A few of us stopped over at Gregoire's (Piedmont Avenue) this afternoon.
We'd indulged (over-indulged...?) at Oyster Bliss in the morning and early afternoon with fabulous sausage cooked to perfection (accompanied by fresh greens and a satisfying mustard); oysters, sweet and bright; acme bread and pastries (like pan epi; apple turnovers; sour batard; sour baguette; fantastic cheese (thank you Joan); home-cured olives; house-cured chorizo (thank you. Melanie); home-roasted beets w/ carmelized onions, macaroons (my god!); galettes (ditto) and coffee, champagne and wine
and not to mention the fabulous company there
but the fried chicken sandwich that I had been anticipating over the week (you know how that is: look up the menu on the web; analyze the Chowhound, maybe Yelp postings on your particular restaurant and selected food; dissect the experience in detail with anyone who will listen to you, etc.) fell short, very short. Greasy. My dear friend dabbed and then mopped up the oil from the coating. My other best-buddy opted to "save" it for later (not something we'd ever do, don't you know). The interior was moist, but yikes, the amount of sauce that was doused on the bread made the whole undertaking unpleasant.
The potato puffs were sublime and devoured, though.
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