Tiny Lou’s, Big Food

To the uninitiated or the non-native, the Hotel Clermont would be an unassuming building on the historic Ponce de Leon Avenue; a quaint looking, relatively small, old hotel that surely has some history to it. However, to natives of the Poncey-Highlands neighborhood or Atlanta in general, the Hotel Clermont would be known as the home of the infamous Clermont Lounge, Atlanta’s longest running strip club, and the restaurant known as Tiny Lou’s. Tiny Lou’s, a fine eatery and brasserie occupying a space between American comfort food and high-level French cuisine, with its bar located on the lobby floor and dining room down a short set of steps, is almost as unassuming as the building that houses it, but what it has to offer is much more than meets the eye.

When you arrive at the Hotel Clermont, the valet meets you at the door and handles your vehicle for you. You are escorted inside the lobby, host to a small cafe, and the Tiny Lou’s bar off to the right. The bar, and the whole building for this matter, has a modern-classic feeling, with its sapphire blue velvet-backed chairs and blue marble bartop. After being fully renovated in 2018 by the Oliver Hospitality group, the hotel wears a new dress, but it’s not so posh that it covers up its homely history as one of Atlanta’s most famous hotels. The outside remains mostly the same, but the inside feels very new. It’s willingly 50’s retro, but post-modern chic. The lobby is warmly lit with its bright white marble adorning the floor and columns. The bar, inversely, is like a dark pocket dimension, bathed in the dim light of a multitude of lamps and mirrors. It’s not a particularly raucous or rowdy environment, but the staff is friendly and clearly having fun, and as soon as you sit down, you will too.

For Valentine’s Day, the bar’s menu had been condensed down to a small selection of wines, cocktails, and small plates. At the bar, we had a glass of chardonnay, and a few cocktails. The cocktails were inventive and delicious; a matcha rum cocktail featuring a fluffy coconut milk foam, a silky shiraz-gin cocktail featuring a beet purée cordial, and a tequila cocktail featuring a heavy float of a particularly jammy cabernet. I requested a dealer’s choice for my last cocktail, and I was pleasantly surprised by what they offered: A mezcal cocktail with a bitter aperitivo and a fortified floral wine, sort of like a mezcal white negroni. I correctly identified what was in it, and my cover as a bartender was blown! It was a great way to end our time at the bar, with our palates wet and appetites spurred, we headed downstairs to check in for our reservation.

The real Tiny Lou’s, the one down the steps, was different in some ways, yet the same in most ways. It felt a little bit more serious, and a little bit sexier. It was quieter than upstairs, with the straight-backed staff wearing starched white jackets and black dresses, moving silently across the floor, providing service with extreme discipline. The grand staircase leading down to the restaurant was lit by a large neon purple sign, and the host stand at the bottom was bathed in a rich, red light. We were led to our table after a short wait, where the server had walked us through our gluten-free options, as we had specified in our reservation that one of us had celiac disease. The server was kind, knowledgeable, and punctual. After we had put in our order for all four courses at once, drinks and the first course seemed to materialize within moments. 

Course one was the veal tartare. The tender raw veal, with its slight gaminess, was topped with quail egg that brought a bit of nuttiness to the meat. Perhaps vidalia onions hid among the mix, as there was a subtle sweetness to the dish. Maybe it was the cauliflower creme that was folded into the tartare, binding everything into a velvety spread. It was served with housemade chips that must have been deep fried in canola oil, as they ate just like my grandmother’s egg rolls; airy, light, crunchy and crisp, and wonderfully fragrant. The saltiness and acidity of the tartare’s capers was accentuated by the Siberian caviar sitting atop the puck, which melted into an ocean breeze when ingested; delightfully fishy, just salty enough, and perfectly buttery. 

Course two was mushrooms three ways, a wonderful medley of shiitake, button, and more. I’m not sure in what ways they were prepared, but damn it, they were good! Perfectly tender-but-toothy, in a delicious, thin pan sauce. Perhaps it was a braising liquid, wine, butter and a meaty stock. Rich but not heavy, just flavorful enough on its own to accent the mushrooms and let them shine. Standard, but very well executed. Atop the mound of mushrooms sat a poached quail egg with a spooning of creamy and tart hollandaise sauce. The whole dish was showered in perhaps the most thinly sliced chives you could conceive. Nutty, meaty, slightly acidic, earthy; a really good dish with lots of secrets.

If I hadn’t picked the food I would be eating, my assumption about Tiny Lou’s at this point would be that things were done the right way, and that risks were only taken when there was time on the clock and the visitors were down. Not on Valentine’s Day. This would all change very soon, as I had anticipated. Executive chef Jon Novak was not afraid of taking risks at all. Course three featured two extremely daring dishes, one with perhaps the best rendition of a molé sauce I’ve ever had, and the other with perhaps the best lobster I’ve ever had. The sauce in question was a dark cocoa jus sauce, which fundamentally differs from a molé but is about the closest comparison you could make in order to get an idea of it. It really is something you would have to taste. Smoother than a molé, sweeter, richer, meatier, less acidic, less aromatic and thereby less overpowering, and not nearly as bitter. It’s very much the hot, smart, football star cousin of the sweaty, basement dwelling molé. That’s not to say you can’t have a delicious molé, which I have; this was just that much better. The real star of this dish though, was Rohan duck two ways: crépinette, and seared breast. My assumption, based on the incredible tenderness and flavor of the breast, is that it’s either the highest quality duck I’ve ever had, or it was confited at some point before it reached me. I would be fine with either explanation.

Something that really struck me at this point was the plating philosophy. The chefs I had worked under before had instructed often to create cohesive images, plates that were conducive to getting a piece of everything you wanted in one bite, in a way that made sense and looked good. One chef, who I have a particular distaste for, unfortunately taught me one of my favorite pieces of food philosophy: food should be sexy, and everything on the plate should be getting along. Playing with each other, if you will, and even a sense of playfulness with the eater. It should have a sort of invocation of the eater’s attention and appetite: legs open and lingerie on, lights down low, and Gaye on the speakers. What Novak did with these entrees was not create an enticing image of the food getting along on the plate, but build an abstract environment out of the food. From the top down, it brings to mind a zoo, a playplace, or any Dali. Shapes, colors, forms, textures. A log here, a tree here, a rock here, a stream here. Except, in this case, it was the food. Seared duck breast as the log you would run atop of. Half of a perfectly skinned and cleaned mandarin orange sitting atop a bite of daikon radish, a tree that you would read under. That incredible cocoa jus, the stream you would jump across in the middle. As it stands, the only thing playing on Novak’s plate is the eater.

The lobster dish followed the same philosophy, but perhaps taken even further, veering more towards abstract impressionism than any sort of form. Again, color, shape and texture in interesting and smart ways. Also, some really good lobster. Butter poached, perfectly tender and full of the sea, still nestled in the half shell. Perfectly braised leeks stood straight up, but when forked they nearly unraveled due to their tenderness. Sunchokes, which are like if water chestnut had more balls or had aspired to be more like the fingerling, laid on their backs as the neutral element in a fat-forward dish. The sauce americaine also served to cut the fat with its subtle acidity, whispering of brandy, white wine, onion, spice, and tomato. This sauce was particularly nutty though, almost like butternut squash. By the time I had worked through this, I had begun to lose steam, and lift out of my chair slightly as I moved on to some other place.

I don’t fancy sweets much. But I will say this: I ate all of the two desserts in less than five minutes, which I don’t often do, especially after three courses and more cocktails than I would care to admit to drinking. The plates were gorgeous and the combinations of an array of fruit, chocolate, and cream was simply incomprehensible. Both were very good. Pastry chef Charmain Ware worked magic on the plate, and even prepared us an alternative dessert due to the gluten intolerance at the table. On a prix fixe night like Valentine’s Day, that’s serious business. Of course, the intolerance wasn’t mine. How else would I eat so much?

Everything up until that point was stellar: atmosphere, service, drinks and the four courses of dinner. However, there was never a guarantee of food safety at any point from the server, nor was it stated clearly on the menu. Sure enough, my partner was served something containing gluten, even though we were advised on what was safe to order and had let them know beforehand. She got sick before we had even left the restaurant. The reaction is usually quite fast, so we assumed it must’ve been a mixup with dessert since we made it through dinner. Now that I think about it, she was eating a very moist, delicious cakey brownie, and gluten-free baked goods tend to be sad, lifeless, and completely devoid of moisture. While the food was incredible, it’s pretty disappointing to throw up all 400-something of your food and drink because of a food allergy. The price was slightly outrageous, but when you really get down to it, we got a lot of stuff, and it was all stuff I would like to live in. It was 100% worth it. I had a blast. I will be back, but perhaps solo next time. If you go to Tiny Lou’s, do not underestimate them. Come with an empty stomach, and a full wallet. Leave with the opposite. Enjoy.

Side note: The Plaza Theatre is just down the street. It’s also a historic building that was recently revitalized and saved. Dinner and a movie, anyone?