This Mouth is On Fire

Woo, lawdy — it's not just my mouth, but my tongue and of all things, my ears burn after eating Kelly's. Trust me on this, y'all. That burn that makes you feel like Dracarys just breathed fire straight into your face is so worth the food.

Kelly's Authentic Jamaican Foods, also affectionately called Kelly's Jerk or simply Kelly's, is a true Five Points Athens gem. The last time I ate here was approximately 2010, and at the time I rarely ate anything spicier than mild salsa at Mexican restaurants. I couldn't tell you what I ate, but I distinctly remember sitting in the restaurant area with my coworkers, my eyes watering from the peppery, sweet and hot meat and sides. I couldn't stop eating even though my 21-year-old self could barely handle the heat. Everything was just so flavorful and delicious.

Eight years later, and with a slightly better food vocabulary than "flavorful and delicious," I'm happy to report that Kelly's is still serving up intensely seasoned dry-rubbed meats and complementary sides. Over the intervening time period, I was introduced to and learned to appreciate a variety of different styles of spicy flavors (Sriracha, spicy Latinx and Hispanic foods, sweet-spicy Thai, savory and sweet Indian ...), so my palate welcomed jerk with open tastebuds.

Two jerk pork plates from Kelly's Authentic Jamaican
Foods in Athens, Georgia. Side selections were spicy
squash, rice & beans, mac 'n' cheese and green beans. 

My boyfriend and I ordered a couple of to-go jerk pork plates, which each come with two sides. Though I did not get a chance to ask Mr. Kelly about his recipe secrets, jerk seasoning is typically a spice blend of herbs and ingredients like cumin, allspice, cinnamon (the top three I detect the most prominently in the pork and spicy squash), hot peppers, black pepper and salt. Not that I am anywhere near expert at Jamaican foods, but I feel like jerk seasoning is one of those things that gets guarded as a restaurant or family secret not unlike the recipe for Coca-Cola syrup: there will often be imitators, but there will never be duplicators. Everyone's seasoning has the same basic ingredients, then you swap a few out to suit your tastebuds, then you play with proportions to get the sweet vs. spicy vs. savory ratio that's ideal for your dishes.

When I walked into Kelly's this weekend, I will be completely honest in that I must've looked like a complete idiot — I stared at the beer and soda cooler behind the order counter looking for a menu board until the sweet woman working the register took pity on me and pointed to my left, where a white board spelled out the day's options. I already had my heart set on the jerk pork my boyfriend mentioned (if you've followed Meatetarian Eats for any amount of time, you know I have a special place in my heart for pork dishes). For our four sides, two per plate, I was feeling the spicy squash, mac 'n' cheese, green beans and rice and beans.

Each of these was served in generous portion in Styrofoam to-go containers, with a little extra pork gravy poured over the rice. And you can't leave Kelly's without cornbread. Few know this, but doing so is committing the eighth deadly sin. That's because Kelly's cornbread is more like a sweet honey cake with the consistency of cornbread than it is a Southern-style dry and buttery cornbread. I highly advise you to get a big square of it, put it on your plate and let it sop up the grease and gravy from your meat.

Holy smokes. I don't know if you've ever eaten spicy honey before, but that is what this tastes like. It's tantalizingly sweet and then slowly at first, but then faster, the heat comes on and you're left trying to figure out what peppers got put in your cake. Or well, maybe you're not, but I am.

As for the sides, the spicy squash had more of a sweet heat to it, and the rice and beans had more prominent peppery notes (granted, that may have been from the additional gravy poured over it). The mac 'n' cheese was gooey and savory, and tasted as though perhaps some cumin was added to it. I don't know how y'all feel about mac 'n' cheese, but my absolute pet peeve on this side is when it's served up as noodles doused in cheese so melted that it's more like eating cheesy noodle soup. This had more consistency of a baked mac, and I greatly appreciated that! Another weird Meatetarian quirk is how I am about green beans. I abhor the fancy long beans, wax beans, Italian green beans, etc. Basically, I like my green beans out of a can. I don't think Kelly's green beans came from a can (if they did, I am totes OK with it), but they had the perfect size, moistness and brininess as canned green beans. The flavor was subdued compared to the other sides, but with so much spice on your plate, I think it was a good idea to get something a little more mellow to round the meal out.

I don't think it's entirely far-fetched to wonder if there's some addictive additive inside Kelly's jerk seasoning. Considering how on fire my entire body is at this point (sunburned arm included), it's the only logical explanation for me wanting to drive back over for more.

IDK About Your Pie, But My Pie is Peach & Prosciutto

Pizzas are a lot like sandwiches.

They both start with a carbohydrate base (in sandwiches' case, bread; for pizzas, dough). Then you add cheese, meat, fruit and vegetables to your heart's delight. You can eat them hot or cold. If you're me and you like about six vegetables, you can get away with multipurposing them for homemade pizza and fresh sandwich toppings, thus saving some moolah on that grocery bill.

I eat rather a lot of pizza. It's easy; I can say I'm "cooking" even though all I am doing is turning on the oven and throwing a frozen pie into it for a specified amount of time, then taking it out and devouring it. And like sandwiches, the sky is the limit when it comes to what you can find or put on top of them, so you never feel like you're eating the same thing day after day after day.
Disclaimer: No, Mom, I promise I am not actually eating pizza more than three days in a row, and that is because one pizza equals three meals minimum, no matter how I slice it.

The peach and prosciutto pizza from Your Pie

Recently I had a pizza though that I would not at all be opposed to eating multiple days in a row, though I will advise you to eat it fresh (it didn't keep well for two days in the fridge). It's the peach and prosciutto pizza from Your Pie.

Your Pie is an Athens, Georgia-based franchise that — not to continue my sandwich-pizza comparison — can best be described in set-up as the Subway of pizza restaurants. There are several pre-designed options you can pick from, or you can build your own from a plethora of sauce and toppings. The peach and prosciutto pizza looks like it's a seasonal choice, so if this post makes you hungry, you should probably act on that craving before it's too late.

Once the dough is rolled out and put on your individual pizza paddle, it's dabbed with olive oil and topped with generous amounts of ricotta cheese. As someone whose favorite generic pizza is white pizza, this made my eyes glaze over in ecstasy. Then comes shredded mozzarella, the melting properties of which are simply incomparable. Handfuls of thinly sliced, slightly sweet and tart peaches go on next, followed by paper-thin pieces of salty cured prosciutto (a type of cured ham, and the easiest way to fumble your way around its pronunciation is pro-shoot-oh, but preferably with more of an Italian accent). A drizzle of balsamic glaze over the whole thing, and some fresh chopped basil, and buon appetito.

Sweet and savory is one of my favorite flavor combinations, and this pizza hits the sweet spot. Especially since the peaches are a little tart as well, you get more of a depth of flavor that you would if you were eating bacon and peach French toast, or even peaches and pork chops (the only other peach + pork pairings I'm familiar with). Plus, the ricotta is so mild that your toppings aren't overtaken by a sauce.

Your Pie's white crust is also really good, although again, it doesn't keep well if you have a habit of taking home leftovers. It doesn't bubble up too much so I didn't feel as though I was eating mostly bread, and it had a great butteryness to the flavor without tasting salty.

If you go to the Eastside Athens location (which I did!), make sure to say hi to Collin and Andrew — and shameless plug, please order an Akademia beer if they've got one on tap. If you like what you eat so much that you want to start your own franchise ... I happen to know who you can talk to at the corporate office about that, and you can repay me with free pizza for life once you hit the big time. ;)

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.

Morning Roll Call

It is no great secret that, despite my mad skills with cooking meat, I am miserable at baking.

The only thing I've ever successfully baked is Ghirardelli brownies. That come from a box. And even then, if you mess with my baking system (like, I'm baking them in someone else's oven or for the first time at my new apartment), the brownies get messed up.

My best friend Amanda and I still joke about that one time in seventh grade we tried to make Nun's Puffs, and we didn't have most of the ingredients so we unsuccessfully substituted, and wound up with barely edible but-we-ate-them-anyway-because-we-worked-hard-gosh-darn-it breakfast pastries.  I effed up some boxed chocolate chip cookies once — I swear I followed the instructions for "chewy," so I don't know why they were like eating cookie chips — and I found out the hard way that if you leave the cardboard underneath a frozen pizza while it bakes, you wind up with pretty much raw dough topped with melted cheese, pepperoni and vegetables.

I am, however, quite good at eating baked goods.

Case in point, sad PMS-ing Dallas has been known to eat entire boxes of Girl Scout cookies alone, in one sitting, on her couch while drinking whiskey. Also case in point, yesterday morning's venture to a new (to me) bakery in my new(ish) home of Athens, Georgia.**

I originally attempted to go to the Milledge Avenue Jittery Joe's, which is a local coffee roastery. Highly recommend their spiced iced dirty chai lattes. But I was running late, there was a line ... and though I desperately craved coffee, my immediate thought was "I ain't got time fo' that today."

That's when I remembered this quaint little bakeshop around the corner from Jittery Joe's — Independent Baking Co.! I parked my car possibly illegally and darted over.

"This is perfect! Especially since I discovered that I left my yogurt out overnight at JE's house and now I don't have breakfast," super-adult me said to myself.

Y'all. This little bakery is precious. And I don't mean that in the stereotypical Southern ol' biddy way that is only one step above being told "bless your heart." I mean that in a genuine fashion. It's tee-tiny, clearly made as a place to bake really good bread and pastries, and they tossed out a couple stools for people to sit at.

I would also like to commend Independent Baking Co. on their incredibly minimalist and modern logo design. Obsessed.

But what everyone else obsesses over isn't what's on the outside of this place. It's what's on the inside, and boy, let me tell you — if you're on one of those low-carb or keto diet things ... please get off of it for a day and come here. Fresh-baked anything smells amazing, but fresh-baked bread has this rustic earthiness to its smell that is so warm and inviting. Behind the counter you're greeted with shelves stuffed with loaves and loaves of fresh-baked bread that's emanating that homey smell. I could tell just from looking at them that they were perfectly crusty.

Since I was on the way to work, and eating a loaf of bread by myself is generally not socially acceptable, I glanced down at the front counter, which offered up several different grab-and-go pastries. The danish with spinach and chevre (!!!!) began to call my name, but the woman behind me in line saw me looking and directed my attention elsewhere: to The Morning Roll.

Please pardon the less-than-stellar Insta
story photo quality here.

I have never been so pleased to wake up and learn that my yogurt got left out the previous night. Morning rolls are officially my new favorite pastry ever and like, who needs a Cronut when that costs about $17 plus a plane ticket ... when this divine gift from the heavens is only a couple miles from my apartment?! Here are the most important points.

First: The size. These babies are about the size of my hand, and a solid two inches tall.

Second: Not your average cinnamon roll. Morning rolls are made with delicate, flaky croissant dough, dipped in cinnamon sugar, baked and then dosed with a second hearty helping of cinnamon sugar.

Third: I walked out of here, tip included, with this sugary delight and a latte made with Counter Culture coffee, for only a buck more than I spend at Jittery Joe's for my regular breakfast drink.

It was very hard to eat my morning roll at work and resist the temptation to get back in my car, drive to the other side of town and just eat the rest of them. The original dusting of cinnamon sugar caramelized while baking, so there was this crisp candy-like layer in areas around the croissant dough. I adore croissants (if it's offered as bread for a sandwich, that's what I'm getting), and this was top-notch. The thin outer layer was crisp; hidden underneath was this exquisite cushion of pastry perfection, lightly sweetened.

I'm taking names of anyone who wants to split one of their loaves with me on my next visit.

** TLDR I moved back to Athens full-time last fall; started a new job; hence why it was hard for me to settle in time to write fun stuff that probably only my mom reads. 

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word to the wise: Ask for an extra napkin.

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

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

so

so

so

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

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

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

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

Comfort Food + the New Normal

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

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

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

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

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

Getting there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The French dip at Sandy Springs Diner

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

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

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

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

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?