Just arrived home from my weekend jaunt in Atlanta. This was the view from our hotel room at the Marriott Marquis. Thank you, Priceline.
The gastronomic pinnacle of our weekend was at Babs, a teeny basement restaurant with a small patio and a rustic interior. The owner is this fantastically flamboyant middle-aged man who berated us mercilessly and helped us burn up most of the calories we’d consumed with his hilarious one-liners. He gave us sweet potato fries for making us wait five minutes past our 1 p.m. reservation. (Devoured too quickly for me to snap a photo.) I ordered a pomegranate lemonade punctuated with pieces of fruit. The ideal solution for a hot summer day.
Our meals were insanely generous, just like the owner himself. Sausage, potato wedges, cheesy scrambled eggs and fruit slices overwhelmed my plate. And the sweet potato waffles, oh my. Light, fluffy, but not intensely sweet. Perfect with the homemade peach honey jam. Everything was served with a side of snark.
Perhaps because we fed his ego, the owner fed us a free lemonade tart. We attacked it with an impressive fervor considering our meal portions. The tart truly tasted like the dessert embodiment of a glass of lemonade. Refreshingly tart and the sweetest ending we could’ve asked for.
If you’re ever in Atlanta, go to Babs. Seriously. But bring your Big Girl panties, because the owner will make fun of you and your waistline will grow to previously unknown proportions.
Being back in the South has renewed my adoration for Sunday brunch. Since seven hours is a long way to drive for a meal, I’m wondering: What do you think the best brunch restaurants in the Triangle are?