Hot Dish Review

The Kentucky Derby, with its BBQ, big hats, and bettin’, has become a tradition for me and LC. It’s pointless to photograph and write about the horrific food available in the stands at the event itself, (although I am still nibbling on the leftover kettle korn as I write this) nor the enormous grilled crab legs at Sandy’s annual shindig.

But I will tell you about Bob Evans. Although I’m familiar with Bob Evans products, primarily sausage, I had no idea there were restaurants. In fact, there are nearly 600 in the U.S., located throughout the midwest and south.

On the morning of our drive back to Atlanta, LC admitted Bob Evans was one of his favorites during his college years as we pulled into the parking lot, ready to fuel up on a good ol’ Southern breakfast. Our Derby hostess TH and her man D joined us before she headed north on business. The restaurant’s sunny yellow decor was inviting on this rainy morning as we chose a booth just before the crowds arrived.

I strayed from my boring scrambed eggs and ordered them over easy with bacon, fruit instead of potatoes, and wheat toast. However, I neglected to request the toast dark, receiving warm buttered bread in its place (see photo). I’m always baffled when restaurants serve toast that isn’t toasted. The second attempt was much better, although I had asked for dry toast and it was buttered.

No matter, the bacon was chewy, the yolks were runny and we were all set for our six hour drive!

They are opening a restaurant! Go to Kickstarter to help them raise the funds for their new venture.
Quite some time ago, I signed up for email alerts from PushStart Kitchen. Chef Zach Meloy and his wife Cristina create intimate dinner parties in a rustic space at The Goat Farm two or three evenings a week. Each menu is unique, featuring veggies one week, Latin flavors the next, or a mad combo of both.

The menu sent out last week was particularly intriguing, with words like bacon and coffee catching my attention. I responded, albeit not right away, only to find out the dinner for Sunday was fully booked. However, a few days later I received a last minute email from Cristina saying there had been a cancellation. Were we still interested? Indeed!

LC joined me on our first visit to the art complex on the West side known as The Goat Farm. Upon arrival, we were met in the parking lot and escorted to the space upstairs where Zach was preparing an appetizer of smoked ham on a stick, dotted with BBQ sauce, and mixing some sweet yet deceptively strong rum cocktails with black tea and ginger.

We mingled with our fellow diners to discover most of them had attended PushStart several times, each one raving about the intimate dining experience and the amazing food. After a couple of cocktails, we were seated at the 100 year old table, a thickly varnished repurposed door, set for sixteen guests.

Inspired by his cravings when hungover, chef Meloy started us off with chewy yet crispy hunter’s bacon lardon. It was paired with neat squares of dense and creamy bread pudding, arugula, and slices of pickled Asian pear, all resting on a generous drizzle of smoked maple syrup. Manchego cheese had been made into a foam which was piped onto each plate. Each component was presented somewhat individually, representing a variety of textures and flavors. An oaky chardonnay was a tricky pairing (perhaps only because I dislike chardonnay). The chatter at the table suddenly ceased as we all became mesmerized by our perfectly balanced plates.

Meloy’s main course was a flank steak served with a soft cooked egg made in his countertop sous vide machine. Introducing familiar Latin flavors, a heavy smudge of black bean puree decorated the plate, along with pickled tomatillo halves and small orbs of crispy masa. He paced around the table as we broke our eggs, anxious to confirm that the yolks remained soft. Success! The tartness of the pickled tomatillos and the earthy corn flavor of the masa once again showed the chef’s ability to compose a perfectly balanced plate. A spicy, earthy cab was an excellent pairing.

Dessert was served in large white bowls, two doughnuts sprinkled with sugar mixed with a bit of ancho chili powder for a surprising but pleasant kick. A mound of malted milk balls were beneath them, all atop a drizzle of bourbon gel. They would have been excellent just like that, but the chef’s assistant came around with a pitcher of cold coffee custard that she elegantly poured into each bowl, completing the dish. Ridiculously awesome. How about some champagne with that? Yes, please.

The finale was a strong after dinner cordial and a dish of chewy candies made by Cristina, who was busy caring for their new baby.

Naturally, discussion at the table centered around food, and as a food writer, my fellow diners were eager to know how I rated this meal. To be honest, it was exquisite, definitely in my top ten meals of all time. And for a mere $60 suggested donation per diner, a bargain as well.

Like Dinner Party Atlanta which morphed into a full-blown restaurant, The Lawrence, and Spice Route that became the brick-and-mortar Cardamom Hill, the Meloys are on the hunt for a space, hoping to turn PushStart Kitchen into the restaurant of their dreams. But for now, it’s one dinner at a time.

The Goat Farm is located at 1200 Foster Street NW

Brunch used to be a regular thang, but these days it’s a rare luxury. Lately, I’ve been longing for the Sundays of years gone by…the plates of rich eggs benedict drenched with hollandaise sauce, and the extra-thick bacon that I’m too lazy to fry at home.

So I vowed to do brunch more often this Spring and Summer, starting with La Tavola. It’s so close to my place and I had a coupon for a free brunch entree so LC and I stopped by on our way to the final round of a golf tournament.

We arrived before 12:30pm, the designated time that the church says it’s OK to drink in restaurants, so LC ordered a bottle of sparkling water and some orange slices, creating a refreshing, fizzy non-alcoholic cocktail. Knowing we had BBQ awaiting us for lunch, he wanted to keep it light, simply ordering two fried eggs with applewood-smoked bacon, polenta, and fresh fruit.

Their fried egg panino with fontina was certainly tempting but as I mentioned, eggs benedict was always a favorite, so the poached eggs bruschetta was an obvious choice. An Italian rendition of the American brunch classic, La Tavola’s bruschetta was made with a thick slice of toasted artisan bread topped with sauteed Swiss chard and two perfectly poached eggs, generously covered with parmigiana-basil fonduta, a creamy cheese sauce. A crispy pinwheel of pancetta decorated the top. Perhaps by chance, perhaps by design, the dish reflected the colors of the Italian flag, green, white, and red.

My bruschetta was difficult to cut. A sharper knife would have probably helped. Otherwise, the flavors were terrific, just wish the pancetta was more prominent…and less crispy. LC’s portion was rather skimpy, although I was impressed with the mixture of blood orange slices and strawberries in his fruit cup.

Not a fan of Italian food, I was pleased with the lack of tomato in the dishes we chose, although a small selection of pastas, including spaghetti with tomato sauce and veal meatballs, is available for the those craving a more traditional Italian meal.

992 Virginia Avenue 404-873-5430

Years ago, Sunday brunch was a weekly tradition I shared with a variety of friends, almost always ordering the hangover cure of eggs benedict with extra hollandaise. These days, I rarely leave my house early enough for brunch on Sundays. However, my birthday fell on a Sunday this year so I thought I would enjoy a special brunch, making a reservation at Empire State South for 12:15pm, giving us just enough time to get settled before alcohol service begins and I order my first mimosa.

My birthday spanking, administered by LC, took a bit longer than expected, so we arrived a few moments late and were escorted to an undesirable table in the center of the dining room. I preferred something more cozy, and closer to the alcohol, so we headed to the bar.

My past experiences at ESS, owned by unibrowed celebrity chef Hugh Acheson, include an amazing lunch and memorable dinner so I was anticipating (there’s that word again) a fantastic brunch. When reading the menu, it can be puzzling to figure out what Acheson or his chef Ryan Smith will do with an ingredient that seems out of place, like kimchi with oysters for example, but it is these unexpected combinations and somewhat experimental cooking that lead to the sensational flavors and textures I’ve come to expect from these guys.

The only starter I want at brunch is coffee, but LC saw the pimento cheese with bacon marmalade and decided to try it. Having already had my caffeine at home, I ordered my first birthday mimosa at precisely 12:30pm.

There were three brunch dishes that piqued my interest, so I ordered two of them with the intention of sharing. The most intriguing was the lamb belly with Anson Mill grits, sorghum, coddled egg, mache, and its duo of mystery ingredients, pickled ginger, and peanuts. I was excited to see how these flavors would come together. I was also fascinated by the dish simply called “farm egg”, interestingly paired with crisp Carolina gold rice, onion puree, salami cotto, and Brussels. LC agreed to give it a try and I couldn’t resist a side of bacon to go along with everything.

The pimento cheese starter arrived in a mini Mason jar with big slices of dry Texas toast. Chopped cheddar and a few pimentos were topped with a chewy, greasy, salty bacon jam. If I was a pimento cheese lover, I probably would have enjoyed this upscale version and its pseudo-Southern presentation.

I polished off my first mimosa and ordered a second as a runner delivered our brunch dishes, both in cast iron skillets. We were taken aback when we noticed that both of our eggs were barely cooked. Sure, the eggs were coddled, which is similar to poached, however runny egg white is never, NEVER acceptable. The bartender/server explained that the egg is to be mixed into the dish to create a sauce. Excuse me? I probably had the same quizzicle expression on my face that Acheson is famous for. If eggs are used to make the sauce, like hollandaise for instance, please make it in the kitchen.

We mixed the ingredients in our dishes, mainly to avoid being disgusted by the runny whites. My lamb belly was a nicely seared chunk with an appropriate ratio of fat to meat and paired well with the creamy grits, enhanced by a drizzle of sorghum. A handful of fresh mache lightened up the rich dish, however, the peanuts and pickled ginger were like turds in the proverbial punchbowl.

The main component in the “farm egg” dish was rice, cooked then flash fried for a toothsome yet crispy texture. I couldn’t detect the onion puree but observed a couple of thin salami slices and a few uncooked Brussels sprout leaves scattered on top. And then there was the runny egg. On the bright side, the bacon was thick and chewy, just the way I like it. But it wasn’t thick and chewy enough to negate the fact that my birthday brunch was well over $60 and consisted of two partially cooked eggs, grits, and some fried rice. For $14 per dish, perhaps two eggs may be more appropriate. (but then we would have had four runny f*ckin eggs!)

Considering this was our first brunch, it was certainly disappointing. And as far as those experimental flavor combinations go, these were experiments gone wrong….so much so that Empire State South is now off my Top Ten List.

999 Peachtree Street 404-541-1105

Years ago I brunched nearly every Sunday. Boutique owner BH and I would meet at Virginia’s when it was actually on Virginia Avenue. There were only about eight tables on the microscopic patio where regulars would bring their dogs and enjoy a leisurely brunch. I still remember the spicy and fantastic Mexican scramble topped with crispy corn tortilla strips. But the neighborhood would never allow them a liquor license, and so after many years they moved to the space that now houses Rathbun’s.

Fast forward twelve years or so. Brunch is a rare treat these days so I was pretty excited to have an early Sunday meeting with DC at Serpas. Scott Serpas is one of my favorite chefs, adding his Louisiana accent to many of the dishes on his dinner menu. I was curious to see how that would translate into brunch.

Of course, there was a fried oyster benedict, but I’m not a fan of that particular shellfish. Creole flavors appeared in the form of an omelette with andouille sausage, lobster, onions, and peppers, as well as a starter of New Orleans beignets which DC talked me into sharing with him.

But first we were poured big cups of wonderfully rich, strong coffee. Although heavily coated with powdered sugar, the beignets were light and fluffy.

I would have liked to see a traditional eggs benedict offered, but it wasn’t so I went my usual boring bacon and eggs route. When ordering something as mundane as that, the trick is in the quality of each ingredient. Like DC said, he can make his own eggs, so he tried Big Papa’s single beef patty with fries, a monumental burger topped with smoked cheddar and bacon. Ordered medium, it was a tad overcooked, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

My plate arrived artfully arranged, chewy slices of bacon forming a cross over the soft scrambled eggs. Griddled sourdough toast and breakfast potatoes cooked with onions and peppers accompanied my eggs. Not a potato lover, I had asked if there was anything I could substitute for the potatoes, described as hashbrowns on the menu….fruit perhaps? Our server said he didn’t think there was any fruit available. Hard to fathom, but no worries, the potatoes were tasty enough to warrant a few bites. My eggs were rather plain, however. I had to request salt and pepper, which were not on the table. Just a bit of goat cheese and some herbs scrambled in would have jazzed them up.

If you enjoy sweet and savory together, the breakfast torta layered with pancakes, serrano ham, sunny side eggs, and maple syrup sounds heavenly. The menu says it “tastes like happy”. My favorite thing about Serpas’ brunch menu was at the very bottom under the headline “Is It 12:30 Yet?” Being Sunday in Atlanta we are still subject to those antiquated blue laws that make alcohol sales illegal prior to that time. If you brunch there after noon, you can spice up your morning with a spicy cat scratch Mary, or my personal favorite, a refreshing mimosa.

Yes, what DC said is true. I can make my own eggs too, and do most every day. But I don’t buy applewood smoked bacon or bake my own bread for toast. It’s special touches like these that elevate the everyday egg.

659 Auburn Avenue 404-688-0040

OK, so my cousin RW was not lost, exactly. But it’s been twenty-some long years since we’ve laid eyes on each other. He’s an Airforce guy, living in Japan for ten years where he met his beautiful wife. Now they live in Hawaii.

On his rare visits to the mainland over the years, I have always been out of town or otherwise unavailable, so when he emailed me a couple of weeks ago about his upcoming trip, I was intent on seeing him.

With a 6:50am arrival time, then plans to rent a car and drive to Helen, it was definitely a challenge. Since I live close to the airport, the best option was to meet there for breakfast. So I set my alarm for an ungodly hour, jumped in my car and headed to Hartsfield. Upon arrival, he texted me his location at Atlanta Bread Company in the airport’s atrium. I made my way through the security lines, spotting him clear across the way, which I believe I would have been able to do even without the benefit of the video he sent of himself eating stinky tofu in Taiwan.

We ordered bacon, egg, and cheddar sandwiches, mine on a croissant and his on a sunflower seed bagel. And I added to my caffeine intake for the morning with a large vanilla nut coffee.

It was so great to laugh and reminisce, I hardly noticed how greasy my sandwich was, likely due to the butter in the croissant. And unfortunately, wrapping a croissant in foil softens the delicate, crispy crust. With that said, I love fatty breakfast sandwiches. We polished ‘em off, then asked a chick at a nearby table to take our picture.

I hope we have the opportunity to visit again before another twenty years go by….perhaps in Hawaii.

First of all, let me tell you how I feel about buffets. Once, I was the lucky winner of a Carnival cruise to the Bahamas. Sounds great, right?

Not so much. I dreaded the seven days on this floating Walmart with breakfast and lunch buffets, all contaminated with the germs from thousands of obese hillbillies. I was standing in the buffet line on the third day when one of them sneezed in my ear. I held my breath, then grabbed a ladel to scoop up some flavorless luke-warm scrambled eggs.

The next day I was standing in a torrential downpour in St. Martin and realized I was getting sick. Very sick. The following days were pure misery. When I told my Mom of my misfortune she literally asked “How did you get sick?”, as if I could pinpoint the moment I was infected. So I said “I touched a filthy ladel at the buffet, then rubbed my eye”. Ridiculous, but it could be true.

So buffets make me a bit squeamish. That’s why I was not excited to hear that breakfast at Lake Lanier Resort was buffet style. A group of us had spent the day before on the family houseboat, and LC, myself, and another couple stayed in one of their secluded lake cabins, equipped with a full kitchen, hot tub (which we did not use), and creaky wood frame beds behind paper thin doors (LC and I were oblivious to this, but were informed by the couple staying with us).

Once, I had an amazing breakfast buffet at The Peninsula Hotel in Chicago, so I was hoping (but not expecting) this buffet would be comparable. We met another couple in the dining room off the resort’s lobby. White tablecloths and an omelette and waffle station elevated this buffet above the cruise ship variety. Coffee all around started us off, then we each made our way to the long table of silver chafing dishes. I wasn’t impressed with the omelette fillings, opting instead for the standard scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and fruit. I dropped a half sesame bagel in the toaster on my way, but someone snagged it before I returned, so I promptly toasted another. All edible, but not remarkable.

There were no croissants or English muffins, no lox for the bagels, no grapefruit or fresh squeezed orange juice, no eggs benedict with hollandaise. There was a noticable absence of creme fraiche or macerated figs. And no mimosas!

But of course there were grits, potatoes, biscuits, gravy, yogurt, and cereal….everything you’d expect at a Southern breakfast buffet. I saved my berries for my extra crispy Belgian waffle I had for dessert.

7000 Lanier Islands Parkway, Buford 800-677-5304

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.

Please enjoy this repost as I am recovering from my trip, and the mostly horrendous food, at The Kentucky Derby:

Half a bag of cheddar goldfish, Fruit Loops and warm beer were the only edible items left in our room. Sounds more like the breakfast of losers than the breakfast of champions.

Around noon, LC and I checked out of the swanky motor lodge on the outskirts of Athens and hit the road back to Atlanta, still recovering from the Widespread show and its aftermath. An hour into the drive and we were ravenous.

Then, just like a mirage, a Waffle House appeared in the distance. It sat alone, perched on a hill at a traffic light in Dacula.

There are two kinds of Waffle House dining experiences….post clubbing at 3:00am and “the morning after” hangover breakfast. Of all the times I have eaten there, the meal has always fallen into one of those two categories.

Friday was obviously the latter, although neither of us was actually hungover. We chose a booth by the window and ordered coffee. I love their kitschy laminated menus with photos of the food…everything looks so delicious!

My regular Waffle House order is like a broken record; scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, raisin toast, and grits on the side. I rarely eat any of the grits, just don’t want them to contaminate my eggs. If I don’t order this I get a fried egg and cheese sandwich with bacon….good stuff.

LC ordered an omelette with onions, jalapenos, green peppers, bacon, and cheese with hashbrowns, scattered, smothered, and covered. He was very pleased with his omelette. In fact, he was still talking about it days later.

The diner franchise is celebrating 55 years in business, with strikingly consistent food from Hollywood to Dacula. It is always exactly the same….just like the pictures on the menu. My bacon was thick and chewy and the eggs were very cheesy. The toast was full of raisins and slathered with margarine. No real butter here missy!

LC and I added sugar, margarine, and black pepper (indeed!) to the grits making them somewhat edible. Another splash of coffee and we were on our way, fueled by fat and caffeine.

It was a good day.

While the storm was raging outside on Sunday, LC and I found refuge at a diner with a retro decor called All American Diner. I was thinking brunch, as in eggs benedict or a nice frittata. What I got was a Waffle House style diner breakfast with the added classy touch of the breakfast buffet.

I remember a time when buffets were popular….when I was a kid. Shoney’s had a breakfast buffet. All you can eat bacon….how could that be anything but awesome?

These days, the word buffet is about as appealing as pork sushi. But not in Florida’s panhandle! Time stands still there, and apparently LC is right at home. He was eager to get a plate full of whatever, while I ordered the standard scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, and wheat toast. Grits came with it despite my objection.

LC came back to the table with a combination of eggs, sausage, grits, and various other indistinguishable items. And what goes better with a breakfast buffet than a fountain Mountain Dew?

He enjoyed it because he got to try everything, then felt sick later. Shocking. Most of the other diners looked like they had been eating at the buffet on a regular basis.

As for me, my bacon was chewy, my eggs were cheesy, and my toast was dark. Good enough.

15406 Front Beach Road 850-233-6007