Posts Tagged ‘sushi in Atlanta’

Apart from de-criminalizing the usual events of my social life, turning 21 opened the door to such awesome things as day-time beers, drinks with dinner, and amongst others, Atlanta. Last weekend I made the trip down to the ATL for a sampling of the night life.

The first time I ever used a fake ID was at a Super-H mart on 141 in north Fulton. I walked up to the register, sweat dripping from my forehead, trembling in my 17 year old bones, bottle of wine in hand. I set it on the conveyor belt. The clerk rung it up. I paid. I left. There was no checking of the ID. It was almost as anti-climatic as the movie Bring It On. They get second in the end. Just so you know.

After having the door of downtown atlanta thrown wide-open to me by virtue of my 21 year old card, I stepped through, ready to partake in everything it had to offer. The first stop was a really good sushi and other strangely-named-asain-things restaurant wherein there was a short wait. We went to the bar. I bought drinks. I paid. We sat down. There was no checking of the ID. It was almost as anti-climatic as the USA loss to Canada in the gold medal hockey game. I can’t help but now own the stereotype that Asain-american establishments could care less about how old you are.

This was the first of many times I didn’t show my ID that night. Oddly enough, I also never saw an officer of the law. In stark contrast, Athens boasts a cop per capita ratio that makes it impossible to not sight one in a night. In a bit of an Athens paradox, you had better show something to someone every time alcohol exchanges hands (or you enter a space in which the aforementioned act could occur), but paradoxically, it doesn’t really matter what’s on that something that you show them. Maybe atlanta cops were too busy fighting crime to worry about a 21 year old having a few drinks with some friends on a Friday. Seems a novel idea, doesn’t it, ACCPD…

The Virginia Highlands is a very cool place. I would liken it to Athens, only after you put a big gate around the city, didn’t let anyone in or out, and let everyone here age five years. Its older and more sophisticated, but with an Athenian unwavering dedication to having a good time. It sports a few really cool looking venues and one really awesome gem of nightlife called Estoria, which, amongst other things, has convinced me that  Atlanta has definite post-undergrad appeal.

In the aforementioned gem of nightlife, I met Chris, a 30 year old tour manager who has worked with various artists, most notably a Mr. Snoop D-0-double-g. Chris’ stories flowed like PBR on an atlanta friday night, and I have since learned that Snoop is a completely dedicated husband who denies 10+ ready and willing women nightly, a vegetarian, and a very poised and articulate individual. Also worth noting is that Mr. Dogg’s entourage will only eat soul food, which is catered at each tour destination. In Dubai, the cooks didn’t know how to make soul food, at which point Snoop’s posse just took over the kitchen and taught the chefs a thing or two about how to apply flour to anything and then deep-fry it.

Nowhere is perfect. Most places aren’t even close. Athens, apart from its accessibility, compactness, party-time atmosphere, male to female ratio, and promotion of going out on Mondays, brings one truly valuable trait to the table -perfect competition. At the aforementioned sushi and other strangely-named-asain-things restaurant, I purchased a Sam Adams and a passion fruit martini at the bar (one was for me, one was for a girl, you decide). It cost $16. At that point, I decided not to worry about dollar signs for the rest of the night because, Dorothy, I’ve got a credit card receipt for $16 dollars that says we’re not in Athens anymore. Bring back the $2 pints on Tuesdays and $1 everything Mondays at The Boar’s Head, the $2 pitchers, the $3 bombs, the $3 white russians, the $1 high life’s, the $2 PBR’s, the $5 endless wine, the $2 Martinis, and that one week where City Bar would sell you a Harp for $1, please.

I don’ t want to try to compare apples to oranges (arches to peaches? Lame? ok, you’re right, sorry.), so I will employ the age old cop-out on a verdict and say that its not that Athens and Atlanta are better or worse than one another, they’re just different. I apologized to the people I was with for continually staring, but I was enthralled by the residential neighborhoods and hole in the wall bars that aren’t ever on my normal course of business when I venture into the big city. I also liked the gay pride flag on 10th street, the homeless guy throwing up into a newspaper dispenser, and the hipsters…which are everywhere. But, I have to say that it was great to roll back down 316 back into the classic city, windows up because it was cold, the sweet sweet sounds of REM’s best effort (Automatic for the people, of course) flowing from my stereo, and strolling into the city bar to have a drink with some friends and watch sorority girl’s parents get ostensibly and sometimes embarrassingly drunk. Its good to be back.

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