Eating for the Soul

Like clockwork, my midlife crisis arrived when I turned 40. Watching all of my friends die from AIDS, I lived in a vortex of death and terror. At my therapist’s suggestion, I enrolled in a weekend workshop at t...

Atlanta’s Hidden Tamale Treasure

The last few weeks haven’t been fun. I had minor eye surgery followed by a stomach virus, followed by a cold of such ferocity that I began to wonder, “What would Jesus do?” Soon my nostrils and eyes cleared, I ...

Limp Fries and Sugar Highs

Many years ago, I used to hang out with Bill Cutler, a former academic who biked around the state and reported his adventures in restaurants for several publications. Maybe a year after his untimely death, I wa...

Son of a Bear: Where Spam is a Luxury

In my last column, I wrote positively about the new Ramen Station in the Larkin development in Grant Park. As it happens, the owners also recently opened a Korean gastropub called Son of a Bear in Decatur. I wa...

Eating My Words: A Very Merry Ramen Holiday

Cold weather has arrived, and that means you’ll be slurping a lot of ramen, the Japanese noodle soup that is absolutely everywhere these days. I dined last week at one of the newest venues in Grant Park called ...

Of Whining Queens, Mexican Flavors, and Halibut Nipples

Last Friday, my regular dining pals and I headed to Nuevo Laredo Cantina (1495 Chattahoochee Avenue). It’s been several years since I dined there and I’ve always liked it. It’s not for purists in search of so-c...

Brazil on the Beltline: Buteco

You remember 1965, right? You couldn’t possibly be gay, you would later think, because you totally hated Barbra Streisand, who won a Grammy for the song “People” that year. I mean you were a bullied kid and, un...

A Halloween Tale: In Praise of Orange

Last week, I sat in my office eating candy corn with a client. Created in the 1880s, it is one of the nastiest substances on the planet, but my client and I were using it as a means of mindfulness training. The...

No Tex-Mex on the Menu? Caramba!

There’s barely an inch of intown Atlanta that hasn’t been deformed by “gentrification.” Gentrifiers hate the word because it alludes to a prosperous class that drives traditionally poorer residents from their n...