…and the horse you rode in on!

Are you familiar with the way that sentence usually starts? That was my mood, alternating with grateful, last night. I am lucky to be here to tell the tale.

For the first weeks I have been in Chattanooga, I have borrowed the pickup truck or the car belonging to the school’s athletics department. Last night, I had the car. I intended to go Downtown to drink (er, and eat) at The Hair of the Dog. I drove the car home from campus with no problems. I left the house and thought I heard and felt a slight shudder, somewhat like having a flat tire, so I pulled over and got out. The tires looked fine. I got Downtown with no problems. As I searched for a free parking space, that’s when I realized that the brake pedal went all the way to the floor with no effect whatsoever!

I managed to not hit anyone or anything, got the car going slowly uphill, turned a corner, rubbed the tires against the curb, and put the car into park. Then I called the school’s security officer, who called for a tow truck to bring the car and me back to campus. No, wait. First, I prayed to God and thanked Him that the situation wasn’t worse, that I hadn’t caused any property nor bodily damage, and that I had the brains to get the car stopped. Then I called security.

Part of me wanted to go home, eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some barbecue Fritos, and go to bed. Another part of me grabbed a cliché and beat the wimpy me over the head with it. I decided to get back on the horse that threw me and get my dark beer, darn it! (As you can guess, I pretty much needed it by this point.) I borrowed the truck, drove around campus first to test the brakes, and headed back Downtown. I found a parking space just around the corner from where I was stranded.

The sign on the door said that, because of the recession, the pub would not serve beer on Thursday, Friday, or Saturday nights. I checked with my attractive and interactive waitress; no, they were not kidding. I needed a beer, demmit! I asked for Dr. Pepper. Their soda machine was on the fritz, and the employee they had sent out for two liter bottles hadn’t returned yet. Oy vey. I explained the look of frustration/exasperation on my face, and the waitress suggested that they had some bottles which, because of their high alcohol content, were considered liquors and could be served. Perfect!

She provided a menu, and I selected Skull Splitter. There was a darker not-beer on the menu, but I chose this one because it is from Scotland. It turns out I made the right choice. It was a very dark amber but clear (not cloudy), very smooth from start to finish, and with a flavor that didn’t hit my tastebuds over their heads with a cliché.

I selected another cliché in honor of the failed brakes and decided to pull out all the stops. [Insert groan here.] For dinner, I had the Guinness chili (excellent flavor, but the fine grain of the meat made me wonder if I was eating something other than beef), the Tramstopper (barbecue meatloaf -- not something I’d seen anywhere else, and something I’d not necessarily eat again) with French fries (loaded with seasoned salt, so I couldn’t use the malt vinegar conveniently located on the table), and dessert.

The pub’s desserts (not shown on the online menu) were a daily special or the Fried Black and Tan, described as Bananas Foster meets brownies. I asked what the daily special was. They were out of it. (Of course they were.) I had the Fried Black and Tan. There was a scoop of vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate sauce drizzles, and lighter cubes and brown cubes. When I cut into them with my spoon, I confirmed that they indeed had been fried. The brown ones were fried brownies. The lighter ones were what I’d describe as fried cheesecake. (Gotta love the South!) That was a definite get-again.

For lunch, I had gone across the street from campus to Café Lemont. It was a superb choice. I had barbecued spareribs (a little sweeter than I prefer), white beans (mixed with pork and onion and a touch of smoke flavoring), fried green tomatoes (something I had never dared try before, but I’ve been oddly adventurous since arriving in Chattanooga), a roll, sweet raspberry tea to drink, and a piece of chess pie for dessert. I haven’t tried the chess pie yet. It looked like a blondie to me, but one of the housekeepers whom I saw at the restaurant and with whom I ate said it is lemon flavored, which I like almost as much. The mouse in my office didn’t get to it in the afternoon, so I took it home and put it in my fridge.

Both restaurants were too expensive to be regular hangouts for me, but I definitely would return to both. Other than the car, I made some excellent choices yesterday -- but the car wasn’t really a matter of choice.