Re­vis­it­ing The Shed at Glen­wood with­out the ex

GA Voice - - Outspoken -

Ev­ery Wed­nes­day night, from 2010 to 2013, my part­ner of the time and I vis­ited

The Shed at Glen­wood (475 Bill Kennedy Way, 404-835-4363)

for the restau­rant’s $3 slider night. Chef Lance Gum­mere, with an imag­i­na­tion straight out of a Dr. Seuss book, pro­duced a weekly menu of 12 or so ev­er­chang­ing burger odd­i­ties.

Un­for­tu­nately, Gum­mere left and slider night was dis­con­tin­ued. I quit go­ing to the Shed at all be­cause, frankly, I didn’t want to re­visit the site of a rit­ual I shared with my ex for so long. You know what I mean? I re­mem­ber the night there I an­grily asked him, “Can you name one thing you did to cause this re­la­tion­ship to dis­in­te­grate?” He could not. I looked up and re­al­ized ev­ery­one on the pa­tio was star­ing at me. I looked at my plate and rapidly ate the fried chicken hearts I’d or­dered as an ap­pe­tizer. What a metaphor. Eat­ing your fried, dry heart.

But that was then. I fi­nally re­vis­ited The Shed Fri­day night with friends and found that it re­mains one of the city’s most re­li­able spots. The kitchen is now run by Chef Justin Dixon, an At­lanta na­tive who has worked at Pano’s & Paul’s, the Spence, and Lo­cal Three, among oth­ers.

Dixon’s deal is fan­cied-up com­fort food. Con­sider, for ex­am­ple, the lowly pork rind – a hunk of pork skin fried un­til shat­ter­ingly crisp. You see them around town a good bit lately, but noth­ing like Dixon’s over-sized beau­ties. They are warm and partly coated in a kind of mayo-egg cream spiked with green onions. Crunchy and creamy. Another sur­pris­ing snack is Dixon’s take on dev­iled eggs. Take a bite and you’ll find your­self flooded with the fla­vor of steak tartare hid­den be­low the creamed yolk.

Winter’s here, sort of, and I couldn’t re­sist Dixon’s beef bour­guignon – su­per-ten­der short ribs over tagli­atelle with car­rots, cipollini, and cel­ery root. The fla­vor of red wine is in­tense, burst­ing from the meat and wash­ing over the noo­dles. At $25 it’s the most ex­pen­sive item on the menu but you de­serve it. If you’re crav­ing pork, try the bour­bon-glazed pork shoul­der, a bit sweet but served with a nearly fiery ap­ple kim­chi and some co­conut rice.

Another winter-per­fect dish is a skil­let­made chicken pot pie. It’s made with a slip­pery mush­room veloute and roasted root veg­eta­bles, as well as chicken. This is not re­ally a pie in the con­ven­tional sense. It’s ba­si­cally a stew topped with a fly­ing-saucer-shaped mound of puff pas­try. Not feel­ing ad­ven­tur­ous? Go for the gi­gan­tic burger made of house-ground, dry-aged beef cov­ered with poblano cheese and ba­con jam. It comes with fries of course.

We tried three side plates and, over­all, I didn’t think they were as good as our other choices. Charred cau­li­flower with romesco was tasty enough and served with the right al dente tex­ture, but not even as im­pres­sive as the pretty or­di­nary mac and cheese. I could not re­sist or­der­ing the pick­led beets with mar­cona al­monds, blue cheese and, um, chimichurri sauce. I could not imag­ine how vine­gary beets and chimichurri could com­ple­ment one another. As it hap­pens, they re­ally didn’t. The vine­gar vastly over­pow­ered the dol­lops of chimichurri. But, hey, it was cool to know they were there.

There is much else to try here. In fact, there are $3 slid­ers avail­able on Wed­nes­days again. Go. But leave your part­ner at home.

Cliff Bo­s­tock is a for­mer psy­chother­a­pist now spe­cial­iz­ing in life coach­ing. Con­tact him at 404-518-4415 or cliff­bo­stock@gmail.com.

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