Was she really giving me this throwback? My dad has always been the chef of the family, and I, the lowly admirer (or on a good day sous chef), have mostly just been best for making reservations. Actually, at a certain time, I was pretty decent at uncovering the city's hidden gems. But since I moved up north, I've felt a little out of touch with Atlanta, and haven't kept up with its restaurant scene. So what's a girl to do? This was like rock climbing after a winter off: you're a little rusty on locating a route to the top. Phew!
So, I hopped on the computer and reacquainted myself with some of my favorite Atlantan restaurant bloggers. Generally, my family eats a lot of french food, but I was on a mission-- searching for a bold food adventure! Without the restraints of this regular search boundary, I was able to explore all types of cuisine metro Atlanta had to offer... South African, Ethiopian, Tex-Mex. Then, I found it. An upscale, yet non-pretentious gastro-pub: Holeman and Finch Public House, located right on the edge of Midtown and Buckhead. Yes, it was the one.
The day came as we pulled up to the valet, walked in, and were seated. A kooky, red-glasses-wearing waitress greeted us, and sooned turned out to have very impressive knowledge of the menu, which was compiled of unique ingredients, many that were unfamiliar to me. H&F wins its aclaim for, according to Creative Loafing, being "a chef's restaurant... [with] all the food that chef's want to serve, but restaurant owners refuse to allow." So what delicacies were introduced that night?
H&F's entrance... greeted by the kitchen!
I started off with a creative cocktail made by Chef Greg Best (awarded one of America's top ten "mixologists" by Playboy Magazine) christened "Neutral Grounds." It was an enticing mixture of bourbon, fresh lemon juice, raspberry liqueor and Angostura bitters, topped with Victory Prima Pils and sprinkled with fennel pollen. Booze, booze, and beer-- what a concoction! Surprisingly, theses fixings fused into the acute flavor of grapefruit. Deeelicious. In the meantime, my parents split a bottle of Spanish wine. We were also pleasantly surprised to find the menu was tapas (small plates) style, and immediately ordered a long list of items to share.
First, we were presented with the red and yellow watermelon salad (yes, there are yellow watermelons) with lime créme fraîche. The cubed fruits were vaccuum packed with small bits of lime to infuse the flavors, making them more intense. Each bite of this starter was sweet of melon, lush and creamy with the créme fraîche, and bursting with droplets of lime juice. Simple, refreshing, and cleansing.
We had a few more small dishes (fried pickles, quail, mussles, deviled eggs) before veering off the culinary cliff. We had entered the "parts" section of the menu. Committed to the experience, I smiled while requesting an order of veal brain; my parents followed with their requests for sweetbreads and veal fries. What had I gotten us into? Did I really just order brains?
Minutes later, the brain was served. "You ordered it Sarah; you get first bite." My mom nudged the plate towards me. The brain looked like a small chicken breast, lightly breaded. Not too bad, I thought to myself, I can do this. I tried to convince myself that I'd eaten things just as unusual. First (and last) bite lay in my mouth, flowing over my tastebuds. The brains have the same consistency of a soft cheese, like Brie, but I could feel the natural folds of the tissue, and this just set me off. I could not get past the texture. Downed a few more sips of cocktail, and signed for someone else to dive in. No more brains for me.
Next, sautéed veal sweetbreads served a-top raw black-eyed peas. I was slightly more familiar with these, the thymus gland of a cow. These were shaped interestingly, they sort of looked like 2"x2" molars. A little lumpy, but certainly square. As I chewed, the texture was something I was comfortable with- firm, like a day old bread pudding. The fresh peas cut the fatty taste and the flavors melded marvelously.
Finally out came our order of schnitzeled veal fries with a gremolata of orange zest, lemon zest, and parsley. I kept running through my mental dictionary. Fries? Certainly not the same thing we're asked to supersize at McDonalds. Fries. Fries. Fries. So, as both of my parents were digging in, I sat pondering. Finally I resorted to naming some edible parts of a calf. Brisket...knuckle...fillet...loin... though I certainly do not have a diagram of calf parts in my mind, I could not figure out what I was missing. Loin... groin! Are both of my parents eating what I think they are? Am I about to eat that? You bet. Baby cow testicles... god, it doesn't get classier than that, right? And you know, as far as "parts" go, these beat both the brain and the thymus. No, they did not "taste just like chicken," but they were good. Good enough that fans in Illinois hold an annual "Testicle Festival," which has more balls "than you can shake a stick at." While I doubt that my liking for fries will ever grow this deep, it sure is great knowing I'm not the only one.
We topped off the night with deep-fried peach pie, a coke float with boiled peanut ice cream, and a decadent chocolate cake. This was all I could ask for. Maybe not the regular definition of a "fun time," but we had a great one! I tip my hat to Chef Linton Hopkins, named one of Food & Wine Magazine's Best New Chefs for 2009, for his courage and exquisite execution. He changes the menu frequently, so I will surely be dropping by for more of his clever palate pleasers!
1] Executive Chef Linton Hopkins and his Executive Sous Chef Ryan Smith
2] The quirky Holeman and Finch Public House crew
3] Acclaimed "mixologist" Greg Best
Bon Appetit Y'all!
