Cohen’s Retreat in Savannah has somehow managed to make the leap from quite literally ‘Cohen’s Old Man’s Retreat’ (it is what it is (or was) — a place where “men would not die old and lonely” thanks to the generosity of Percival Randolph Cohen) to *such* a pretty restaurant and event space today.
There was also a homewares shop on one end of the building that was Anthro-ish with Anthro-ish prices.
Our lunch was in this room, featuring a portrait of sweet Mr. Cohen
We were all really happy with everything we had — Av and the boys had sandwiches or salads
…and I had the tomato pie which I always love to see on a menu (and theirs was pretty good)
We’ll definitely return on our next visit to Savannah. While I’m looking forward to eating there again, I’m actually even more interested to see how/if they change up the interior.
It must be a rule that when in Savannah, one must go to Leopold’s for ice cream. And for good reason.
Not sure who thought a scoop of ice cream between two cookies was a good idea, but the four of us each had a bite and agreed.
We also happened to walk later to Chocolat by Adam Turoni (on IG here). We got four small pieces — one for each of us, and one later for Av since he was working — and honestly none of them were as delicious as we had wanted them to be (though they were pretty). What was so compelling was the atmosphere:
The shop is set up to appear as a library. The pieces are placed here and there in bookcases…
…and to select a piece, one takes a wooden tray which has in it a small set of tongs, opens the door, and takes a confection
We had our highest hopes for these passion fruit truffles (below) but they weren’t especially tasty. Unfortunately no flashbacks with the confections here to visits to Paris or Brussels. We *so* wanted them to be amazing. Perhaps we just came on a day when something was going on, because even the customer service person seemed off. They packaged our chocolates in a small clear cellophane bag, and when I asked for a paper bag to slip that into, explaining we had a lot more walking around Savannah out in the sun to do, the person seemed very put out. Everyone has an ‘off’ day. We’ll give them another try.
Our first reservation in Savannah: The Olde Pink House. It faces Reynolds Square and is housed in a mansion on a lot which was a land grant from the British Crown. Begun in 1771 and construction completed in 1789, it’s especially distinctive thanks to the pink stucco covering the brick. It’s also adjacent to the Planter’s Inn. After serving as a private home for James Habersham Jr and his family, the building served as Planter’s Bank and First Bank of Georgia.
We made reservations via OpenTable so didn’t even worry about timing or availability, while several others I noticed came in just to put their name on the list. We use OpenTable all the time and love to get to bypass the hoping they have a res that was called in or hoping for the best without one, and we’re almost always seated immediately.
This is the dining room we were in:
Shortly thereafter, we were treated — just as everyone is — to a jar of their fab cheese straws (the cheese straws I make are piped shorter and thicker, but they come in all shapes and are equally delish)
Rather than an entree, I chose an appetizer: the fried chicken livers over Geechie Boy grits with bordelaise and fried spinach. Completely delicious.
Av chose the fried chicken, which was also crazy good. The skin was crispy and flavorful without being too salty. Shugie (who opted for a bowl of she crab soup which was nice) came over and helped him with it.
I *knew* the interior was going to be beautiful, so I asked if it would be any trouble for me to visit some of the other rooms since we’d be considering a future visit for supper — they were happy to, and offered that I could go upstairs, too.
Upstairs is just one beautiful room after another. Here, by the landing
Even though the restaurant gets a huge share of tourists, we thought it was fab and would not hesitate to make supper reservations. Looking forward to it.
Earlier this year, we planned to celebrate our anniversary by going to the Sun Dial Restaurant for lunch and then later drive to Florence, Alabama for the 360 Grille at the Marriott Shoals (on our way over, after having our reservation for several days via OpenTable, the manager at 360 called a couple of hours before our res to let us know that the mechanism that makes the restaurant revolve hadn’t been working for a few days. I canceled our reservation, but couldn’t he have called earlier than that night so we could have made other plans? It worked out okay because we wound up at Odette which was fab).
The Sun Dial is on the 71st floor of the Westin Peachtree Plaza.
Over the course of…maybe an hour, we got a 360* view of Atlanta, which the boys got a big kick out of
Besides getting to see everything from a window-side table, there’s also an area with an observation binocular
Av had blackened Georgia trout over tasso-crawfish grits, which he liked
Shug went with pasta and Shugie had pizza
And I wasn’t so hungry, so I just ordered a Caesar salad which was tiiiiny.
(looking up from the lobby at the Hyatt)
This past weekend, we were in Atlanta again and after supper elsewhere, we walked over to the Hyatt Regency and had dessert at Polaris, which is on the 22nd floor. This time, we had a nighttime view of the city as the restaurant revolved.
We rode right past the open kitchen
We shared the very pretty Polaris Blue Dome: fair trade chocolate mousse, rooftop honey caramel, flourless chocolate cake atop a meringue disc
I had a friend visiting Birmingham while I was away, and she asked me what I thought of Chris Hastings’ OvenBird — it’s all about small plates, and live-fire ovens for cooking. No gas lines. In fact, I was there late once when the power went out and they had to close the restaurant early because of the fire smoke (serious fans for ventilation are required, I guess). The entry is by Charlie Thigpen’s Garden Gallery at Pepper Place, so the courtyard is beautiful, and the inside is cozy and comfortable.
While I’ve had a disappointing brunch at Chris Hastings’ The Side by Side, and some mixed nights at Hot and Hot Fish Club (it’s always better if he’s there), Av and I are impressed with how great everything at Ovenbird is, and I encouraged my friend to give it a try.
We’ve had their fried chicken which comes served in the bag — order it first if you’re planning on staying a while and ordering as you go, since they sometimes run out
*The* thing to get, though, is the beef fat candle with ember-roasted vegetables and chimichurri. To me, it tastes like all those bits at the bottom of an exceptional all-day roast, with all the little soft vegetable pieces and the jus from the meat, all this made even better as the candle burns down, offering up its own beefy flavors.
Here, anchovy, curtido, romesco deviled eggs. Nice and creamy, but they needed more…something. Also: the egg at 6:00 is jealous of the egg with all the sprinkles at 9:00.
When a friend and I were talking about uber-Texas venues to have a wedding in Austin, I instantly thought of the Driskill. Our family has stayed there a couple of times before and it’s beautiful. I shared this room with a sweet friend of mine who lives in San Antonio now.
…but even prettier are the common areas at the hotel.
The pic below can be clicked through for an album of images from this and previous stays at the Driskill:
The last time we made our annual Texas trip, Av did the big three in Lockhart, as usual.
BTW, Aaron Franklin was interviewed by Eater for where he’d go for a barbecue roadtrip (and what he’d get there) and the first stop on the list was Kreuz.
The boys and I watched a movie another day while Av survived the line at Franklin in Austin, and he felt as though his hours-long wait was worth it (plus it sounds like he made some friends). The brisket. The brissssketttttt yesssssss.
Notice no sides on any of the barbecue stops. That was enough meat to put anybody in everlasting ketosis, I think. Anyway, on our way out the next day, we did decide it was time to sneak some carbs so we made it to Round Rock Donuts which were a-maz-ing.
I guess we could have thought about splitting a Texas-sized one with six other families, but…
We tried some doughnut holes (yummm)
…and we each got a flavored one for later. Chocolate sprinkles for Shugie.
From the city’s website: Originally built for Tennessee’s 1897 Centennial Exposition, this replica of the Parthenon in Athens, Greece serves as a monument to what is considered the pinnacle of classical architecture. The plaster replicas of the Parthenon Marbles found in the Naos are direct casts of the original sculptures, which adorned the pediments of the Athenian Parthenon dating back to 438 B.C. The originals of these powerful fragments are housed in the British Museum in London.
The Parthenon also serves as Nashville’s art museum. The focus of the Parthenon’s permanent collection is a group of 63 paintings by 19th and 20th century American artists donated by James M. Cowan. Additional gallery spaces provide a venue for a variety of temporary shows and exhibits.
where they’re famous for their cheeseburger on french bread //embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js this hamburger has some serious adherents. I’m not one, but love that this place is still going. And where else can you go that has a Spuds McKenzie lamp and a poster from the 80s with ET telling you to ‘call home’ if you’ve had too much to drink? I don’t need to come back but feel good that they have their own crowd that will hopefully keep the place going even longer.
After we left the Parthenon, it was time to run back down the street, this time to the Elliston Place Soda Shop for a quickie milkshake. Which was great. Like…not like the greatest milkshake you’ve ever had in your life, but this is the kind of retro place that makes it all seem fabulous anyway. //embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js
— A couple of days later when we were leaving, we decided to stop at the East Nashville Five Daughters for a snack for our trip. Four people, four things. Two got demolished, one barely touched (that choc vegan one), another just meh (the twist, kinda one note). Av’s doughnut with the chocolate icing got four thumbs up. //embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js
John Besh sold his La Provence in Lacombe, Louisiana yesterday (as I’m writing this, I see that they haven’t yet updated the website to note the new owners, Eric Hunter and Jennifer Pittman, who are already living on the property)
“Our plans for La Provence is to preserve what La Provence is,” Hunter said. “For us, that’s an institution with memories of people for the last 40 years.”
We were there last summer, and well, it wasn’t particularly busy. Granted we were there for an early supper because we had something later that evening, but still.
So previously, the best gnocchi in my life came from John Besh’s August in the CBD but this came really close. It was a special this evening and they were considering adding it to be a regular item. //embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js
We enjoyed supper and were invited to visit the gardens behind the restaurant where much of the food they use is grown. One of the employees was back there (on his day off — he said he just wanted to check on it) and telling us all about it. //embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js
…and these little piggies were really friendly — there are a bunch of chickens in the back and we were having this whole conversation with the garden guy about chickens and raising them and broody hens and superior eggs and cleaning pens and varieties and their chickens and our chickens… //embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js
The manager came out and he was crazy friendly too and wanted to tell us all about the court they put in and had everything for us to play petanque and gosh even though we had something else to be at we must have stood out there for almost an hour because the guy was so great and nothing in the world mattered because our tummies were full of fabulous gnocchi and we’re playing petanque and this guy has these fabulous stories.
— We’ll visit again this summer after the new owners have had a couple of months to settle in. The setting is fantastic, the food was fab, and I’m ready to revenge-win at petanque. And I hope they’ve kept everybody, because what a great experience.
We’ve been to all the above minus the Johnny Sanchez outpost in Baltimore, but we now need to get to his: Caribbean Room — yes yes yes. And look at how gorgeous that is. Bayou Bar — they’re also serving mile high pie here a la the Caribbean Room Silver Whistle Cafe — breakfasty Hot Tin — rooftop bar (this and the other three above are all at the Pontchartrain) Pigeon and Price — this is the private events venue
Peppered with Butch Anthony‘s intertwangleism paintings and filled downstairs with somber paint shades and deep shades for floors and furniture, Justin Devallier’s Balise in New Orleans has a certain dark (though smart) vibe.
The manager noticed me admiring the artwork and explained that Justin and Butch are big friends. He invited to take me upstairs so we could talk more about the art, which was such a generous thing to do. Like me, he wasn’t sure what these other works are downstairs, and at first I couldn’t decide if these were x-ray prints of botanicals and such, or tintypes.
Shugie and I each had the blue crab omelette ‘with fines herbes, english peas, pickled shallots, rye bread, and bernaise and ohmygosh that was the best omelette of my liiiiiiiife. Every omelette from now on will be judged against this one. //embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js
This is maybe the best poboy in town. It’s between this and Bevi. Yes. Here, the fried shrimp, roast beef, fried green tomato with shrimp remoulade. Crazy-messy and luscious and hot, it’s all just right. //embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js
— LA Magazine — that’s Los Angeles, not Louisiana — writes that they’ve found the best poboy there, and it’s the ‘gumbo mumbo’: Shrimp, chicken, ground sirloin, sliced beef hot links, onions, and bell peppers are tossed in a vinegary sauce and—through some miracle of physics or perhaps sheer force of will—held together by two firm hunks of house-baked bread. It’s less a sandwich and more a soulful stew precariously bound in starch, seeping harmonious notes of acid and heat.