South Florida gets a lot of credit for its fabulous seaside dining, but the Atlantic coastline to the north teems with restaurants worth discovering. Whether you're driving out-of-state or exploring Florida northeastern quarter, head over to A1A, where the sun is warm, the beer is frigid, and the crowds are as relaxed as they come.

NEW SMYRNA BEACH

The family-friendly stretch of sand at New Smyrna Beach serves as a tranquil alternative to the neon lights and late-night revelry found in nearby Daytona. Ask anyone in town the best place to eat, and they'll point you toward J.B.'s Fish Camp, a place that originated as a haven for water-weary fishermen and whose gravel parking lot now teems with Porsches and Jaguars bearing Florida plates.

You're practically guaranteed a wait here, but that's part of the experience. J.B.'s overlooks the Indian River, so you can sit on the dock and watch the dolphin lob past or rent a kayak for an hour and follow their trail.

Once your name is called, prepare yourself for a seafood feast of epic proportions. Start with a cup of J.B.'s original-recipe oyster stew, a spicy concoction filled with globs of oysters that were plucked from their beds just steps from the restaurant. Wash it down with a cold mug of beer, or fan the flames with a tongue-prickling Bloody Mary. Next: fresh blue crabs who were also born and raised in the Indian River. Eat 'em steamed and ask for them hot -- they'll come loaded with the restaurant's signature crab spice.

Now, it's time for your main course. According to locals, your choice of entree at J.B.'s says a lot about who you are. Order the crab-cake dinner and you're predictable but smart, someone who appreciates consistently great grub and pays attention to the framed awards and reviews that line a restaurant's walls. If you opt for the spicy blackened grouper, you're a nimble risk-taker and maybe even a hooligan -- you don't mind taking some heat if there's going to be a substantial payoff.

But if you do like many before you and skip the meat altogether in favor of a giant bowl of hushpuppies, you're probably friends with a New Smyrna native. They know that the hushpuppies at J.B.'s are one of the best-kept secrets on the Atlantic Coast, fried to a Coca-Cola brown and simmering with Cajun spices. When dipped in a tiny cup of tartar sauce, the tasty balls offer a glimpse of what food will be like once we're on the other side of the pearly gates.

PONCE INLET

Just 25 minutes to the north lies Ponce Inlet, home to several bustling marinas and Florida's tallest lighthouse. You'll want to pay your respects to Miss Genevieve, an old schooner who spends her retirement doubling as a bar in her eponymous seaside restaurant.

Pull a stool up to the old gal herself, order a pound of steamed peel-and-eat shrimp and crack open a few sweaty beers. There's no pretension here (''Prices Change According to Attitude of Customer,'' reads one sign), but there are also no complaints -- like the boat for which it is named, Miss Genevieve's Lighthouse Landing Raw Bar is always reliable.

Once you've digested your shrimp, grab a table on the deck and get ready for the main course. Order the Fisherman's Platter, a heap of fried fish, shrimp, deviled crab, oysters, scallops and clam strips. As you munch on your food and watch children point at herons from the restaurant's sagging dock, you'll feel like you've traveled back in time to a Florida long-forgotten.

INTO HISTORY

Drive 70 miles to the north, and you'll find yourself in the past in St. Augustine, the oldest port city in the continental United States. The Conch House Marina Restaurant, a kitschy-but-cool seafood joint overlooking a 200-slip marina just off the Intracoastal Waterway, combines past and present.

Start your meal with a liquid appetizer in the open-air, panoramic lounge -- concoctions like the Goombay Smash (three kinds of rum, apricot brandy and a pineapple-orange juice blend) will loosen your taste buds and make last week's board meeting seem like a distant memory. Listen to the lead singer of the live band mimic Jimmy Buffet, then ask for a table in one of the restaurant's tiny thatch-roof huts, which are perched like birds' nests around the property.

If you're really hungry, order the Conch House Platter from the Floribbean-style menu. You'll be rewarded with an enormous plate of fresh mahi mahi, shrimp and sea scallops that have all been baked with seasoned bread crumbs and lumps of crab meat.

Save room for a slice of ''mile-high'' Key lime pie. Even South Floridians who have eaten hundreds of slices of the stuff will find themselves licking their forks, their lips, their plates.

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