Melted Butter, Sweetie Go, Let Me See That Lobster Roll!

If you didn't sing the post title to the tune of "Tootsee Roll," then I'm not sure we can be friends.

There are a few key indulgences I enjoy in life. And by "few" I mean filet and seafood. And by "seafood" I mean lobster and scallops. You know I like you a lot when I offer to cook you any combination of those items.

I digress. A couple weeks ago I migrated back down to my favorite place in the United States (not world, sorry; that honor goes to Glastonbury) for a family girls trip, and since I had to work the entire week, my only goal was to eat at The Lazy Lobster of Longboat again. I've been twice before, but the last time was two years ago, and it was necessary to make a return trip. Oh, and just FYI ... be careful about where your GPS takes you. I'm not sure how we did it, but on one trip we ended up at an abandoned shopping center in the rain nowhere near the restaurant.

My almost-20-year-old cousin, affectionately known for her entire life as "Kiddo," chauffeured me from our home base on Anna Maria Island to Longboat Key, where Lazy Lobster lies (we made it without any GPS mishaps this time). Longboat Key is a pretty luxe little island. Great place to snag a beach house if you happen to be a millionaire. Big houses. Big paychecks. Also, big lobster rolls.

Anyone unfamiliar with a lobster roll? Just in case, I'mma throw some knowledge on you. You pick up a lot of random seafood facts when you work a bit doing social media for a fish market (shout-out to Kathleen's Catch!) and now's a good a time as any to impart some of those on you.

Maine lobsters, which are the ones you're probably most familiar with, are in season from about mid-June to late fall. There's also the Caribbean (a.k.a. Florida, Rock or Spiny) lobster — the meat of this one tends to be a little tougher and not as sweet, but still good. Maine lobster is what you're most likely to find diced, slathered and sandwiched. That's because claw meat makes the best lobster rolls since it's super tender, and Caribbean lobsters don't have very big claws to pull meat from.

Hot, buttery lobster roll and potatoes au gratin from
The Lazy Lobster of Longboat

These indulgences (clearly, this is a synonym for "lobster roll," just accept it) can be made hot or cold. Kiddo ordered hers cold, which means the meat is delicately mixed with a seasoned mayo mixture and served on top of the buttered bun. Mine was hot, because there is no better way to eat lobster than slathered in melted clarified butter and served warm on top of a toasted bun that is also soaked in melted clarified butter.

Word to the wise: Ask for an extra napkin.

Clarified butter, by the way, is butter that's been rendered down so the water and milk fat are gone. It's very pure, and here's my man Alton Brown's recipe to make it at home for DIY lobster rolls (or you know, like toast and stuff).

So back to the task at hand. I'm holding a clarified butter-soaked lightly toasted bun full of buttery warm sweet seafood goodness and I am eating it so

so

so

so

slowly to savor every morsel of meat that I possibly can. Treats like this are so rich, so udderly (get it? Butter jokes) fulfilling, that to scarf it all down in about eight bites like I do every other sandwich is a waste. To fully experience a lobster roll, you have to let it slide on your tongue for a bit. Dip any of the little pieces that fall out into the butter that's inevitably dripping onto your plate. Masticate leisurely. Don't rush this.

In between bites, I highly recommend ordering potatoes au gratin as the side to munch on. Sounds like a weird pairing. Probably is a weird pairing, but it's still good. Potatoes au gratin is basically a fancy French-ish way of saying "lasagna made with layers of thinly sliced potatoes and cheese." It's like one step up from fries or chips, so, #adulting?

Having successfully devoured a Lazy Lobster lobster roll, full to the brim yet still wanting more (it's a life problem), I briefly pondered ordering the other favorite thing at Lazy Lobster: lobster 'scargot. Which is one of those escargot silver trays, but instead of snails a la "Pretty Woman," inside each divot is a chunk of lobster covered in yes, more clarified butter and then topped with melted Swiss cheese. If the idea of the hot lobster roll has your mouth watering as much as mine is, but you're one of those gluten-free, low-carb types, this comes as a highly recommended substitute.

Either way, you're gonna feel a whoop comin' on when the plate gets to your table. Slide, baby, slide.

Comfort Food + the New Normal

Food has always been a source of comfort for me. Not necessarily in the sense of when I'm sad/have feelings I eat a lot (though I fully admit I'll grab a piece of chocolate to sate those emotions), but more along the lines of associating food with a sense of comfort; of happiness or unhappiness.

When I'm happy, I eat. I eat good food. Quality ingredients. Local restaurants. Award-winning chefs. Go out of my way to find incredible things to put on my tastebuds. The typical foodie shit.

When I'm — I hesitate to use the word depressed, because I have never been diagnosed with depression, and I don't want to negate the serious implications associated with this battle so let's go with — less-than-happy, I still eat. But I eat food that's not "good." It's usually fast food. It's usually me being lazy. It's usually me fighting this overwhelming sense of "I'm not good enough." I can't explain this feeling. I can't control it, but I got very good at hiding it. And for a good, long while, I got very good at hiding it from myself.

I would wait up late at night at eat pizza or chicken fingers or a QPWC or (my personal favorite) a take-out Philly cheesesteak when J got home, sometimes as late as 1 a.m. I would wake up the next morning and lay in bed, fighting the urge to get up, wondering what was so wrong with me that x-part of my life was such a failure. My small business failed. My job was a shambles. My life was a shambles. But I had a constant. I had to be the strong one, because though I do not have clinical depression, I was deeply, deeply in love with someone who fought mental battles I could never imagine; only do my best to be there for him. I thought I was sure that things would be OK. If we could only get over this hurdle. That obstacle. Fight another battle of one of us having these awful feelings that we could do nothing right.

We couldn't. I'd like to think we tried our damndest, in our own ways. But sometimes things aren't what they seem.

Getting there.

As a suddenly single 28-year-old, I had a choice to make. J made the one that was right for him, and though it took me a couple months to realize it, I think the choice he made was the right one for both of us. There was a new normal to get the hang of.

During the past few months, I changed my eating habits and how I was living my life, and the happiness level has upped itself. Slowly but surely, I'm able to be at a weight I am beyond happy over and still treat myself to good food that makes me happy, eaten alongside people that make me feel the same way.

I met new people. I dance a lot. I'm not 100 percent back to being my sassy sexy self, but I'm getting there. And if you're reading this, you probably know what role you play in that. So thanks a ton, humans; y'all da real MVPs. I've had to get used to a new normal. And as much as it sucked when it began, now I'm excited about the future. It's still terrifying, of course, as any change is for me. But again, we're getting there.

One of the ways I'm healing is making new memories with my comfort food. Those places J and I went together as two people who we thought would one day get married ... now they're places I am slowly reintroducing into my life with different people. One of these days I'll write about North River Tavern (probably the onion rings, to be completely honest; they're SO GOOD). But today I'm going to give y'all a little snippet of Sandy Springs Diner.

This is a place J and I went together. We went with his parents (they found it, so shout-out to them for this one!). We went with Daddy after he and I ran our 5K last September. And today, it's a place I can go with family or friends and still love it just as much.

And by "it," I mean the French dip sandwich. Like holy crap.

Having grown up in the South where our idea of a diner is WaHo, I can't say I have much experience in the realm of diners. Note to self: write about The Majestic and The Grill. But I have it on good authority from J's parents that this is precisely what a diner should be like. It's not much to speak of, atmosphere-wise, with burgundy (my least favorite color next to beige) as the main hue in the decor, but the food man. The food.

In the unfortunate off-chance you are unfamiliar with French dips, they are a hoagie roll stuffed with cheese and thinly-sliced beef served with a side of au jus to dip in. In the extra unfortunate chance you are unfamiliar with the French dip served at Sandy Springs Diner ... y'all just come on up and I'll treat you to one. Seriously. This is not a joke. I need more human interaction and more of this sandwich in my life.

The French dip at Sandy Springs Diner

The dip at Sandy Springs has three key components that make it stand out: the thinly sliced tender roast beef; the perfectly toasted hoagie roll (crispy just on the crust and fresh-baked soft on the inside); and the dipping sauce. Au jus, by the way, is the fancy French way of saying "meat-flavored oil to dip a sandwich into." This au jus is au yeah. The bread soaks it up, the meat soaks it up, so each bite melts in your mouth.

It's the second-best French dip sandwich I've ever had. The first is at a restaurant in Aiken, South Carolina, and honestly the main reason that one gets top spot is because of the fries. At this particular restaurant, or at least the last time I ate there (it's been at least a decade, whoops) the fries were divine. That perfect middle ground between McDonald's and potato wedges (at Sandy Springs Diner, the fries are more akin to potato wedges).

But I can get over the whole fry thing in honor of having this French dip within walking distance of my house, especially now that I am able to walk there to make new memories with different people. I heard once from a wise woman named Elle Woods that walking is the type of exercise that gives you endorphins.

Endorphins make you happy. And determined women who are happy with a bellyful of this sandwich don't want to kill people. So really, this French dip is a service to humanity. You're welcome, world.

Crazy Uncle Sandwiches

I knew from an early age I was destined to be a Georgia Bulldog. Though I didn't have a clue that I would graduate not as a veterinarian, but as an agriculture and science journalist, I knew the blood in my veins ran red and black, and the deep guttural "WOOF WOOF WOOF" rose naturally from my vocal cords.

It should surprise no one that one of my random, earliest memories on campus as a Baby Bulldog had to do with food. We were on a bus tour, driving through North Campus (that's the part that gets on all the University of Georgia postcards, with the magnolia trees and lots of green grass, and also the Arch) and the bus migrated downtown. A kid on the bus got really excited as we careened down Broad Street: "Uncle Otto's! That place is supposed to be so good! I can't believe it's here!"

I'd never heard of this place before. From the outside, it looked like any other restaurant crammed into historical building space — but I'll never forget the logo: some crazy dude's face. Knowing that this complete stranger highly recommended it to everyone on this packed tour bus, I made my Nanny come with me for my maiden voyage that year ... and spent the next three regularly patronizing this crazy Uncle Otto's.

Uncle Otto's specialized in a version of these European-style sandwiches called "kebap," which are a combination of Greek gyro and American sandwiches. If you're a native Athenian, or just frequent the Classic City, you probably know Uncle Otto's as the forerunner to today's KEBA Sandwiches, a franchise restaurant churning out those same delicious kebap that I first ate 10 years ago. 

A lamb kebap and Belgian fries from KEBA
Sandwiches in Athens, Georgia

I hadn't been to KEBA in several years, but jumped at the chance to slide a lunch break into my schedule this week while in Athens. It was just as good as I remembered.

You're offered three choices: sandwich, wrap or salad. For the true kebap experience, you're going to want to get the sandwich. Forget the whole healthy, no-carb crap. Just treat yo'self and indulge in this bread, because it's what makes KEBA stand out. It's shaped similarly to a pita pocket, but tastes sooo much better. Think of an unsweetened, thick waffle, and that's exactly what the bread is. It's even griddled. 

The stuffing choices include meat options (or if you're not me, falafel or feta), a selection of vegetable toppings and a sauce. I got lamb topped with lettuce and banana peppers (and would've added black olives if the restaurant hadn't been out). Sandwich sauce was roasted red pepper; for no particular reason other than it sounded good. 

There's just something about a perfectly cooked bread: slightly crisp on the outside, but super-fluffy inside, that makes eating a sandwich a mouthwatering experience. I'm unsure if the lamb is still spit-cooked like it used to be (or is at a lot of traditional European places), but it still tasted good. Lamb can either go real tough or real soft, and this was right in the middle. Enough chewiness to give it a mouthfeel, but it wasn't like you were eating shoe leather. The red pepper sauce was a good addition, too. It soaked right into the bread, and what didn't get absorbed dripped all over my fingers. 

Being a true Southern lady, I licked all that right off. Napkins are for squares, yo.

And because you can't come to KEBA and not get the thick-cut Belgian-style French fries, I couldn't resist the temptation to order a combo. I highly recommend getting the creamy feta dipping sauce for these. There's also a light creamy feta sauce if you are on one of those diet things. 

I sat on the patio with my friend Peter, alternately discussing his chemistry research and how much life can change in the blink of an eye, devouring the entire meal. I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've eaten more than Pete in a meal setting.

That's how much I missed this place. The name may have changed over the years, but the KEBA kebap is a true Classic City classic.