…then I may as well eat like Spring.

Winter is avoiding Atlanta at the moment; it’s an unnaturally balmy 77 degrees today so therefore all the great stuff you get to do during the cold season–eat soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, indulgence of holiday sweets–seems a little awkward when it’s warm enough to wear tank tops and such. Winter is the season where we all get to gain a few pounds and no one can make us feel bad about that except ourselves.

Sigh.

My hunger for a really good lunch led me away from such chilly weather possibilities like BBQ sammiches, tacos, or even pizza because frankly it is just too dang warm. And then I alighted on an idea: a salad. Oooh boy, I love a good salad. Crispy, crunchy, topped with goodies. But where in the heck could I get a good one? I certainly didn’t feel like trekking down to Whole Foods where it was likely I would get sidetracked and choose something else. (Not to mention their new dessert bar. A veritable landmine there.) I liked Doc Green’s salads, but the chain atmosphere wasn’t conducive for leisurely lunching with the New York Times’ Dining Out section. I briefly considered a salad at the Flying Biscuit, but the thought of having to gnaw on one of those delightful biscuits in addition to the meal made my tummy go all funny. (Remember: I love bread, I just have to limit my intake of it.)

And then it struck me: the Power of the Internet.

I did a loose search on Google for local places that I may have missed or never tried. That was how I remembered and found LottaFrutta.

I’ve passed by this cheery colorful storefront many many times. The whimsical giant interpretations of oversized fruits and handpainted signs advertising fresh tropical fruit cups, sandwiches, smoothies, and homemade fruit pops. I’ve always wanted to pop in, but never have. I checked their website to make sure they had what I wanted and sure enough, they did.

The interior is done up in oranges and greens and reds; it reminds me of some place very exotic, no doubt its intent. It’s very tiny–there are two indoor tables and a couple of outdoor ones–but it makes up for it by having a lot of charm. There are two fridges; one is filled with fruits, the other with soft drinks from Latin American countries. I was tempted to try one of those but couldn’t decide. In a far back corner, there are local free rags, a community bulletin board, and small ice cream freezer with those handmade fruit pops inside (a $1.75 each! a steal!). Among the flavors I saw were strawberry, chile y limon (lime and chile), coconut, and I think mango.  The owner, who operates the business with her brother-in-law, was very friendly and allowed me to figure out what I wanted since it was my first time there. I asked her about their salads and she showed me a form you fill out for them. You have your choice of meat (turkey, ham), a choice of cheeses (feta, asiago, cheddar, havarti, swiss), a list of fruits and veggies (tomato, cucumbers, grapes, strawberries, apples, etc.), and another list of more exotic fruits (passionfruit, mangoes, and others I was unfamiliar with). All salads come with a lemon vinaigrette and your choice of sunflower seeds or pine nuts dusted on top. I opted for turkey, havarti, tomato, apple and pine nuts. Since there are only two of them there, I read my Times and took in the place while waiting for my salad.

When it came, brother, let me tell you, it didn’t disappoint:

There was only one problem. I didn’t want just plain old water. By God, these people made their own fruit juices and smoothies! A smoothie is way too filling, but a fresh fruit juice isn’t. I asked for a passionfruit juice made jugo (with water); like true Latin places, it can also be made batido (with milk). The juice was blended with ice and needed no sugar. LottaFrutta allows the natural sweetness of the fruit come to fore and it’s more than enough.

The salad was indeed near-perfection. The tangy dressing just very lightly coated the spring mix and the combo of apple and havarti with those bitter leaves was sublime. I loved the added nutty crunch of the pine nuts and while the turkey was just plain old deli turkey, I craved the ordinariness of it. It was a bloody amazing salad. And that juice–! Oh, it’s a shame that we allow ourselves to buy that bottled stuff at a store. That juice was what juice is supposed to taste like.

LottaFrutta, I think you have won me over. I think the Long-Suffering Canadian would love it, too, juice fiend that he is.

So here I sit, pleasantly full, and thinking that I will have to definitely keep them in mind, especially seeing as how they are offering a daily changing soup menu for the colder months coming. And since I also love a good sandwich, I’d be willing to bet I won’t be let down there either. And you can bet next summer, I’ll be there buying up those frozen fruit pops.

With places like these in existence, why do people even go to chains?

At the school dance, she sort of stands off to the far side of the gym, staring dispassionately at all the other people milling about her, wondering what their lives are like, if one day her life will ever be worth living.

But here’s the thing: plain as she may be, she has layers of spice and secret. They are subtle. They aren’t obvious to the naked eye. She provides a nice surprise where you thought there was none. You just have to be able to give a chance. Come on, popular boys and girls, give her a shot! She will simultaneously comfort and startle you.

I speak, of course, of the Corn & Lima Bean Soup I made last night for dinner. Reading the ingredients–as well as providing ones of my own that I knew would be great in it–I thought to myself, “This will be a decidedly unattractive soup.” I am not a professional chef; I don’t have chives around to snip and scatter on its surface when I ladle it into my fun Japanese-style noodle bowls (I highly doubt professional chefs have chives in their home kitchens either). But I am not that much of a snob either. I also knew that though the ingredients weren’t fancy, together they added up something just right for a night of sitting at home and watching one of my favorite new movies.

In fact, a treasured late autumn activity is a good glass of wine, a thoughtfully constructed soup/chowder/stew and some entertainment. All those things equal this:

Yes, I do, in fact, own the ugliest pair of pajamas known to man. Thank you for asking.

Plain Jane Soup (Corn & Lima Bean)

18 oz. pre-packaged corn soup (I used an Organic brand in one of those resealable containers and it had the added bonus of being slightly spicy)

1 cup of skim milk

1 cup of frozen lima beans

1/4 cup green onions, sliced on a bias

1 1/2 cups of shredded chicken (I roasted chicken breasts in the oven. Please don’t buy canned chicken. It is an affront to all that is good.)

2 tbl. of the hot sauce of your choice (I recommend Crystal)

Combine all the unattractive ingredients involved. Simmer on medium-low until the beans are tender. Ladle into a warm bowl. Especially good with a toasty multi-grain baguette.

Yes, she’s not the prettiest girl in the world, but still…when you look at her, isn’t there something a little tempting about her?

I was, understandably, quite nervous.

Here I am, hand in hand with my fiancé—the LSC—walking through the not un-cozy confines of the Highland Inn, finally meeting my future in-laws. (The Inn itself is quite a charmer; someplace that reminds me of New Orleans. It has that unmistakably musty smell that always puts me in mind of old books.)

I remember that I shouldn’t have more than one glass of wine with dinner lest my tongue be loosened and I make a fool out of myself. (Something that has been known to happen with the judicious application of too many cocktails, I must sadly confess.) The LSC advises me to discuss a subject he knows I am a fanatic about: food.

In my purse is my digital camera, ready to be used as a discussion piece for our dinner at a little restaurant next to the Inn, Eclipse de Sol. Since I work a couple of storefronts down from Eclipse de Sol, I’ve often found myself wondering why I haven’t dined there already, or at least checked out their beautiful intimate bar for one of their signature “grapefruit and rosewater martinis.” I moved here to Atlanta back in 1999 and the space Eclipse de Sol is now in was a boho-chic sort of café back in that day, a place to have a strong espresso, smoke Gauloises, and conjure up the ghost of Sartre. In fact, a lot of long-term Atlantans still mourn the passing of that café.

Nonetheless, after the initial introductions to the LSC’s parents, we decide to make our way next door for a meal, some wine, and conversation. I already know that the majority of our conversation is to be about me, so I keep crossing my fingers mentally and inwardly chant, “Only one glass of wine…only one glass of wine…”

The heated patio is quite warm and comfy; I’m surprised as usually most heated patios are unbearably drafty no matter where you sit. I find I can take off my jacket without being chilly.

The waitress comes over and everyone orders their drinks. A red wine for the LSC, a glass of white for me, a local Sweetwater 420 for his dad, and his mom decides to hold off ordering anything until she’s had a look at the menu, citing wanting a wine that will go with her meal—something I heartily approve of.

Poring over the menu, a nice simple array of choices, but slightly disappointing as the menu looks plainer on paper than it did online. (One of my worst sins, I know, scouting and looking at restaurant menus before actually eating there.)

We all agree to sharing a cheese plate (a sampler of 4 for $10). Of course, when it came out to the table, I indulged in my first photo for this blog:

There was Idiazabel, a smoked Spanish cheese (fairly yum); Drunken Goat, a Spanish red-wine soaked goat cheese (which I liked a lot when I first ate it a couple of years ago, but now bores me); Valdeon Bleu, a Spanish—you guessed it—blue cheese, (ohmigod, possibly my fave, especially with the green apples); and Grafton Cheddar, a Vermont cheese that I thought was okay but was much more appreciated by my tablemates. I have two major food weaknesses: bread (artisanal ones, not the shite you find in pre-sliced loaves) and cheese (all of them, even the crappy ones). Even the cheeses here that I only sort of liked, I still would’ve stabbed you with a fork if you tried to get the last bit—which the LSC did, sorry about the flesh wound, sweetie.

Onward to the entrées—the LSC would like you to know that entrées are different things in Quebec, they usually mean starters, not the main course.

The LSC’s dad ordered something fairly surprising: the veggie burger. Now you all know that I could NEVER get anyone in my family to order one, much less consider one, in a million years. I guess I confuse my Southern family’s dietary habits with everyone else’s. I leaned towards the veggie burger myself, but opted to waffle a bit on my decision. His dad’s veggie burger was garnished with the usual LTO, but also with grain mustard and gruyere; it came with house made potato chips. His mom decided on the butternut squash ravioli sans walnuts; I forgot what else was in there and it’s not on the online menu so I suck at remembering. Here’s his dad’s delicious veggie burger:

If there is one sort-of junkfoody sandwich that I love—nay, crave—it is a turkey burger. You can get a turkey burger anyway you want, just as though it were a real beefburger. It’s also extraordinarily hard to find in the confines of Atlanta. I can name a couple of places that do it up right, but that’s another post. My slavering tongue finally alighted upon the turkey burger melt replete with melted gruyere (I sense they really love that cheese), cranberry relish on toasted pumpernickel bread. I opted for the equally homey comfort of garlic mashed potatoes. It was like a homage to the holiday that had come before.

Oh, I wanted to love it. I wanted to enjoy the contrast of the smoky charred meat with the smooth cheese, the tart cranberries, and the peculiar taste of the rye bread. Oh, how I wanted to. But sadly, all I could taste were the damned cranberries. It was sweet, cloyingly so. The cranberry relish squished from between the bread slices, coating my fingertips, making them unpleasantly sticky. I couldn’t enjoy the cheese because I couldn’t taste it. The burger was there; it registered as a texture but not a flavor. Disappointment. A heavy sigh. Those garlic mashed potatoes didn’t miss a beat, though. They were a tiny bright light in an otherwise hopeful meal.

The LSC’s dish was by far the winner. Feast your eyes upon his meal of roasted chicken, truffle mac’n’cheese, and steamed haricot verts (that’s French for a kind of green beans).

That dish was amazing. And I should know—I grazed at his after I realized the sadness of mine. The chicken was moist and perfectly cooked with just the barest hint of herbs. I couldn’t really discern too much of a truffle flavor in the mac’n’cheese, but heck, I didn’t because it was mac’n’cheese. The green beans were crisp and snappy and not the slightest bit overcooked (a major thing I dislike about traditional Southern cooking). The fiancé finished it off with relish, even tried my sandwich and agreed that the cranberry overpowered everything else.

Contentedly full (except for myself as I started drinking a lot of water to wash away the sweet sugariness of the cranberry relish away), we all sat around for a bit, talking, then said our goodbyes for the night.

In short: his parents are wonderful people. Cheese is awesome no matter what it is. I do not think I care for cranberry relish. The LSC’s dish won. I only had one glass of wine. And Eclipse de Sol is very nice; I’ll have to go back there some day and try something else, but I am especially trying that grapefruit-rosewater martini.

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