Double take: Bone Island Grillhouse and Freddy's Frozen Custard

By: Danielle Bartling

In a serendipitous coincidence one afternoon in late October, I ran into my sunshine-ray-of-a-friend Lilly in the Kroger parking lot. She’s always been one for spontaneity and “grand local adventures,” especially those involving blissful self-indulgence. Earlier I had fried my MacBook in a water bottle accident and she made it her duty to take my mind off of it. So we forged the path of least resistance – dinner – but not before submerging my computer in a dresser drawer filled with 10 pounds of uncooked rice.

Lilly suggested a place called, “Bone Island Grillhouse,” where she had recently become a regular. Tucked just inside the west Athens Perimeter, it’s your classic, chain-style restaurant with clean lines and a commercial essence. Think Applebee’s older, sophisticated cousin who shops exclusively at malls and likes to pretend they’re not part of the family. The self-proclaimed “Grillhouse” appeals to the hungry southerner, while the elusive reference to “Bone Island” adds mystery and intrigue (although I’m not entirely sure that’s somewhere I’d want to vacation). Inside, the restaurant was scattered lightly with customers here and there. We snagged a cozy booth along the south-facing front window. The blinds were shut yet seeping the DST sunlight and the seat cushions were firm with just the right amount of “give.”

Our server, whose name now eludes me, was marvelously attentive. His service-with-a-smile execution was next-level, stopping by every five minutes or so to check up on us. He took our drink orders: two glasses of ice water, one frozen House Margarita and one Miami Vice (a strawberry piña colada), which we proceeded to share. The glasses were unexpectedly tall; I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a highball. The plain white margarita was lousy with tequila, while the gradient pink piña colada was prettier and more palatable – so each had their strengths.

After careful deliberation, Lilly and I ordered what seemed like every item on the menu. And instead of the standard double-entree, we opted for a communal feast. It’s indisputably more exciting to prod your fork into a hundred diverse dishes than one monotonous one, no matter how delicious or well-prepared.

First, we were presented with an elegant, asymmetric bowl of housemade salad, comprised of assorted greens, carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, red onions and crunchy croutons. I appreciated the colorful cornucopia of textures and flavors. The dressing was tangy yet traditional, and per usual, I “accidentally” poured too much and oversaturated the leaves. “Go B.I.G. or stay home,” am I right? (Yes, that is really their catchphrase).

Next, the Fried Goat Cheese Fritters arrived on a bed of spring greens. For the price ($7) there were fewer than I imagined – five to be exact. Stacked like a pyramid and drizzled with balsamic vinegar, these crispy balls of my all-time favorite cheese (goat, second only to halloumi) were melt-in-your-mouth, gooey goodness. It’s a shame I couldn’t eat more than two and a half without appearing immodest.

Normally I am repulsed by seafood, but have since come around. It started with campus sushi but my palate has evolved even further, courtesy of Bone Island’s Catfish Poppers. They were equally as crispy as the fritters but juicier and more texturized on the inside. Spattered with lemon and served alongside a bowl of Caribbean tartar sauce, these were something of a mermaid’s fantasy.

Next, I found the B.I.G. House Club Chicken Wrap to be – not quite mediocre – but standard for its kind. But I personally appreciate the menu’s alignment with my taste, offering what some might consider a burrito sandwich served on nothing but a dependable wheat tortilla. Wrapped tightly inside were seven ounces of marinated grilled chicken, house-made aioli and vinaigrette, avocado, bacon, provolone cheese, tomatoes and lettuce. After the wrap, we were entirely full but only partially satisfied. There was something else, sinfully scrumptious, in our destiny.

Next door, Freddy’s Frozen Custard beckoned our sweet teeth, as it does every day from 10:30 a.m. to 10 p.m. – but this time, it was right before our eyes and impossible to resist. The franchise’s striped red awning and U.S. flag glistened among the dark sky and sinking sun, lit by the drive-thru, guiding us home like the North Star. True, we could have eaten dessert at the initial restaurant but visions of Chocolate Brownie Delight were already dancing in our heads.

Unfortunately, my laptop never worked again, but I worked through these emotions on the sugar high. It can be assured that our G.N.O. at B.I.G. left little to be desired and lots to digest.