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

Restaurant Spotlight: The Red Tomato

The Red Tomato
by Molly Wilkins

Bang for Buck - 3
Service - 3.75
Atmosphere - 4
Food - 3

For this issue’s restaurant spotlight, I headed a little north to The Red Tomato in quaint Bolingbroke. I had been a couple of times, but not often enough to be very familiar with them. Well… except for the dinner house salad and THAT I knew I had to have again! My parents and my husband William made the trip with me. The ambience of the restaurant is very cozy. It’s in what appears to be a former home, without giving the diner a feeling of being crowded. Our server made some excellent wine suggestions. I ordered the Whitehaven and my husband had a merlot.

To start off, we had the Assorted Cheese Plate, the Black Eyed Pea Cakes, and the Escargots, which is something my husband gets wherever he goes. William managed to talk my mother and me into trying the escargots, and I have to say they were quite good. The texture and the taste were both incredible—granted, I do not have a trained palate for escargots but they were good: buttery and just the right amount of lemon. The assorted cheese plate came with Danish blue cheese, green onion, and brie along with a strawberry clover honey. The blue cheese and brie were good alone but even better with the honey. I did not care for the green onion except when paired with the honey. The black eyed pea cakes were amazing, not too crusty, and not much filling but great whole black eyed peas. Very simply, it was as if your mother had condensed a whole pot of black eyed peas into cake form, just salty enough and very tasty. They were served with a bacon cornbread, which was a good compliment with the cakes.

The house salad is just to die for: I could make a meal of it alone. Seriously. I had it once at a wedding rehearsal dinner and knew I had to have it again. It comes with baby greens, candied nuts, cantaloupe, grapes, pineapple and a blue cheese balsamic vinaigrette. It’s so good that after the first time I had it I tried to replicate it at home (not much luck).

For the entrée’, I ordered the salmon, which was served with tortellini and an alfredo sauce. My salmon was too salty for my tastes, but it might have been because it was presented with the tortellini and alfredo on top. My father ordered the Chef’s filet, which was not bad but was cooked a little too much for what he had ordered (that happens sometimes). My mother had the chicken piccata and it was very good, very tender. That’s especially hard to do with such a thin piece of meat but they pulled it off nicely. It was not only good, but the shining star of our entrees.

Side note on the side dishes: the blue cheese bacon grits were amazing! I had to take it home, however, but it was still good the next day. And the double chocolate Godiva cheesecake for dessert for to die for.

The service was good. For example: Our server was amiable and made nice conversation when appropriate, but when he missed that both my husband and my father were out of their beverage, a second server noticed. Even more impressively, she knew my father’s drink of choice. So a few rookie mistakes, but no one is perfect. Other than that our server was spot on. (And I will remember his wine recommendation for next time.)

As expected, the Red Tomato provided a comfortable atmosphere with high-end meals in the charming setting one finds in isolated Bolingbroke. If you don’t mind the drive, you should have a good time.

Our Lady of Pizza: Tina Dickson @ Ingleside Village Pizza

"I'm just a squirrel saving my nuts," Tina Dickson

Though dreams of escape are the norm in most small towns, in Macon the desire to bolt from the bubble seems even greater. It feels like a black hole dragging its children backward all over the world on the inevitable way back home. Some blame a Creek Indian curse.

Sitting in her restaurant, Ingleside Village Pizza, Tina Dickson doesn’t mention any of that. She just talks, smiling to punctuate the end of stories, glowing as she does like the many-splendored lights that hang from the exposed ceiling and homemade wall mounts for kooky table lamps. Even so, there’s no doubt she understands the black hole thing real well. In fact, it’s how she became “Our Lady of Pizza”.

Raised in Macon, Tina chased Atlanta’s siren song, shuffling off to GSU for a degree in Hotel, Restaurant and Travel Administration. “I always knew I wanted to work in restaurants, but I didn’t want to own. I thought I’d just climb the ladder somewhere, become an executive or something like that.” Legitimized, Tina set out to climb that ladder and become an executive… or something like that.

The only company that was hiring was a big franchisee of Domino’s in Atlanta. So, her first rung was the assistant managership of a store where she dabbled in all the wonderful roles available in corporate pizza delivery. Well, except for the actual delivery. “I was never good at that,” she says. “The 30 minute limit was too much pressure.” But still she was on her way. Her boss sold his stores back to corporate in 1989 after what Tina ominously refers to as “The Noid Incident”. (Seriously, she leaned in and whispered with a low growl “The Noid Incident”. It was creepy.)

For those with limited late-80s pop culture consciousness, the Noid was a chronically crossed-eyed and bone-deep evil character decked out in a red, hooded unitard with what appeared to be bunny ears. His sole goal was to ruin pizzas, which he did with crazed aplomb, like Anton Chigurh. Naturally, Domino’s cautioned the public to “Avoid the Noid!” Unfortunately, an Atlanta man, Kenneth Noid, thought it was an orchestrated attack on him. So he took an area store siege, holding employees hostage and demanding $100,000, a pizza and a copy of “The Widow’s Son”. The Noid, henceforth, disappeared.

Tina was promoted to supervisor, overseeing nine stores in Little Rock, AR. That unfortunately coincided with Domino’s founder Tom Monaghan having a religious awakening, leaving to do missionary work. (What would you expect from a guy who titled his autobiography “Pizza Tiger”?) The company sold off several stores and shipped Tina off to Louisville, KY, where she’d rinse and repeat in just six months. This time, she was offered a demotion. Instead, she decided to—you guessed it!—move back to Macon.

Her sister knew the sister of the guy that was running Sammy Café Nouvelle—Michael Keen. She worked there for six months before it closed, following Michael to Victorian Village, which also soon closed. Tina then worked upstairs at Rivalry’s On Cherry before joining the staff at The Rookery. (While at Rivalry’s, she met Trevor, her future husband. He came up to see about putting his motorcycle helmet behind her bar and then asked, “So when are we getting married?” Tina answered, “When are you available?”)

The pointless job cycle provoked her and roommate Saralyn Harvey. “We both got tired of working for people who didn’t know what they were doing,” Tina says. “What Macon didn’t have and desperately needed was good pizza. We decided we could do it. That was Super Bowl Sunday.”

Together they opened Ingleside Village Pizza on July 28, 1992. Two little boys, Adam and Josey, circled the parking lot on their bikes, waiting to be the first customers. When the clock struck noon, IVP was packed. It’s been that way since.

In the spring of 1995, Tina bought out Saralyn, who now owns Good to Go. And Tina was pregnant with daughter Eliza. Despite that tough stretch, which she now describes as a long blur, she pulled it off. More challenges came and others will, but Tina and IVP sally forth. Without a hint of sarcasm or false modesty—just the sweetness of 100% real cheese—Tina says, “I’m the luckiest person I know.” The closer the first IVP franchise gets to opening and the longer the original stays open, the luckier Macon gets.

Food Notes: Joe's Ravioli's & the Oasis

Joe's Ravioli

The doors to Joe’s Ravioli opened on January 8^th and with this, Macon gained a little slice of old world Italian cuisine—straight from the streets Brooklyn. Joe Bocchino’s imported New York pastas are all handmade and his sauces are traditionally created with fine Italian tomatoes. He carries on his Grandma Elise’s love of cooking through doing it as she would: from scratch and with plenty to go around. Open Tues-Thurs 11:30-8:30, and Fri-Sat 11:30-9:30 at 3975 Arkwright Road in Macon. 478.787.0211

Oasis

If you hadn’t already noticed, the Oasis, a new spot for dining and entertainment, is open downtown. Owner Leslie Smith says she loves entertaining and putting smiles on faces. Whether you are looking to munch on tasty wings or chicken tenders (which she serves till 2am), watch a game on one of the eight TVs, or shoot a game of pool on one four tables you are certain to enjoy a good time. If the excellent hospitality doesn’t bring you back, then the live bands and happy hour specials will. Come by Mon-Tues 11:30-5, Wed-Fri 11:30-3 and 5-2am, and Sat-Sun 8pm-2am. 580 Cherry St. 478.741.9070

The Fountain of Juice

Great grub springs eternal from The Fountain of Juice

by Molly Wilkins

Out of Five Stars:
Service: 5
Food: 4.75
Atmosphere: 4.5
BFYB: 3.75

Macon’s newest lunch hot spot is “The Fountain of Juice”. What I love most about may not even be the food but the atmosphere, the fact that I can go in and talk to everyone. I only frequent places where I feel like I am treated special. But not only do they make ME feel like this, I can tell that everyone gets the same kind of specialized attention here, which is probably why it’s always so busy. Brittany Poole is always quick to say hello and can carry on a conversation with anyone about anything. Owner Natasha Philips, daughter of world-famous Natalia del Basso-Orsini, is there every day, interacting with customers as they create tasty delights. Her husband Carl’s work isn’t just behind the counter—those are his paintings on the walls!

By now, I’ve eaten just about everything there it seems—this was not nearly my first visit there. They offer a wide variety of sandwiches, smoothies, and even casseroles to take home. In the past I have gotten the sandwich with the slice of pear in it, I wouldn’t ordinarily pick something like that except that Brittany convinced me. She also convinced me, on this occasion, to get the roast beef, and my husband got the California club. I’m not much of a roast beef eater, in fact I generally stay away from it, however this was amazing. The roast beef was sliced so thinly, and cooked just right, at slightly over medium well. My husband really enjoyed the turkey paired with the avocado in the California club.

They try to use all natural products, and organic as much as possible, which of course will make your price higher. I’d say for any other lunch spot they are about average, if maybe not a little higher in price. For me however, it’s worth it because I feel good about going there. (If my cupcake is all natural then it doesn’t seem so bad that it taste so darn good.) FOJ makes getting good taste good. For example: try a smoothie. Brittany slipped me a sample of the strawberry-banana smoothie. (This is also a good example of how they make you feel special—they’re always offering you samples of other stuff so you always leave stuffed!)

The strawberry-banana smoothie is great. (Editor’s note: So is the Mon Cherie!) I also like the “de-tox special”. Some of that could be because I like the idea of “de-toxing” my system. The last time I got it, Brittany suggested adding the protein to it so that it would “stay with me the rest of the day”. It was really good, I was hesitant about adding vanilla-flavored protein to the pineapple and pomegranate in the de-tox smoothie, but it worked out. Better than I thought, even.

You might see a theme here: If you don’t know what to get: ask Brittany. Of course Natasha and Carl have good suggestions as well, but Brittany is usually the first to encounter you when walking in. Remember: FOJ is in a small space, but the word is that they’ll soon be expanding into the space to be vacated by neighboring Fitness Firm. Until then, I would advise everyone to go early or prepare to be cramped.

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

A Natural Rivalry

Rivalry’s

Months ago, when Rivalry’s shut down, they took a little piece of my heart with them. It had been my only oasis in North Macon, my kind of dive, a place where I not only got wasted, but did so in the company of good people. Every so often, I’d stroll in there during daylight hours for some grub. It never failed me. Nothing gourmet, just solid eats.

Then David Poole, who I suspiciously watched like a hawk for about six or seven minutes, bought Rivalry’s, and like he had done with his Shurlington establishment, The Hole Thang, he renovated so that the finished product was a classier dive with a longer bar and more nice TVs. He brought most of the old staff back, which brought back old regulars. So, aside from the improvements, nothing much changed about Rivalry’s, at least not in a bad way. They’ve even started the live music back up.

The only thing that was missing was the food, which they were still serving, albeit on an oft-passed around sheet of notebook paper. The menu, early on, was pretty basic. No steak, which had been my favorite in the old incarnation—just burgers, wings… bar food, that sort of thing.

Talking about the new menu, David mentioned including something he called “Atomic Buffalo Turds”. Given the somewhat unconventional name, he was reluctant to call it that, though the concept has survived as “A.B.T’s”. (Basically, they’re Jalapeño Peppers stuffed with sausage and cream cheese, wrapped in bacon and served with maple syrup. Even though I don’t like peppers, it sounds good—it is, after all, wrapped in bacon.) I didn’t “go there” on this trip because I’m genuinely concerned about the safety of my officemates and other loved ones who might have to be in small, enclosed spaces with me throughout the day. Having an Atomic Buffalo Turd (or several) seems like an unnecessarily cruel way to begin the New Year, so I went with the steak because the paper is picking up the tab and I like steak.

Besides, I’ve already eaten the burger, which is incredibly well-seasoned, hand-patted and can be served with a number of interesting toppings, like sauerkraut, chili or cole slaw (in addition to normal stuff like Swiss cheese, bacon, mustard, etc). And after hearing the rants and raves about Stephen’s fabled Bourbon wings, I had a bunch of those one night. Though they have about two dozen different flavors, including chipotle and garlic parmesan, the Bourbon sauce is a clear favorite.

Anyway, so the steak. It wasn’t prepared the same way I remembered it, which may or may not be intentional, so after having tasted the improvements on some of my other favorites from Rivalry’s, I was let down by it. Not that it was bad though. It just didn’t have the same kick. Regardless, I got tater tots with it, and that made my day because I haven’t ordered Tater Tots at a place since I was a kid. Now I think I’m going to buy a bag of them from Kroger’s and watch football in my underwear, which is about the only thing I don’t feel comfortable enough to do at Rivalry’s… yet. -- Chris Horne