What You Really Know About the Dirty South?

Before moving to the City of Angels, I lived in Atlanta. I moved there straight from college and spent six important years in the Dirty South. For the most part I loved it and those were happy years. My twenties – the salad days, if you will. And, with the exception of one very brief visit to a friend, I had not returned.

Until now.

One of the beefs I had with the ATL when I was there was the sprawl (and so, of course, I moved to LA). The city seemed disconnected as a whole. I remember the nail in the coffin for me and the ATL - I was walking down the street in my neighborhood, Little 5 Points, when a friend drove by, honked his horn and hollered, “What up, Duchess?!” (Yes, that was my nickname). I don't know what it was about that moment. I suppose I had been itchy already, but right then I felt like I couldn't breathe. Despite the sprawl, despite the city-ness of the city, everything seemed so small. I needed to fly away. I needed to find bigger. And so I did.

It's a funny thing, however. After all of my years in LA, the very thing thing I really missed, the thing I yearned for the most was exactly the thing I had turned away from in Atlanta all those years before. Screw anonymity, screw the whole little fish/big pond thing, I wanted community and family. I wanted little(r), not big(gest). I wanted to return home to Richmond.

So, how could I not stop in Atlanta, the very city that took me on my long journey back home? (And I do so love to come full circle) Plus, it has become a pretty big food destination over the past few years. What's more, some of my old friends from back in the day are smack in the middle of this Atlanta, New South food surge. And some other old friends are still making their food, their way, deliciously, same as it ever was. And I had three places to visit that fell into either one, the other, or both of these categories.

Our first stop was one of those classics, El Myr. It was my Regal Beagle, so to speak, and perhaps where the whole “duchess” thing originated. Part dive bar, part DJ venue, part diner, part tattoo corral, all cheap beer, tequila, chips, salsa, guacamole and massive burritos. I was relieved to find, upon bellying up to the bar one quiet afternoon for lunch, that not a thing has changed. Every possible surface is covered with outsider art or band stickers, ashtrays on each table, jukebox in the corner, and the same gloriously irreverent and surly staff: perfect. As Fred and I split chips, salsa and guacamole, a couple of sweet teas and a Brunswick stew burrito that was the size of our dog, Eduardo, I gazed around the space, nostalgically. If those walls could talk... Actually, I'm glad they can't. As soon as we finished, I hurried Fred out. Just in case.

El Myr's 14th birthday party
Photo courtesy of El Myr

The next morning was slotted for brunch at another restaurant that held a special place in my heart, a spot that employed me for my last year in Atlanta: Ria's Bluebird. Ria is a local celebrity of sorts in Atlanta and has been for as long as I can remember. Everyone knows Ria. And, likewise, everyone knows her namesake restaurant famous for its brunch. In fact, Ria recently appeared on the Food Network's show, Chopped. It was a brunch battle. Ria won. Even on a weekday there was a bit of a wait in her tiny little nook on Memorial Drive, but fortunately Fred and I most often prefer to dine at the counter, and, after about ten minutes, we had our seats. And then we dove in: two coffees, huevos (grilled, blue corn tortillas with black and pinto beans, topped with white cheddar, two fried eggs, salsa and sour cream), biscuits and gravy (two handmade buttermilk biscuits with pepper milk gravy), and a short stack of buttermilk pancakes, aka “The world's best pancakes” - New York Times (hand-sifted, made from scratch, with hot maple syrup). Chopped champion? “World's best pancakes”? I get it. This is food for the heart, mind and soul. 

After that meal, we returned to our home base: my dear, dear friend, Brian's house, at which point we all three decided we should take a walk. Brian led us to Atlanta's newest, and probably most attractive addition yet; the BeltLine. The BeltLine is a former railway corridor around the core of Atlanta which is under development in stages as a multi-use trail. Some portions are already complete, while others are still in progress, but absolutely hikeable. We walked from Brian's house, which is a stone's throw from my old apartment, all the way to the dog run in Piedmont Park. Though there and back took the better part of the afternoon, the concept of that route being realistically walkable in that amount of time would have been completely unheard of during my time in Atlanta. To see all of the people walking, riding their bikes or skateboarding, through the heart of a city as car-centric as Los Angeles was remarkable, and truly a beautiful sight. Kudos, ATL.

Brian and yours truly making happy faces.

Alright, we all three had exercised, we got sunshine, some beautiful fall scenes, a lot of laughter and conversation, and now were showered and ready for our fancy dinner at my third, planned destination: Miller Union. As a result of more old friends and Facebook and other social media, I had been hearing about the development of Miller Union long before they opened in late 2009. Plus all those years ago, their chef, Steven Satterfield had worked at quite a few well-known and well-respected restaurants in Atlanta (one with Ria!) and was my roommate's bandmate. So I was very much looking forward to saying hello and finally experiencing this New South food magic he has been creating that has been mentioned in every, single food-related magazine that I have touched in the past few years. But really, one dish in particular, I'd say their most iconic dish: his farm egg baked in celery cream.That's right - a single, beautiful, farm fresh egg with that bright orange yolk suspended in cream, infused with the earthiness of celery, and baked until it's set like custard, and served with a crisp, buttery slab of grilled country bread. This dish exemplifies freshness, simplicity, restraint and beauty.

That alone, and of course a little QT and a glass of wine with Steven after dinner was well worth the entire evening.

What a trip.

Atlanta, you surprised and delighted me on many levels. You gave me three days with Brian, good wine, delicious food, first glimpses of fall, pride and confidence in growth and change for the better, wonderful and profound memories of a life and a me that I had almost forgotten – and missed. You took sprawl and created cohesion. Atlanta, you are big and beautiful and doing things right. And though I am confidently heading towards my new home, I will keep all of these thoughts tucked not too far away. Because you never know. You never do.

Signed,

The Duchess

Farm Egg Baked in Celery Cream
(Recipe adapted from Stephen Satterfield, Miller Union, Atlanta)

Serves 2

Ingredients

1/3 cup fresh cream


2 stalks celery, including leaves, roughly chopped


1 shallot, sliced, including skin


1/2 small onion, sliced, including skin


1 tsp kosher salt


3 peppercorns


1 small bay leaf


1 sprig fresh thyme


butter for greasing  


2 farm fresh eggs

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a small saucepan, gently heat cream, celery, shallot, onion, salt, peppercorns, and herbs until very hot. Remove from heat and let steep for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, lightly butter two small ovenproof ramekins and crack an egg into each, being careful not to break the yolk. Strain the cream into a small bowl, gently pressing on the solids. Discard solids. Spoon cream over each egg just until covered. (It's okay if the egg yolk is protruding slightly across the top.)

Bake dishes in preheated oven for 5 to 6 minutes. Check closely to make sure the whites are setting but the yolk is still soft. Then turn the oven to broil and, with the door propped open, heat until tops begin to brown. Remove immediately and let rest a minute before serving. Serve with warm crusty bread brushed with olive oil.

Printable recipe.

Two years ago: M.B. Post
Three years ago: Sausage over Creamy Lentils
Four years ago: Chicken Fricassee

Deep in the heart of Texas.

We arrived at our next stop after a long day on the road. We had driven all day and only been in one state – so you know we must have been in Texas. I was extra excited because A) I was meeting an old friend I hadn't seen since college, and B) I had never, ever been to Texas before. One thing for sure; there would be BBQ.

Now, I'm from the East Coast and that's usually the Carolina style BBQ camp. This means the meat (usually pork) is served pulled, shredded, or chopped. The predominant flavor is that vinegar-based sauce - it's tart. And cole slaw is invariably on top of it. Texas BBQ sauce is darker, thicker, tomato-ier, it's sweet. And this Q is slaw-free (or, at least, on the side).

After a fury of back and forth texting from the road with my friend, we agreed to meet at the landmark Texas BBQ joint, The Salt Lick. It worked out beautifully as we rolled into town in the middle of a beautiful sunset. The restaurant wasn't too far from their house – a little ways out of Austin, on the side of a long, lonesome, bucolic road in Driftwood, Texas. They call it Hill Country.

Opened in 1969 by Augustus 'Texas Boy' Roberts, Sr. and his wife, The Salt Lick grew quickly in popularity and went from being open only a few times a year to being open seven days a week. Upon walking into the large, ye olde wagon wheel, lodge-like space, I was greeted immediately by the massive open BBQ pit filled with MEAT.

Between the four of us we ordered everything – brisket, pork ribs, beef ribs, sausage, turkey and a half of a chicken. All of which came with sides of potato salad, cole slaw, beans, bread, pickles and onions. 'Thurman's Plate' was put in front of me (because that's the dish that 'Poppa always ate'); brisket, pork ribs and sausage. We did get some sweet tea, but as for the adult beverages, BYO. Thankfully our friends brought a mobile cooler filled with local beers and a box of wine (!).

About mid-way and 32596 bites of that sweet, Texas barbeque'd meat through the meal my friend asked me, “So, do you think it's GOOOD or do you think it's good?” Fred and I looked at one another and then back to her and replied in unison, “I think it's good.” And that kind of says it all. It's a really wonderful experience. The space is fun and authentic. The BBQ pit is fantastic. The food comes out at a clip, is inexpensive (the entire meal for four was around $60) and there is a ton of it. The service is friendly and approachable. We had a box of wine. Maybe it's those Carolina BBQ roots, and though I thoroughly enjoyed my foray into Texas BBQ, it was good. Really good. And really fun.

Missing were the wheelbarrows to transport us back to our cars.

And after that day of driving and that meal, we slept a sound sleep deep in the heart of Texas.

Well, since it took two days to drive through Texas, you get to hear about two restaurants....

The next day's lunch was all mapped out. And it was all Fred. He has been an avid fan of Top Chef, along with me, for many seasons, and had been reading all about the former Cheftestant, Paul Qui, and his flourishing career in Austin. More interestingly to Fred, Qui's brick and mortar iteration of his East Side King food trucks.

We found it hiding in the back of a divy dive bar aptly called Hole In The Wall, across the street from UT. The ultimate college bar; dark, dingy, old school rock music blaring from the speakers, with pool tables, pinball machines, murals on the walls and band stickers on everything else. Qui uses this iconic space to flex his tasty, funky fusion street food riffs on Japanese, Thai and Filipino cuisines. Using the ubiquitous cilantro, mint, onion, jalapeño combination in many of the dishes, Qui throws a little shout out to Texas to boot. Boot. Texas. Get it? Hello?

Fred ordered the Thai Chicken Kara-age, Liberty Rice, Poor Qui’s Buns, Brussels Sprouts Salad, and the uber melting pot of a dish; Chicken Tortilla Ramen (bacon dashi, chicken-tortilla-Tom-Yum paste, chicken thigh, avocado, corn, corn tortilla, pickled yellow onion, jalapeño, cilantro, garlic, lime).

The food was audaciously impressive. The dishes were heartfelt, inspired and esoteric. Everything was bright and fresh and colorful. The Liberty Rice; simply steamed jasmine rice, ginger, garlic oil, basil, cilantro, mint, onion and jalapeño – yet, so bold and herbaceous. The ramen was the perfect Winter comfort soup - so complex, layered and delicious, we couldn't stop eating it in even the arid ninety degree heat. All of this beauty confidently served up in little paper dishes with little plastic utensils. And putting a mere $40 dent in the wallet.

We ate a lot of food – and fairly big food - but did not feel weighed down at all. I'd even say we left with a spring in our step and a long forgotten Clash song in our heads.

Paul Qui's Chicken Kara-age over Liberty Rice

Serves 4

Ingredients

Brine

1 cup water

1 cup sugar

1 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup fish sauce

1/4 cup chopped garlic

1/4 cup chopped thai chilies

Chicken

24 oz chicken thighs

1.5 fl oz of Chicken Brine

Sauce

1 cup water

1 cup sugar

1 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup fish sauce

1/4 cup chopped garlic

1/4 cup chopped thai chilies

1  1/2 cup Mae Ploy chili sauce

Liberty Rice

1 quart jasmine rice

1 quart water

1 tablespoon julienne ginger

1/2 cup garlic oil (heat chopped garlic in oil)

Veggies & Herbs

10 jalapeños

2 large yellow onions

1/4 bunch basil

1/4 bunch mint

1 bunch cilantro

Directions

Make the Brine

Place water, sugar, fish sauce and vinegar in bowl. Whisk until sugar is completely dissolved. Add garlic and thai chilies and whisk until both are well dispersed throughout the liquid.

Brine the Chicken

Take the chicken thighs and cut into 3/4-inch cubes, making sure to remove fat and tendons from the thighs. Place in bowl. Whisk previously prepared brine to redistribute garlic and chilies evenly. Ladle 1.5oz of brine into the bowl with the chicken and toss. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and let marinate for 8 hours before use.

Prepare the Sauce

Place water, sugar, fish sauce and vinegar in bowl. Whisk until sugar is completely dissolved. Add garlic and thai chilies to the mixture and whisk until both are well dispersed. Add mae ploy and whisk until combined with mixture.

Make the Liberty Rice

Wash rice in bowl until water runs relatively clear. Place rice in cooker and add 1 quart water. You want a 1:1 ratio of rice to water. Add ginger. Close lid and set the rice cooker to cook. Once the rice is done mix in garlic oil. Keep warm until ready to serve.

Meanwhile, Slice Jalapeños & Onions

Cut the ends and tips off of 10 large jalapeños. Using a mandolin slice the jalapeños into 1/8-inch slices. Cut the tops off of 2 large yellow onions. Peel onion halves making sure that the root of the onions remain. Slice the halved pieces of onion in half, so that the onions are now quartered. Using a mandolin slice the onion width wise into 1/8-inch slices. Place sliced jalapeños and onions in the fridge and hold until time to serve.

Prepare the Herb Mixture

Pick herbs, making sure that only the nicest green pieces are saved. Places herb mixture in bowl and toss herbs gently making sure that herbs are well mixed in the bowl. Place herbs in fridge and hold until time to serve.

Cooking and Serving

Place 1.5 pounds of brined chicken in a bowl. Pour cornstarch into the bowl and toss chicken, until well coated. Place coated chicken into sieve. Place sieve into empty metal bowl and shake chicken in the sieve until excess cornstarch falls into bowl underneath. Place chicken into fryer basket and drop into oil. Fryer should be at 375 degrees F. Cook chicken until crispy and golden brown. While chicken is cooking make sure to shake the basket so that the pieces are able to evenly cooked. Separate pieces using tongs if needed.

While the chicken is cooking take medium metal bowl and place small handful of onions and jalapeños in bowl. Set bowl aside until chicken is finished cooking.

When chicken is finished pull from oil and allowing excess oil to drain and the chicken to rest. Place chicken in the medium metal bowl that contains all the vegetables. Season chicken with 1/2 tablespoon of salt. Pour 1/4 cup chicken sauce over chicken. Toss chicken and vegetables in the sauce until all is evenly coated. The chicken and vegetables should have a nice glean to them but chicken should still be very crisp.

Place 3/4 cup cooking rice into individual bowls. Place chicken and vegetables on top of rice. Top with small handful herb mixture and your dish is ready to serve.

Serve the chicken piping hot with sliced onions and jalapeños. Top with mint, basil and cilantro.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Ham Hock & Lima Beans
Two years ago: Cousin Flonnie's Spoon Bread
Three years ago: Spaghetti & Meatballs
Four years ago: Calbi BBQ (Food Truck)

Check One-Two.

Fred and I just returned from our final trip to San Francisco before we embark on our Eastward adventure. Our last trip, period, before we head East. So, of course, I had a few restaurants, two in particular, to cross off my never ending list. One was Mission Chinese Food. I have been trying forever to find the perfect Chinese food spot. One that's not trying to keep up with the healthy Jones' (I want some of that MSG, umami, and some greasiness, dammit), one that's not too far off the beaten path (no molecular gastronomy here, please), but one that is trying to insert a modicum of creativity into the food. I have been coming up empty. To the universe's credit, I haven't been making any backbreaking attempts either. It would certainly not fall into 'my life mission' category. But, whenever I crave Chinese food I am reminded of the whole issue.

Well, now I'm even more irritated about this since I found EXACTLY what I was looking for in a city where I do not reside and in the very state I am leaving permanently in a few short weeks.

Within a couple of hours of waking up on our first morning, we grabbed coffee, picked up my Dad and his girlfriend, Dale, checked out the Diebenkorn exhibit at the de Young Museum, and found ourselves standing face to face with the wonky, old-school, hole-in-the-wall-Chinese-eatery, pop-up turned restaurant-within-a-restaurant, hipster-hot Mission Chinese Food.

Inside it was still, it was dark and it was hot. If you want ice in your drink, too bad. No ice.

I skipped breakfast for this so I could order as many different items as possible. So we did. Beers for the boys, soda for Dale and a grüner for me. Then we went for it: Beijing Vinegar Peanuts with smoked garlic, anise, fennel seeds, rock sugar ($5), Fresh Rice Noodle with peanut sauce, tofu skin, pickled mustard greens ($8), Stir-Fried Pork Jowl and Radishes with fermented black bean, shiso, mint ($12), Grandma's Spicy Lamb Dumplings with peanuts, dill pickles, chili oil ($9), Squid Ink Noodles with cumin, fennel and chick peas, lamb dipping broth (I can't recall the price), and finally Braised Pea Leaves with pumpkin, pressed tofu, salted chili broth ($12).

All of the flavors were bright, fresh, creative and surprising – think dill, smoked garlic, fennel, pumpkin, all mixed in with the tofu, pork jowl, dumplings, and rice noodles. And somehow, amidst all of this intrigue we were completely sated in the Chinese-food-craving department. This vibrant and intelligent food still had enough of the classic flavors and textures, even the oil, and the unctuous quality we know and love (within reason) about traditional Chinese food. And, no joke, I will be making those vinegar peanuts at home very soon. I could eat those forevers.

I will happily remember that meal for a very, very long time. I'm pretty sure we all will.

Check one.

The second place I knew I had to visit on our short trip was Tartine Bakery. I don't eat a ton of pastries, nor do I crave them very often. However, I have been really exploring the world of baking of late and am extremely interested in everything that goes into the science of it. More importantly, I am a sucker for an incredible butter croissant – and it's almost shocking how few I come across.

And so, on our last morning in San Francisco, while Fred was brunching and bonding with his Aunt and cousins, and Dad and Dale were wrapping things up and checking out of their their hotel, I knew exactly what I would be doing. I knew I had to go at it alone, and really, I wanted to. My dad would never in 2759870 million years have tolerated that line for a pastry, or anything really. Actually, I'm guessing no one involved in this trip would have wanted to endure that line unless it was to pick up their winning Powerball check.

So I hopped into Fred's car (a stick shift), clocked my destination on my smartypants phone and headed out, lurching and jerking along the way (it had been quite a while since I had driven a stick – and this was possibly the worst city to test that time lapse). After spending twenty minutes finding parking, which was about two blocks away, I walked up to the bakery and settled in back of the infernal eternal line, halfway down the block – and yes, it was formidable. And, no, there were no available seats inside or out by the time I received my order: a ham and cheese croissant, a plain butter croissant, a loaf of their sourdough bread and a latte (totaled around $20). So I walked back to the area where the car was and plopped right down on the curb.

I don't know. To most people none of this may sound appealing in the least: driving strange car in strange city to wait in seemingly endless line to get 'breakfast' only to find there is nowhere to sit and then sit on the side of the road in mid-August to drink hot coffee and eat a pastry. All alone. Not even a book to read.

Well, I'm not certain exactly what it was. The journey, the anticipation, or even the little spot in the shade all by myself, but that croissant and that latte and that moment were... perfect. I mean, perfect. It was one of those – and I've talked about them before – Cosmic Muffin moments. Those Nowhere-I'd-Rather-Be moments.

The latte was warm, rich, smooth and comforting. The croissant was flaky, crunchy, light and yet somehow strapping, with heft... and buttery, oh so buttery, like a delivery system of cultured French butter, buttery. After two bites in, it looked like there had been a flash snowfall of flaky crumbs around my toes on the sidewalk.

Nirvana, pure bliss; I was truly happy.

Check two.

And then I was ready. Ready to get back into the car and brave the drive to pick up the grow ups, then Fred, to head up for the bucolic segment of the trip: Inverness.


One year ago: Heirloom Melon & Tomato Gazpacho
Two years ago: Beer Braised BBQ Pork Butt
Three years ago: Classic Southern Deviled Eggs
Four years ago: Nebulous Misadventures (AKA The Lost Weekend)

Back to the Future

Prohibition Era Vibe Meets Post Modern Cuisine at Belmont Food Shop

I was back in my old stomping grounds last week. Spring in Richmond is breathtaking. Dogwoods, daffodils, azaleas, and zillions of tiny inchworms falling from the sky onto everything. Falling onto everything. That was a new one for me. I thought they were sort of cute and endearing and the whole thing seemed very biblical, or like the end of Magnolia, but with inchworms not frogs. Then I Googled 'inchworm' and changed my tune. Take a macro look at one of those bad boys and then see how cute one is inching its way up your sleeve. But still, Fred was way girlier about it than I was.

On our first night in town, my dad booked reservations (for three, of course) at the Belmont Food Shop. From my research in the world of social media, and hungrily reading everything food and drink related coming out of Richmond Magazine and Style Weekly, and whatever else I could get my eyeballs on months in advance, this was the restaurant I was most anticipating. Plus it is smack dab in my old neighborhood, literally one block from Dad's house. And since our flight had just arrived a few hours prior, it seemed perfect to be able to walk to and from dinner on a beautiful, warm evening.

Well, first off, this place is precious. Richmond has and always has had the market cornered on charming, intimate bistro environments, but this one takes the cake. A ye olde, prohibition-era looking cake that houses a mere five tables. And a sweet little bar with a handful of seats. At the sweet little bar a sweet little mixologizing is going on – with house made sodas. Just opened this past September; owner-chef Mike Yavorsky has created an enchanting atmosphere.

A few non-palate related things I like a lot about Belmont Food Shop:

They have three seatings each night – five o'clock, seven o'clock and nine o'clock. Simple. Makes sense. Everyone can own their table for two solid hours. And whomever deals with the reservations has a pretty straightforward system to work with.

The seasonal chalkboard menu's pricing is structured very intelligently – appetizers are $8, entrees are $20 and desserts are $6 (there are a few exceptions here and there (like foie gras(!))). And there is also the crowning glory of an option: the prix fixe. $36 will get you all three-courses plus a glass of wine, or one of those house-made sodas, or a beer. This pricing structure forces the diner to select what they really want to eat, not based on the dollar amount. 

As we sipped our bubbles/martini/artisanal cocktail, an amuse bouche, of sorts, appeared: a trio of gougéres. My dad will not put a bite of food into his mouth during martini o'clock. He will not do it. So Fred and I ate ours and his. They were a lovely touch, a beautiful, ephemeral texture, but a skoch under seasoned and/or under cheesed.

They boast a confident selection of Virginia wines that I was very curious to try. Dad wanted a Pinot Noir. The bartender let us taste the Virginia malbec which Dad quite liked, so we ordered a bottle. That's when he realized he thought he was tasting the Pinot Noir. I felt like we pulled the old smell the apple bite the onion trick from science class. And hopefully it opened up my dad's eyes a little about his wine options.

We started with the Crab and Avocado with Orange Gelée and Black Pepper, the Duck Confit with Orange and Fennel and the Foie Gras with Sally Lunn and Rhubarb Chutney. When our server arrived with our starters I was slightly surprised by the plating. And the plates. I was expecting modest, confident, simple, almost rustic looking food, but was presented with the whole small food, big plate thing. With lots of smears, droplets, and tweezer-placed elements. I was expecting far less composed dishes. I guess I'm just a little bit over that food aesthetic.

Coming from California, which now has the foie gras ban, I was elated to look down at that plate of foie. I found it so, so very, very clever that he made it Southern with the Sally Lunn roll, and I also appreciated the play on the varying levels of pedestrian and fancy pants by having them on the plate together. My dad was so pleased with the crab and avocado that Fred and I barely got our tastes in. It was bright, cool, colorful and refreshing. The confit came at us in salad form, and admittedly, we pretty much cherry picked the rich, succulent shreds of duck meat out and left the greens behind. And the dollops. There were dollops artfully dolloped across the plate reminiscent of a Man Ray photograph. Chestnut, perhaps?

Next up came Tuckahoe Veal with Bok Choy and White Beans. This was like a giant veal steak, and it had been thoughtfully braised for some generous amount of time. My dad was very impressed and said, more than once, that he had never had veal prepared in that style before. Fred's order of Seared Scallops with Peas, Mushrooms and Parsnips was simply beautiful. The colors were so saturated and lustrous it hardly looked real. This was an inspired dish with bold flavors and topped with beautifully, carmelizey-browned-to-a-crisp-on-the-outside, scallops. Me, I ordered the Chicken with Mushrooms, Greens & Fingerlings. I almost always order the chicken when dining out. It's my litmus test. Some folks think it's the throwaway dish. I think it can be the star. And my reasoning is, if the chef pays as much attention to the chicken as the more, shall we say, elevated dishes, then you'll end up eating some of the best chicken you've ever had. My chicken tastedgood. The skin was crisp and seasoned well. It was white meat, which is not my favorite, and was a little overcooked. I found myself taking each bite and dredging it through the pan sauce to bring some moisture back into the meat.

The service was attentive and kind, the food came out at a nice, leisurely pace, allowing us to really enjoy and savor those two hours during which the little table by the window was ours, all ours.

Chef Yavorsky clearly has a way with food. It's obvious he is putting forth a great deal of effort and thought into what he is serving. The space is beautiful, the cocktails are solid, the pricing is smart, the food is nice and I dig the wine list. I personally look forward to walking in again, bellying up to the bar, sampling the wines by the glass and having a couple of small plates.

One year ago: Zebra Tomato, Pistou Basil & Burrata Crostini

Two years ago: Classic Tuna Salad

Three years ago: Orzo Salad with Tomatoes, Feta, Spinach & Mint

Out of the Past(ure)

Lately I have been homesick. Really homesick. In no small part for calm and simplicity.  Many things recently have been so Sisyphean here in my City of Angels. Or so it seems.  Everything is so big and heavy and more difficult than necessary.  People appear to be filled with drama or anger, or both, and take it out on the other drivers (or pedestrians) on the road, the Census taker on the other end of the phone line, or their server in a restaurant. I can hardly say I blame them. It’s a vicious cycle that I have fallen prey to as a result of my own recent circumstances: the nightmare of my unpredictable and mean-spirited next door neighbor, my evil, evil landlord (EVIL. GRR.), Beso’s doctor who won’t call me back, running into one someone I’d rather never lay eyes on again during lunch at Cheebo, money, driving, gas prices, traffic, crowds. A little jaunt from Point A to Point B, more often than not, seems a fairly substantial undertaking.  Not to worry; buck up I will.

So very recently I went back home for a visit. Fred came with me. I was overwhelmingly excited to see my dad, Paz, Spencer and everyone. I was mostly looking forward to chilling out, slowing down. To walk places. To munch a ginormous sandwich from Coppola's Deli on the James River. To lounge on my back deck. And to eat. Okay, and to drink some wine.

On our first night I trumped Dad’s call to go to Acacia (his fave). I had been there. I wanted to try Pasture. I had been hearing good things. It was new. It just opened last November under chef Jason Alley, who we know from his RVA standby, Comfort, along a stretch of Grace Street that has likely waited far too long for a little attention.

Upon entering, the space sort of took me aback a bit. It didn’t feel like Richmond. Instead of small, intimate, cozy and warm, it was big and airy and shiny and modern. It was very designed. Actually, I felt like I could have been in LA.

We had a drink at the large, wood bar (full bar) while we waited for our table. Dad and Fred had cocktails and Dale and I wined. After only about ten minutes we were seated.

And here’s what happened next…

Pimento cheese, crackers ($4). I am, admittedly, a huge pimiento cheese fan (note; I prefer the use of the optional I after the M and before the E (pimiento)). I love my mom’s recipe. The Duke’s mayonnaise and the zested sweet onion are key in creating the perfect texture. The slightest dash of Worcestershire is vital for that little somethin’ somethin’ that ignites your palate. Alley’s pimiento cheese was really nice, and more importantly, it was true. He served it topped with chopped fresh chives and alongside Ritz crackers. I applaud his confident choice of using Ritz rather than giving into the compulsion many have to bells-and-whistle it up with arm candy like crostini.

Deviled eggs, house cured rockfish roe ($5). Up there with the pimiento cheese love is my, perhaps, even greater affinity for deviled eggs. I make a mean one, myself. Again, I usually push to keep it simple. But Alley’s deviled eggs surprised and impressed me immensely. They were fresh and bright and rich without being cloying. They were simple and comfortable but different and exciting. That rockfish roe was a beautiful accompaniment to both the eyes and the palate. This dish was the New South. Classic dish, local ingredients, with a flare. In the right place. Taking the local rockfish and using the roe, the caviar if you will, was just perfect.

Marinated beets, chopped salad, avocado ranch ($9). This was a pleasant and ample salad. It was not, however, what I know to be a chopped salad. The greens were a little uninspired, calling it a day with just the romaine - but the beets were delicious, beautifully mandolined and served under the greenery which added an interesting visual effect.

Brussels sprouts, butternut squash, preserved lemon, pecan ($6). My father, who taught me so very much about food, the man who always insisted I, at least, try everything, the man who will eat anything, will not eat a Brussels sprout. He LOVED this dish. Jason Alley, that is one amazing feat. I will leave it at that.

Braised pork belly, ginger gravy, braised celery, celery leaf salad ($11). To be brutally honest, I’m a little burned out on the token pork belly dish every chef feels the need to pepper into their menus at present. Remember the sun-dried tomato tsunami from the 1980s? That being said, it is something I still enjoy putting in my mouth. I found this incarnation to be too busy. I agree that often pork belly, like foie gras, pairs well with a sticky sweetness, but the ginger gravy was too gelatinous and the sweetness sort of overwhelmed the meat. I really loved the peanuts in there, though.

Fingerling potatoes, apples, shallots ($5) add duck fat ($1). We added the duck fat. In fact, we ordered this one because we saw the words duck and fat next to one another. I would have liked to see these taters with a little bit of crispety-ness and a hair's breath more salt.

Carolina Gold rice, mushroom gravy ($7). I’m not certain that I have ever experienced Carolina Gold rice before, so I won’t pretend as though I have. I will say that, as a result of my ‘first time’ I will not be likely to order it if I spy it on a menu again. This was tremendously watered down long-grain rice topped with also watered down, flavorless mushroom gravy. None of us at the table had more than a taste.

Fried Barcat oysters, spicy tartar sauce ($10). This dish, these oysters, was fabulous. Some of the best I’ve had. Anywhere. The breading (Anson Mills?) was crisp and light and allowed the fresh, tart, impossibly juicy, and beautifully briny oyster to shine right on through. The tartar sauce was tart, citrusy and acted as an apt accomplice to those brilliant oysters. Kudos.

Olde Salt clams, cabbage, bacon, butter, lemon ($12). This was everyone’s favorite dish of the evening. Though a little more thought could have gone into the plating – one piece of un-toasted bread tossed on top, and the cabbage haphazardly strewn about over the clams – the flavors and textures were astonishing and delectable. 

Banana flan, peanut brittle, slated caramel ($7). I was reluctant because of the banana factor (and that I’m not much of a dessert person), but Fred made me taste it. And I’m glad he did. This was an absolute standout. Airy, delicate and rich. Subtly sweet with a crunchety brittle and salty caramel. Faultless.

“Rice grits” pudding, roasted pineapple, passion fruit, vanilla bean ($7). For those who know me, it’s obvious that this is not a dish I would order or even really want too close to me. But, that being said, those who tried it, loved it. In fact, this is one of Susan Winiecki’s, editor of Richmond Magazine, favorite desserts around town.

There were a lot of hits and only a few misses. I enjoyed my evening at Pasture. We all did. But what stuck with me was that it felt as though it could have been anywhere, in any city. It’s a destination restaurant but not necessarily an occasion restaurant. It's certainly worth a visit to this 'just getting turned around' neighborhood, because likely you won't just meander on in while walking, riding your bike or really even cruising around to or from something else. For example, I asked my dad if he liked Pasture and he said definitely. I asked him if he would frequent the place and he said he doubted it.

I stumbled across this quote of Jason Alley’s: “I want people to feel like they are getting out of town when they come here.”

Maybe that’s what Richmonders want and need. To feel like they’re getting out of town.

But coming from someone who has lived in big, ole, crazy, sprawly LA for the past ten years I think Richmond has fantastic food, incredible restaurants and amazing people cooking the food in their kitchens. And for the most part they are on the smaller side, welcoming and without pretense. But I get it - I dig Pasture and I can see why Richmond digs it, too. The thing here is I’m homesick, I want to be back home and when I’m there it’s hard to even imagine wanting to get out of town.

*For those curious about my title choice, click here.

Two years ago: Lima Beans in Cream & Butter

Another Walk on the Wild Side...

I have a bit of a wild side. I guess I always have. I think I get it from my dad. There have been times it’s been more prominent and times when it’s been more dormant. Admittedly, this side is in a welcomed dormant stage, and has been for a while now. This current stage was preceded by a particularly wild, wild streak. I can attribute that period, in large, to The Coach and Horses. I can attribute the current, dormant, period, in large, to the closing of The Coach and Horses almost two years ago.

The Coach, as we regulars called it, was an LA landmark. It had been around since 1931 (!!). Alfred Hitchcock and Richard Burton (not together) frequented the place. Quentin Tarantino and Tim Roth (together) scrawled scenes for Reservoir Dogs on the bar napkins there. James Gandolfini sent me a glass of wine across the bar once... 

It was a sad day when it closed. Sort of.

I drive down the stretch of Sunset where The Coach was almost daily (hence the main reason I was such a regular), and I have watched with anticipatory curiousity as the cold-molasses-running-uphill progress was made on the exterior of the building. It was like, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, a little something, a little more – wait – it looks open! It’s true, Fred and I were driving to my house after dinner about a week and a half ago, I saw lights and people and made us pull over. Turns out they were having their friends and family night and were not open to the public. But we were given a brief tour. I was excited. It looked beautiful. They told us they were to have a week-long soft opening beginning that Sunday.

So I called Maggie and we made a date (Maggie was with me a great deal during the last wild streak at The Coach).

And so, last Monday night Maggie and I called a cab (yes, we knew) and headed back to The Coach and Horses, newly dubbed The Pikey, headed up by bar owners and restaurateurs Jared Meisler and Sean MacPherson (Il Covo, Roger Room, Swingers, Good Luck Bar, El Carmen, Jones, Bar Lubitsch). Broken up into three spaces, each with their own vibe, The Pikey features a dining room (where the Curry Palace was), a dimly lit pub room with bar stool and tall-back booth seating (The Coach), and a smaller Maharaja room with another bar to be open most nights and available for private events (used to be storage as best I can recall).

Restaurant side.

I explained the set-up to Maggie and we decided to make a whole evening out of it: have dinner on the restaurant side and then amble on over to the Coach bar side and have drinks. Upon exiting the cab we immediately spotted one of the old Coach regulars standing right outside the door. We were somewhat bemused, but not sure why. We exchanged pleasantries and went in to have dinner.

The menu of classic British fare (served in all rooms until 2am) offers the culinary creations of Ralph Johnson, former Executive Chef of The Spotted Pig who twice earned the restaurant Michelin stars. We each began with a glass of Lambrusco, Lini, Emilia-Romagna, NV, ($10/36) and the Welsh Rarebit ($5), though confidently ordered (by me), I humbly admit to knowing nothing about the dish. It was good. It was melty, cheesy, mustardy bread. What’s not to like? (And I had nothing with which to compare.)

Then we moved on to a bottle of Entre deux Mers, Tetre de Launay, Bordeaux, 2010 ($10/36). We both kind of wanted red but their list of whites was infinitely more appealing. With this we ordered the Papardelle with Braised Oxtail ($15) and Mary’s Vinegar Chicken with Thrice Cooked Chips ($18). We then noticed two other old Coach regulars in the dining room (not together). 

Brass tacks: the papardelle was nice. The ragu was a little sweet, which Maggie appreciated. The pasta was fresh and very nicely done, which I really appreciated. But we both agreed that it should really be an entrée rather than a small plate. The chicken, which I was the most excited about, was stellar. It was moist as can be with an expertly crisped skin (it reminded Maggie of eating the marshmallow, with its perfectly crispety crispeties at a campfire) and its flavor was deftly enhanced by the vinegar. The thrice baked chips were amazing as well, crispy, salty, potato-y goodness. Maggie loved that the chips on the bottom were swimming in the rich juice from the chicken. We had fully intended to order the fish and chips, but we were absolutely stuffed. We actually even took a chunk of the chicken home – which they returned to us, ready to go in foil, artfully shaped like a swan!

We both felt that nicer wine glasses would be preferred. The catering world’s wide stem tulip glasses don’t work in an environment next to $14 artisinal cocktails. And while they get big ups for having lambrusco by the glass, someone should mention to them that it need not be served in champagne flutes.

We then changed-up our evening by moving over to The Coach side, where we immediately were greeted by about half a dozen old faces, occupying their half dozen old bar stools, PBRs in hand, in a room that looked shockingly the same as it used to (they did a really great job). Again, we were bemused. Until we realized we were there too, right? At least I didn’t have to drink the same "red wine" I drank back at The Coach. We continued with our glasses of Entre deux Mers. I think Maggie had a scotch at some point. But by then we had traveled down the rabbit hole - again.

No, I wasn't up until four in the morning doing that or that. Yes, it's true, perhaps I've been the last man standing more than most ladies would admit, but I do have unending energy. And an amazing constitution for wine drinkage. But, though Fred asked, we did not, in fact, close the bar down. I'm pretty sure we took the second cab home that we called and made it there by one thirty in the morning. Take that!

Coach side - with Regulars.

The next morning, as we attempted to put Humpty Dumpty back together again, we reminded ourselves of the relief of this appreciated dormant period. We cursed The Coach.

The next night Maggie returned and had the burger. She wanted the fish and chips but it was not available for some reason. And a glass of the Entre deux Mers. I love that girl.

The night after that I dragged Fred in.  We ordered a bottle of the Entre deux Mers, the Crispy Pig’s Ear Salad with Young Kale & Mustard ($14), the chicken (again) and I finally got to try the Fish & Chips with Tartar Sauce ($15).

Oh, and Fred made it a point to order THE COACH AND HORSES: Shot of Ancient Age Bourbon and PBR “Tall Boy” Can ($8). 

*Picture at top of post.

Brass tacks: The salad was missing some component to bring the delicate greens and the crude texture of the pig ear together. The chicken was, again, awesome. The fish and chips, the main reason for this visit, was merely fine and not tremendously memorable. The chips were not of the thrice baked variety, but rather more in the wedge-cut arena. These fries were fine but pale in comparison to the thrice baked ones with the chicken. The fish, which, admittedly, I doused with malt vinegar and lemon upon its arrival was not confident in its identity of a good ole’ greasy London street style, or bougied American gastro pub style. But lest we forget: this is all still the soft opening, where, in my humble opinion, all is fair.

The portal between the two main rooms.

Which reminds me, The Pikey opened for reals yesterday. I, for one, dig it. I will return and, I imagine, eventually sample everything on the menu (which is not that huge (which is nice)). I imagine I will stop in for a glass of wine on my way home every once in a while. I imagine, every so often, I may have one of those nights there. But I no longer fear The Coach will carry me back to a wild phase. You see, it would appear that it’s grown up now. 

And so am I…

One year ago: Meyer Lemon Relish

Two years ago: Ludobites 4.0