Escape from New York... and eat in Atlanta

Everything you have heard about The General Muir is true. It is a New York-style delicatessen, named for an American transport ship that brought Jewish refugees to America during World War II. And it serves some of the best food and drink in Atlanta. If you haven't yet dined at The General Muir, you need to drop what you're doing and go there right now.

The General Muir

It was a hot and humid Summer Saturday morning in July. The sidewalks were gray and slick from the early morning rain showers but the sun was slipping out from behind the cloud cover and began to steam the city. I was starving--I usually am starving if I am not putting food in my mouth--and J wanted to lunch at the General Muir. 

I had read a lot about the place. Every foodie in the city gushed about The General Muir. Creative Loafing, Atlanta magazine and every podunk, supplicant blogger pushed its menu like Homegrown pushes Comfy Chicken Biscuits. I had avoided the place, as I avoid most things that get too much press because I assume everyone dining there has a scarf wrapped around their pencil-necks and a Smith & Corona typewriter on their table. Okay, I wasn't avoiding the place. I was avoiding Emory Village. But J insisted that I would die regretful, ashamed and alone if I didn't try The General Muir at least once. So we headed over.

We arrived and gave our names to the hostess. There was a fifteen minute wait. I sat on the wall that separates the outside "patio"--a glorified raised sidewalk with a few cafe tables-- from the plebeian public sidewalk. It was damp and my jeans became squishy. After fifteen minutes, the hostess came out and apologized because some gray hairs were camping the tables in the main dining room and it would be a little longer. Or we could sit at the bar. Let me be clear: I love sitting at the bar because I love drinking. We sat at the bar.

There are knives on the beer taps because they really push cocktails.

The bartender welcomed us and set us up with drinks. J ordered the house Bloody Mary which is served with the usual Bloody Mary garnish of a house made pickle. I spent a few minutes studying the liquors on display and decided on a Sazerac. The bartender asked me for my absinthe and rye choices and then whipped me up a nice, lunchtime Saz. 

J is a deviled egg fiend and told me The General Muir has some of the best deviled eggs in the city. I am smart enough not to argue with her over these kinds of things and when they arrived a few minutes later, after one bite, I knew she was right. These babies didn't last very long and I was craving more as soon as they were gone. 

My mouth was bulging from the deviled eggs when the guy from Ancient Aliens sauntered up behind the bar, propped his elbows on a bar mop with his hands folded under his chin and asked me how I liked my Sazerac. I pointed at my glass, gave him a thumbs-up and wiped paprika yolk from my lips. He explained that he was the FOH manager and that they hadn't trained their bartender on the new house recipe for their Sazeracs yet and wanted to make me another one in order to show the bartender the new official version. I realized this meant I got another Sazerac for free and anyone who turns that down is an idiot. I thanked him profusely, tasted each version, looked at the difference in hues and realized the official house version is superior. Day-buzz started to kick in.

The brunch/lunch menu at The General Muir is a hard hard mistress. So many temptations. I ain't too proud to beg, so I asked J for suggestions. Todd Ginsberg, the genius that created Bocado's burger--thought to be the best burger on the planet-- also created The General Muir burger and added special sauce.

I love burgers but I wanted a love that I could see. Noticing that I was a ball of confusion, the bartender suggested the nova salmon latkes--Jewish hash browns floating atop a dollop of house apple sauce, topped with cured salmon, arugula and fresh green apple slices. Done. J got the burger with fries. The burger at The General Muir is a simple beast, but everything about it is perfect. I felt a little betrayed that I didn't order it and only got to feast upon J's scraps. Next time, burger, you're all mine. CHECK IT: Creative Loafting ATL voted The General Muir as the #1 burger in Atlanta.

The way they do the things they do, The General Muir works wonders. Was it just my imagination? Was the food that good? Were the drinks so delicious? Oh, Muir of mine. I love you. You're my girl. We connected soul to soul.

I ate all of my food. And some of J's burger. I drank all of my glug. And didn't want to leave yet.

A few guys next to us at the bar had ordered a basket of sin from the bakery counter and told us to dig in. The cinnamon rolls were extravagant. I honestly don't remember what happened after the salmon and the burgers because I was on Cloud Nine. Point is, everyone here is high on The General Muir and everyone wants to pass the bowl to you.

J and I may have left that day not knowing that something special--something spectacular--had occurred. Point is, Atlanta has a world-class, casual/fine dining restaurant you should visit with your date. Or your whole family. Or by yourself.

Appendices

#1

The first time J and I tried to visit The General Muir, it was early evening and the candle-lit restaurant didn't seem open. We approached the hostess hesitantly. Everyone was wearing suits and yarmulkes. 

"Hello, do you have a reservation this evening?"

"No...?"

"It's Passover."

We left. Our hearts full of sadness and our stomachs rumbling. That evening taught me that I need to be more culturally aware.

#2

The lady reading at the bar next to me got up to go to the restroom. I looked at J with a sly look and reached over to turn the book over so I could judge this stranger on her reading material. Something about baseball. I returned the book back to its original position. The bar manager saw me do this and grinned. I think he had a Sazerac too.