Category Archives: Food

An open letter to Chick-Fil-A

I know that businesses can spend their money however they want. It’s their business. But I find it strange that Chick-Fil-A has tried to conceal their position on gay marriage for some time now. Sort of reeks of playing both sides. Businesses can do that, too. It’s their business. The thing is, I’m not really a fan of my chicken biscuit cash funding the anti gay rights movement. So, I had a come-to-Jesus moment, if you will. I quit Chick-Fil-A. And their closeted homophobic behavior.

Realistically speaking, if you started digging, it’d be easy to find that many companies are probably connected to some organization with an opposing values system. But I have a choice to make here, so I’m making it. I believe people know in their hearts that discrimination is wrong. But they keep riding this train to some Nazi-type fantasy land that the world would be better if we were all the same. That is, straight and Christian. Well, I disagree.

Seeing that the Chick-Fil-A website was interested in my feedback (“we value what you have to say”), I sent them my two cents. Maybe you’ll be inspired to send some of your own.

Dear Chick-Fil-A Leadership:

I have been a customer of Chick-Fil-A’s for about 5 years, since I moved to Atlanta. I was quickly won over by the chicken biscuits, the kind and courteous staff, and the seasonal hand-spun milkshakes. They’re wonderful. But your politics are not.

I’m writing to tell you I will no longer be patronizing your company, and will do my best to ensure my friends and family follow suit. I find your corporate support of anti-gay rights legislation abhorrent, a true anti-American stance, a massive failure in your company’s leadership.

As a married heterosexual I realize that civil rights for all do not come about unless those who are seemingly “unaffected” also stand by those who are being victimized. You may think this will just be a ripple in your gay customer base. It will not.

I hope you will reconsider your position. Gay men and women have fought and died in wars for you. They go to church, pay taxes, work in your locations and buy your sandwiches. You spit in their faces with these hateful actions. I hope you change your position. Until then, every twinge I get for one of those biscuits or milkshakes, I’ll spend at a gay rights nonprofit. It will be money well spent. And it’s ‘my pleasure.’

Sincerely,

Osayi Endolyn

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First dinner

After I got into Marignane, which is right next to the Marseille airport, I had a good, long nap then got dinner at a neighboring hotel. There was a lot to choose from, but sometimes le steak frites is all you need. I watched people and ate. I watched more people and drank wine.

One of the servers asked where I was from when I went to pay. He thought I was Canadian. I have found that people rarely take me for an American. Not sure what to make of that. When I told him I lived in Atlanta, he said “Ah, 0o-sherr, oo-sherr!”

This was the first time since I’d arrived that I was completely at a loss for what was being spoken to me. Je ne comprend pas, I said smiling. Again, “Oo-sherr, oo-sherr.” I stared at him blankly trying to place this word that sounded so familiar and yet totally foreign.

And then: “Le chanteur! Oo-sherr.” Aha! USHER! Got it.

“Oui, oui, I said, Usher, il vient d’Atlanta.” I asked him if he liked Usher’s music.

“Non,” he said flatly. Not at all. Ha.

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Down to Business

I think we can all agree, there is nothing quite like some good barbecue to set your summer straight. Earlier this month, Anne’s company, Specialty Tile Products, hosted their annual barbecue. The fabulous meal is cooked by the (extremely talented) Specialty team, including Madame Josette (Anne’s mama), also known as femme d’affaires, C.E.O. (who also looks really adorable below in yellow). Work it, Josette!

This is a fête you want to be invited to, and somehow they never get rained out. It was a lovely affair. I’ve got to organize my life so I don’t have to go back to work on these days. Specialty takes good care of their customers and colleagues — it’s a celebration of business completed and business to come. And when you get done licking your fingers, you can take a tour of the gorgeous showroom, designed by, who else — Anne. If tile is one of those things you haven’t thought much about in life, trust me when I say YOU ARE MISSING OUT. When I get back from France, there will be backsplash things happening. But now, we eat.

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C is for cookie

Leon’s Full Service, oatmeal cream pie with cherry buttercream icing.

There are worse things a person can do than eat a half-pound dessert.

You could be caught up in an international political scandal, or you could elect to come clean on a teenaged lie. These are the things I tell myself when I indulge in something that seems beyond indulgent. I mean look at that thing, it’s as big as my head.

Rachel and I sat at the bar and chatted with bartenders who never. stopped. moving. We held back on ordering the Gin Fizz, because we’ve both worked in restaurants and given the level of busyness, that would have been cruel. I kind of hate that I know things like that. Sometimes I just want to be the ignorant restaurant-goer who decides that because I want something, I’m going to have it. I don’t want to think that by ordering a particularly time-consuming and temperamental drink, my order could be the straw that breaks the bartender’s back.

It probably wouldn’t, but these are the things you think about when you’re being indulgent.

But this cookie — this cookie is something else. It’s soft and chewy and the buttercream is somehow rich and light at the same time. The icing sparked a conversation on Cool Whip — you know it’s not actually a food, right? Wired magazine did a great piece on it a while back, where they broke down all the ingredients. It’s basically plastic. Some edible form thereof. Stuff you don’t want to be eating, really. This is also something else you can say to yourself while eating a half-pound cookie with cream from Leon’s. At least you’re consuming something in a food group.

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Pre-Cinco de Mayo

I’m not really into the crowds on Cinco de Mayo. So I got my Mexican in early.


I love the food at Holy Taco in East Atlanta Village. The service, not so much. Somehow, I keep forgetting this important detail. Am I alone in this? Once, the kitchen lost track of our order so our meal took forever on a busy night. The reason? They had a big takeout order come through. Isn’t there some restaurant etiquette about prioritizing the people staring wide-eyed every time the kitchen door swings?

In other instances, like on this night, it was fairly quiet in the restaurant. But our server had no short term memory and completely disappeared for spells at a time, so pretty much everyone else on staff took care of us. And then I’m supposed to feel like the asshole if I don’t tip well.

But the food at Holy Taco is good. Some people beg to differ, as they’ve changed the guard in the kitchen, but I tend to go by the classics. I had the brisket taco and the pork shoulder taco, along with grilled corn. Darryl had a fried calamari quesadilla. Happiness. Usually we get a big bowl of the best tortilla chips ever with the spicy Ecuadorian salsa, but we skipped it this time around.

I think the worst thing that can happen in a dining experience other than having to pay for awful food, is to have good food with terrible service. It’s like fighting at the dinner table. Next time, I’ll stick with the takeout.

Alas, that is not the point of Cinco de Mayo. Let’s hear it for Mexican heritage and pride! I don’t quite know what to make of the reports that people in Mexcio hardly bat an eye at the holiday. Oh well.

Atlanta is a very diverse place, and there are plenty of Mexicans around here. But I miss that feeling you have in California (formerly known as Mexico) of the Mexican/Mexican-American spirit. I’m not saying it’s not here — it’s just different — not nearly as pervasive. It was Mexicans in California who first brought the celebration of Cinco de Mayo to the US. Sure, there are plenty of places throughout Cali where a brown-skinned person can’t be found. But the land belonged to them first, and you can feel it. It’s a good thing, I think.

So today, go watch some ballet folklorico or bone up on the history of a people who contribute so much to this country. And watch your margaritas — too much Tequila has done nasty things to dear friends of mine.

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Ola’s fish stew

Meet Ola! We’re going a little vintage in this photo.

Ola and I are classmates at SCAD. Writers have to stick together. One of the first things I noticed about Ola is that we have similar backgrounds — we both have Nigerian fathers who married our American mothers. But our dad’s are from different tribes, so despite some of the similarities, there are a lot of differences.

How to explain — it’s like saying one person is from Oakland, and the other is from Newport Beach (culturally, worlds apart, despite being in the same state), but they speak different languages, eat different food, and may have different religious beliefs. And so on.

Despite our different upbringings, we can still relate to a lot of shared childhood experiences, having immigrant fathers from a particular part of the world. Life was strict with a focus on good grades, higher education, discipline and we were always trying to explain (our own) American culture to pops — like why it made sense for 8-year-old friends to spend the night at each other’s houses. Neither of our dads ever allowed it (“You have your own BED!”). Sigh.

My favorite is when, at random, Ola will burst into an accent that sounds just like my dad’s, usually admonishing me about something. It’s strange — as much as my dad’s directives used to drive me nuts as a kid, and sometimes caused a lot of suffering, now — Ola’s imitations send me spinning with laughter. Is that weird? I dunno. It’s our heritage. It feels pretty normal to me.

The Nigerian English accent has a lot of variations. Just like us, it depends a lot on where that person grew up, and what their educational background is; where they studied, Britain or America. But even if they studied here, because of Nigeria’s British colonial past, there’s always that undertone of the English English.

Basically, it’s in the intonation. For example, Americans ask a question with a rising intonation, the last word at a higher voice-level — say this out loud: Where are you from? But the Nigerian will usually say the same thing with an alternating intonation , and the last word is at a lower level: WHERE are you FROM? Add to that a different approach to the letter “R” and you get: Wheh ah you FROM?

Here’s a great clip from the British comedian Omid Djalili, talking about the accent. It’s not all-inclusive, and you’ve got to take it with a grain of salt. But you’ll get my drift and it’s funny! I love the part where he talks about Nigerians using unnecessarily eloquent language, and the classic non-word “eh-eh!” used to express everything from shock to agreement. Hilarious. I could totally relate. This Nigerian comic performing in Ghana was pretty funny, too.

There aren’t many things I miss about days gone by — the present is too exciting. But sometimes, I wish I had more access to that food my dad used to cook. Ola helped me out with that.

Look at that fish stew! Ola fried up some tiliapia, and tossed it into a scalding hot pan of red onion, tomato and green bell pepper. Yet another joke we shared, is that Nigerians season everything with Maggi. So naturally, she tossed in some of that staple, too. It is pretty good. Long live the bouillon cube. And Sunday lunches with friends.

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Urban Picnic with Grace’s Goodness

There are several things that can make me drop what I’m doing. Getting a call from Rachel to meet her at the Sweet Auburn Curb Market Urban Picnic is one of those things.

Yay for street food! Atlanta is so behind the times compared to other big cities. Fabulous food purveyors must have the freedom to throw down. But we are getting there. And guess who Rachel and I ran into at the picnic? The lovely Brittany, owner of Grace’s Goodness! She was hawkin’ sammies and homemade jars of pimento cheese spread, lemon artichoke hummus and roasted pecan butter. I wanted to take one home but she was sold out! Yes ma’am.

Brittany was getting geared up to cater for a friend’s wedding over the weekend. It sounded like she was going to be surrounded by roasted chickens for the next couple of days. Behind her is her boyfriend Daniel Stabler. He’s an awesome photographer, and was going to shoot the same wedding. That’s the way to work a wedding, have friends who can take pretty pictures and cook.

It was beautiful weather. I’m sorry I don’t have photos of the barbacoa tamale, Venezuelan sweet tea, Korean BBQ burrito or sesame fries that I ate. I will just have to go next week to take more photos. But I did capture a hunk of heaven from Westside Creamery. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to a scoop of strawberry + champagne ice cream. The champagne was big and bright. The strawberry was smooth and balanced. Man. Sometimes life is too good.

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Nice little dinner

The problem with the little dinner is that you can keep eating even when you’re not hungry anymore because it’s “good for you.” Along with my fresh grapes and tomatoes, grilled asparagus and soft-boiled egg, I had some leftover Raclette cheese from Brickstore and a little pumpernickel toast. Bon appétit, indeed!

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Dear Leon, You had me at ‘bacon’

Leon’s Full Service, Decatur, GA

When they say “full service,” they mean it.

Friday was warm and almost-rainy-but-not-really. The bar was buzzing. There was Pisco (a Peruvian brandy) and what I affectionately call a twig of mint in my drink. There were Peppadews stuffed with goat cheese, olives drizzled with a rosemary-lavender fennel oil and BACON IN A GLASS WITH A SIDE OF PEANUT BUTTER.

What? The peanut butter was homemade.

Just as good, but not nearly as sinfully gratifying, was the open-faced brisket sandwich with a side of zucchini and sharp cheddar casserole. There was another drink with bourbon and chunky zest of orange and I made silly monkey faces. But really, the bacon had a big impression on me. So much so, that days later I can’t even answer the simple question, “How’s it going?” without jumping into an ode to bacon and peanut butter and how the oil in the PB locked onto the just-fatty-enough bacon and it was all melt-y and smooth and, well, if they make a candle called PB Bacon, let’s just say I’ll be stocking up.

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Delia’s Chicken Sausage Stand

All hail the chicken sausage. The folks from The Porter Beer Bar expanded a few blocks down to open up this cute little stand where an old fried fish joint used to be. I am so happy to have Delia’s Chicken Sausage Stand in the neighborhood!

They are hot, juicy and full of flavor, and you gotta love the names. Darryl had the Mother Clucker (this makes me laugh every time I say it) with scrambled egg and cheese, and I had the Naked Slinger with pickled jalapenos. They’re all about the late-night craving at Delia’s, staying open until 4 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays. I mean, if you’re going to eat that late, it might as well be something that satisfies.

One thing on the menu I hesitate to try:

Double D Delight Sliders. No, you are not mistaken, that is a KRISPY KREME DONUT holding that chicken patty, with a little sour cherry cream cheese sauce for flavor. Have mercy! I don’t know, y’all. I just don’t know. Can a person recover from something so . . . wrong? I may have to step over to the bad side and find out. Don’t hate me.

Food images via Delia’s Chicken Sausage Stand

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