Bottomless Appreciation
Finding the "Job Well Done" in a failed Friday night.
“So where are we going now?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t expect this to happen!” I snapped back at my poor mother.
We’d been outside Chattanooga restaurant Scottie’s On the River for about 20 minutes at that point. It was a busy Friday and our name was on the wait list for dinner. We’d walked down to the Riverwalk and gazed across the Tennessee River before returning to the storefront to sit in the shade and wait for our name to be called.
On that night, however, our name would not be called.
We were next on the list when management made the tough decision to close the restaurant for the night. Apparently, the ordering system was completely out of sorts, and the kitchen hadn’t received orders for the last three hours.
I understood the dilemma, but now we were in one of our own: trying to find a new restaurant at nearly 7pm on a Friday night with no reservations.
Mom and I were on a long-weekend vacation together in the River City. Our usual October shopping trip had to be reformatted a bit thanks to this handsome little punk named Niko who will be delivered by an abnormally strong stork around that time this year.
We usually just make it a day trip, getting home in time for dinner, but I thought it would be fun for us to actually get away for a bit.
We stayed in an AirBnB loft just above the Ugly Mug coffee shop on Main – an arrangement I absolutely loved.
On our first night, we ate at my favorite Chattanooga restaurant, Alleia. The restaurant is stylish and there’s no doubt that the owners know what they’re talking about when it comes to a truly authentic Italian dining experience. There’s no place like this where my mom lives, so I knew this would be a real treat for her.
While we were staying in Chattanooga proper, our weekend revolved around a pilgrimage to the outlets south of the border in Dawsonville, GA.
Our shopping trips are not so much about the consumerist endeavor, but more about the rides to and from the destination. In the truck, the filters come off. We trade the “polite company” versions of our lives for the truth.
For this trip, we had those talks on various rides in the truck, at numerous restaurant tables, and from the living room of our loft. It’s necessary, we both need it, and I’m so grateful that we have each other to share these dialogues with.
This trip was also my chance to do something small for my mom after so many years of her doing it for me. On paper it may have just looked like a vacation rental and a couple of nice dinners while I played her chauffeur, but it was much, much more.
It was her first time gazing at the Chattanooga skyline. Her first AirBnB stay. Her first taste of Arancini and Veal.
And her first Uber ride drove us to Scottie’s that fateful night.
After deciding to ride up the road to competing seafood restaurant The Boathouse Rotisserie & Raw Bar, we crawled into the backseat of our next Uber. We explained to the driver what had happened and why we were going from one seafood joint to the next.
With a straight face, he complimented The Boathouse, said it was a very fine seafood restaurant (which it was), then gave a glowing recommendation for …
The chicken fingers.
It’s clear that our driver doesn’t have a son who thinks it’s important to help him have new life experiences.
Or maybe the joke’s on me and the Boathouse really does have bomb fried chicken.
I wouldn’t know. I ordered the seared tuna and enjoyed every bite while knowing that the woman who sat across from me was proud of me, and was aware that these small gestures came from a place of bottomless love and appreciation for a job extra-well done.
If you’re reading this, take your momma out for dinner. She loves you.
-jtf