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.

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.

Gone Eatin'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo: The Cook's Thesaurus

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

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

Beyond Casual

Georgia State students blocking the entry to my parking deck. High school cross country teams out for morning runs. The leaves outside my apartment turning gold and falling to the ground. Fall is nearing and the dog days of another sweltering Georgia summer are coming to an end.

There seemed no better way to commemorate the season change than by eating outside at the Evans, Georgia, Rhinehart's Oyster Bar the last time I was in town.

Rhinehart's has been an Augusta-area staple for longer than I've been alive. It opened in 1983 and brings the flip flops and pop tops aura of beach eating to its two locations in the CSRA. Thinking about it now I can actually hear the radio commercials from my childhood, proclaiming "This is Amy from Rhinehart's Oyster Bar" loud and proud in my ear. Aside from the fact that it's one of my favorite stomping grounds on my weekends home, I wanted to do a Meatetarian Eats post on Rhinehart's because recently it received some shoddy press from consumers who are 1) over-reactive and 2) have no idea what they're talking about. Let the Meatetarian educate you for a moment.

Just like worms that occasionally invade your apples, there are some marine worms that can come live alongside oysters in the wild. We like mother of pearl shells and so do they. Occasionally, according to the North Carolina Department of Environment and Natural Resources, so-called oyster worms can make an appearance in restaurants alongside the mollusks customers order. And I quote, "they do not affect the health, quality or taste of oysters, and they do not pose a known health risk to consumers, especially if they are discarded when found." So, if you happen to see a weird little moving object on your oyster shell, alert your server, ask for a new oyster and maybe advise the kitchen staff to keep an eye out for more wigglies so they can be taken care of before the half shell hits the plate.

Right. Back to the task at hand, which is the $7.67 shrimp basket lunch special.

Light, flaky breading is a trademark of Rhinehart's shrimp and oyster baskets

As a wee thing I ate my fair share of popcorn shrimp. I was used to heavy breading and a dense, deep brown shell surrounding my prized crustaceans. When Rhinehart's finally opened a second location in Evans and I got my first opportunity to eat there, the light flaky batter surrounding butterflied shrimp tails was a refreshing spin on my childhood favorite!

Each basket has a handful of sweet, juicy shrimp and fries. The fries are skin-on, a good thickness and seasoned with salt, pepper, grease and what I'm 99 percent sure is Old Bay. You're also presented with two cups of dipping sauce: a bright red cocktail and a salty tartar. This is one of the places where the sauce is probably there for shrimp dipping purposes, but the fries are excellent dipped in there as well. Forget ketchup when you've got these on the plate!

If you're not up for shrimp, you can also get a fried oyster basket, though it's a little more than $7.67 (a price that you can't beat for the food you get). The po'boys aren't bad either, and though I've never had it, members of my family like the burger, too.

I do think the best way to experience a Rhinehart's lunch special is outside at one of its picnic tables with a cold beer and hot sun. The inside is fine, but it's dim lighting and reminiscent more of a bar than of a day on the coast, so I prefer to eat outside and pretend I'm closer to the surf than I really am!

ProTip: Unlike eating at an actual beach restaurant ... I think management might not let you in if all you're wearing is a bikini and flip flops. Rhinehart's may be beyond casual, but it's still got standards, friends.

The Meatetarian Eats AMI: Part 2

Welcome to day two of our journey together eating Anna Maria Island! On Monday you got to read about my three favorite places, and here are the four that get the honorable mention (aka the four that wouldn't fit in the first post, because it would have been ridiculously long).

Sandbar

Stuffed Sandbar Grouper - and check out that
baked potato side!

Sandbar is on the beach, which makes it a great place to go for dinner, drinks and sunsets. You gotta budget a little bit for this one -- I'm going to tell you up front. Sandbar's are not the cheapest eats on the island, but they're worth a little extra moolah. You will also want to order grouper, because we had three different grouper entrees at our table and they were each so, so good. And seasonally there's soft-shell crab, but I didn't get it since I had it relatively recently (read about that in my post on De Novo).

I took on the Sandbar Grouper: one thick, meaty piece of fish stuffed with crabmeat, shrimp and pepperjack cheese. Holy fish sticks, Batman. Grouper has a mild flavor and kind of bouncy, flaky texture. Not the type of fish to fall apart on your fork; it's more substantial, probably why it holds up to being stuffed. I loved having the fish, sweetness of crab and tender shrimp in the same bite. And whoever said fish shouldn't be mixed with cheese ... well, they got another think coming. The melted pepperjack offered up a nice bite in comparison to the sweet and mild seafood flavors.

Oh, and for this one you get a Boozy Bonus. Order a key lime martini. Your level of happiness will increase by a factor of 10. If you really want to up the ante at Sandbar, sneak in a key lime doughnut and eat it alongside your key lime martini for dessert.

Waterfront Restaurant
Down on the main drag at AMI is Waterfront Restaurant. It's not quite waterfront, because the water is across the street, but you still have a nice view of City Pier and sailboats drifting in front of the bridge. I'm putting this one on the list mostly for its cocktails -- nothing wrong with the food, but what I found most memorable both when we went last summer and when we visited last week was the beverage I had in my hand.

I highly recommend the margaritas (one has ginger to spice things up, and the other includes jalapenos), the mule (it's brought in a copper mug which is about the only hipster thing I like on the reg) and the beverage I partook in this time around -- the Stone Sour. It's pretty much a whiskey sour with Jameson and homemade sour mix, but blended with egg whites for a slightly thicker viscosity. The whites don't add flavor to it, necessarily, rather, they give it a better mouthfeel.

A healthy heaping portion of crab atop this caesar salad.
Lobster bisque cup on the side.

As for the food, I went the soup and salad route. The crab salad was good, and I appreciated the generous amount of crab in the salad. Don't you hate when you order a salad with some kind of meat and there's like ... one chicken finger on there? Thankfully, Waterfront treats you well and gives you lots of the good stuff! The lobster bisque here I found interesting because it was a heavy tomato base. It was almost like eating your regular tomato soup, just with added cream and a bit of lobster to give it a little sweetness.

Island Time Bar and Grill
The trip to Island Time actually takes you to a city called Bradenton Beach, so for this one you will need to pack into the car. A word to the wise: This may not be the ideal restaurant to bring kids to, because there is lots of live music and because it is completely open air, smoking is allowed. But if you do bring your kids here, their meals are served inside frisbees that you can take to the beach the next morning!

When you walk up, it doesn't look like it's going to be that great of a meal. It's a little dim and dark inside. The music lends itself to a great drinking atmosphere, but it looked super casual and laid-back. I can only speak for what I had, and what I saw my aunt order, but I was pleasantly surprised with how good my food was.

Less tomato-y lobster bisque, and crisp coconut shrimp

After a hot day on the beach I wanted something light and flavorful, but I was over salads and had
eaten my fair share of fish. It was time for some shrimp. I selected the coconut shrimp off the "munchies" menu and expected to be presented with a platter of the frozen food section coconut shrimp. What appeared instead was a handful of giant shrimp that had been dipped in a coconut and sliced almond breading and baked (I assume they were baked, not fried) until the edges of the coconut flakes were lightly browned. They had a great crunch that gave way to sweet, perfectly cooked shrimp inside. The dipping sauce they came with was delicious. It was billed as an orange horseradish sauce, and though I didn't get the spicy kick I expected from the horseradish, it was definitely a mellower sweet than a lot of duck or orange sauces I've had in my day.

On the side of this I also grabbed a cup of lobster bisque. This took the cake as the better of the bisques I had on the trip. It was not a tomato base, and it had good-sized lobster chunks all in the soup, plus a few more sprinkled on top for artistic effect.

Capt. Anthony's Seafood
I purposely saved the best for last on this post. I am so, so excited to find this place. It's not even a restaurant -- it's a fish shack full of wonderful things like stone crab, grouper, red snapper, homemade ceviche, fish dip and mango salsa, which you can take home and turn into the best mama-made fish dish.

Homemade ceviche featuring snapper. We couldn't get enough.

The ceviche was to die for. Like we bought one thing of it for eight people and I wanted to sneak it away in my room, lock my door, barricade myself in my closet and eat the whole container ... slowly, relishing each bit of fresh peppers, onions, cilantro and marinated red snapper as it touched my tongue. We gave up using chips and started eating it with a spoon instead. Theoretically there were supposed to be leftovers to put on fish tacos we made the following day with our leftover grouper fillet, but we ate all of it and were spooning through what was left of the fresh, acidic marinade to make sure every bit of solid ingredient got eaten.

Stay tuned for a Chew & A with Joanna, wife of Capt. Anthony, who stole my heart and captivated my soul the moment I met her. Hopefully she'll let me share what we did with our three pounds of fresh-caught grouper over on Meatetarian: Foodish for you!

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.

Aw, Shucks, Y'all!

Guess what -- after three weeks of no posts, you get two doses of Meatetarian Eats this week! Aren't you lucky!

Somehow my 26th birthday became "The Year of the Seafood," as two of the three celebratory meals I ate centered on chicken of the sea. Eh, that pun didn't work. Moving on.

Birthday part three took place in Alpharetta (north of Atlanta) at this swanky seafood place called Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen. The concept behind Pappadeaux includes French and Creole flavors that bring Bourbon Street to the metro area. Lots of things are blackened or served with andouille; lots of menu items end with "etouffee" or are served in a gumbo. Since I'd just eaten fish, I decided to venture a little more toward the seafloor.

A cup of crawfish bisque

The meal began with something I'd never had before, but seemed appropriate for being in a Creole restaurant: a cup of crawfish bisque.

I could have eaten a bowl.

Here's the thing about bisque. If you get "bisque" from a can or from somewhere that prepares it cheaply, you're more than likely to get a watery, greasy soup with more butter melted on top than any other ingredient. It may be creamy, but there's no texture to it aside from the one piece of meat buried at the bottom. A true bisque is a thick, creamy soup studded with chunks of meat throughout. It is rich. It is flavorful. It makes you slurp the whole thing down in three minutes and ask the waiter for bread so you can sop up what your spoon didn't get.

The crawfish bisque gets two thumbs up at Pappadeaux. It was packed with chunks of crawfish. It had just a hint of kick without being overly spicy. The only downside was we did not get bread to dip in it, so I had to resist the urge to be ultra ladylike and stick my finger in the cup.

Instead of getting a fish entree, I followed up the soup with the oyster duo. This is a plate of six Apalachicola oysters (and yes, they were from Apalachicola -- I asked!) served two different ways. Three are Oysters Baton Rouge, presented with a melted parmesan-romano sauce on top. The remaining three are Oysters Pappadeaux, stuffed with crabmeat and then topped with chopped spinach and hollandaise sauce.

Left: Oysters Pappadeaux, right, Oysters Baton Rouge;
served on a platter of salt

The oysters were baked, so the cheese was nice and bubbly and the hollandaise smooth and creamy. The oysters themselves (I scraped the toppings off to try the pure little mollusks) were thick, meaty and briny. Despite being baked, they were well-cooked and still tasted fresh. No slime here, bro. I enjoyed the Oysters Pappadeaux trio more than the Baton Rouge -- though the cheese was good, it was the only flavor presented, and that left a little to be desired. Granted, I am no expert at oyster toppings, but this blend of cheeses could have been amped up a bit, perhaps with the addition of the Tabasco sauce folks usually throw on raw oysters.

Pappadeaux is definitely a cool place to take the family. I felt like we went back in time a few decades and that jazz music should have been playing. This restaurant (a franchise, so I'm only speaking for the Alpharetta location) is what I'd imagine a New Orleans seafood restaurant circa 1924 would be like. The decor, the acoustics, all of it. You walk in and next to the lobster container is a huge on-ice display of fish that you can eat that night. The restaurant seats 400 people. FOUR. HUNDRED. There was live music playing in one room, dimmed lights added to the ambiance and servers bringing out dessert sampler platters every 10 minutes. I enjoyed the meal and the atmosphere and would definitely come back. They also have a lunch menu if you're in the mood for something heftier than a soup and salad.

But if you go and get a soup and salad at lunch, I highly recommend the crawfish bisque.