Atlanta patios: The Abby Singer at Pratt-Pullman

It’s a sparkling fall Sunday at the Pratt-Pullman District in Kirkwood. I’m sipping a bloody mary at a picnic table outside the Abby Singer, watching people wander in and out of “Van Gogh: The Immersive Experience,” the buzzy exhibit that purports to offer an experience akin to stepping into the art of the tortured Dutch genius.

My brunch arrives — a pile of tater tots topped with egg and cheese; an order of shrimp and grits. I figure I’m going to need some ketchup to go with those tots, and as I jump up from the picnic-table bench to fetch some, I hear the sound of ripping fabric and realize I’m stuck to my seat.

I’m sitting in a puddle of coagulated ketchup.

I dash to the restroom, wet some paper towels and do such a swell job of cleaning the mess on my shorts that a lady approaches me at the condiment station.

ExploreIntown Atlanta dining news

“You may not know this, but you sat down in some ketchup,” she says, looking slightly troubled by my predicament.

“I know,” I respond. “I just decided I needed a little more.”

With apologies to Van Gogh, I can either let out an Edvard Munch-worthy scream, or roll with it. I hurry back to my table; scarf down my food; and skedaddle back to my car, taking a serpentine route so as to avoid giggles and stares.

From menu to service to creature comforts, the Abby Singer, much like the historic 27-acre development it occupies, feels like a work in progress. Lots of fried foods, lots of cheese, not a lot of finesse.

ExploreNew metro Atlanta restaurants

Credit: Mia Yakel

Credit: Mia Yakel

Just getting to the restaurant can test one’s patience. You pay for parking via app only. And don’t even think about wearing your best shoes: That gravel parking lot is a beast. Nor should you expect to be greeted by a friendly face once you enter the Abby Singer. I was taken aback by the cashier who barked “What?” every time I asked him a question. At least he’s consistent: I heard him extend the same courtesy to a sweet elderly lady we saw fall off a barstool.

What?

I should probably back up and say that the Abby Singer, the first restaurant from owner Mike Horn and chef-owner Jeffrey Peterson, makes a solid hamburger, good cocktails, and fulfills a vital role — providing nourishment to Pratt-Pullman visitors.

Credit: Mia Yakel

On the Friday I stopped by for a late lunch and early cocktails with a friend, I enjoyed my Apricot Sour. My guest liked her Cranberry Margarita enough to order a second. I didn’t care for the sweet, boozy Ginger Rodgers (gin, ginger syrup, ginger beer, grapefruit liquor). (“We put in everything ginger we could think of,” the cashier told us, in a rare glimmer of conviviality.) The bloody mary was delicious!

Credit: Wendell Brock

The Juicy Lucy burger, claimed by Minnesota and distinguished by a molten layer of American cheese at the center of a half-pound beef patty, was nice and pink, though the bun was a little ho-hum. (Think: day-old brioche). The tots hit the spot. The cheese curds were fine, though maybe a tad over-crisped. But the grilled cheese was pitiful — two pieces of dry Texas toast with American cheese and nothing else we could discern. Is it so hard to grill the bread with a bit of butter or mayo, maybe dress it up with a slice of tomato, some good cheese, a swipe of jam?

Credit: Wendell Brock

Also on the slim all-day menu are chicken tenders and a vegetarian portobello sandwich. The brunch menu includes the likes of avocado toast with egg and shaved beets; French toast with fresh berries and candied pecans; a breakfast burrito; and poutine.

Horn tells me you can order your egg on the cheesy brunch tots cooked any way. I wasn’t given a choice, but I liked the scrambled eggs well enough. In hindsight, I can laugh off the ketchup calamity.

What I can’t forgive are soupy grits. They were nicely seasoned, studded with tasty little shrimp and topped with cheddar. But they needed a few more minutes on the stove. Come to think of it, that’s a pretty apt metaphor for the Abby Singer, and the scrappy development it calls home.