ATLANTA RESTAURANT REVIEW: Bacchanalia
I was at a bit of a loss when trying to figure out where to eat on a recent trip to Atlanta, as I had never been before and was completely unfamiliar with the food scene there. After consulting the usual references, I zeroed in on Lazy Betty, an incredible sounding high-concept tasting restaurant, but the amount of references to the "leisurely" pace of service (including on their own website) was quite troubling to me, as that is the complete opposite of the way I prefer to dine, especially considering I needed to save some time in case I decided to go try the lemon pepper wings at Magic City later that night. So instead, I pivoted to fellow Michelin star recipient Bacchanalia, one of the most celebrated fine-dining spots in the 404 over the years (if we are putting this in Jermaine Dupri-affiliated ATL anthem parlance, this is much more 'Welcome To Atlanta' featuring Ludacris than 'New Atlanta' featuring, Migos, Young Thug, and Rich Homie Quan).
Named after the wild ancient drunken feasts and orgies (the Romans really knew what was up) honoring Bacchus, the god of wine, Bacchanalia originally opened in 1993 in Buckhead, but has relocated a couple of times since. Now residing in an airy new building on the northwest side in a neighborhood known as Blandtown for some reason (after this meal I suggested they rename it Flavortown, which drew a groan from my audience of one), the vibe is anything but stuffy and pretentious. Brown leather banquettes and dark wooden tables furnish the dining room; from the black, industrial-type ceiling hang dozens of suspended Edison bulbs, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. Service was on point, as you might expect from an eatery with this level of accolades.
Dinner here is a prix fixe situation, but with about a half-dozen options for each of the four courses, indicated quite matter-of-factly by capitalized ordinal numbers. I quite like this style of dining, which I first encountered at Bosq in Aspen, as it affords the optionality of a la carte (where these days, in the free-for-all small plates era of modern American cuisine, it can be difficult to know exactly how many items to order) with the intentional pacing of a tasting menu. There were also several off-piste "freebies" included throughout, such as a bowl of mini pãos de queijo (I'm sure I'm safe in assuming that Portuguese grammar uses the same rules for compound plural nouns as we do, e.g. holes-in-one) i.e. starchy Brazilian cheese rolls, a platter of breads including an extraordinarily crusty sourdough, assorted amuse-bouche, and some mignardises at the end, but I'm not going to go into detail about any of these or we will be here all night.
The First course options were smaller plates, and anyone who has spent any time on this site knows that I can't resist ordering Steak Tartare (since the menu items all have rather minimalist names, I'm going to include a lyric that has some relation to each dish in honor of Atlanta's position in the hip hop pantheon. For this one, Takeoff (RIP) rapped on 'Fight Night': "It's a truckload coming on the interstate/Sirloin steak all on my dinner plate"). Here was an exemplary version, molded into a tidy rectangle off to one side of the dinnerware, showcasing the artsy negative space I always fall for. Spiced with Calabrian chile and featuring carrot in both a puree and a neatly-rolled slice garnish, this was not only one of the tastiest raw meat dishes I've had in awhile, it was also one of the most beautiful. Instead of the usual carbohydrate on the side, crunchy taro chips were delicately placed atop the beef alongside little dollops of fluffy egg yolk and parsley leafs, covering the ROYG segment of the rainbow (alas, no BIV).
One of Bacchanalia's signature items is their Crab Fritter (as Georgia-adjacent boss Rick Ross once spat on 'Mafia Music': "Used to run the street, young homie [not the word he actually used] bare feet/Now I'm in these suites and I'm eating crab meats") with the famed "Thai essence", an infusion of chiles that adds a great kick to the panko-breaded crustacean orb. Crispy on the outside with a soft and slightly sweet interior, this was as good of a fried crab morsel as I've had, cake or otherwise. Fresh citrus supremes and creamy avocado lent some acidity and cooling to the heat of the sauce. This supposedly never leaves the menu, and for good reason.
The Second courses were essentially the mains, and I quite dug the Maine Lobster (perhaps Atlanta-area rapper Kaliii was thinking of me on 'Area Codes' when she said: "Got a white boy on my roster/He be feeding me pasta and lobster") with shisito, ponzu, and purple radish. An impressive portion of poached, sliced decapod was served at room temperature, the protein not overly toothsome but with a nice, familiar chew indicative of a flawless cook. The sweetly acidic sauce added a contrasting punch, and the daikon was not only there for eye candy, but provided another layer of texture as well. Very creative, and a great example of why Bacchanalia is so revered around these parts.
Another banger Second was the Dry Aged NY Strip with pommes macaire (a French potato cake that is cooked in a skillet and then baked in the oven) and whole grain mustard. The beef, aged 28 days like one of Sandra Bullock's worst movies, was executed perfectly (unlike that film): a hard sear on the outside and a spectacularly tender medium-rare on the inside. While this is a constant on the menu, the accompaniments change, and I thought the current potato preparation was lovely, even it was essentially just a fancy hash brown... piping hot with a crisp, golden brown exterior, you just can't beat steak and potatoes. Who can forget Cardi B flowing on the legendary 'Bodak Yellow' (yes, that's a woman artist for both main courses, #feminism): "I go to dinner and steak, only the real can relate/I used to live in the P's, now it's a crib with a gate"?
I can't remember the last time I ate somewhere with a pure cheese course, but the Third was just that. An isosceles triangle of semi-crumbly blue Colston-Basset Stilton (which carries a protected designation of origin status, only able to be produced in the English counties of Derbyshire, Leicestershire, and Nottinghamshire, that amusingly do not include the village of Stilton, which lies in Cambridgeshire) was quite strong, with a pungent funk from the added Penicillium roqueforti. Some sugary relief from the intensity of the cheese was provided in the form of a delightful slice of walnut tart and some crushed sultana grapes. Offset in a helpfully titled track rhymed: "Blue cheese, no ranch, all hunnids/10 racks on me that's mall money"; it's not hard to believe that he wrote that line after the penultimate course at (probably) his favorite Hotlanta restaurant.
On the complete opposite end of the cheese spectrum was the Stracciatella. This rich Italian import consists of hand-pulled curds of mozzarella soaked in heavy cream, resulting in an ooey-gooey texture. Spread across the bottom of the bowl, the freshness of this cheese was a great contrast to the previous dairy dish, and some leaves of gorgeous purple radicchio (a member of the chicory family, as we have recently learned) added both a peppery kick and a pop of color. Bits of plum and hazelnut rounded out the proceedings. It was a bit of a stretch (pun intended) to find a lyric for this one, but we'll go with DRAM on 'Broccoli': "They just mad 'cause I got that cheese, bitch, I keep dairy".
For someone who is very much not an egg guy, I surprisingly really enjoy a certain dish consisting of whipped egg whites in a ramekin puffed up after baking in the oven. While also existing in savory forms, it's much better when sweet in my opinion, and one of the options for the Fourth course here was a superb example of that French staple: a Soufflé with Georgia peach (Trick Daddy in 'Sugar [Gimme Some]': "Florida oranges and Georgia peaches/When they nice and ripe, they best for eatin"), raspberry, and crispy crumbs. The flavoring rotates seasonally, but we were quite fortunate to visit when the state fruit was in peak harvest, which allowed for a bright, summery interpretation of the notoriously technically challenging dessert. It's a bit hard to tell from the photo below, but the rise on this soufflé was so insane that I wanted to go high five the patissier in the kitchen. But I didn't want it to go to their head... praise from the president of Adrian Reviews is just about the highest honor one can receive, and how do you continue to motivate yourself after that?
Tasty but unremarkable was the other dessert I tried: simply named Pecan, consisting of nutty crisps sandwiching artfully alternating piped praline paste and white chocolate. A spiral of cream lined the base of the plate, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and some crunchy candied pecan pieces off to the side. If you're somehow still reading at this point you've probably realized I bit off a bit more than I could chew when it comes to the rap lyric side quest (even more overambitious than slipping in a dozen Madonna song titles in last week's review), so I'll just go with one of the greatest lines of all time, even though it references the botanical fruit of a different tree, from Atlanta GOAT 2 Chainz aka Tity Boi in 'Like Me': "Wood grain, chestnut, ***** ****, chest nut!" (bleeped because this is a family site – my one- and four-year-old nephews are technically subscribers, which was one of the most thoughtful birthday gifts ever to help juice my reader numbers – but IYKYK).
And that brought an end to a fantastic experience. Pretty much everything was delicious, with the service to back up the recognition and reputation that Bacchanalia has accrued. There were those little touches, like a selection of bagged pastries from the adjoining bakery available to grab on your way out as a sort of parting gift, that really showcased the care of the purveyors. My only regret is that there were no prawns to be found on the menu, so I was unable to utilize my favorite seafood-related bar, but it's too good not t0 include... so I'll leave you with this, from Pimp C on the Southern classic 'Sippin' On Some Syrup': "We eat so many shrimp, I got iodine poisoning". Rest easy, king.
RANKING UPDATE: An easy addition to my Beyond Houston guide, where the southeastern United States is woefully underrepresented due to my general lack of travel (and interest) in this region.
NEXT UP: A special limited-time collaboration between two highly-rated (by me) Houston restaurants.