Joe's Ravioli

Joe’s Ravioli
by Chris Horne

His voice rings in my ears at night when I try to sleep. It haunts me each day, that low growl intimidating me as I drive around Macon. The words feel forever etched on my brain—nay, my heart—NO, my soul.

“Hi, I’m Joe with Joe’s Ravioli. I’m from Brooklyn but I’m in Macon now and I’m real happy to be here,” he begins. Joe. From Brooklyn, an accent I butcher every time I try to relay his message of authentic Italian-American cuisine.

Naturally, going to Joe’s Ravioli for dinner, it took everything I could muster to keep my impersonations of Joe to a minimum. See, it isn’t an impersonation as much as it is a Tourette’s Syndrome-like outburst. Instead of profanities and shouts, I’m inclined to ask, “When was the last time you had sausage and peppers?” Or, to repeat, in the threatening fashion of Joe, who makes his grandmother’s Sunday Gravy “Ev’ree day,” or, to exclaim, “Look at the size of that tiramisu!” (Which is something I literally did when the waitress brought ours to the table.)

It was my task to keep that stuff under wraps and to remember that I went for the food, not because I was drawn like an Argonaut to the shore by the siren song of Joe’s Ravioli. In fact, I did pretty good. Doc Brown only had to kick me under the table a couple of times for lapsing into Joe-nese.

What does someone eat at Joe’s Ravioli if not ravioli? I opted to find out, choosing the lemon chicken dish, which was incredibly tangy. If you don’t like that sort of thing, stay away. My darling date is someone who will now stay away. Meanwhile, I was moaning to myself about how good it was, a bright and tart taste explosion. As Moe the Bartender once said on The Simpsons—about a Flaming Homer (don’t ask)—“It’s like there’s a party in my mouth and everyone is invited.” That’s how I felt about it. Unfortunately, when you try to invite people to the party in your mouth, they think you’re weird and ask to be seated at a different table.

Doc Brown, who is growing accustomed to my increasingly weird behavior, chose the safe route: ravioli. But not just any ravioli—not even just Joe’s ravioli—the Lobster Ravioli, which came in a creamy red sauce. I’m sure there’s a technical name for it, but creamy red sauce is pretty descriptive and unless you’re a high-falutin’ gourmet type, you know what I mean. This sauce had a seafood taste, but that could’ve been the lobster that was reportedly inside the ravioli. I would’ve wanted more lobster if it were my dish, but then again, I would’ve just wanted a whole lobster. Sadly, I cannot afford much more than bits of lobster in ravioli, which would only, as George Clooney’s character in Oh Brother Where Art Thou said, “…arouse my appetite without bedding it down any.”

Yes, I’m in a let’s-quote-things mood.

The dessert came and it was good. It was tiramisu. I looked at the size of it. I instructed the waitress to do the same. She snickered. We ate. We rolled out of there and made plans to return. It’s a good restaurant and I mean that. I liked it, and I’d gladly return—like I said, I’m planning to. The atmosphere was charming, the food excellent and the prices more than reasonable. My only complaint is that I didn’t get to meet Joe.

Join the Clubhouse

The Clubhouse
Chris Horne

For weeks, we talked about getting a group of folks together and indulging ourselves at The Clubhouse. None of us had been there, but we’d all heard great things. People were talking. And the pictures… We’d seen pictures. These pictures showed us a restaurant with a neat interior and one helluva back deck that mimicked a beachside resort of some sort. The pictures wouldn’t, couldn’t lie.

As could be expected, I was lucky to find one person who would go with me. My girlfriend—still interested in the myriad of local dining options, no matter how fried—jumped in the truck as I pulled away from Macon proper, away from all I knew. Together, we boldly went into that weird place on the cusp of two cities. It’s a place without a name, without law and order, or any other interesting crime dramas with multiple spin-offs. It’s a place where no one complains when a restaurant physically attached to a liquor store and a gas station brazenly splashes the word “Steakhouse” below its name. Its name? The Clubhouse.

Can you see the other shoe dropping? Have you been waiting for it to fall? Listen, you can’t help but have some hesitations when you pull up to a situation like that. And I imagine that the folks behind The Clubhouse understood that because the inside is shockingly large and comfortable, like Applebee’s. And though it was WAY too muggy to sit outside—it’d just rained on a 96-degree day—the back deck was one bucket of cold beer away from a party.

Somewhere between our waitress and a lack of key menu items, things got shaky. It’s tough to know how harsh to be because these things aren’t exactly indicative of a normal experience, or at least I’d hope.

We’d wanted to start with the Sweet Potato Fries. They were out and it was a Wednesday between deliveries. No biggie, just a little disappointing. And they didn’t have fried pickles either. We settled on no appetizer. When Doc asked what the soup of the day was, the waitress said, “I have no idea,” and just stood there looking at us like we stupid for asking. So… forget the soup then. Eventually, Doc ordered a boiled shrimp dinner. It came out in a basket on wax paper. No sides. That isn’t thrilling. My steak came out without a knife and I waited, I counted, five minutes to get one.

There was a point where I nearly spoke to the manager to be like, “Yo, I’m trying to do a review, and you’re making this real tough on me to be nice.” But then it cleared up. Like this: My steak was good. It had been perfectly marinated, with a slight citrus flavor—from 7-Up, I imagine, which is a great tenderizer if you don’t know—and so tender it barely required chewing. I like that. I didn’t like the garlic “mashed” potatoes, which tasted like the powdered sort. And though Doc disagreed, I dug the shrimp, whose sides eventually tagged along.

The waitress was nice and somewhat accommodating, but not terribly good at this job. Maybe she was new or filling in or she was having a bad night. I don’t know. But either way, I have a hard time slamming The Clubhouse for it. Same for being out of stuff. It happens. This was just one trip. What I do imagine is consistent is how the food tasted, and I thought it was impressive.

If I lived within ten miles of The Clubhouse, I’d probably be there a lot. I really liked the atmosphere and can imagine spending plenty of time out on the back deck. And when you become a regular, just like entering a relationship, you forgive certain things (and certain things are forgiven of you). Because of the food and environment, that’d be easy to do with The Clubhouse

All Night Long... at the Macon Diner

All Night Long... at The Macon Diner

Chris Horne

Considering my antics in print, on TV and as emcee, it would seem that I have no shame. But, for some strange reason, I feel weird when I have to take a picture of my food on a restaurant spotlight assignment. I think people see me do this and wonder if I have any friends. Well, it’d been a while since I felt that awkward, so I drew my own name out of the hat for the Macon Diner, a new joint in the old bones of a long-vacant Applebee’s. My camera batteries died so not only was I the guy trying to take pictures of his food, I was the guy whisper-cussing at a camera as his girlfriend watched with amused sympathy.

But I digress.

Going in, I had mixed emotions. On the one hand, I’m trying to eat healthier—heart smart, if you will—and on the other hand, I really like grease and fat and things that taste like butter, which means I had a feeling that I’d like the Macon Diner no matter what. I say that because I’d already heard, despite their very recent opening, that they could be incredibly rude. That said, my favorite place to eat in Macon was once Denny’s. Obviously, good service doesn’t really matter to me.

As we waited to place our drink order, a guy—who I just realized may or not have actually been employed there (he had no uniform on)—came by with a “free sample” of chicken wings. In addition to being free, they were tasty but that kindness was wiped out when we learned they carry Pepsi instead of Coke, which I thought was illegal in Georgia. If not, it certainly isn’t good manners.

The menu is so gigantic that I’m quite nearly tempted to embarrass myself with that abused neologism adds enormous. In fact, swimming the menu’s vast sea of culinary options, its gathered smattering of international flavors, I was lost. It was both gigantic and enormous. And it took forever to decide.

My date, Doc Brown, ordered salmon over rice with a salad and lemon soup to start. She didn’t like the soup because it was tart, but I really dug it. She asked for another salad because the first was drenched in bad Ranch dressing with dead lettuce underneath. Not the best start. The waitress, by the way, wasn’t exactly rude, and she wasn’t extremely doting. She was, however, diligent with her service; she just didn’t seem very happy, which is certainly no crime.

My dish was one of the Greek sampler platters. It has a name—similar in nature to those named for Macon, Atlanta and Georgia—but I can’t remember what it is, and it isn’t listed in the expansive to-go menu. While the good doctor didn’t really enjoy her meal (and seemed grossed out by the amount of meat in mine) I gobbled away despite the fact some stuff was missing.

The dish was supposed to come with meatballs and gyro meat, but I had to ask for it, and when the waitress came back with the meatballs, she said there was no gyro meat. Though it’s rather inexcusable for the kitchen to send out a plate knowing they don’t have a crucial element of it, I soon forgave them because I was given beef souvlaki instead. (And my take-out box overfloweth.)

They also have massive desserts available, but you might want to take a second trip there for that. It looks sinful.

The Greek food wasn’t as good, in my opinion, as neighboring Papouli’s. The wings weren’t as good as nearby Rivalry’s. But none of these places is open for business at four in the morning. The Macon Diner is, and that’s its primary advantage. And there’s a bunch of different kinds of foods. There’s a lot to be said for that… especially at four in the morning.

Call him Mr. McCord

Food Pro: John McCord
by Alexander Bender

John McCord’s office reminds me of a big tree house. I’m not sure if it’s the way it sits back behind Satterfield’s, perched up in the air with a view of downtown out the window, or if it’s the pig figurines and other knick-knacks covering the walls. Regardless, after talking to John for a few minutes, it’s as obvious that only a few of his incredible stories are fit for all audiences as it is that he has a lot more of those little piggy statues.

Raised in Macon, after a stint in a Barnesville military school, John spent his teenage years working at an underground club called “The Cave” off of Mulberry Street. It was literally underground. The way John tells it, he learned a lot during his time there—not the easy way and not the hard way, but the fun way. See, on Friday afternoons it was John’s responsibility to head to the Macon airport and pick up a few things for the club. Like, lobsters and women. The women were from Miami and danced at The Cave, which John says was upscale… but with scantily-clad dancers.

After working countless bars, including The Cottage, Grey Goose and a brief stint at The Rookery when it was still a new bar, John graduated from Mercer with a degree in history. John didn’t feel much like settling down and managed the operations of Porky’s, a BBQ restaurant off Gray Highway. The business aspect of the restaurant was more than he cared for at the time, and partying is always easier, so John left not too long after. As a road manager for Chuck Leavell, John lost $20,000 of the band’s money, only to find it at the last minute in a guitar case where he had hidden it earlier. He dabbled in other ventures for several years, but his propensity for bar-b-que and partying kept bringing him back.

The urge still flowing in his veins as it was, John and a friend came across a place on New Street, formerly called The Beaver Hut. They decided to combine their knack for a good time and good BBQ—along with a strong business sense—to create a restaurant that would be fun to run and fun for the customers. The result, of course, was Satterfield’s (John’s middle name), which celebrates its 25^th anniversary on October 29^th.

Between the restaurant and the catering, John hasn’t slowed down a bit either. As he puts it: “I’ve been grinning ever since, and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon”. In fact, he’s just packed more in. Consider his partnership with Skipper, owner of Jim Shaw’s. It’s a concept as brilliant as it is simple: joining the menus from two of Macon’s most popular restaurants and putting it on the waters of Lake Tobesofkee. You know it as The Fish n’ Pig. Plus, they put together the Fish n’ Pig Boat Crawl, which is now in its second year. (That explains the long train of decorated boats filled with happy, shiny people, all floating out on Tobesofkee to the sounds of live music on the deck of the Fish n’ Pig.)

Of course, this is a labor of love. John’s boat, a 1952 Chris-Craft Racing Runabout that he restored, is a regular fixture on the lake. When he’s not between the lake and his business, John settles in at home, “Pig Manor”. It’s a space he shares with over 7,000 different pig figures, a collection amassed over the years. Like John’s office, I can only begin to tell a fraction of the stories that he has, but one thing is certain, if being around people and showing them a good time is John’s fuel, he has a full tank and isn’t slowing down anytime soon.

Empire Deli

Big Eats from the Big Apple:
Empire Deli brings New York flavor to the heart of the Empire State of the South.
- Alex Bender

Soho. Manhattan. Studio 54. These may all be places in the Big Apple, but they are also all items on the menu at Empire Deli. Walter Foley and Laurie Irby recently opened Empire Delicatessen and Catering on Forsyth Road to bring New York-style subs down South. Thankfully, Empire Deli relieves us of our sore deprivation of things like gabagool, prosciutto, pastrami and other Italian ingredients found on a REAL sub.

Now, I’m no international food critic, but I am critical of food (even internationally sometimes). Despite what some people might think they know about food, I like to think I’m familiar with the best subs (hoagies as we call ‘em up North) and pizza in the country. See, up north of the Mason-Dixon, where I grew up, the mom and pop sub/pizza shops usually outnumber the gas stations in towns similar in size to Macon. The sandwich bread is made from the same dough as the pizza crust and you can grab a six-pack when you pick up your food.

Inside Empire Deli, the menu is drawn out artfully on large chalkboards that hang above the counter. All the meats and cheeses behind the glass display case are cut as you order. The Italian Stallion immediately jumped of the menu towards me, and I thought I’d go for a ride. Loaded with pepperoni, salami, ham, prosciutto, provolone, lettuce, tomato, onion, roasted red peppers and a balsamic vinaigrette, the Italian Stallion was an almost natural choice. I say an almost natural choice only because I would have liked to try about a half-dozen other things on the menu. The standard Italian sub is my usual choice back at home so this gave me something to compare it with. I ordered the foot-long for two bucks more and figured I’d end up leaving with half. If a sub’s good, it’ll still be a good leftover the next day.

I was impressed. The meat and other ingredients they use at Empire are top-notch quality, and they don’t skimp on the quantity. The roasted red peppers and balsamic vinaigrette gave The Stallion a unique taste that managed to deviate from the standard Italian sub without losing the basic concept.

The chicken Parmesan hero was another I had to try. If you can take an entire Italian dish and make it into a good sub, you’re doing something right. Empire nailed it with massive breaded chicken cutlets covered in sauce and melted mozzarella. The bread is baked fresh daily at Empire and is good but sort of generic as far as subs go.

They also feature a pretty impressive breakfast menu and a selection of omelets that rival their subs. If you don’t feel like ordering off the menu, you can pick and choose your own ingredients and bread to customize your sandwich. The wide array of chips, candy and snacks in front of the counter, along with a fridge of salads and dessert items, make rounding out a meal a breeze.

Salads bore me so I skipped straight to the tiramisu for dessert. It didn’t suck. It was light but still rich, which worked out for me since I was stuffed from my sub. There’s no soda fountain, but there is a cooler full of soda and sports drinks, and they also serve coffee for that late breakfast/hangover crowd. (Editor’s Note: At least he didn’t call it “pop”.)

The prices are a bit higher than you’d find at a franchise, but you get a lot more for your money at Empire Deli, both in the quality and quantity of food. Empire is a unique deli that gives the best sub shops up North a run for their money.

Eden'z

Eden’z Vegetarian Restaurant
by Laura Ryals

Normally, I am a meat and potatoes kind of girl, but I figured I would give Eden’z Vegetarian Restaurant a whirl—variety is the spice of life, right? On first glance, the Poplar Street restaurant is real low-key, plain and simple. But on second glance, I could see the charm. It has the sort of comforting warmth and closeness that brings people back to a neighborhood eatery. That’s important because Eden’z may be designed as an oasis for the health-conscious and vegetarian diners, but it has plenty of attractions for the curious carnivore, too.

Since this was the first time I had ever ordered anything from a vegetarian restaurant, I went with the special of the day: potato croquettes with dill sauce, curry rice, sautéed spinach and cornbread. I also ordered a strawberry-banana smoothie because those are always tasty. (They have 45 different health drinks—that’s no hyperbole either!—and several soy milk-based fruit smoothies.) The food was good, and the service was fast and friendly. If you’re a meat-eater and you aren’t paying attention, it isn’t hard to forget that you’re chowing down on an all-veggie meal.

This explains, in part, why owner Karen Andre is proud to point out that Eden’z has been in business for four years, which is quite an accomplishment considering that they’ve done so in a location with low traffic. That’s doubly impressive considering the fact that us Southerners rarely resist adding one type of pork or another to everything we eat. And it’s worth saying that their success in Macon has led to a recently opened location in Warner Robins, too.

If you’re looking to recreate some of this magic at home, they’re even willing to share some of their kitchen secrets with you.

“We offer cooking classes on a monthly basis,” Karen says, adding that Eden’z also caters and participates in health seminars.

The top three most-requested items, according to Karen, are the gyro, curry and sesame chicken. (The “meats” are made with gluten-free soy products.) If you want to try a variety, she suggests the lunch buffet that they offer Monday thru Friday from 11am to 2pm, and on Sunday from 12p to 4p. The buffet is served in the remodeled space upstairs that’s full of deep, rich colors. It’s perfectly quiet, making for an excellent place to catch up with friends and co-workers over a meal. Meanwhile, the downstairs dining room provides a perfect view for people-watching.

During my visit there, someone asked about the wheat grass smoothie. Hopefully I can get up the courage to try that one day. Also, if I hadn’t been so full I would have tried one of the desserts. I noticed that they have bread pudding, which I love. I have never been able to figure out why other restaurants around town don’t serve it.

Though the idea of eating vegetarian may be a little scary, I must admit that my overall experience was good. Eden’z is a great place to check out if you are looking for something different and affordable.

Food Notes: Bonefish Grill & Mo-Joe's

Bonefish

Eight years ago, in St. Petersburg, Florida, the first Bonefish Grill was born. Their success has taken them throughout the Southeast and Northeastern coasts. Now the Bonefish Grill is expanding to the Macon area. The new restaurant is expected to open on March 17 at 5080 Riverside Drive in The Shoppes at River Crossing, the new Jim Wilson & Associates development. Bonefish Grill is an exciting and refreshing new choice on the restaurant scene. They offer a polished, casual dining experience in a sleek décor warmed with golden hardwood, art glass lamps, and an inventive art collection of metal works and fish rubbings. Their signature menu is comprised of carefully selected fish, hand-cut beef, chicken and pastas. Utilizing a wood-burning grill, innovative flavors, and original recipes, Bonefish Grill offers a delicious and healthy cuisine that’s “quite a catch” here in Macon. Hours of operation will be Sunday 4-10, Monday-Thursday 4-10:30, and Friday- Saturday 4-11:30. 478-477-5256 www.bonefishgrill.com

Mo-Joe's

Mo-Joe's is said to be "the best little wing joint in the neighborhood" by most who live in North Macon… but with chicken wings that have been voted Best In The Nation for two years in a row that may be an understatement. Eric Califf and Todd Rivers are the guys to be credited for this. They both gave up careers in completely different fields to follow the 10-year-running restaurateur itch. About five months later, there was Mo-Joe's. Mo-Joe's offers up salads, sandwiches, wraps and a variety of appetizers. Are you in the mood for something other than pizza? Guess what. They deliver! Call them up at 757-8009, or drop in at their location in the Kroger shopping center off Zebulon.

reporting by Jessica Duncan