Nifty Fifty’s, Philadelphia PA

(Honeymoon flashback: In July 2009, Marie and I took a road trip up to Montreal and back, enjoying some really terrific meals over our ten-day expedition. I’ve selected some of those great restaurants, and, once per month, we’ll tell you about them.)

So a month ago, I wrote about how Marie and I stopped by the terrific Little Hut Sandwich Shop for lunch before going to visit her aunt Bertie and uncle Bruce in Ridley Park. There was one other stop that we wanted to make before we went looking for their house, though. We asked the staff at Little Hut whether there was a Best Buy in the area. We were having a small issue with Marie’s laptop that required a little help from the Geek Squad.

Happily, one was not far away at all. They directed us to take a left at Lincoln, and travel in the direction that we were heading anyway, and go about three miles to Baltimore Pike, I think, and take a right. So we enjoyed that tremendously good sandwich and resumed our drive. We noted the place where we’d turn to get to Bertie and Bruce’s on the way back, and then saw a remarkably neat building on our right. I didn’t know what we would be doing for supper – it turned out that Bertie had some wonderful curried chicken salad waiting for us – but I knew exactly where I wanted dessert.

This was Nifty Fifty’s, and they have a few locations, apparently five, in the area. Basically, it’s a neon-flooded fifties-style diner, extremely popular with teens, and they do desserts worth driving a hundred miles for. I’ll have to disagree with the otherwise excellent review at Burt’s Food Blog about the feel of the restaurant. It’s fifties-style in the same way that the Johnny Rocket’s chain is, filtered through 1985’s window of nostalgia into the past.

I’d really like to try the burgers and fries at Nifty Fifty’s, because the drinks and desserts are just amazingly fun and decadent and delicious, and the service first-rate, suggesting that the kitchen might be relied upon for some more successes.

Amusingly, they claim to be the world’s largest soda fountain, on account of their willingness to mix flavors and give you everything from Lemon Dr. Pepper to Cherry Chocolate Cola to, errrm, Toasted Marshmellow Soda. I tried this one, against our server’s advice, and can confirm it was every bit as gloriously awful as I hoped. But the chocolate ice cream soda was more than worth the trip. Bertie had a big ole ice cream sundae and Marie had a chocolate banana shake, and we were all very pleased and stuffed. If the road ever takes us back towards Philly, I hope that we can return to Nifty Fifty’s.

We took lots of pictures, but, well, we’re in all of them. We hadn’t formalized taking pictures of our meals yet, so you’ll just have to imagine a crowded, bright interior with a pink neon glow illuminating everything. It’s not authentically 1950s, but it’s delicious all the same. I strongly recommend travelers stop by one of these places for a meal. They’re open all hours, serving their giant milkshakes and burgers.

Brick Store Pub, Decatur GA

For lunch a few Thursdays back, I treated myself with a little trip over to Decatur to finally check out Brick Store, a really nice pub that quietly boasts one of the most remarkable beer menus in the southeast. Well, the restaurant itself boasts quietly, and beer lovers rave from the rooftops. Between what’s on tap and what’s in bottles, there are something like 200 or more available here at any given time, rotating regularly. Even a lightweight like me who rarely drinks is in heaven here. There’s something at Brick Store for everybody.

When I lived in Athens, I would often drink at the downtown Mellow Mushroom, which was famous in town for its “Hundred Bottle Beer Club.” I was well on the way to making that century mark when one evening, a server decided to play a particularly ill-judged practical joke on our friend Matt that left him fuming. Electing solidarity with a justifiably outraged friend, I didn’t go back, but I had some fine evenings before then. I understand that Brick Store was opened by some former employees of that Mellow Mushroom who loved their place’s beer selection, although, in a pleasant surprise, the Athens pub that it most resembles is the lovely Globe. There are no TVs and no bad mass-produced beers. It opened in the summer of 1997 and has been racking up awards for its beer selection ever since.

The service here is genuinely first-rate. I was lucky to have an excellent server who settled my inability to choose between two beers by bringing me a taste of each. The imperial stout from Denver’s Great Divide Brewing that I sampled was indeed lovely, but I went with a Highlands oatmeal porter, from Asheville, as I had never had an oatmeal porter before. (My all-time favorite beer, incidentally, is Samuel Smith’s oatmeal stout.) The porter was completely delicious, and it went really well with my meal.

I enjoyed a simple burger, named “The Brick Burger” on the menu, and it was incredibly juicy and delicious. It came with some house-cut wedge fries, and I followed the suggestion of Dine With Dani, who advised getting a little cup of red pepper mayo on the side as a fry dip. It was so good.

For real beer aficionados, Brick Store is a definite destination. If you live anywhere in the southeast, you need to come see this place. For lightweights like me who’ve spent most of the last eleven or twelve years sober and start to get a little goofy after just one pint, it might not be quite so imperative to get down here, but with food this good and beer this wonderful, it is definitely worth a visit for a snack and something to drink whenever I’m around Decatur. I’ll definitely be back sometime soon.

Sausalito West Coast Grill, Atlanta GA

I felt a little rotten about David. The last time we went out to eat with him, he wasn’t all that enthusiastic about going to Johnny’s Bar-B-Que and Steaks, and while I enjoyed my meal and was curious and excited about this very localized style of barbecue, I couldn’t help but notice that he only said that his steak was pretty good.

Now, some of you dear readers have commented about what has been perceived as my tendency towards damning with faint praise. Naturally, of course, body language is invisible in blog posts, and you can’t hear my often excited voice gushing with praise. I have a tendency, it’s been noted, towards hyperbole. I try to temper that a little, but basically, when I say that something is pretty good, you can usually read that as though italicized and emphasized, with a silent “damn” in the middle. Unfortunately, when David says that something is pretty good, he might well be saying it with all the enthusiasm of Eeyore offering thanks to Pooh for reattaching his tail. His manners are impeccable, but I’ve known him for a decade. He didn’t want to eat here, and he wasn’t pleased by his supper. Clearly, I needed to make this up to him.

So when we next had a free day in town, I suggested to Marie that I make myself scarce and make that meal at Johnny’s up to David. I didn’t know where we’d go or what we’d eat, but wherever he wanted to go was absolutely fine by me. Happily, David’s taste is just about as impeccable as his manners, and I was comfortably assured that I’d enjoy wherever we went, and get a nice experience to share with you all.

We went to Sausalito West Coast Grill, which is in midtown on Peachtree near 17th Street, sort of catty-cornered from the High Museum of Art. I’m reasonably sure that once upon a time, there was an ice cream place in this space, and on the side of the building, there was a delightful neon sign for it. Next door to Sausalito, there’s a Subway. How anybody can eat at the Subway with Sausalito sitting right next to it and still look at themselves in the mirror is a mystery to me.

The menu here is pretty dense, ranging from the usual Cali-Mex burritos, tacos and nachos to dishes from Chile, which is where the owner was born. He greeted David like he was his oldest and closest pal. David works just up the road and has lunch here two or three times a month. Noticing how I was lost in the menu, the owner asked whether I like chicken. I said that I certainly do, and he sliced a little taste, about the size of your index finger, and grilled it quickly, offering it to me with a toothpick and a tortilla chip. It was really wonderful, seasoned just perfectly and cooked just right. A taco filled with this meat would indeed be something else.

However, I did not get to try that. I enjoyed something even better. David insisted, quite rightly, that I order a sandwich called the Sausalito Lomito. This is sliced, marinated pork sirloin served on a bun with lettuce, tomato, guacamole and a really good chipotle mayo. Oh, heaven, was it ever good! It comes with a heaping pile of yellow rice and black beans and all the chips-n-red sauce that you care to eat and a small salad. I had the blackberry habanero dressing, which you simply must try. Four alarm and fruity, how nice!

The prices here are admittedly on the high side for this style of food, but budgeting eaters – as I often am – can just get a taco or two for two bucks and change each. This is one of those occasions where the price tag is definitely worth it, though, because they do such a good job with their grilled meat. Heck, if I worked at the High, I’d be over here all the time. The design is interesting. It looks extremely corporate, thanks to signage and table wraps paid for by Coca-Cola. I think this must be the modern, intown equivalent of the old white grocery store signs that you sometimes still see around the south, with little red “Coke” squares on either side.

David certainly picks good places to eat. I’ll give him a holler next time I have a free afternoon and let him pick again. You should probably get to know him and let him recommend some places for you, too.

LaBella’s Pizzeria, Marietta GA

I don’t mean any disrespect – here, I’m in the very first sentence and I’m already channeling Jon Stewart from that pizza business in June – but, I’ll tell you good readers truly, when Marie suggested that we try to find a real New York City pizza in Marietta and came up with Baby Tommy’s Taste of New York, I had to ask, “Are you kidding me?” Don’t get me wrong; she made a great choice, and it’s a very good pizza place, one that I happily recommend that anybody in the area visit, but I just could not believe that she needed to look around for a New York pizza. You know what’s the only restaurant – seriously, the only restaurant – to have a menu on our fridge? It’s LaBella’s Pizzeria, which is over on Sandy Plains within walking distance of Sprayberry High School. It’s remarkable. It’s one of my five favorite pizza places in Atlanta. (Presently, the other four are Vingenzo’s, Varasano’s, Fritti and Fellini’s.)

Of course, such is the nature of our hobby and always trying new things that it had been a year and a half since we had a pie from LaBella’s. And I’m sure Marie had a perfectly reasonable motive in looking around for someplace new. We already know that LaBella’s is wonderful, so why not try somebody different and see what they can do? That’s fine by me, it’s just a strange equation. Looking for the best New York pizza in the region is simple. Look for the guy who used to own a pizza place on Long Island. He should know what he’s doing.

We first visited LaBella’s about three years ago with our friend Mandy, whom we don’t see enough, and I was just knocked down. The crust is just perfectly thin, the cheese isn’t too stringy, and the sauce is really tangy. It’s a tiny little place with maybe five oddly random tables and chairs all shoved together to give people just a little room to eat.

You know what makes this feel like a proper New York pizza in my fantasizing mind? They’re not afraid of anchovies. Seriously, around these parts, if they’re on the menu at all, they are hidden. Here, if you order a house special, you’re getting anchovies, as you should. Marie and my daughter both hate anchovies. Of course they do. My ideal slice of New York-styled pizza simply has anchovies and pepperoni. Even though we got out of the habit of visiting when we started the blog, there have been many times over the last year and a half when I was oddly peckish for anchovies and wondered whether we could get a pie from here.

The three of us stopped by one Friday evening at the beginning of the month – yes, the delay between a meal and a blog chapter is getting mighty long – for a nice, hot pie. The huge pizza oven takes up most of the room in the restaurant’s small space. It’s not very comfortable in the summer, but on cold nights, this is a fine place to be. We arrived just as Rick Sorrentino, who co-owns the business with his son, Stephen, was leaving, and only had a couple of words before he left. They’re terrific people here. Most of their business is take-out – come to think of it, most of the pies that I’ve had here, I’ve carried home – and it’s such fun, watching regulars come and go, greeting the staff like old friends.

There have been a couple more Sundays when I’ve phoned on my way home from work to ask whether they’ve still got any zeppoles. The answer’s usually no. They only do these little doughnuts on Sundays and they go fast. But a couple of times, I’ve brought home a paper bag full of greasy, fried deliciousness and, whatever Marie’s cooked for dinner, these make a great dessert. I need to call about zeps more often. We’re missing out.

Nam Phuong, Norcross GA

Nam Phuong is a good restaurant, and possibly an excellent one, but I’m certain that I did myself a disservice by lunching alone here. It’s been on my to-do list for quite a few months, just waiting for me to be in the mood to sample it. I figured that I needed to give it a try after reading Jennifer Zyman’s fascinating review of it. Zyman, who writes under the nom de blog The Blissful Glutton, is among this region’s best food writers, and one with a number of followers and fans. She could wax eloquent about a McDonald’s in Fairburn, and I’m pretty sure somebody would be trying to explain to his wife what the hell he’s doing stumbling home from south Fulton with Big Mac on his breath.

Anyway, I had not found reason to look around Jimmy Carter Boulevard in Norcross for simply ages, and I amused myself driving up and down. Once upon a time, a terrific store called Eat More Records was located here; they once bought quite a few bootleg CDs that I found myself possessing. It is a deeply ugly, sprawling mess of a road. I’ll never forget riding around with my good friends Dave, who now lives in Toronto, and Kevin, who now lives in Washington, spending miles of gridlock on that damn road trying to get back to I-85 and realizing, across fifty-eleven stupid jokes, just how very much like its namesake this road really is. “Jimmy Carter Boulevard means well,” Kevin said, “but it’s mostly ineffective in accomplishing its goals.”

In the early nineties, a good chunk of this corridor evolved into a Spanish-speaking neighborhood. Today, Asian families have started opening businesses and several strip malls are entirely Asian-owned, like a smaller version of much of the commerce along Buford Highway. There are still several Hispanic-focused businesses – one of the region’s two Pollo Campero restaurants is along here – but you can see the decline in the number that have shuttered. Perhaps most amusing is a former nightclub located right in front of the strip mall where Nam Phuong is found. It was called El Imperio, and its crumbling “castle” facade, with the front entrance built to look like guests entered through a dragon’s mouth, looks like something to excite eleven year-olds at a mini-golf.

This doesn’t look like a neighborhood where elegant, upscale dining can be found. Appearances are deceiving.

This is a really nice restaurant. Everything about it is classy and genuine. The servers were really nice and nothing felt artificial or phony. They did a great job making me feel welcome.

I had an order of bun chao tom, and that probably wasn’t what I wanted. It was ground shrimp with sugar cane served in a bowl over rice vermicelli with lettuce and carrots, sprinkled with crushed peanuts and with a small bowl of a fish sauce on the side. I never had sugar cane before, so I ordered this instead of the bun tau hu ki cuon tom, which is shrimp wrapped in bean curd. I’m certain that I would have enjoyed that more. Ordering sugar cane, I’ve since learned, is a polite way of eating scraps of wood in public.

I also had an appetizer order of bi cuon, which are shredded pork rolls. These do not come in those crispy, fried, golden brown shells that you see in all the sweet-n-sour Chinese places in the suburbs, but a slightly moist, white rice paper. These were quite tasty.

Everything was good, but I do think that I shot myself in the foot by trying this place by myself. Nam Phuong’s menu is huge, and jam packed with dishes that I’ve never heard of. My experience of Chinese, Korean or Vietnamese cooking is, sadly, still limited to the Golden-This-Happy-That school of red sweet-n-sour sauces. I’ve grown to loathe eating at those sorts of restaurants, and I just sing with the opportunity to try something so different and so interesting as this. While my meal was good, I would really like to return with a large group and sample many different things from everybody’s orders. Doesn’t that sound like a fun evening out?

Mountain Man BBQ & Grill, Dillard GA

Coming back from our trip up to Asheville, I had hoped that we might stop somewhere for a barbecue snack. We were disappointed, after all, to learn that Fiddlin Pig had closed, and a weekend is just incomplete without some barbecue. Of course, traveling on a Sunday through western North Carolina, it’s a little hard to actually find a barbecue restaurant that’s open. It’s not until you’re back in Georgia that you get a few options.

The towns of Dillard and Rabun Gap are much more traveler-friendly. Here, I count three barbecue joints within about four miles of each other, all serving up on Sundays. The first of these that travelers will meet on the way back to Atlanta will be Mountain Man. This might very well be the northernmost barbecue restaurant within Georgia’s boundaries. You can probably lob a tennis ball into North Carolina from here.

This restaurant originally opened, under different ownership, in the 1980s, but it has been run by the Fotopoulus family for almost fifteen years. When they moved down from Chicago, Mountain Man was just one storefront in a small strip mall, but they have grown the business so that various dining rooms line the entire length of the property. Architecturally, it’s a real mish-mash. The food that they serve is just terrific, and a real traveler’s delight.

We arrived around 2:30, and the dining room was about a third full. Not bad for a Sunday, I’d say. We kept our orders simple. Marie and I each had chopped pork sandwiches, served with excellent homemade potato chips and, sadly, not-at-all-excellent slaw. Our daughter had a bowl of Brunswick stew, thick with lots of chopped and ground meat. We thought it was pretty good stew, but it was improved by adding some barbecue sauce to the bowl. There are mild and hot varieties of the usual brown ketchup-vinegar mix. The mild was too sweet for my taste; the hot was really good. The pork was nicely smoked and just a little moist. I found it tastier than the justifiably popular stuff available down the road at Oinkers in Clayton.

I was interested to learn that the family started serving Chicago-styled pizza as well. Apparently, they started baking them for the friends that they made when they moved down here, and were persuaded that they should add the pizza to the menu and sell it in the restaurant. The growing success of the restaurant has resulted in a sprawling building with multiple dining rooms and a large menu. Honestly, though, the pizza would have to be pretty amazing to distract me from the barbecue. I can’t deny, however, that I’m awfully curious.

West End Bakery & Cafe, Asheville NC

So we had a cunning plan to finish up our trip to That Town Where We’d Like to Live with a late morning Sunday visit to the extremely popular Sunny Point Cafe in West Asheville, followed by a return to Bele Chere to see the Stereofidelics before returning home. Nothing went right. I zonked out Saturday evening to a terrible TV movie on Lifetime – I do so adore terrible TV movies on Lifetime – feeling dehydrated despite my efforts, exhausted, sore and congested. I slept horribly, in little fits and starts all through the night, and seemed to spend more time shuffling through the corridors to the lobby to waste time online than in bed. It was a fine, comfortable hotel, but I was too uncomfortable to be happy anywhere. Continue reading “West End Bakery & Cafe, Asheville NC” →