It’s a humble little sandwich with a funny-sounding name: a portmanteau that sounds like what happens when you smash its two main ingredients — shawarma and falafel — into a pita pocket.
On the counter of Sam’s BBQ-1 in east Cobb, you’ll find a tray of fried pork rinds. Crinkly and reddish brown, they are a revelation, even to connoisseurs of pig skins high and low. A complimentary nosh for those who queue up to place an order at legendary pitmaster Sam Huff’s original joint, they are perfect just as they are: naked.
There are few restaurants less pretentious than the average American sports bar. The style is so ubiquitous and so consistent that such a sweeping generalization is possible.
There is nothing better on the menu at the Alden than the rack of lamb. The other night, as I sat eating it in full view of the open kitchen, I had to close my eyes just to contain my feelings. To borrow a line from Elizabeth Barrett Browning, let me count the ways.
You’ll know you’ve arrived at I Luv Hot Pot when you see the Eiffel Tower replica out front. Strung with Christmas lights and reaching skyward, the Parisian mini-monument dominates the parking lot of a Duluth strip mall that also boasts a 24-hour Vietnamese noodle parlor called I Luv Pho and a clutter of Asian shops and restaurants. A poor man’s Vegas, open until 2 a.m.
Coca con Seta arrived at the table. A blend of meaty, sauteed mushrooms, black truffle, pickled onion, melted Tetilla cow’s cheese from Galicia and a zigzag squizzle of aioli flavored with gently spiced guindilla, a chile pepper typical of Basque cookery, covered a round, cracker-thin flatbread. I’m unaccustomed to a pizza-sized, cracker-thin flatbread as a tapa.
When I stepped inside for a recent meal at Blue India, it seemed to be more or less like many other restaurants I’ve encountered at the ground floor of a condo tower in Midtown Atlanta. Near the entrance was a short bar with curved edges, big enough for a few friends to grab drinks but quiet enough for a working lunch.
In a grocery store at the corner of Gwinnett Drive and Scenic Highway North in Lawrenceville, you can find Latvian sprats and sardines in cans; jars of Eastern European rose-hip jam; sweet, waxen green peppers from nearby Amish farms; and fluffy pita bread.
For nearly the past two decades, one Indian restaurant or another has been located at 2179 Lawrenceville Highway in the North DeKalb Square shopping center. There have been different names and different owners. There have been good years and bad years. There has been lots and lots of curry.
A couple of months ago, after picking up some groceries at the Buford Highway Farmers Market, I got a hankering for an afternoon snack and decided to drive up the road until I saw something that I was in the mood for. A bowl of pho, some Korean chicken, or a bite of nigiri at Sushi Hayakawa? No, no, nothing sounded quite right.
On a recent Saturday night, the members of an exclusive, invitation-only group called the Elite Club convened for dinner at Mission and Market. As they arrived, the valet lined up their cars one by one in front of the glittering, 30-story Buckhead tower known as Three Alliance Center: candy-green Porsche, bright red Ferrari, silver-gray Bentley, and so on.
The entertainment district adjacent to the Braves stadium known as The Battery Atlanta debuted last year, but now that the bulk of restaurants, bars and shops are open, the place is in full swing. Among the spots to have opened this season are Garden & Gun Club and Punch Bowl Social.
To be a truly fine dim sum house, you must proffer a cacophony of carts and surprises at every turn. I want the crunch of deep-fried stuffed crab claws that I can pick up and chew like chicken wings. I want rice-noodle rolls with minced pork and shrimp tucked inside their glossy, silken sleeves.
Years ago, a wise and experienced culinary adviser once explained that a club sandwich could tell you almost everything you need to know about a certain kind of restaurant.
On one side of the rectangular ceramic tray sits a mini cast-iron skillet filled with aromatic brown-stew chicken in voluptuous dark gravy; on the other, a bowl of perfect rice and peas. Where I’m from, rice and gravy like to get all touchy-feely on the same plate. So why in the devil does Ms.
Among the tenants of 5000 Buford Highway, a sprawling strip mall just north of Chamblee Tucker Road, there is a grocery store with notable selections of Southeast Asian produce and Latin American snacks. There is a homey Korean joint that makes a mean budae jjigae, the Spam- and hot dog-laden stew influenced by the tastes of American GIs stationed on the Korean Peninsula.
On a recent Friday afternoon, I wandered past the perfumed glass counters of Saks Fifth Avenue and glanced at the platinum jewelry on display at Tiffany and Co. I watched for a moment as a man considered the purchase of a bright red leather Gucci handbag for his wife. The slick, cool concourse of Phipps Plaza then led me to Public Kitchen & Bar.
It’s not very often that a staffer stops me as I enter a restaurant and asks me if I’m sure I want to be there. So I was a little taken aback by the man who confronted me as I strode into Next Door and quizzed me about what kind of food I wanted to eat.
Mulavi sits on the ground floor of a towering Midtown apartment building in a quadrant of the city known for its hustle and bustle. With its sleek brown interior and bright-orange, statement lighting fixture, the West Peachtree restaurant might pass for one of the swanky nearby nightclubs or condo lobbies.
Making something out of nothing is what creative types do. There is a thrill about starting from zero, but it can also be paralyzing. Hemingway understood that about the writing process, calling the challenge of the blank page “the white bull.
Okonomiyaki is the sort of food that inspires unreasonable, outlandish devotion. It is most commonly described as a Japanese pancake, a flat concoction of cabbage and batter cooked on a griddle and topped with various meats and a distinctive sweet and savory sauce.
There’s no need to look around for Thai starter staples like a green papaya salad or satay when the Nam Prik Ong platter is an option. You dunk this spread of crispy lotus chips, curly cue pork cracklings and fresh cucumber slices into a chunky dip of chiles, ground pork and roasted tomatoes.
At Wicked Sushi & Grill, you can get your sushi rolls cold, deep-fried, baked and flambéed. Some have foreboding names (Black Widow, Rattlesnake, Heart Attack). Others riff on nearby landmarks (Mall of Georgia). These rolls with the mock-provocative names and alternative techniques are the handiwork of chef-owner Rex Jeong.
The Casablanca bowl at Recess is a perfect little name for a perfect little dish. Not that it has much to do with Moroccan food. Outside of a few spices that season a bright orange smear of pureed carrot, the contents of this bowl would likely be hard to find in the Old Medina in Casablanca.
On Friday night at Mary Hoopa’s House of Fried Chicken and Oysters, I could detect a certain kind of fear in the eyes of the man standing behind the host stand. The front of the restaurant was packed with customers: two couples with strollers in tow, a gaggle of teens hanging irritatingly in the way of the door, a three-top here, a four-top there.
Colonel Sanders had his original recipe. The peeps at Ponko Chicken have theirs. Twenty years ago, sisters Reiko Clark and Maggie Antoine opened a Stone Mountain restaurant called Food Ease, where they developed a following around Antoine’s panko-crusted, sweet-soy-sauce-drizzled “Amer-Asian chicken tenders.
Back in January, when I started exploring the plethora of new taco places turning up all over town, I felt that Taco Cantina in the Old Fourth Ward had considerable potential. Here was a chef from Zacatlan, Mexico, who had found success at his original location in Smyrna, raising the taco flag on Boulevard. And it was just down the street from my home in Grant Park, too. Que bueno.
There are currently 16 restaurants at The Battery Atlanta adjacent to SunTrust Park. While the cuisine varies, each eatery is vying for dining dollars, especially when the entertainment district fills up on Braves game days. On a recent Saturday evening, despite the Braves being out of town, The Battery was hopping.
Before driving to Miss Gogi in the Peachtree Pavilion strip mall in Doraville, I tried to do a little research. I knew, of course, to expect the salty sweet pleasures of tender bulgogi, the Korean barbecue dish referenced by the name, but I wanted to figure out what they were doing differently. You see, Korean barbecue restaurants are thriving in metro Atlanta these days.
My dining companion and I had wandered in from a rainy weekend day to this modest strip mall joint in Doraville. It is a well-lit, very clean space full of long tables for sharing, but nothing to write home about in the interior decoration department.
How do you take your coffee shops? Do you like dark lairs with sputtering espresso machines and spiky baristas? Or do you prefer bright, sunny rooms with marble counters, smart wine lists and chefs who aim to create thoughtful, handmade food? If you belong to the latter camp, Mourning Dove Cafe might give you reason to coo.
The first time I sat down to lunch at Tortas Factory del D.F., I wondered if there had been a mistake. My little lunch table was covered with orange cafeteria trays, disposable plates piled high with each dish, and little, bright cups of salsa. I hadn’t even spent $20.
Few things are more satisfying than going out to eat and loving every single dish. (Well, duh.) Unfortunately, delivering a meal that’s impeccable from start to finish is a rarity, and about as easy as performing Beethoven’s Ninth.
“My taste buds are going crazy!” said one of my dining partners as we stepped outside Noona and onto the sidewalk in the burgeoning Parsons Alley development in downtown Duluth.
We didn’t need the lamb shank. We had already eaten plenty. It would have been smarter to take a walk. Or spend the remainder of this sodden Sunday afternoon dozing off with a good book.
The next time you visit a Japanese restaurant, notice how many of the sushi rolls contain cream cheese. Or have names like “Beauty & the Beast,” “La Bamba” or “The Godfather.” Note the presence of California rolls, spicy tuna, and the super-crunch factor — ingredients fried with panko crumbs.
According to a history published by the city of Atlanta, Ferdinand Dallas McMillan made his fortune in agricultural machinery before retiring in 1910 to focus on building his dream home. He had lived a long life since being born in 1844 and wanted a home in Atlanta built “as high into the air as I could.” He named this place Fort Peace and spent his final years there.
Some years ago, British novelist A.S. Byatt came to Atlanta to deliver the Richard Ellman Lectures in Modern Literature at Emory University. As an AJC arts writer, I was assigned to cover the event, which kicked off with an all-day pig roast at Lullwater House, the lovely 1926 residence of Emory’s president.
Is there a better fish for a hotel restaurant than the branzino? This pale white fish is delicate without being too fussy for the cook and rich without having a reputation for being oily or fatty. It goes mostly by the Italian name, though the French call it loup de mer. You’re free, I suppose, to call it European sea bass if you wish to stick with English.
Among the euphemisms that food writers throw around, “hidden gem” is one of the more common. We understand, of course, that the restaurant in question is not a polished and cut semiprecious stone. Nor do we really believe that it has been placed out of sight or concealed from view. We simply take it to mean that the joint is relatively unknown despite the quality of the fare.
When I tasted the eggplant Parmesan at Bar Americano, I could not help but wonder where things had gone wrong for this restaurant. Here was an impressive looking dish, a big white porcelain boat loaded with three deep-fried slabs of eggplant covered in discs of mozzarella cheese and surrounded by deep red tomato sauce.
Both times that I left Ghion Cultural Hall after dining there, I experienced the same feeling of satisfaction and for the exact same reasons. First, my mouth was coated with berbere and I wanted the warm flavors of that chile-heavy spice mix to linger all night. Second, on both occasions, my dining partners were sets of friends whom I hadn’t seen in a while.
Here, on a stretch of Peachtree Road that now backs up to the Chamblee MARTA station, old-fashioned taxi cabs were dispatched to and fro from this brick building more than 70 years ago. After some period of disrepair, owner Andy Lasky and a crew have breathed new life into it.
What makes a steakhouse? Is it the beef, the thick red slabs marbled with rich veins of white fat? Or is it the house, the tufted leather booths and luxurious touches that place a diner in the lap of comfort? Ari Korean Steakhouse, a rather large restaurant perched at the center of a shopping center on Medlock Bridge Road in Johns Creek, certainly has both.
So you’re cooking at a Southern breakfast joint in downtown Atlanta, and you want to create a signature dish that speaks to your town. What to do? It’s not like this urban sprawl is a bastion of bacon or an epicenter of eggs. Take a spin around the ‘hood, and you may find some clues, even in the asphalt jungle.
Let me describe a platter of barbecue for you. It all starts with an aluminum tray, rectangular and simple, with a piece of butcher paper cut to fit. Atop it, your eyes will no doubt be drawn to the thick slices of prime brisket cut from the deckle side, thick black bands of smoky bark wrapping around the meat, whose fatty marbling now drenches the paper below it.
It’s awards season. Whoop-de-do. While the rest of the country eats up the red carpet ruckus, I’m just eating. That’s because I can’t keep up with the stuff of Entertainment Weekly, and I’m not in a position to debate whether “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” should be an Oscar best picture nominee.