Stir Chattanooga Part IIPosted: January 16, 2016
When we last left our intrepid gourmands, they had just been seated at Stir, that fascinating new restaurant in downtown Chattanooga everybody who is anybody is ignoring. If you missed part I, you can read it here.
Max and Erma arrived.
Max is larger than life in every meaning of the word. He is physically large, he’s loud and always mugging for the invisible camera crew following his every move.
Erma is petite, I think she’s about 5’2″ or so, though I have never seen her in anything but impossibly high heels. I see hammer toe in her future.
They sat down across from us, Max placing his “Wine Tote” on the table. He started drinking only a couple years ago, but has made wine his “thing.”
Brian arrived to take our appetizer order. Max asked if they decant. Brian cocked his head like the RCA dog.
“Decant? You know, decant the wine I brought?”
“I don’t know sir, I’ll have to check.” You would think knowing that kind of thing might be important if you work at a high end restaurant targeting high end drink aficionados. I was guessing Brian’s last name was probably not Einstein. Maybe Trump or Cruz.
Max mugged and shrugged his shoulders for us and the camera crew. He’s an entertaining guy. He may have missed his calling when he went to law school rather than Ringling Brothers.
Apparently decanting was a managerial issue because Brian returned with his. “I’m sorry sir, we don’t decant.” “Well, can you bring us one of these water carafes so we can pour it ourselves?” “Um, no, sorry sir.”
Max mugged again, this time for the manager’s benefit.
The manager receded and Brian asked for our drink orders. I had finished my martini, so I ordered a Maker’s – neat – with ice on the side. I purposefully did NOT say artisanal or even artis-anal. I just wanted “regular” ice – or as it is known outside the artisan universe – “ice”.
I enjoy bourbon. I typically enjoy it straight, but you have to activate it with ice. If one orders bourbon with ice, it is typically filled with ice and you end up with watery bourbon. Watery bourbon is the Devil’s enema.
So I order neat with ice on the side. Which I did. At Stir. The place that specializes in drinks.
Brian returned with our drinks and placed before a small tumbler with my Maker’s and a huge bowl with a single iceberg. I did not order any fucking artisanal ice, yet somehow the hipster gods had seen fit to impose it upon me.
It was massive. 4″ on each side. Much too large to fit into my bourbon glass. It was so big I heard Celine Dion singing “My Heart Will Go On”. I considered asking for an ice pick.
I took a spoon, removed a bourgeois cube from Waco’s water and activated my bourbon.
To be continued…