Hot Dish Review

Leave it the Top Flr guys (Darren Carr, Jeff Myers, Shane Devereux) to introduce yet another new concept to Atlanta! B and I finally dined at their new restaurant, Sound Table, having been there a few times already for cocktails. Only open a few weeks now, this is the space where B and I attended the Dinner Party in February, Darren Carr’s other venture with partner Patrick La Bouff.

The Sound Table is a dual concept; downstairs is a bar/lounge with local and national DJ’s spinning, upstairs is a full restaurant. When the upstairs is winding down, the downstairs is cranking up….literally. Very New York. Jeff Myers, plus a third partner in the business, Karl Injex, are DJ’s so the emphasis on music here is natural. As their ad in Creative Loafing so appropriately states, sound is on the menu.

Their drink menu downstairs is just as detail oriented as the dinner menu upstairs, with a selection of old-fashioned spirits poured and shaken into creative cocktails like the Pink City Rickey and the White Tiger’s Milk.

Upstairs, lights are low, walls are exposed brick. Seating is mostly wood slat benches. Fine if you are wearing pants, not so good if you are wearing a mini dress. But the benches do serve to create a minimalist Asian-style vibe that diners see mirrored throughout the menu.

Our fabulous server Nick started us off with a fantastic 2007 cab, Blue Rock “Baby Blue”. He also recommended the fried sugar snap peas to snack on, calling them “addictive”. Seasoned with soy sauce, they were yummy.

The menu has a multi-culti flair, with everything from Israeli falafel to Algerian cous-cous. Everything is a la carte and reasonably priced to fit the Old Fourth Ward neighborhood. Four sections differentiate portion size and serving style. Bowls, for instance, are served in….you guessed it, bowls. Of the four bowls offered we ordered three; a salad, a soup, and a curry dish.

I love frisee. And duck confit. So the salade frisee, also with macerated raisins, was a given. Crispy and light.

Seeing Vietnamese pho on a menu not on Buford Highway just worries me. I’ve eaten lots of pho, on Buford Highway and in New York. With Vietnamese people. Pho has rules. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to try to duplicate it here, although the presentation was approaching correct. But the broth lacked depth. B and I both wanted more spice.

Ditto on the Kaeng Daeng pork with red curry, coconut milk, and kaffir lime. Served over perfect sticky rice, it needed more sauce, more spice.

Having drank all the cab we moved on to the 2008 Monastrell, Olivares “Altos de la Hoya” from Spain.

Oaxacan hangar steak, medium rare, came on a long plate with a spicy puree. It was tender, flavorful, awesome. I ordered the Belgian-style frites with it, a classic pairing. Hot, crispy, and served with housemade mayo, the fries were cut a bit thick for my taste but B loved them.

Chef Devereux was not there but the kitchen was in the capable hands of his Chef de Cuisine, Andrew Sheridan. As members of the Shane Devereux fanclub, we couldn’t help but be disappointed. Service, however, was spot-on. Dishes were expedited in a steady and professional fashion.

Sweet potato cheesecake (I think) was for dessert. Not made in-house, but good nonetheless. They will be making sweets there soon.

I don’t know how much wine we drank but both B and I were wickedly buzzed as we hobbled down the stairs. WTF? We are usually such pros!

B said it best when she said our meal was good, but not compelling. We are looking forward to returning to Sound Table when they’ve had a minute to smooth out some of the kinks. Good luck boys!

483 Edgewood Avenue at the corner of Boulevard

Driving home from Rosemary Beach on Sunday, ST and I were determined to eat at Phil’s. Our lovely hostess JS had recommended it after making a killer breakfast spread for the second day in a row for her husband’s college buddies and their girlfriends.

Their house is amazing, located just off the trendy 30A near Destin. Fully equipped for a rowdy bunch of frat brothers. Difference between then and now? Twenty plus years and lots of money. Kegs have been replaced with micro-brewery beers and bottles of wine, the rowdiness reduced to civil gatherings reminiscing about the rowdiness.

Back to the Q. Growing up in the South you would think I’ve had lots of BBQ. Not so much. I’m far more familiar with Thai food than BBQ. SS and I used to go to Daddy D’z on Memorial quite often back in the day but I’ve never even stepped foot in Fat Matt’s Rib Shack.

But JS said to get the Q at Phil’s. And Phil’s is in Eufaula, the only point of interest during the entire 5 1/2 hour drive between Atlanta and Rosemary Beach. Once past the divided lanes with Spanish moss and antebellum architecture, ST and I had our eyes peeled for Phil’s.

I spotted the sign and we pulled in, anticipating some pretty darn good Q, appropriately served in a dive complete with rolls of paper towels on the tables. Guests order at the counter. With an unfamiliar menu, this always puts me in a mini-panic….I like to study a menu before making a decision.

There was a meat plate with two sides that I thought we could share, after all, we were there for the meat. But ST ordered the smokehouse special sandwich, a double fister that included cheese, ham, turkey, and pork….a very meaty sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and their own special sauce (not BBQ sauce, I’m pretty sure it was mayo).

Griddled and greasy (not a complaint), we downed the scrumptious meat sandwiches, trying a variety of BBQ sauces on the table. Their sauces were mustard based and didn’t have a hint of heat, unfortunately. A bottle of Texas Pete’s provided the only kick, but I would have preferred a homemade spicy BBQ sauce.

If I was hungover, this would have been the perfect cure! Great recommendation, thanks JS.

Opening a fine dining restaurant during the worst of economic times doesn’t sound like a smart business move, but somehow Pacci has survived and thrived. Perhaps it’s chef Keira Moritz who has gained notoriety and respect among her mostly male peers. Maybe its location in one of several new, trendy midtown hotels brings it the automatic business that hotel restaurants rely on, serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner to guests.

Or, it could be that it simply kicks ass. It is fairly common knowledge that I rarely eat Italian food. But I acquiesed on this assignment for AFD because I liked that a successful female chef was running the show.

ST and I valeted the HotDishmobile last Friday and walked in to Pacci. There was Geno! How fabulous, I hadn’t seen him since his days at Spice Market. We sat newlywed style on a banquette with a view of the expansive and dark dining room, lit by sets of enormous globes that hung from the high ceiling, shaded by long black fringe. The burgundy velvet and wood tones of the decor are puncuated by light blue and cream jacquard armchairs, one per table. Elegant.

Geno started us out with a couple of specialty bellinis, one with vanilla liqueur and the other with passion fruit. Then he brought out an amuse bouche of butter lettuce with seafood salad, light and fun.

After some discussion, Geno recommended a wine flight for me….a trio of 2007 pinot noirs from Sequana Vineyard, each with a distinct character. I ended up ordering another glass or two of the spicy Dutton Ranch.

The kobe beef carpacio was our first course, dressed with capers, tapenade, and baby arugula. Their bread service was an assortment of crispy wafers, focaccia, and cracker-like bread sticks. Problem with that is, I love authentic Italian bread and would prefer to have that at an Italian restaurant, with sweet butter please.

For our second course ST chose the lobster and butternut squash bisque with creme fraiche. Smooth and creamy, I don’t recall any chunks of lobster but the flavor was rich, reminiscent of she crab soup.

Naturally, I ordered the duck confit. A perfect example of this cooking method, the meat was succulent, falling of the bones, while the skin was super crispy. Served over soft polenta with bits of gorgonzola and blackberry marmalade, it sounds like a foolproof combination. But somehow, the four main components were not integrated. I found the gorgonzola unnecessary and while I do love a sweet accompaniment to duck, perhaps the dish would have been even better with mascerated blackberries. Nevertheless, it was damn awesome.

Eating our way down the menu, next came pastas. ST tried the shrimp fettucini with creamy pancetta sauce, Spring peas, and a soft fried egg on top, a.k.a carbonara. Rich, rich, and delicious. I ordered the sweet potato ravioli (how predictable!). Four raviolis came topped with gorgonzola and speck with brown butter. Rich, rich, and delicious.

More? Yes. The pork chop with fennel, roasted yam, and pomegranate-basil pesto had my name written all over it. One of the best chops I have had in recent memory, very tender. Pesto provided a little Italian flavor, but it was the roasted yams, sliced into thin disks with crispy caramelized edges that were amazing!

ST got the dry aged New York strip, medium, with a side of cannellini beans. Big steak. Good steak. Guess what we had for breakfast….steak and eggs.

Desserts include the quintessential Italian tiramisu and panna cotta, but we opted for the straightforward sweets, chocolate strata and rum bread pudding. I cannot say no to bread pudding! Pastry chef Elizabeth Matheson’s version is baked in its own small casserole dish topped with caramel and a little dollop of vanilla gelato. Personally, I would drizzle the caramel on the hot pudding so it would remain gooey rather than on the cold ice cream, but no matter, it was fabulous. ST’s chocolate strata was a huge slice of chocolate cake layered with chocolate mousse, served with vanilla gelato. Pretty presentation, pretty chocolately.

We were stuffed! Despite a couple of minor complaints, Pacci made a great impression on both of us.

866 West Peachtree Street NW 678-412-2402

Located on Decatur’s historic square, this restaurant is the latest from the Castellucci family that owns Sugo. An extensive selection of Spanish inspired tapas and plates are offered. Me and ST sampled our way through the menu, essentially eating like pigs, starting with charcuterie, jamon Iberico, the expensive Iberian ham and the restaurant’s namesake.

Our server Mary Quinn suggested a creamy sheep’s milk Spanish cheese called camedeoveja. Spread on the crispy toasted bread, it was delectable. Cheese and ham were served on wood cutting boards with mustard and tiny green olives.

The space is warm, furnished in dark wood, exposed brick, and deep red velvet curtains. Lighting is soft and flattering, perfect for a romantic evening with ST.

Chef Chad Crete was very gracious, bringing us a few of the bacon wrapped dates stuffed with manchego cheese and walnuts, resting in a romesco sauce. OMG. I could eat fifty of those!

There were so many amazing sounding dishes on the menu, like the tocino con manzana….slow braised pork belly with a salad of Granny Smith apples and candied walnuts dressed with a drizzle of apple cider reduction. Fatty crispy pork belly was yummy but I detected a hint of something not yummy….the tiny chiffonade of green on the apple salad, was it mint? I hate mint.

Which brings me to the sangria. The best in town is at Pura Vida, hands down. Still. I ordered the bottomless glass at The Iberian Pig for $21. Served in pint glasses, I suspect there is more juice than rum or wine. What I love about Pura Vida’s sangria is that it has chunks of fruit soaked in rum. Eat them and you will feel it! Sangria at Pura Vida is not for pussies.

While sipping the sangria at The Iberian Pig I once again detected a hint of flavor that was familiar yet somehow just plain wrong. Then I saw it….a slice of cucumber! Cucumber in sangria? Don’t ask me. ST ordered the “pretty darn good” red wine and it was, in fact, pretty darn good….2004 Marco Real Garnacha Navarra from Spain.

Next up on our trail of tapas was the BBQ octopus and the huevos con trufa. Both recommended by a friend of MN. The best part of the octopus was the stringy pork belly underneath. For some reason I thought BBQ meant grilled. No, it means with BBQ sauce, which I didn’t really care for. It was served with crunchy potatoes that I did not eat lest they take up space in my stomach where I could put something delicious, like more pork.

Huevos con trufa is a huge chunk of slow roasted pork with rustic toasted bread topped with a poached egg and black truffles. Remember, these are tapas folks. But the Castelluccis are known for ample portions. The pork was fork tender, ridiculously good. Break the egg yolk and dip the crusty bread in it, making sure to pick up a bit of truffle which was made into a tapenade. Decadent, rich, hell yeah!

Chad delivered another delicious surprise, their albondigas. Wild boar sausage meatballs stuffed with piquillo peppers, dates, and roasted tomatoes, finished with pimento creme and oyster mushrooms. I would not have ordered this but it was great, the flavorful meat pairing perfectly with the sweetness of the dates and the earthiness of the sauce.

Jesus Christ! An enormous serving of baked manchego mac ‘n’ cheese came out and a sampler of three sausages….lamb with macerated cherries, fennel sausage with caramelized onions, and chorizo with moscatel wine reduction and romesco, which was the standout among the trio. We couldn’t polish off all of them so they went in a recycled to-go container along with one of the two meatballs.

After all of those entree-sized tapas we had an actual entree coming, the cabrito carbonara; slow roasted goat with chittara pasta tossed in a carbonara sauce with Benton’s bacon, cream and topped with yet another poached egg. Mary Quinn instructed us to break the egg and mix in the yolk to complete the sauce. I found the pasta a bit too al dente, however the meat was succulent, the flavor of the dish was outstanding.

By now I was on my fourth glass of sangria. Despite the cucumber, I didn’t seem to have a problem getting my money’s worth out of the bottomless glass.

A selection of gelatos for dessert….the best was the fig and cherry, followed by the pistachio and the dulce de leche. I found the texture to be pretty authentic as far as gelato goes, the dulce de leche a bit too sweet.

We gave our leftovers to the “homeless” kids outside. They said they were hungry. I guess their Mothers in their million dollar mansions don’t really cook. Poor things.

Next time I will try one of the flatbreads. A neighboring table had one and it looked extra thin, crispy, and drool-worthy. The food isn’t authentic Spanish, however, having recently visited Spain….Barcelona and Mallorca…..I found these dishes more to my liking, perhaps because they were not so simple like in Spain. Regardless, I liked this place with its rich sauces, overdone flavor combos, and Italian riffs mixed with Spanish inspiration. It worked for me!

121 Sycamore Street, Decatur 404-371-8800 www.iberianpigatl.com

My birthday dinner at Woodfire Grill was Thursday night, rescheduled from last week since B was out of town. Sexy Argentinian artist MS and his partner S joined us.

(Sensitive readers beware, this post will be full of cursewords and italics!)

This was my first visit to the restaurant since the interior re-do. We didn’t like it. A place called Woodfire Grill should be warm and cozy.

Our evening got off to a frenetic start as B and I were running late to our already late reservation. Who cares, I looked fabulous in my outfit, entirely from Target! Earrings, necklace, scarf, and dress (OK, it was Anna Sui for Target).

It was my birthday dinner and I wanted a drink! Our server greeted us and explained the menu options available….3 course, 5 course, chef’s choice, vegetarian, pescitarian, with or without wine pairings, or a la carte. TMI. S was allergic to him. He recommended a half bottle of Veuve then ran off. When he finally returned we ordered the champagne to toast my birthday.

Did I mention it was my birthday? Yes, I am the bitch that made a special request for my birthday. I wanted foie gras, damn it! They often have it on the menu at Woodfire, just never when I’m there, so it wasn’t an insane request. It wasn’t like I was asking for filet mignon at McDonald’s.

Also, I was excited to meet Kevin Gillespie. His performance on last season’s Top Chef won him many fans and (I believe) saved the restaurant’s life. I had confirmed with the staff that he would be there, although I knew he was possibly flying out for a special event. He was not there.

But B did confirm they would have foie gras! Fabulous. I didn’t think it was necessary to explain that it should have a sweet accompaniment, like fig and pear compote. Or mascerated berries. Or candied kumquats. Everyone knows that. Everyone! Unfortunately, it was served simply on top of the standard (and might I say inexplicable) grease soaked toast. I’ve never understood why a rich meat like foie gras would be served with greasy toast but it happens more often than not. I would have loved some watercress or frissee, maybe a drizzle of balsamic reduction and a sweet component. I usually toss aside the toast but had nothing else to eat with the foie gras this time (the flavorless smudge of something on the plate was dried so it doesn’t count). On the bright side, it was seared perfectly (although MS prefers his cool in the center).

Quail or duck? I asked our server which had the cripier skin. Neither, they were skinless. What the f*ck, why skin a d*ck? Or grill a quail without skin? Maybe he was trying to deter me from ordering either as it was late and they could have just run out. He recommended the sturgeon to B rather than the quail. I ordered the pork tenderloin. The menu description said it came with roasted root vegetables, Coca-Cola glazed country ham, and sweet potato sauce. This was all true, but the veggies and ham were microscopic. Why mention a dish is served with something if one has to search for it on the plate? The meat was dry dry dry.

B liked her fish. I tried it. No complaints. MS ordered the Maine peekytoe crab salad appetizer as his main. S had it as a starter and it too was microscopic. Big plate, small food. S ordered the black trumpet mushroom risotto as his second course, a really tasty dish. His beef strip loin, however, was the best dish of the trio of entrees at our table. Again, I didn’t see anything on the plate except the meat.

Thankfully, B ordered the brussels sprouts as a side. Roasted with sweet herbs and tossed with a smoked onion vinaigrette. They were amazing! The best in town.

B and I followed our champagne with a glass of red. The boys were having margaritas. We talked about art, we talked about Rio. MS entertained us with his riveting tale of working out on the beach at Ipanema, stumbling upon a tarp that concealed a dead body!

Ah, mortality. Birthday cake. Or, rather, birthday chocolate bread pudding. It should have been orgasmic, like the pork and the foie gras should have been, but again, just didn’t wow me. The best part was the chocolate chip cherry ice cream on top, the scoop no bigger than a walnut. I blew out my candle and made a wish (for more f*cking ice cream!)

I know Kevin Gillespie is kickass. So why am I always disappointed with Woodfire Grill?

1782 Cheshire Bridge Road 404-347-9055

Generally, I travel with a companion. However, meeting AD in Brazil last week, I was flying solo out of Terminal T. In search of an open currency exchange at Hartsfield-Jackson, I ended up at Terminal E (you know, E as in Edward. I think it would be so much better if it was E as in euphemism, but I also think Terminal T should be T as in tsunami).

Anyway, there I was….one chick, flying South. There was indeed a currency exchange on Terminal E, but they were out of Brazilian Reals. Directly across from the exchange was One Flew South, our airport’s new fine dining restaurant. I was supposed to review it for AFD when it opened last year but I had, ironically, flown South to Spain.

I love irony so I was compelled to dine there, taking a seat at the bar where Norm the bartender took care of me. The cocktail list was as creative as any chic spot in Atlanta, old-fashioned and travel oriented drinks. Jets to Brazil? Oh my God, how could I not order it! Made with cachaca, lime, parfait amour, and rhubarb bitters, I expected it to be a bit sweeter, like a caipirinha. But it was strong, a little funky tasting (the bitters perhaps).

One Flew South also has a sushi bar with a selection of rolls, nigiri, sashimi, and sakes to pair with the fish. Perhaps if I was going to Tokyo….

An impressive wine list includes Turley zin and Heitz cab. The space is sleek, modern, and decidedly unairportish.

Like a mind-reader, Norm recommended the very dishes I had my eye on. The theme? Pork. I started with the Benton’s bacon and Sweet Grass Dairy goat cheese salad that featured the herbie cheese spread beneath frisee (my favorite!) dressed with pink peppercorn vinaigrette. Thick, chewy slices of the bacon were divine. Basil poached pears added a sweet note to the salad.

I placed my salad and entree order at the same time, in awe at the speed at which the kitchen expedited orders for their customers, each one a stressed-out traveler with a plane to catch. Thyme roasted pork belly was crispy, fatty, and awesome, lightened up with a black-eyed pea and arugula salad, a smear of parsnip puree, and a touch of blackberry-onion marmalade. Norm suggested an Anchor Steam to follow my cocktail. Smart move.

The whole menu was intrigueing, from the pecan dusted scallops with sweet potato and cranberry hash appetizer (how did I resist that?) to the 1/2 pound Kobe burger with five spice fries. Both not a bargain at $16. The guy next to me didn’t eat his fries. They looked perfect….I almost reached over and grabbed them before they hit the bin, what a waste.

Breast of duck and portabella ravioli is just $22, while my pork belly came in at a reasonable $18.

Naturally, I could not resist the bread pudding. The drinks, and Norm, convinced me I had plenty of time! How about a Brooklyn Chocolate Stout to go with dessert? Yes, please! Alas, I didn’t love it. Made as a loaf, then sliced, I prefer my bread pudding baked with crunchy bits of bread here and there. Some creme fraiche would have helped.

Little did I know what was in store for me in the coming days, or even the coming hours. Find out what happens in the next installment of “Romancing Rio”.