Do you know what lekvar is? Neither does my computer system's spell check. Typing this story, I hit the key for spell check for this sweet Hungarian fruit spread, which my software clearly identifies as a noun from outer space, and here are the alternatives: walkover, lawgiver and recover.

What about amuse-bouche? You know, the tasty little tidbits sent to the table gratis from the chef? There are no spelling suggestions for this one. It's as if the French language doesn't exist inside my machine. Gratis, above, is recognized. I guess Middle English words derived from Latin are OK.

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Food writing is like driving over a road full of etymological (it's a word — I looked it up) and spelling potholes. Even the experts (headed up most often in my case by the AJC's astounding copy desk) disagree: Is it castor sugar or caster sugar? Is it weiner schnitzel or weinerschnitzel? Neither — it's w-i-e-n-erschnitzel, one word or two, two words preferred.

The truth is, cooking isn't just something we all studied as a vocational occupation back in junior high anymore. Today's chefs have to be more professionally groomed than ever. They have to be well-spoken, well-groomed and well-versed. Chefs today are the ultimate Renaissance men (and women): They know a little bit about almost everything or a lot about a centered subject or both.

For instance, talk to Peter Dale of the National in Athens, and he'll tell you the ins and outs of dining, eating and shopping in Barcelona as if he were a travel agent. Have any length of conversation with Linton Hopkins of Restaurant Eugene (and newly opened Holeman & Finch) and you'll get an economics lesson on food purchasing and farming.

Bar chef Lara Creasy of Shaun's will give you a history lesson bar none, expounding on the virtues and cons of bathtub gin and Prohibition. And Joe Truex of Repast can practically lecture on literature. My last conversation with him wasn't about beurre blanc — it was about "Madame Bovary."

Really great chefs — and their restaurants — don't capitalize on the moment. They seize it. A bit of culinary carpe diem, so to speak. Which, by the way, came through spell check as "cape" diem.

Holeman & Finch now pouring

Holeman & Finch Public House, the sister restaurant to Restaurant Eugene, has finally gotten its liquor license. Beard nominee Hopkins phoned last week to tell the good news. The meat-centric restaurant offers house-cured salumi, gratin of marrow, a "head to tail" selection of crisp pork ears and tails with a sweet barbecue sauce and souse (which was absent from the larder on my first visit).

After ordering entirely too much food, I felt as if I had eaten an entire cow by the time I left. My fave so far: a poached egg with bacon over johnnycakes with sorghum syrup and a touch of foie gras to top. 2277 Peachtree Road, Suite B, 404-948-1175, holeman-finch

Meat's the word — have you heard?

We're meat mad, apparently. After the success of gastropubs in Europe, a return to "real food" and the worldwide acclaim for books such as "The River Cottage Meat Book" by English super butcher-cum-chef-cum-farmer Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall (Ten Speed Press, $40), meat — in all its glory from head to hoof — is hot.

Hopkins isn't alone. This fall, Anne Quatrano and Clifford Harrison (Bacchanalia, Quinones at Bacchanalia, Star Provisions and Floataway Cafe) will open Abattoir ("slaughterhouse" in French) in the White Provisions complex on the West Side. Quatrano was hesitant to use the term "steakhouse" to describe the new venue, a casual concept that will focus on local lamb, pork and beef.

If your restaurant is new, closing or undergoing changes, or if you have a food-related event, we want to hear from you. Send the information — including your name, phone number, e-mail and Web site, if you have one — to mford@ajc.com.