Beefing Up Eats in Oglethorpe County

If you ask a resident of Crawford, Georgia, how many red lights his city has, he'll tell you, "Just one."

If you ask a resident of Oglethorpe County in Georgia how many red lights her county has, her answer will be the same. Hint: It's the same light.

For the longest time, that red light had an old car dealership on one side. I drove past it every time I went from Athens to Evans and vice versa when I was in college. It had some antique cars in the showroom and new wheels outside. The dealership closed a couple years back and the beautiful white building sat vacant. Crawford is a rural area — all of Oglethorpe County is, honestly; there's a reason why it only has one stoplight and that's because there's a lot more farmland than anything else — so part of me wasn't overly surprised to see a big, shiny place like that close shop in a tiny city. But I did wonder what would go there next.

I'm never a fan of progress for progress' sake. Small-town Georgia shouldn't be overrun with commercial businesses and fast food franchises [y'all don't even get me started on That One Giant Clothing Store That Opened In Downtown Athens ...], in my humble opinion. But at the same time, that was a gorgeous, historic building. It had potential. And I'm not talking about the "big developer from big city wants to tear it down and build high-rise apartments" potential. I'm talking this place could be anything and draw people to Crawford, people who may learn to appreciate the charms of this little place as more than just the only place in Oglethorpe County with a stoplight.

A former Ford dealership gets new life as Crawford,
Georgia's latest restaurant.

One day a few months back, I scrolled through Facebook and stopped at a picture of a familiar building. That old dealership was getting a makeover as a barbecue place! And even better, it was going to be owned by some of my favorite beef friends in the state, the Gretsch family. Yes, it's the same family that owns the guitar company.

The first day I saw the "coming soon" sign up on the building, I was so excited that I accidentally forgot that I was at a stoplight and I drove right through it. Sorry Oglethorpe PD; that's my bad.

G Brand BBQ (the name coming from the "G" brand the Gretsch family uses to market its Angus beef cattle, under the moniker Gretsch Brothers Angus) opened to the public last week, and y'all know I was there opening day!

I rolled up after work and was a little concerned I wouldn't be able to find a parking spot. Let me tell you, the place used to be a car dealership, but it barely had space for the amount of BBQ fans coming out to eat and to support this new venture for the Gretsches! The building itself is spacious, with plenty of seating on the right-hand side and a large waiting room area and to-go counter on the left. There's nothing fancy. It's Southern, it's homey, there's some pig decorations; it's exactly what I want a barbecue place to be like.

The menu is straightforward: you choose your meat(s) and your side(s). Plates come with two sides, or you can snag favorites a la carte. Meat choices include chicken, St. Louis ribs, babyback ribs, pulled pork and brisket. Sides are stew, beans, coleslaw and applesauce. I got JE a half-pound of pulled pork, which comes with bread in case you want to make a sandwich, and for myself ... I couldn't help but get the brisket sandwich plate.

Pause for reflection ... I met the Gretsch family in about 2012 or '13, not long after I started working as the communications director for Georgia Cattlemen's Association. Now, when you work for Georgia Cattlemen's Association, or you're a GCA member, or you know a GCA member or maybe you just show up for a random membership meeting, you don't eat fish. You sure as heck don't eat chicken. You can maybe get away with pork. But you are 99.999 percent more likely to be eating a hamburger, a steak or brisket for whatever meal is provided. We ate A LOT of beef brisket. So it seemed completely appropriate to indulge in some nostalgia on opening day of G Brand BBQ.

Brisket is the cut of meat that comes from the chest area of a beef animal. Think of it as the beef version of the chicken breast. Because that's a pretty heavily muscled cut of meat, it's best done rubbed down or marinated, then slow-cooked or smoked to get it nice and tender. Then you can chip it or slice it. My sandwich was chipped brisket (a little messy; don't be me and wear a white shirt, as you will regret that life choice) and I could've eaten two, I was so hungry. The meat had that iron-rich flavor of beef and was a little dry, but it had such good taste that was fine by me.

The stew was a tad sweet, thanks to the corn inclusion. I loved its consistency — very even, not overly chunky, but not runny, either. (Wow, that was a lot of commas in that sentence.) It got eaten straight with a spoon, but I bet if there was an option to serve it over rice that would be incredible. Since I'm into spicy food lately a touch of heat wouldn't have been a bad addition.

And the slaw! There are only two places I will now willingly eat slaw, and this made the list. It's crunchy, a little sweet and tastes good on top of a brisket sandwich or mixed with the stew or by itself. I love that it had mayonnaise as the binder, but it wasn't watered down and gross like a lot of Southern slaws tend to be in my mind.

A brisket sandwich, stew and slaw from G Brand BBQ.

Now, I didn't get dessert ... but G Brand also has dessert options, including banana pudding, peach cobbler, cakes and brownies. Some are provided by a local bakeshop called The Crafty Spirit, and I believe the 'nanner puddin' and cobbler are in-house. By the time I got there, it looked like there were only a couple slices of cake left, so that's going to be a return trip treat for sure! And maybe I'll grab some peach cobbler while I'm at it (y'all know how I feel about bananas ...) for, you know, taste-test purposes.

I'm going to be hard-pressed not to stop in on every single dad-burned trip to and from Evans. It's hard for me to say "no" to BBQ, especially when there's so much more on the menu left to try! Like, I am pretty sure the ribs were gone within hours, so they were long-gone by the time I was able to slip out that far down 78. In fact, they were sold out of everything on opening day before 8 p.m!

Between the food and the family who owns it, I think G Brand will be a destination joint for Athens townies, Georgia fans on their way into town and residents of Oglethorpe and Oconee. You should find time to stop in, too. I'm a firm believer in supporting our farmers and entrepreneurs. Patronizing these locally owned, family-run, one-of-a-kind businesses is what keeps them around. And as much as I love me some McDonald's French fries ... there's a whole lot more charm to your meal when you can take a left just after a county's only stoplight and know your brisket sandwich purchase helps keep a family farm afloat to feed the rest of your country.

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?

On a Date with Myself

What began as a routine delivery of some Mary Kay products turned into a lunch worth writing about.

I met my aunt briefly at a new outdoor shop-stravaganza in Alpharetta, Georgia, called Avalon. It's one of those swanky places where families and young professionals with a lot of money can live above West Elm, J. Crew, BCBG or an incredibly righteous restaurant. Like Atlantic Station, sort of, but newer and with more modern architecture.

Since the delivery was at 10:30 a.m., and I had a grand total of nothing to do for the next 12 hours, I decided to stick around and take myself on a shopping date. That took about an hour, and then I realized I was getting hungry.

Did I have food at the house? Yes.

Was it the same stuff to make a sandwich like I had for every other weekend lunch when I was trying to conserve food money? Yes.

Did I really want another turkey sandwich? ... Negative, ghostrider.

Thanks for this image, Dr. Google.

I turned on my heels to find The El Felix, which I had passed on my first trip around the shops. It sounded Mexican and had a cool, kind of creepy early 1900s Halloween cat logo mascot on its to-go cups. I could go for some tacos.

Clearly, this was divine intervention: I wasn't intending on eating out. I wasn't intending on a nice meal if I did eat out. But the weather was beautiful -- perfect for sitting outside. I was by myself, perfect for taking myself on a Mexican food date because Justin is "eh" on Mexican food and I am like "LET ME SEE YOU GUAC, GUAC, GUAC" on the reg. And I had gotten paid the week before.

So that's how I found myself on the patio of The El Felix, ordering a margarita and being delighted by the cute containers that my salsas were brought out in. I had no idea what I was getting, had no forethought about "I want to go to this restaurant, order this food, drink this alcohol and go home and write about it." Hell, y'all, for once in my life my Nikon wasn't in my purse. Sorry for the really poor photo quality. But then I dipped a thin, crisp tortilla chip in the green tomatillo salsa and my life changed forever.

I will willingly drive 30 minutes up Georgia 400 for this mouthwatering tomatillo salsa. Just ... whoa.

My first impression of The El Felix: a salsa verda para morirse.
That means "green salsa to die for."

A bit of background. Tomatillo salsa is my favorite kind of salsa to begin with. Tomatillos are most commonly seen as green tomato-looking things with a husk. However, they're not tomatoes, but a distinct species of the nightshade family, along with eggplants, potatoes, petunias and tomatoes. Tomatillos are known by the Latin name Physalis philadelphica and tomatoes by Solanum lycopersicum. See? Totes different genus and species. So, tomatillos are a little tangier than tomatoes. They kind of remind me taste-wise of a fried green tomato, and are best mixed with herbs, peppers and adobo (we are big fans of adobo in my household). That green salsa you can get at Barberito's, for example, is a tomatillo salsa. It's really easy to screw up, namely if whoever makes that day's batch doesn't add enough salt or uses more salt than cilantro. Gross.

This tomatillo salsa was a gift handed down from Mother Nature to Felix's chefs Ford Fry and Kevin Maxey. Y'all, I've never had a salsa like it. It's as if the best-made tomatillo salsa and the creamiest, smoothest fresh guacamole had a mad, tequila-induced lovefest and produced a sauce that is the perfect genetic mix of both. I actually turned the waiter away the first time he came to take my order because I was too into the chips to bother to look at the menu. Oops.

When I did take a peek at the restaurant's offerings, I noticed a salsa advertised as "avocado salsa verde," Ah, assuming that these are both the same thing, that makes total sense. The avocado added to the tomatillo salsa, mild, fresh and with just a hint of heat, is what gave it the thick, creamy texture that made it so irresistible!

I also had trouble deciding between tacos al pastor (note to self: take a day on The Meatetarian and explore delectable taco fillings) and something called "Campechana de Marisco." I'd never heard of "campechana" before, but "de marisco" means "of seafood," and it was pretty hard to turn down the ingredient listing.

Campechana de Marisco, otherwise known as a "seafood
sundae." Served in a parfait glass with spoon and tostadas.

About 10 minutes (and a basket of chips and bowl of that salsa) later, I was presented with what can only be described as a seafood sundae. The retro parfait glass was heaped to the gills with seafood, chopped veggies and a delicate-handled spoon to eat it all with. This was a $17 seafood dish well worth the "usually I don't spend $17 on a lunch" splurge.

No lie, there were nearly a dozen melt-in-your-mouth shrimp, a couple of generous tablespoons of lump crab meat and tender octopus all tucked in the glass. What little room in the serving ware that was left had been doused in a spicy tomato mixture. There were slightly greasy fresh tostadas around the bottom of the glass, present to hold spoonfuls of campechana. When bitten into, they proved light and airy and gave a satisfying crunch to the light and chewy textures of the seafood and diced veggies.

I kept trying to tell myself, "This is your last bite! Then you can take the rest home and share it with Justin!"

Except that I kept eating and the next thing I knew, both my unforgettable salsa and seafood sundae were gone with the wind. But here's a great thing about this meal: everything was fresh and nothing was heavy! It was filling and satiating and I left wanting more, but I didn't feel like I had a small burrito baby growing inside me.

Now that's what I call a successful date.

The Edgewood

Disclaimer: Theoretically my boyfriend-roommate J and I eat out once a week. Since I started this blog, my plan was to eat out once a week. Like, you know, leave the house and find somewhere cool with food. Well, fun fact, we both get home from work, toss around food ideas if we don't feel like cooking and nine times out of 10 order Chinese food.

This particular night, we "ate out" thanks in part to Zifty, which is a fabulous-yet-quite-pricey delivery service that goes to restaurants, picks up our orders and brings them to our doorstep. For like, a $5 surcharge plus tip, which hurts my soul a tad bit.

But on the plus side, we actually tried somewhere new this time instead of our Chinese, Thai or pizza standbys (which I will also blog about, because there's a reason we get food from them so often. It's GOOD).

We ordered from The Mercantile.

The Edgewood sandwich is a play on a Cuban, featuring ham, Swiss, dijon
and homemade pear preserves. It's equally sweet and spicy and comes pressed.

The Atmosphere: Well, since we didn't eat at the restaurant, the location we did eat at (which was our couch) was quite clean and well-kept. Recently vacuumed and an excellent view of the television. But for realskis, check out the website. The Mercantile is an Atlanta bakery, sandwich shop and family-style meal kitchen that has a weekly menu change plus regular staples. It looks quaint and cute, but probably more of a grab-and-go style locale than a sit-down restaurant. Also, I like the logo. I am a big fan of logos. Yes, I am also that person who judges wine based on their labels. Don't hate.

The Food: I took a gander at The Edgewood, a sandwich inspired by the Cuban (ham, Swiss, banana peppers, mustard). The Edgewood featured dijon mustard and homemade pear preserves. But no banana peppers, which I initially found disappointing, but the sandwich was different enough that I didn't miss them much!

The Flavors: Not too shabby. I enjoyed how intensely spicy the dijon was, actually. It melded quite well with the pear preserves, which was a thick spread without chunks of fruit in it. I also liked that the sandwich was pressed, but I think some of that presentation factor was lost given that we ate it out of a Styrofoam box instead of a pretty plate in a cute little Atlanta shop.

The Verdict: The sandwich was good, but expensive given its small size. It also did not come with a side or drink (chips were approximately $2 a bag). I'd like to check out the restaurant itself, as well as some of its other offerings, but probably won't order this one again from Zifty.

Since I'm willing to try here again, here's a sneak peek at my next choice, The Cabbagetown (all of their sandwiches, by the way, are named for Atlanta-area neighborhoods): Peanut butter, chili paste, raisins, apples, cucumber and arugula. I would also add bacon, because homie don't play vegan very well.

It also appears that The Mercantile has free wine tastings. Yo, who's in?

An Eating Habit.

Some people have a coke habit.

I have an eating habit.

I mean, I have a Coke habit too, but mine comes in either an aluminum can or a glass bottle and will give me a heart attack before it gives me an overdose.

That's the premise for this here little journal o' food: not to serve as a food journal to lose weight (because I may work out, but homie don't count calories); not to provide hoity toity, pretentious reviews of restaurants (I tried that once. Atlanta Magazine didn't hire me); but rather to share my eating habit, try some new food and maybe meet some cool people and chefs along the way.

Let's start with the basics.

Me, with "one scoop" of salted caramel pretzel ice
cream in Anna Maria, Fla., during Thanksgiving.
Photo creds to my mom. <3

I am 25. I live in the Virginia Highlands area of Atlanta. It's a pretty swanky place with lots of character, what my mother calls "Craftsman-style" homes and bookoodles of restaurants and shops and somehow like 17 frozen yogurt igloos all within walking distance of my apartment. Sa-weet.
But with my jobs (I work for a tech company and have Mary Kay and knitting customers spread all over the state), I get to do a lot of traveling. Plus my family is still in Augusta, Ga., (ever heard of the Masters? Yeah, that place), so the Meatetarian goes around the country with plenty of places to check out.

I've pretty much been the Meatetarian since I was born, but I came up with the moniker in college when I started my first blog, not-so-coincidentally of the same name. My background is in ag and science reporting, so Meatetarian is a blog centered around the meat we eat, how it's raised and how it goes from animal to carcass to incredible edible. I decided to branch out a couple of years ago to Meatetarian: Foodish, which was supposed to be recipes with meat and animal-based proteins as key ingredients, but I didn't really cook that much, so we see how that ended up.

And that brings us to this latest venture. I credit all inspiration to my little broski, who bought me this book called Food: A Love Story by Jim Gaffigan. I didn't know who Jim Gaffigan was, but dang y'all, did I enjoy that book. It's a series of essays on Gaffigan (he's a comedian) and his forays into food. It's funny. It's engaging. It got me thinking.

Here's my take with Meatetarian Eats. My eating habit takes me lots of places. It's completely paid for by Mary Kay and knitting profits and the money left over from my real job paycheck after I shell out for rent, gas and those unfortunate things called income taxes.

I hope you enjoy eating with me. Who knows, maybe I'll become a famous writer not through my actual writing, but from my ridiculous musings about insatiable cravings for hamburgers.