Author: Steve Foran (2 Articles)

One of the great things about our Atlanta office location is accessibility:  10 minute walk from my house to the train, 15 minute ride, and 5 more minutes to the office.  From there, when hunger strikes (and I didn’t’ bring my lunch) it’s only a 10 minute walk to…Paris? 

A few weeks back my good friend and fellow architect, Luca, invited me to lunch.  “I know this great little French bistro – you’ll enjoy it!”  “Oui!” I accepted and we met on Peachtree Street – the main thoroughfare in downtown Atlanta.  It was a hot, humid, Wednesday afternoon and the typical crowd of business people, tourists and conventioneers were crowding the steamy sidewalks looking for shelter and a cold glass of sweet tea.  “Which way?” I asked.  With a nod and an outstretched hand gesturing north in a way that only a true Roman can do, we started our journey.

Now, I’ve lived in Atlanta for a long, long time, I studied architecture and planning at Georgia Tech and I’ve worked downtown for many years so I’m very familiar with the city and the unique Atlanta-Southern culture.  Downtown Atlanta is not known for its vibrant and diverse street scene.  It has a few lively pockets here and there, but not much continuity between them.  And you have to know where they are or you will wind up wandering aimlessly and never find anything of interest (but something may certainly find you…).  

Thus, I know what to expect when I encounter a downtown side street:  not much – your usual forgotten building façade with a lonely service door and a dead rat; the dumpster with its wonderful scents and aromas and mysterious trail of “liquid”; the parking garage exit that even Lee Martin or Steve McQueen would have a 50/50 chance of making it across without getting squashed like a tomato.  So, when Luca guided me toward a street three blocks off the beaten path and far north of anything remotely looking like the restaurant district, I was growing skeptical.  “He’s lost” …I thought…

We turned left and walked about half a block, arriving at the entrance to Social.  It’s a small bistro built into the lower level of an old early twentieth century brick fire station.  The owners designed and built the space themselves and did a remarkable job! We walked in and Luca introduced me to Ray, one of the owners.  With his arm outstretched  over the oiled walnut bar, he shakes my hand and welcomes me with a purely French “Bonjour!”    We chose to sit outside on the sidewalk at one of the three small aluminum tables.  It is situated on the north face of the building along a side street with relatively no vehicle traffic to speak of.  There are a few Bradford Pear trees providing shade to the few rays that do manage to trickle through – essential to outdoor seating in the Atlanta summer!! 

We sat and chatted for a few minutes before being served water and ordering our food – Serrano ham and manchego cheese sandwich, salad and [French] fries.  We sat talking, while in the background a woman lazily sang a tune in French, a cool breeze whispered through the trees (yes, it’s still hot out here), and a Belgian fellow a table over enjoyed the omelet of the day and a Pilsner Urquell!  (Later that day the Dutch Oranje beat Brazil 2-1 in the World Cup to advance to the semi-finals – I can only imagine the celebration he later endured!)  A few more people wandered by, some stopping in for lunch, others enjoying the cool breeze on this quiet, shady street.  

I paused and said to Luca, “Where are we?”  He smiled back, knowing exactly what I meant.  At that precise moment I was not in Atlanta anymore.  My senses had been overtaken by the sights, sounds, and smells that were captured on that quiet side street. 

I could have easily been seated at a table in Paris, or one of the many small French villages now being overrun by men in colorful tights and helmets this month. 

It was a welcome journey to a new place, a break from work that refreshed my perspective on the city I call home.