On Friday night, Ben had a sleepover planned and so we drove him over there and spent a little time with the adults. We’ve all been friends for about seven years now, and it’s always great to see them, but they have moved and it’s kind of a pain to get to their house. To avoid the northeast perimeter during rush hour(s), we take a back way over Windsor Parkway to Roswell Road. It’s not actually a parkway, but rather a small winding road chock-full of mcmansions and real mansions, too. Smack dab in the middle of all this there is a wee church, and the sign caught my eye (as church signs sometimes do). I’m not sure what the internal interpretation of the message might be at the church in question, but it was just the right message for me at the time:
So I unclenched my jaw and started to relax.
We went out to dinner at one of our favorite places, Woodfire Grill. We got there early enough to get a table right away.
Our waiter was a new transplant from North Dakota, here in Atlanta because of his beloved girlfriend who came to get an MA in Philosophy from Georgia State. He was absolutely charming, down to the sideburns and the groovy glasses. He answered all of our questions and, after some consultation with the chef, provided more detailed answers on a couple of items such as the origin of the littleneck clams (which sounded like closer cousins to the less edible kinds of quahogs than the soft and succulent steamers of my dreams. Anyway, the littlenecks were from the Carolinas somewhere – not for this New England gal, thank you!).
The bread basket had an assortment of soft fragrant breads, all from loaves baked on the premises. They have the best bread by far in Atlanta, and I have to remember to come back and buy some from the cafe.
Many of the menu items are from local food sources, and more of it is organic than not. It does make a difference.
There was a small taster, and then we ordered a range of “small plates” to share:
- Marinated red ace beets, sotto cenere cheese, organic truffle oil, micro celery
- Pan roasted sonoma artisan duck breast, chanterelle mushrooms, delicata squash, crushed pistachio, duck jus
- Pizzetta: house made fennel sausage, roasted peppers, san marzano tomato, fontina, parmigiano
- Their menu changes weekly, and the scallops we had are no longer on the menu. There were only a couple of them (read “two”) and I couldn’t tell you what else was on the plate, but it was yummy.
We savored every little bit. I don’t even like beets, but these were fantastic. To me, that’s the ultimate compliment to a chef – that he or she makes such a delectable dish that you enjoy food that you normally avoid.
To accompany the meal, we shared a bottle of Yering Station Pinot Noir, a very pleasant and balanced wine with a hint of cherry. It went perfectly with everything, even the scallops.
When one is fortunate enough to enjoy such a meal, happiness can be the only result (cf. Babette’s Feast). At least, that’s the case for me. Unfortunately, I observed another couple for whom that was clearly not the case. They spoke not one word to one another throughout the whole meal, and they both had that look of frigid annoyance that sends off waves of tension. I finally managed to block them out – by the third bite or so (grin).
By this time, I was in my sensual enjoyment state, which semi-automatically means that I felt a desire to step out for a cigarette. It had been several hours since my last one, and I was starting to feel the effects. I’m cutting down, but I’m not yet done with it. I asked the valet where smoking was still permitted, and he pointed me to a nearby bench. We conversed for a few minutes, and I guess I’m now to report back in one month on my progress on quitting.
Eventually, the new owner came over to the table to speak with us. We raved in praise of the food and the ambiance and the service. We weren’t kidding, either. The meal was divine in every respect. He must have enjoyed our descriptive prose, because he comp’ted us the dessert, a very small piece of dense chocolate cake, served with a bit of ice cream (We substituted vanilla for the caramel alternative). Mmm… a perfect ending.
