Hot Dish Review

Few things can compel a girl to change her eating habits faster than spotting that skimpy bikini in the lingerie drawer a week before a beach vacation! Happy (official) Summer!

Always looking for low-calorie snacks that mimic my favorite calorie-dense treats, I discovered a lighter version of Starbuck’s Javachip ice cream, using Weight Watchers Giant Latte Bars.

With only 90 calories per bar, they are made with low-fat ice cream and coffee. It’s not a super-nutritious product, full of hard to pronounce crap, but it tastes indulgent. I cut the ice cream off the stick and top it with light Cool-Whip. Then I chop a chunk of dark chocolate for chips and sprinkle them on top. Voila!

The total calories are only around 150, depending on how much chocolate I use. Not bad at all.

My disdain for unhealthy fried Southern food and the restaurant’s hillbilly reputation prompted me to avoid Cracker Barrel my entire life, so it was with reluctance that I suggested we go there for breakfast on Sunday in Cave City. We had already eaten at McDonald’s on Saturday after discovering the complimentary breakfast provided at the motel consisted of Fruit Loops, sausage gravy, biscuits, and watery coffee, so there really was no alternative. And besides, breakfast is best when served up Southern style.

With 600 locations across the United States, Cracker Barrel is one of the most successful restaurant chains in the country….and it’s not a franchise! Famous for their country stores that sells everything from candy to toys, I suspect the markup on those products have kept them afloat during these tough economic times.

Their breakfast menu is extensive with traditional favorites including artery clogging biscuits and gravy. You’ll find an array of pancakes and eggs with sausage patties and thick-sliced bacon. They even offer “healthy” options like egg beaters, paired with unhealthy muffins, of course.

It was Sunday so our party of ten had to wait about thirty minutes….just enough time to buy a bunch of crap at the store.

Service is like clockwork. Our waitress was efficient and courteous, and had several missing teeth….something one comes to expect at a country restaurant.

Despite the countless combinations of eggs, meats, and sides, there wasn’t a specific meal that was exactly what I wanted. Each selection was simply too much, like the Old Timer’s Breakfast: two eggs cooked to order with grits, sawmill gravy, homemade buttermilk biscuits, choice of fried apples or hashbrown casserole, and choice of sausage, turkey sausage, or bacon. Cracker Barrel doesn’t offer nutritional information for their menu, but I found this meal on another website, reported to have a whopping 1292 calories!

So I told our waitress what I wanted, two scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, and wheat toast. I despise biscuits. And grits.

Coffee was good but I didn’t get my regular milk (instead of fake creamer) until after the first cup, and then she brought an entire kid’s carton. I hate to waste anything so I drank as many refills as I could. Meanwhile, our breakfast plates arrived, sans toast. When it was delivered a few moments later, I immediately noticed it was barely toasted (see photo), so I requested a new batch. LC and his family like their toast light, so they were happy with their “warm bread”. The second batch of toast was nearly burnt…OK with me. Lots of gooey melted cheddar was mixed into my eggs which were pretty good with the chewy, thick-sliced bacon.

LC’s cousin DC offered half a pecan pancake which I ate for dessert. Cooked in loads of fat, the edges were crisp and greasy. The kids cleaned their plates and the adults rubbed their bellies, loosening their belts as we prepared to hit the road back to Atlanta. Sadly, everyone agreed this was the best meal of our trip.

In case you just stumbled upon this blog, I’ve been recounting some of the memorable meals on my recent family trip to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, which is located in a dry county. For those of you that did not grow up in the South, a dry county is one where no alcohol is sold in stores and often not served in restaurants. Because, as we all know, alcohol just leads to trouble.

Ironically named, Sahara Steakhouse is one of those restaurants. It’s a family owned place, the kind that only exists in small towns. The first red flag upon entering the establishment was the salad bar, circa 1975. The second thing we all noticed were the religious paintings decorating the walls….more alarming than charming.

Our server, however, was so friendly, showing us to three tables pushed together, each covered with a sticky vinyl tablecloth. We were located next to a big screen TV, a great bonus for the guys that wanted to watch the golf tournament. Chairs were the black vinyl kind that were common in the ’70′s.

Being a steakhouse, most of us planned on ordering steaks. But first, LC wanted to get an appetizer. Every choice was fried, from fried dill pickle spears to mozzarella cheese sticks. He ordered the jalapeno poppers, heavily breaded and not very spicy. Can’t say I was surprised.

The good thing about a restaurant that exists in a time warp is that the prices reflect those of a bygone era as well. Me, LC, and his parents ordered 8 oz. ribeyes, served with a side, soup, and salad bar for only $14.95. We ordered a round of iced teas.

After placing our orders, we made our way to the salad bar, stocked with iceberg lettuce, chopped boiled eggs, banana peppers, onions, tomatoes, diced ham, cottage cheese, cole slaw, potato salad, and fake bacon bits. I made a lovely salad, drizzled lightly with mystery dressing. Everyone skipped the vegetable soup which looked like the same stuff we had at lunch in Mammoth Cave earlier the same day.

I ordered my steak medium with a baked sweet potato on the side. Although they made a valiant effort to serve our table efficiently, it took over an hour to receive our entrees, many of which were cool by the time everyone’s meal was ready. The kids were getting antsy, nibbling on crackers and drinking bottomless sodas. Lucky for me, my steak was warm with nice grill marks, but it was a tough old cow. Brown sugar cinnamon and butter made my sweet potato yummy and saved the day. LC’s Mom received the best cut of meat, tender and perfectly cooked, but no one else gave the place very high marks.

Having recently dined at Davio’s at Phipp’s Plaza, I chuckled at the dissimilarities between the two steakhouses. It’s like comparing a new Rolls Royce to a 1975 Pinto. I’ll take the Rolls….and pop that champagne!

413 E. Happy Valley Street 270-773-3450

Mammoth Cave in Kentucky is the longest known cave in the world, spanning over 390 miles. As one of America’s National Parks, they offer a variety of guided tours ranging from an easy one hour to a strenuous 4 1/2 hour trek. Guess which one we chose.

Thirteen of us, along with about 65 other folks, explored the massive undergound rooms and skinny passageways. Midway through we stopped for lunch, an efficiently run boxed lunch set-up in one of the cavernous spaces. We each took a box which contained a turkey sandwich, pasta salad, a cup of veggie soup, chips, apple slices, a cookie, and found a seat at one of the picnic tables.

Our lunch in the cave marked the first time I had ever eaten a piece of untoasted white bread. I grew up with a nutritionist Mom that would never have allowed me to eat something so devoid of nutrients. White bread was for the uneducated, unsophisticated masses. Since then, I have always rebelled against anything that seemed classless.

So there I was, hungry in a cave in Kentucky with no choice but a white bread sandwich. Desperate, I grabbed a mayo and a mustard packet, removed one of the slices of doughy bread, applied the condiments to the meat and sliver of flavorless cheese, then folded it in half. The bread stuck to the roof of my mouth with each bite.

Our entertaining guide raved about the soup (maybe he hates white bread too!). It was vegetables in a tomato-based broth. My cup had loads of potatoes, carrots, and beans, but LC got cheated, his cup being mostly broth, so I offered him some of my sodium-soaked veggies. The cave was chilly, the soup was warm. That was the best part about it.

And that was my first white bread sandwich….and hopefully my last.

After a six hour drive, we were ready for drinks! But much to our chagrin, Mammoth Cave is located in a dry county in Kentucky, so we stocked up on Corona Lights before our arrival, not expecting any establishment to serve alcohol. Luckily, the Mexican restaurant across the street from our motel serves liquor.

El Patron is obviously not accustomed to handling large groups as our crew of thirteen seemed to have them flustered. Once seated at the three tables covered with plastic, we immediately ordered a round of margaritas on the rocks. Their signature margarita, deceptively called The Patron, sounded like the kind LC and I always order, made without sour mix….and without Patron.

Although the name El Patron implies Mexican food, the menu also offers a variety of American entrees, including duck. Our group stuck with Mexican. LC was ravenous and ordered a shrimp cocktail and an order of chicken flautas for us to split, as well as the achiote marinated roast pork entree. Several people ordered fajitas. There was a lengthy wait for our drinks, however, when they arrived we agreed they were the best margaritas we had ever had! A couple of baskets of mediocre chips finally showed up with what tasted like marinara instead of salsa. And it was warm….weird.

Suddenly, LC’s drink flew across the table onto his sister’s lap, causing additional confusion for the harried staff. Shortly after, three orders of fajitas arrived. Other entrees came out but LC and I still had not received our appetizers. Another round of potent margaritas made us feel better while we waited.

Finally, our flautas were delivered, four tortillas filled with shredded chicken and covered with melted cheese. Served with lettuce, sour cream, and a big pile of mushy rice, it was the size of a full entree. Although everyone’s meal came with guacamole, there was none, so I found our server and requested it for the table. The flautas were pleasantly crisp and tasty but lacked spice. My version with green chilis is better.

By the time our pork arrived, those that had fajitas were finished. It wasn’t a pretty plate, filled with shredded pork, more rice and some watery beans. We ordered corn tortillas on the side to make tacos. Again, tasty but no hint of heat. I was stuffed. That’s when the shrimp cocktail arrived, a margarita glass with at least eight big shrimp and chunks of avocado swimming in that same horrific “salsa”. It was passed around the table and eventually disappeared.

After dinner we walked to the nearby ice cream shop. Just opened by a family that relocated from Waycross, Georgia, it was like hillbilly heaven, complete with a gift shop cluttered with thrift store finds including an irridescent unicorn and teddy bears made of wax. We each got a cone and watched the kids race go-carts next door. As we were leaving the teenage girl, a self-proclaimed hoola hoop champion, came out to demonstrate her talent. Very scary stuff.

822 Mammoth Cave Street 270-773-2278

Walking into the dimly lit restaurant it was instantly clear. Underground cool, accidentally refined, The Lawrence epitomizes the style of its owners Darren Carr (of Top Flr, Sound Table, and Dinner Party Atlanta) and Patrick La Bouff (Dinner Party Atlanta).

Having already popped the cork on a bottle of Veuve at home, LC and I continued our 2nd anniversary celebration with a glass of prosecco as we settled into a table by the window. There are no signs that the space once housed Cuerno, then Lupe. Slate and wood dominate, with chalkboard menus decorating the inviting bar.

Executive chef Shane Devereux creates dishes that sound both intriguing and weird, but knowing his work from Top Flr, Sound Table, and Dinner Party, he rarely disappoints. Having said that, I hesitatingly ordered the fried green tomatoes to start. You know how I feel about fried green tomatoes. The plate arrived with three big slices decorated with delicate pickled baby shrimp and watercress. Beneath the tomatoes was a heavy, spicy sauce chef described as a “deviled gribiche”. To the side was a poached quail egg in a little pool of a different, more subtle sauce. Despite the somewhat cumbersome breading, the combination of flavors and textures worked.

A bowl of littleneck clams were next, in an intricate broth flavored with serrano ham, pickled scallions, roasted cherry tomatoes, parsley, thyme, and jalapenos. LC loved ‘em. I asked Patrick for a taste of the golden rice porridge so he delivered a bowl, adorned with feta and baby rye croutons. I thought I tasted oregano, but the menu says marjoram….perhaps there’s a bit of each?

Which pork dish should we try, the belly or the cheeks? I chose the smaller plate of braised pork belly on cornbread puree with smoked sweet tea jus, garnished with crispy julienned pig ear. LC swore he wouldn’t try the pig ears but ended up enjoying them by accident.

I would never have ordered the fish ‘n’ chip salad but the couple dining next to us were fawning over it, nearly orgasmic. The menu description sounds disjointed: trout, lady pea, malt, pickled ramp tartar, fingerlings. What the f*ck? It’s the unexpected handling of each ingredient that make create the wow factor here. For instance, the fingerling potatoes are cut into strings, providing a crispy topping to the fried strips of trout and tender peas.

A textural theme had emerged throughout our meal, each dish (except the clams) had a crunchy element. Some food critics in Atlanta seem to have an issue with this, but I applaud Devereux’s creativity and attention to detail.

For the finale, I was thrilled to see pecan bread pudding with dried cherries on the menu. I’m a self-proclaimed bread pudding expert and found this to be the best I’ve had in years, full of plump, chewy cherries….a sweet ending to a sweet evening.

905 Juniper 404-961-7177

Coming soon….more reasons to go There!

No matter where you are, it’s There.
You can eat some deer, if you dare.
Where “upscale” and “dive” go hand in hand.
A favorite of the E Street Band.

Where am I? There,of course! Brookhaven’s new restaurant and pub, catering to foodies and the occasional rock star, is making quite an impression. A fresh, organic menu features several items that are smoked, pickled, or otherwise laboriously manufactured in-house, from the trail mix with bacon (yes indeed!), to the mysteriously light smoked oyster chowder.

Me and B stopped by recently for a laid-back dinner and drinks. We chose seats at the bar. Being her first visit, B was disappointed to discover the barstools do not actually vibrate as I had reported in a previous post….LOL! Proprietor BB was There with his new prized possession, the guitar left to him by the legendary Clarence Clemens who, sadly, passed away last year.

Chef Ryan Hickey was There as well, bringing out an appetizer sampler including his devine smoked trout deviled eggs topped with duck prosciutto and pickled shallots. A small bowl of crab dip was baked until the manchego bubbled on top. Another small bowl contained his stellar smoked oyster chowder, brimming with perfectly diced potatoes, carrots, and bits of bacon.

We munched on a trio of bar snacks….roasted pepitas, smoked almonds, and the best damn trail mix I’ve ever had, made with peanuts, cashews, candied pineapple and bacon, then sprinkled with sesame seeds. BB delivered housemade fried pickles, a dish of crispy greasy goodness. All an excellent compliment to any beer, like our Coronas with lime served in real mugs with salted rims.

Next we tried the artisanal boar sausage and aptly named “mountain man” sausage made with a variety of wild game, including venison. Both were sliced and served with a grainy mustard and garlic aioli for dipping. A salty, caloric, meaty, manly snack.

Still not quite full, we ventured on to the sandwiches. I’ve tried nearly everything on the abbreviated opening menu except the mahi Cubano, recommended by BB and the chef. A thick filet topped with melted gruyere, pickles, garlic aioli and mustard pressed between two halves of a H & F roll tasted like something you would find at a boardwalk fish house in New England. Excellent fries seasoned with rosemary and garlic came with a wonderful dill-spiked dipping sauce.

There was no room for dessert, but alas, it did not matter. Chef asked if we would like to try a Guinness float. Ya think? B and I took turns sucking the thick and frothy concoction through the straws….yum!

Now I’m just waiting on the duck salad. Bring it on!

This pub cuisine is beyond compare,
So grad your friends, I’ll see you There!

305 Brookhaven Avenue 404-949-9677

New York Prime is the kind of restaurant where everything is colossal. Men with huge egos smoke big fat cigars and flirt with women whose massive implants have hardened with age. It’s a steakhouse built upon the American concept that says “bigger is better”.

LC and I stopped in to mingle with some business associates recently. I ordered a real martini with Bombay Sapphire much to the surprise of the bartender. What, no chardonnay little lady? No dude. And a sidecar is not a glass of ice. LC ordered his standard vodka martini with blue cheese stuffed olives. Neither of us had eaten dinner and we were getting a bit famished, tempting plates of enormous shrimp and colossal onion rings within arms reach. Sadly, they belonged to someone else.

There were only a few appetizers to choose from, so we ordered the shrimp and the lump crab, both served chilled with cocktail sauce and a housemade remoulade. A succulent snack, but not quite dinner. Another martini, please.

A quick peek at the menu revealed a selection of steaks and sides including a porterhouse for two (40 oz.) for $99.50. The one pound loaded baked potato described as “giant” is the obvious choice for a side. I chuckled.

New York Prime is a smoky man cave, a place where they conduct business when not on the golf course. As I stole another shrimp from an unsuspecting businessman’s plate, sucking the sauce off inch by inch, I wondered….is bigger always better? Indeed, most of the time it is.

3424 Peachtree Road 404-846-0644

When I saw Pizza Hut’s ad on TV for this product, I was appalled. As if their pizza isn’t cheesy and caloric enough, now you can order it with a crust made of cheese filled snacks. Is this concept so complicated that it requires step by step instructions? Check out the dude in the online ad demonstrating how to eat the Cheesy Bites. And what’s left once they are consumed….a crustless pepperoni pizza? Not exactly appetizing.

This product is clearly marketed to kids (or morons), and quite possibly invented by satan (or money hungry product development whores). Either way, I’d advise you to stay away from this nutritional nightmare. No wonder kids in America are fat. Shame on you Pizza Hut….or is it Pizza Gut?

Tucked away on a quiet corner in Brookhaven, this restaurant’s name perfectly suits its atmosphere. It is indeed a haven from the manic city, a rustic space that invites conversation over a couple of glasses of wine from their thoughtfully selected list. A perfect date spot.

In the midst of a crazy week, a break from the madness is exactly what B and I needed, so I invited her to join me at Haven to sample some dishes for an article in an upcoming issue of BuckHaven Lifestyle Magazine. We were seated at a comfortable booth and began perusing the wine list, finally choosing their priciest red by the glass, the Laetitia Reserve Pinot Noir at $15.

So wrapped up in our conversation, it took some coaxing from our patient server to extract an order from us. B chose mussels in a smoked tomato chipotle broth to start, leaving only one unopened shell in the bowl. I went with the braised Georgia rabbit, its intense musky flavor enhanced by earthy morel mushrooms and the bright freshness of an herb salad.

The wine went down easily as we caught up on each other’s news, awaiting our entrees. B’s plump roasted Georges Bank scallops arrived atop creamy Vidalia onion grits with some creamed spinach on the side. Nice.

I, of course, ordered the duck leg confit. But not just any duck, it was from Joe Jurgielewicz. Having never heard of this purveyor, I googled it. Turns out Joe’s a veterinarian and takes pride in raising the healthiest and tastiest ducks available. Served with honey roasted turnips, braised greens and a little Vidalia onion puree, the leg and thigh boasted crispy skin and rich, oily meat….tasty indeed! Just wish there was more of the Vidalia puree.

B and I always have room for dessert. And more wine. We ordered two more glasses of the smooth and spicy pinot. For dessert, she tried the creme brulee, a lovely rendition of the classic French pudding. The pear rhubarb crisp caught my attention. For some reason I was expecting a tart, so I was somewhat disappointed when the cast iron dish arrived. More like a deep dish mini pie with a streusel topping, the big scoop of vanilla ice cream made this dessert a bit too rich for my taste.

When the stress of the city becomes overwhelming, take a Valium and head to Brookhaven, where the wine and the wabbit are wonderfully soothing.

1441 Dresden Drive 404-969-0700