I am a creature of habit.
My daily lunch pail consists of whatever leftovers in my refrigerator at home are closest to spoiling without being bad. I follow the dietary version of the “The Price is Right” rules: “closest without going over.”
I also do not have an emotional relationship with food. I eat what is set before me without fear, favor or prejudice. I respond to the age-old existential question “Where do you want to go out to eat?” by calculating what cuisines I have most recently consumed and working backward, choosing to forego the most recent gastronomical experience, if possible. But if everyone wants Mexican, I can eat and have eaten its varieties in consecutive meals.
Lastly, as a rule, I do not willingly spend money. I am content with what I have, and I dutifully change out my wardrobe when Facebook Memories show me a post in which I am wearing the same shirt I have on 16 years ago when my youngest son was two. That is a sign I try to pay attention to, and will, therefore, part with money to buy a new blue or white shirt.
In utter defiance of these three traits, I have recently taken on a fun new hobby with my work colleagues. It’s called “External Affairs Lunch Fridays.” My Darling Beloved, jealous of adventures in dining, likes to call it “Foodie Fridays.”
Nearly every Friday, we choose a different nearby restaurant with a menu we would like to try, and we travel together in my 2023 Honda Pilot to this location, order foods that look interesting and enjoy each other’s company over a meal. (Apparently this is known as “going to lunch” and people have been doing it for quite some time. Who knew?)
My office is located in the Atlanta OTP (outside the perimeter) suburb of Tucker with plenty of exciting establishments to try within a 10-minute drive. I am also frequently at the state Capitol which expands our dining options exponentially.
In our weekly meeting each Monday, my young protégé, Zachary, and I not only review open items on our constituent issues and media inquiries lists, the calendar of blue ribbon study committee meetings and legal or communications consultations for the week ahead, we resolve perhaps the most pressing question of the week: Where will we eat on Friday?
Often Young Zachary has something in mind. Sometimes we conduct polling with a +/- 5% margin of error. On rare occasions, we all pile into the Pilot and follow the whimsy of spontaneity. (Can you see how much I’ve grown?)
While I cannot adequately capture the breadth and depth of our conversations in a New South Essay, I can share five dishes I’ve discovered in the last 508 days since joining the team at the Georgia Student Finance Commission:
Beef suya – Le Nouveau Maquis, Tucker. For the record, I know next to nothing about West African food, but this shot in the dark did not disappoint. The resourceful Young Zachary discovered it on something called “the Internet,” and we went one Friday with our intern, Lashawn, in tow. Alas, it does not open for lunch until noon, and we were a little ahead of their midday hours on account of a busy meeting schedule that day (We are dedicated public servants who prioritize our work, even on summer Fridays.)
So we were forced to come back at a later date, which we did earlier this month. They could not have been more patient and kind, walking a group of relatively inexperienced West African diners through their menu. They even provided free samples of their soups and stews.
I settled on the beef suya because it contained one of my love languages… brisket. I ordered it with the Nigerian jolloff, a rice dish prepared in a tomato stew. At first it appeared that some assembly was required. The brisket was served on a plate with a powdery spice mix called “yaji” and sliced white onion. It felt like a fajita minus the tortilla, but I quickly got the hang of the perfect fork of suya, onion and yaji. The plate was overflowing and provided a wonderful lunch the following Tuesday as one of my aforementioned leftover lunches.
It was flavorful and not too spicy. They may have tamed the spice for us rookies, but however they did it, it was great.
The Tucker location is on La Vista in a big shopping center, conveniently located next to H&R Block. Drop off your tax documents and enjoy a nice suya!
Tlyuda Al Pastor – Taquería Oaxaqueña de la Gueleguetza, Tucker. Don’t ask me to pronounce the name of this establishment. I just call it “That great Oaxacan place in the gas station on Highway 29.” (I know it’s more words, but it’s still easier for me than “Gueleguetza.”)
Young Zachary recommended this lunching spot on the strength of its online ratings and as a precursor to a post-bar-exam vacation to Oaxaca. And when my colleague, Melissa, whose husband is a Mexican native and tlyuda expert (including the proper pronunciation, which I still haven’t mastered… THLIGH-yoo-duh?!?!?!?!) gave us an informed recommendation, we knew we had to try it.
The dining room is small. They appear to do quite a bit of take-out business. Zack, Mark and I all ordered our own tlyuda, which proved to be a metric ton of food. I ate half of mine and… you guessed it… brought the other half as leftovers for lunch the following week.
Before I became so educated on Oaxacan cuisine, I would have called this dish a “Mexican pizza.” Never again. I am now enlightened. And even if they snicker when I try to say “tlyuda,” I will be ordering it again.
Collards – Home grown, Atlanta. One word I can pronounce is “collards.” As a frequenter of the Georgia Capitol, I was introduced to this eclectic twist on the Southern meat-and-three relatively late. But I’m trying to make up for lost time. Chris, Jessica, and Young Zachary – all Home grown veterans – introduced me to this amazing diner-adjacent establishment one Friday after the Governor’s Workforce Summit.
My recommendation? The next time you are discussing Georgia’s workforce with the Governor, head over to Home grown for the collard greens. They are vegetarian friendly, but don’t let that fool you. They are the best collards I have ever put in my mouth. They have a little bit of a kick, but if they are too mild for you, there is the traditional pepper sauce you can sprankle on them. (yes, that is the proper word to describe how you add seasoning to your greens.) I’ve been back and had them again. They call to me in the night.
And it helps me fulfill my Dad’s timeless admonition to “eat your greens.” Seriously, the best. Plus, you can stare at the walls of Home grown for hours and not get bored, what with all their paraphernalia on the walls.
Biryani – Bawarchi Indian Cuisine, Decatur. I’ve been driving past Patel Plaza in Decatur for literal decades now, always passing by with curiosity and wonder. It took the adventurous Young Zachary to introduce me to the South Asian delight known as biryani. I’ve had the chicken biryani and the goat biryani. Both are delicious.
I’m working my way down the list of biryanis like I did the Dairy Queen menu of Blizzard flavors as a teenager. Like with our Nigerian friends at Le Noueveau Maquis, I feel like the proprietors of Bawarchi tame the space when serving us. In the past my taste buds have seared off by vindaloo, but theirs was somewhat mild. I am aware that Bawarchi is a chain, but as a relative Indian cuisine novice, I’m not sophisticated enough to be judgy. I just really love their biryani.
Unfortunately, one Friday we ordered a Chicken 55 Biryani which proved a bit too spicy for the boss. He may not be joining again soon, but I think it’s time for a return visit. Also, pro tip, start off with a pav bhaji. It includes great buns (much like your New South Essayist). If the biryani spices you out, the buns will absorb some of the heat. The tandoor bread also helps. You’ll thank me later.
Cornbread – Magnolia Room Cafeteria, Tucker. I have learned that the Magnolia Room is one of those Atlanta places that “if you know, you know.” Well, I know. And no matter what I get at this cafeteria style restaurant, it is imperative that I have cornbread with my meal. Yes, it is extra calories, but such deliciousness cannot be measured in calories.
It isn’t sweet. It can be deceptive because they come as round little muffins. This ain’t some Jiffy mix cornbread. It’s cornbread the way corn was meant to be breaded. Purists will say it has to be cooked in a cast iron skillet. I do not disagree. But when it comes to a Friday fun lunch… er… External Affairs Strategy Session Lunch, the Magnolia Room Cafeteria cornbread cannot and will not be defeated.
So there you have it. The definitive five dishes my lunch bunch has led me to in the past 16 months of employment in Tucker, Ga.
If you go to any of these establishments, be sure to tell them New South Essays sent you. And if they say, “Who’s that?” tell them it’s that gangly, middle age white dude in the white or blue shirt who comes in here mispronouncing all the words. They’ll know immediately.
Bon appétit!
