My Meatloaf Has Antlers.

Disclaimer: Please excuse terrible iPhone photos. I promise I'll do better next time. :)

One of the things J and I do at least once a month now (OK, starting last month, but whatever) is go to dinner and a movie. We kicked off this new tradition by heading to one of those fancy theaters with the reclining cushy seats and cocktail bars to see Benedict Cumberbatch star in his Marvel debut: "Doctor Strange."

Before I tell you about dinner let me confess to being a Cumberbitch. Yes. That is what my man Benedict's fanclub of fangirls is called. We are Cumberbitches. If anyone is looking to get me a Christmas present, a Cumberbitch shirt would be amazing. Preferably with a cape so that I can pretend I too am a Tilda Swinton-devotee-time-traveling-time-bending-mirror-dimension-fighting-superhero-who-takes-on-Mads Mikkelsen-the-white-ninja-with-a-cape-related-to-Aladdin's-magic-carpet. That is the plot of the movie, in case you did not get that part.

On the way out, J looked up nearby restaurants that were open and said, "Hey, here's Sage Woodfire Tavern. I've always wanted to go there since like high school."

That's the super-interesting story of why we decided to go here.

My first impression? Oh shit; I did not dress appropriately. See, the word "tavern" in the restaurant title is a tiny bit misleading. When I think tavern, I think hyper-masculine place with beer served in flagons, burgers, steak, mounted game on the walls ... you get my drift. Sage Woodfire Tavern is not that kind of tavern. It's a dark, moody restaurant on the inside with glossed wood tables and candlelit accent lights with live music and high-class decor. "Sage Woodfire Super Fancy Restaurant" would have been a better name. Thankfully, the dark lighting hid my ripped jeans and Converses from public view.

We started off with an appetizer of calamari, which is fried squid. Delicious. There are two ways to mess up fried squid: one, cook it so it's too tough (ew) or two, bland breading (ugh). Sage did neither of those things! The calamari was lightly breaded in a seasoning that had just enough kick to complement the spicy dipping sauce it was served with, but not enough to overpower your palate. The texture was also nice. Each bite required chewing, but it wasn't like you were trying to gnaw through raw, chilled, uncooked pork fat or anything. I thought the garnish of red pepper strips was a weird touch, but I ate them anyway because I do enjoy red pepper.

Along with the appetizer, our server brought bread. The bread was whatever. The dipping oil though? Y'ALL. I would go back just for that. Salt. Oil. Herbs de provence (I asked). Balsamic drizzle. Green onions. Tomatoes. The flavor in this little bowl was amazing! It had everything I could possibly imagine to mix in a dipping oil and then some. Like imagine this on a pasta dish, right?! Hold on; making a mental note to try that.

I had to do some major resisting to avoid eating all of the bread.

The star of the show, though, was this insane meatloaf thing I ordered. LOOK. IT HAS ANTLERS. My meatloaf has. antlers. I have never seen a garnish like this. I'm not sure what I think of it, especially since being a weird meat science person I happen to know that none of the three types of meat in this meatloaf have antlers (beef, veal [baby beef] and pork). But it caught my attention, for sure.

Let me break this entree down for you.

The meatloaf, as I mentioned, was a combination of Angus filet mignon, veal and pork. Those are all three pretty decadent in themselves, but combined? I have never eaten a meatloaf with this much depth of savory flavors. Angus is one of the most common types of beef cattle in America — they're the big black ones you'll see in fields all over the Southeast, especially. It's so popular that it has its own brand with specific requirements to market beef: Certified Angus Beef. The filet mignon is the retail name for a specific cut from the tenderloin, and it is the most tender cut of beef. It also happens to be my favorite, so!

Now, before y'all start yelling at me for eating veal, let me school you a moment.

Veal is baby beef. Beef is technically a meat derived from a steer (castrated male bovine) that is harvested at 12 to 18 months of age. Sidenote: If you're buying grass-finished beef, it's probably closer to 18 to 24 months. Because grass-only puts less fat on meat than a grain-and-grass diet, it takes longer for these animals to get a similar fat covering and thus flavor. Veal calves are harvested younger than 12 months old, and enjoy a mostly milk-based diet. There are also lots of regulations regarding how they are raised in a safe manner with the health of the calves paramount ... but that's another post for another time. Anyway, because the animals are harvested at such a young age, veal is ridiculously tender. Butter-soft. And also naturally mild-flavored (goes back to the calves' diets).

So let's review. The meatloaf has pork (naturally rich and flavorful, because fat is amazing). It has Angus filet (read my lips: t-e-n-d-e-r). It also has veal (tender-er).

I kid you not: forkfuls melted in my mouth. Combined with the mushroom bordelaise sauce, which includes red wine and marrow in its ingredient list, plus soft and fluffy Yukon Gold mashed potatoes and salty wilted spinach ... this is foodgasm-level good. (If you look on the menu, you'll notice the vegetable side was supposed to be steamed vegetables. Gross. I subbed in the wilted spinach.)

Oh, and have I mentioned the portion size yet?! You may think $17 for a meatloaf is bat-guano-crazy, but you get a lot of meatloaf/potatoes/veg for $17. I turned it into three meals. Three so-good meals.

This will definitely be a repeat place — also on the specials menu is tiramisu cheesecake ... what! — but I will probably wear something a little more appropriate for the atmosphere.

She's Back! Also, Pie.

Oh, hey y'all! It's been a hot minute.

Chocolate chess pie from my very first visit.
photo | Dallas Anne Duncan

Before I delve into the Best Pie Shop On The Planet (or, at least in my humble opinion, the best pie shop north of I-285), let me explain why the Meatetarian went MIA for 14 months ... and share with you my plan going forward!

I took on too much. I had a full-time job. I started a magazine. I added volunteer duties. I wanted to be creative. I wanted to knit; to become a director for my direct sales company; to freelance to help support the magazine. At some point I lost my way and stopped writing completely and wondered what on Earth was wrong with me that I couldn't make things work. Kind of happens when you give 2,500 percent of your time, your heart, your drive and your dreams to a business plan that is not successful (or, at least, successful in terms of what you'd like to see). At one point this year, I even began avoiding finding fun places to eat out because every second away from my computer was a second I felt I should be working, and I guilted myself into believing that was the reason my dream business was going stagnant.

I lost my drive. I did the bare minimum at work and writing seemed a burden. I forgot why I wrote in the first place: because I love writing, because I want to teach people about food and farming and why journalism matters.

On Sunday, I made a decision. I needed to make a mental shift forward, away from all the "what-ifs" and "woulda, coulda, shoulda." I needed to make focused, small efforts each day ... each week ... each month, until I was in a place where I enjoyed all of the hats I wear versus dreading putting them on. One of the ways this will happen is weekly Meatetarian Eats updates, every Thursday during my lunch hour, which will go live on Fridays.

This week, I want you to close your eyes and open your pie hole.

I heard about Pie Hole, a fabulous, eensy-weensy cottage bakery in Roswell, Georgia, long before I knew where it was. My aunt and uncle brought a couple of pies to family Christmas a couple years ago, and back in March, I accidentally stumbled upon it while taking myself on a window-shopping excursion down Canton Street. You can't see the bakery from the road; there's only a small sign with a clip-art pie image, the words "Pie Hole" and a giant arrow pointing up a narrow dirt drive.

"Oh heck yes," thinks me, who just got done eating a relatively healthy meal of a salad and sandwich. "I think I'll have dessert."

For $5, I sampled a hefty serving of chocolate chess pie (see top photo). Bestill my heart, y'all. It was decadent. So moist! So rich! So perfect to slowly lick off a fork, eyes closed, hoping no one is watching you savor this sweet moment.

S'mores pie. Coke bottle for scale of the toasted marshmallow
topping. photo | Dallas Anne Duncan

Pie Hole became a regular stop. When my family came up to visit, it's where we took Nanny for her birthday (I highly recommend the s'mores pie — a thick, chocolate filling atop graham cracker crust, slathered with gooey toasted marshmallow fluff). The lovely owner of Pie Hole knows me as "the girl who takes pies to Augusta" on account of me stopping in before every birthday and major holiday to pick up at least one of her incredible creations.

Mom got peanut butter pie for Mother's Day and key lime for her birthday. The homemade whipped cream topping on the key lime pie, by the way, isn't just homemade. It is made for you when you pick up the pie. While you wait. Whoever happens to be in the kitchen when you walk in stops what they're doing, pours some potion ingredients into a mixer and whips up some magic. No one does this anymore!

My most recent foray to Pie Hole was for this weekend's "Fakesgiving," the adorable moniker I gave to the super-early Thanksgiving celebration my family hosted. Two pies came back to Augusta this time — one, a pecan, to celebrate Daddy's birthday, and the other apple. I'll tackle the pecan first by saying I am not a pecan pie fan. The pecans never seem seasoned right, so you end up with these flavorless nuts on top of a sugary, syrupy filling and gross, crumbly crust. But Pie Hole did it up right: the pecans were the best part!

They were big, seasoned with cinnamon and all those warm fall flavors, crisped together almost like a streusel topping. The filling was sweet but not overly so, and it had a nice tackiness to it — no runaway syrup here! We ate it at room temperature moments after arriving in town, but I can only imagine it would be even better heated up and served with ice cream on the side.

But the star of the weekend was, undoubtedly, The Apple Pie Gifted From Gods.

The half-devoured apple pie at "Fakesgiving." photo | Dallas Anne Duncan

Layer. Upon. Layer. of thin-sliced, north Georgia apples, baked perfectly so they are soft yet not falling apart; still with just a hint of crispness. The flavor is a perfect lightly sweet apple-cinnamon. It's like you're eating a bite of pure fall. Oh, and how tall this pie is! The beautiful crust is sky-high, and that's not much of an exaggeration. And each millimeter of that beautifully rustic, hand-formed crust is stuff with those apples. Leaving that pie on Nanny's kitchen table to drive back to Atlanta was not an easy life choice (but we would have devoured it on the way home, so we decided to sacrifice our sweet tooth to share with everyone else). Even our relatives from Australia, who were in town to visit, got to try this magnificence.

In the entire six days since Pie Pick-Up Day, it's been really hard to resist the nine-minute drive to get more pie. Did I mention how ridiculously affordable these handmade pies are? Seriously. A slice and a Coke'll cost you maybe $8, and whole pies are less than $30.

Now the decision remains: which one do I take home for Christmas next month?