1) Spend the day somewhere where there is water (i.e. beach, springs, pool).
Issue: every other human being for miles around had the exact same idea, so think swarms of humanity, hot, sweaty, irritable and barely-clothed, in a tightly confined space. Ew.
2) Go to a museum.
Issue: It's JULY. Not museum season. Next.
3) Travel somewhere north, faaaarrrr north of the Mason-Dixon line, where maybe, just maybe, temperatures hover somewhere below the boiling point.
Issue: monetary outlays tend to follow the northerly trajectory of the traveler. Which may or may not be a priority, just saying.
Normally, this most awkward of holidays is made bearable by what has become a bit of a tradition: a gang of best pals, a pool-equipped backyard, mountains of good food (with some best pal's husband-grilled poultry and homemade ice cream, ideally), and dessert and fireworks on blankets in friends' parents' midtown parking lot to wrap up the day. It's downright not bad, actually, when you think about it.
This year ended up being a tad different, though. I just could. not. bear. the thought of staying put; I had to get out of Dodge or risk blowing a fuse (well, melting, might be a more appropriate verb). Atlanta beckoned - while not really far north enough to be ideal, it did offer a few consolations - time with my sister and some dear friends, which is always, always a welcome diversion, slightly lower temperatures, the ever-present opportunity to eat and spend too much, and very necessary, a zip code different from the one I am normally found in.
Shopping and exploring-wise, the trip was a bit of a bust (though my wallet disagrees). Kate and I found a ton of cool places, poking around Midtown, Intown, Inman Park, Five Points and the like, but we had to press our noses longingly against the glass in too many instances - so many shops were closed. (I complain, but I understand - who wants to work on a holiday? Well, I do, in this case... But I digress.) It ended up being ok, though - Paris on Ponce was open, and what a fabulous find that was... We did get some really nice,cool temperatures, and the brother/sister/friend time was pretty wonderful and recharging... And, of course, the eating was terrific and nonstop, starting with a pimiento cheeseburger and Derby pie at the Rookery in Macon, moving to cheddar waffles and homemade donuts at Bantam and Biddy, to (mediocre) pizza and interesting methods of showing affection at Fellini's, to very good Italian (including the best pasta carbonara I've had) at Colletta, to a mouthwateringly delicious shawarma pita at Yalla! in the Krog Street Market, to the Grand Slam juice flight at Arden's Garden, to fresh, homemade cinnamon-swirl brioche (did I mention that my brother in law is an incredible baker?) to....
Well, what brings me to the point of this post. What turned out to be an extremely pleasant and restful weekend was capped off most appropriately by a dinner experience that was, in a word, PURE AWESOME. Kate and I were out shopping Sunday when Andrew texted to say he'd found a spot that had found its way onto Craziest Restaurants in America... Needless to say, the answer was yes. So we pull up to this little nondescript place on Peachtree Road. We walk through the door, out of the heat and sun and traffic noise of Buckhead and into, literally, another world. The place is dark, thanks to the fact that literally every surface, windows included, is covered with yard upon yard upon mile of fabric - riotously colored and luxuriantly textured fabric. It's quiet, except for the exotic music playing over the sound system, music that brings camelherders silhouetted against the sunset to mind... It smells amazing, because, duh, this is a Moroccan restaurant and have you ever eaten Moroccan food? The place was just opening for the night and the chef/owner was in the vestibule hanging with the front of house staff. We got to chatting; he ended up showing me his wall of fame, resplendent with photos of him with everybody from Jimmy Carter to Arnold Schwarzenegger, and sharing his philosophies on food and travel - how they realign the soul and open the cells in the body to new and wonderful growth (ideas that I share in a slightly less...spiritual sense). But then, he was off to man his station in the kitchen, and we were whisked to a plush sofa and armchairs surrounding a round, low table. We were given menus and advised to choose the full, five-course "experience", which we of course did... This began with our waiter bringing a stack of towels and a silver basin and teapot. We were instructed to place our towels over our left shoulder and our hands over the basin. Our waiter then proceeded to pour warm water from the teapot over our hands, in a sort of group hand-washing. (I won't lie, this was so cool. It felt really cultural to this wannabe world-traveler who hasn't gotten near as far in her world-traveling as she would like.) 
We started with harrira, a Moroccan lentil soup, accompanied by harissa (a spicy pepper paste), whole wheat bread and fekkas, or Moroccan crackers. A flight of about five different salads followed in short order; they were described so quickly I couldn't catch what they all were (and it was too dark to see them clearly), but the tastebuds investigated and approved. Fava bean hummus and pickled vegetables in particular were standout. Next on the agenda was b'stella, a signature dish consisting of phyllo pastry stuffed with ground Cornish hen, almonds and egg, redolent of cinnamon. We chased this with a shredded carrot palate cleanser - I couldn't place the flavor profile, but it was intense and exotic and made me think of roses.
All of this led to the main course - Chicken Paprika, Roasted Lamb Shank, and Lamb with Sweet and Spicy Plums (the 42 spices in the description sold me), accompanied by a platter of some of the most delicious rice I've ever eaten. The flavors were signature Middle-Eastern...explosively savory and liberally spiced. Intense and complex, this is food that grips you by the throat and insists that you sit up and pay attention. One can't help but admire the sheer skill required to coax that cacophony of flavors into a beautiful tapestry of taste.
This grand symphony was followed by another handwashing, and then our waiter brought us sweet, hot mint tea and a platter of fresh fruit and rosewater-scented pastries, all of which we enjoyed to the accompaniment of swirling colored lights, exotic music and a belly dancer. (I type that with a straight face. But, seriously, imagine. That was a lot of culture for three relatively straight-laced Midwesterners. The reality is we kind of cracked up.)
All tongue-in-cheek aside, though, I thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed the experience. The staff was so warm and welcoming, the food was delicious, and the surroundings were beautifully out of the ordinary - I would gladly go back, and I would recommend the place without hesitation, at least to the more adventurous and open-minded of my acquaintance.
So, acquaintances, if you count yourselves among the adventurous and open-minded, run, don't walk, to Imperial Fez. Feel free to bring me your leftovers.
