New Year’s Day waits for no one. But sometimes it’s okay with taking a quick pause to revisit a few shining moments that made life in Atlanta just a little bit better than last year. So let’s go ahead and do that...
No need to elaborate here. They came out of nowhere this year. One such four-wheeled foodstuffery that tugged at your heartstrings for all the right reasons: Tastee Truck. It showed up late to the party, but made up for it with grilled cheese and late-night shots. Of tomato soup. Still...
You know growlers by now. Those huge jugs of beer that you can take home and consume at your leisure (or your not-leisure). Well, the great state of Georgia thought they should be illegal. Then they thought better of it. Hop City poured the first ones... then came everyone else. And you rejoiced.
First there was the Atlanta Underground Market, where endless cooks gathered in undisclosed locations to experiment on you. Then came Feast Noir... that massive pop-up picnic modeled after Paris’s Dîner en Blanc. And just like that, our town was transformed into a culinary circus. The good kind.
Every Monday night, some of the finest barkeeps in the city would gather in Midtown in celebration of all things Sazerac, Manhattan and Old Fashioned. It was called Scofflaw Mondays. And honestly, it didn’t last long. Either way, throwback booze took a stand in 2011. Blame Boardwalk Empire.
Well, what can we say... we took a bullet for you on this one. But if the risky proposition of plotting out step-by-step instructions on how to infiltrate members-only pools meant introducing you to brave new worlds of gallivanting potential, then it was time well spent. And so was yours.
It started as a humble little sushi house in Vinings. Helmed by a Nobu apprentice. Who made the best sushi ever. Then he decided to open a bigger, stronger, sexier spot in Buckhead... and you waited with bated breath. Approximately 6,000 years later, it finally came to be. Nobody tells sushi what to do.
The best thing about golf: the models. But it wasn’t always that way. Yes, there was once a time when the Myrtle Beach Caddy Girls didn’t exist. Which means that, for a while there, your clubs were not being carried by catwalking brunettes and your divots were not being replaced by... catwalking brunettes. The horror.
