Such was my friend’s assessment of the meal we’d finished inhaling a few moments ago.

Not only do I agree with her glowing gastrointestinal review, I feel especially accomplished because this comment is coming from the one friend I have that is the absolute hardest to please in the culinary department. Everybody has that friend. Hell, some of you ARE that friend. You know the one, doesn’t eat much more than chicken (sans bones) a few vegetables (usually corn, and usually canned) and turns their nose up at the mere suggestion that they ‘try something new’. Case in point: earlier that day, friend and I were chatting at my kitchen island while I munched on some cut watermelon. I offered her some, and she immediately replied, ‘Oh, no. I don’t like watermelon.” Aghast, but undeterred, I ventured what should have been a ridiculous question: “Have you ever tried it?” Her: “Well…no.”

Jesus, keep me near the cross.

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Hi there boys and girls!

I know, I know. It’s been a long time since I last posted and I’ve been feeling terrible about it. But hey, it’s a busy time for the empire so I hope you’ll forgive me for slacking. Anyway, I thought I’d make it up to you by catching you up on all the goings-on with me over the last couple of weeks. Ready? Here goes.

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I’ve always had this internal guide that I use should I need a good excuse to go out for drinks on almost any day of the week.

Monday – it’s the beginning of the week, must drown sorrows
Wednesday – hump day…halfway through!
Thursday – unofficial start of the weekend, since nobody does anything but clock watch on fridays
Friday-Sunday – it’s the weekend, that’s what it was made for

But what about Tuesday, you ask?

Well, with the exception of Fat Tuesday, I’ve never been able to come up with a good reason to justify going out for drinks on a Tuesday night. So my hard and fast rule has always been: If you’re out drinking on a Tuesday, you’re officially an alcoholic. That’s it. End of story.

That is, until last week.
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Saw this Youtube cartoon spoof on AD’s blog and had to share the hilarity. I had no idea these guys were such foodies!

Hope it gives you a good Friday laugh and some new ideas on how to prepare steak…:-D

It’s that time of year when I start getting impromptu invites from friends who’ve cleaned off their patios and decks and have people over to share good food, good conversation and verygood drinks. I hate showing up empty-handed, and it’s not always time- or cost-effective to cook something to share with a crowd. That’s when I reach for one of my favorite cocktail recipes. It’s easy to make yet still unique enough to spark some conversation around the drink itself.

What is this springtime spirit, you ask? None other than the beloved Brazilian beverage: the caipirinha.
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Yes. It’s officially spring, but the weather in Atlanta apparently only got the first part of the memo. The sun is shining and the mulberry trees are beginning to bloom, but the temperature is toying with me. One minute it’s almost 70 degrees, the next it’s dipping into the 30s.

While waiting for the rest of spring to show up for good, I decided to whip up one last hearty stew of the season - a gumbo. It’s the perfect dish for beating the brrrs and more importantly it gave me a headstart on spring cleaning my fridge.

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Some people call you Dinho, some people call you Frank Ma’s. Most Atlantans in the know call you the best Chinese food this side of the Great Wall. Every foodie in Atlanta from Buckhead to Bankhead has written about you, so why should I? What more could I possibly say? But that one Friday night we spent together just before closing has been lingering like a phantom in my mind and haunting my taste buds ever since. So consider this not a review but a futile attempt at exorcism.

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I had every intention of getting up and going to 9 a.m. yoga on Saturday. But when my yoga partner sent me a text message around 8 a.m. to confirm if we were still on, the kamikazes from the night before said otherwise.

Downward facing dog? I think I’ll just keep practicing corpse pose in my nice, comfy bed thank you very much. I raised myself from the dead just long enough to send a reply text letting my friend know I wouldn’t be making it.

Her reply: Ok then. Are we still on for breakfast?

Now, that I can do.

Earlier in the week, I’d received a rather clandestine invitation to a new breakfast spot, launched by the same people who operate two of Atlanta’s most popular, upscale urban eateries: Rare and The Harlem Bar. The invite informed me that they had recently opened a third restaurant called The Social House, and mysteriously implored me to “be selective in who you tell” since they wanted “to keep this place for those that appreciate Great food, Great ambiance, and friendly service!”.

However strange and hokey I thought the invite was, it was intriguing enough to make me drag my slightly hungover self out of bed and head to the corner of Howell Mill and Chattahoochee to get a peek and a taste of this secretive new establishment.

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