Now that www.foodieatlanta.com has finally launched, I would like to announce the driving force behind the website and those who will be contributing to our success in the future:

Brian

Brian has taken on the responsibility of managing relations with restaraunteurs, chefs, and fellow foodies. He’s planning events and handling all logistics surrounding the Foodie Atlanta site. You can email him at foodieatlanta@gmail.com.

Pedro

Pedro is a writer and food enthusiast who doesn’t wait nearly long enough before hitting the ‘Publish’ button. He is  a big believer in blind tastings and has developed a problem with Shafer Hillside Select. He’s unmistakably Puerto Rican and loves bold flavors.

Karen (aka chelchotel)

Karen is a fellow contributor and foodie. She’s frequented the Atlanta dining scene, and she’s eaten in some of the best restaurants in South Beach, San Francisco, London, and New York City. She’s all about the foie gras, but she’ll also eat fried plantains at the Havana Sandwich Shop.

We were running late. Very late. I called and asked to have our reservation moved from 8 to 8:30, and they said to get there as fast as we could. They were booked solid until 10p.m., but they’d fit us in. We arrived at 8:30. After valeting and wading through a sea of patrons, I gave my phone number to one of the three hosts. He said he’d call as soon as something became available for the four of us.

I’ve never been to Two Urban Licks when it was quiet or empty. Everyone scurries and pushes and crams and demands and appears too cool to really worry about eating. There is nothing intimate about a meal here, unless you consider having to pull out a lighter to see your menu a “close encounter.” Conversing is complicated, at best. Just look at each other and smile–deviously. Enter and be seen. Walk with purpose.

We squeezed into bar stools and ordered Jack and Coke, Crown and Coke, and two vodka sodas. Twice. My phone never rang.

Finally, my date made a trip to the restroom and inquired about our table. It was ready. Ten o’clock. A good sign? So busy that we’d nearly been forgotten? Maybe.

At a corner table, we ordered a “thief” (the wine is taken directly from the barrel, and it’s equivalent to about five glasses) of di arie barbera, salmon chips, and tuna tartare [sic]. A friend had recommended the salmon chips, and I’d had the tuna tartare before. Fifteen minutes later, we saw, swirled, sniffed, and sipped the Barbera, which was smooth and satisfying, a hint of licorice. We shouted across the table, commenting on the pork shoulder being absent from the menu.

The lamb enticed me; however, I’d had lamb three times the previous week. I just didn’t think I could do it again, even with the apple cider jus. I also considered the beef rib, really more for the NY mac & cheese that comes with it than anything else.

Half an hour after being seated, our server was ready for us to order (urgent!!!). I settled on prime rib, rare, smoked, with roasted red potatoes, shitake mushrooms, and red wine jus. I have declared repeatedly that it’s silly to order steak at a restaurant. At home, you’re in charge. You can have any cut you want, straight off the grill or out of the pan, seared to perfection, bloody and running and rare. You lose control when you’re out. There could be a good twenty minutes between the fire and your first bite. I’m not talking about rest time, which is necessary and vital for any amazing steak to come to fruition. I’m talking about ten minutes of taste—gone forever. I’m talking about the onset of a rubbery, Waffle House version of what should be a quality cut. Thank goodness my friend ordered the duck.

The salmon chips and tuna tartar arrived. The salmon chips were delectable in their own way, laden with chipotle cream cheese, capers, and red onion. This was no ordinary lox, but the cream cheese overpowered everything else. Nothing like salmon-flavored cream cheese. Not that I cared at that point. I was starving, and cream cheese is, well, cream cheese.

The tuna tartare, with green apples, red onions, and spicy sesame dressing on housemade potato chips, refreshed the palate. I savored the sweet crunch of the apples juxtaposed with the salty chips and the smoky tuna mingling and melting its way among it all.

Another half hour passed, and then, magically, an entourage of servers descended. An enormous, inch-and-a-half thick slab of juicy carnage appeared before me, garnished with tiny toadstools, tips reaching for the sky. Plopped nearby, huge chucks of red potatoes rocked and rolled in a thin, brown jus. Potential.

M.F.K. Fisher argued that “…most bereaved souls crave nourishment more tangible than prayers: they want a steak.” Arguably, however bereaved, smart souls would prefer prayers to my steak. I started to worry when I had to saw rather than slice through the prime rib. Yes, it was rare, but I was hoping for tender and delicate, not tenacious and tough. I chewed, and chewed, and chewed. At least, I thought, the potatoes would be kinder, gentler. Not so. They were undercooked to the point that I might as well have taken them straight out of the ground and chomped in. Apples and chips should be crunchy. New potatoes, not so much.

Luckily, the duck, pan roasted, with andouille sausage, white sweet potatoes, and apple-pumpkin seed salad, was edible. Tender and moist inside, seasoned and succulently seared outside. Much, much better. I didn’t try the sides, but the duck was delicious.

The bronzed scallops with gouda grits, pico de gallo, and smoked tomato broth also fared better than the prime rib. The sweet, creamy grits and fresh, zesty salsa complimented the mild, perfectly-cooked scallops. I’ve heard that a well-cooked scallop should have the texture of filet mignon. These scallops were almost that good.

We passed on dessert. We hadn’t really been able to speak to each other in nearly three hours. We’d have to socialize in the car on the way home, a few hundred dollars poorer and pooped.

I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to dine at Two Urban Licks. It’s fun and loud, and when it’s warm enough, there’s bocce ball out back. This is not haute cuisine. Don’t take your parents here or plan to pop the question. Sit back, people-watch, and skip the prime rib.

Bacchanalia has been around for a very long time. Before I even moved to Georgia, I was aware of Bacchanalia, notoriously mentioned in every list of elite restaurants in the city of Atlanta. So how do I go about covering a restaurant that has garnered every accolade, been featured in every major publication, and been pelted with award after award?

One way would be to act as the contrarian. Play the Toby Young / Simon Cowell card and try to garner street-cred by calling their finest days behind them; being oh so trendy and flocking to the newer, exciting spots and declaring Bacchanalia passé. Last night, I could have very well played that part. Bacchanalia’s food wouldn’t let me.

I was dining alone and on my first mission where the management was aware beforehand of my intentions to cover the restaurant. I almost felt like Anton Ego from Ratatouille. I walked into Bacchanalia with deliberate, careful strides. Still clad in my work garb, my shoes knocked loudly on the wood flooring and reverberated conspicuously throughout the empty Star Provisions . My gigantic camera weighed heavily in my hand and made it impossible for me to be on my best, demure behavior. The hostess had been expecting me. Game time.

Bacchanalia / Star Provisions Entrance

Star Provisions bakery, from the outside.

Westside Urban Market... After Dark

The foyer at Bacchanalia.

Thankfully, a familiar face was working that day. She is an acquaintance from my days when I was obsessed with Abattoir and she was expediting that evening. My server comes over and explains the menu, a 4-course prix fixe (with the occasional supplement for truffles and other goodies) where you select one from four categories: appetizer, entrée, cheese & contrast and dessert. I felt saucy tonight; I told the server to let the expediter decide my fate.

Now for reasons that I haven’t figured out yet, requesting a blind tasting, explaining that I trust them completely and that I’m in for whatever journey they are willing to take me on is hard. The restaurant wants you to be happy, so they proceed carefully: suggesting rather than surprising. I explained again: do whatever you want, I have no allergies and I trust you completely. I also decided on doing the suggested wine pairings, by the half glass.

My twitter station Alpha

Champagne. There's nothing wrong with that.

I sipped on the champagne that I ordered at the bar to summon my appetite and open the palate when the first gift from the kitchen arrived: a lilliputian gougere in a silver tray. Bacchanalia is a very dark restaurant by photographic standards. The lighting is soft and very flattering to your fellow diners, but it makes it almost impossible to photograph without artificial lighting. I am desperately trying to make my camera cooperate, but without using speedlights or a tripod. However, I was still there as a diner and not a photographer, and it began to sink in that this was going to be the most difficult photo assignment I’ve ever undertaken. I found a combination of exposure settings that made the chronicling of this meal plausible, if mediocre. I knew that it wouldn’t be pretty, and we wouldn’t be able to do any prints, but for the web and for this initial review, it would have to suffice. If anyone out there can let me take pictures of the food in the brightly-lit kitchen, please let me know.

Bacchanalia, inside.

The first gift from the kitchen arrived: a single shot of sweet potato soup with an apple salad. Absolutely delightful and instantly transported me to the heart of the Fall season.

Sweet potato soup, apple salad.

As I eagerly awaited what delights might come from the kitchen, it dawned on me how quiet it was. Sepulchral and intimidating, the atmosphere weighed heavily as the music was off for the night and the diners had apparently just egressed from finishing school and were on their more polite, soft-spoken behavior. Relax fellow diners, it’s just food. Sure, Bacchanalia is ostensibly a monument of fine dining, but a meal has to be more than a sum of its parts. A meal should be a joyous experience punctuated by enthusiastic dialog. I even made a comment to my involuntarily-deputized sherpa guide for the evening, and her take was that the lack of music was driving the silence.

The first course arrived: Glazed Veal Sweetbreads, Pearled Barley, Braised Escarole, Blood Orange Gastrique. I was served a magnificent beast, a colossal sweetbread that was done “General Tso’s style”. This is, without a doubt, the best sweetbreads dish I’ve ever had in my life. Phenomenal doesn’t begin to describe it. It was playful and whimsical with the General Tso’s theme and it hit the precise chord that paralleled true fine dining and comfort food. I was intoxicated with it, and I couldn’t stop eating.

Glazed Veal Sweetbreads, Pearled Barley, Braised Escarole, Blood Orange Gastrique.

But the kitchen wasn’t done with me quite yet: they threw in a second appetizer, the Gulf Crab Fitter with Citrus and Thai Pepper Essence. The fritter was delicious and the thai pepper essence provided a heat level that was assertive but not unpleasant. The oranges and the avocado were portioned perfectly and created a fantastic flavor profile. Great as it was, it was hard for me to get over the sweetbreads.

Gulf Crab Fritter, Citrus, Thai Pepper Essence

The Kitchen

I waited for my entrée and sipped carefully on my half glasses of paired wines. I couldn’t help but notice that several patrons were celebrating. A birthday, a couple of anniversaries. And still, eerie silence and robotic composure from the guests. Seriously folks, relax. The entrée made its appearance: American Kobe Shortribs, Young Vegetables, Hedgehog Mushrooms, Natural Consommé. The dish came out and was sauced with the consommé tableside.

The dish was beautiful and the shortrib was extremely generous in size. To describe the shortrib simply as fork-tender is an egregious understatement. However, the dish as a whole had an impressive mix of textures and techniques represented in the young vegetables. The hedgehog mushrooms were gorgeous, impish in scale and personality. Tiny fungi in their natural habitat amongst the young vegetables.

Kobe Shortribs, Young Vegetables, Hedgehog Mushrooms, Natural Consommé

It was cheese time. A dish of shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano, Medjool Dates, Saba and Honey was placed before me, intricately plated with the cheese shavings standing up like shark fins. This dish was good, but a tad too sweet, betraying the section’s title and not providing enough contrast. Perhaps a bit more acid could have brightened up the offering. Maybe a bit more salad.

Shaved Parmegiano-Regiano, Medjool Dates

The server asked me, and I answered honestly, so a more exciting cheese and contrast option was brought out: Vermont Butter & Fresh Goat Cheese, Roasted Beets, Young Greens, Beet Sorbet. Although up to this point my pictures had been uniformly horrible, this was one dish whose pictures I can’t bring myself to post. I just did a very poor job. The dish was good though, though strangely proportioned. It had slices of raw beets, roasted beets, a beet sorbet quenelle and two dollops of the goat cheese. The flavors were fantastic, particularly the beet sorbet, but there was too much of the roasted beets. The dish itself was also a bit large and after the generous portions so far, I was getting very full.

Another gift from the kitchen, this time from the pastry chef, was brought: Hot Chocolate With Marshmallow, Gingerbread Cookie.

Hot Chocolate, Marshmallow, Gingerbread Cookie

Finally, dessert came: Buttermilk Panna Cotta, Tangerine Sorbet, Black Pepper Biscotti. Black Pepper Biscotti? With a tangerine sorbet? I have to admit, it worked. However, I thought the dessert took a voluntary back seat to the rest of the meal. It was well-executed and competent but didn’t inspire the awe that some of the other ones did.

Buttermilk Panna Cotta, Tangerine Sorbet, Black Pepper Biscotti

The meal drew to a close. There was a round of petit fours and later, a madeleine. I took my time to sip on my water and contemplate the meal I’d just had. Between the Proustian recollections of the sweetbreads and the quirkiness of the mushrooms, I had enjoyed a superb meal. Minor nit-picking aside, it’s impossible to not fall in love with Bacchanalia’s food. But like I said, a meal is always more than the sum of its parts, or in this case, the courses. The restaurant was far too empty on this Monday, and the exuberance of a crowd that’s really digging their meal was missing. I suppose that I’ll have to return for another tasting, on a busier night, with music.

I can only hope that the weekend crowd agrees with me: You shouldn’t go to Bacchanalia as part of a celebration; eating at Bacchanalia is the celebration.

It’s looking like before we unveil our big event for the spring, we’re going to do our second event at Bacchanalia. The cost will be $125/person, and it should be an incredible and unforgettable extravaganza. I’m capping this one at 20 people, to make it cozy. Please email me as soon as humanly possible at foodieatlanta@gmail.com if you’re interested.

I wish there was more to write about it, but other than cooking the steak, which is a long dissertation in its own right, there’s nothing to it.

Hanger steak, baby field greens, roasted sweet potato

Vinings is a special part of Atlanta. Straddling the perimeter and desperately trying to reap the benefits of city life with the copacetic, predictable nature of suburban life, it has attracted an affluent demographic. And with it has developed somewhat of a fine dining culture. Undoubtedly this dining scene is far better than the never-ending sea of Chili’s, Macaroni Grills and Olive Gardens in suburbia, but rarely does it surprise.

Never before has there been such a space between words.

Enter Social Vinings. Part of the Chef Paul post-Panos & Paul’s mini-empire, Social Vinings is everything that is wrong with the Atlanta upscale dining scene. It is emblematic of several disturbing trends and this kind of culinary trainwreck requires careful deconstruction. So let’s carefully dissect, and enumerate the levels at which it fails.

1. It violates Pedro’s Theorem. It’s the perfect example of how too many options and themes on the menu attempt to please all and ends up failing all. The menu includes small plates, entrees, sandwiches, what amounts to bar food, and sushi. Yes, sushi. Put some advertisements on the menu and you’ve got a Cheesecake Factory-level disaster.

2. It is absolutely terrifying how insecure restauranteurs, in a desperate attempt to be trendy, have allowed sushi to encroach upon every menu. Don’t get me wrong, I like sushi. I think sushi is a fine culinary discipline, and therefore deserves its own venue. Do you want to eat sushi? Go to a sushi restaurant. Sushi should be exulted.

The proliferation of bad sushi in this city has not resulted in the refinement of the craft and of palates, but rather in its mediocritization. Sushi-to-go is found in supermarkets like Publix and Kroger and anything rolled with rice and seaweed suddenly becomes sushi. I have run across something described as a “mexican sushi”. A joke now is pointless. All of this reminds me of the time when the French gave us the croissant, and we made the Croissan’wich.

3. It’s patronizing and gimmicky. The menus and the staff’s t-shirts say:

so⋅cial [soh-shuhl]   adjective – seeking or enjoying the companionship of others

What am I, illiterate? Without their lexical assistance, would I have been doomed at the bar, not realizing that I should have sought / enjoyed the company of others?

4. It puts style over substance. I love beautifully plated dishes. But they have to taste good first. It’s like parallel parking, if you don’t pass that section in your driver’s exam, you automatically fail. Focus on the food being good. Please. Then we can monkey around with the vertical sensibilities of the dish. This focus on style over substance rings true when one contrasts the obvious attention to detail in the aesthetics of the restaurant and the obvious lack of attention with the service, the staff and the food.

The bar is not bad, and it does look nice. Too bad that the bartenders never pay any attention to me.

As I implied in the fourth item, the restaurant is beautiful. Tons of use of natural light, deep reds and wood dominate. The crowd here after work is downright cougarlicious, liberally sprinkled with jaguars and the occasional puma. However, there is something artificial at play. The cougars and jaguars obviously did very well on their divorces, as proved by their well-executed nips and tucks, but the atmosphere just isn’t that friendly. It’s almost like a museum: it’s very beautiful, but it’s cold and you can’t touch anything.

The sushi bar downstairs. Because nothing says "good time" like mini-weenies with a california roll.

I have visited Social Vinings as an after-work activity on numerous occasions, always nibbling on the “Love at First Bite” section of their menu, and always walking away in disappointment. In this last occasion, I went for lunch as part of a large crowd. This presented the best opportunity to assess service levels, passion for the food as well as get first-hand a wide-variety of their offerings. I wasn’t expecting greatness, but I figured that redemption might be found in some dish; that somehow an ambitious sous chef had managed to sneak into the menu something consequential.

I was wrong. And most everyone around me concurred.

To be fair, there were two Social Vinings enthusiasts at the table. One of them described the Lobster Club Sandwich as “sex on a roll” and the other one was a frequent visitor (or recidivist, as I like to refer to him.)

Plastic-coated paper menus. The only thing missing now is buffet.

The design is cool, I must admit.

Comfy

The theater of bathos unfolded over two courses for me: the mushroom bisque which was the soup of the day, and my entrée, the cilantro curried chicken with rice pilaf and seasonal vegetables. I deliberately stayed clear of the sandwich section since I’ve been on a sandwich-at-lunch streak lately, and I didn’t want to have to revisit Social for dinner unless it was strictly necessary. The mushroom bisque was inedible and terrifyingly plated.

Now soup is known as being extraordinarily difficult to photograph. Unless it is piping hot, properly presented and garnished, it tends to look vaguely disgusting. That being said, there was no way of saving the portrayal of this soup. It was served lukewarm and without a garnish to speak of. Garnish is important in a soup like this, because it’s a good way to introduce flavor and texture as well as adding color. Mushrooms just aren’t very colorful (at least not the ones you really want to eat after.)

But no matter. Regardless of the faux pas in presentation, the mushroom bisque was just bad. I had to double-check this with a fellow diner in case that my underdeveloped palate was missing something. Maybe this flavor was actual earthiness tussling with umami and I was just missing it. Maybe it truly was deeply satisfying to someone else. Survey says: NO.

Mushroom bisque. Inedible.

One spoonful was good enough for me and I decided to forget the entire sordid affair. Note that the server at no point realized that the soup was not being touched and that it was until well after my entrée was served that the bowl of soup was removed. And there were no questions as to why it was still full. And yes, I got charged for it.

The cilantro curried chicken was our second act. This one had the potential. It’s rare to run into curried dishes outside of ethnic restaurants and this one used rice pilaf and seasonal vegetables. Were the culinary winds blowing in the right direction? Wrong again. The chicken was cooked far beyond well-done. It was a leathery, dry, grainy, tough chicken cutlet without any curry pungency. The curry was later found in the vegetables, which were few and far between. I ran into a carrot and a couple of pieces of cauliflower.

At least the rice pilaf was good and properly cooked. The arugula was also nice and refreshing to the dish, though I wish it would have had a tiny bit more acid. But with a jarring problem like the chicken’s doneness, more acid wouldn’t have changed my mind. Do note that there were three other people that ordered the same dish and that the chicken was destroyed in all of them.

Cilantro Curried Chicken

To go on about the mediocrity of all the dishes around me would be redundant. Nobody was amazed by the food, a general feeling of being underwhelmed dominated. One last thing that will go to prove my point about their gimmicky ways is the feature of a deep-fried Oreo cookie in their desserts. Yep. I even took a picture. This is the kind of dessert that I would expect on a Betty Crocker recipe book.

Maybe I’m just being difficult, but this is a one-knife restaurant.

Sushi-like creation. The person that ate this wasn't impressed.

I don't even know what those were.

Chicken Focaccia Sandwich

Seared tuna

Yes, that's a fried Oreo cookie.

I’m thrilled to say that the first official Foodie Atlanta dinner is full and taking place on February 2, 2010 at JCT Kitchen. But what makes a Foodie Atlanta dinner event any different from other “special” dinners being hosted around town?

Easy enough: we’re food groupies. The kitchen is our band, and we’re there to rock out. We want the new lyrics and the impromptu solos, the improvisations and we’re there to headbang.

We want to give the kitchen absolute carte blanche. We prefer our tasting menu to be blind, and whether the food is on-menu or off-menu, whether it’s even fits within the scope of the restaurant is completely irrelevant to us. Give us your best shot.

We’re looking for the ultimate meal.

To this end we are working on several upcoming tastings, hopefully escalating towards something subliminal. If you want to join the events mailing list, please email us at foodieatlanta@gmail.com

Happily ensconced in the back side of the Westside Urban Market, flanked by the Bacchanalia / Star Provisions empire and the Taquería del Sol fortress, is JCT Kichen and Bar. Self-described as a classic Southern style bistro, and there being entirely too many mediocre places in Atlanta with the same label, I rued the day when I’d have to return to yet another haute Southern cuisine wannabe restaurant. Making homemade biscuits and fried chicken and plating it on square china does not make the restaurant a paragon of fine dining. Yes, you can say that I’m jaded with the segment. But since Abattoir closed for lunch and I needed to get out of Vinings, I decided to give JCT a try.

JCT Bar (upstairs)

JCT Kitchen entrance (downstairs)

I should also mention that JCT had run out of available tables on Open Table from 12:00 until 12:45. Since Abattoir, practically next door, never had luck with their lunch service, I was pleasantly surprised and took this as a good sign. The space is beautifully decorated and I immediately recognized two Abattoir touches: the kitchen towel napkins and the center waiter’s table designed for easy access to napkins, silverware and water. This left only two options: either JCT and Abattoir share the same designer, or Abattoir shamelessly ripped off the ideas. Inquiring minds want to know.

The Restaurant, Part 1

The Restaurant, Part 2

The lunch menu is, as expected, a reduced version of the dinner menu with added sandwiches. The appetizers seemed decent enough, though plagued by a couple of clichés: the truffled pommes frites and onion rings. Interestingly enough, they also had deviled eggs and pimento-cheese toast. With my curiosity getting the better of me, and taking into consideration my Pavlovian aversion to deviled eggs, I ordered the pimento-cheese toast.

Pimento-Cheese Toast

I have to say that it was very good, if imperfectly portioned. Cheddar, pimentos, chives, house-pickled sunchokes and plenty of arugula made for a delicious flavor profile; but the toast was too big, requiring too much pimento-cheese spread on top and ultimately overwhelming. It was too rich. Scaled down a tad, with smaller pieces of toast and less spread, this would be a great starter.

The Restaurant, Part 3

On both the server’s and a co-worker’s recommendation, I decided to try the fried chicken. This is also another horribly clichéd dish in the “New South Cuisine” genre and had potential as fodder for a long diatribe on this blog.  My dining partner, on the server’s suggestion, tried the “Grown-Up Grilled Cheese” with a tomato soup. I’m glad to report that the food was refreshingly good, with a few caveats.

The fried chicken was very nicely executed and took a risk that was reassuring to see: there was no chicken breast to be found on the plate. Every other restaurant that specializes in this kind of cuisine would have caved in to peer pressure, compromised and featured a chicken breast, with the thigh as an afterthought. True fried chicken connoisseurs will generally agree that the thigh is the superior piece of chicken. Fatty, juicy, and begging for a hot oil jacuzzi. I’m also a huge fan of the entire chicken wing, so I was elated that the dish featured a thigh and a gargantuan chicken wing that, if not for the promise of local, organic product, would have induced hormone-injected chicken nightmares. The dish was finished with garlicky green beans and a generous bowl of mac-and-cheese. The mac-and-cheese was nicely done and garnished with chives. Sadly, the traditional brûlée of cheese and bread crumbs on the top was conspicuously missing and deprived the overall dish of additional texture.

Fried Chicken, Garlicky Green Beans and Mac & Cheese

The Grown-Up Grilled Cheese was described as “Assortment of cheeses, roasted tomato on buttered semolina toast.” Grilled cheese sandwiches are hard to elevate to fine dining standards, but this rendition was solid and I would recommend it without reserve. The tomato soup, however, was a tad watery. I would agree that tomato soup is one of those soups that is hard to nail. There is a fine line between soup and sauce, and it would have been tragic to see what amounted to marinara sauce masquerading as soup. This wasn’t the case at JCT, but, whereas tomato soup should be soupy yet infused with unmistakable tomatoey flavor, it was a bit muted. I felt that it lacked potency of tomato flavor and made me wonder how someone like Thomas Keller would have dealt with the conundrum of maintaining a soupy body while maxing out the essence of tomato flavor.

"Grown-up" Grilled Cheese, Tomato Soup

The Restaurant, Part 4

I have to say that the service was excellent. Our server was affable and attentive without being overbearing: she correctly anticipated need. My nitpicking aside, the food was very good and JCT is a great place to have lunch. I’m very curious to see how it performs during dinner time, and we’re arranging a chef’s tasting soon. I think that the challenge of a new South cuisine restaurant is to carefully straddle the line between perfectly-executed comfort food and true fine dining. True fine dining requires a certain level of creativity and  advancement of the form. Whether JCT can do this during dinner service is yet to be seen. For this reason I reserve my knife rating until we try the dinner meal. The kitchen has already proved a high level of standard when it comes to technique. Now it remains to be seen whether they can transcend.

The Bar

Oh yes, they did.

I should have visited the Woodfire Grill a few more times before posting a review, but after my live tweeting and the build-up leading to our outing to Kevin Gillespie’s baby, I reasoned I had to go ahead and give you my impressions so far.

Simply stated, my Woodfire Grill dinner experience was nothing short of spectacular. This was pleasantly surprising since I went into this soiree with three assumptions:

1. The rule is that if the chef is famous enough for one to know his name,  he’s not working the kitchen anymore. I thought that this would ring particularly true since Kevin had shot to superstardom after making the finals during Top Chef. I pictured Kevin too busy gallivanting throughout the world’s finest culinary venues, taking pictures with food groupies, appearing at events, and exchanging witty banter on TV to be working on a humble Tuesday night.

2. It’s extraordinarily difficult for a restaurant to maintain excellence when it becomes famous and slammed. Shortcuts are taken. Compromises are made. The best restaurant experiences generally occur at the more obscure destinations that have young, intense chefs with something to prove. The kind of places that are only talked about by the foodie elite in hushed tones.

3. The food never lives up to the hype. At the end of the day, it’s just a good restaurant in Atlanta with an incredibly talented chef. It’s not a private dinner for 12 at Versailles with Kevin himself carefully plating every dish.

Well, I was wrong. And, although I will never give four knives to a restaurant without multiple visits to ensure that pervasive excellence isn’t circumstantial, it’s on the short list of restaurants in Atlanta that have a shot of getting the full four knives.

Woodfire Grill

We started the evening with cocktails while the 8:30 seating became available. The Woodfire Grill has some interesting cocktail choices and we opted for the Champagne Cocktail and the Blackberry Bramble. The Champagne Cocktail consisted of oregano syrup, dolin blanc vermouth, lemon juice, marques de gelida cava and actual fresh oregano. It was a delicious and awesome, if quirky, beginning to our meal. The Blackberry Bramble had Hayman’s Old Gin, fresh muddled blackberries, fresh lime juice and creme de cassis. Although a little bit less experimental, it was also excellent. It was here that we spotted Kevin himself, donning his signature black chefwear. He was incredibly gracious, taking pictures with everyone, and taking the time to talk to the patrons. I was playing it cool until it was picture time; I have to admit, I got a little star struck. It was then that I proceeded to ask the stupidest question that you can ask Kevin : “Was it brutal cooking for (Thomas) Keller?” Kevin was as gracious as he could be with yet another person asking him the same set of questions over and over. As a side note, I find it ridiculous that Kevin’s fans made a Facebook fan page dedicated to his beard, but I have to admit that his beard is righteous.

Hamming it up with Kevin Gillespie!

The bar: after dinner service everyone needs a break.

The restaurant has a quirky layout, and the lighting, although perfectly adequate and bright enough for human eyes to enjoy his dinner, makes it very, very difficult to take good photographs without annoying the fellow diners with intermittent flashing. Therefore, I apologize for the picture quality of this review and will hopefully get a better set during my next visit.

The main dining area.

Getting ready to tweet!

Service throughout the night was fantastic, even as dinner service swelled and the restaurant was obviously under a lot of pressure. The ambiance was energetic and diners seemed excited. There was an eclectic mix of diners that made me feel that it was neither a hangout for the beautiful people, nor the kind of wood-paneled monstrosity that’s conducive to power dinners and policy sessions. These were genuine food enthusiasts.

Our server brought us some bread: pecan and raisin, foccacia and a compound butter with so many ingredients that I lost count. Those that stood out were garlic, lavender, and thyme. The server also went over the menu carefully. The options are few, and you’re encouraged to do the 3-course chef’s tasting or the 5-course chef’s tasting. Both are blind, meaning that you have no idea what’s coming, and the 5-course requires the participation of the full table. All guests will be served the same first four savory dishes, and the desserts will vary from diner to diner.

Shortly afterwards, a delightful amuse bouche made an appearance, already plated in spoons. It was a black-eyed pea and rice fritter, sitting on a collard green gribiche. Then the first course arrived, and with it, a revelation of what is possible. This may very well be one of the best first courses I’ve ever had. It was a sage water battered hen of the woods mushroom, sitting on top of a ossau iraty fonduta with candied garlic syrup. An intense, creative, beautifully-executed and revelatory dish that instantly set the standard so high that I forgot about my sad list of assumptions. Everything that was to follow was superb, but nothing captured our imagination and pleasured our palates quite like it.

Amouse bouche: black eyed pea and rice fritte on a collard green gribiche

First course: sage water battered hen of the woods with an ossau iraty fonduta and candied garlic syrup.

The second course arrived: a pan-seared scallop, beautifully caramelized on top of a radish carpaccio, with lavender shrimp and blood orange supremes. The scallop was perfectly cooked. The textural contrast between it and the carpaccio was awesome, and the blood oranges managed to cleanse and refresh the palate. We were then introduced to a second amuse bouche: oyster on a half shell, steelhead roe and a lobster cream. I don’t care for oysters, but I still found it to be good and beautifully presented on top of salt, which not coincidentally seasoned the oyster as I lifted the shell to eat it.

Second course: seared scallop on a radish carpaccio with lavender shrimp

Palate cleanser: oysters with steelhead roe and lobster cream

Kevin Gillespie actually expediting in the background.

At this point, we saw Kevin. Done with the photo-opps, he continued to destroy my list of assumptions by going right to the kitchen to help expedite. Also, I’d had enough wine that the quality of the pictures started to take a dive, and I actually forgot to photograph the third course before mangling it with my knife. The dish was awesome: an intoxicating, wood-grilled quail with a potato emulsion and a roasted chicken jus. The very essence of wood grilling was imbued into every bite. To call this dish excellent is a staggering understatement. Although not as revelatory as the first course, it was beyond delicious.

Mangled photo of the third course (I accidentally started eating before shooting): wood grilled quail, roasted chicken jus and potato emulsion

Finally, we arrived at the last savory course of the night: pork two ways. A fig-glazed piece of delectable pork belly coyly hiding under a piece of pork loin and beside a farro risotto so succulent, it should be illegal. This is easily one of my worst pictures, so I apologize, but the dish was beautifully plated with the endive and the apple-balsamic smear.

Fourth course: pork two ways, pork belly with a fig glaze, pork loin, farro risotto, endives and an apple-balsamic smear

It is at this stage that you long for dessert. The assault on your taste buds is overwhelming, and you seriously consider the possibility of being permanently ruined by food this good. Two desserts came out: a bread pudding with meringue and apples, and a chocolate-crêpe and espresso concoction. Although I’m sounding repetitive by now, they were both awesome and deeply satisfying.

Bread pudding, meringue, and apples

Chocolate crepes, espresso sauce

Our Sybaritic meal had concluded, and not without silly grins. Although basic common sense can be applied and it is possible to have a meal at the Woodfire Grill for a reasonable price, I’m not sure that my id would let my brain order anything other than the five course tasting menu. And I suppose that’s the only reason why patronizing this restaurant will not be as frequent an event as I’d like.

That being said, I’m withholding the final rating until I’ve eaten there at least one more time. A defining quality of a four knife restaurant is absolute consistency in execution, creativity and service and it’s just not possible to gauge all of that in one visit.

We shall return.