This S*** is Tostones, T-O-S-T-O-N-E-S

The Meatetarian is no stranger to weird food. In fact, I rather pride myself on my ability to get the weirdest-sounding thing on the menu, especially if it is meat-related: I've eaten Rocky Mountain oysters (spoiler alert; they're not oysters). When it comes to non-meat though, I am significantly less adventurous and more inherently grossed out. I tried tofu (that didn't sit so well with my GI tract). I've stomached boiled and steamed vegetables. I ate brussels sprouts once. I even went so far as to make my own greens a few times.

But there is one food item that I cannot put anywhere near my tastebuds. Bananas.

I couldn't tell you exactly what horrid childhood trauma scarred me so much that I gag on the mere thought of these things, but for as long as I can remember, I would rather starve than eat a banana. Yes, y'all, I know they have potassium. I'm sure your grandmama makes a mean 'nana puddin' with Nilla wafers. I am well-aware that they can cream up a smoothie. I have heard multiple times that the Akademia Brewing Company head brewer/co-founder makes a solid Belgian tripel, which is on-point for its banana notes. But if there is the tiniest hint of banana anywhere near my breakfast, lunch, dinner, second supper, beer or midnight snack, I ain't eatin' it. My daddy is this way with onions. Maybe it's hereditary?

Anyway.

After 29 years of just saying "no" to Chiquitas the same way I approached hard drugs, imagine my surprise when I found a banana-like product that I actively crave. They're called tostones, and the only place I've ever had them has been at Cali-N-Titos in Athens, Georgia.

Tostones are fried green plantains, and after doing some super-nerdy research into why I am drawn to them more than bananas (blech), here's what I learned.

Plantains have more starch than bananas do, although they're from the same family. That means they're much better to eat cooked than raw. Think about it — potatoes, also super-starchy, are significantly better cooked than raw. Similarly to potatoes, plantains can be sliced, mashed and deep-fried to make tostones. I reckon that makes them like the tropical equivalent of French fries. And though I have a hankering for tostones, there's also another variety of fried plantain that is on the Cali-N-Tito's menu. Maduros are fried sweet plantains. I have not tried these, though allegedly they don't taste like bananas.

The sandwich el criollo and tostones at Cali-
N-Tito's Eastside

The Cali-N-Tito's folks have managed a perfect way of slicing and mashing tostones so that they have this gorgeous scalloped edge when they're deep-fried. They've got a fine crispy outside and not-quite-fry soft innards. They go well with whatever amazingness is in the pink sauce you're served to dip them in.

I've been to Cali-N-Tito's a couple times before and gotten tacos (shocker), but this latest venture I was feeling something more out-of-the-hardshell. So I got the traditional Peruvian el sandwich criollo. I must say, this was a fabulous decision.

The pork was marinated, tangy and juicy with a nice hint of brine, topped with red onions, tomatoes, cilantro (y'all, cilantro does not taste like soap) and some sweet-yet-zesty mayonnaise, all served hot on grilled bread. I highly recommend adding pickled jalapeños as well.

Oh. And did I mention this sandwich's crowning glory? Sweet potato chips. On. The. Sandwich. Full disclosure, my favorite guilty summer sandwich pleasure is throwing potato chips on my sandwiches, and now I want to try it with sweet potato chips.

El sandwich criollo y los tostones were a solid combination. You do have to order them separately, but it's worth the couple extra bucks. The tostones are plain enough in terms of seasoning to complement all of the flavors in the sandwich perfectly, and also act as a little bit of a palate cleanser between bites.

Cali-N-Tito's has two Athens locations. The outdoorsy one on Lumpkin Street has more limited parking, no liquor license and also no menu online, but you can BYOB assuming you are 21 and up. I usually go to the Eastside location off of Cedar Shoals, which serves alcohol and oddly enough has an ice cream shop inside. It's also occasionally referred to as "La Puerta del Sol," but everyone I know just calls it "Eastside Cali-N-Tito's." Either way, you're sure to find something to please your palate on the menu.

And if you don't, just bring me your leftovers and I'll make sure they find a good home.

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.

Not Too Chicken to Write a Cheesy Post

Before I delve into the latest fast-food novelty item, let me apologize for first showing up with the fullest of intentions of writing on a regular basis and then proceeding to disappear again. Suffice to say that some things happened that resulted in a significant loss of interesting places to eat. Flash forward a couple months. It's not the classiest of locales, but it's unusual, and I'm all about living life to its fullest and trying all the weird these days.

Remember a couple years ago, when I first started pretending people cared about what food I ate? Yeah, you know. That time I went to T-Bell for free breakfast. This venture wasn't free, but here we are. It's May 12. One day after the fine Mexican-inspired establishment we know as Taco Bell (and my parents sometimes confusedly refer to as "Del Taco") debuted its latest and greatest menu item.

Yes, my friends.

Naked. Chicken. Chips.

Now, are they chicken nuggets? Or are they chips? At which point does a chicken nugget cease to become a piece of fried chicken and transform into a piece of fried breading known as a chip? These were dire questions that begged answers. The Meatetarian had to know what exactly a Naked Chicken Chip was and what sort of mysticism was involved in its creation.

So to Taco Bell I drug my neighbor tonight. Last night I had a mandate so I missed the opening night of these suckers; and does it really count as dragging when your neighbor's favorite food is a Baja Blast?

There are several options for the Naked Chicken Chips. There's a six-pack. A 12-pack. And a Naked Chicken Chips Box that comes with a six-pack of chixchips (am I the first one to shorthand that? I should probably copyright this), a hard or soft taco AND some sort of burrito PLUS a medium drink. Being economical, and also knowing that I can easily turn that into three meals because despite my love of fast food I don't actually pig out on it, it was a no-brainer to get the box.

On first glance, it's obvious these are way too thick to be considered chips. Like basically they're glorified nacho-shaped chicken nuggets. The verdict on whether these are something you should order or not then comes from how good they taste ... not so much on how novel a food item they are. Hashtag not-a-cronut.

The breading is pleasantly crispy. Nice and salty, as one would expect from a fast-food establishment where the main ingredients are sodium and more sodium. The meat inside is soft; not too chewy; kind of bland if we're really being honest, but the excess of sodium on the outside makes up for it.

What I'm saying is ... they're nothing special.

However. There is a sauce. A cheese sauce. A nacho cheese sauce.

And that dresses these naked little snacks up right nicely. The sauce is thick and probably a million calories, so if you're into counting those maybe you should stop. It's got a peppery bite to it that quite makes up for how unremarkable the actual chips are.

Dunking those triangle chixchips into this hot, melty sauce is akin to sitting at a sporting event in the nosebleed seats with a cold beer and a plate full of those awful cheap round actual nachos drenched in spicy hot melty nasty-but-yet-so-damn-addicting-yellow-cheese-is-it-even-really-a-sauce-or-is-it-a-drug-called-queso goodness that cost you approximately $8.65 and suddenly your team scores and you leap out of your seat and your nachos go flying (but your beer doesn't; priorities). Are these Taco Bell delights worth $8.65? Just like those actual nachos ... absolutely not. But are they a not terrible snack for a couple bucks?

Sho thang, chicken wing.

Bonus: We also tried the new "spiked" lemonade Baja Blast that allegedly contains prickly pear cactus juice. It tastes like liquified Sour Patch Kids. Do not recommend getting a large.

The CRÚ Crew

Wine bars are not normally somewhere I want to go for lunch.

I mean, to be completely honest, wine bars are not my choice of place to eat no matter what time of the day it is. Though I find the art of winemaking fascinating, beer and whiskey/bourbon are much more my preferred imbibements (that's a word now). J, however, is very into wine and it's really impressive. So one chilly day in December, we decided to venture to Avalon — remember my visit to The El Felix? It's near there — to do some shopping, and when we discovered there was a wine bar in the vicinity, we figured we'd check it out.

I'm still not sure I'd pick out a wine bar for the sake of eating at a wine bar, but I would go back to CRÚ in a heartbeat!

CRÚ Food & Wine Bar, believe it or not, is a franchise. But you wouldn't know it if you walked in (or at least, I had no idea). The restaurant named its executive chef on the door; it's beautifully decorated; and there are a million bottles of wine everywhere.

The service was also fantastic. Ever since J started working as a server, we've both been really conscious to when we have excellent service and when it's sort of lackluster. Our main server was talkative, engaging and gave great advice on what wines to pair which which meals. The wine menu rotates pretty regularly, so it's nice to be able to go to a place and have your server tell you what's new, what's great, etc. Since I'm not much of a vino, I didn't get a drink, but J got a wine flight.

If you are into wine, you should order a wine flight. Not only do you get the requisite three restaurant-sized glasses of wine (I say that because if I do drink wine at home, I pour until the glass is at least half-full, because where's the fun in anything less?), but they are presented to your table in this nifty little carrier. No more bulky hand trays for these folks. You also get a flight card that describes what each of the wines is, its region, how it's made and the flavors you should experience. J has to usually tell me what flavors I'm experiencing, but I did take a sip of each just for fun. But I wasn't there for the wine ... I was there for the Napa Burger.

The CRÚ lunch menu is small, and I was torn between going whole hog on a burger or being light and dainty and pseudo-healthy and ordering a cheese plate. But because we don't treat ourselves to a lot of date nights or date days these days, I decided to spoil myself a little this time.

The Napa Burger just sounded incredible. First, it's a hamburger, so duh. Second, the toppings. I love, love, love savory and sweet, and this burger had everything I needed in each bite. The fig jam was divine. It wasn't sugary sweet, but it had a deep, almost molasses-like sweetness that just enveloped the melted cheese, the caramelized onions and the hot, juicy beef patty. Oh, the cheese! As good as each bite of the burger was, I could probably have eaten an entire wheel of the Humboldt Fog. This melty, creamy goat cheese comes form California and has a consistency like brie. They also served it with the white rind on, which I really liked. Plus the bun was soft and buttery; the arugula not overly peppery; and the gherkin pickles on top were nice and crunchy. The side was matchstick potatoes, and though some of them weren't cut all the way through, totally worth it. They were tasty and since they were so skinny, I didn't feel like a fatty for eating most of them!

My only qualm is that the burger promised roasted tomatoes, and instead was served with fresh sliced. Given that tomatoes aren't in season again until May here in Georgia, whatever distributor CRÚ uses did a fab job of bringing in vibrant red fruits. They were delicious, but I can't help but wonder what depth of flavor the roasted would have achieved.

Guess I'll have to come back to find out. And maybe try the "Sinful Experience" cheese flight while I'm at it.

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?

The Meatetarian Eats Dallas

The Meatetarian did a lot of traveling during the past few weeks! Today I’m taking you for a brief jaunt into the city that was named after me.

That’s right: Dallas, Texas.

This trip was for my annual Mary Kay Seminar, so most of our dining was done during the conference … but arriving a day early meant I was able to partake in a couple of the city’s finer eats within walking distance of our hotel.

Ellen's Southern Kitchen

Ellen's came highly recommended from our concierge. I thought I wasn’t hungry enough for soul food, but the group I found myself with that afternoon was from Boston, had little experience with “Southern kitchens” and I decided to indulge the girls’ fancy.

At this restaurant I found a sandwich that rivals the Carnivorgasm in height. And of course, being the Meatetarian, I ordered it.

The towering open-face meatloaf sandwich

It was a hearty open-faced meatloaf sandwich. There is a slab of juicy beef meatloaf covered in thick, hot brown gravy, on top of a piece of toast. All of that mama’s kitchen cookin’ is then stacked on top of a generous scoop of silky mashed potatoes.

As if that’s not enough to sink your teeth into, there’s stuff on top of the meatloaf too. I guess it’s served open-face because it’s hella hard to get another piece of bread to stay on top of a fried egg, crispy fried onion rings and grilled pepper rings, huh?

The lunch feat before me was most impressive. I ate every bite, down to the last scrape of mashed potatoes doused in a mixture of gravy and egg yolk. Whoever decided that meatloaf needed to be topped with ketchup clearly missed a grand opportunity to make fried eggs and gravy topping a food trend.

My favorite thing about this meatloaf is how juicy it was. Texture-wise it was more like eating a hamburger patty, since meatloaf – notoriously restaurant meatloaf – can come out dry, crumbly or both. This healthy slice stayed together despite me eating it with a fork and heaping it with all of the other stuff that came on the “sandwich.” Needless to say, I did not have room for dessert, and wasn’t sure I’d have room for supper, either!

Wild Salsa

Funny story: the group I was with for dinner asked the hotel valet how far “Wild Bill’s” was. We got that cleared up mighty fast after the looks they gave us and then rented a stretch Hummer for a half-mile drive to the most authentic Mexican restaurant I’ve ever eaten at.

The atmosphere at Wild Salsa is cool. There is no other word for it, as cliché as “cool” sounds. The lights are dim. The decorations are tequila bottles, Dia de los Muertos skulls and a palette of warm colors. It’s close quarters inside and yet I didn’t feel crowded. I’ve never been to a Mexican cantina, but I feel like Wild Salsa did a good job recreating one.

If you remember from my visit to The El Felix earlier this spring, you know the love I have for Mexican and Mexican-inspired cuisine. The flavors are bright, fresh and balanced. With a big kick.

Having eaten enough lunch to feed a family of four, I settled for lighter fare and went with what sounded the most exotic: a tongue taco.

Have I ever eaten tongue? Nope.

A taco that's easy on the eyes ...
and heavy on the tongue.

Have I removed it from a bovine carcass during a meat science lab and been impressed by how much meat was on it? Yup.

Was I excited to relish the flavor of tongue on my tongue? You betcha. I was bouncing with anticipation, because trying a new meat is such an awesome experience for me.

Oh, y’all. I don’t know how I’ve never eaten tongue before.

It is the carnivore’s version of tofu (and yes … I have eaten tofu.) – tender, smooth, not at all spongy. Which makes sense, when you think about it being such a strong muscle in life. This tongue was marinated, giving it a great subtly spicy beef flavor. Since marinating is a way to tenderize meat, that probably added value to the great texture these cubes had.

Also on the taco was a spicy tomatillo salsa and pickled red onions. The chefs at Wild Salsa did an excellent job putting together spice, salt and sour in each bite. I will say, I like a little spice, and it seemed like a few dishes ordered by my tablemates might have been on the lotta spice side – so check with your server before you order something that may get clear your sinuses!

The side dish of cilantro rice also deserves an honorable mention. Normally I like rice salty, and this rice was not. However, it was fresh and had that great unmistakable essence of cilantro cooked in it and sprinkled on top. Given the intense flavors on the taco, it was great to have such a mild-mannered side dish next to it. Overall, dinner was a great balance of personalities that worked well together – just like the women in the company we were in town to celebrate.