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Atlanta Journal-Constitution
November 23, 2001

By John Kessler

“Try this,” said my daughter, sliding her glass across the heavy wooden table where we sat eating dinner. The pale, cloudy concoction hinted strongly at juice, sugar and the astringency of peel, but without any of the sting or syrup one anticipates in the follow-up. The lemony sensation floated up and away like a nice smell, its flavor a canny match for food.

It is one of many surprises and swift details that so enliven the dining experience at Five and Ten. This small, smart restaurant in Athens Five Points neighborhood has earned a loyal, local following—from the UGA professors to the boys of R.E.M.—but is unknown to Atlantans.

That should change.

If a neighborhood place with a low-key vibe and an address 70 miles from downtown can be called a destination restaurant, this is it. Owner/Chef Hugh Acheson has the restless curiosity, interest in ingredients and energy that make the best chefs. He revises his seasonal menu every two months, rolls out menu and wine specials nightly, keeps a blackboard listing of farmstead cheeses and pays attention to beverages—from Blenheim’s ginger ale to Jacopo Poli grappa. Every detail is another line on his intensely personal gourmet checklist.

The young Canadian first arrived in Athens several years ago with his wife, a graduate student pursuing a degree in art history. He became chef and general manager at the popular Last Resort before heading to San Francisco for training. After a stint as executive sous chef at Gary Danko (one of the Bay area’s finest) he returned. The Last Resort owner Melissa Clegg financed his effort at Five and Ten, which opened 18 months ago.

The hodgepodge look manages that mix of natural wood paneled earthiness and arty elegance that is the birthright of cool restaurants in college towns. Chunky wooden tables set with flickering votive candles sit on Engineered Concrete upper case CQ flooring dyed tortoiseshell brown. High pressed-tin ceilings hint at the history of this corner storefront (never an actual five-and-ten) and the room is airy and open.

The lively ambiance could be a noisy den, but isn’t. Hiding behind that swath of ragged, lovely purple silk is an acoustic panel. And the cushions hanging whimsically from the ceiling of the covered veranda contain compressed fiberglass.

Unexpected nuances hide in the food as well. Cauliflowers soup tastes all the more creamy and wonderful for the film of foamy bubbles atop the surface that Acheson achieves by running the soup through a blender prior to serving. Then he garnishes it with fine bits of roasted hazelnut and micro thin slivers of raw celery. Every smooth puree needs that beauty mark of texture.

The cooking here marches to its own creative beat rather than the droning backbeat of trends. Not everyone would think to give slices of cold poached foie gras the liverwurst sandwich treatment of homemade bread-and-butter pickles, onion jam and toast. But it does the foie thing perfectly—cutting its rich mouth-coating flavor against a sweet, sharp one.

Fish dishes are unique without getting weird. (As good chefs know, fish hates weird). One evening’s special of arctic char with parsnip puree, chive butter and whole-roasted shallots is a subtle palette of fall flavors and colors. Roasted halibut with saffron broth, a smear of salsa verde, leek mashed potatoes, French beans and roasted red peppers puts its Mediterranean flavors in canny balance.

And yet the menu weaves in some tried-and-true Americana. For oysters Rockefeller, the kitchen blankets plump Gulf specimens with a chopped, creamy spread of spinach, leeks, good bacon and a splash of Pernod, then runs them under the broiler until the oysters edges have just begun to curl. The spicy Frogmore stew is a cut above for its use of Georgia white shrimp and real Louisiana andouille (though the cob of corn immersed in the tomatoey broth is not what one eats in polite company). A squash casserole any Southerner would love accompanies a crisp, juicy chicken breast grilled under a brick. And the “really good Caesar salad” is exactly that, for all the reasons that really typical Caesar salads are lacking (ingredients, ingredients, ingredients!).

But Acheson also takes chances with offbeat recipes. And they pay off. A leg of crisp duck confit with a bunch of grapes roasted on the stem, braised cabbage and a star anise glaze works because the chef keeps both the salt and sweetness in check. It is a pleasure to spear a gushy grape or tow with a sizzly-crisp piece of duck. There’s sometimes an ingredient too many. Hand-cut pasta ribbons with roasted cherry tomatoes, jalapeños, basil and fresh mozzarella is, on final analysis, a big bowl of glop. Gorgeous slices of duck breast (on special) with braised white beans and arugula salad is highjacked by the overload of raw garlic in its fresh tomato gremolata. And so many dishes have fresh watercress or arugula ringing the plate that they grow tiresome. But my only strong complaint is that the service isn’t always up to the task of dining at $50 a head. With all the great beverages to choose from, it can be hard to order wine, get coffee with your dessert or ask for a second glass of lemonade. When a sloe-eyed waiter glances through the veranda, he doesn’t even notice me beckoning him to tell him that one of the entrees was cold. Is there a manager on board? There certainly isn’t a pastry chef. The cramped presentation of sweets on small plates is one clue. The thick and gummy crust under a lemon/blood orange curd tart is another. You can nibble on a decent piece of chocolate marquise with caramel sauce if you have to feed the demon. But after a thoughtful meal, a slab of carrot cake doesn’t