Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Pitty Pat's Porch

I meant to post about this restaurant months ago, but never did. I'm sure my good friend at Pecanne Log already has, but it was MY birthday celebration and I chose the destination, so I feel obligated to mention it. I'm pretty sure we are the only people who would actively seek out Pitty Pat's Porch. If you haven't been, you must.

The restaurant is named for Aunt Pitty Pat from Gone with the Wind. That's the first point I need to make to give you an impression of what we're talking about here. Second, it's located in the base of a parking deck on Andy Young International Blvd across from the loading dock for the Westin. You know the deck I'm talking about. Jalepeno Charlie's and Fire of Brazil on one side, Pitty Pat's on the other (this deck will be featured in my upcoming survey of Downtown Atlanta Parking Decks). Needless to say, a dramatic entrance. I made the mistake of poking my head in one day and was immediately taken aback by how aggressive the greeter was in trying to essentially recruit me to come inside. Luckily, I resisted. So, to start of the birthday celebration we hit up Pitty Pat's for a drink and appe-teaser. We had intended to sip overpriced Mint Juleps and Moonshiner Punch in the Rocking Chair Lounge, but it was reserved for conventioneers that evening.

It's a fake veranda that overlooks the rest of the restaurant. The room is adorned with Gone with the Wind paraphernalia, pictures of Loew's Grand, antebellum relics and an oppressive dash of Southern charm.

The stairway that led to the dining room is lined with pictures of "stars" who have dined at Pitty Pat's. Steve Gutenberg and Betty White were among the few. No shit, Steve fucking Gutenberg! I knew then that this place had an unparalleled allure to it. The first dining room we walked through is festooned with antique farming tools on the wall because guess what?! It's Southern! That homespun, down-home material recollection of better days when a man was a man and farming wasn't turned into multinational corporations receiving bloated subsidies from the U.S. government. I almost wanted to pull a washboard off the wall, grab a set of cutlery and go to town.

The dining room that we were sat in was a drastically different theme. Hunting!

Nothing says southern hospitality like taxidermy, drop ceilings and fake wood paneling. I'm pretty certain we were the only table that wasn't sucked in by brochures left at the concierge at the Westin.

For an appetizer we ordered the Blackeyed Pea Cakes. As the menu says, "Even Yankees like these crispy, pan fried cakes served with a special “Southern Salsa” made with fresh tomatoes, onions and peaches." Burnt black eyed peas covered in gelatinous glow of canned peaches was exactly what I was hoping for.

The only redeeming quality of the meal was the stone goblets they serve their drinks in.

Holden and Christa downed a couple Navy Grogs and somehow managed to make it up the steps.

And it ended at my favorite mirrored diner/coke den with pony tail karaoke, Metro City Diner. The mung bean pig treat was the best.

All in all, a very special evening!

1 comment:

Hutchy said...

One time on that same block downtown I saw a skateboarder and a businessman having a fistfight on the street. The businessman even pulled the skateboarders shirt over his head, like a hockey player would.