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Open less than a decade, but you’d swear it’s been serving after-church meat-and-three plates since hometown lad Sam Nunn was in short pants. In a historic gingerbread cottage with tables draped in white cloths—so you can eat a drumstick with your fingers but raise a pinkie. Roughly midway between Atlanta and Valdosta, the Swanson is well worth a short detour to escape the seventh circle of franchise hell known as Interstate 75.
http://www.theswanson.com/
