We chat with Giovanni Di Palma, owner of Antico Pizza, the spot for true Napoletana slices in Atlanta’s West Side. We fell in love with the restaurant when we reviewed it, found in this week’s issue.
SAN GENNARO: A specialty pizza at Antico
It’d be possible to fall in love with Antico if the pizza was just OK. The feel of the place alone is enough to inspire instant infatuation long before a slice ever touches your lips: the sparse counter and the sassy Italian woman behind it; the rustic communal wooden table outfitted with bowls of salt, raw garlic and hot red peppers; the blaring opera music; the plate over the kitchen door with Jesus looking down at the diners. And that kitchen – with its cooks in kerchiefs, massive wood-burning ovens, orders shouted in Italian – hums with authenticity.
But luckily, the pizza isn’t merely OK. Just as it would be easy to love Antico for the atmosphere alone, it’d be possible to love this food if it were served in a filthy dive with plastic tables and terrible service. It’s the meeting of the two – the utterly charming restaurant and the outrageously delicious pizza – that makes Antico the subject of intense adoration by almost everyone who walks through the door. Including me.
Continue Reading “Review: Antico Pizza Napoletana”
(Photo by Joeff Davis)
THE IBERIAN PIG: The lamb ribs
When food-obsessed people talk about modern cooking, they’re often talking about Spain. Spanish restaurants such as El Bulli have defined modern cooking in recent years, giving us the mad science of molecular gastronomy, and advancing flavors and techniques in ways that have changed the very nature of the relationship between the words “modern” and “cooking.”
So it presents a bit of a problem when a decidedly non-cutting-edge restaurant (even in Decatur) defines itself as “modern Spanish.” The Iberian Pig does just that.
Atlanta has had a strange courtship with Spanish food. The recent closing of Cuerno, our most authentic Spanish restaurant to date, is a prime example of the oft-quoted adage, “Atlanta isn’t ready for authentic Spanish cooking.”
The food served at the Iberian Pig isn’t authentic Spanish, but it’s not modern Spanish, either. To be blunt, it’s bastardized Spanish food.
Continue reading “Review: The Iberian Pig”
(Photo by James Camp)
LIVIN ON THE EGE: Ege Sushi's uni tofu
On a bright fall day around 2 p.m., Ege Sushi only has two tables occupied in its modest dining room. One by me, huddled over a bowl of steaming udon, slurping comforting broth and fat noodles muddled with scallion and nori and the occasional wisp of egg. A young black woman and an older, Eastern European-looking man occupy the other table. They’re speaking a language that sounds like a cross between Russian, German and Portuguese. Perhaps they’re speaking Russian but she has a Spanish accent. I imagine they’re spies, or doomed lovers, their affections thwarted by grand tribulations and vast distances.
The waitress appears at the table, answering requests with a short nod and an enthusiastic “Hai!” As I look around the room at the slightly shabby but comfortable brown décor — sushi bar stretching down one side of the room, a lone beer tap standing over a keg refrigerator at the back of the room (pouring Sapporo), signs handwritten in Japanese — I realize I could be almost anywhere in the world. The authenticity of the food and the Japanese staff suggest we could be in Anytown, Japan. But the international clientele and the place’s almost transitory feel indicate that we could be in any city large enough to support small pockets of intercontinental authenticity.
In fact, we’re in a strip mall in Marietta.
Continue Reading “Review: Ege Sushi”
(Photos by Jennifer Zyman)
YOU'RE TOAST: Rosebud's chicken liver spread appetizer
It’s the dream of so many young chefs: a neighborhood sidewalk, a random weeknight — Wednesday perhaps — warm light spilling from large restaurant windows, the sound of people laughing. A full bar, the game playing silently on the TVs above. The dining room beyond bustling. A 20-minute wait for a table at 8:30 p.m.
Brick walls. Specials and cocktails written stylishly on chalkboards. An atmosphere that feels neighborly and personal.
But what to call such a restaurant? Something comforting but evocative of individuality. Something that speaks to the young chef’s other loves, possibly something that nods to his taste in music.
Such is the dream-turned-reality of Rosebud, owned by chef Ron Eyester and named after Jerry Garcia’s guitar.
Continue Reading “Review: Rosebud”
(Photo by James Camp)
THREE'S COMPANY: The dining room at 5 Seasons Westside
When I first became a restaurant critic, someone asked me, “What’s more important? Great technique or great ingredients?” My answer was, of course, that the best food results as a combination of the two. Crappy ingredients in the hands of a fantastic chef can still become something enjoyable to eat. And the best ingredients in the wrong hands can easily go to waste.
David Larkworthy, chef at the three locations of 5 Seasons Brewing, has long been an advocate for great ingredients. Back when locavorism was still a term and movement unused by anyone but the most rarified foodie, Larkworthy was quietly buying up huge amounts of local veggies for 5 Seasons’ original location in Sandy Springs. In our 2006 Food Issue, I wrote, “By volume, David Larkworthy uses more locally grown produce than any other chef in Atlanta.” This is likely still the case, with 5 Seasons expanding to include an Alpharetta location in late 2006, and in the spring of this year, the first intown location opened on the Westside.
Continue reading “Review: 5 Seasons Westside”
(Photo by James Camp)
MEAT OF THE MATTER: The beef carpaccio at Pricci
Do you remember why you fell in love with restaurants in the first place? I’d like to say that for me, it was the philosophy behind the care and respect for organic vegetables, or the realization that an inspired dish of food could nourish the soul. But I’d be lying. In reality, my love affair started at my best friend’s 10th birthday. Her father took us to a fancy restaurant — it was the first one I’d ever been to. I remember my awe at the dining room’s mirrors and soft lighting, the waiters in tuxedos, the sound of glasses clinking and people talking and laughing. It was like magic, a fantasy, a place where the entire purpose of its existence was to create relaxation and joy.
The first time I entered Pricci I was reminded of that original experience. After devoting so much time to thinking and writing about the new breed of restaurant, where casual hipsterdom and the ethics of produce are the main selling points, Pricci seemed like a welcome reminder of upscale dining’s original intent.
Waiters in white tuxedos glide around a room that’s almost comically clichéd, the Disney version of an Italian restaurant, with mirrors on the walls, Art Deco-inspired decorative touches, and clubby, circular booths. If it’s a bit silly, it’s in equal measure pure fun, an unabashed homage to the idea that dining out is (and should be) a form of entertainment.
Continue reading “Review: Pricci”
(Photo by James Camp)
NUMBNUTS: The Asian meatballs at 30 Tables
It’s easy to see why restaurants are becoming safer and less eccentric. When times are tight, the reflex is to return to simple, nonthreatening food that appeals to the masses. 30 Tables, in the Glenn Hotel, reflects that tendency, both on the part of the hotel and on the part of Concentrics, the group brought in to run the restaurant.
Let’s start with the Glenn, and the space 30 Tables inhabits. The restaurant is the third establishment in this space in three years. The hotel’s tried one outlandish concept after another, starting with the ludicrous and preposterously bad B.E.D., and then Maxim Prime, a collaboration between Jeffrey Chodorow and the men’s magazine of the same name. Maxim Prime was only slightly less garish than B.E.D. in its design and concept, and the food was far more successful. But ultimately, the ’80s-themed den-of-iniquity decor, eggs topped with gold leaf, and Russian waitresses dressed up like “Simply Irresistible” dancers didn’t hold sway over enough diners to make Maxim Prime a success. So what next?
Continue reading “Review: 30 Tables”
(Photo by James Camp)
Every few months, my sister and I inevitably find ourselves debating which three cuisines we could eat for the rest of our lives if we had to choose. Typing it makes the whole thing seem ridiculous since I can’t fathom a scenario where we would need to do so. But the debate is always interesting because our choices evolve as we broaden our food horizons. Yeah, we are food-obsessed weirdos.
Although my sister and I tend to have wildly different tastes and appetites (I am always snacking while she is more regimented in her meal times), we both, without fail, rank Japanese in the highest position. Japanese food has everything you could want. Raw. Fried. Stewed. Steamed. Grilled. Sautéed. The list goes on and on. The ingredients are handled with reverence. Precision is of the utmost importance. And the flavors and presentation are simple, but stunning.
I don’t know how or when it happened, but Atlanta has accumulated quite the assortment of Japanese restaurants. People think San Francisco is rife with Japanese cuisine. But let me tell you something: I lived in San Francisco and it has nothing on Atlanta. My mind actually races with indecision when I have to choose a spot because there are so many options–Sushi House Hayakawa, Yakitori Jinbei, Shoya Izakaya, Taka, Tomo, Hashiguchi Junior and Nakato just to name a few of my favorites. We. Are. Lucky. And now, I found another Japanese spot to add to my rotation, Ege Sushi and Japanese Cuisine.
Continue reading about Ege at Blissfulglutton.com
(Photo of Ege’s special menu by Jennifer Zyman)
TORTA REFORM: The pork belly torta at Holy Taco
When Holy Taco opened in February 2008, it’s likely that I groaned and moaned about it to a few people. It might have been possible to overhear me saying, some tipsy evening at the Earl, “Can we get something other than bars and tacos in East Atlanta? I mean, seriously. How many gringo Mexican joints can one neighborhood bear?”
Despite my misgivings, I grudgingly ate at Holy Taco in its first weeks, and found no real reason to return. Until a couple of Sundays ago.
My family and I woke up with a hankering for Mexican food. Mi Barrio (the one authentic Mexican restaurant in the Grant Park/East Atlanta area) was closed, and Cantina La Casita, the longtime fallback for cheap tacos and margaritas in East Atlanta Village, closed permanently two weeks ago. “Holy Taco?” my husband asked me. “I guess,” I acquiesced grumpily.
Continue reading “Review: Holy Taco”
(Photo by James Camp)
SUBURBAN CHIC: The dining room at Kozmo Gastropub
I miss the Globe. I miss its sleek, understated design and its modern American menu. I miss its Technology Square location, convenient to Midtown, the Westside and downtown. I miss going there for drinks after work, or as a fallback for brunch or a business lunch. Parking was a pain, but apart from that, I miss almost everything about it.
So I was happy to hear that Oswald Morgan, one of the partners at the Globe, opened a spot in Johns Creek this past January. Of course, it being in Johns Creek, it took me eight months to get out there to try it.
You can see the Globe’s aesthetic the moment you walk into Kozmo Gastropub. Sparse without being the slightest bit austere, it features the same streamlined, polished angles and surfaces. Black leather booths and blond wood tables form rows, large blackboards denoting weekly specials adorn the the light walls, and huge vases filled with apples and limes provide vibrant decoration.
Continue reading “Review: Kozmo Gastropub”
(Photo by James Camp)
IN THE SOUP: The artichoke bisque at Paces 88
It’s hard to call the proliferation of swanky new hotel restaurants in Atlanta these days a trend. It’s more like a side effect. Three years ago, when the economy was booming, upscale hotels were planned all over town. Millions of dollars went into construction. But these weren’t projects that could be abandoned simply because the economy tanked. So while smaller restaurant projects were put on hold or abandoned, and large and small eateries alike closed all over town, a generation of gleaming, expensive hotel restaurants arose.
Paces 88, in Buckhead’s new St. Regis, epitomizes almost everything that’s both commendable and frustrating with this new crop of restaurants. Extreme care has been taken with the décor and food. The place has a meticulously upscale and conservative feel (think muted wood tones, large cream archways, oil paintings and windows overlooking a manicured courtyard), and the menu consists of dish after dish of perfectly cooked and presented luxe ingredients. Everything is $5-$10 more expensive than you probably want to pay, and nothing about the place is the least bit surprising. If that sounds good to you, you’ll probably love Paces 88. If it sounds a tad boring, well, it is.
Continue reading “Review: Paces 88″
(Photo by James Camp)
PEACHY KEEN: The Vidalia and peach salad at Restaurant Eugene
The beginning of the end for many chefs is the moment their success convinces them to expand. A second location or a secondary concept often marks the point at which attention becomes divided, profit becomes the focus, and expansion for the sake of expansion kidnaps the good sense of otherwise great restaurateurs.
It seems just the opposite occurred when chef Linton Hopkins branched out from his original eatery, Restaurant Eugene. Last year, he partnered with some of his longtime employees and friends to open Holeman & Finch Public House, and shortly after (the now wholesale-only) H&F Bread Co. But rather than distracting him from his original restaurant, it appears that his new ventures have only served to inspire Hopkins.
It’s possible that the passion and energy it takes to open a new restaurant seeped across the breezeway at the Armour building and imbued Restaurant Eugene with some of the freshness exhibited by Holeman & Finch. (And a ton of passion and energy must have gone into Holeman & Finch, because it continues to be one of the city’s most exciting eating and drinking experiences, exhibiting a boyish exuberance that’s damn near impossible to resist.) Whatever the reason, the food at Restaurant Eugene over the past year has become brighter, bolder and more accessible. Hopkins is now cooking on par with the absolute best chefs in the Southeast.
Continue reading “Review: Restaurant Eugene”
(Photo by James Camp)
Bon Appétit has named Decatur’s Cakes and Ale one of 2009’s top 10 best new restaurants:
At the age of 27, Billy Allin gave up his job as a money manager and enrolled in culinary school. After graduation, his cooking skills landed him gigs at renowned restaurants, including Chez Panisse in Berkeley and Watershed in Decatur. With his farm-to-table cooking philosophy fully established, Allin and his wife, Kristin, decided it was time to open “the restaurant where we would want to eat,” he says.
That restaurant is Cakes & Ale (from a phrase in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night meaning “the good things in life”), located east of downtown Atlanta. The couple’s ideal restaurant turns out to be a 50-seat neighborhood spot where the kitchen staff often answers the phone when you call to make a reservation, and a chalkboard announces the daily menu, which features simple, precise dishes like braised rabbit grits with saba vinegar and spring onion; buttermilk-rhubarb fool; and the addictive arancine here.
EAT LIKE A JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN: The squid with Japanese mayonnaise at Shoya
Ever since the early ’80s, when raw fish was still a culinary dare for many Americans, Japanese food has tickled the desires of Western foodies. We fetishize Japanese food for its weirdness, its otherness. More than any other cuisine that’s found popularity in America, Japanese cooking has the potential for taste experiences that push us to the edge of our comfort zone. It delivers taste revelations in places we’d never expect, and has us walking out the door feeling smug that we’ve traversed new territory. Sea urchin, monkfish liver, wobbly fat fish roe — few of us would have eaten this stuff 10 years ago, and almost none of us would be eating it today if it weren’t for Japanese restaurants.
And now that we have the sushi restaurants, the noodle houses and the robata grills, the next frontier in Japanese culture we’re clamoring for is the izakaya. We’ve had a few establishments in Atlanta that get close to the nature of a true Japanese pub, but none as authentic or ambitious as Shoya.
Continue reading “Review: Shoya Izakaya”
(Photo by James Camp)
HAVE A BALL: The watermelon and feta salad at the Shed at Glenwood
When the Shed at Glenwood opened in April of last year, it had aspirations to bring a true neighborhood restaurant to an area that’s always struggled to resemble a true neighborhood. Tacked on to the back end of North Ormewood Park, Glenwood Park is a deftly designed and appealing example of a new urban development. But the timing of its completion, right before the housing bubble burst and the economy tanked, has left many of its wide, windowed storefronts empty. The result is kind of eerie, like an adorable ghost town.
Set up in a large corner space, the Shed seemed poised to bring new life to Glenwood Park. Here was a restaurant where you might drop in for a fresh fruit cocktail if you lived nearby, or wander over to for brunch on the weekend. Not a destination restaurant perhaps, but certainly a spot exhibiting higher aspirations than most of what’s available in the Grant Park/Ormewood/East Atlanta area.
Continue reading “Review: The Shed at Glenwood”
(Photo by James Camp)
TURKISH DELIGHT: Al Ozelci tends to his baklava.
“How did you hear about us?” Al Ozelci demands the first time I visit Café Agora. It’s a rainy Sunday evening, and I’m unsure about how this particular restaurant works. When I walk in, no one greets me, tells me where to sit, or offers a menu. Ozelci is rushing around behind the counter — a one-man front-of-house, with one cook in back. When I approach him to find out what to do, Ozelci peppers me with questions.
“What kind of food you like? This kind of food?” He gestures to a case filled with a rainbow of salads, dips and other Middle Eastern cold specialties.
“I like all food,” I say.
“Fine. Take a seat. I’ll bring you something.”
A minute later, he arrives at the table, a plate in hand laden with stuff from the case. He places the plate on the table, and after taking a quick minute to do a magic trick for my son (an impressive disappearing-mint act), he begins to pick up small squares of pita and load them with tastes from the plate. An outrageously thick tzatziki, the yogurt shot through with dill, is smooshed with a roasted eggplant. And then Ozelci feeds me the square of pita. “You’ll like this,” he says, watching my reaction.
Continue reading “Review: Cafe Agora”
(Photo by James Camp)
ACID TRIP: The shrimp and citrus stew at Abattoir
Dear Abattoir,
I’m so sad our time together is over. These past few weeks, seeing you every few days, taking the time to really get to know you, have been magical. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come to love you, just a little. Maybe more than a little.
I’ll never forget that first time we met. I didn’t know what to expect, what with your name — so violent, so evocative! But when I walked into your dining room and saw the way you’d managed to take your ugliness and turn it into something beautiful, I was floored. Elements of slaughter — meat hooks adorning bar lights — wrapped into the comfort of farmhouse chic … there’s humor in that combination, as well as a deft intelligence that your family of restaurants alone possesses in this city.
People were shocked when they first heard your name. “Abattoir? What kind of a sick joke of a restaurant name is that?” they asked. But I always loved it, the boldness, the honesty.
Continue reading “Review: Abattoir”
(Photo by James Camp)
OCEAN COMMOTION: The salmon with shrimp gnudi at La Pietra Cucina
Be careful what you wish for.
Last November, in my original review of La Pietra Cucina, I complained about the strangeness of the dining room, which was a small room adjacent to the massive space that once housed MidCity Cuisine. I hoped for a grander space to showcase chef Bruce Logue’s irrepressible Italian cooking. Then, in May, the restaurant closed for a short while and reopened using the entire footprint, repurposing the original dining room as a private dining space.
So what, then, could my hypocritical (and apparently hypercritical) heart possibly find wrong with that? Wait for it … I hate the new space. I miss the slightly disjointed but quirky feel of the original room.
I know, I know. It isn’t so much that the space has been redesigned, but how. Deep maroon with gold accents make up the palette — walls the color of Elvira’s lipstick; heavily gilded picture frames holding weighty paintings of monarchs and horses; chairs swathed in dark yellow velvet. Frank Sinatra croons through the speakers. It’s like someone’s rococo fantasy of what a fancy Italian restaurant should be — which is fine, I guess, except that once again, it doesn’t match Logue’s cooking in the slightest.
Continue reading “Review: La Pietra Cucina”
(Photo by James Camp)
OLD GLORY: The dining room at Livingston
It’s 6:30 on an early summer evening, and Livingston’s patio is throbbing with activity. Women dressed in spangles and silk sip cocktails under canvas umbrellas while seated in luxurious cushioned chairs. The newly renovated Georgian Terrace Hotel’s blond brick façade exudes moneyed charm. Across the street, the fabulous Fox Theatre’s marquee twinkles. There’s something about this scene that’s apt to fill your heart with Atlanta pride. It’s like the fantasy of what this city could be: a bustling Midtown nightlife; a future that dips into our storied past; a brand of glamour that feels just right.
The revamping of the Georgian Terrace and the opening of Livingston represents something important for our city. For the past year, many of Atlanta’s exciting new restaurants have sprung up in hotels, specifically in big-name chains such as W. Helmed by out of town celebrity chefs such as Tom Colicchio and Laurent Tourondel, these restaurants gave us reason to feel that we’re becoming a nationally recognized dining city, but the homegrown element was obviously missing.
The Georgian Terrace couldn’t be more homegrown, from its location at the corner of Peachtree and Ponce de Leon, to its history as the place where Gone With the Wind stars partied after the movie’s premier at the Loew’s Grand Theatre. When a city starts to revive the treasures it already holds rather than simply building on top of them, it’s an exciting prospect.
Continue reading “Review: Livingston”
(Photo by James Camp)
How many Atlanta restaurants have to be knocked silly by the backswing of our anticipation before we all learn these words by heart: soft opening? I don’t mean two days of family-and-friends gatherings before the press release goes out, I mean a month or two of getting it together before anyone’s even heard of the place.
In Miso Izakaya’s case, the hype was hardly the fault of the owners. Unlike a certain pizza place that comes to mind, the restaurant had no propaganda machine whirling in advance of its opening. In fact, Miso’s opening reminded me a little of a slasher flick. We stalked this poor restaurant. So excited were we at the prospect of an intown Japanese pub, we trolled Edgewood Avenue for months, reporting on signs of construction, drooling at the doorway, whining about the delays. And then, in February when Miso did finally open, we pounced. Despite that the izakaya (which basically means place to drink) had no liquor license, we rabidly burst through the doors, an army of foodies, critics and bloggers, and declared boldly that … it sucked.
Continue reading the review of Miso Izakaya.
(Photo by James Camp)
Remember the ‘70s? Probably not, but if you were dining out then, you remember the revolution in Atlanta’s restaurant scene, courtesy of the Pleasant Peasant. Owners Steve Nygren and Dick Dailey opened the restaurant on Peachtree in Midtown in 1973. It featured creative cooking, an informal atmosphere and theatrical waiters who flashed blackboard menus in your face and recited the menu.
The following year, Nygren and Dailey were joined by Bob Amick (whose father gave his name to Mick’s, the Peasant Group’s retro diners). Eventually, the Peasant Group spawned 40-odd restaurants that were sold in 1989. The chain was so pervasive that both John Kessler and Meridith Ford Goldman, food writers at the AJC, worked for it during their respective restaurant careers.
Continue reading the Grazing on 30 Tables.
(Photo by James Camp)
Meet Eros: primordial Greek god of lust, beauty, love and intercourse; fertility deity, son of Aphrodite; and Atlanta tapas bar. Just in case you missed the connotations of the name, type “Eros Atlanta” into Google. First, you’ll get the restaurant. Second, you’ll get a guide to Atlanta escort services.
In tapas bar form, Eros exists in the old Piebar location, that space-age structure built in 1962 for Trust Co. Bank. The building now sports as its main interior design elements large black-and-white photos of the nether regions of naked women (curiously sporting thong tan lines), and phallic-shaped colored lights languidly pointing toward those nether regions. Get it? God of intercourse? Helloooo?
Continue reading the review of Eros.
(Photo by James Camp)
Here’s a scene from my early career. I was living in a small town in rural Georgia, a place where my big-city senses underwent continual shock. One very early morning, I awoke to the sound of screams. I’m talking blood-curdling screams. They seemed to come from several directions.
I threw on some clothes and hopped in the car. After all, I was a reporter and it appeared a mass murder was underway. What I found was that people were engaging in an annual ritual of the first freeze: butchering hogs. I’ve never forgotten the sound and the bloody scene I observed.
I suppose I am overly sentimental about animals. After that experience, it was many months before I could eat pork. I went years, too, without eating veal when I saw the conditions of crate-raised calves.
(Photo by James Camp)
OOOHH BABY BABY: The baby octopus salad at Taverna
All but the best menus should be approached as one would a treasure hunt or a detective novel — as a search for clues, ingredients, and preparations that might make for the most enjoyable meal. Where most chefs showcase their best dishes with bravado, Taverna Fiorentina’s Andreas Montobbio tends to hide his authentic, soul-pleasing Italian dishes behind the veneer of suburbia-friendly comfort. It’s real Italian food posing as watered-down Italian food.
Little information can be garnered from the restaurant’s generic strip-mall façade, or from the classic dining room bedecked in dark wood and muted accents. A large flatscreen TV hovers over the bar playing a slideshow of dramatic Italian villas and vistas. Even the menu’s antipasto platters, fritto misto, green salads and veal saltimbocca give the comforting impression that there’s not many risks being taken here.
But in the pasta section, clues start to arise signaling a more serious Italian heart in the kitchen than appearances would have you believe.
Continue reading “Restaurant review: Taverna Fiorentina”
(Photo by James Camp)
