Georgia on my mind (part two)

We arrived at Stone Mountain Inn just before 1pm. The front of the hotel has a perfect view of the massive carving of Confederate heroes Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis that dominates the north face of the mountain. I have seen it before, but it is still impressive. Measuring three acres (or about three football fields), the carving towers 400 feet above the ground. Spanning 90 by 190 feet and recessed 42 feet into the mountain, it’s probably the most spectacular monument to a lost cause ever made.

Our room was not ready so we drove over to the food, shopping and attractions area at the base of the mountain. Tickets could be purchased for individual attractions, but there were also one and two day passes available. My mental calculator rang up the individual cost options and found none of them very attractive. There were a few things that the girls wanted to do, but the individual tickets would have almost added up to what a two day pass could be purchased for. I couldn’t rationalize buying a two day pass however, because we hadn’t planned more than a half day and part of the next evening at the park. My mind reeled as I tried to balance cost with fun and could not find an answer. Vacations are hard.

As usual when I am in a mental quandary, I suggested we get something to eat. Shelby had been to the park with some friends last year and suggested we eat at Miss Katie’s restaurant. The sign said it was famous for its “hand tossed rolls,” which sounded interesting, so we all made our way inside and were immediately seated.

Our waitress was a young, pretty lady with a vivacious personality named Imari. She joked with the girls and explained that because she “liked us” she was going to give us the choice on where she was going to stand while “tossing” our rolls. It finally clicked in my head that “hand tossed” was not referring to a kneading or baking method, but was a style of delivery.

She said she could stand by our table, making the toss simple but slightly boring, or she could stand on a raised platform about 10 feet away. We decided that the degree of difficulty would be placed upon her, and we were unlikely to catch all the hot rolls even if she dropped them to us from a foot away. We opted to let her hurl them at us from a distance.

A few minutes later she appeared on the platform with a basket of rolls and a latex glove on her throwing hand. Shelby offered to be first and Imari took aim. The delivery was right on target, as were the other four rolls into each or our waiting hands. I was surprised and pleased at our prowess, and wondered to myself if a family of five had ever successfully caught five rolls from the platform. It must have been quite an achievement, I thought, but then realized that it was likely not any kind of athletic prowess that accomplished the feat, but more likely the fact that no one in my family would allow a roll to go to waste. The very thought of one of those hot, fresh rolls dropping to the floor was tragic. We would not allow that to happen.

As part of the standard offering at Miss Katie’s, Imari brought us a starter platter of Fried Onion Petals, Fried Pickles and fried Sweet Potatoes strips. I could hardly eat over the sound of arteries hardening throughout the restaurant.

We made our menu choices from mouth watering home style descriptions. I chose the fried chicken, deciding that I would stick with a “fried” theme while there. When it arrived, I was a bit surprised. For the price of $12.95, I expected a little more than the two small pieces of chicken on my plate. Despite the fact that I was not very hungry after eating a roll, some onion petals and a surprisingly tasty fried pickle, the diminutive leg and thigh pieces were far from impressive. For $12.95 I expected a breast piece. There are basic principles involved. Miss Katie was a bit skimpy on her portions. I don’t believe she was truly from the south.

My protest remained silent, however, and I ate the diminutive pieces of chicken. The food was good, and we all relaxed, discussing our activities for the evening and the next day. Suddenly a throng of servers approached our table carrying a bowl of ice cream with fudge topping. Smiling broadly, they stood over our shoulders and broke into a rousing version of “Happy Birthday!” We grinned and nodded, hating to interrupt such a spirited performance.

When they finished, I said, “Thank you, that was great…but none of us are celebrating a birthday.”

They looked at each other and turned red with embarrassment. It was fun to watch someone else squirm uncomfortably for a change. They stumbled around a bit, asking each other if they had the right table and assuring themselves that they did. We assured them that they did not. One of the male servers turned to another and whispered “Awkward? Yes.”

Taylor had not taken her eyes off the ice cream, and as they walked away in confusion and disappointment at wasting their best vocal performance in weeks, she said “they could have at least left the dessert.”

(The saga continues in part 3)