The day started out simply enough with a birthday brunch at Rosebud for Mark's sister, Stephanie.Rosebud, located in the Highlands, is notorious on the Atlanta food scene for outstanding Southern brunches and fried chicken, among it's otherwise All-American fare. Paired with a warm-in-the-sunshine, cool-in-the-shade November day, it was an experience to be blogged about.
After wading through a brunch menu packed with dishes that made me think "I can't miss this one!", that included the likes of crab cakes benedict, brioche french toast and sausage omelets, I settled on the ultimate celebration of Rosebud's forte--Gordo's Breakfast. Gordo's is a generous fried chicken breast on top of a biscuit, topped with a fried egg and covered in white gravy. I ordered it with a side of grits because buttery bad-for-you grits are the most wonderful treats in the world and I will never be swayed to believe otherwise.
My girlish figure gone in a single meal--but blissfully.
The chicken was most certainly worthy of a write-up. I can't describe how much better the breading was compared to other fried chicken breadings but to say that it was a little thicker breading than most, crispy and crunchy, salty to perfection and not at all oily. It stuck to the oh-so-tender chicken without breaking up. And the breading to chicken ratio was the stuff of gods.
The grits knocked me backwards with homemade, chunky, buttery beauty and left me changed.
Other than being underwhelmed by the biscuits, it was a perfect birthday celebration, and now I can say that I have brunched and eaten and fried chicken at Rosebud, and it lived up to the hype.
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Our next birthday celebration was for Joe, one of Mark's old fraternity brothers. It was a celebration tripled up with a housewarming party for Joe and his new fiancee, Jamie, as well as the Auburn-UGA football game.
The football game was awful, but the party guests were fun, so after the game that needs no description, we moved to Twisted Taco for food and margaritas.
I wasn't in much of a drinking mood, feeling bad about all of my food transgressions earlier in the day, so when everyone was sufficiently looser, I was feeling a little more uptight. All that changed, however, when I got an invite out to the dance floor.
Yes, that's right. I just said that I was invited to the dance floor in a Twisted Taco. Please tell me that I'm not the only person who didn't know that Twisted Taco turns into a suburban "night club" after 9:00 PM.
This was the scene...seriously...
Whether it was the pinnacle of lame or the raddest form of awesome, I'll never decide, but our whole group was out dancing and having a blast. The DJ was playing great music and people trickled on to the dance floor and stayed there. I started a train, fist-pumped, A-town stomped, cha-cha slid, cupid shuffled and generally danced my butt off with our big birthday party of friends at Twisted Taco.
After a while, I took a breather at our table. Mark was slightly disappointed that I wasn't dancing with him and playfully threatened to get another lady out on the dance floor. I let him do it because the only women in this place were cougars and it was bound to be a good show.
I watched in demented delight as Mark went cougar hunting around the TT and brought out ladies onto the floor. He told me later what his pickup line was, "Hey, do you have a husband? Would he hate to see you dancing with me?"
I die.
So that ended up being a new thing too, I watched Mark hit on cougars in front of me, but all in good fun.
It doesn't matter where you get your appetite, as long as you eat at home.
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