casualgourmand-blog - Tumblr blog

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Well, well, well. Sometimes I write for money too. 

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It's taken me nearly three days to recover from my tomato-based hangover brought on by eating (and drinking) all the things at Attack of the Killer Tomato Fest. 

This year’s AKTF was MUCH drier and MUCH more enjoyable than 2014′s muddy log jam at The Goat Farm. I love me some Goat Farm, but not for an event of this nature and the crowd it attracts. 

Mud+heels/seersucker+drunk people eating tomatoes=the Psycho shower scene. 

Thankfully the organizers realized this and brought the festival back home to JCT Kitchen and Westside Provisions District. 

This year’s festival brought out new talent and much-longed-for creative tomato bites. It seemed every chef in the running wanted the coveted crown! And with each offering, that fact became more evident. I ate everything from ramen to dumplings to paella to tomato wellington. There were tarts, tamales, tomato sushi, mini muffulettas, even snow cones and tomato caramel. As I walked with my band of merry food disciples, we remarked at how much there was to choose from this year and how difficult it was going to be to cast our votes for best bite. A huge first world problem, for sure. But wait! There’s more! 

Just as sweat began trickling (pouring) down our backs, we walked through two heavy curtains and into the newest addition to the Ford Fry machine, Marcel. Two words: Blown.Away.

Off the rails: Marcel’s space...like James Dean meets Frank Sinatra in a man cave of sleek sexiness and effortless cool. The soundtrack could easily swing from Sinatra’s “Luck Be A Lady” to somewhere in between Bow Wow Wow’s “Aphrodisiac” and The Submarine’s “1940″. You can wear your jewels, don that chapeau you’ve been dying to show off, and sip on Montgomeries like fucking Hemingway. All the leather, wood, modern edges, and large windows soaring above dark corners that seemed to beg for an illicit affair; or really, a swanky date night with your significant other. Twas a smart move on Rocket Farm’s part to debut in this way; casually opening its doors to the public to provide relief from the heat, allowing people to experience the space and meet the staff. Oh those bartenders, y’all. 

Our perspiry crew sat in a corner booth, relieved to be out of the sun, and discussed our votes while we drank our 117th cocktail. When it came time to leave the comfort of our leather-bound lair, I had decided to place my red ticket in Lusca’s tin can for their ramen. It was just what my body craved on a hot as Hell day in Atlanta. Chilled broth, noodles, tomatoes muddled together--it was different from everything else I had tasted--and it was delicious. Sadly, my vote did not garner a win for the restaurant, but I’m almost certain no one cared because everyone was happy, drunk, and suffering from heat exhaustion. 

AKTF is a good time and an excuse for the city’s restaurants to strut their stuff for charity--The Giving Kitchen and Georgia Organics (2014 raised over $120k for these do-gooding orgs.) And for those who felt let down by TomatoStock ‘14, I’m pretty sure this year redeemed all the mud-stained, tomato splattered white frocks that were sent to the cleaners, the broken heels and dreams shattered, and soaked seersucker.  

Attack of the Killer Tomato Fest - Atlanta - benefiting The Giving Kitchen and Georgia Organics 

For more details on the photos: https://instagram.com/sopermckibben/

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This beautiful piece of craftsmanship is by a good friend of mine, Josh Miley, who likes to “play” with vintage wood in his spare time. He drinks his whiskey (a man after my own heart) and whittles while listening to Blues. Such a Southern (hipster) thing to do, right? And I love him for it. 

Recently, while fiddling around with some timbers he had acquired, Josh started carving out spoons. You know, like the one your granny always used to stir everything under the sun with, or swat your butt with when you mouthed off, or both. I speak from personal experience. HEY! It was the 70s before all that helicopter parenting bullshit. But I digress.

I asked Josh to make me a spoon the minute I laid my baby blues upon one of his incredible creations. You see, he and his lovely, Rachel, make all sorts of custom goods. She is partial to costume frocks, accessories, and scrubs while Josh focuses his talents on furniture and things made of trees. The Mileys are super crafty folk. I am super not. So instead, I admire their handiwork by buying and showing it off. Crafting things and shopping small in the South is kind of way of life. It’s just what we do. It’s in our blood...along with whiskey.  

This particular spoon is made from 150 year old cherry, and is as solid as a damn rock. I hate clichés, but it works in this case. What I love about the spoon - besides the fact that a friend made it - is the amount of detail Josh has put into its creation. From the carefully carved depth of the basin to the curves in the back of the handle, Josh has left his mark upon the wood. That’s the real charm of reclaimed wood - the drawing out of the textual beauty while leaving in the imperfections. I love the imperfect perfection of handcrafted items. You just can’t mass produce that; nor can you see the love that was poured into the making of a thing like this. For many craft folk like Josh and Rachel, producing their wares is as much about the love of it as it is the peace it brings them after a long day working their 9 to 5s. 

Help a brother and sister out. If you love to cook, know someone who loves to cook, or just want to hang it up on your wall to admire and make your friends THINK you know how to cook, check out www.mileymade.com. 

Miley Made - Atlanta, GA - Custom-made, handcrafted costumes, decor, furniture, thingles made from trees and such. 

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Shameless plug: I have some rather talented friends in the indie film biz. Ok, they’re crazy-talented, not to mention super inspiring to me as a fellow creative. Their story goes a little something like this...

Jen West met James Martin a few years back at a party. Sparks flew, stars aligned, and BAM! - the two became one both in love and in their creative endeavors. One house, three cats, and a spicely-named dog later, they have started a production company (Four x Productions,) wrapped on a currently film fest-touring short (Little Cabbage,) are writing and producing a full-length feature based on the aforementioned short, and are now in the process of funding their next project, a docu-short on the history of New Orleans’ most famous character (in my mind,) the Sazerac. Oh, and this is all done in addition to their regular day jobs, because --> “starving artist” and all of its second-hand, repurposed accoutrements. 

Supporting Sazerac:  Aside from being a BIG fan of cocktails, and for me in particular, the Sazerac, Jen and James are incredibly creative, busy, driven people, and they make me smile all the livelong day. Since most of us working within creative fields like film, the written word, art, and music have to scrap or work several jobs to make a living, many of our projects and dreams either take years to come to fruition or fall by the wayside due to lack of funding. So with that in mind, and because if you read this Tumblr, you’re most likely a cocktail drinker (lush,) do this...

Jen and James have begun a Seed & Spark campaign for Sazerac. Rather than go on and on (and on) about how much I love these two, their work, and my strong belief in said work, just watch and learn why you too should support this doc-tail. 

CHEERS to (the) Sazerac, y’all! 

WATCH THIS --> http://www.seedandspark.com/studio/new-orleans-sazerac then donate...every little bit helps. 

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When you spend three whole days boozing, eating, and boozing some more with 2000 over-served gourmands, you see and hear a lot…A LOT. I mean, what’s more fun than watching people who’ve paid an exorbitant amount of money wade through the culinary quagmire in the tents at Atlanta Food and Wine as they try to balance themselves holding several mini-tails in one hand while sucking down oysters swimming in potlikker in the other? Nothing, that’s what! It’s truly the most expensive and amazing people-watching ever!

So, in the spirit of all the ridiculousness (the good, the bad, and the WTF kind) the festival brings to this gateway Southern city, I give you:

20 Things Overheard at ATLANTA FOOD AND WINE 2015:

‘Opening Toast’ in the Loews Hotel lobby: Girl 1: “Do you think anyone will notice if I stand on this table to see?” Girl 2: “Who cares…champagne!”

Fact according to Andy Nelson of Belle Meade Bourbon...“There are more bourbon barrels than people in the state of Kentucky.”

The always eloquent Greg Best ... “This is a learning experience - but really, we’re just here to get fucked up.”

It’s all downhill from here...“When I switch from hard cider to bourbon, and I’m not being supervised…all is lost.”

Cocktail wisdom from David Wondrich... “Don’t invite the wrong people to your cocktail party. This isn’t your wedding!”

Heidi Trull of Grits and Groceries embracing her Truth: “I’m nearing 50. I have a husband, a job I love, and a successful restaurant, so it’s ok to let myself go!”

One very unhappy man... “This un-aged whiskey tastes like gasoline and ass.”

Exclaimed or proclaimed... “I can’t do oysters in potlikker in this sweaty tent! I might die!” Ok then, ma’am.

Upon the breaking of festival glasses on concrete... “Opa!” (on repeat)

Tent pimpin... “You get the VIP cup!”

Strategery... “Y’all! I have a no-fail tent strategy, follow me! Forward, ho!”

The damn truth... “If you don’t have a roadie from your cocktail class, you’re doing festival life wrong.”

Tent probs... Person 1: “Are you going to eat that?” Person 2: Yes!” <slaps hand>

Southern (festival) reality... “I might have peeled my clothes off last night after the tents.”

Always check with your wife... “Do I like crudo, honey?”

Le duh... “The caviar makes this a fancy Croque Monsieur. Wait. Is that an oxymoron in France?”

Spiked heels+mud = “I’m sinking! Woman down! Save my wine!”  

The ‘fun house’ tent... “Is Mississippi on a slope or am I that drunk already?”

Obviously...or not... “There is a distinct difference between resting bitch face and crowded food tent face.”

In closing, David Wondrich would like you to always remember... “Cocktail means chaos, so plan your parties wisely.”

Cheers, and thanks, AFWF, for one hell of a shindig!

SAVE THE DATE:  

Atlanta Food and Wine Festival 2016 - Midtown Atlanta - June 2-5, 2016

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Recommended (Porch) Sipping: “The Dynamo of Dixie” (it should be at 113 proof) Chattanooga Whiskey’s 1816 Cask.

On a rainy night in Georgia, five friends gathered on a porch, ate burgers and deviled eggs laced with Doux South chow chow, and then proceeded to empty a bottle of “1816 Cask” in about two hours. True story. We sipped, supped, talked principles of Southern gothic literature, the still troubling double-standards women face in the workplace, and most notably, of our own dreams - even the outrageously far-fetched ones. It was like a scene out of the movie “Gothic” - without the opium-induced nightmares, Frankenstein, and sex on Lord Byron’s estate. It was a PG night on the porch, y’all. 

My porch, with its whiskey-ladened bar cart, has been the scene of many nights like this. An outdoor living room, an extension of our home, a room with a world view - like any good Southern porch, right? Add organically-grown conversation through spirited means, and you have a damn near perfect evening in the South.

Random (Whiskey) Musing: Witnessing the results of one of these hours-long porch sessions may be the best by-product. Some dreams discussed over first-rate whiskey such as Chattanooga, have taken shape; even if a few ideas are still currently in blob form. This isn’t the falling-down-drunk ramblings of over-worked, over-stressed city folks. No. This is something beautiful. That little buzz you get in the temple, the tingly warmth you feel all over after a couple pours is just what the mind needs to relax enough to connect the dots and spark those sinewy brain fibers. The creative process is forged in many ways - through various channels. Sometimes a good whiskey is involved, sometimes coffee, sometimes a chat with a like-mind, sometimes, well, after really good sex. Or maybe that’s just me. Not sorry. 

The thing about drinking solid whiskey like the aforementioned “Dynamo of Dixie,” is it forces you to slow down and savor. Let’s face it, if you’re guzzling it, you’re doing it way-the-fuck wrong. A quality whiskey neither burns, nor sours, nor falls flat on the palate. It lingers quietly, tempting you back for a just a nip more. A good whiskey is meant to be appreciated, unhurried, preferably sipped in the company of good friends, while helping to conjure those fantastic conversations. Whether you drink it neat, on the rocks, or with a little branch is neither here nor there. 

CHEERS! So, here’s to you Chattanooga Whiskey! Thanks for bringing a few harried souls together during a rain-soaked Southern evening to imbibe on fine spirits and share their aspirations with one another. This old porch contains 85 years worth of dreams and stories, all safely stored within its white-columned walls. A few more were added that night, I can tell you.

GOLDEN RULE: What’s said on the porch, stays on the porch.

Chattanooga Whiskey Company - Chattanooga, TN - 1816 Cask, 113 proof (bit of spice with little burn, has a rye quality to it, great sipping whiskey) 

Found in Tower Atlanta’s craft whiskey section - average price $30.

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The Dish: Red quinoa, fava, avocado, cilantro, radish, cucumber, cashew lime butter.

The Drink: the smooth classic, Sazerac (whiskey, simple syrup, absinthe, bitters, lemon)

Ah yes, Bocado. How I’ve missed your patio, your deviled eggs, THAT burger. Most rave about the righteous beefiness of the burger made most famous by Bocado’s former chef, Todd Ginsberg, but as much as I adore it, I gotta give it up for my favorite palate-pleaser, the red quinoa. Wait. What? But the burger? 

Tangent: I know, I know, fucking quinoa...the kale of grains...over their celebrated burger in all its bread n’ buttery, melty cheese lusciousness. Didn’t the New York Times declare the quinoa trend over in March? Maybe for the herds who like to follow each other over culinary cliffs with their listicles, but for me, quinoa is not a secret lover. I’ll declare my devotion for this all-purpose super grain loud and proud every damn time. What can I say? I like what I like. 

Reunited: I’ve not been to Bocado in quite a while. Let’s just say our relationship is complicated and we needed to take a break. When a friend texted me to hit up their patio for dinner (she was in need of personal burger worship,) I said sure, why not. I can be adult about this.  

I wasn’t particularly hungry, so I scanned the small plates for a light dish with a bit of protein. BAM! Red quinoa with avocado, fava beans, and cashew lime butter. It would pair nicely with the lovely Sazerac I was sipping. Whiskey. I drink that shit with everything...almost. I had totally forgotten about this dish during our break-up. It served me well for dinner, and satiated any hunger pangs that were gnawing at my belly. A fresh and simply-flavored dish. There’s really nothing fancy pants about it, y’all. Although, I’m pretty sure the magic unicorn of this vegetarian medley is the cashew lime butter. A little sweet, a little tart, a lot of tasty nut butter. 

Random Suggestion (do it): With the arrival of Atlanta’s new food delivery darling, Postmates, might I suggest courting Bocado? If only to deliver that burger (and quinoa) to my face? And all your faces, too...lord! Simmer down. 

Bocado - Atlanta, GA - Westside (spacious patio WITH fans, solid bar program, one of the best burgers in town, those deviled eggs, valet & street parking)

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Hell yeah! It’s snack time, y’all! Or what I like to call, “Holy shit, it’s only 3pm, I’ve been awake since 5:30, the kids are almost home, I still have tons of work, I need a siesta like whoa” o’clock. 

Alas, no nap. BUT! I spent a few minutes (wasted time) wading through music and devised this playlist involving snack foods with sexual and drug-related innuendos (mostly sex - going to Hell) while eating an apple (Red Vines) in order to stay awake. 

Enjoy this musical interlude filled with lust, rage, and sticky things. 

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Inhaled: Pork sausage with turnip and English pea puree from H. Harper Station.

Can we talk about how beautiful this dish is for a second, please? Seriously, it was even more impressive in person. It was so splendid, I didn’t want to touch it. But duh, I totally ate the whole fucking thing!

Saturday was Derby Day in the South. That meant horses, hats, and lots of whiskey! My man and I have our own Derby tradition - we destroy an entire board of meat and cheese on our sun-filled porch, while sucking back Old Fashioneds about two hours before the start of the actual race. Needless to say, we weren’t particularly starved when it came time for our 8pm reservation. We did know we wanted to continue to take full advantage of the beautiful day, so decided to dine on the patio at perennial favorite, H. Harper Station.

FYI: Let it be known, they had just finished throwing the mother of all Derby parties. By the exhausted-looking faces of the servers, as well as owners, Jerry and Krista Slater, that place had been bursting at the masoned seams with seersuckered, bonneted bourbon drinkers all afternoon. When we arrived there were still a few frilly-frocked hangers-on sitting by the fountain sucking down the last dribbles of their Mint Juleps. Party’s over, ladies. Exit stage left.

The Dish and Rambling:  So back to the petite portion of encased swine. This was a small plate...apparently. While it looks quite compact and dainty, it was anything but; squeezing every ounce of luscious, porky goodness into a neat and tidy package. Add those crisp, thinly-sliced turnips and the mellow sweetness of the English peas and you, H. Harper, have won my heart...again. Come to think of it, Spring and Summer may be my very favorite time to dine here. Don’t get me wrong, H. Harper is always a solid choice for dinner - can’t go wrong with the Beltline Burger and tater tots - but I find that their food really shines during Atlanta’s warmer months. Call it the lack of Seasonal Affect Disorder pissing us all off or simply the abundance of more local ingredients to work with, but the plates are full of everything that’s beautiful about eating fresh in the South. For instance, I recall last Summer lapping up a gorgeous farro salad with field peas and heirloom tomatoes and relishing each bite of a glazed pork belly with coucous and pickled vegetables. There’s just something about the warm weather that brings out the Sunday best in their dishes. Frankly, I don’t care what the hell it is, y’all, just keep doing your thing!

Pros-etic Aside: It seemed fitting on this most-celebrated of Southern Saturdays that we officially kicked off patio season at one of our favorite restaurants with Mint Juleps and a taste of Spring under a nearly-full moon. But wherever you choose to do so, Atlanta’s cocktailing diners will continue to sip and sup al fresco until the temperatures dip and the sun no longer glows late into the evening, finally forcing the reluctant retreat indoors - if only for a few short months.

H. Harper Station - Atlanta, GA - Reynoldstown (they do vegetables and pork serious justice, impressive whiskey/scotch list, superb cocktails/punches)

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Scene: My Westside kitchen this morning, post 13-mile cycle, after lovingly telling (yelling) my eldest she could not stream “House” because ADHD+TV before school=distraction, feeling terribly middle-aged mom... 

Drinking my freshly-made smoothie, I began to scroll (distract myself) through Instagram. As I slumped into the wood glue-encrusted, much-loved on youth chair I’ve sat in since childhood, I came across this snap of the broccoli cheese quiche and ham, egg, and cheese on toasted brioche from Little Tart Bakeshop. Call it seeking comfort while wallowing in my lack of gentile mothering skills, but my smoothie (first breakfast) just wasn’t cutting it. If it had not been for my needing to drive my eldest to school, you can bet your booty I would have grabbed my keys and driven the 4.5 traffic-laden miles to LTB! Divine intervention? Perhaps.

‘Spiritual’ Reflection: This photo was clicked as the sun rose over these gorgeous bites at Krog Street Market on a very quiet (entire city was hungover from Inman Park Festival) Sunday morning. I took it as a sign from God that I should eat these. And I did. And they were damn good!  Who am I to argue with God? I ALMOST went back for a cheddar waffle (which they only serve on the weekends,) but suddenly the clouds crept in, covering the sunny spot we occupied, while darkness fell upon the land. (dramatic pause) Maybe it was a yet another sign from God that the waffle would most definitely go straight to my thighs. 

Little Tart Bakeshop - Atlanta, GA (Krog Street Market or Octane Coffee in Grant Park - counter service, eat all the things)

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Scene: Saturday night. Monthly reservation at BoccaLupo. Been up since 6am racing, festivaling with friends, beer drinking, possibly eating Publix fried chicken straight from the box...

BoccaLupo is by far my favorite place to sup in Atlanta. So much so, that when my daughter came home Thursday with a Saturday night party invite, I scrambled to find a sitter for my youngest, as well as a ride home for her from the party (yep, I’m that mom.) BoccaLupo contains my dining trifecta: great booze, scrumptious, beautifully presented food, warm atmosphere and service. I am always well-fed but never, “Holy shit, the food is crammed into every orifice I could find” or “Wow, I just ate that entire meal in six bites.” FACT: Neither experience is satisfying no matter how pretty or heaping the plates may be when they arrive at the table. 

For me, BoccaLupo represents the apex of what restaurants (should) strive for: fresh ingredients, knowing how to prepare and use said ingredients to build flavor, food presentation, which in turn evokes a positive emotional response in guests when eating the finished product. Emotion? Who cares! Um, restaurants should, because for me (and most of the human race,) what makes someone continually return to a place (become a regular) has as much to do with the delicious fare as it does the feeling one gets while eating and dining in the space. Do I feel comfortable? Do I feel welcome? There’s a reason why off-duty chefs and industry folks frequent this joint, and why it’s not a place you can just waltz into on a Saturday night and expect to be seated immediately; even at their small bar. This is an unpretentious restaurant serving a seasonally changing, fucking delicious menu. Nothing is forced - just an organic experience - like the dining equivalent of a choose your own adventure book. 

Drink: Swing Low - cognac, tawny port, amaro ciociaro, lemon bitters. This drink seems like it should be a night ender, but both aged spirits play well off of each other and are paired nicely with the amaro; which gives it a hint of sweetness to the bawdy warmth of the cognac and port. In other words, it won’t put hair on your chest, ladies. 

Antipasti: Timmy shrimp and butter bean salad - country ham and chili brodo. I adore this dish, y’all. Thinly sliced pieces of salty ham coupled with slightly dill marinated shrimp in broth...such a great spring dish. It was like eating Easter on the Gulf.

English pea sformato - charred ramps, coriander, carrot vinaigrette. Everything from presentation to flavor to texture was perfect. A light, vegetarian souffle of sorts.  

Main: Bucatini - smoked bacon, red onion, thick pomodoro, pecorino. I lust after the bucatini here. It has warmed me on cold January nights and refueled my weary body in August after a sweaty long run. 

Server Shout Out: Johnny has lead us through two meals in the most congenial, non-hovery way. He even tolerates my occasional potty mouth with his sweet smile. I think he must hear a lot of “Holy hell, this is good” come out of folks’ mouths. Also, I’m pretty sure BL is down with spontaneous bouts of cussing due to possible religious experiences brought on by their food. 

BoccaLupo - Atlanta, GA - Inman Park (reservation recommended, not best for groups of more than six, stellar wine list)

Opinions are my own, based on my experiences; because I don’t really care if you agree with me or not. 

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Yes, I was back at Oddbird last night with ten amazing friends (eccentrics,) including the pop-up’s menu and site designer, Mr. Ashley Putnam. 

Aside: Attention all you restaurant types! Check out his work if you dig smart, out-of-the-box whimsy with a dash of humor.

Biscuit: There was a steady stream of patrons during our time at the ‘Bird (6-8pm,) and the line moved fairly quickly. I decided to try a regular old butter lard-laden chicken biscuit with cheddar cheese, seasonal jam (strawberry,) and a side of three bean salad <--- as delicious as The General Muir’s cucumber salad, y’all. The biscuit was large and in charge. I had to cut that thing with a knife and fork (this is NOT tweezer food!) The chicken was cooked the way I like it; tender with a slightly crispy skin - seasoned properly without too much salt. I do not like crisped within an inch of its life, overly-briny fried chicken. Yep. Not a fan of when the skin completely separates from the meat, leaving you with two components; one full of flavor and one, well, just chicken. I expect some skin droppings on my plate, but not a naked bird with its clothing tossed to the side like a one-night stand. By the way, the actual biscuit is legit. Butter lard works for me.

Drink: Because I was too busy shoving food in my face while trying not to talk with my mouth full, I forgot to note the ingredients in the Whiskey Smash. So, whiskey and blueberries - that’s all I’ve got. I found it not too sweet, a bit tart, and easy to sip. The whiskey was definitely present, but not overpowering. The drink is reminiscent of sangria. Nice warm weather cocktail, and can act as your fire extinguisher if you choose to melt your face off with the TOO HOT chicken - which very much lives up to its moniker. I might have taken a bite of my husband’s biscuit when he wasn’t looking...somehow he knew...and laughed at me.

Oddbird (aka West Egg Cafe’s hot stepsister) - Atlanta, GA (pop-up, counter service) Wednesday - Saturday 5:30 pm to 9:30 pm

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The last soft light of dusk falls upon the porch...

Angel’s Envy port barrel finish bourbon, Old Fashioned lowballs, and rosé flutes - because Champagne gives me a headache, y’all. All this set atop my $10 gaudy, metal, flea market-find service tray. Shabby chic or just too lazy to pull out a nicer piece from my ever-accumulating jumble of bargain treasures? Yes, it was the official opening of ‘Ladies Porch’ season. 

Random: I really need to find a spiffy rolling bar cart. I know, I know...I don’t own one?! No, because I’m too busy investing (hoarding) in all the glassware. Watch out Kimball House, my collection may rival soon. Not really, but a girl can dream of her sideboard filled with handsome vintage vessels, right? 

Last night’s damage by the six lovelies on my porch: 

Three bottles of rosé wiped out (in 2 hours)

Half a bottle of bourbon savored

One large platter of charcuterie wolfed

One assorted box of Star Provisions cookies ravaged

World’s problems miraculously solved

We may be ladies, but we eat and drink like a pack of wild dogs after a fresh kill. Sorry, friends. Our reputations as gourmands (you know this word applies to you too) was at stake. I couldn’t let this pretty picture ruin that and make folks think we are classy and demure! Phew! Reps intact. I’m such a good friend. 

Star Provisions (WSPD) - Atlanta, GA (bakery, meat, cheese, coffee shops, gifts, sandwiches) Closed Sundays

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This poor coaster at Superica looked lonely. So, since I’m such a nice person, I asked the bartender to make it a friend. 

The O.G.: El Jimador Reposado, triple sec, fresh lime, short and strong or on the rocks. Solid day drink. Classic marg. 

Please to note: The patio is superior but in high demand on lovely, warm evenings and weekends - plan accordingly. Love the bar for a quick weekday lunch and a bit of work. Sunny, spacious, comfy seats. Staff is very friendly. Descent mezcal selection. 

Superica Mex Tex - Krog Street Market - Atlanta, GA (no reservations)

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Life’s short and treats happen. Sometimes on my porch...with whiskey...and charcuterie...after dinner. I like to experiment with flavors.

Tiny Buffalo Baking Co. Small but Mighty -  Atlanta, GA

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Coffee. You could say we are in a loving, yet somewhat unnaturally codependent relationship. It is a well-documented fact, that while I may be a morning person, you DO NOT attempt to speak to me until I’ve had my coffee. Break this rule, suffer consequences which could include unmitigated forms of incoherent rage speak or burn-through-your-soul side-eyes. Sometimes both. 

Saturday was just such an occasion. No one was safe. That’s why I was thrilled when friend and mega-talented designer, James Martin, texted me to say that not only would there be cold-brew coffee at Root City Market, but he had designed the label. Hooray! The typography nerd in me is digging everything about this design.

I’m a big fan of cold brew coffee, especially on sultry summer days. There’s something about a cup of joe on ice when it’s 80 degrees with 1000% humidity. Atlanta’s Wanderlust Cold Brew is making that happen for me. Not only is this small-batched quality brew, it’s fucking delicious. I don’t usually put anything in my coffee (even iced,) but for those who do, there’s no need with Wanderlust. I sipped on their Nitro on tap and was surprised by how much flavor was still packed in after 30 minutes of ice melt meandering through a crowded market. Bold yet crisp. Totally drinkable and pleasant. So smooth, y’all. Not a hint of acidity; which happens so often with cold brews. 

So what the hell does ‘Nitro’ mean? While it does pack a punch, it doesn’t refer to the caffeine calibration. Nitro refers to how it’s processed through the tap (think Guinness,) using nitrogen to tone down the acidity and give it a creamier texture. You might even get a little head on that coffee. What?! The nitrogen bubbles also help to preserve the aroma longer on the palette. It’s all about that mouthfeel, for you craft beer drinkers.

So there you go - what I will be drinking throughout the hellaciously hot Atlanta summer or during my occasional lady hot flashes. 

Wanderlust Cold Brew Coffee - Atlanta, GA

Where to Buy Bottles:

The Mercantile

Savi — Inman Park

Savi — Brookhaven

Oakhurst Market

3 Parks Wine

Wahoo! Wine and Provisions

The Beehive Atlanta

Crafted Westside

Pijiu Belly

Kiwi Vintage Market

New Ground Market

On Ice is Nice:

The Pinewood Tippling Room 

[casualgourmand-blog]

That time my breakfast totally kicked your breakfast’s weeny ass. 

After a tough 9 mile run, I craved comfort - because I was sulking. Fearing for the lives of our children, the man quickly whisked me away (might have carried me to the car) to Spice to Table at Studioplex in the Old Fourth Ward for a late breakfast. 

What you see above was eaten by two extremely hangry runners: roasted squash, zucchini, carrots, sweet potato, and a spiced pear. Sweet pea and spicy curry chicken samosas (holy hell, those were so good.) And because my dear heart and lovely husband really wanted a burger, Asha Gomez (chef/owner/badass) suggested the north Indian-style beef kabob. I’ve never seen someone take down a dish that fast! Bastard didn’t leave me a single bite! Ah well, I still love the guy; even if he’s a burger whore...I mean hoard. That chai, y’all...best in Atlanta! Sweet caffeinated nectar (crack) of the gods. 

Marriage intact. Children’s lives spared (today.) No one suffered from my middle-aged mom, runner rage. 

Spice to Table - Old Fourth Ward at Stupioplex (counter service)

Monday-Saturday 10:30 am - 3:30 pm