Bar Rescue(d)

I joked earlier this week that clearly I know there are no states above the Dakotas because, you know, I did make it through kindergarten and also wound up with two college degrees a few years later. That being said, outside of the 50 United States of America, my sense of geography is very poor. It is my second-worst category on "Jeopardy." My first-worst is bodies of water.

I'm also pretty poor shakes at directions. And distances. Hand me a map and I have to orient the map to exactly the direction my feet are pointing so I know whether to go right, left or straight. Basically, I'm good when you hand me a GPS and very specific instructions on how to get to my destination. I will also probably show up late. Punctuality has never been one of my strong suits.

The Georgia Voice staff at our Best of Atlanta 2017 party

This is how, at 9 p.m. last Tuesday, I was scrambling around West Midtown in Atlanta like a chicken with its head cut off. You see, the paper I write for had a deadline, and my editor and I sweet-talked our printer into holding the entire paper from production until 9 p.m. so that I could attend a mayoral forum, write the story and have it in the next day's print edition. Things were going great until about 8:45, when I was almost finished with the story and then suddenly, the lights in the theater went out. And the key sounded in the lock. And my laptop was near death. And I hadn't uploaded photos yet.

Great! I thought. It is very dark in here. I am going to be spending the night in an empty theater. This is not creepy at all.

Thankfully, about five seconds into my panic, someone came in and looked entirely surprised that I was still sitting in a chair with my laptop, camera, recorder and phone piled in my lap like a homeless IT nerd. "Oh! I came to make sure we didn't lock anyone in!"

For the record, I was informed I could stay as late as I needed. Um, about that.

I asked the theater key holder if there was a coffee shop nearby. He responded in the affirmative and told me to take a left, and it would come into view.

In my heels and fancy dress with all my journo gear I hauled ass out of the theater, frantic to get all the things done so our printer wouldn't fine us for a late turn-in. And here's where my fabulous sense of direction came in. What had been failed to pass on was the fact that this theater is located at an intersection where five, not four, streets collide — meaning there were two potential lefts that could be taken.

Guess who picked the left where there wasn't a coffee shop.

Now even more frantic, I glanced up and happened to hear strains of music coming from up ahead. I didn't know where I was going, but I darted in and found myself in Eight Sushi Lounge. After a panicked exchange with the hostess, who I think might have thought I was about to have a heart attack because she spent the next 30 minutes offering me water and pillows, I was able to have a seat and finish my story. And then, because I'm a nice person and I hate people who show up in restaurants or bars and use the space without supporting the business, I ordered a beer and some of the coolest sushi I've ever had.

Crispy rice, a shiso leaf, spicy tuna and a fried quail egg
make for bite-size eggs Benedict

This wasn't your run-of-the-mill sushi roll place. I ordered eggs Benedict and canolis [sic]. You read that right.

The eggs Benedict were to die for. I heart egg appetizers to begin with (I'm the grandchild who will eat the entire plate of 24 deviled eggs at every family function; don't judge me) and I've never had anything close to this. Three bite-size squares of sushi rice were topped with a shiso leaf — which, according to a Google search, is a plant that tastes of basil and mint — spicy rare tuna and these perfect little fried sunny side-up quail eggs.

One bite and I had to work hard to not eat the other two in quick succession. The flavors were peppery and salty (I didn't get the hint of mint or basil from the shiso). The rice offered a slight crunch. That rare tuna just melted in my mouth and I was halfway tempted to close my eyes as it rolled over my tongue. And those eggs! Who knew that such a tiny little yolk could offer such a buttery, viscose undertone? It mellowed out the spice from the tuna and associated sauce, which I may have scooped up on my fork and eaten by itself after I finished the Benedicts.

I thought that would be all I would order. A sushi bar is not the most budget-friendly place I could have stumbled into. But then the server came by and tempted me with those cannoli.

If food could cosplay, that's what these little babies did. I was presented with two pastries. One, a crispy, light cone, was full of a rich, whipped mousse. The other, more of the traditional Italian cannoli shape, had bit-size chunks filling its insides. They were drizzled with some sort of deep reddish brown sauce that hinted of balsamic.

At first glance, they looked like those tasty little desserts proffered at eateries that are more likely to serve spaghetti than sashimi. But look closer, and you'll see that these cannoli are exactly what the menu declares: avant garde. It's not cream and chocolate sauce.

Meaty king and whipped hamachi crab
meat stuffed inside savory cannoli

It's crab. And it's good, very good. Tremendous, bigly good, some might even say.

The whipped crab was a sensory delight. I wanted it to be sweet because of the way it was prepared, but it was unmistakably savory. Yes, crab is a little sweeter than some of its fellow ocean-dwelling creatures, but it's a far cry from the traditional cannoli filling. The chunkier partner was king crab, which melted in my mouth like the tuna did.

As stressed as I was when I first crossed the doorway into Eight, I left with a full stomach and relieved brain. I'm still not entirely sure how I got there in the first place, but I am glad I did.

Boozy Bonus: Sorry Umami IPA

First foray into Japanese beer, and I am here for this. Umami, if you have somehow stowed away under a culinary rock for the last 10 years and still think your tongue only tastes sweet, sour, salty and bitter, is the term given to the savory, meaty flavor you taste when you eat things like meat or fish. Think of it as the protein taste. Proteins are made up of amino acids, like glutamic acid. Steal a proton from the chemical compound and you're left with an anion (negatively charged compound) called glutamate. The taste receptors on your tongue that respond to umami are responding to the glutamate.

Lemme tell ya, my glutamate receptors were very receptive to this savory-tinged IPA. I've had a few rauchbiers, which are beers with meaty and smoky notes, and I love them. This was a muted version. No smoke, no "meaty" flavor, but definitely savory. It was light and crisp and a welcome respite from some of the hoppier, fruit-forward brews I've been favoring lately.

Let's Taco-bout it

A few weeks ago, I started seeing a lot of hype about this new taco place opening up in the Midtown area of Atlanta. The Instagram posts promised colorful tacos, frozen margaritas, a well-lit interior and excellent patio space. Plus a rainbow bench outside as a landmark/place to wait for your Über or Lyft to show up after you've gorged yourself on tequila and lamb barbacoa. I don't know if you follow a lot of food writers, critics, bloggers, ... people like me who just like to write for a living and then write more about food after work ... on social media, but Instagram deserves some serious props for being a visual smorgasbord. We eat with our eyes first, and this platform provides enough tastebud stimulation to make you hungry even if you just ate.

The poblano rice at Cactus House

Suffice to say that there was something about this place's Insta aesthetic that made my eyes big and my mouth water. And plus, if you've been following Meatetarian Eats for any period of time, you'll know tacos are some of my favorite things to eat at any time of day, night or wee hours of the morning #ThanksTacoBell. I had to be in Midtown last night for a super-cool engineering event at MODA, which is the Museum of Design Atlanta, and I left my staff meeting with some time to kill before the workshop started. Plenty of time to run into Cactus House.

Some logistics information: if you've ever spent any time in Midtown Atlanta, you know that parking is primo (probably why they have that bench). But plus side to this place, it is next door to a public parking garage. It'll cost you less than $5 to spend an hour there, which for Atlanta parking prices is cheap. I loathe searching for parking, so I would like to take a moment and offer some Snap Cup snaps and golf claps to the owners of Cactus House for finding real estate next to a wealth of parking for customers.

Another random note (I swear I'll get to the food in a second) — there's a lot of fun graphic artwork painted on the walls in and outside of Cactus House. For example, the giant mural with a sugar skull inside the parking deck, which proclaims, "Don't do drugs, eat tacos." That, friends, is some wonderful life advice.

Anyway. The part you really came for (other than my searing with and exhaustive ooze of Southern charm) — los tacos.

I got two. And when asked by my server, the manager and a man who turned out to be the owner how they tasted, I responded with "pretty good." That's not a lie. I eat a lot of tacos, a lot of different kinds of tacos, and I must say, these have a great foundation ... but there's some room for improvement, particularly in the seasoning realm.

Fried avocado, tomatoes and creamy
sauce on top of a corn tortilla

Let us begin with the fried avocado taco. Yes. Fried. Avocado. First, perfect texture on the breading — crisp, didn't fall off the avo slices, which were delightfully thick. There were also some charred tomato slices, a drizzle of a creamy white sauce and a schmear of possibly tomatillo salsa, all topped with a sprinkle of fresh-chopped cilantro. I am a fan of this taco. There's texture, there's richness and a little sweetness from the tomato. My one point of contention was that there needs to be just a dash more salt in that batter. When I make avocado toast or put avocados on a sandwich or make guac, I have to put some salt on there. Just a little bit to really enhance the flavors not only of the avocado, but of the other ingredients on the taco.

The second taco I ordered was the pork carnitas. Carnitas, by the way, is a traditional Mexican way of cooking pork in oil or fat until it's melt-in-your-mouth tender. I have two issues with the way Cactus House's carnitas was prepared. One, again with the flavoring. The meat was a little bland — however, I could gloss over that considering that everything else on top was bomb, like more avocado, a spicy green salsa, fresh onions and more cilantro — and it needed to be braised a little longer. The meat wasn't tough, but it definitely wasn't falling apart when I bit into it. In fact, most of the meat I ended up eating with my fingers instead of in the taco itself because it fell out or I bit it out in huge chunks, rather than being able to eat everything all at once.

The pork carnitas taco had great toppings,
but room for improvement on the meat

My only other qualm about the tacos is the tortilla. These were corn tortillas, which I love love love, but there's a reason most places give you a double-stack of corn tortillas. Flour tortillas are a lot more pliant than wheat or corn tortillas, which have a tendency to split when you fold them up. I know it may be a ding in the bottom line, but I think offering two tortillas per taco would be a good move (and I would also throw in an extra 50 cents or so to make it happen).

There are a lot more on the menu that I want to go back and try — grouper, shrimp, lamb barbacoa, for starters, plus a mushroom taco (that sounds so FUN GUYS) — so I'm not going to let something like a splitting tortilla or too little salt keep me away from $3 and $4.50 tacos. I also need to go back and try the frozè, which is the latest millennial cocktail concoction taking over the Interwebs. It's a rosè slushie, so obviously this will require both a trip to Cactus House and a trip to Venkman's for a compare-and-contrast post.

Oh! I almost forgot, which is a shame because this was my favorite part. Do yourself a flavor and order the poblano rice. I am obsessed with Spanish/Mexican rice, and this was delicious. The rice is cooked with carrots, corn and poblano peppers, and seasoned with cilantro, which gives it this incredible freshness. Of course, if you are one of those poor lost souls who thinks cilantro tastes like soap, you should maybe forego this recommendation and order the yucca fries, which are going to be on my plate next time.

I also feel like I need to give a shout to the other tacos I had this week while enjoying beer at Gate City Brewing, which is just down the street from me in Roswell. I don't know how breweries do it where you live, but in Georgia, the true breweries right now don't have food on-premise, and instead support local businesses by bringing in food trucks or catering. Gate City had Carne 250, a Tex-Mex barbecue stand, outside serving up King Ranch tacos.

Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was just the fact that I love tacos, but holy smoking pig, Batman. For $10 you could get two loaded tacos with smoked pork, brisket (that's a beef cut, just FYI), mole (a deep-flavored sauce, not the animal that tears up your yard), tomatoes, queso and like three other things I'm forgetting ... and I didn't take a picture of the sign to remember, so my bad. My only suggested change to these would be taking out the tortilla chips embedded in the taco filling. I don't think they added much to it, but if you feel like they're an essential ingredient to the whole Tex-Mex feel, maybe crumble a few on top. Being part of the filling made them pretty soggy.

Are you tired of listing to me taco-bout tacos? No?! (Me neither!) Let me leave you with this little bit of associated dating wisdom from this MODA workshop that spawned this entire taco venture: "Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are nachos."

Bittersweet & Sour

Ever have one of those days where you just need a good pick-me-up, and the thing that hits the spot is a favorite food? My friend Kayla had one of those days a while back, and what she craved was fries from Ormsby's.

Given that the only time previously I'd been to Ormsby's was to drink waaaay too much Mother Earth Kolsch, beat the heck out of some friends on Skee-Ball and play at least two rounds of Ring of Fire, followed by some weird card game, more Skee-Ball and by this point in the evening I have no idea what else ... I was entirely unaware Ormsby's had fries, much less an entire food menu. I also don't really remember having to go through the restaurant portion to get to the game bar portion of the place, to be completely honest sorry Mom.

Kayla talked me into a re-visit, and I don't know if it was the topics of conversation we had going, the slow service or what, but it was not the best restaurant experience. And that really sucks, because the star of my plate was pretty decent. Also, I think I would have preferred to be drinking and playing games than drinking and talking about that Tammy Wynette song that goes "my d-i-v-o-r-c-e is final today." But we made the best of it (and kind of saw Alton Brown out of the window on the way home, but I swear I was a good #foodiefangirl and did not scream, jump out of her car, run up to him and ask him to sign a Post-It. I swear. I've already done that once).

The best part I'm saving for last. Spoiler alert.

I did enjoy the bratwurst I ordered. There's just something about that smart pop of casing as you bite into a brat that gets me every time. Plus, add sauerkraut, some spicy Dijon mustard and a pillowy soft, salty pretzel bun and every bite is a million flavors of things I like. Really I could eat anything on a pretzel roll and it would automatically be made 10-to-the-nth-power times better. Like, I got nothin' else for y'all on that. This speaks for itself.

But I digress. Highly recommend the brat. And the fries! I totally should have gotten my own order of fries, but instead I thought, "Oh, Kayla's getting fries. I'll try one of hers and instead I'll order the sweet potato chips."

Bad life choice.

The sweet potato chips were ... awful. First of all, ginormous, like the potato had been put long-side on the mandolin to be sliced (see photo for reference). Second, not cooked well. One bite of one giant chip was burnt, the other was still chewy where it hadn't sat in the fryer (or oven? Not sure if these were fried or baked) quite long enough. Third, not seasoned. Trust me, I get that sweet potatoes have excellent natural flavor, but one of the greatest parts of having house-made chips is that gentle douse of flaked salt sprinkled on top. Speaking of Alton Brown, on one of his shows he talked about how adding salt brings out the flavor of everything else in a dish. So enhance the natural sweetness of those 'tater chips with just a little bit of NaCl, guys.

I feel a little like Forrest Gump right now. Usually I eat such fabulous stuff that I go on and on and on and now I'm ... damn. "And that's all I have to say about that."

Boozy Bonus: Gose all daaaaay y'all.

What I will go on and on and on about is the beer I had with this brat. Two Evil Geyser Gose is hands down one of the best beers I've ever had, and 100 percent the best gose. Probably the best sour in general except for this gueuze I had three years ago.

Two Evil Geyser is a collaboration between Evil Twin, which is also one of my favorite breweries — never had a bad beer from there, and it's on my bucket list of places to visit — and Two Roads Brewing, which I had never heard of. Y'all know I'm all about trying the weird stuff, so when I saw on the beer list that this had Icelandic moss and yogurt and sea salt in it, I was allllll over it. Like, what the hell was this going to taste like?!

The answer? Effing amazing. You get this delicious tartness with an incredible depth of flavor. I have no idea what Icelandic moss tastes like, but the overall flavor isn't overpowering in the least ... and it finishes so clean! There's no aftertaste, no weird finish at the back of your throat. I've never had a sour that I would describe as particularly refreshing, but this, ice cold, I wanted to keep coming. Not chugging, per se, but definitely didn't leave any behind.

So. Who wants to come with me next time for fries, beer and Skee-ball? We can skip the chips. First round's on me.

I'd Tap(as) That

Once upon a time (approximately until five years ago), I thought the fancy French word "hors d'oeuvres" was pronounced "whores due vors" and therefore was a synonym of "or dervs." Knowing this about myself, it was with great trepidation I accepted a dinner invitation to a locale with an entire menu dedicated to the Spanish version of "whores due vors."

Thankfully, having once almost added a Spanish minor to my two college degrees, I already knew how to pronounced "tapas" and didn't have to embarrass myself in front of the wait staff. And in case you don't know how to say it, repeat after me: "top ahs." Not "tap ass." Just a general FYI on that.

Tapas are the tiny dish of choice at Barcelona, an Atlanta-area wine bar with two locations, one in the Inman Park neighborhood and another one on the Westside, near my best friend Kayla's home. I'd been stuck in the city all day for work, and when that happens, what better way to wind out the day (read: avoid rush hour traffic) than meeting up for a choice bev and bites? After getting lowkey ditched for a whiskey mandate with Kayla's husband, Kayla convinced me to come with her to this place and have an impromptu girls' night.

Now, let me pause to tell y'all a story about the difference in my and Kayla's tastebuds. It is no secret I am going to order the most off-the-wall meat-related thing on the menu. Kayla once came close to tears because the Sigma Alpha national sorority put mayonnaise on her sandwich in a boxed lunch. I say this because it's an indication that Barcelona offers small and shareable plates for the picky eater and the experimental diner alike. But you should probably not bring your kids.

Tapas are an interesting thing because there are a couple different ways to order them. You can each order one or two and share them, or you can order one or two each and eat those as your meal (and swap bites or something). With the portion sizes at Barcelona, I definitely recommend ordering at least two if you're hungry. I finished both of my dishes and was sufficiently full, but not stuffed, and the richness of my selections made for a satisfied stomach.

Tapas are also the way to go if you're me and are therefore one of the most indecisive eaters on the face of the planet. I'm really good at narrowing my choices down to a top two or three, and then it comes to crunch time and the poor waiter is still waiting on me to make a final call. But with tapas, I know I'm going to get two things, so it's perfect. No pressure!

Though the menu has a great variety of appetizer-size options, I ordered the grilled calf's liver with pearl onions, as well as the roasted bone marrow.

The liver and onions arrived first, and were pretty remarkable. Not that I've actually cooked it myself, but after eating it other places, I find liver can get tough pretty easily. This at Barcelona was well-done in terms of texture and flavor, and the recipe is based on that of famed Basque chef Gerald Hirigoyen. His native cooking traditions come from northern Spain, and though I'm not sure of the nuances of what makes the Yankee Spaniards' cuisine differ from the southerners', I can tell you he did wonders with this recipe. The liver had that expected iron-y flavor, but had a light, meaty glaze on top and a delicate smokiness imparted from the grill. I also appreciated that it was cut in chunks instead of slices (probably a note that helped the liver not get overcooked). I feel the onions fell short, however. Where the liver was cooked to excellency, the pearls could've used a few more minutes. I prefer pearl onions so cooked they melt in your mouth, and these were still nice and crunchy.

The real star of the meal though was the bone marrow. Also something I've had before (at the fabulous Spence restaurant, RIP) ... but holy cannoli Batman. This was the creme de la creme — or, since we swapped from French terms to Spanish earlier in this post, lo mejor — of bone marrow. Y'all ... I ate this meal like, two weeks ago and I can still remember how perfect this bone marrow tasted. Heavenly days.

In consistency, bone marrow is easiest compared to meat jelly. Like, I know that sounds unappetizing. But trust me on this one. It's not gelatinous, necessarily, so imagine a lighter, sponge-y textured substance (Yoplait Whips? Maybe?) that spreads easily across the rustic grilled bread it's served with. You scoop a small amount of the buttery, luscious marrow on top of a bit of bread, then layer it with the pepperoncini relish (which is equal parts salty, tangy and spicy) and you've got a mouthful of texture and flavor like none other. Foodgasmic, honestly. Sitting here writing about it I would so go back. Like right now. Immediately. So if you're in the vicinity, get in your car at your earliest convenience and pit stop.

OH! And I forgot to mention, this place is insanely affordable. The only reason my meal was more than $20 was because I got a drink. Which means ...

Boozy Bonus >> I have no idea what the name of this cocktail is, but it's what I got, and it's so tasty. The drink has Four Roses bourbon, maple syrup, lemon juice, lavender bitters and cardamom. I couldn't taste any lavender (which is cool by me, because flowers aren't my favorite thing to eat), but I love how the syrup and cardamom brought out a delicious cinnamon- and vanilla-y quality to the bourbon. The lemon juice added brightness, perfect to spruce up a cocktail that otherwise may have been more suited to fall. Major points to Barcelona for also serving this with one of those ginormous pieces of ice — greater surface area means it melts slower so your drink is less likely to get watered down — something I hope all spirit programs get behind if they haven't already.

Kayla also recommends the sangria, but be forewarned: the red sangria looked more purple than crimson while we were there, and the white sangria has St. Germaine + wine, so imbibe at your own risk. Both were excellent and went quickly.

Suffice to say, we'll be tapping those tapas again sooner rather than later. There's a slew of cheeses I want to try, plus the top-recommended octopus (pulpo) ... and you can order an entire pig's head for the table. I'm so down for that.

Which Came First, the Duck or the Egg?

A good question, food eaters. In the case of my recent supper at Miller Union, it was the egg that first graced our table.

Normally I would scoff at the idea of paying $9 for an egg ... even given the rise in prices related to highly pathogenic avian influenza (don't worry; eating eggs or poultry will not give you bird flu). However, the farm egg appetizer at Miller Union is the one exception.

Photo from Miller Union's dinner menu page

According to our server, this delicacy is prepared by cracking a fresh egg in a bowl of house-made celery cream, which includes some garlic, some herbs, some other tasty things that make it incredibly aromatic and rustic. It's baked for a short period, then flashed again so the egg gets a satisfying golden coat. The appetizer is presented to the table with a platter of crispy grilled bread and a massive ceremonial silver spoon, which you use to break the yolk, stir up the creamy sauce and then scoop it onto bread. It's so good that despite the fancy price tag and my dry-clean only dress I went finger-first into the starter and did not look like the most ladylike customer as I put bite after bite in my mouth.

This was undoubtedly the coolest presentation of eggs to grace my table. Texture-wise what you spoon on each slice of bread is a combination of heavy sauce and lightly cooked egg whites. By mixing the yolk into the already thick cream, you get a velvety, buttery quality. It's equally simple in construction and elegant in execution, and it alone is worth the trip.

Then they bring you the duck.

Well. I ordered the duck, anyway; there's a whole host of regularly changing entrees you can choose from. But if it's there when you go, I promise it is all it is quacked up to be. (Get it? Quacked up? OK, you're right, review of fancy restaurant is probably not the best place for a lame pun. Moving on.)

Tender, rare duck breast at Miller Union

The seared duck breast is the most well-seasoned piece of meat I've ever eaten. Oh my heavenly days, y'all, it was all I could do to cut each tender slice into a bite-size portion so as to savor every morsel.

Rare duck breast is reminiscent of beef tenderloin in texture. The tenderness is unparalleled. It has a salty, herbed, flavorful crust and then a slight metallic tang of iron, in case you didn't already know you were eating incredible meat. It cut like a stick of butter.

The duck was served on top of polenta (it's kind of like a thicker version of grits) with pieces of onion,slightly sweet sliced figs and bitter, peppery arugula. I don't want to entice Chef Steven Satterfield (also a co-owner) to raise his prices, but I felt that $32 was a bargain for the quality of this meal.

We didn't save room for dessert (I'm telling you, that farm egg app is rich), but there is a dessert menu, and it includes such things as balsamic ice cream and what looks suspiciously like an edible version of a whiskey mule. So keep your sweet tooth in mind when making reservations.

Gone Eatin'

Helping his grandson catch a fish off City
Pier. Anna Maria, Florida; 2015.

I am not a fisherman. You will never see a sign on my front door telling visitors, "Gone fishing, be back at noon." It's not that I don't like to fish. I'm just not very good at sitting still and quiet for hours upon end. I'm also not good at swimming or using the outdoors as a bathroom, two things I feel are key to being a successful fisherman.

You are much more likely to see a sign on my door that says, "Gone eatin', be back after brunch."

That is precisely the sign I should have had this past Sunday when I was eating brunch, incidentally, at a seafood restaurant in Atlanta.

Goin' Coastal has two Atlanta-area locations. The one closest to me is in the Virginia Highlands, but there is also a spot in Canton, Georgia, which is north of the city. You may think I'm a little nuts for thinking it's worth eating fish at a city restaurant far from the open ocean (or a natural lake). However, I must dispel that myth with something I learned last summer while on assignment for the Farmers and Consumers Market Bulletin.

According to an interview I did with an executive for Buckhead Beef, most of the fresh seafood caught off the US coast winds up in cities like Atlanta. That may seem counter-intuitive. Here's how it works: fishermen fish and bring back their catch. Most of the seafood processors are not directly on the coast. So refrigerated trucks pick up the day's catch that's been preserved on the boat, trucks it up to Atlanta (in our case, we have both Inland Seafood and Buckhead Beef as large seafood processors) and it gets fixed up and then delivered to area restaurants within 48 hours of being off the boat. And thanks to Atlanta having a major airport, international and other domestic fisheries also are able to deliver fresh fish to us as well.

So, the "whatever's off the boat and on our menu" chalkboard changes daily at Goin' Coastal for that reason. And the specials change regularly too depending on what was caught and how much of it got delivered. For example, this most recent stop had amberjack, but I've been before when there was a full list of fresh options.

I went with the brunch omelet special this time. It featured peekytoe crab, sweet summer corn, tomatoes, leeks and ginger all cooked together, flipped over and served with a side of fantastic cheese grits. Most omelets I've indulged in are heavy on the savory (bacon, spinach, mushrooms, onions and tomatoes are a favorite combination, occasionally with an addition of olives, capers and feta cheese) and I was surprised by how light and saccharine this one was. The combination of all of the naturally sweet components was quite interesting and I enjoyed it. I did not really taste the ginger (which is fine; not a huge ginger fan) and I liked the acidity imparted by the tomatoes, which were big slices and not tiny diced pieces. Taking a forkful of omelet and dipping it in the grits made for a good bite.

It was also nice to have an unconventional sweet brunch option like this available, since most such options involve heavier maple flavors and thick, nearly cloyingly sweet baked goods drenched in sugar.

Now, since I've never heard of peekytoe crab, and since I'm nine years a journalist, it was imperative that I Google this crustacean before I wrote about it. Here's what i found out, mostly gleaned from this excellent New York Times story written nearly two decades ago (apparently, while delicious, this crab has not yet gained enough traction in the food world to garner many search results from actual news agencies):

Photo: The Cook's Thesaurus

• They're also known as "mud" or "sand crabs"
• They were once a byproduct of the lobster industry and usually got discarded
• Sometimes they're lumped in a group of crab meat called "Maine crab," but more oft than not, "Maine crab" will contain a blend of crab meat that doesn't include the sweet fibers of peekytoe

Whatever you call it, it's one of the sweetest crab meats I've tasted. It's quite delicate and almost fibrous in texture, so I'm interested to see how it would hold up in other preparations besides this one. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to jaunt up to the northeast-most point in the country and do some peekytoe trapping ... because while I may not be good at fishing, I have no problem hanging out at crab traps and talking with boat captains, waiting for these tasty morsels to come by.

High on the Hog

There are two kinds of barbecue in this world: the kind that is finely shredded and every square inch of meaty surface is drenched in sauce, and the kind that is haphazardly shredded and topped with sauce so that the flavor of the smoked meat shines through. Both are, generally speaking, incredible feats of cookery.

At D.B.A. Barbecue in Atlanta's Virginia Highlands, you get the second kind. It's thick hunks of pulled pork with a sweet charred bark and a visible smoke ring (that's the slightly pink ring just under the crust). The pork is tender and full of smoky, woodsy flavor.

You can get plenty of different barbecued meats at D.B.A. -- in fact, there are some sampler platter options that were hard to pass up -- or you could go a more traditional route and order a barbecue sandwich with a side.

And for those who ain't got no time for forks, D.B.A. does you a flavor and has the option of your side being on the sandwich. Presenting The Archie Bunker:

Your entree and side, all in one. The Archie Bunker at D.B.A.

Inch-thick crusty, crisp, buttered, browned Texas toast.

A veritable mountain of that delectable smoked pulled pork drizzled with house-made barbecue sauce.

A gooey mound of hot macaroni 'n' cheese melting on top.

I don't know who came up with this menu item, but they deserve a raise. There are layers of texture in every bite: first your teeth hit that thick toast with a satisfying crunch. Then you sink into the mac layer; creamy al dente pasta melds into those chunks of pork barbecue and you are transported away to your happy place.

Barbecue has been one of my favorite foods for as long as I can remember, so I've had my fair share. By no means am I an expert, but from my experience, this sandwich is something special. Each bite is salty, smoky and sweet. And if you want to spice things up, there's a habanero sauce on the table to do just that.

According to a fellow food writer, the acronym stands for "Doing Business As" and dang, they do good business doing good barbecue. D.B.A. may end up being my first return trip for Meatetarian Eats. There are so many good things on its menu (like a brisket Philly, hell-o!) and I'm quite interested to see what on Earth a Pickled Moonshine Martini tastes like. If your tastebuds haven't been turned on yet by my descriptions of its food, then that statement should convince you to come check it out yourself ... because it takes a helluva lot for this red and black bleedin', "Glory" singin', Gator hatin', proud member of the Bulldog Nation to go in any place with as much University of Florida memorabilia as D.B.A. has.

But for as high on the hog as this place gets you, it's very worth putting up with the more than usual amount of blue and orange decor.

Oh, Oh, Oh! Sweet Brunch of Mine

One of the first things I heard when I moved to Atlanta in 2013 was that I had to eat at Flying Biscuit Cafe.

This directive came from my mother, and it came as we were driving (not quite lost) in search of a backway to Target. We passed a corner restaurant in the city's Candler Park neighborhood and the line was wrapped around the building, then around the block. It looked like the place to be on a Saturday morning. And at least one weekend a month, a fleeting thought goes through my brain: "We should go to Flying Biscuit for brunch!"

Said fleeting thought finally stuck around long enough to become action this past Sunday. Though parking was complicated (there's no dedicated lot nearby, so I hope you're great at parallel parking!), the line was only a dozen people and we were seated in about 30 minutes.

Do you think 30 minutes is too long of a time to wait for brunch? Go, then, because that leaves more room at the inn for those of us who crave brunch like what's served here.

The Flying Biscuit has breakfast all day, which is fabulous. But if you're not an "I will eat eggs, bacon and grits at all hours of the day and night" type of person, the restaurant also features a ton of non-breakfast eats too. Arriving at prime Atlanta brunch time like we did made that decision hard on me -- did I want an egg-y meal or should I sway to the side of the Coca-Cola Chicken BBQ Burrito?!

After settling on eggs Benedict, I took a moment to survey my surroundings. Flying Biscuit is a fun little place. It has exposed elements that give it a casual industrial air. The walls are painted in bright colors and big, bold patterns. Well, what you can see of the walls, that is. There's so many awards in the front room it's clear to see why that line I observed existed! The tablecloths are bright green, dated floral and vinyl-covered. The napkins are purple. You are surrounded by cheerfulness and the smells of hot black coffee, baking dough and bacon.

Swoon.

When the Southern Style Biscuit Benedict arrived, I scolded myself for waiting so long to eat here. How could I have let this fare escape my palate for more than two years?

I've never had a biscuit like this one. Because it's served open-faced with this meal, you can't tell that the unopened biscuits are approximately three to four inches high. They are dense, slightly sweet; the domed outer crust hiding a flaky carb surprise inside.  It is not at all a traditional Southern style biscuit in the manner I was raised to eat biscuits, but, as the guy in my favorite YouTube video says, "Oh my goodness; Oh my damn."

Not to worry, hungry people: pretty much every meal comes with the famed biscuit.

My open-faced biscuit was topped with pimento cheese, turkey bacon, poached eggs and hollandaise, then sprinkled with fresh basil. My mouth had a flavor explosion. The pimento cheese, like the biscuit, was unlike any I've ever had. The creamy spread had chunks of onions and a generous kick of spice. The turkey bacon was beautifully caramelized and had the perfect consistency. The buttery colored hollandaise and the golden yolk of the eggs seeped into every crevice of the biscuit, so every bite made you want to close your eyes and pretend you lived in this piquant alley of restaurant heaven forever.

And then you take a forkful of all that and dip it in the side of grits? Mother of Pearl.

The menu describes these grits as creamy and dreamy, and I'm at a loss for other adequate words. They remind me of the Charleston-style grits Mama makes (read: butter. milk. heavy cream. lots of it). So thick! So savory! So ... I don't want to use the word "dreamy" again, but let's suffice to say that these are the Frankie Avalon of the grits world.

Boozy Bonus (of the non-alcoholic variety)
This must have just been a day of brunch firsts for the Meatetarian, because I had another something I had to let my people know about. It is this delicacy called the chai tea latte. You may be familiar with this via Starbucks or other coffee shop menus and thus are thinking, "Why on Earth do I even read this girl's stuff?! If she doesn't know what a chai tea latte is she clearly has no idea what she's talking about."

Well, now I do, and now I will be getting them on the reg. From here. It's spiced ice tea mixed with dairy -- I didn't ask, but judging from my research on how to make them at home, "dairy" is a blend of milk and vanilla creamer -- and is the perfect not too sweet breakfast beverage.

I was so excited about the one I tried that last night I attempted to make my own!

Guess what, folks. My days as a barista are limited. Reckon I'll be heading back to Flying Biscuit after work to get my fix.

Maybe with some grits on the side.

Folk'n Good Food

Do you live near or in Atlanta, and have no dinner plans tonight?

Cool, because I've got somewhere for you to be. It's one of my new favorite places in Atlanta, and there's some dang good company who'd agree with me. Namely, Guy Fieri.

Yes, Guy Fieri of the first-ever Food Network Star winning, bleached tips, Triple D fame. He likes Folk Art, too. So much so, in fact, that if you show up at the restaurant tonight (that's July 31, to those of you who are coming late to our party) you get to see first-hand what he thinks of this joint. Folk Art is hosting a viewing party with half-price drinks and featured entrees so everyone who comes in can watch Guy eat on the big screen! You can also watch it from the comfort of your couch tonight and over the weekend, but if given the chance to enjoy it with a room full of strangers who love good food and the Inman Park neighborhood ... why wouldn't you come in person to support the restaurant?!

Let me give you a hint of what you'll be in store for.

First off, you walk up to this place and you're immediately accosted by charm. There are mid-century brand signs up all over the place, retro tiles, a drugstore counter-style bar and a patio. Good music. Good service. Even better food.

As you can gather from the headline of this food memoir, I am not the world's biggest fan of vegetables. I would much prefer to have a nice, juicy cheeseburger with lettuce, onions, tomatoes, etc. than be faced with a plate of steak salad. Thus, none was more surprised than I when I ordered the A.B.L.T. off the Folk Art menu at brunch last weekend.

The A.B.L.T. features applewood-smoked bacon, tomatoes, mixed greens and a mustard seed mayonnaise between two slices of buttered, toasted white bread. Addition of hashbrowns and pickles optional.

Yep. That beautiful sandwich is heaping with ripe, red slices of sweet tomatoes and a colorful mix of crunchy lettuces. It could be described as a salad served between two slices of bread. Oh, and how mouthwatering it was!

That "A" in front stands for applewood, as in applewood-smoked bacon. Four thick slices of bacon with a crisp edge and a subtle sweetness imparted from the wood chips they were smoked in. This was perfect bacon, the fatty edges a little bit chewy still, and the tad of grease that when mixed with the mustard seed mayonnaise spread on the bread ... y'all. This is how to make a BLT. And did I mention that this is served on good ol' white bread? There's just something about toasted, lightly buttered white bread that makes a sandwich full of vegetables so much more appetizing. On second thought, that's probably because even lettuce is good when it's dipped in butter.

To up the ante of a BLT (even though there ain't much more upping you could do to this one!), you can do what I did and completely misread the menu.

On the breakfast menu, at 8 a.m. on a Sunday when you're starving and you don't want bacon and eggs, you can occasionally read an item description and incorrectly infer that what is the side item is, in fact, served on the sandwich. I was pretty pumped about the thought of adding some crunch to a BLT with the addition of hashbrowns, so when I found out they were served on the side, I did what every other hungry 26-year-old meat-and-cheese-and-bread-loving food writer person does and forked the hashbrowns (and housemade pickles) on top of my lettuce sandwich.

Guy Fieri's face on the outside
placard invites Atlanta in

But don't despair if you're not weird and don't find BLTs topped with hashbrowns to be an appetizing breakfast. Folk Art has all the normal things, like bacon dipped in pancake batter and then deep fried. Yeah, y'all read that right.

I reckon you've read enough - it's time to shut down your computer and hop on over to this Inman Park place to watch this folk'n good food (it's their motto; I only wish I could've made it up!) get its 15 seconds of fame tonight, which I have no doubt will be the beginning of much more recognition in the Atlanta area. Party starts at 9!

P.S. I'll be the one in the back chowing down on whatever the heck collard green cole slaw is ... on top of a pork sandwich, of course.

L'eggo My Chicken and Waffles!

I've been waiting for ages to find the perfect time to write about my favorite Virginia Highlands restaurant, The Family Dog.

We ate here the first week I moved to Atlanta and it pretty much stuck as the best place on the planet. It's within walking distance of my apartment (which makes returning from a night of boozing reminiscent of college), it's affordable, it's an incredible atmosphere and the food is damn good. Though I'm not writing about them today, I recommend whatever fish sandwich happens to be on the menu, the smoked duck quesadilla (it's enough for a meal, promise), Rosebud pimento cheese with spicy saltines and the oyster po'boy, which occasionally crops up on the summer menu. There are exactly zero disappointments that come from this place. Rosebud, FYI, is another one of the four restaurants owned by Chef Ron Eyester -- the other two are Timone's and Diner.

I give a thumbs-up to the chicken and waffle melt.

The most recent visit to Family Dog was for a specific purpose. Its new menu was released, which included some tempting new brunch and breakfast items. Namely, chicken and waffles.

Somehow, despite being born and raised in the South, chicken and waffles bypassed me as a traditional meal. Then suddenly three years ago everyone is going cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs for chicken and waffles. It's like if your restaurant didn't have an ode to chicken and waffles you deserved to shut your doors and suffer in silence at lack of customers. But none of the restaurants I frequented offered chicken and waffles, and I wasn't exactly seeking it out. I've heard the best come from Ms. Gladys Knight herself, so look forward for a second C&W write-up when I make it over there!

There are two chicken and waffle options on the new Family Dog brunch menu. First is under the sandwiches category: fried chicken and waffle melt. The second is the chicken and waffle plate.

I ended up with both -- new menu = slight confusion = wrong dish brought to the table = new order put in -- and it was the closest thing to perfect food heaven I'd felt in a while.

The sandwich was the original order, so in the confusion it came out second. Thus, I shall start with a look at the plate. The fried chicken was boneless and doused in this sweet pepper sauce. It added a sour tang that made each bite of chicken + waffle + syrup just divine. The chicken was thick, moist and came out nice and hot. And I'm not sure what the waffle makings in the back are, but this was no Eggo. This was a deep caramel-colored waffle crisp on the outside, light and fluffy within and dusted with powdered sugar. I easily could have eaten the entire thing and forgotten about the sandwich ... but I wanted to give both a try. I took tiny bites like the kind a 2-year-old takes of peas they're trying to avoid eating. Except I wasn't trying to avoid eating it because it was revolting, but rather it was so delicious I wanted to savor each forkful.

When the sandwich arrived, I was already pretty full. I was not prepared for the tower of tastiness that was placed in front of me. If you've ever had one of Chick-fil-A's new (I think new?) chicken, egg and cheese sandwiches, you've had a fast-food version. It's two of those fabulous waffle triangles and heaped between is another mouthwatering chicken thigh (fried, boneless and sauceless), freshly scrambled eggs and Tillamook cheddar.

*** Pardon me while I take you on a quick field trip to Tillamook County in Oregon, the land from whence this cheddar comes. Go explore the website. It's fun. And it makes you wish you were a full magazine owner who could disappear off to Oregon at the drop of a hat and go watch cheese being made.

Now that you're fully versed in Tillamook cheddar, you can understand how the cheese plays an important part in the chicken and waffle melt at Family Dog. I mean, in order to be a "melt" a sandwich must contain cheese. Plus it's a mild cheddar, which I think was great for this sandwich. Don't go in here expecting a light chicken sandwich when you order this, either. No veggies, no aioli, no fancy: just chicken, egg, cheese, waffle. Oh, and syrup to dip in. Hot syrup.

Clearly I'm over here salivating just thinking of chicken and waffles. I have no idea how this meal escaped me for 26 years, but man am I glad I finally got some to gnaw on.

Both of these dishes are getting added to the list of "Dallas' Favorite Food at Family Dog" ... which is to say, everything on the menu.

The Meatetarian Has a Carnivorgasm

No ... get y'alls minds out of the gutter, people! Not that kind. The Carnivorgasm is a burger, you silly geese!

And it's quite possibly an entire foot tall.

The Carnivorgasm, as should surprise exactly zero people who follow hamburger lore and famous burgers around the country, is a menu staple at Atlanta's own The Vortex Bar and Grill, located in the heart of Little Five Points. There's a Midtown location too, but let's be honest, who the Hell wants to fight for parking in Midtown?

This venture was my first into the Vortex, despite living here for nearly two years. I know, right? What have I been doing with my life? However, I first heard of the Vortex many years ago, watching one of those extreme food shows on Travel Channel. Vortex is best known, aside from being a cool bar with a menu that gives exactly zero effs (it says so) about douchebaggery and foodies and kale and one-star Yelp reviews, for its Coronary Bypass Burgers. Capitalized and copyrighted. These monstrous hunks of meat range from just a weensy bypass to a triple bypass, and include ingredients like multiple burger patties, fried eggs, bacon and even grilled cheese sandwiches. Holy mothertrucker.

So, I'd heard about these burgers before. In all honesty I was surprised and excited to see other burgers existed on the menu (because, as much as I love grilled cheese, fried eggs, bacon and burgers, that's a little too much for one sitting). There are lots of burger choices, making this Beef Babe have a hard-ass time deciding which one to order. Like, the Vortex bills itself as a bar -- you must be 21 to go in and order a burger, much less a choice beverage -- but it's no wonder its reputation hangs a lot on the food menu. Since everyone who comes to this place seems to order and write about a Bypass, and also since I am an investigative reporter, I bypassed the Bypass and headed straight for the "OMFG Burger" listings.

Meet the Carnivorgasm, my hunka-hunka-burnin' lurve.

I was jumping up and down like a small child on Christmas when I discovered that one of those burgers is called the Carnivorgasm. I imagined the headline of this post the moment that word crossed my eyes. This burger is rightly named: it is two inch-thick sirloin patties, cooked medium.

Hold up. Let me segue (pronounced "seg-way," like those dinky little things tourists ride on, but cooler) for a moment into a meat lesson. Given that this is Beef Month, I just need to tell y'all that if you get a hamburger cooked anything more done than medium you might as well put a piece of charcoal in your mouth instead, because you're killing the flavor and any potential foodborne pathogens are already dead at the medium temperature. of 160 degrees.


Back to the king of sex burgers.

On top of these medium-temperature patties are slices of turkey, slices of ham, thick pieces of bacon and a generous dollop of pulled pork. This is how the conversation I had with my burger went:

Burger: "Oh, hello, Dallas! So nice to see you could finally make it a mile from your house to come devour me."

Dallas: "Yes. I will devour you. Give it to me. Give. It. To. Me. OMFG -- your flavors are a foodgasm -- oh. Duh. That's how you got your name. And your menu category."

The Carnivorgasm also features whiskey pimento cheese and cheddar.

I managed to make this thing into three meals, because two inches of burger ain't gonna fit in my mouth, much less topped with all the other joyful meatiness between the buns. So one patty became lunch the next day, and then I only ended up managing to devour half the remaining burger in one sitting. That, my friends, is a whole lotta meat.

Aside from the sirloin patties, which were well-seasoned and cooked perfectly, not to mention ginormous, my favorite part of this burger was the pulled pork on top. It was a nice, vinegar-laden bite with a little sweet from the sauce. I have no idea if the barbecue is homemade. Truth, I do not care, because it tasted really damn good. The ham and bacon were nice touches. Cheddar cheese, eh, because I am a weird human and don't really like cheddar. Pimento cheese, excellent. There's just something about pimento cheese and pulled pork together that make this a classy Southern burger, except for the name. Kind of like this Meatetarian, the Carnivorgasm is a lady in the street but a freak in the -- sorry Mom. I'll stop there and move on.

I think the only part that I could have gone without on the Carnivorgasm is the turkey. Not that I have anything against turkey (it's my favorite deli sandwich meat), but I don't think it added anything to the burger. Where everything else was thick, richly flavored and gave you a sensation of "I want all of this in the same bite," I was neither here nor there with the turkey addition. Now, if the intent of having turkey was to have all three of America's favorite livestock represented on the plate (swine, beef, poultry) ... I would not be opposed to swapping out the turkey for a fried egg next time.

And yes, there will be a next time. I mean, it was a hard choice between the Carnivorgasm and the Meat Packer Melt (fact: I am a sucker for a good patty melt on rye). And don't even get me started on the other things on this menu I feel compelled to try ... like the shots. We'll just say buttery nipple is a G-rated shot name compared to the others.

Boozy Bonus!

Photo from Red Brick website

If you do order shots and feel a little nervous about ordering something as sexually charged as Wet Pink Pussy (what?! I warned you!!), then there are a couple options I suggest. First, order the mystery shot. This is the best (or perhaps worst) $2 you will spend on alcohol, because you have no idea what is coming on the waitress' drink tray. It's like "school lunch manager's choice" on the last week of elementary school, when you are torn between bringing your lunch because you might get stuck with turkey tetrazzini (gross!), but on the other hand there's a high probability pizza bagels will be an option (nomz). We got something with tequila in it, and for $2 that's a pretty nice bargain.

Other booze option: the "house" brew, Laughing Skull American amber ale. Not a shot, but you can get it as a beer cocktail with a variety of other things. Check those out on the Booze Menu. Laughing Skull comes from the fabulous Red Brick Brewing Company, Georgia's oldest craft brewery, and does not fail to disappoint with this light and flavorful beer. I call it the "house" brew on account of its logo being oddly similar to that of Vortex. You can also buy this beer at grocery and liquor stores, but if you get the chance to sip it alongside a burger and tots at the restaurant, go for it.

This Beer, I'll Eat.

Food things I like: beer, bacon, burgers, beef, bread, cheese.

I mean, secretly I'm clearly a stereotypical man, apparently. So it should surprise exactly zero people that Justin and I celebrated our birthdays (mine was March 19th, his the 20th) with beer at the original Taco Mac. 

Yeah, ya heard me: Taco. Mac.

Do not be fooled, my friends. First of all, I've said it before: I don't get paid to do this. I am not a "real food blogger" by any means. I do not even like the word "blog," to be honest with you. So, I can go into a chain restaurant and tell you what I think of the food if I so dad-gum please, because not all of us are hired by Atlanta Magazine and given a $100 bill for just the appetizer section of the menu.
Disclaimer: No idea if that's how real food critics work. 

Anyway! Back to the point of the matter. The original Taco Mac is located in our neighborhood of Atlanta, the Virginia Highlands, in a section on the corner of Virginia and North Highland. It's small, it's unassuming, it probably seats a grand total of 40 people. The inside is a little dark. The bar has cool bottles on a shelf and draft beer taps in front of the stools. I'm not kidding when I say my apartment may be the same size as the original Taco Mac.

What I'm getting at is that you shouldn't judge a chain restaurant. My first Taco Mac experience was at the chain version, and I felt a little bit like I was in an Applebee's with more of a tex-mex feel. The layout was similar; the local high school football pennants were there; it was bright and sunny and felt more like a restaurant than a bar that just happens to serve good food. Chain Taco Macs, like most franchises, vary greatly. In fact, Justin flat-out refused to go to the original because of how miserable his experiences were at other locations. It was only by the prodding of our friend Peter that we finally ventured forth behind the screen doors of the patio and into the depths of this fine bar establishment.

And now we go back at least once a month.

This particular night, I'd heard on the radio something about limited time menu items featuring Sweetwater beer. I am not a fan of the Sweetwater beers I've tried. They've been a little weak, the pale ale a little too pale, and indeed ... sweet. One day I'll write about the Meateterian's drinking habits. But today, I present you with a beer that I may not drink, but I'll sure as heck eat.

Taco Mac's 420 Fish & Chips.

Sweetwater 420-battered fish and chips at Taco Mac

Now, take this with a grain of salt: I cannot speak for the fish and chips meal at all of the Taco Mac locations. But if you come to the original, I suspect you'll be pleasantly surprised by the atmosphere and the menu items.

According to the manager, Sweetwater 420 is the beer added to these traditional beer-battered fish. Ever since my first trip to Captain D's as a toddler (at the time, my favorite things to eat were the crispy bits of breading), I've had a bit of a thing for fish and chips. The fact that fish are now found in sandwiches and tacos only expands my excitement. These fish and chips were GOOD. The breading is light, a little peppery and crunchy. The fish itself was nice and flaky -- I did forget to ask whether it was fresh or frozen, but it tasted fresh -- and had a good meatiness to it. Fish and chips that are soggy or heavily breaded or don't have the right fish (meaning the fish falls apart) may have good flavor, but are not worth your time to eat a fish stick with a fork. Thankfully I was able to eat these with both my hands, and even better, they weren't really greasy.

The slaw that comes on the side of this meal isn't half-bad. Slaw is a great side for fish because it's light, has a good crunch and adds some color to a brown plate. My only qualm with this slaw was the flavor. I liked that instead of strips of cabbage and carrots, these were thinly diced (which had a good texture, like a crunchy couscous) and the veggies weren't drowning in Duke's mayonnaise. However, and this is mostly because I've gotten really into slaw other than coleslaw, it tasted kind of bland in comparison to the fish that starred on the plate. I feel like there's room for improvement.

Bottom line on this one, folks, don't judge a book by its cover, a flavorful beer batter by its sweet liquid counterpart or an original location by its chain compadres. Come to the original Taco Mac, join Brewniversity (Athens folks, it's like Pauley's, but you have an app that tracks your beers instead of a card) and eat these fish and chips before they're gone off the summer menu.

Photo cred: Jailhouse Brewing

Boozy Bonus!

Because this is a post about Taco Mac and I did mention Brewniversity (of which I am a proud student), this blog would  not be complete without a beer mention.

Our waiter recommended Jailhouse Mugshot. Jailhouse Brewing is a Georgia brewery located in Hampton, a little southish of Atlanta. I like hoppy and flavorful beers. I like supporting Georgia breweries and distilleries (as long as their products taste good). Mugshot is hoppy and flavorful and from Georgia. The website says it pairs well with pizza and sharp cheddar cheeses, but it also pairs well with beer-battered fish and chips.

Mugshot is an IPA, which can come off as either bitter all the way through or end with a bitter aftertaste, but I enjoyed that this brew presented with bitter and finished with a warm sweetness. It was also light, a good thing when you're eating anything fried.

A Mat-So Good Soup & Sandwich

Outside The General Muir at Atlanta's Emory Point

Tonight, I crossed "ate matzoh ball soup" off my bucket list.

Outside of New York City, I'm not sure there are many places in America -- much less in the South -- where one can find authentic, homemade matzoh ball soup in a restaurant, especially matzoh ball soup that gets the approval of my Jewish heritage boyfriend. But the matzoh ball soup at The General Muir at Atlanta's Emory Point not only was a mouth-watering first experience with this food, it also got a thumb's up from Justin.

As I sat and sipped on this simple, flavorful appetizer (which in my case was more of a side dish, because I got it with a sandwich ... I'll get to that later), my eyes wandered around the restaurant. I took in everything that read old-school New York: the industrialized green steel beams adorning the ceiling; minimalist black and white tile on the wall and floor; the deli counter overflowing with breads and cakes and pastries. And bagels, of course. The design of The General Muir is so simple that, instead of diners being distracted by pictures and centerpieces and watching the kitchen staff, you focus instead on the food. In fact, my glance about only took a few seconds, and then I was back to another spoonful of matzoh ball soup.

Now, granted, I don't have a basis to compare this soup to. To all my Southern readers with a similar previous experience in the realm of traditional Jewish delicacies, matzoh ball soup is like chicken 'n' dumplings, except without chicken and instead of thick, biscuit-y dumplings soaking up the broth, the carb is a ginormous fist-size ball of matzoh.

Matzoh, by the way, is a non-fermented bread made from water and either wheat, rye, oats, barley or spelt. Since I'm just starting The Meatetarian Eats, I did not get a chance to schedule an interview with the chef and find out exactly which of these grains is turned into matzoh at The General Muir, but maybe one day I'll get a chance to do that. I mean, he's been nominated for James Beard awards. Like, hell-O, I would have to be deaf, mute and blind to not want to talk to him!

Clockwise from top: The Last Word, an incredible pastrami
sandwich and a bowl of matzoh ball soup

So, anyway, matzoh ball soup at The General Muir is a massive ball of this matzoh bread that has soaked up a light, buttery, savory broth scattered with scallions and dill. There are a few diced veggies in there, enough to add flavor to the broth (carrots, onions, celery), but the focus is on the matzoh. I liked that. I absolutely hate it when you get a soup and expect it to be full of good stuff (read: pasta, meat, savory flavors) and instead there's an abundance of potatoes and vegetables. This was my kind of mix. And the dill added a nifty depth to the flavor profile, so it wasn't entirely savory flavors.

The soup was a great complement to my sandwich. If you go to The General Muir before 7:30 during its dinner hours, you have the option of ordering an Early Bird Special. Thus, like any good 25-year-old who's secretly a senior citizen, I opted for the special and got my bowl of soup with a half sandwich for 12 bucks.

And I kinda sorta maybe a LOT wish I'd gotten a whole sandwich.

At dinner, your sandwich choices are pastrami or corned beef. With pastrami, you can add liver for an extra dollar. The reuben was not an option for the special, so I went with pastrami on rye with liver. SUCH a good decision, guys. 

The architecture of this sandwich was pretty perfect. You know when you go to a restaurant and the whole sandwich is basically six inches of bread and then two pieces of meat and some lettuce in the middle? This was not that. The pastrami sandwich wasn't very big. It had nice, thinly sliced pieces of rye that were so tasty, but because they were skinny gave me a chance to taste what was inside the sandwich.

Unlike a lot of deli sandwiches, instead of getting one-sixteenth-inch shaved slices of pastrami, The General Muir is generous: You get two to three slices of quarter-inch thick slices of pastrami, the size you'd imagine a fancy restaurant slicing off of a prime rib served tableside, that absolutely fall apart in my mouth. I'm pretty sure that's the reason they sliced it so thick; any thinner, and the meat would disintegrate into savory beefy goodness. It had a nice peppery crust to it and what I suspect a housemade spicy dijon spread on one side of the bread. The good kind of dijon, with mustard seeds that get stuck in your teeth.

On the other side of the bread is a thick slab of liver pate. Another thing to cross off my bucket list.

Um, I would go back and just get the liver pate.

On a bagel.

On an everything bagel.

It was that good. 

Not overly salty, a tad sweet, but with this delicate texture and flavor balance that melded so perfectly with the smoky cured hue of the pastrami and the sour and spice of the bread and mustard. I mean, this sandwich with the liver could knock everything off the taste bud list: sweet, sour, salty, umami. Yes, I threw in umami, like a "true person who pretends to know everything about food." 

Bitter came a little from the pepper, but a lot from the drink I had. Originally I was going to be a "good food critic" and drink just water to cleanse my palate between bites, but then I remembered I am not a food critic, I'm just a chick who likes to eat and likes to write and doesn't get paid for it, so what the hell.

I will say that The General Muir is awesome and brings you a frosted glass bottle of water for you to pour at the table, which is a rustic element that I liked in this industrial setting. But water was not as good as the booze. In true New York fashion (or, at least, being a not at all native New Yorker with only a vague, Hollywood-inspired idea of what New York fashion is), I got the Prohibition-inspired drink on the menu. To me, this epitomized a New York Jewish deli experience: a deli sandwich, matzoh ball soup, and something that at one point was probably illegal.

"I'll have the last word," I told our waitress.

The Last Word, which was pretty fun to order, is not on the online menu, so sadly I don't remember at all what went in it. I do recall that it had gin, which I don't like, and sweet and sour flavors, which I do like, so I decided to be adventurous. Hashtag worth it.

This beverage came served in a quaint stem glass, which served only to bring up more 1920s New York images to my mind. It was a light mint color, had some carbonation and a dark cherry floating in the bottom. It wasn't sweet or sour or bitter: just a pleasant combination of all three. It wasn't a drink that I wanted to take down all in one swallow (too strong), so I was able to sip it in between bites of sandwich and slurps of soup. 

I can see why this place is on pretty much every top Atlanta eatery list. Highly recommended, and the prices are pretty reasonable. Now the key is going to be waking up early to go get that bagel I was talking about earlier before work this week ...