Roy’s Cheesesteaks, Smyrna GA

Here’s another restaurant that I’d never have known about were it not for the old Atlanta Cuisine message boards. I thought that I liked a good cheesesteak as much as the next guy, but it turns out that I had not really enjoyed the real thing yet. I’d enjoyed some pretty good cheesesteaks in my time – The Mad Italian serves up a splendid one, and I’ve heard for years that Woody’s, on Monroe, should be a destination – but now that I know what the real thing should be, I’ve reconsidered what we’d had in the past.

I feel good about calling this the real thing because Roy grew up in Cherry Hill in South Jersey and knows what a good cheesesteak should taste like. He gets his bread in from a Philadelphia bakery called Amoroso and offers a variety of cheeses for his sandwiches. Most people probably just get it with white American, but if you want Cheese Whiz, like some folk from up there prefer, they will gladly do that for you, too. I tried a sandwich wit’ Whiz once and wasn’t completely sold, myself.

For those of us who enjoy hard-to-find sodas, there’s an even better reason to go: Roy’s may well be the only restaurant in the Atlanta region to still serve Fanta birch beer, which I believe is the best soda that Coca-Cola has ever concocted. Once upon a time, Roy started up the regional chain of Philly Connection restaurants, but franchising and overexpanding turned those into a regular disappointment. Back when Roy still ran some of those, you could get Fanta birch beer from them, but the last few times that I’ve popped my head in a Philly Connection’s door hoping for some birch beer, it was a Pepsi soda fountain that greeted me. So if you want a birch beer, and believe me, you do, make your way to Smyrna.

We’ve only been to Roy’s about six or seven times. They don’t keep extremely friendly hours, although I can’t blame them for taking an early supper and closing on Sundays, considering their location. This really is, unfortunately, a place you have to know about to find. It’s off South Cobb Drive, very near I-285, up a little road called Highlands Parkway in an easily-missed strip mall with a gas station and a nail place. The interior is very franchise-friendly — you can easily imagine some sign company retaining the schematics of everything inside, from menus to giant photos of the streets of Philly and the Liberty Bell, to refit any similar-sized space in the city — but, as of this writing, the Smyrna location is the only one.

This past Friday, my dad took me to lunch here. It turned out he wasn’t very hungry himself, so he just had some pizza bread, an Amoroso roll baked with darn good sauce and parmesan cheese, while I got a small loaded cheesesteak, as I always do. A small is more than enough to suit me, especially packed as this is with onions, peppers and pepperoni, with a bag of Zapp’s chips and a short rest before returning to the register to buy a small pack of Tastykakes. The experience just wouldn’t be the same without three peanut butter Tastykakes for dessert.

I still haven’t got around to trying Roy’s hoagies and other sandwiches, because I like the cheesesteaks so darn much. As a final point of emphasis on how tasty these are, and how authentic, last summer, I visited Philadelphia for the first time. On the recommendation of our buddy Chris in Jacksonville, Marie and I stopped by the Little Hut, a tiny takeout place in Ridley Park that his family has sworn by for many years. Roy’s and Little Hut are so similar, and so wonderful, that I can’t pick one over the other, and are absolutely a match in terms of quality. This does do Chris a small service in that Roy’s is something like 512 miles closer to him, the next time he needs an authentic Philly experience. If the Tastykakes people only sent their pies down to this market, we’d probably see him up here twice as often.

Baldinos Giant Jersey Subs, Marietta GA

One of the most amusing feats of eating that I’ve ever seen attempted came at a Baldino’s Giant Jersey Subs about four years ago. This is among my favorite sandwich shops, and it’s hidden so that just about nobody knows that it’s there. It’s in one of the little outparcel strips in front of the Harry’s Farmer’s Market on Powers Ferry and 120, just a couple of doors down from a big Yoga center. Between that place’s packed classes and the restaurant’s constant overflow of officers and airmen from the nearby Dobbins ARB, parking here is often a challenge.

Baldino’s is a small chain with only eighteen stores. Eleven of them are in Georgia (seven of which are in and around Savannah) and the other seven are in North Carolina, dotted around Fayetteville. Unless I’m mistaken, the owners have found their success in targeting their ads, specials and word-of-mouth marketing at the troops stationed at nearby military bases. The Savannah stores serve Fort Stewart, the North Carolina stores Fort Bragg, and the Marietta store is set up for a constant flow of uniformed men from Dobbins.

At least one of those men has a ravenous appetite.

I was there one evening as the store was getting ready to close. They’ve always kept very odd hours. These days they’re shut on Sunday and close every other day at seven, making a living on a huge lunch rush and a trickle of take-out orders for supper. One evening, the kids and I got in about twenty minutes before they wanted to lock the door and sat down to our usual meals. I almost always get a half Sicilian, a sub thick with delicious bread and stuffed with ham, pepperoni and capicola, and a small side cup of pasta salad. My son likes the turkey and cheese and my daughter, forever forgetting why we’ve come to any given establishment, usually gets a plate of spaghetti. Happily, it’s made with pretty darn good sauce and it’s quite cheap, so I’ve never made a fuss.

Satisfied that we were going to be the last customers, the two fellows behind the counter quickly put together their own dinners and sat down at a table a few feet away and synchronized their watches.

“You fellows going to eat all that food?” I asked, because they each had two absolutely enormous sandwiches in front of them.

“There’s this guy,” I was told. “He comes in three times a week and orders two whole number 25s. He sits down and eats both of them in twenty minutes.”

“Three times a week, he does this,” his buddy emphasized. “We’re going to try to do it.”

“I can barely finish a half seventeen. This I have to see.” Marie can barely finish a half of a half herself.

Oh, they tried. They gave it as good a go as any two championship eaters with a huge prize at stake. I think that you have to straddle a deeply uncomfortable line between speed and pace, because if you eat slowly, your brain will start listening to your belly’s “full” notice before you’re ready to stop, yet you have to keep a steady pace, because too long a pause and it’s goodnight, Vienna. Too late a pause and it’s hello, men’s room.

They each finished their first subs in good time, but nevertheless behind schedule. About two bites into the second, they started tapering off and slowing down. Time was called, their twenty minutes were up, and each of them left behind more than what I’d call a meal’s worth. They were as done as I’d ever seen a man. They had much to say about the constitution of this regular champion eater.

“How big is this guy?” I asked. “Fit. He’s in good shape. Tall.”

I’m not sure who I have to kill to get that man’s metabolism. My doctor won’t give me any more than 150 micrograms of Synthroid. I figure if only he’d up me to 600, I could eat two whole subs like that fit, tall mystery man.

Moksha Restaurant and Bar, Roswell GA (CLOSED)

“I found this amazing Indian restaurant,” Randy told me. I was skeptical. “They have an amazing lunch buffet,” he added. I was doubly so.

I have a tolerate-hate relationship with Indian food, because I’ve found so little of it that rises above a very low batting average. I think I like the idea of it more than the reality, at least locally. Here, quite a few Indian restaurants, more than most of them, go for the fine dining experience, and I almost never feel that the quality of the food warrants the price tag. Since I emphatically do not need to be served by tuxedoed waiters nor eat from fine china and fancy tablecloths, eventually I started to resent paying for it.

Now there was once a lovely little place in Smyrna which did it right: a no-frills presentation of extremely tasty food in styrofoam containers, and you could get out of there, extremely satisfied, for under seven bucks. I got to eat there only twice before I arrived once to see an “under new management” banner out front, fancy tablecloths masking the rickety and unbalanced tables, and a buffet. I don’t know that anything good had ever come from an Indian buffet in Atlanta prior to about a year ago. That was the first time I’ve ever chewed the manager of a restaurant out. I gave him an earful, telling him that raising the prices and making his restaurant exactly like the four restaurants that I drove past to get to his was amazingly stupid. I don’t know whether it was worth it or not, but I seem to recall they shut down within a year.

I’ve tried lots of places in Atlanta. It seems that what passes for Indian cuisine in this town is, regardless of the trimmings and the tablecloths, pretty similar to the El-This-Los-That faux-Mexican meals that we used to get everywhere before enough of a Hispanic population developed for the owners to stop worrying about courting the Anglos and focused on people who knew the food from back home. That’s a topic for another chapter, I think, but it was a very similar experience: the restaurant would be called “Calcutta” or “Bombay” and claim to serve “authentic north Indian cuisine,” and have the same menu and the same flavor as another restaurant twenty miles away called “Taj Mahal” or “Sitar” which claimed to serve “authentic eastern Indian cuisine.” The sole, lone exception was a place in Chamblee called Himalayas, which was a little higher than the average, and where I had rogan josh for the first time.

I’m not claiming that any of it’s really bad, but rather that I knew that my periodic cravings for sopping up a really hot vindaloo with fresh naan would be no different anywhere I went, much in the same way that I could indulge a really intense desire for chips, salsa, rice, beans and some kind of meat at any one of three hundred identikit Mexican places. Thank heaven I found Maizetos brand chips and Garden Fresh Gourmet salsa, otherwise I’d still be wasting money at some “El Sombrero” place once a week.

And the buffet. Don’t get me started. It wasn’t just that I know about Randy and his all-no-fool-would-ever-eat Chinese buffets; one right after another, for years, everything on every Indian buffet in Atlanta came from the same damn kitchen.

I give you this backstory to explain why it was, with a heavy heart and healthy skepticism, I agreed to accompany Randy to this buffet.

Holy bajole. This place is amazing.

Randy discovered Moksha because a buddy of his married into the owner’s family. That meant that Randy joined nine hundred and twenty people for a gigantic meal catered by them. He went to the restaurant, concluded that among Roswell’s many very good restaurants, this was a standout, and insisted that I join him.

Now I must say that the city of Roswell clearly does not care how amazing a treasure their city has. They have made finding this place a complete headache via an ongoing, ages-long road construction project that has worked its way up Old Roswell Road all the way back to its intersection with Warsaw and has left one lamebrained detour after another in its wake. Old Roswell has, in fact, been shifted away from the restaurant, which now sits quietly at the end of where the street used to be, hidden well away from traffic and any potential impulse eaters. Moksha is now a place you have to search out; you cannot find it by accident.

Despite the fact that its location cannot be good for business, it’s excellent for a quiet getaway. The restaurant is in an old farmhouse in the woods, with an event hall behind it. Randy remembers that the property used to belong to a fancy Southern cooking joint called Lickskillet, and it has a polite, isolated charm to it that lets you forget that you’re just a thicket of trees away from a bank and a dozen car dealers on Mansell.

Inside, there are tablecloths and a buffet. I tried to remain strong, and was rewarded by a simply terrific meal. It is, by leagues, more flavorful and tasty than any other Indian cuisine that I have found anywhere in metro Atlanta.

I don’t even pretend expertise, or even knowledge, of what I should be looking for in Indian food, but I’ll tell you this: the buffet is considerably smaller than most. The lettuce they use in the tossed salad is quite disappointing. Everything else is amazing. They have about four wonderful sauces for the salad which overcome the lettuce’s deficiency, and another little mix of chickpeas, onions and tomatoes in a light sauce which is incredible.

For my main meal, I usually get some fried vegetable pakodas along with a big spoonful of rice, and then fill up with ladles of curry. They’ve had chicken tikka marsala each of the three times we’ve gone, and occasionally rogan josh. This time, it was lamb korma, cooked in a thick, spicy cardamom sauce with onions. The flavor is so strong, with a hint of mint.

Desserts vary; often they have rice pudding, but not this time. Actually, I did really well this time and didn’t overdo it. The last time, Randy and I went late and they were ready to take away whatever we weren’t going to eat, so we ate everything. We got as far as the little airlock lobby and sat down again for about as long as we’d spent eating the meal. We were just about ready to call Marie to come get us, because neither of us could face driving home for quite some time. On Friday, I was much more sensible. I was still so stuffed at supper that I had about four bites of chicken and a forkful of rice and called it a night, but I didn’t have to undo my belt after lunch, either.

I’m sure we’ll go back again. Maybe one day we can even go with Marie. We just need to time it right and not feel compelled to finish off every drop of the chicken tikka marsala’s creamy tomato curry. Temptation like that, I just don’t need.

Sadly, Moksha closed at the end of August, 2010.

Cheeseburger Bobby’s, Marietta GA

I’ve done our favorite quickie burger joint a disservice by mentioning them in the very first chapter and not returning to them for so long. Cheeseburger Bobby’s is a surprisingly great little place whose owner, once upon a time, inflicted the godawful Stevi B’s Pizza on the planet and evidently felt the need to do the food world some justice and come up with a much better concept. His debt paid in full, we consider him forgiven and shall move on.

Atlanta, as I have mentioned, is a little crazy for burgers, and we have a handful of local chains, notably Canyon’s, competing for attention. Cheeseburger Bobby’s first store, in Hiram, was a smashing success in 2007, and they’ve opened a further four locations in the northern suburbs, with two more due this year. They have not yet troubled the perimeter, forcing Atlantans who want to try one of the best burgers in the region to venture outside 285.

The Marietta store opened last year in a space vacated by a Great Wraps. There’s not very much seating available, and there is regularly a small crowd. This past Thursday, my daughter and I dropped in for an early supper. We do this often.

Cheeseburger Bobby’s promises that their beef is delivered fresh daily and never frozen, and they provide a fixin’s bar with, among other things, three types of lettuce, dill or sweet pickles, and red or white onions. Theirs are certainly among the best burgers in the region (possibly top five, definitely top ten), and unquestionably the best priced. Two people can eat here for under twelve bucks, and they have both a bribe card program to get you back in and a stack of coupons that never seems to reach the bottom. They also do custard, and I’ve taken to turning down the dollar custard coupons, as my wallet is bulging with them.

They also grill up a mean hot dog, one of the four or five best in town, and, sensibly, have celery salt on the fixin’s bar. A liberal sprinkling of that, ketchup, mustard, white onions and relish and I’m happy as can be.

Every so often, we’d splurge on a little dessert and get some custard, but a few weeks ago, they introduced one of the weirdest and most wonderful concoctions around the city: a Twinkie milkshake. It’s unbelievably rich and served with whipped cream and half a cake. I’m never going to lose weight with these things on the menu.

I think Bobby’s has been in this space for a year now and it really worked its way into our affections without much effort or muscle, just doing the right thing and doing it very well for a nice price. It’s the immediate default when we’re thinking about a quick meal and don’t want to either drive anywhere or spend a lot of money. They seem to be making out okay, with an incredibly upbeat and friendly staff and a dining room that rarely lacks customers. It’s our neighborhood place – long may it thrive!

The Smith House and Connie’s Ice Cream Parlor, Dahlonega GA

Last week, my son phoned down from Kentucky to tell me something that was probably critically important at the time. He asked what we were doing that weekend and I told him that his sister and I were going to lunch at the Smith House in Dahlonega while Marie drove up to Athens to run over bicyclists at the Twilight Criterium. My son whined – he does that – that he wanted to come, too. I told him he’d better get a move on, then. The call ended disappointingly for each of us; we both wanted him to come to the Smith House with us. I’d never been; he enjoyed a school trip up there in fifth grade. Oddly, my daughter had figured that would be her fifth grade trip as well, but instead she went to Chattanooga to visit Ruby Falls and the Tennessee Aquarium, and they fed her class Cici’s Pizza. That’s budget cuts for you. Continue reading “The Smith House and Connie’s Ice Cream Parlor, Dahlonega GA” →

Roxx Tavern, Atlanta GA

I’m already more amused than annoyed that the British group Swing Out Sister had to cancel their American tour because of that volcano in Iceland. With air traffic in England grounded, they had no choice but to close the whole thing down. I was looking forward to seeing them, don’t get me wrong, but the disappointment is already fading, and I suppose that it will make an interesting, albeit short, tale for the old folks’ home.

It did, however, leave us with a Thursday night free. David, who had organized the tickets for the concert, suggested that Marie and I join him for supper at Roxx Tavern on Cheshire Bridge Road, and Neal was able to join us as well. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen the place before, despite driving past it what must be dozens of times. It’s set up in an old McDonald’s, with the former playground area repurposed into a large patio. The weather was absolutely perfect for a nice evening out in the city, both enjoying Neal’s wonderful new convertible and eating outdoors. It’s not so hot yet that we need air conditioning. Yet.

Roxx serves everything from burgers to meat loaf to veggie platters, with daily specials including things like tacos or spaghetti and meatballs. Marie, who had the Chicken “Roman Holiday” pictured above, and I have debated a bit about what to call restaurants like this, and we’ve settled on “classic American.” Not that we frequent chains like Chili’s or Applebee’s – although I have been known to darken Applebee’s door on occasions past when the Gwinnett Gladiators scored a power play goal and everybody in the arena can turn in their ticket for a buy one-get one free offer – but that’s the sort of place we’re talking about. It has a big bar and it pretends to be the neighborhood “spot,” you know? Except Roxx is the real thing; their food is really quite good and presented with a unique and fun kick to it. The menu is very large and presented with some amusing house rules of expected conduct, printed with a tip of the hat to the Vortex and its hilarious, similar document of customer expectations.

Most of their appetizers have silly names. After some consideration, I decided on the potato ruins – twice-fried wedges – instead of the Elvis pickles (figure it out). David said that their meat loaf was amazing, so I gave it a try. It was indeed very good and was served with a flavorful red sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy and an enormous side of succotash with lima beans, corn and tomatoes.

David had a salad and Greek chicken and Neal had a great big burger with homemade potato chips. Marie’s chicken was completely wonderful, and I was left once again with menu envy. At the very least, I should have gone with the Elvis pickles to start and had chips instead of mashed potatoes. By the end of the meal, I was really feeling like I overdid things, which is not a feeling I often experience. Just as well I didn’t try to finish with a fried twinkie, really.

Hawg Wild BBQ & Catfish House, Clarkesville GA

Suddenly, as the Flaming Lips once put it, everything has changed.

We got back from the coast with a slightly depleted bank balance, so we ate at home for a week. The following Saturday, we drove up to Tallulah Falls. The gorge, where we enjoy a couple of hours hiking, is one of my favorite places in the world, and an absolutely perfect getaway. Over the course of our visits, we’ve discovered a favorite roadside market and some good barbecue in the nearby town of Clayton, but this time, I wanted to find something new. Continue reading “Hawg Wild BBQ & Catfish House, Clarkesville GA” →