Propeller Skies

I fucking hate sushi. Raw fish smells awful and is simply not fit for human consumption. So of course I agreed to meet The Beaver, My Favorite Person In The Whole World, and some other people at Wasabi in Ghettoberry Hood.

While waiting for the other people, The Beaver and I ordered drinks. Of the first two beers I requested from the drink menu, Wasabi had exactly zero. Fuckers. On the third try, I managed to score a pint of Guinness, saving the hapless waiter from a beatdown.

While everyone else ate, I continued imbibing. They seemed to like the sushi. I enjoyed my Guinness. A Japanese beer, such as a Sapporo, would have also been excellent, if the restaurant could be bothered to have any on hand.

Wasabi is overpriced and undercooked. I predict the $30,000 millionaire crowd will love it. Personally, I wish Top Spice would open a location in the ghetto.

Young Deezy and I had time to kill in Castleberry Hill on a Monday* afternoon, so we rolled up on Paschal’s. Not the old school restaurant where Martin Luther King and a bunch of famous people hung out, but a new, improved, and sanitized version.

This was a while ago**, so, I have no recall of what the fuck I ordered. The food, while reasonably tasty, is not the story anyway.

Slow service is the story. I realize Paschal’s is in the south, where everyone is on Qualudes***. However, Paschal’s service is incredibly lackadaisical even by southern standards. I estimate it took approximately forty five minutes to get the beers we ordered. After another half an hour, our food came out. Except for Young Deezy’s fries, they took another twenty minutes.

Paschal’s is recommended, just have four hours to spare.

notes:

* Important, because there ain’t shit open in the motherfucking ghetto on Monday.
** Because I don’t give a fuck about updating.
*** Actually, they’re all crank addled hicks, they just act like they’re on ‘ludes.

Before I moved to Ghettoberry Hood, I stopped in at No Mas Cantina for lunch. The food was all right, but not spectacular.

In contrast, the dinner served up by No Mas Cantina is much tastier. The day I moved in, I met up with The Beaver and The Republican for a late supper at No Mas Cantina. I forget what they had, but I ordered Pancho’s Plate. It was zesty.

Both times I visited the restaurant, service was on the slow side. Not intolerably slothful like the Burger King on Northside Drive between Tenth and Fourteenth, but lethargic nonetheless. No Mas Cantina is recommended.

Elliott Street Pub is, surprisingly, a pub located on Elliott Street. Two Brooklyn brothers renovated a dilapidated building and dropped a little slice of the Northeast in Castleberry Hill. Atlanta needs more bars like the Elliott Street Pub.

As implied by the name, the Elliott Street Pub serves a variety of liquor, beer, and wine. However, they do not serve Smoove D favorites Sierra Nevada or Loose Cannon. Because the pub is awesome, they get a pass.

In addition to libations, the Elliott Street Pub also serves superlative sandwiches. The first time I visited, I ordered the Elliott Street Ultimate. The sandwich was downright fucking awesome and exploded with loads of flavor. On my second trip to Elliot Street, I feasted on a Dirty Bird in Blue, also fantastic and served up by the gorgeous Renee*. The third time I stopped in for lunch, I requisitioned a side of chili to go with my sandwich. Like everything else I tried on the menu, the stew was mighty tasty.

I highly recommend Elliott Street Pub. However, don’t expect to find me there often, as Wells Fargo is keeping my broke ass down.

notes:

* Who may not even work at Elliott Street anymore. It took me a minute to get around to actually writing this review.