I have to confess, dear readers, that I've taken a part-time job. The local paper here in my new hometown of Gastonia, N.C., was looking for someone to eat at area restaurants and write reviews of the experience. It took me exactly 5.2 seconds to agree to fill the role. In my spare time, I now troll the Web, the paper and any other source of good intel I can find to pick new and different culinary adventures.

You might think that a small town like this would be served primarily by barbecue joints and chains. Sadly (in the latter case), you would be partially correct. A good portion of the money spent on dining out here either goes into the pockets of the pit jockeys or the TG McFunsters cadre.

However, I have discovered that there are many bright spots in this culinary firmament, some run by chefs and some run by families that have been plying their trade for generations. We're not necessarily talking about haute cuisine here, just food done properly and with passion by people who care about not just what the patrons think during the meal, but what they think a week or a month later.

But why, you ask, would any chef worth his salt be out here in the far reaches of the 'burbs? Why wouldn't he be occupying some tony downtown spot or some bistro out in country-club land? In the case of Chad Ratchford, the subject of this week's column, I have to admit I don't know. I've heard rumors from friends in the Charlotte restaurant scene that he got himself sideways with some of the movers and shakers there, but I have no proof of that.

I do know that he has a chef's personality: gruff and hard-edged, with very little tolerance for chatter or wasted time in the kitchen. He runs a tight ship, and people who work for him either get his vision and become dedicated to him or they don't last long. I can appreciate those traits. A chef is an artist, and thus can be forgiven a measure of artistic temperament. And how many painters turn out 200 or more works of art a night?

While many people (myself included) know very little about painting and have only the most vague opinions about it, everyone has an opinion about food. The chains survive by constantly striving for the middle, the flavor zone where they won't necessarily delight everyone in the door, but will be pronounced at least edible by the greater portion of the masses.

I'm not sure Chad Ratchford has ever set foot in the middle. If he did, he quickly wiped it off his shoe and kept going. His restaurant, Backwoods Eatery, in Belmont, N.C., a small town adjacent to my own, is a bastion of culinary creativity, where familiar local ingredients meet exotic spices, and quality is the only religion.

Take, for example, a simple side dish like mashed potatoes. Chad makes horseradish mashed potatoes, and if you miss that first ingredient, it will hit you with the first bite. These are a sinus-clearing joy that don't let up until the plate's empty.

The main dishes are a crazy-quilt of flavors that will constantly surprise. Take, for instance, the sweet and sour pork. You've had this, right? The batter-fried nuggets you get from the Chinese takeout place? Well, you can forget about that forevermore. This version consists of chunks of perfectly cooked, butter-tender pork swimming in a sauce that hits notes of sweet and sour mixed with a peppery kick.

Or perhaps the low-country classic shrimp and grits is to your liking. Here you'll find it with a dose of olive tapenade that gives it a hint of New Orleans muffaletta goodness. I've related that formulation to Gullah cuisine traditionalists and been met with (at best) an icy stare, but it works. That's the sort of thing Ratchford does. He'll cook the dish you expect, but it won't taste the way you think it will. But if you're willing to let go of your preconceptions and just enjoy, you'll be taken on a great ride.

My favorite of his creations goes by the simple moniker of black pepper pork. This consists of slices of perfectly roasted pork loin topped with a black pepper-based sauce that keeps revealing more layers and shades of flavor the longer you eat it. In this era of exotic peppers and "extreme" fiery food offerings, black pepper has become the neglected stepchild of the chilehead repertoire. A dish like this will remind you why, once upon a time, men braved the wild ocean in tiny ships and sailed thousands of miles primarily to bring back peppercorns.

Unless I've lost my touch, I've sparked your appetite by now. Maybe you're reading this at lunch and you're thinking about that little place you've driven by on the way home and thought about visiting. Maybe you're already home and wondering about where to go for dinner or for a weekend lunch.

Here's my advice: Get off the main drag and eat. Find that out-of-the way place. Use a website like UrbanSpoon or Chowhound if you need some ideas. Talk to your neighbors. Better yet, talk to the cook at your favorite chain joint. Most of them don't eat where they work. Just be sure your new year starts with at least one culinary discovery.

Got a question? Comment? Topic you'd like to see covered? Spare bucket of money? Drop me a line, anytime!