Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Restaurants Way over yonder in Cumming
Posted by Cliff Bostock @cliffbostock on Tue, Feb 28, 2012 at 2:50 PM
- Cliff Bostock's iPhone
- Swinging at the Ridge
One of my regular Friday night dining pals, Bobby, planned our visit to the restaurant, 40 miles north of Atlanta. A friend had told him the steaks and seafood were excellent. I thought driving that far to dine in Forsyth County was kooky but the adventure appealed to me.
The restaurant is huge — “huge” is a keyword for this place — and we had to loiter in the car a while before we got a parking spot. We’d made an 8 p.m. reservation and, despite the huge crowd, we were seated right away at a table near the huge fireplace at the front of the restaurant.
We started with a huge order of sweet, crunchy onion rings, slightly less greasy than the Varsity’s. Then we ate salads with almonds, eggs and bacon, served with a sweet and surprisingly well-made croissant. Not bad for the $1.25 cost when added to an entrée.
A few bites into the salad, I heard music blaring and looked up to see a duet that performs there every Friday night across the floor from us. Then, just as soon as their mainly (good) retro music — meaning the stuff I grew up with — began, the area between our table and the musicians filled with dancing couples. I was transfixed. I hadn’t been in a place like this in years.
The crowd, as far as I could see, was entirely people in late middle age. Probably because I’m secluded from reality in Midtown, I had never seen people in their 50s and 60s grinding on a dance floor. It’s not that I found it unattractive — just way outside my experience.
Apparently, some kind of meet-and-greet was going on and a lot of people were wearing name tags. Here’s a warning if you go there on a weekend night: Making even brief eye contact with some of the women will often provoke intense staring and an invitation to dance. Again, there’s nothing wrong with this to be sure and I’m sure the men are even more aggressive.
Our entrees were not much better than okay. Bobby and I both ordered the “filet medallions au poivre” drowning in a red wine sauce with Portobello mushrooms. Sorry, but I only got a couple tastes of any pepper. The huge quantity of sauce was a bit too acrid. The beef itself was nothing special, nothing bad.
I ordered a “fully loaded giant baked potato” as one of my sides. This seemed more retro than the music but was much less appealing. Slightly melted cheese, cold sour cream and god knows what else topped the potato, but, because it was served barely warm, nothing melted and blended well.
Our friend Ryan ordered the huge platter of seafood: baked scallops, fried shrimp and a crab cake. No. Just don’t. I ordered (a huge serving of) bread pudding with vanilla ice cream for dessert. It was probably the meal’s best dish.
I know that Newt would have a really good time here. He might seduce his next wife by flashing some flag broaches made of diamonds and rubies from Tiffany’s. I’d be totally down with watching him sing some good-to-grind gospel music.
Comments (7)
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Sounds like Cliff stumbled into the cougar's lair that is North Fulton/Forsyth. Those ladies are looking to give more than "intense staring and an invitation to dance". Those broads are newly divorced, getting good alimony payments, and DTF.
Cliff, let the hate that consumes you go. You will live longer. It's okay if everyone does not drink your Kool-Aid. Try tolerance. Getting outside your Midtown bubble is a start.
What the shit cliff, just retire already. nobody gives a shit except to make fun of your encroaching irrelevancy.
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