...provided one doesn't reside in an Amish community. In which case, "drinking locally" would involve a taste of Goody Smythe's freshly-churned buttermilk. 'Tis a fortifying buttermilk that puts a good start to a day of hand-crafting rocking chairs and those dancing wooden puppets on sticks.

Fortunately, Atlanta is not very Amish, and there's plenty of good local beer. Terrapin, Sweetwater, and Red Brick get most of the accolade, with smaller operations like 5 Seasons Brewing and Wild Heaven more-than-nobly filling in the gaps.

Whenever I hear of a new Atlanta brewing operation, I get geeked up, and I kick wine to the curb (Don't worry, wine. I'm a fickle bitch). Furthermore, when I find out the guy behind the new local beer was just a home brewer making some great suds, I decide I need to meet that person. Or at least take a picture of him to paste creepily on the mirror of my personal home brewing dungeon:

Randy Dempsey is the mad genius behind O'Dempsey's beer. Okay, he's not very mad at all. Rather, a quite friendly chap who loves talking about beer and hockey (clearly, not originally from Atlanta). Basically, the guy had been home brewing forever, and someone finally convinced him to go pro. I'd much rather you read the story here than allow me to skewer it with obscure tangents, as is my modus operandi.

I got to taste a couple of Randy's beers a week ago along with some cheese at Muss & Turner's. My doctor told me specifically to stay away from 1. Beer and 2. Cheese. But he's probably an idiot.

O'Dempsey's Big Red Ale was a far cry from what one usually gets from fledgling brewers- that is to say, Pale Ale. I was pleased to discover that it smelled similar to a batch of beer I made once. While most brewers should take offense to this comment, it was a pretty good batch. Deus ex machina, I suppose. But I'm sure Randy knew what he was doing. The Big Red- as I said, unlike a Pale Ale- was more malty than hoppy, and ready for a burger. Went well with some of the cheeses, too. If you took a burger and put blue cheese on it, then drank some of Randy's Big Red Ale, you'd be in a situation commonly known as "flavor country'. It's a country that has no rules, smells wonderful, and makes you fat. Like the Netherlands without all the patchouli.

Yet, it was this delightful tipple that really got me excited about O'Dempsey's. The Inukshuk IPA (meaning "India Pale Ale", a style popularized by the Brits in the 1800's) delivered the piney, citrusy nose that welcomes all IPA lovers, but it was smooth and totally balanced in the mouth- belying its 7% alcohol content. Sometimes, higher-gravity beers can come off as too sweet or too thick or too alcoholic on the palate. But, like the carefully balanced stones that construct the Inuit statue bearing this beer's namesake, this one was in harmony. If I hadn't had to drive home, I probably would've sipped on these until I was way out of harmony.

The wine bloggers (present company included) like to go all apey about wine and food and the edict that they belong together. I'd defend that notion to the death (actually, I'd probably concede if it came to that), but there's no rule saying beer should only be slugged with nachos and hot dogs and hot dogs with nacho cheese on them. Beer was meant for the dinner table, and Randy Dempsey's offerings fit the menu. Seek them out when you're in Georgia. And you should be in Georgia, because we have good beer.

Do you know this guy?*

Of course...we all do. He's the obnoxious, despicable Packers fan that lives down the street from you, next door to the obnoxious, despicable Steelers fan (hopefully more on the latter down the road a few weeks).

But, let me guess: you don't live in Green Bay, Wisconsin, do you?

Nobody lives in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Why? Because it's cold. And it's miserable. People drink Leinies like there's a prize at the bottom of the bottle. Green Bay folk gorge themselves on bratwurst and cheese by the fistful... not because it's all tasty (I gotta hand that to 'em), but because one has to develop an ample layer of winter blubber to survive temperatures that would make even Walt Disney and Ted Williams' head cringe.

These described are the few hearty folks. It's a pathetic story, but I harbor no ill-will towards those who keep their maniacal Packers-fandom within the state. No, my bugaboo is with the millions of Packers fans- who have seemingly multiplied like a pack of rats on an episode of Hoarders- encroaching on our warm and beautiful corners of this great nation.

They moved in quietly. Befriended us. Invited us to the weekend cookout with a friendly smile and a joke. Our guards were let down when they wooed our vigilance into submission with their "aw shucks" demeanor, Polska kielbasa, hot cheese soup, and 30-packs of Schlitz. We got too comfortable, as their splinter cell slowly festered.

Then.... there was polka music. And the chicken dance. Those blasted cheese hats. Packers theme songs so horrendous they make Travis Tritt's '04 anthem,"Falcons Fever", sound like Beethoven's 5th Symphony.

Oh, and those horrible green-and-yellow jogging suits. Listen: unless you're a leprechaun or Flava Flav, you should never be wearing that much green and yellow together.

They talked about Brett Favre more than ESPN. Now, it's Aaron Rodgers. Everything revolves around the Packers. Why? BECAUSE THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE GOING ON IN GREEN BAY.

Now, take Atlanta. A beautiful city. Attractive people. A vibrant food and drink scene. Top-notch bloggery**. And a team you can get behind. I welcome all of you around the nation to jump on the Atlanta Falcons bandwagon. If you don't have a dog in the fight tonight, put on some red and black. It's fashionable, and you'll want to stand out from the crowd, especially in the inevitable presence of gaggles of Packers fans, no matter where in the nation you call "home".

Granted, you'll need to dull your senses a bit to deal with the constant blather about how the Super Bowl trophy is named after Vince Lombardi, ESPN's schoolgirl man-crush on Aaron Rodgers, and Clay Matthews' WWE haircut. Here are some wines you can knock back during game time:

Anything from Georgia: A quick drive up to the Dahlonega Plateau can source you plenty of the surprisingly good wines that are coming out of North Georgia. Some can even be found in metro retail stores. Check out Montaluce, Yonah Mountain Vineyards, Persimmon Creek Vineyards, Frogtown Cellars, Wolf Mountain Vineyards, Serenity Cellars, Blackstock, Three Sisters Vineyards, and Tiger Mountain Vineyards, to name a few. Drink local, cheer local. Granted, many of you won't have time to source these by game time. Hope is that there will be another game next week, so stock up when you can.

Falcon Nest Vineyard: wines from Paso Robles. The name pretty much says it all. Nationwide, finding a wine from California is much more likely. Look for one with a bird of prey on it if you're in a bind. Birds of prey are cool, and they're all cousins to falcons, so it'll work in a pinch...

...and when you're looking for munchies to pair with that glass of vino, why not give the cheese a rest. Like the rats that they are, it might attract Packers fans.

Go Falcons.

*seriously, do you know him? I pulled this photo off the interweb, and I wanted to give proper credit.

**a debatable statement, indeed.

"Soylent Green is made from PEOPLE!" -Charlton Heston from The Ten Commandments...

...oh, wait. That was Soylent Green.

With a heavy heart, I today say goodbye to another one of Atlanta's finest wine bloggers. It was almost a year today- literally within hours- that The Dirty's favorite son, Hardy Wallace, shipped off to Sonoma for what was to become the 6-month trip that never ended.

Now, Fast Eddie Thralls, the steady rudder behind the good ship Wine Tonite!, has departed for a 3-month apprenticeship at Holdredge Wines in Healdsburg, CA (the very town where Hardy/Dirty landed).

In the short time I've known Ed, we've built a strong friendship, one that even supersedes my venomous hatred for his alma mater, the University of Florida. As we subscribe to the profound notion that wine brings people together, then a mutual love for the grape by Ed and myself broke down these walls, and I was able to see past the jorts, the horrid orange-and-blue camo jerseys, and the acrid stench of North Florida crystal meth.

I kid, I kid. It's a testament to the sense of humor of the little fella. In all seriousness, Ed's been beyond generous with his wine, his hospitality, and his knowledge. And- knowing both how passionate he is about the wine biz and that he's on the prowl for a winery job- I fear my buddy's never coming back. Turn on the Led Zeppelin II; another of Atlanta's finest has rambled on. Selflessness aside, I hope Ed Thralls doesn't come back; that would only mean his quest to realize his dreams has been fulfilled.

So, with Irish wake music in the background, I toast both displaced Peach-staters the best way I can: with a bottle of 2003 Garretson Peach State Cuvée. I found this Paso Robles, CA wine discounted at Cost Plus World Market (one of those types of places I hated to go with my mom as a kid, but now...well, I guess I'm just pretty damn lame). It has to be one of the most random and interesting bottles I've ever seen. The winemaker- Mat Garretson, an Atlanta native- created this bottling to honor all his friends and family back in Georgia. Though the label was devoid of grapes, Garretson's reputation as a Rhône-lover, along with the meaty, berry, funky tar, smoke, pepper, and alcoholic heat aromas suggested to me that it was a blend of some percentage of Syrah, Mourvèdre, Grenache, Petite Sirah, and/or Zinfandel, for good measure. It still packed some tannins in the mouth for a 7-year-old Cali wine. Overall, for the bargain price of $14 I paid, it was a proper quaff to both drink and pour a little out for my homies who have moved on (without feeling guilty about it).

Alas (very sadly), Garretson Wine Company is no more. A faded memory of two states connected by wine. However, we wish Ed well, and we remain confident that his connection to the great state of Georgia will remain. I look forward to cracking a bottle with Ed and Hardy when they come back to visit, as I am firmly planted in Atlanta...

...well, at least until the next Exodus.

Being born and raised in Hotlanta, I can tell you one thing: don't call it "Hotlanta". Okay, I can tell you another thing too: I've seen the food scene really blossom, and it's a point of great pride. I do not stress out in any way looking for a great meal when friends from food meccas like New York, Chicago, Seattle, or San Francisco come down.

In this case, from what I'd heard, it was going to be a no-brainer: Antico. This authentic Neopolitan pizza joint opened in 2009, and it's since been getting rave reviews (here's a good one from Atlanta's The Blissful Glutton). Figured we'd grab a table, knock back a few beers, and enjoy some killer pie, right?

Wrong. First off, the small, unassuming space was packed; line almost out the door. Furthermore, there's virtually nowhere to sit at the place! Basically the setup's a bunch of tables in the kitchen where people stand around and eat their pizzas while watching guys deposit and pluck pies to and from the 3 huge stone ovens. Don't get me wrong: the joint smelled INCREDIBLE, as wafts of garlic, dough, San Marzano tomatoes, basil, and cheese attacked my olfactory senses and ratcheted my already grumbling innards into spin cycle. However, it was no place for a group of four to sit down and eat.

No problem. Another new hot spot- Abbatoir- was virtually across the street in the Westside Provisions District. This homage to nasty bits features lots of tasty small plates and a VERY reasonable wine list (I once drank a bottle- off a restaurant wine list- for $19 here). As we went to open the door- STUCK! And then I saw the sign on said door: "Closed Dec. 24-27 for the holidays." Not something you see often in the hospitality biz in December, but hey, everyone needs a break once in a while.

So, now a walking pack of churning stomachs, we traversed over the railroad tracks and found JCT Kitchen & Bar, a "southern-style" bistro in the same area. In the end, crisis was averted. Although there were no tables available, we were able to squeeze into the bar area downstairs, order up some wine, some "angry" mussels with broth and bread, and some reprieve for our appetites. The apps were followed by tasty, satisfying dishes like Crispy Duck n' Dumplings, All Night Braised Short Ribs, and Benton's Bacon Wrapped Georgia Trout. In the end, it was a great meal in a great atmosphere. Was it my first choice? No. Second? No again. But when the food culture of a city really starts to hit its stride, then the place next door may be the best place you've never heard of. Perhaps in the future, I'll head out with no plan and just see where the evening takes us...

Proudly, to my food city: Cheers, Sláinte, L'Chaim, Salud, Prost, Skål, Konbe, Kampai, and Laissez les bon temps rouler!