menus rotate by season, with slight variations week to week. So if you’re a creature of habit who craves “the usual,” or a linebacker, S52 may not be for you.

Table course No. 1, the Jumbo Lump Crab and Haas Avocado, was served in an S52-emblazoned spoon, the type you might use to shovel clear soup at the Asian superbuffet. It was fresh as can be and a powerful fusion of creamy avocado concealing flaky crab.

Next up was an Organic Salmon and Lemongrass Sea Scallop roasted on a cedar plank. The portion was fulfilling and fresh, with the scallop on his skewer looking to pole-vault over the salmon, off the plank and back to his buddies. The roasted veggies resting on the plank gave a crisp foil to the moist salmon steak.

Moving ever closer to the main event, our welcome team next arrived to deposit clear cylinders of multicolored greens onto our plates, soon revealing Salinas Organic Field Greens with Oak-Grilled Mushrooms, Toasted Pistachios and Truffle Dressing. Crunchy and tangy all at once, I vacuumed up this selection before some of my neighboring diners could locate their salad fork (rest assured, I DID use my fork).

Earning kudos as co-leading entrée for the evening was the Sonoma Goat Cheese Ravioli with Roasted Garlic Basil and Light Tomato Broth. The presentation was enticing, with yellow and green peaks rising above a carmelized canyon of cheese at the plate’s base. Unfortunately, I’m not a huge goat cheese aficionado, but I took care of business just fine.

At this point, our chef produced a 2-foot stalk of Brussels Sprouts, as a prelude to the “protein” course to come, the Mesquite-Grilled Lamb T-Bone Chop and Manchester Farms All Natural Quail with Mashed Sweet Potatoes and Bourbon-Chili Glaze. Note that the preceding description did in no way include the offending vegetable. I was had. Apparently veggies such as the BS (my oh-so-appropriate shorthand for these little cabbage bombs) don’t always make the menu descriptions. As we say in the PR biz, full disclosure, please!
Now back to the main protein course. The lamb chop was succulent and full of flavor over the mashed sweet potato foundation. Even the quail had a kick in a supporting-cast kind of way (not the main act, but worthy of being on stage). And know this: when bourbon-chili glaze comes knocking, I’ll come a’gobbling.So, back to the BS stalk. Our chef sought me out when he sensed my trepidation, and I picked a fresh spout from the stalk to maintain my shaky “I’m not afraid” façade. If there was a waiting dog under the table, I have no doubt he would have refused my handout, too. But let it be known that the BS are very FRESH, and I’m sure to some discriminating diners on some other planet, tasty.

At this point, you may be asking yourself why I haven’t been commenting about the wine pairings. The fact is, I liked them all. And until I page beyond the Introduction to “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Wine Pairings,” I do not feel qualified to go beyond the, “yup, tasty” level of commentary.

One area, however, where I feel “hell, yeah” qualified to comment is with sweet things. At S52, those come in the form of Mini Indulgences, which are individual servings of classic desserts, served in shot glasses. This may be a means to keep even these sweet treats under the 475-calorie threshold, and it’s an effective strategy. Our caretakers offered carousels of the colorful spoon-fed desserts. My favorite was the Belgian Chocolate Rocky Road, with marshmallows and chocolate chunks layered in a mousse-like consistency. Other high achievers include the Pumpkin Pie with Ginger Snap Crust and Cookies & Cream. I have to wonder in a “high-volume-consumption” market like Jacksonville, if full-size desserts would be welcomed additions to the menu. Consider the treats you’d clear hurdles for to make it to dessert Meccas like bb’s, Biscotti’s or The French Pantry. Those would be icing on the proverbial cake.

After all was said and done (and digested), it’s an easy claim to make that Seasons 52 will be a unique experience for many homegrown Jacksonville diners. Upscale, refined, fresh and “special,” S52 joins a small coterie of First Coast establishments, such as Matthew’s, Salt, Bistro Aix and Augustine Grille, that are wonderful backdrops to celebrate the milestones of life – feasts for the senses as much as for the palate. Or a shot of sweetness and a glass of vino after a harrowing day of holiday shopping next door. Heck – finishing your holiday shopping IS a milestone of life in and of itself.

Seasons 52 opens Monday, Oct. 24 at 5096 Big Island Drive. Call 904.645.5252 or visit seasons52.com for reservations. And trust me, don’t try to make your own exit ramp trying to get there. The Gate Parkway exit off JTB will serve you just fine.

View my Facebook photo gallery on Seasons 52

Tucked amidst the thicket of Olive Gardens, Chili’s and other ubiquitous, homogenized dining chains you’d expect off a major interstate, the River City Marketplace sports another ‘national brand’ that I suspect many Jacksonvillians may not know (but should) – Boston’s The Gourmet Pizza.

Canadian-founded Boston’s has lived at RCM for almost three years, joining nearly 400 other Boston’s-branded casual dining restaurants in the U.S., Canada and Mexico. The Northside store features a wide variety of homemade-crust pizzas, salads, appetizers, pastas, sandwiches, desserts and a full bar – all in a sports-bar environment with plenty of flat-screen TVs bolted to the ceiling. One refreshing note I must mention early on: the kitchen stays open until 1:30 a.m., seven days a week! How often do you find that in Jacksonville?

Anyway, on to our Bite Club assignment on September 27: Eat one of everything on the menu (OK, maybe not, but it sure felt like it … even a day later as I write this post).

The evening began with check-in, networking and cocktails – one complimentary beer, wine or well liquor. After a long day, that made for a short drink. Thankfully our wait staff airlifted several platters of tasty flatbreads into our meet-and-greet zone, then got out of the way as we gobbled them without delay. I can’t tell you the flavors, aside from cilantro all mixed up with ooey-gooey cheesy goodness. After my day at the office, it fit the bill.

After taking our seats, the parade of food (or “chorus of carbohydrates,” perhaps?) proceeded into our area unabated for the next two hours. So the Bacon-Wrapped Steak Skewers may not have been all about the carbs, but they were chock-full of protein-laden tenderness and flavor. If you closed your eyes (and nose), you might swear you were eating a bacon-wrapped scallop … yes, they were that tender. Win! Next up were the Southwest Raviolis – breaded guys with Mexican-type cheeses and a little bit of fire. Growing up on a steady diet of Jeno’s Pizza Rolls, it was easy to mistake the raviolis for these icons of my youth. Not that that’s a BAD thing, but let’s just say if you’ve had seven too many and it’s 1:30 a.m., and you’ve got the munchies, these are like manna. Finally on the starters platter, Boston’s Nachos presented crisp, evenly coated chips with all the good stuff – beef or chicken, a blend of cheeses, beans, olives, tomatoes and jalapenos. The haphazardly coated Ultimate Nachos of other casual-dining haunts should take note.

Moving onto salads, our table sampled The Santa Fe, with grilled chicken breast on fresh mixed greens with black beans … well, just read the Boston’s Nachos description above and you’re with me on the toppings. Tasty, definitely not healthy (as you might assume a salad could be) and pretty standard salad fare.

As you might assume, entrees came knocking as my tummy started talking, preceded by some so-so breadsticks. Presenting first was the Jambalaya Fettuccine, which is exactly what it sounds like (replacing rice with this “fat” pasta). The spicy Cajun Pomodoro sauce and mix of zesty veggies and bite-size proteins was irresistible. Another win. Next up came the Shrimp Tortellini, which was more like Cheese Tortellini with shrimp in a broth of broccoli, tomatoes, green onions, etc. Those of you who really know me known my deep disdain for the treelike texture of broccoli, but I somehow survived and enjoyed the tortellini immensely. Finally, the Spicy Chicken and Broccoli Alfredo (What gives? Did Sysco have a broccoli-in-bulk special recently?) wasn’t all evil-thick alfredo saucy like I thought it would be. Minus the mini trees, it was delicious. I’d just ask the server next time to remove the offending vegetable.

Most rationale foodies (and their stomachs) would draw the line at entrees and start surfing the menu for dessert, but remember that Boston’s is a PIZZA place (and I’m not counting the pre-event flatbreads). So the pies came flying at our tables – from Mama Meata to Sicilian to Spinach & Artichoke (my favorite) and other varietals. Whatever water source they use to form their crust is beyond-words pure, because they were amazing bases for the mega-sized toppings to rest. One thing I will criticize about the pizza selections, though, is the rather conspicuous absence of a veggie-themed pie. The Florentine – the only meatless selection – doesn’t go far enough, because there’s a difference between “meatless” and “veggie.” Some of us may be OK digging on cow, but really can’t resist the crunch of red and green peppers, the allure of sautéed onions, button mushrooms, sun-dried tomatoes … I could go on.

Incidentally, I sampled my girlfriend’s gluten-free thin-crust pepperoni (yes, Boston’s makes its own g-free crusts), and it was far-and-away the best such crust I’ve found in Jax (although if/when Pizza Fusion comes to Northeast Florida, they’ll be itching for a fight). Without a doubt, Amie and I will drive a half-hour north again for this pizza.

To round out the evening (and our waistlines), we enjoyed Individual Petites, which are mini-desserts served in tall shot glasses. Between Brownie, Bread Pudding, Apple Crisp and Strawberry Cheesecake, my belt was screaming, “Uncle!” Nothing too novel about this dessert format, but it just plain works for my overzealous sweet tooth.

Our wait staff was attentive and very polite throughout the evening, which is a feat in and of itself due to the sheer volume of clean plates they delivered to our tables every eight minutes (or so) between courses. Overall, Boston’s did a wonderful job hosting our group. While some menu selections were uninspiring and lacking novelty, I get the sense the target audience for this concept doesn’t much care. The food was fresh, tasty and fitting for casual gatherings, with reasonable prices to match. Win.

GAINESVILLE, Fla.–As I peer out from the second-floor cubby farm at Library West on the University of Florida campus, I realize it’s 4 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. Only the really BIG geeks are tapping away on their keyboards and not out frolicking on the Plaza of the Americas, catching the RTS bus for the exhaust-fume-laden ride home, or otherwise making way for the weekend.

Fourteen years have peeled away since I last held legit claims to UF student-dom. It doesn’t feel all that different, from my vantage point here. I certainly LOOK different and act different. I’m 36 years old, and my thoughts and concerns are I’ll bet fairly far removed from the typical UF student, circa 2011.

Here’s one point of commonality, though. We, the members of Gator Nation, all play a role in creating and recreating this institution, every moment of every day. I liken it to that very special feeling that you are a part of something dynamic, something amazing, something much larger than yourself. UF has that verve, that energy coursing through everyone, like electrons pulsing this way and that in an atom, in a frenzy that can never cease, and I pray WILL never cease.

Whether we’re students, alums, friends, parents, donors or whoever else plays a role in contributing to this institution, we all make this place move, grow and perform. After all, without protons and electrons in perpetual motion, what would an atom be?

And for those of you who only see UF as a football school, or a place where sports are held high on a pedestal of championships, you’re missing the whole message. The pride we feel in our athletic endeavors is part of the mix, without a doubt. But there are amazing students, faculty members, researchers, strategists, visionaries and others who support the institution that creates that athletic excellence. Without that foundation, the Gators would cease to exist. Saturdays in the fall would suck.

I’m proud to be back at the mothership, wrapping up two days of meetings with UF’s Public Relations Advisory Council in the College of Journalism and Communications. Our council supports the peak performance of our public relations students and faculty members, who make up the most accomplished academic PR department anywhere. We support new College and department initiatives, help graduate students find internships, counsel undergraduate students on career development, seek out new funding sources that Tallahassee is holding back, and ensure the department receives the accolades it deserves outside of Gainesville.

My relationship with the Advisory Council, my leadership tenure with the Gator Club of Jacksonville, and my continued mentoring of UF students are all ways I choose to donate my own personal energy to keeping UF one of the most amazing, dynamic spots on Earth. And, as the ad campaign says, the Gator Nation isn’t just a spot … it’s everywhere.

It’s getting close to 5, which means I’m soon headed to one of the most amazing, dynamic spots in Gainesville this time of day — Happy Hour at the Swamp. Time to lose this blazer and trade it for a beer. And try to blend.

GO GATORS!

Although it has little to do with the story at hand, this is evidence that I did have some athletic moves as a wee lad.

Today, like most Sundays, I volunteered as a reader and board operator for the WJCT Radio Reading Service. I’m borderline-ashamed to admit it, but it’s usually the only time each week that I look at a printed, physical newspaper. That is, unless you count the Florida Times-Unions deposited in the break room at work, which I liberally peruse while my Lean Cuisine du jour crackles in the microwave.

As usual, I digress. But today, a story I read on the front page astounded me and made me mad. Those of you who know me well know it takes a lot to rile this old boy’s feathers, but this one made me darn-near incredulous.

First, let me post a link to the story on Jacksonville.com. I encourage you to read it before continuing with this post:

No money available for Duval high school sports, says board chairman

If you decided not to click this link, here’s what we in the public relations business call the “news peg.” The Duval County Public Schools are $97 million in the hole. They’re reeling from three straight years of budget cuts. Our new governor, Mr. Scott, is the reincarnation of that Crazy Eddie TV pitchman from back in the day and all about “slaaasshhhinnnnnggggg budgets!” And while the legislative decision is still a few weeks away, it’s looking pretty certain that to appease Tallahassee and keep the lights on at the public schools next year, Duval’s muckety-mucks will kill the lights Friday nights at area football stadiums in the fall.

So there you have it: Scholastic athletics in Duval will roast as the sacrificial lamb. Football, basketball, cheerleading, band … gone? Yeah. And apparently Duval is the only county in the state considering such draconian measures.

Before the real ranting begins, two disclaimers are necessary. For a variety of reasons, I never played formal scholastic sports as a kid. But frankly, it’s one of my biggest regrets as a fitness-loving adult today. And until I set foot on the University of Florida in August 1993, I never attended public school a day of my life. Am I qualified to rant? Maybe not, but this is my blog and I don’t care.

I may have never been the gifted athlete that so many of us took such pride watching from the sidelines so many years ago. Perhaps you were one of those gifted athletes, or have a child or children today who are happily chipping away at Malcolm Gladwell’s purported 10,000-hour requirement to be a “professional” at anything. But there is no doubt that athletics, and the process of being an athlete or teammate, offers up lessons that just can’t be wrestled into the classroom (sorry, wrestling–aka: sitting on people–was the only thing I seemed to do half-way decently in high school, so I had to work it in).

You learn to work together for a common cause, work hard to see your dreams through, process the agony of rejection and defeat and pick yourself up to battle another day. Some students who eschew books, but who have talents we have to recognize and celebrate, gain discipline and self-respect only on the field of play, and with coaches who mentor them into productive members of society. How, then, does sports fall outside the “core curriculum” our educators have neatly defined … probably in some old, dust-covered textbook about “best practices” in educational models?

And think about all of those students who have a chance to progress into collegiate glory … and more importantly, academic scholarships that will pave the way to a life after sports. Where do they go now? Will Bolles, Bishop Kenny, Episcopal or the Day School du jour scoop them up? That’s a pipe dream and an influx of kids that the private sector can’t absorb. And shouldn’t have to.

How many more Tim Tebows are out there who don’t have the resources Mr. Bronco had at Nease?

As with any rant, the ranter must find fault with someone to gain a sense of justice. In this case, I just don’t know where to point my finger (guess which one?). Is it at the Gov, who seems to hold nothing sacred unless it’s a for-profit job incubator that will allow him to find his campaign-promised 700,000 new jobs? Or is it at the Duval school district, which arguably hasn’t moved on a number of initiatives to take a machete to budgetary fat?

So the jury’s out on who to blame. Who can fix this mess? Who will step up and find an innovative solution to keep the lights on Friday nights?

Or will this just be another excuse for urban flight and into the more affluent (and arguably better-managed) outlying counties’ school districts? Clay and St. Johns, I hope you guys are ready.

I don’t have a solution here. Do you?

The battleground

As most of my regular readers probably have picked up on by now, I’m waging a war of attrition against the complexities of life in 2011. Like most wars, there are many battles — some bloodier than others. In this post, I’ll describe a skirmish that must be won, if we are to be free.

In this battle, the enemy’s mercenaries fight not with bullets but with vibrations, audible alerts, obnoxious T. Pain-inspired ring tones or other mantras of pop culture. Their staccato rounds fill you with anxiety, obsessive-compulsiveness, neuroticism and other chronic, life-dulling manifestations that splinter our attentions and impale us with impulsiveness.

I have no doubt that the world will continue to downsize, right-size, diversify and compete for our attention in new and insidious ways every moment of every waking minute. We get pinged regularly on our smartphones about nearly everything these days. Stock quotes, baseball scores, breaking news from CNN, Words with Friends play requests, blog comment notifications, Facebook anything (if you don’t know how to hog-tie their privacy settings) … they’re all there, lining up and shouting, “Look at meeeeee!” But honestly, how much of it do you really NEED on a moment-to-moment basis? Most of these pings take you away from the task at hand, even if but for just a moment. God bless you if you can find an off-ramp on the Tangent Turnpike.

I’ll admit, sometimes people need that instant notification. Doctors, fire fighters, police officers — public servants in general need to be ready to roll with a moment’s notice. It’s not neuroticism then … it’s simply a day at the office, where reaction rules the day. But the vast majority of us could live very productive, focused lives by ditching the automatic notifications … or at least triaging them and dealing with them in a structured way.

We should be teaching our kids in the public schools how to cope with such notifications right now. They are arguably the most vulnerable to such distractions, and how many school districts have really effectively blocked cell phones from the classroom? Students these days, especially in cash-strapped Florida, don’t need any other barriers to good grades and graduation. Are we content raising a new generation of citizens who multitask by default?

Is that the new normal? Does it have to be?

While I myself have struggled over the years with keeping focus and attention, I’m taking a stand against notifications. In the office some time ago, I disabled those little pop-up “you’ve got mail” boxes in Outlook, and I now let calls I’m not expecting go to voice mail. On my iPhone, I’ve disabled all but the most important notifications. I still get pinged on incoming calls and texts, but I’ve started unsubscribing to those text alert systems that offer you discounts … at seemingly all hours of the day and night. In the same breath, I’ve removed myself from dozens of e-mail blast lists I somehow became attached to after buying something online (and forgetting to uncheck the little “Please send me everything” box at the bottom of the page).

To be fair and in full disclosure, I will acknowledge that my industry/discipline — marketing and public relations — has contributed much to this surge in notifications. Heck — notifications sell. Like advertising, they take you away from your current state and show you somewhere else you might like to be. But like alcohol, it’s up to all of us individually to use notifications responsibly, before they get the best of us and distract us from the precious present moment.

Let’s practice staying in that moment and enjoying that moment, because they are endangered species more and more these days. And let’s teach our kids by example. Heck, if the schools won’t do it…

What are your strategies to combat daily distractions such as smartphone notifications? With what other distractions do you have difficulties?

One of my favorite rites of spring: the Gate River Run 15K. This is from my first-ever Gate, in March 2001.

You’d think on the first morning of a four-day weekend, I’d bury my head under the covers, deny the outside world, and be content outwitting my virtual foes at Words With Friends. Normally, those few-and-far-between days off go something like that. But spring was in the air this Friday morning … or, in the case of my house, paint fumes (subject for another blog post, coming soon). So I sprang to action, coughed a little, and made amends for skipping my running date with myself last night.

I was to tackle six miles in my normal Mandarin loop. But running at 9 a.m. is a much different proposition than starting at 6 a.m., or even 8 p.m., especially in the climatological limbo we call mid-February. Mother Nature’s still cold and unfeeling for the most part this time of year, but even she is not immune to hot flashes.

It was disgusting-warm the moment I passed through my front door. But I was determined to forsake comfort for sweat, shin pain, and the latest podcast from This American Life, perfectly timed to my sub-hour run.

A hard run it was, but I realized that perhaps the worst of the deep-freeze curve balls had been thrown, and the world would soon return to full bloom with spring. We’re still a month out from the official start to spring (or did the seasons change along with the signs of the zodiac?). But my run … and the accompanying freezing-cold shower to get those endorphins rushing … meant more than shin splints. In many ways, it was a new beginning, all over again.

Pretty soon, it’ll be time to fish out the Toro from the tool shed and carve up the back yard, apply Weed-N-Feed, and, dare I say, attempt some rudimentary landscaping. It’ll be time to revisit Conch House on Sunday afternoons. Play Frisbee in Memorial Park on the same Sunday afternoon, after church. Practice tailgating at UF before the Orange & Blue Game. Engineer weekend road trips to the Keys. Host another Easter egg hunt in my neatly manicured (once aforementioned Toro has had its way) back lawn. Throw the Giant into the back of the Highlander for 30-miler Saturday mornings on Baldwin Trail. And on, and on, and on.

I used to think the fall was my favorite time of year, with college football’s return and the holidays flickering on the horizon. But let’s table those arguments and look at semantics for a moment (as all competent writers should do frequently). Fall seems to be the only season that has a synonym, autumn. And I think that’s because the word “fall” isn’t such a flattering word. Stumbling and falling are hardly inspiring visions. Spring has a jumpy, almost Tigger-esque quality to it. A vibrant, unbridled energy that’s just begging to be tapped. Fall or autumn, by comparison, almost has a neurotic, overprogrammed connotation.

And since I’m checking my own ingrained neuroticism at the door in 2011, it seems natural that I “look forward” to spring, and not “fall back” onto negative habits.

Did you ever think semantics would win out over football in the Magee household?

What does spring mean to you? What do you look forward to most this time of year?