Eating with Uncle Eddie

Edgar’s Bistro

By 8pm, the restaurant was fairly quiet with just a few diners still working on their meals. Coupled with the isolated locale of Edgar’s Bistro just a stone’s throw from Lizella, it wasn’t hard to feel both alone and away from Macon. The room itself was washed in deep, dark colors that lent warmth like a winter jacket, wrapping us up in an embrace of a comfort that comes when exclusivity and privacy meet. Though I’m not accustomed to fine dining, the atmosphere made it easy to play along, filling in the gaps of my imagination’s attempts to suss out an idea of what it might be like if I were wealthy.

We were quickly met by a server who apologized for how long it took her, saying she was alone on the floor. I hadn’t noticed a lag—the service at Denny’s is rarely as prompt. I took a deep breath and opened the menu, afraid to look at the prices, thinking I should’ve taken out a loan first. To my most pleasant surprise, the dishes weren’t any more costly than a night at Carabbas—though judging from the descriptions, the selections were far more creative.

In fact, I made my decisions based on how many words I recognized. I felt safe getting the New York Strip—not only because I knew what that was and would get to feign knowledge following my order with “medium rare” but because it came paired with blue cheese potatoes and asparagus, all of these being foods I could identify. Having previously interviewed Chef Jean, who heads Goodwill’s culinary institute, Polly’s, I figured out which language some of it was. Unfortunately, my two years of high school French had long since left me so I had no idea what “haricot verts” were.

My much smarter, savvier companion made a bolder choice, going with the crab-stuffed prawn, which came with lobster risotto. I’m cool with lobster and risotto, but the word prawn frightens me because it means gigantic shrimp, which is an oxymoron my pea-brain can’t handle. Ironically enough, when her dish arrived, she stared at it quixotically because the prawn seemed abnormally large, even for prawn; it was up to me to unravel the mystery. She sliced off a bit and handed it over. “Oh, it’s wrapped in bacon,” I said, immediately more comfortable because my favorite food was now present.

Initially, I thought my steak was unnecessarily tough, especially for medium rare, but then I realized I was using a butter knife. (Again, I’m not accustomed to fine dining.) Even so, I wasn’t blown away by the New York Strip, which is probably more the fault of heightened expectation as well as the product of having filled up on appetizers early. See, a part of the go-with-what-you-know program was to get the calamari, which was delicious. It came with olive tapenade and crustini in addition to the traditional marinara sauce. My date ordered the lobster bisque, which I sampled liberally, rolling my eyes back because of its rich, creamy sweetness.

Despite being absolutely crammed full—stuffed like that fat guy in Monty Python’s Meaning of Life, the one that explodes after eating a “wafer-thin mint”—I demanded my date man up with me for a helping of crème brulee, which I learned to love when I discovered it was basically a tasty pudding topped with caramelized sugar. When our server came with the ticket, I was practically licking the bowl.

Sticking with what you know is good, but it pays to try something new. Just going to Edgar’s was a stretch for me but I’m glad I did because I’ll definitely return. (Like when Spring arrives, so I can sit on their patio.) Had I approached their menu with any boldness, I would’ve learned that “haricot verts” means green beans in French. Go figure. -- Chris Horne