Hot Dish Review

After three days at Churchill Downs, what more could a girl want than to stop at the casino and off track betting parlor on the way out of town? Having lunch there was just a bonus.

LC likes to make a pit stop at Kentucky Downs on our way home from Louisville, turning what could be a brief six hour drive into an all-day trip. We arrived right at lunchtime and were surprised to find the place completely renovated….and packed. Where there used to be blackjack tables there are now slot machines.

When it comes to gambling, I’m more of a spectator than participator. I’ve been to Vegas literally dozens of times without a single quarter going into a slot. LC, on the other hand, loves betting on the horses. There is, however, a distinct difference between this type of gambling and playing the slots. Betting on horses requires skill, not just luck.

We took a table, one of those traditional wood-grain laminate motel room dinette kind, in the new non-smoking section in front of eight flat screens, each with a different track, and waited for the lone server to come by to take our order. There was a set menu offered, with your choice of soup and sandwich, with a salad and baked potato. Rather fancy if you ask me! LC had the cheddar brocoli soup and the reuben while I tried the chili and grilled ham and cheese.

It was delivered like a three course meal, first the soup, then salad, then entree. My chili contained both meat and beans and had enough kick to keep my eyes open. LC was too distracted by his betting to actually taste his soup, using it later to flavor his baked potato. The salad was fresh and crisp, surprisingly not iceberg.

Both of our sandwiches were piled high with meat and cheese, then grilled. A little greasy, but perfectly acceptable considering our location. Baked potatoes were wrapped in foil, ready to be topped with to-go containers of sour cream and margarine….or soup, whichever the case may be.

We washed it all down with Miller Lites and continued betting until the funds ran dry.

As I awoke from my slumber yesterday morning, visions of bacon, eggs, and coffee danced in my head. I have a repetoire of breakfast dishes I make, constantly revolving to escape boredom.

But that morning I had a secret weapon…..the leftover croque monsieur from the night before. I immediately knew what I had to do. The monsieur would become a madame!

In France, the lowly ham ‘n’ cheese has been elevated to an art form. Sauce bechamel, fine European cheeses, ham cured by local butchers, and artisan breads are used to create the rich and decadent croque monsieur.

The addition of an over easy fried egg transforms the sandwich into a croque madame. Get it? Of course you do. I placed the leftover sandwich in a glass casserole and reheated it in the oven. Meanwhile, I cracked an organic egg and heated my skillet.

Four minutes later, voila! I slid the egg on top of the bubbly, cheesy sandwich, and enjoyed every bite.

So There I was, driving towards Brookhaven on a recent Friday night. I would be dining at a restaurant, but unlike most weekend dining experiences, There would be no crowd. In fact, There was no menu.

The establishment’s proprietor BB, who also happens to be a CIA trained chef, had lured me There with the promise of a decadent croque monsieur, a fancy French version of the pedestrian American ham ‘n’ cheese.

Having eaten the rich sandwich at a sidewalk cafe along the Seine in Paris, I knew how a proper croque monsieur was made. The challenge recreating it in the USA is finding the quality ingredients required. Aged gruyere is an everyday grocery item in Europe. Amazing freshly baked breads can be purchased on practically every corner.

BB was left to forage for his ingredients at the nearby Publix. He came up with a round of sourdough, some gruyere, a chunk of pecorino, proscuitto di parma, and ham. For the sauce, he substituted regular milk for the usual heavy cream.

JV, who will be the restaurant’s manager, joined us for the impromptu meal. We chatted about everything from music to meat while BB whisked his sauce. I served myself a Guinness, skipping back and forth between the bar and the kitchen, camera in hand. BB grated a bit of nutmeg over the bubbling skillet. “Bechamel?” I asked. Something like that.

But There was more. BB had made chicken pot pies earlier in the day, popping them in the oven before prepping the croques. They were enormous individual pies, with homemade fresh herb crusts, filled with all the usual goodies. However, just as a croque monsieur is no regular sandwich, his pot pie beared little resemblance to the Swanson’s in every college student’s freezer.

They came out of the industrial size oven sizzling, the rich chicken broth bubbling out of the slits in the crust. While they cooled, BB assembled the sandwiches, topping them with the bechamel and more grated gruyere for good measure. He stuck ‘em in the oven to brown as we dug into our pot pie appetizers, diced carrots, potatoes and tender chunks of chicken mingling nicely with crisp bits of crust.

I served myself another Guinness from behind the bar, awaiting the piece de resistance. Don’t let its size fool you, the croque was a monster, inflicting arterial damage with each bite. It was a serious sandwich, the kind one must eat with a knife and fork.

It was an evening of honest comfort food, with a side of relaxation, peppered with laughter. Tune in tomorrow to read what became of the leftover croque monsieur!

It was New Year’s Day so LC and I thought we’d visit the new Diesel in his neighborhood. Last year we ordered their superstition sampler with black eyed peas, ham, and collards. These foods are supposed to bring you luck.

But alas, it was not a second location of the Virginia Highland’s favorite, but rather a pizza joint. It’s just as well, the majority of our luck in 2011 was bad, so we were probably better off without the superstition sampler.

So we were left wandering the burbs in search of something open. It was too late for lunch, too early for dinner, so we settled for a bar and restaurant where we could watch football and share a snack. That’s when we spotted Loco’s Grill and Pub. I’ve seen the location at Loehmann’s Plaza for years with no urge whatsoever to go inside. But they were one of few places open, so we were in luck.

The first thing I noticed about the space was the smell of smoke. I find it incredibly weird that smoking is allowed in bars in the uptight suburbs, but not in the city of Atlanta. They try to divide the smoking room from the non-smoking, but the smell always seeps through the cracks.

We settled into a booth in the bar and ordered a couple of huge, cheap Miller Lites. Then LC noticed they had Keno….some harmless gambling to entertain us during lunch.

Their menu was typical pub fare, with a selection of burgers, some Tex-Mex items, and the ubiquitous wings. Come to find out, Loco’s is another damn chain, with 17 locations in the Southeast and one in Missouri. Isn’t anything original any more?

Nothing thrilled me on the menu, so I let LC decide. He ordered the blackened chicken sandwich with provolone, lettuce, and tomato on an onion roll, called The Rooster. I added bacon for excitement.

The sandwich boasted a thick chicken breast but was relatively unimpressive. Onion rings on the side were crispy and not greasy, but the serving was scant.

2012 will undoubtedly bring us luck….the question is, will it be good or bad? I hope LC’s loss in Keno wasn’t a sign of things to come.

11770 Haynes Bridge Road 770-751-9898

There’s nothing worse than a chain restaurant with a menu so all-encompassing that it is literally a book….except for an imposter that tries to emulate this concept.

With pages of sandwiches, pastas, entrees, soups, and the tell-tale cheesecakes, Copeland’s dishes mimic those of the dreaded Cheesecake Factory, served in epic portions seemingly designed to triple diners’ cholesterol levels.

Sadly, this appeals to much of middle America. Over 100 menu items, including 16 flavors of cheesecake, gives the illusion of “something for everyone” when, in fact, common sense will tell you that it is impossible to execute that many dishes well. It’s hit or miss at best.

Among the horrific choices are two kinds of “pasta pizza bowls”, linguine, seafood, and sauce served in a cheese pizza bowl. Are you serious? Aunt Gladys can forget about getting into her Walmart bikini.

I met LC and little T at Atlantic Station recently to shop at H & M. It was lunch time and the options were somewhat bleak, so we did what most people would do….went to Copeland’s.

With the original four locations in Louisiana, the restaurant offers several Cajun and Creole dishes. But the menu also represents Italian, Mexican, and Asian cuisines, as well as homestyle Southern fried chicken and meat loaf.

Marathon holiday eating left us wanting something light so LC tried the Thai shrimp wrap while little T and I both ordered the chicken and avocado club on toasted brioche. His side of onion strings and our sweet potato fries, however, tipped the scale toward indulgence.

Our plates arrived with enormous sandwiches and overflowing with our greasy sides. I immediately noticed that our chicken clubs were not toasted, but rather grilled, requiring multiple napkins. Inside the butter-soaked exterior, the sandwich was layered with generous amounts of lettuce, tomato, avocado, Swiss cheese and bacon. The grilled chicken breasts, although tender, were overly salted.

On the other hand, the sweet potato fries were quite good, with a sweet glaze lightly drizzled over them. LC’s onion straws provided a satisfying crunch and flavor, but were room temperature upon arrival. Much like our sandwiches, the filling of his wrap was much better than the wrap itself, made with tough pita bread. I took a bite and noted that the shrimp tasted fishy, only slightly disguised by their surrounding lettuce, scallions, and crispy Asian noodles.

Our server, bless her heart, listened to our complaints and sent the manager over, who comp’d two of the three sandwiches. And then, per her training, she asked if we had room for cheesecake. No sweetie, not today….not ever.

265 18th Street 404-815-8800

I’m a city chick. I grew up in a small town and expect little from them in way of culture, diversity, sophistication….you get the picture. So Imagine my surprise when a colleague and I visited several locations in Cartersville and discovered a thriving mini metropolis….Mayberry style.

The new part of town near the interstate was as unimpressive as any suburb, with every ubiquitous retailer and restaurant chain you can think of. It was the quaint historic town center that charmed us.

Driving through it we spotted a cute corner store and deli and decided to stop for lunch there rather than Chic-fil-a. Called Swheat Market, the space was country chic, with mix ‘n match repurposed furnishings creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. But unlike its country cousins, this deli was on trend, using all organic produce, also sold in their market along with other natural products. And there was no shortage of patrons, dining on specialty sandwiches, soups, and a selection of vegetarian options.

Being unapologetic omnivores, FP chose the grilled chicken salad sandwich and I couldn’t resist their classic BLT, made with extra-thick sliced peppered bacon, and lots of fresh L and T, piled on toasted sourdough with gobs of mayo. We split a side of sweet potato fries which were unfortunately on my plate, so chances are the split wasn’t quite fair. The bread that held our sandwiches together was pleasingly crispy as were the sweet potato fries.

If you find yourself in that neck of the woods, give it a try. All I can say is….swheat!

5 E. Main Street, Cartersville, GA 770-607-0067

LC and I were determined to make the best of our beach vacation, despite the lingering tropical storm. While looking at a map of the nearby attractions, he stumbled upon a racetrack in Ebro. Not exactly Churchill Downs, it was a greyhound track. But the place is full of TV’s showing all the horse races throughout the country and patrons are there for one reason….to bet.

Food is not the focus here, but gamblers gotta eat! An abbreviated menu of standard bar fare was enough to keep ‘em alive so they could place their bets.

No stranger to horse racing, LC was practically giddy. Ironically, the birthday card I gave him had lucky numbers inside. We played them on some races and did quite well. But he missed the big money when he failed to bet on a longshot….one of the lucky numbers.

We didn’t let the dogs chase the bunny for nothing, but dogs are much harder to predict than horses. So we drank a few Miller Lites and studied the racing forms. With five tracks running all day, as soon as we bet on a race, another was set to go off minutes later. Non-stop action!

After a couple of hours of betting, it was time to get some lunch. LC ordered a chicken sandwich on a croissant, while I played it safe with a bacon cheeseburger. Both of us substituted potato chips with fries.

His came out in about ten minutes. Mine came out thirty minutes later….no joke. I was not impressed with LC’s sandwich, however, my burger was fatty, juicy goodness. Unfortunately, they use crinkle fries which I despise….they always have a mealy texture on the inside.

The following day we awoke to more rain, the wind creating a mini-tornado in the courtyard between the condo buildings. Another stormy day, another day at the track.

There was no live doggie action, but a couple of horse tracks kept LC happy while I perused the menu again for the least offensive item. I chose the hot wings, sauce on the side. Eight fat and crispy wings arrived, fried with expert skill. The wing sauce was thin and hot as hell. My mouth was on fire, cooled off with celery dipped in blue cheese dressing and a gulp of Blue Moon.

LC is a wing fanatic so I was shocked that he didn’t rave about these. I thought they were just about the best I had ever eaten.

And that’s why I ordered them again the following day. Sad but true.

6558 Dog Track Road, Ebro, FL 850-234-3943

Sometimes you get the urge to go back in time, hang out with the old crowd, visit the old haunts. Friday night was just such a time. I met up with my ex, SS at Righteous Room, where we’ve drank many beers and gotten into a little trouble in the past. Located next door to Urban Outfitters on the corner of Ponce and N. Highland, it draws the same skinny, tattooed clientelle, with a few neighborhood drunks thrown in for good measure.

We walked in to find a friend from way back seated alone at one of the high tops. Inviting ourselves to join him, we ordered a PBR for SS and a Corona for me. There are always works from local artists on the exposed brick walls. In fact, the wall in the photo above is the very spot where I found the huge painting behind my sofa.

After a few more beers, it was time to eat. Righteous Room makes big, awesome, messy sandwiches. I decided we should split one, my favorite, their veggie burger. Neither of us are vegetarians, in fact, SS made fun of my selection, remarking that he “eats all animals”.

Well, so do I. It takes a really special vegetarian dish to make me forego meat. In this case, the pattie is a loose compilation of veggies and grains tucked into a soft piece of naan, topped with lettuce, tomatoes, and onions. I always take off the raw onions in favor of their sweet caramelized onions and peppers. And then, of course, I add cheese, making the sandwich impossibly sloppy.

These days, sandwiches at Righteous Room are served with one side. I tried their Asian slaw the last time I visited and it was great, so I ordered that for our side. Not known for their stellar service, I was happily surprised that the kitchen even went the extra mile, cutting our sandwich in half and splitting the slaw on two plates.

It was great catching up with SS, especially since he’s threatening to move to Portland. It’s funny, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

1051 Ponce de Leon Avenue 404-874-0939

Once again, our group went out for breakfast. This time LC opted to join us rather than eat our leftover pancakes. I mean flapjacks. Whatever.

Naturally, the kids ordered sugar, in the form of French toast for little T and a cute bear shaped pancake for little A (note the actual ice cream scoop of butter!). The adults tried a smorgasbord of fat-laden breakfast items like cheese grits with butter, sausage and Southwestern omelettes, country ham, and the ubiquitous pancakes, slathered with butter and syrup. It is common knowledge that I hate cake. Same goes for pancakes….I just don’t care for anything fluffy, doughy, or cakelike. I do like crepes, though. That’s what my Mamma used to make!

I must commend Flapjacks for their healthy menu section. I almost ordered an egg white omelette, but instead was drawn to the bacon and egg sandwich on toasted sourdough with lettuce, tomato, and mayo. Unfortunately, I failed to notice the sandwich lacked the all-important cheese.

But it would have sucked even with cheese. I have a thing about toasted bread. It should be crunchy, not soggy. It should be toasted! This sandwich was slopped on soggy sourdough. The copious amount of chewy bacon was awesome, so I ate it with the fried egg, lettuce, and tomato.

Luckily, I also ordered an extra-crispy waffle to be brought out after I ate my sandwich. It was delivered right on cue. I like my waffles almost burnt, so this one could have used another minute in the press. Dipped in syrup, it was a decent breakfast dessert.

Flapjacks is homestyle country cookin’, which in these parts, is the only kind of cookin’. Just put a pat of butter on it, honey.

2734 Parkway, Pigeon Forge 865-908-6115

Last weekend, me and LC took his daughter tubing down the Chattahoochee in Helen, where my parents reside part-time. Arriving at lunchtime, I thought it would be fun to go to Troll Tavern which is situated alongside the river so diners can watch the tubers while enjoying their lunch.

I usually order a bratwurst, although they are often super-fatty. I’ve had a good burger there once, but that could have been an anomaly, given the fiasco that we experienced on this visit.

Knowing I would be in a bikini within the hour, I wanted something lighter than wurst. So I ordered a BLT….impossible to screw up, right? Fries came with it but I knew I could count on LC to eat most of them. My Mom ordered the same, while LC got a wrap and the little chick got chicken strips.

Just in case, I verified that the sandwich was served on toasted bread, after all, aren’t BLT’s always on toasted bread? My Mom and I both chose wheat and were assured that it would be toasted.

I sipped on my Warsteiner as we watched the brightly colored tubes going down the river, carrying their entertaining cargo….toothless guys with hairy necks, fat bleach blondes in bikinis, tattooed teens, and even one woman wearing a burka.

When our food came out it was obvious that our BLT’s were on bread that may have slipped into a toaster for two or three seconds. I was actually furious, especially since I had specifically asked that the bread be toasted. A scant amount of bacon didn’t impress. I tried to eat it but I was just too pissed off so I asked our server to bring some dark toasted bread ASAP, nibbling on the institutional-grade fries that had an inexplicable orange hue while I waited.

She was pretty quick to deliver, and it was certainly not her fault, but rather the stupidity of the trolls in the kitchen. For their inability to make even the simplest of sandwiches, they deserve a skimpy, wimpy Knuckle Sandwich….on stale white bread, untoasted of course.

If you would like to experience this type of incompetence for yourself here’s the address:
8590 N. Main Street, Helen, GA 706-878-3117