A Quick Restaurant Review - Snooze: An A.M. Eatery

Snooze was a nice little surprise.

I haven't been out much lately, that virus thing and all, but my cousin wanted to do brunch. And while I'm not up for anything much, I figured since I hadn't seen her in months and it would be relatively low key, I would go out and enjoy myself. A bit. (That and in looking back to check the format I just realized it's been FIVE YEARS since I did one of these. WOW.)

So she picked this new spot, well new to me, called Snooze. It's a little diner-ish kinda spot over in the super fast growth area of Atlanta called Westside. Not to be confused with the actual west side of the city where I live (as I've pointed out before), this is a super trendy little area that used to be half abandoned buildings. Now it's trendy boutiques, swank apartments and hot restaurants. And yes, I wish I lived there but no, I also don't even want to fork out the loot for the rents. Whooosah. The spot seemed like a winner to me, because again I've been in the house for a  long minute so we agreed to sit eat and talk.

I apparently haven't been over that way in a while, and it's maybe ten minutes away from the house. Working from home as really spoiled me. I think I put gas in my car six or seven times all of last year. But apparently everyone else has been working throwing up brick and mortar, and not just in my neighborhood. It took me a moment to remember that the last time I'd been at that corner - 10th and Howell Mill - that I used to pass nearly everyday on the way to work. The spot where Snooze was located just two years ago an industrial art installation, and I know I'd parked on the street right by there a time or two to walk to a club in that area. Now it's a whole apartment building. Whoa.

Snooze is itself is like any other brunch spot on a Sunday - BUSY. Just like in the way back, they had a group of folks milling about on the curb, but my cousin had gotten a reservation, so I steered clear until time. Well, maybe it was kinda busy. Maybe it's still the pandemic, but the waiting group seemed smaller the usual. I remember once arriving at West Egg Cafe right up the street for brunch with Spanky, putting  our name on the list, going over to Atlantic Station and getting a new phone and coming back just as they said our table was ready. This seemed to be a relatively quick five or ten minutes for walk-ups. But it wasn't stroll in and seat yourself, let me put it that way.

The inside is bright and airy, with early green and brown walls, gold light fixtures, tall dividers and higher than diner ceilings. There is even a bar in the back left corner. The staff is friendly, everything is digital and they do this thing where they seat you even if your whole party hasn't arrived. Which was cool because my cousin was running late. Oh, one other thing...everyone that works there was black. The host and hostess, the waiter, the bus...guy, everyone. Which is and isn't odd. It's Atlanta, an all black establishment isn't unusual. But it's the Westside where you can get three kinds of artisanal water in some places, so it didn't really seem like "we" would be over there considering what I know they must be charging for per square foot for the lease. Maybe it was just the staffing that day, but it didn't matter, I liked it.

Now when I say everything digital, I mean, everything digital. You pulled up the menu on your phone using a QR code on the table. Which meant my usual phone etiquette rules when I'm out with someone have to be partially suspended. The menu looks properly brunch diverse, but I still went with my old standard for new places - Scrambled eggs, hash-browns or the grits, bacon. I mean, if you can't get that basic staple right, the idea that I would trust you with Eggs Benedict topped with a Habanero Pork Belly or a French Toast is out of the question. Well, I did get a pancake instead of the toast, but hey, I hadn't been out in a minute. My cousin went simpler, with hash-browns (get them flattened and they're just like Waffle House) and a flight of bacon. Yes, like a flight of wine, it's a flight of bacon. Pure Genius.

My cousin and I chatted about careers, she's a lawyer too, and about life and Atlanta and getting older and things we should have done instead of things we did. Sometimes you just need a friendly face, a quiet body to bounce some things off. I think that the pandemic has us all re-evaluating our priorities, and I have two or three things that I need to go ahead and kickoff and stop standing around dreaming about. ONE of which is the writing. Which I will definitely be re-engaging shortly. Finishing the second draft. So yeah, working from home all this time has been great, except when you need a voice to remind you that time is actually moving. I may have gotten too comfortable with all that silence.

The food was good, although the pancake was a little "bready" for me. I like mine a touch thinner, but this was still good though. They could blot the bacon a bit, but it was still tasty, and a generous portion so I can't complain. I will note that the idea of free refills hadn't caught up with them yet, so get a water to start and save that juice for when the food arrives. By the way, you pay digitally as well, through your phone. What are old cash guys like me supposed to do?

All in all, good experience. Not just the getting out of the house, but the food and atmosphere as well. It's a good spot. I'll have to go again.

If you come for the King....

Ramblings Post #375
This week I'm your correspondent from here at the front lines of America's most important battle this week. On Twitter. Over Chicken Sandwiches. Hey, everything doesn't have to be that serious. I could be arguing over grass or AstroTurf. Or the whole Jay-Z and Kapernick thing. But sometimes you need to have a little fun. Or at least not as serious. Not the same thing. 

It was supposed to be a salad day.

As part of my personal betterment program I have salads for lunch at least twice a week, usually on Monday to get the week started right and another day along the way. I find the roughage surprisingly refreshing for some reason.  And although I love beef, I also have cut back the red meat to twice a week just because it stays in my system so long but that's whole other story. I generally try to limit not only my total intake, but also try to cut back on excessive fried foods and the like. All my pants feel lose now, and I working notches down on the old belt.

Right around the ranch there are a host of sit down lunch, pizza, sandwich, Mexican, Chinese, and other ethnic options within in easy strolling distance. A lunch costing between $10-15 is the usual. And parking is funny, so I try to limit my off the grounds trips. About two or three times a month, provided the joint isn't too crowded - which is never - I venture over to the Chick-fl-a for lunch and get a sandwich or more regularly the nuggets to keep the bread intake down. I still see it as a treat, as my hometown was too small to support one and so I didn't even discover them until college. But that there is what you call good eating. But also about once a month or so I will also venture to Popeye's, but only for dinner. They're very good, but if you've ever been in a Popeye's you know what it is. I try to keep both of them far back in the rotation. But since we're now apparently in the midst of a chicken sandwich war, I decided before I pick sides I needed to get that intel. 

That's right... war. Over chicken sandwiches. Of course on Twitter. I read the back and forth and chuckled.

I ran a couple errands, swung by Popeye's and got a sandwich combo and headed back to the south forty to eat in peace. I got back to my spot, got my um, "charges arranged" and unpacked lunch. First, the Popeye's sandwich is bigger. The number one at Chick-fil-a always seems smushed a bit when you get it, but it's still a good eat. A small white bread bun, take the pickles off, add in a dab of mustard and some mayo and it's a good chicken sandwich. The sandwich from Popeye's by contrast is on a nice toasted Brioche bun, the pickles looked thicker, even though I took them off, and no need for mayo or mustard as it comes with sauce. It just looks better. BUT, how it looks is not how it tastes. I dug in.

Damn. I mean damn.

Chick-fl-a got trouble coming. Wendy's and BK might need to head for the showers. I didn't think I would ever refer to having a chicken sandwich as a "religious experience" but here we are. I had to put the sandwich down twice to stop from eating it too fast. It was juicy, spicy (but I got the spicy), the toasted bread set it off just right, I don't know what that sauce was but damn. Popeye's may have come to the chicken sandwich party late, but party didn't start until they walked in. Now, let's be upfront here, the fries at Popeye's are horrible, and the service is not for the impatient or faint of heart.

But this sandwich just might be worth it.

I can't go back. it's like I know I like sweet stuff so I limit myself intentionally. Bruh. I would overdose on these.

Barkeep. You got any good cognac back there? 

A Quick Restaurant Review - Little Trouble

I don't hang out much anymore for various reasons, the vast majority of which seem to always be in flux and so a return to that swinging nightlife could be just around the corner. But right this second, I'm bingeing on a bit of law in an effort to get this "ranching" career off the ground and video games I may have purchased as long a four years ago. For the uninformed I have a habit of purchasing games when I have a few spare coins and then playing then much later. It's not like they go bad. This time the game is only two years old, but I waited like a year after release to purchase it, so I've really only had it for like a year, but I digress.

When I do go out now it's in short bursts, meaning a few hours after work or to a single event. Atlanta's night life has changed so much in the few years I've been out of rotation that I'm no longer certain of anything, and the spots I used to frequent are either gone or just not hot anymore. And with the city bisected by the highway collapse, I'm either locked into to staying near home or have to pack an overnight bag just go get drinks. Yeesh. Which is how I ended up at Little Trouble on a Friday night.

I'm not quite sure how the spot operates, as it seems a little like a out of the way bar that shows in NY movies where the protagonist is in the basement of a building that looks condemned from the outside and then suddenly bam! - trendy nightclub. Little Trouble is kinda like that only the building is like a high end shopping destination by day that has one of the busiest Uber drop offs I've ever seen. After taking a risk that Serve, the taller of the hangout duo Spanky and Serve who I sometimes hang out when I do go out, was actually going to show up this time, we met around the corner at one my fav little spots, Ormsby's which is in what I guess is Westside Plaza(?). We had a drink, had some hummus and she learned to play Bocce on the bar's indoor court downstairs. But that stop was just a social amuse-bouche before we sauntered over to Little Trouble.

The spot is at the other end of the plaza from Ormsby's, which itself is a bit of beast to find, and then down a long dark tunnel where we were greeted with a neon logo that made me think of Blade Runner for some reason. This opened into cozy little bar with low seats and lots of mood lighting on one side of the room and more formal dining tables on the other. There is a quieter smaller space in the back but I only glimpsed it. The spot has a very hip vibe to it, which may be why the people with backpacks looking like they just got off the bus from Mississippi left a just a few moments. Full Disclosure: The second we walked in I thought that Sporty would have loved it.

The wall is like from a shipping container

Serve and I posted up at the bar, which in retrospect is set much lower than I realized, and perused the menu, a take on street food from Southeastern Asia - buns, bowls and meat on sticks. I should mention for those who like to imbibe that Little Trouble is really more a craft bar - in that they really seem to excel at crafted drinks. While I pursued the food stuffs offered, I got a Crane Kick (Japanese whiskey, rum, spice and lemon - the spice apparently ginger) and Serve ordered something I forget. But it looked really fruity. The bartenders take their time too, pouring a touch of this and a little of that to get it just right. More than once I saw him assemble something that made me want to order it too. That's a sign of a good, or at least entertaining, bartender.

Crane Kick and whatever it was Serve had....

Now, my original intention was to mix and match a few of the buns to see what it was all about and started with the Pork Belly, hoping to try some of the other items like the meat on a stick, Pork Rinds or Panda Cotta later. Serve got the Salmon Bowl and split it with me, since the sauce was too spicy for her (note - it's not spicy, she just sensitive). The bun is a soft white crust-less bread shell, think really cool Slider, topped with stuff I usually don't eat and a pretty fair size piece of grilled pork. It was a very good combination. And if they didn't melt the Gruyere on the French Dip bun I would have stuck to my 'try a little of everything' plan. Instead, having found something I really liked, I got a second Pork Belly Bun which was just as good as the first, so no drop off here.  The food is good, and the portions are just the right size for someone out trying to have a good time, not too small but not too big.   

We got there relatively early, around eight or so, but the place doesn't really pick up until nine or so. This is a change from back when I used to run the circuit, when there were days I'd leave the job on Friday at 5pm and be pulling up to the spot 20 minutes later...and still not be the first one out. Maybe we were just more desperate to have a good time back then. Be aware, the crowd is a mixed bag, but mostly younger folks and people who have jobs that let them afford the ridiculous ass rent in the surrounding apartment buildings.

If you're trying to get into a little trouble, I can suggest Little Trouble. Maybe it's easier to find at night, as it might be the only thing that has foot traffic that time of the evening over there. I do intend to go back though and find out.


Side Note : While it was still early we walked across the railroad bridge and ran into a line outside Jeni's Ice Cream. We had to get some because there was a long  line, at least according to Serve. I'm not sure about the logic, but who can turn down ice cream?  The selection was a little...esoteric, with flavors along to lines of Riesling Poached Pear and Intelligentsia Black Cat Espresso, but it's good ice cream. And the place smelled like they were making the waffle cones fresh. I can say with authority, it was worth the wait.

A Quick Restaurant Review - Another Broken Egg Cafe

I don't do these like I used to, because I don't eat out like I used to. Well, I still eat out, but I usually get it to go because I've found that while eating alone is mildly depressing, eating alone in a restaurant just looks bad. It does really, unless you're at the bar, which looks suspect without a drink, but I've cut drinking to practically a standstill, so now I'm at the bar alone with no drink and plate of food. Trust me, my couch is more comfortable, AND I get to control the remote. But I digress. So out of the blue Serve hits me up about brunch at like 3am on the group chat, and because I'm half sleep I say sure and when I wake up I'm doing brunch.

Yay! Brunch.

So we decide to meet up at Another Broken Egg in Vinings. The restaurant is part of chain and has a location in mid-town as well, but since Serve and I both live on the west side, I figured this was an easier drive. And knowing that there would be a wait of possibly a half hour because Atlanta is a brunch town - and that Serve would be late because the last time few times we did brunch she was late - I went prepared. Making sure the iPad was powered and my Kindle app ready I sallied forth.

The cafe is in a one of those developments that has replaced the mall, you know, a little shopping area with a diverse but carefully homogenized store fronts and odd sized parking lots that allow for shade trees and flowing bushes to hide which spots are taken. It's supposed to encourage walking and fresh air. Bleh. I for one miss the malls and the air-conditioning. Inside the spot is nice though, colorful and surprisingly bright with tables and booths in a L-shaped dining area separated by a free standing bar. It even has a nice veranda on the back which I imagines overlooks one of those wonderfully tricky odd sized parking lots.

I get there and check in, and they have this new app you need to download instead of one of the buzzer things. I'm a little skeptical at first, I hate putting unnecessary crap on my phone, but this one seems useful. It's called NoWait, and it keeps track of the wait times at various local restaurants. It doesn't allow you to check in or anything, but if you're trying to pick a spot I could see where knowing it's a thirty minute wait at Chez Chez La Hongree or that it's an hour at Feed Me Grubhouse would be nice information. Modern technology, eh?

I start reading on the verandah-ish patio space. Serve shows up ten minutes later, well before we're seated - surprising - and we catch up. The usual stuff grown people talk about, career, house, career, plans for the rest of the summer, etc. No, no I'm not smuggling Chinese babies, or want to be a fry cook, or moving to Alaska, nothing like that, no earth shattering revelations. It's just catching up, which we haven't done for a minute because of this thing called life...and the reality that she lives just North of West Nowhere.

First tip. Get the benigets! They call them biscuit benigets, but don't be fooled. They're light and airy, coated in powdered sugar and served with this jelly concoction. Serve swore she could eat the whole plate of them if pressed, and after tasting one I couldn't blame her. They're a great starter. My dining companion, who is vegetarian, or pescatarian, or something that makes eating out more difficult than necessary, had the Chez B omelette, but opted for regular mushrooms instead of the portobello on the menu. Now this is where you need to pay attention - they're open to substitutions. This means they actually cook the food in the on site and aren't serving prepackaged stuff. A lot of places don't cook onsite. Serve even got the them to make her hot chocolate with milk instead of water. They are on point. I got a Belgian waffle with a side of bacon and eggs. Now this is where they lost me. The bacon is *gasp* baked. I swear I almost got the sausage instead. But the waitress swore up and down I'd love the bacon. I decided to risk it.

Waffle with Eggs. The green stuff is from the Chez B. We ate all the benigets.

The food was good, but not awe-inspiring. The waffle light, but a little soft without the crisp edge I like. The baked bacon, er..pork meat strips, were good, but not go home and try to make it yourself good. And Serve liked her omelette, but it wasn't I think I would have another one even though I shouldn't good. Good enough to take out of town family good. Which is great, because it's very family oriented - lots of kids and families out. The service was excellent though, can't stress that enough. Substitutions and servers willing to do a little bit extra? I think we left a 25% tip, maybe even a skosh more.

Would I go again? Yes. And that is really all the info you need to know. 

A Quick Restaurant Review - Bone Garden Cantina

One of globe hopping pals, good ole Slim, is back in town and since she's only in town for another two weeks before she's off to South America, we decided before things get crazy with the holiday weekend to hookup, sit down eat and catch up. Its been so long since I've had a regular properly cultured dining partner it took me a minute to figure out which way to go. So remembering she's a pescatarian, I picked a Mexican spot that included veggie only and fish tacos, which is how we ended up at the Bone Garden Cantina.   

The BGC is off the beaten path to say the least. It's a little bar on the backside of a little office/loft type development on in an industrial access road in a developing part of town. I circled the parking lot twice looking for it, before finally getting out of the car and venturing on foot into the building the sign called the "Lumberyard." As we say in the country, if it had been a snake it would have bitten me.

The inside is pure kitsch. Think of those restaurants that try to create a homey atmosphere by putting
unrelated vintage stuff on the walls, but think if it all had a single theme and that theme was the
Mexican holiday known as the Day of the Dead. It's dancing skeletons, skulls, devils and a few other things that just washed over my eyes. Even weirder, the longer I sat in there the more the whole thing seemed to come together, as though the designer was counting on you having to immerse yourself to get the feel of it. I had a Mexican Coke and just soaked up the room for a while.

And this was just looking over my shoulder from the bar...

Slim finally arrived and we ordered, her getting the cheese quesadilla and a vegetarian taco called the Flor de Jamaica, that came with flowers. She explained that living in the Bahamas she'd actually played with fish so now she couldn't eat those either. I wished her well with that. I had the a Carne Adobo taco and a Chorizo quesadilla. Now, just so you don't get it confused, this is real Mexican food, not the Americanized versions they serve most places. If that's what you want, the menu gives directions to the nearest Taco Bell and wishes you well. This food is excellent. The sauce had a tang to it, with no sweetness, and neither the taco or the quesadilla looked like any other I'd eaten before in Atlanta. Slim who is originally from California and knows Mexican food from people who don't even speak English was so impressed that she had to get some to-go that could take home for her mother.

My Carne Adobo Taco

Now to catch up. I had only spoken to Slim by phone for the past few years as she'd dipped off to the Middle East to teach. Then last year she moved to the Bahamas where she was possibly looking at a position as a school principal, and where I was looking into vacationing because I wasn't planning on paying for a hotel or food. In any case she cut that short because she is leaving her husband, which was the topic for most of our meal. We briefly discussed some other things: future plans like maybe Peru or China for her, my job search, the book I'm working on, my film project, etc., but we kept coming back to how unhappy she was with her situation. And how long it had been that way. And how happy she was that she was ending it. So the meal had a theme so to speak.

The Bone Garden Cantina is a cool little spot, as we ended up just sitting there at the bar chatting long after the lunch crowd had cleared out. The waitstaff seems attentive without hovering, the food is all priced individually so you can experiment without breaking your wallet, and when you go ask the waitress if you can hang on to your menu because the back is just shy of hilarious. I'll be back, sipping on a Mexican coke and letting the vibe just get me.    

A Quick Restaurant Review - Common Quarter

Never accept a brunch invitation before you wake up. Spanky called as she sometimes does on the odd Saturday, barking into my phone asking...no, asking is the wrong term...imploring me to leap to my feet and join her somewhere.  Usually its someplace where there is an event, say a day party she doesn't want to go to alone or the like, but this morning it was the side-eye meet-up for brunch. At somewhere she either already is or on her way to. Which is like totally unfair. She's awake, dressed and on the freeway and I'm neck deep in comforter.

But because I hadn't really been out in two weeks, and I hadn't looked up the spot I grudgingly agreed. So that was my mistake.

The place she chose was a new spot she'd found on Urban Daddy called Common Quarter, which if you look on a map is located somewhere in East Cobb. I do not live anywhere near East Cobb. I knew there was an issue when I looked it up on my phone and Google Maps predicted that it was more than 30 mins away... traveling by highway! Now admittedly, at my encouragement, Spanky is supposed to be stepping outside her comfort zone, although she may have taken my wording a bit more literally than I intended. So I felt a wee bit guilty that perhaps I had induced this somehow. That feeling was temporary.

So after a brisk shower and shave, a ride up the west wall and 75 north...and Roswell Rd....I eventually arrived.

Let me describe the spot. Very modern, with the wine racks up front and local jams and other consumables right near the door. Then a space, because no matter how much you polish a concrete floor or how nice the fabric you hang over bare concrete walls it's just a space. It's arranged nicely, with a full wood bar up front and nice wood horizontal across the space, but it's still just a space. They were playing some good southern blues as accent music, which is a nice change up so kudos to them for that.

Now, normally the phrase "brunch" turns a Saturday morning in Atlanta into tizzy reminiscent a mini Black Friday opening. I've personally experienced waits up to an hour for a table at your more notable joints. But this spot was empty. Like ten people total in a space designed for a hundred kinda empty. The manager explained later it was only their second week doing brunch...but still. AND, the brunch menu lacks the basic staple - a grits or hasbrowns, scrambled egg, bacon arrangement. My logic is if you can't do a simple breakfast, I'm not going to trust you to create a Sesame Shrimp, Spinach and Mushroom egg wedge crepe draped over a pecan blueberry waffle cone drizzled with honey butter (Note: that's not on the brunch menu). Okay, a basic breakfast can be "assembled" from sides, but that shouldn't have to occur. On the plus, the sweet tea was okay.

I ordered the pancakes, which came as an oddly non-uniform stack, accompanied by pecan butter and maple syrup. And that was it. Bacon had to be ordered separately. Had I been feeling charitable, I would have suggested the slight change of adding bacon to the basic order to the management since they were just getting started. But I wasn't feeling charitable. That, and the bacon was "over smoked." That or it was turkey. Ugh.  

Pancakes and bacon, with the pecan butter in the middle.

The conversation between Spanky and I was subdued because when I arrived I accidentally told her I thought that the spot was a bit far. And a bit empty. This immediately meant to her that I hated it, she was in the wrong, etc and so on. She does that sometimes, either with you're either totally with her or totally against her. Which makes me wonder why we're still friends sometimes. Anyway, because of that she spent the first half of the meal pouting. That and I only just found out she's considering getting back with her old...um, well, this dude which I found distressing. She tried to compare her relationship to dude to my relationship with Sporty, but that fell flat. Partly because I can't really explain what me and Sporty are doing, whereas I know her's is bad.

She didn't warm up until we started talking about her job, which is love/hates much like everyone else. Once she started talking though it was back to okay between us. I kinda guess. I kept my comments about her hat to myself.

Is the spot worth a 30 min drive? Um, how much is gas? Now if you live in East Cobb and want a upscale kinda joint, this might be your spot. Service was attentive (okay, it was empty) but it seems like it has potential. Maybe on a regular night I'd get more of a feel for it. If one night I find myself up that way, it's a definite maybe. Maybe.

A Quick Restaurant Review - Tabard Inn

The DC stories #4
I went, I ate, I drank, caught some hot jazz and then on Saturday I had brunch! For the new folks, brunch and I have an affair going for ages. I just can't leave it! There is something about a late breakfast on Saturday, maybe on a warm patio, with light conversation. It all seems so movie magical. And damnit, I wanna be in the movies!

Since I was going to be in DC, the idea was to pop in, see a few sights, shake hands with a few folks I hadn't seen in a minute and run through a wedding before jumping back on a flight to the ATL. Yeah, sounds it exciting doesn't it? And since Sporty was out of town, I let Shade know I'd be in the area. Shade just a few weeks before had announced her engagement, so when we talked about brunching on Saturday, I thought I was going to meet the new fiance and get to give him the once over. But Shade picked me up from hotel alone. Which was cool, she has a two-seater and I wasn't going to set on his lap.

The Tabard Inn looks like a converted old row house, which it may very well be, and serves as a boutique hotel on N Street,  just off Dupont Circle. The restaurant, also called the Tabard Inn, is in the back, and it's supposed to be super good. And for the record, we did NOT have reservations, which are highly suggested. Shade figured she could just get us in. I think I know too many VIP divas. 

The waiting area for the restaurant (not hotel check-in) has more of a living room feel than any waiting room I've ever sat in. It's all antique photos and paintings, frumpy but comfortable old couches fronted by coffee tables wrapped around a dormant fireplace. The space's only drawback is that its in the middle of the building so there is no natural light. It was the kinda spot you could get a good book, close the doors and read all day. The restaurant itself, on the back of the building, was the DC standard, cramped and old...the two signature motifs of the city that seem to permeate every establishment. Checkerboard floors, wooden tables, and patio that unfortunately was dominated by shade. Did I mention it was small... no wait, intimate. But they serve brunch. All the rest fades.  

We started with the doughnuts, which have a cinnamon sugar on them. They weren't Krispy Kreme, but they came with a vanilla whipped cream that set them off just right. For the entrees I got the Scrambled eggs with house-made Toulouse sausage and home fries, and she got a Crab cake with fried green tomatoes. For some reason this simple order took a while, and for some other reason the eggs were a little less firm when it did show up. But it was still pretty good. I tasted a bit of her crabcake  For dessert we shared an apple tart with ice cream on the side.  The design was unusually good, with the right mix of creamy, a crunchy toffee covering and the apple's core sweetness.

During our long interlude, she brought me up to speed on the goings on with her, the medical career, her DC house buying adventure, the prospect of an instant family with her fiance's child, the getting of a child friendly car, the impending nuptials and the difference of her longstanding insistence to be married in South Africa for her family's sake versus the now harsh reality of the logistics nightmare of such an undertaking. There was one other big secret, but that's a another story. I'll fill you all in later.

After we ate we went for a quick world wide tour. Just around the corner from the Tabard Inn are a series of embassies, and we walked into what I think was called the "Passport to DC", where the various embassies opened their doors, set our a spread and said come on by. The streets were packed and we listened to the bands from Peru, Trinidad and Tobago, and were tempted by the delicious aromas and goodie bags. We'd planned to make a circle and end up in Australia, when just as we got to Chile, whose band was on break, Doctor Shade's on call beeper went off.  And that was that...

So was the Tabard Inn good? Yes, in a word. Would I go back? It's someplace I can take Sporty when I go back and say confidently that I have been there. Now, because everyone isn't me, and I realize that as of late I've been able to get by with them, I'm gonna suggest that you make reservations.

A Quick Restaurant Review - Georgia Brown's

The DC Stories #2
I went, I ate, I drank, and somebody even got married. Well, that part was kinda planned, but eating this good wasn't. I mean the point of your average fast food chain is no matter where you are, you know what you're getting. But then with that attitude, you miss so much.

The city of Washington has all the makings of a mecca of culinary artistry, as it hosts so many different nationalities with various embassies and missions that dot the city. That said, after waking and eating early, driving to Hartsfield-Jackson, parking in economy parking and walking the mile or so to the terminal on my bad ankle, realizing that everything inside the airport was insanely overpriced, flying, and waiting for my brother to procure the rental car...my introduction to the local cuisine could have been a Burger King for all I cared. I was hungry.

Luckily my sad introduction to vast array of options was foiled by my brother's ...er, long time companion? I think of her as my unofficial sister-in-law, but here... I've referred to her as previously by my brother's old nickname for her, Sal.  Well, she had been directed to try a particular haunt upon arrival because it was a can't miss. And since I was traveling solo, and they were nice enough to invite me along. Not that the deli on the corner looked bad. After a quick consultation of Google maps and adventurous driving we were on our way to Georgia Brown's, a upscale joint on 15th St. just North of the White House.

Note: The official name is Georgia Brown's Low Country Cuisine. So, technically this is the food of South Carolina. I did not know this when I arrived. I went to DC to eat food my mom makes. Oh, you fate.

The interior of GB's reminded me oddly, of the old Justin's in Atlanta, but with a lower ceiling. Similar layout - Bar up front to the right, dining room to the left, and at roughly 4:30pm on a Friday afternoon the bar packed with customers dressed casually. I half expected to look over and see some people I knew then feel obligated to go over to apologize for not joining them. It's what I guess you would call "city big", as it was still a small space but very nicely appointed. All various tones of muted browns, with a large poster of Obama and MLK right by the hostess podium.

The dining room by contrast was, er...quiet? No, empty, yes, that would be the more correct term. Empty. It was very well appointed, with a huge metal sculpture intended to remind you of being under and oak tree suspended from the ceiling and lots of light, with the tables the "just a little too close together" feel that all good restaurants have. You, know, that pushed in one table too many because of the crowds feel. Now, to be fair, the room was starting to fill in when we finished, so maybe the dinner hour is different in this region of the country. Or we just got there early. 

As an appetizer, we split the bread plate. Now, let me say this, I could have gone there, gotten two or three plates of the bread and gone home. They're apparently famous for their cornbread, which comes in skinny loaves with warm butter. And they earned that reputation because fresh from the oven the cornbread is a hot devisement of perfection, with just a hint of sweetness from the butter. 

Now, If I remember correctly, Sal got the Amish Chicken with Mac and Cheese (wait, there are Amish in SC?), my brother got the huge Cowboy steak they had as a daily special and I settled on the Southern Fried Chicken, which came with collard greens and mashed potatoes. The food was good, the chicken cooked in what I assume were quarters and fried crisply without drying it out. Now, this isn't health food, as the gravy, mashed potatoes and greens were delicious...and health food ain't delicious. My brother loved his steak, which was supposed to be eighteen ounces and it looked cooked perfectly.  The service was attentive but not overly so, and when they offered for coffee afterwards it didn't feel overbearing.

I may not have mentioned it, but Sal was instrumental in getting me my current "gig", interning at the Fulton County Courthouse. We talked about the my experience so far, and caught up, as although my brother and I talk often we don't see each other regularly. Well, we didn't talk that much, the food was good and they were hungry too. It was a good finish to a long day. Well, not really, we went out later that evening, in and out of DC and all that, but had we called it a night there I wouldn't have been mad at all. Next time I'm in DC, I think I know where me and Sporty are going!
  

A Quick Restaurant Review - The Punchline

There was a time when I hung in Atlanta like they were carting it up and driving it to Canada the next morning. I was in and out of hot spots, grandiose clubs, dive bars, watering holes, not to mention upscale digs, penthouses and mansion parties. And a number of those nights, back when I lived on that side of town, ended up at Cafe 290, a live jazz spot that used to close at...wait, you know, before they put that curfew in place, I'm not sure if they ever really "closed". But, as many times as I'd been to Cafe 290, I'd never ventured into the spot across the parking lot, the Punchline.

When I say parking lot, I mean like there is one row of parking between them. It's tight.

But then I haven't been to a comedy show in a while, and since Sporty had made the tickets a gift, I called up my brother, who has his first "regular people job" in a while and thus who I don't see as often as I used to, to come hang out for a hot second. Because the website was vague about the start times of anything, I arrived very early (BTW, the shows start at 8pm). The walk to Starbucks wasn't bad. By coincidence, this is the same day that March Madness started (it wasn't like an upset might happen or nothing, yesh).

I know my brother had a great time... even before the show started. We spotted his dream car - a Tesla - in the parking lot. I'll be honest it looked like a Jaguar at first, but up close it looked so much better. The owner was happy to talk about it for a few minutes, his wife used to it by now. Afterwards we stood there admiring it, performing a little ritual my brother likes to call, "getting motivation to succeed." Visual success and all that. It is a really nice car, and now yes, even I would like to have one.

But I digress, onto the evening.

Things I learned at the Punchline: 

#1. Apparently there is something especially funny about sitting on top of the person next to you. I say this because the tables were tightly packed. Sporty and I ate in a Thai restaurant one night that had tables that were in my opinion, a little too close together. The Punchline made that joint look like a airplane hanger. Tight wasn't the word for it. I would have hated to see it packed on a Friday or Saturday. The people who would have been sitting directly behind us, at the next table, actually chose to sit at the bar rather than pack in that tight.

#2 You don't really need to know anybody. I say this because not only were the tables close together, we were sharing them with other people there to see the show. So not only were we scootched up, we were scootched with strangers...a nice mother and daughter who we only talked to for the ten minutes before the house lights when down and the comedians started. Well, they seemed like nice people, who I guess I almost met.

#3 The "two drinks" in a two drink minimum can be expensive. I am currently not a rich man. I'm working on it, getting there, but not quite yet. Still, for what I paid...for two people to have a light dinner and with no appetizer and no dessert? Let's just say you didn't come for the food. Maybe I need to move up to the Tesla crowd, but it may be a moment before I do that again.

The food? Were there any culinary treats, any dining discoveries? Was the atmosphere quaint, cozy and warm? The service a joy? Um...no, not really.

To be fair, the comedian was funny. The warm up act was, well the warm up act, but the main guy, Nema Williams, was funny. It was a small crowd, but he was very engaging - talking directly to folks, handing out nicknames, just riffing. No gags per se, but really more of a stream of consciousness that earned his keep, veering from jokes about his life to discussions on how many wall outlets were around the stage (he stopped counting at 13). He wasn't falling out of your chair screaming "stop" funny, but he was good. My brother is already talking about going back. We'd probably need different seats next time.

All in all, it's a old building, and the eats are bar food and they pack you like sardines. But then you don't go for anything but the comedy...so find a good comedian to go see. You'll still have a good time.

A Quick Restaurant Review - Del Frisco's Grille

How do you end up at Atlanta's newest hot spot, one which is packed to the rooftop and not accepting reservations, and still manage to score a table at prime dining time on the outdoor deck on a late fall Friday night? You travel with a VIP diva, that's how. Or at least that's how I ended up at Del Frisco's in Buckhead to celebrate Serve's birthday before she jetted out for a Caribbean getaway. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's go back a bit.

It's Friday night in Atlanta, and I'm...home. I've got a rousing evening planned with Dwarf Fortress strategy, writing sample tinkering, light bar exam prep and maybe even re-reading some home renovation magazines. Excitement! The oven is preheating, I'm about to take the defrosted chicken out of the fridge and my phone rings. It's Spanky, the VIP diva, asking what I'm doing. I explain that I'm about to have a Martha Stewart episode - baked chicken mixed with brown rice, mushrooms, broccoli, green onions, maybe some sweet corn all tossed in a pot, then add warm naan bread on the side and maybe a nice white wine or the Crystal Light - when she asks if I want to go out because it's Serve's birthday. Serve's out with a manfriend, and she's gonna meet after for drinks, but Spanky doesn't want to eat alone. I've been making it a habit as of late to actually go out when people ask because as I understand it the internet doesn't turn off in this country and it just so happens television repeats a lot. She up in arms about this spot she wants to go to Del Frisco's Grille that she read about on urbandaddy.com, so I shelve my plans and tell her I'll be over in a bit.

I need to say this now, because the idea ran through my head pretty much all night, and in fact I even mentioned it Spanky. It felt odd because this was the kinda of night that in the past I would have spent with Sporty. Fun, adventurous, and different. Without her, there was something missing. Sigh.

Spanky decides we're going to ride the train up to Buckhead. If you're from a major city and think nothing of riding the train, let me tell you now that Atlanta is not that kinda city. It's a car kinda city. Very car. So riding the train, something I formerly had primarily done to go to sporting events at the dome was out of tweak. But I was game. We boarded with people riding up from the airport, people getting off work late, collge age kids headed out into the city, a veritable smorgasbord of people. It proved convienent as well, as the station was only a half a block from the restaurant which appeared to be on valet overload maximum.

So we arrive around 8 p.m. On a Friday. With no reservations. The hostesses politely informs us that a table might open up around 10:30pm, but we're welcome to wait at the bar. The already packed, two deep, shoulder to shoulder bar. Where five guys I already know are sitting! I leave it up to Spanky and try to catch the bartender's attention. I am not successful. I am not amused. But, ten minutes or so later when I go back over to the hostess station to check on Spanky, the hostess says right this way and we're given a seat on upstairs patio overlooking Peachtree St.

I refuse to ask Spanky what she might have told that woman to get us that table.

Del Frisco's is one of the places that has the short one page menu, supposedly indicating we only cook these things and we do them well, in a movie glossy interior. Apparently they were not informed of Atlanta's "big empty room" concept of restaurant decoration. Interesting. It was a rocky start as the bar was out "good" bourbon and the seat cushions insisted on stillness, not comfort, but we soldiered on. We started with a crab cake (my habit), with Spanky getting the Delmonico steak with a potato cake and me getting the Cheesburger with no cheese. 

Sooooo, the server was great. AND, their signature shot, the Honey Badger, - pineapple juice, sweet and sour and Tuaca - were so good we had a second round when Serve and her birthday manfriend arrived (they'd dined at Dante's Down the Hatch which was right next door.) And Del Frisco's is great for people watching. And they had these outdoor heaters with flames shooting up like three feet in the air.  And the view of Peachtree St included the Christmas tree at Lenox Mall and the soothing motion of traffic. Yup, it sure did.

Oh, the food? Um, maybe I need to apologize to my brother, because I think that beef in my burger was grass fed. It didn't have that burger taste. And the fries were too skinny. And the crab cake was just so-so. And Spanky is still trying to figure out what the potato cake was...think mashed potatoes in a patty, with stuff inside. What stuff she's not sure.  She did like the actual steak though. This supposed to be steak house, a national chain steakhouse, all kitted out - the wall of wine was nice, but there are better steak houses with better steaks...and trendy stylish joints elsewhere in the city. And a steak house isn't just steak, it's sides, it's proper drinks, it's atmosphere.  Maybe it's because they're new and maybe it will get better.

I would have been getting the side eye from Sporty over this one.

Barkeep, explain to me how you run out of good bourbon on a Friday night...at 8pm.

A Quick Restaurant Review - RA Sushi

I've been the house for more than a minute lately. It is partly trying to fill in this lull between when I had hoped to take the bar and when I am planning to take the bar with practical things and exercises. Things that will improve my abilities. That instead of trying to "build a time machine" out of the Atlanta nightlife and see if I can get my youth back. I've become to some degree bookish.  Tinkering with a few projects to keep my mind functioning. A bit of a homebody if you will.

I've become so ensconced that when Serve hit me up and suggested we go out for sushi, I honestly was scared going out would mess up my evening routine. This in case you're reading...is a bad thing. Real live person v. internet and TV. And some writing. So I threw on some shoes and headed out to midtown.

Ah, Midtown. When I first got to Atlanta ages ago (late 90's), still only halfway kinda knowing folks, before I hooked up with the guy who would eventually be my Running Partner and his boys, I had a fairly simple, nicely planed Friday night in Midtown. That all of these places are now closed and mostly forgotten says how far the city has come. First, The Martini Bar. It was a little old house turned bar that had live jazz upstairs and served 20 different kinds of martinis. I would hang out there until Club Kaya opened, where I would ply my pickup techniques until it got late. After I would walk back down to Vickery's Bar and Grill and get a burger and fries. Good Times. All gone.

Back to now.  Midtown is still a bunch of hot spots and eateries, I just haven't been there lately. RA Sushi is at the south end of the Crescent Ave area, actually where Kaya once stood now that I think about it. The outside is all corporate, but the inside is all brown wood and red accents, with a sushi bar up front and a real bar in the far left corner. It could be warm and cozy if the room was a bit dimmer, but as it stands its kinda like a faux atmosphere instead. Or maybe it was just that night.

Serve had picked the place because it had a happy hour, and then fifteen percent off, and then as it turned out a eighties theme party going on, which meant even more a discount. Which explained why there was a picture of Tupac on the wall and they were playing old R&B. There was a tense moment early, when it appeared as if three girls who could have been classmates of Lil Sal and who arrived ten minutes after us looked like they were going to get served first, but our waitress arrived just in the nick of time. Whew.

The menu. Ah...well, here's the thing. You been to one sushi place, you've pretty much been to them all. Rice, fish, toppings and viola! Sushi! We got a round of drinks, I got a California roll and grilled short ribs off the special while Serve ordered the RAckin Shrimp and the edamame. I tasted a few of the shrimp, it wasn't a bad dish. The ribs were way too greasy and fatty. The California roll was....oh, you've had a California roll, same thing. I did mean to try a Las Vegas roll, but I forgot. Serve ordered something else which we split...but it was so blah I can't even remember what it was. Maybe the Lobster Shrimp Roll? I dunno.

That speaks volumes, doesn't it?

The meal was a thank you for a project of hers I'd been working on, one which the previous person she'd employed had left a mess. She figured she could trust me after my notes on what the other person had done wrong mirrored that of actual expert in the field she'd consulted. Oddly, we didn't talk about that. We talked mostly about getting old because we recognized ALL the songs, bad relationships among our mutual friends and what I'll need to do after I take the bar.

All in all a good night. A few drinks, a few laughs, good music and I was home to catch the Thursday night game still in the first quarter. Now don't that beat all? Well, it was the Bills versus the Dolphins...so, we technically could have hung out a little bit longer.  So, RA sushi. Well, you might want to see if it's a theme night...

A Quick Restaurant Review - Bocado

My Saturday was originally planned to be uneventful. It was to be whiling away the hours hoping my little fortress didn't run out of water OR trying to lead my virtual basketball team to a make believe NBA championship.  Neither are particularly satisfying, I should be writing and although story ideas and dialogue dance through my mind I have been less than inclined to write. It's a certain ennui. So when my brother and his paramour, who shall be referred to by his old nickname for her - Sal - said they would be stopping through it was at least something different.

I cleaned up, and they swung by after jaunting through some nearby neighborhood they'd heard was nice, but wasn't. After some sage career advice from Sal, a successful lawyer for quite some time, they decided to pop around the corner for lunch. In my neighborhood. Ha ha ha. For some reason I couldn't talk them trying the Chinese restaurant where you got served from behind the security glass. Instead they invited me along,and we decided to hit the Westside of Atlanta, an area with a more than burgeoning dining scene. As you know, I don't really go out like that since Sporty left, she's the perfect dinner date, so my dining selections weren't very helpful. And since I couldn't talk them into Curly's Fried Chicken, we decided on Five Season's Brewery.

I know I said Bocado. Hang on. 

Five Seasons on West Marietta is at the corner of what I imagine Buckhead must have looked like before the bars, which they have since torn down, moved in.  There is a coffee house, a pottery place, gym and plethora of other eating spots all right there in walking distance (or just over walking distance) of some nice townhouses and lofts, in one of which Sal's daughter, Little Sal, makes her home. Oh the modern college student. My brother joked that Lil Sal would pop up before long since she knew they were in the area, her being a student she probably couldn't pass up a free meal.  We got a spot on their upper deck Sky Bar and opened our menus.

It was about here I find out that my brother has apparently become somewhat of a gourmand over the past few years.  I say this because I one time in his life he was overjoyed to eat undefined meat over his rice from one of our home town bistros (read: hole in the wall joints), but now finds that the taste of grass fed beef is untenable to his sensitive palate.  That and sweet wines like Moscato and Reiselings may as well be sugar water. The wines I knew about but the beef preference was new, and became an issue because as it turns out, Five Season's Brewery is an all organic restaurant.  Grass fed beef all around. Considering I've dined their several times, that I'm just now finding that out may indicate a lack of inquisitive depth on my part.

As luck would have it,  we could see Bocado from our perch on the balcony.  The burger there had been touted by Lil Sal as the best in Atlanta, so my brother consulted his phone to check the menu, called and confirmed the beef was regular beef and having been so informed, decided we should decamp and head over.  I simply followed their lead.

So, Bocado is...well, every other high end restaurant I've seen in the past few years on those occasions I've been out for drinks.  I don't get out much anymore, so maybe there is some diversity somewhere, but I haven't seen it. Somewhere in Atlanta the designers got together and said "let's see how little we can do and still get paid." Bocado uses the ubiquitous single room concept. Concrete floors. Bare tables and plastic chairs. And that's about it. They at least had the decency to paint the brick this time, a nice off pale beige.  The crowd was a mix of upscale suburbanite couples, the people in the know and, um...people of a slightly advanced age. The couple that walked in beside us could have been older than my parents. They were among friends. That aspect was admittedly different.

We got a table on the patio in the back then, in a unique twist on my usual dining experiences, everybody got the same thing: The burger. It's in the Five Guys mold, with two patties on a soft bun, only Bocado's burger is less greasy and the bun a little stronger than the affable chain. I will have to admit, it is a much better burger than I anticipated, even though you can't get all the toppings (full disclosure, I only ever get ketchup and mustard). I even had my first few bites sans my usual addition of french fries just to be sure. And the fries are good too! They come with garlic if you ask, and it actually makes them taste better. I'm a little sad I opted for no fries with mine. And no, I didn't filch fries, I was offered.

Just as we were finishing up, as sure as the sun rises in the east, Lil Sal appeared from around the corner. I use her as a measuring stick for my brother's relationship, in that when I first met her she was four or five, and now she's of drinking age.  My brother and Sal been hanging out for a long time. It was the usual mother-daughter conversations, the we used to be in college and you don't know how good you got it conversations, and the man that food was good conversations. Actually rather pleasant.

For dessert, me and lil' Sal split the "chocolate cake with sea salt." No seriously, it had sea salt sprinkled on the top. Was supposed to be amazing. Supposed to be. In reality, not so much. But overall, it was nice experience. Good burger, good company, good conversation. Might have go back by there one day. Take a friend. If she's in town. I will be like old times. And hopefully times to come.

Food I shouldn't be eating

Ramblings Post #196 
Things in motion, and while there is motion I've been seriously slacking on the old diet. Now I still buy the watermelon slices and grapes, eat mostly chicken and drink that Crystal Light faithfully, but the gaping holes in my eating habits may be starting the catch up with me. And since I have yet to find my way the gym (it's over there somewhere), I need to get a grasp on this before it comes an issue.  In the past two weeks I've eaten two meals that might be considered noteworthy.

Last week I rode down in the middle of the week to see the folks.  There was a job interview too, but that's a whole different story. Anyhow, when I head that way,  there are a number of places the bring back the feeling of home, that strike that mental comfort trigger.  Oddly enough, all of them seem to involve food.  Places like the The Brown Derby. Earl Dukes BBQ. Biddie Banquet. The House of Pizza. But the one I have to go is the one and only Dairy - O.

In my little hometown, the Dairy - O is legendary. It is a little restaurant on the main drag, in a nondescript brown brick building. The interior is bereft of decoration, featuring maybe ten hard plastic booths and a counter where they serve food. And this is the upgrade. It used to be a even smaller nondescript roadside stand with no interior at all. That said, it is a bad habit of mine that whenever I slide back through the homestead, I stop in and get a burger, fries and the vanilla malted. Or at least a chili dog.

When I was younger, I worked in my father's dry cleaners which was just up the street, and on Saturday mornings I worked from 6am to 10am on the front counter. The Dairy - O was my late breakfast or early lunch spot, depending on how you look at it. A couple of sausage biscuits with mustard or a quick burger were the norm. The taste just brings back that feeling of home. It might be the only hamburger I can eat without putting fries on it.

The burger itself, when I think about, is an oddity. It most resembles the more well known Whataburger, as the sandwich isn't fluffed up but apparently cooked in a two sided press, which mashes the bread down firmly onto the meat. Same for the sausage biscuits. And the meat tastes odd as well. Not an all beef patty but one with obvious filler. Unless of course it is an all beef patty and everyone else has filler. Or meat from SC just tastes different. In any case, it's in my opinion ...a very good burger. And not just because it evokes in me a taste memory of my teenage years. 

If perchance you ever end up in my hometown...and are hungry...and want something good, you might want to swing by the Dairy - O. Good stuff.

I like to believe that meal was an aberration. After all, my mother, who stopped cooking regularly about 10 years ago because "she's tired, and we're grown" baked a chicken and made some green peas (no seasoning). So I ate properly for most of the time. And my car doesn't have that AC thing, so my pores were nice and open when I got back. So I vowed to continue eating better...again. Again. Unless of course, I was back in the homestead.

Which brings us to Curly's Fried Chicken.

I don't remember the first time I saw the spot. It is a walk up stand (how throwback ) on the now trendy end of Howell Mill Road in Atlanta, over by the spot where Spanky went on her furniture shopping spree that time. Across from the original Chow Baby, or at least where it used to be, I'm not sure, I just realized I didn't see the sign (but then I didn't really look either). It's in a little white building, with four parking slots up front and a large wooden sign and it is the antithesis of the upscale modern design of area, including the Spanish restaurant next door with the cool floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the supply yard.

But something about it said stop, it will be good. So, the other day I stopped. 

To say it was like being back in the homestead would be silly, but here I am. The smell of the fried chicken was ...different, not the factory smell you get from some places, but a aroma of spices that took me back not only to the homestead, but back to the small town where my grandmother lives. I don't know if its the spices, or a brine they might soak the chicken in or what, but that smell hit my sense memory like a hammer. I scanned the combos, which had the most ethnic names I've every seen, and I got a tender basket so I wouldn't waste too much if wasn't good. I thought it would be a off - brand Zaxby's or maybe even Guthrie's, but I was wrong.

The chicken tenders were large and tasty, with that dark brown hue from the breading all over that you expect from the larger chains because that's what the commercials tout, but never actually shows up in your order.  And they were cooked all the way through, not that extra greasy feel you get from some chicken places. To dip I got the house sauce, which was good although a little thin, but I'll have it again when I go. Now, if you make it over that way, get the Cajun Rice as one of your sides, because I don't think they realize there isn't supposed to be that much meat in dirty rice you don't make yourself.  It's a thick rice mix.  Now this was the small meal, not one of the larger combos, and it almost put me to sleep.

That used to mean a lot, now...it just means there was a little bit more food that you would think.

Now, this doesn't mean that I'm going to give up the ghost or my Oak Hill shirts. I've found that although tasty, I feel better when what I eat is mostly the stuff off my old diet. They tricked me I tell you, they tricked me!

Oh, well. Barkeep. Since I'm eating what I shouldn't be eating, I'm going to drink what I shouldn't be drinking. Let me have a milkshake!

A Quick Restaurant Review - BLT Steak

I haven't really gone out to dinner with anyone since...well, you know, but Shade was up in arms about me doing something to celebrate my birthday. For her day she's flown places, hosted dinner parties, etc, and the idea of somebody not actively celebrating was mystifying to her. After a few false starts, and a suggestion from a most surprising source, we ended up at BLT Steak at the W hotel downtown.

It's small, relatively speaking, and it's got one of those paper menus that they print everyday because they're always changing something. And it's pricy, I mean the hamburger was the price of dinner for two at your average mid-market sit down dinner spot. It's what you'd expect from a W hotel, in other words - very nice. All cool muted browns and glossy wood finish tables. The service was especially good, with forks flying and napkins being re-folded when you got up and had to leave the table. If you've never been someplace like that once, you need to go, it's a different kind of service.

BLT Steak - Our table was just to the right...

And, they have an absolutely excellent selection of whiskeys, including something for $65 dollars a shot which I wisely decided really wasn't in my price range. The other broad selection of whiskeys, something I haven't seen since Ray's on the River, was encouraging, and I settled on something with a Buffalo on the bottle, just to be different. Points off because the barkeep didn't know there was a real difference between scotch whiskey and real whiskey, but you can't have everything.

For dinner we both got the Wagyu skirt steak (medium), mine with onion rings and BBQ corn, her's with a Swiss Chard. And because I haven't had any in ages, and although it felt like a betrayal, I ordered the crab cake appetizer. I know it sounds silly, but it does. Of course I still haven't had any Indian since, and I miss it. The steak was charred on the outside just enough, but pink and juicy in the middle. And the pop-over bread, their "upmarket" version of a yeast roll was tasty, until it got cold.

I like this spot, I'll admit now, because even before we got our food the place was interesting. The server turned out to be a man of contrasts. Although he possessed an accent that has to have grown up on dirt road in the backwoods of Alabama or South Carolina, when Shade asked for a wine paring for a Wagyu Skirt steaks, he not only produced a nice vintage, but broke into a very technical explanation of why chose it, and why he liked it's lack of tannin when combining with how the steaks were to be cooked. It turned out he's a sommelier in training, Second level, and we launched into a good five minutes of wine discussion. I mean, you expect your waiter to know the wines, but he really knew the wines. I mean, he also wore his braids in pigtails but then you never really know do you?

Over dinner, Shade explained to me the surprising source of this dinner inspiration after our first mis-step at Cloud iX middle school..er, lounge and bar. I'd gotten their first, expressed my displeasure via phone and wandered around the corner to No Mas Cantina, to wait for her. There I get a text from Scoop with dinner options. I'm a little shocked, because these two aren't even supposed to be speaking. But it turns out at some point in the last five days, they've made amends. In fact while we're eating, Scoop texts us and lets us know we could have had dinner at her house. I stop asking questions, because the whole thing is too surreal for me at that point.

For dessert, for which they thoughtfully inscribed Birthday wishes in chocolate on the rim, I was granted a chocolate peanut butter confection (think high end Reese Pieces) topped with a banana ice cream. Not too shabby. Nothing I would have chosen myself, but it was nice gesture.

Then when the check came, Shade grabbed it and paid it before I could even see how much it was. Well, because I'm curious, I peeked and saw how much it was, and that steak and other what not now qualifies as the second most expensive meal I've eaten. I include that sentiment because I don't want a gentle reader to wander in and look for the value meal. But, I want to go back, and will ...under the right circumstances. Nice place. Very nice place.

Now I wish I invented some kinda rating system.

A Quick Restaurant Review - Highland Bakery

After Litigation class, where my Cross Examination was deemed good and my trial notebook well received, AND I got back my brief which the teacher thought flowed well and might be good enough to use as a writing sample, I called up Spanky and suggested brunch. She suggested Highland Bakery, and I asked did they have bacon? That really was my only concern. I really need to think things through better.

Then I couldn't find the place. The address as written - 644 Highland - should put it next door to the Highland Inn which is at 656. Ah, not so, it's actually at the other end where the number loop around or the street name is South Highland or something. So although I was downtown and the place was around the corner in the Fourth Ward, she beat me there. I was double pissed to find out I had turned at the corner to go to the other end of Highland and had missed the sign by not looking the other way.

That's the narrow end. The other end was twice that size. Maybe.

But I digress. Highland Bakery. Which actually is a bakery, with cookies and cupcakes and Honey Wheat Bread in it's tiny little lobby. Despite it being warm out, and that meaning crowds of folks looking to "be out", we were seated fairly quickly. The crowd in a city yuppie and urban mix. And then the waitress showed up promptly. And took our order quickly.

And it was such a nice day too. Bummer.

Before I get into the food, Spanky has started a night job - Bartending - at some little hood spot. She says it's to get her mind off last manfriend and make a few extra tips. I told her, bluntly, just don't let that get in the way of real job. I had to tell her this while leaning over the table and half shouting, as the acoutics in the dining area leave quite a bit to be desired. It had club level noise, in a restaurant at 12:45pm. It's laid out like...of all places, the Majestic...with a long skinny part and then a bigger room. Not a big room, a "bigger" room, meaning it was just bigger than the wide hallway they'd stuffed the first tables in. Just know, the spot was loud.

Then the food came. Spanky ordered their BLT and I had the basic bacon, eggs and grits. I always order that the first time I go somewhere, figuring if they mess up bacon and eggs, the rest of menu is hopeless.

They messed up the bacon and eggs.

The bacon was burnt. Not crispy...burnt. The eggs were overcooked and the grits were lukewarm. Wait, sorry, the bacon was burnt when it came, because they originally brought mine with grits, eggs and turkey sausage.

Let's just say the conversation was..wait, no. I couldn't even hear Spanky. Bad acoustics.

And her BLT was huge...and mostly bread from their own bakery..and it came with rice, and she wasn't impressed either. She covered up I would guess 70% when she was done.

Side item: Why does the waitress ALWAYS love something, and you get it, and then you can't stand it?

We settled up, and wandered out onto the sidewalk, where the restaurant to maximize tables had artfully set up seats three feet from the curb. Classy joint. I think the best part of the spot was the Mexican Place Across the Street. No, that's it's name...Across the Street.

I told Spanky that next time we eat, I would pick the spot. Seriously.

A Not Really Quick Restautrant Review - Thumbs Up Diner

It was Saturday morning, first day of spring break and I was prepared to spend it vegging the hell out. Okay, I was going to figure out the completely undocumented off-season of Madden 2010 franchise mode at some point in the afternoon, but mostly it was going to be spent just letting my soul breathe. Then my phone buzzed.

Okay, for those who don't know, I've only ever heard my phone ring once in two years. The day I got it turned on, somebody who I'm not gonna name put her number in it and put it on vibrate, where it's been ever since. So my phone doesn't ring, it buzzes, which accounts for a number of missed calls if the phone isn't on my person or a hard surface.

It was Spur - old friend, new nickname. I've known Spur a decade or so now, from the original game nights out East of Atlanta. She is one of the few people who recognizes the other facets of my personality - the arty side, the wine drinker side, the eclectic side. She was the one was gonna take me to the bullfights that time. Anyway, much like Schmoopy...who I haven't spoken to in second 'cause she's so busy...Spur is on the once and while hangout just to keep in touch. We used to hang out so much and look so comfortable together, we've often been accused of being married.

But enough asides, she wants to do brunch on what turns out to be the first warm day in Atlanta at the venerable Thumbs Up Diner on Edgewood. I'm with it, so we agree to meet after her gym session at 11:30am.

For the uninitiated, what you see here is a horrible mistake. Saturdays in Atlanta in the Spring and Summer are simply made for brunch, that crucial weekend meal that you get when you oversleep because you can and still want breakfast food. And since people oversleep, then wander out around 10am looking for sustenance, anytime after 10:30 until say 1 in the afternoon you can give it up for going someplace without a twenty to thirty minute wait. And if the place is good, even longer. And for the record, Thumbs Up Diner is supposed to be good.

We find a park not too far away, and put our names on the list for a twenty minute wait, then because the space is small, take up our post outside with the other waiting patrons. We'd opted to sit at the counter if seats became available in the interest of time, and because Spur heard it was faster while trying to get our name on the list. Thumbs Up on Edgewood is a part of town that if five years will really be something, but right now is still finding its way. But they have some benches out front, and little spot on the side next to the hard to get into parking lot...and we didn't stay long because they called our name in like less than five minutes.

In the interest of full disclosure, I will note that as we were finishing up our meal sometime later, they called our party again. So in essence we stole somebody's seats. So don't get the impression saying you'll sit at the counter makes it go whoosh!

We sat at the counter - seats so close together I called it family style. I mean brushing up on folks. The space itself is industrial chic, with the prerequisite leather booths and curvy bar, with lots of exposed brick. It has that city diner feel it's supposed to have. The menu on the other hand is huge. Not Cheesecake Factory huge, but for a diner it's huge. Spur got the Catfish and grits and I opted for the Chicken and Belgian Waffles.

This is getting pretty long, but let say this...the food was outstanding! The waffle was thick, the hash browns were the sheaf not the strings, the chicken tenders looked cooked and not just "goldened", and the portions were huge.We left food on the table. Er...counter.

As we left, full and burping...and I say this warn those who follow, keep you group to four and under. I saw a group of eight walk up as Spur's name got called. We sat down, ordered, chatted, ate, chatted, and rolled out...and they were still there waiting. Big groups take a long time to seat. That said, a group with kids locked up two booths for must have been an hour and half in the back.

Bottom Line: I'm going back. But this time before 10am.

Bar chatter

Bar Chatter #7
When it's not enough to make a post, but deserves to go out to the world... it's just Bar Chatter.

Boston Market must be better than I think. I ran out at lunchtime to knock off a few errands, and on the way back in I decided to forgo the burgers, taco, subs, fried chicken or wings and get something at least semi-decent. So I stopped at Boston Market.

Lunch for one at Boston Market was $11.00.

The actual bill. Yeah, I ate it, I was hungry.

Do they know it's a recession? Why is there no value menu? And it's not like the joint was empty at nearly 1:30pm either, they had more than a few folks eating. On the way back I passed a closed TGI Fridays, a closed BBQ joint, a closed french bakery and yet the Boston Market charging $11.00 a head for lunch is still open?

Did I miss something?

A Quick Restaurant Review - Parish

Last year, for the first time in four or five years, Shade and I didn't spend her birthday together. She'd just moved to DC from Boston, had just started her residency and the idea of flying in for one or two days just wasn't in the cards. I thought we'd ended that little streak when she hit me up this year and let me know that she was slipping into town this year to do her usual, I was like yeah.

Then the rains came. And came and came. Then it rained some more. And her plan had been to eat her favorite little hideaway, Canoe. With it's garden right on the river.

Yeah.

Did I mention the rain? Did I mention it rained so hard it flooded and shut down I-20, I-285, and the I75/85 downtown connector? THE three major arteries of the city? Whole neighborhoods underwater? And did I mention Canoe with it's garden is, er, was "riverside"? I did? Oh. Well, let's just say that Canoe probably wasn't going to be the spot this year. Probably not.

So Sunday, we dropped into this Spot in the Virgina Highlands called Parish, as the fill-in location. It's the kind of restaurant that Sporty and I would have hit in our heyday, a little off the beaten path but still cool enough to charm your pants off. I had originally invited Schmoopy along when it was at Canoe, but I demurred, as I had also been supposed to slide into her birthday party the night before and had fallen asleep with Tort Law in my lap. I didn't figure she'd be too happy I'd went to one and not the other. Next time we go to brunch I'm taking her there...as kind of a makeup trip. I'm a bad friend.

Parish is one of those spots you're not sure of. The interior looks like the building has been their a hundred years, but the exterior looks brand new. The walls are a mix of raw brick and peeled plaster, and the ceiling is a medley of tin tiles that looked like they were salvaged from an abandoned building. It's supposed to be a New Orleans theme, and it looks like they nailed it. And if I hadn't been reading every home renovation magazine and and watched HGTV off and on before goign to law school, I would have much like my dining companions been wondering "how did they do that?" Don't get me wrong, it's a good look, but it's just a look. Also note, because the sound echoes off the brick, the din is gonna be a little thick once the place gets full. We mercifully had a fairly slim late brunch crowd.

The actual food on the other hand is real. The Belgian Waffle with the brown butter, powdered sugar and maple syrup was great. I should have ordered two. The waitress thoughtfully had it brought out first, unlike some places where all the food arrives at once. Shade, myself and two other all got a taste and agreed that somebody needed to go steal the recipe. The food emerged a few scants seconds after we'd finished, a testament to the kitchen's timing and even the two people who arrived late and ordered late had their food arrive quickly. The cook is a professional, not one of the many food burners that infest far too many a restaurant. Considering our orders varied between standard fare, omelets, eggs Benedict, shrimp and grits and a few other things, we really had worked him out.

There was supposed to be a picture here, but my little camera sucks.

The conversation on the other hand was a little too varied. The side debate of health care and big government turned into conversations of home security and the recent Atlanta flooding. The sound issue made it hard for one end of the table to talk to the other, so we were kind of stretched out and couldn't be as inclusive as some other spots. That and I met the other black person who isn't an Obama fan. Imagine that.

The last time we gathered for Shade's birthday brunch, it lasted well into the time the restaurant was setting up for dinner. We repeated this time, only after we'd taken the requisite pictures and had the one more conversation, we looked up and found ourselves in an empty restaurant. I mean no other patrons, no staff, just us. We considered turning off the music and the lights before we left. I've been places before where I have been told to "lock up" when I leave, but this just struck me as unusual.

All in all, Parish is a gem. I just wouldn't expect to be too conversational if you arrive and the place is full. I understand, but didn't go down and see, that they have a nice little specialty market downstairs from the restaurant, which a couple of my party breezed into afterward. The neighborhood is nice, the food is good and if I can get this law stuff off the ground, this is the area where I'll be moving to when I get the chance. If you get a chance, swing by and hit Parish. I know I will again.

A Quick Restaurant Review - The Social House

When I was college quite a while ago, I had a professor make a statement that at the time was probably true: That only black people ate at black restaurants. It was sociological statement that at the time may have been true, but does not hold water today. That or all those "other" folks in there had no idea it was a black owned place.

Saturday, my lil buddy Schmoopy and I slid into the Social House to check out the board of fare. She'd hit me Friday talking about she wanted to hang out for second, but she was broke and it was "her turn" to pay. She and I have known each other for eight years, worked together at two different firms, and at one point she asked me to marry her and for some reason she thinks $30 or $40 bucks will stand between us and a hang out. I said I'd pay and told her to bring her tail on.

The spot is off Howell Mill, which is and is not an odd place for a restaurant of this type, considering the unusually abrupt meeting of industrial and residential that occurs in the area. Then you turn a corner and you see where the clientele is coming from. The restaurant is literally is in a old house with a dark brown stucco outer coat, and it looks like they merely ripped out the walls, painted everything and stuck in the tables. In fact one of the tables is a regular dining room table for eight or ten, that accommodates smaller couples and foursomes by seating them at the extreme ends of the table. Genius.

We settled in and it was then I realized it was a black owned place. The service isnt' exactly lighting fast. After a quick review of the menu, which looks interesting, Schmoopy got the Salmon with Poached Eggs and I opted for Country Fried Steak Biscuits and scrambled eggs. As usual, she didn't like the OJ, which I believe for her needs to be fresh squeezed. But that's a personal thing. The sweet tea, for those keeping score, actually tasted a bit salty?

Since service was ...well, less than quick....we had a good chance to catch up. And it turns out this week Schmoopy found out about "body issues". In that other people have them. Although she is probably a size 2 or below (and has been trying to lose weight forever), the idea that someone might not be comfortable with how their body looks appears to be a new idea for her. One of her girls didn't want to take a cruise because of how she'd look in a swimsuit, and my girl was a little confused. Looking through someone else's eyes is always a little difficult, but I think she'll get it. I also think most women standing next to Schmoopy feel a little self conscious. The rest of the convo was our usual relationship catch up (me:none - her:on break) and the other sundry items that people who need just a bit more real money talk about: Bills, job, moving, life, etc...

Then the food came. Let me say this: the decor was very nice. Note, the menu said it was Country Fried Steak Biscuits, not country fried steak and biscuits. I didn't notice this until the plate hit the table. The country fried steak could have been more country, the eggs were, and I found about yet another way to classify something as a hash brown. It was different. And I found out what a caper is, as my buddy's salmon came with them.

Country Fried Steak Biscuits and Eggs
From the Social House

How do you know someone is your buddy? When they reach onto your plate for food and you don't even blink an eye. She never did tell me how the piece of steak tasted.

So we ate, and it was okay. And then we went cheap folk shopping because neither of us had anything else to do until 5pm. Cheap folk shopping means you look at a whole lot of things you MIGHT buy. Later. When you got some money.

So Social House, sister of Rare and Harlem Bar, was okay. Nice decor, fast seating, less than quick service, food on a different level...and salty sweet tea. Go figure.

A Throwback Restaurant Review - Kevin Rathbun's Steakhouse

I had dinner with Sporty.

Last week, for my birthday, I gave myself a present and sent Sporty a book I made by hand, just for her. In was some poetry, some quotations and a story I wrote that put on the table the reasons for a whole lot of things. I was my birthday and I can do as I damn well please. So I sent her a book. A book I wrote for her.

She said it made her laugh, and it made her cry. That will be the best review I ever get for anything I'll ever do.

So, anyway, this morning at she hits at before dawn, letting me know she's on the plane. When we were rolling, I used to know her whole travel schedule, so this is a throwback move. She's in town for the weekend, seeing everybody, but tonight it's just me and her hanging out. Dinner is at seven, but after three I suddenly get the willies...I'm nervous about seeing her again. But I suck it up, and head down to Kevin Rathbun Steakhouse down in the Inman Park area.

I actually run into Sporty in the parking lot, as the valet is taking our cars, so there is no movie moment of drama. It's just two folks who hadn't see each other in a while happy to see each other. She was beautiful. Her skin was brown as a nut from the sun and that same light had her hair turned a bright blond, dressed in white pants and black black tank with a black vest...(and wait, I had on a white shirt and black pants. Spooky?)

Rathbun's Steakhouse is a nice spot and worth the money you'll pay. Done over in a brick with sleek black booths and seats, our waiter Charlie was quick and always within visual range, unlike a lot of restaurants where every so often you wish the servers were GPS enabled. There is kind of an arty feel with antler-ish chandeliers and jazz playing in the background. Sporty liked it.

We got the crab cake to start, and I had the fillet and she had the ribeye. The steaks are juicy, the mashed potatoes are light and airy, and just so you know, the scalloped sweet potatoes have cheese in them. Sporty tried them but they switched her to the twice baked potatoes, which again had taste we couldn't identify, but were still good. We skipped dessert.

She and I ate, drank and told stories...for the better part of three hours. Our waiter, the formerly happy to have us there Charlie had to wonder why we'd locked down his table, but he did stay friendly.

We talked about Dallas and it's schisms and how she misses Atlanta. We discussed her school and my school - she made the most compelling argument for full time law school I've yet heard - and we talked about her old situation and then, for a long while, we talked about God and faith and where she is spiritually right now. She told me I need to ask God for what I want....but then what I want is her, so there you go. But I'm a firm believer in that when you love someone, you care about them more than yourself. So again, there you go. She's turned into a real philosopher since last I spent time with her. She's different...but the same. It's a zen thing, since we dressed as yin and yang. She got my jokes when I tried to be funny, but she was thoughtful, and made me think. She was Sporty.

And I still love her.

If you need a steakhouse and aren't afraid to spend a few bucks, Mr. Rathbun has a fine establishment, if this there is no doubt. And if you need a good waiter, ask for Charlie. And if I don't go back to being a broke student immediately, and if Sporty comes back and wants to go again (although we did agree if I go to law school full time we'll hookup at the Waffle House on her return trips)...I'd gladly take this steak. It came with good memories.