We’ve talked about art in one of my favorite adopted towns of all time — Chattanooga, Tenn., here and here. Now, art is good. I like art. I like people who make art, which is convenient since I work (most days) in an art museum. But when it comes to other things Chattanooga really is good at, have to put “coffee” high on the list. I’m not sure if it’s the mountain or the river or that whole we’re-cool-and-hipster-and-still-a-little-bit-country thing Chattanoogians have going, but folks there sure love and know their coffee. Me, too. At least the “love” part. Chattanooga fans surely will recognize where these two photos come from. On the left, it’s Rembrandt’s Coffee House in the Bluff View Art District, identifiable by its awesomely wonderful desserts. It’s one of those bakeries where you just stare through the glass and say “I want one of those and one of those and …” And, yes, the foam on my macchiato is a bit too foamy, but really that’s a minor complaint for such a fun location and satisfying sweetness. On the right, nobody could mistake the sturdy recycled tables and skillful foam art of Camp House Espresso, a few blocks from both the burgeoning Southside Art District and bustling downtown Market Street. The Camp House building truly is multi-purpose, housing at various times during the week a church, an entertainment venue and a clothing mission as well as a coffee house. That is sooooo Chattanooga.
Chattanooga, Tenn., is a town that loves its art. (And its doughnuts, but that’s a different post.) Art is everywhere here. It oozes out of museums and galleries and spills out onto walls, buses and anywhere there’s an inspiring blank space. Such as sidewalks. In the emerging Southside Art District, for example, simply walking along immerses you in all sorts of innovative artistic minds. Sculptor John Petrey, for instance, is known for his dress series, and one of his astonishing works is just standing right there. You can walk up to it and inspect it and touch it all you want. Yea, art for the people!!! And then there was this wooden door propped up against a lamp post on a sidewalk in Northside, Chattanooga’s cool hipster alter ego. Younger Daughter and I were walking to Greenlife Grocery (which we all know is actually a Whole Foods, although everybody in Northside tries to deny it) when we spotted the door and tried to figure it out. Was it art? Apartment renovation? A magic door that would lead to an alternate universe? We resisted the urge to draw on it since all we had were ink pens and lipstick and, besides, if it did happen to be a magic door leading to an alternate universe, we felt that non-engagement was the proper response.
It looks suspicious, I’ll admit, that my previous post was about a huge liquor store in Kennesaw, Ga., — and I wrote that more than a week ago. I do have
an excuse a reason, though: For some of those intervening days, I was hanging out with our 4-year-old grandson. Then I had to take the remaining days to recover from a marathon of playing Spider Man/Angry Birds/pirates/Bilbo-tries-to-escape-the-bad-guys-and-throw-his-ring-into-a-volcano. Every time I grandson-sit, I’m grateful that Nature eased 50ish-women out of the baby business. Thank you, Nature. You knew what you were doing.
So, back to business. This is not news but it’s worth repeating: Chattanooga, Tenn., should be on your go-to list. Looking for a weekend getaway or a family-friendly vacation spot? This east Tennessee mountain town is perfect. It’s definitely a happening sort of place for art, food, shopping and outdoor-iness. I know nothing about that last item, a whole heckuva lot about the middle two (more to come on these topics) and only a little about the first one. But enough to
be really annoying appreciate what artists do. And in Chattanooga, art literally is everywhere — from sidewalks and playgrounds to innovative museums. You gotta love a town that encourages folks to paint on its walls. Even the buses have art instead of the ubiquitous ads. Go and see for yourself. Coming up next: Chattanooga food, Chattanooga shopping and more Chattanooga art. Have I mentioned that I adore this town?
Husband JP and I are newspaper geeks. We met at a newspaper — Sidelines, the student newspaper at Middle Tennessee State University, in Murfreesboro, Tenn. We work for newspapers — he’s actually fortunate enough to get a regular paycheck from one. We talk and post and discuss and argue about newspapers (and also whose turn it is to clean out the cat boxes and which one of us forgot to buy beer). And we buy newspapers — you know, the old-fashioned kind made of paper — everywhere we go. When we travel, our hotel room is littered with newspapers. We take stacks into restaurants (although not the really good ones). We pile them in the back seat of the car and haul them home for additional perusal. In doing all this, we stumble across some fascinating things. Such as the fact that the May 27 edition of the Chattanooga (Tenn.) Times Free Press — the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend — weighed in at an incredible 2 pounds and, when folded, was 1 1/2 inches deep. This is, we calculated, about four times bigger than your average regular daily paper and seemed mainly due to an inordinately large amount of advertising inserts. Most papers, it seemed to us, had a lighter number of inserts for Memorial Day Sunday. Anyway, this is the sort of stuff that fascinates us. Just wait until you hear our discussion on Times Roman versus Times New Roman.
Normally I don’t get in on nationally historical & happening-right-now political events — I’m generally more of the heard-it-on-NPR type — but earlier this week I got a close-up look at the headline-making Occupy (Fill-in-the-Blank) movement while I was in downtown Chattanooga, Tennessee. The Occupy Chattanooga folks have set up their tents on the lawn of the Hamilton County courthouse, and Younger Daughter and I, being the
nosy & curious journalistically inquiring people that we are, headed over to get the full story. And the full story, as far as I can tell, is that we should eat locally and not step on the pansies bravely trying to brighten the sparse wintry landscaping. I didn’t pick up much political angst — it seemed more like a friendly campout where you borrow your neighbors’ chocolate bars to make s’mores — but I wasn’t surprised at that. See, the thing about Chattanooga is that it’s a pretty cool & laidback town where Patagonia, stand-up paddleboarding and organic coffee shops trump pearls, pantyhose and pumps. So it’s entirely fitting that Chattanooga’s version of Occupy (Fill-in-the-Blank) is low-key. But, of course, it was difficult to get the full story since it was a weekday and the site was fairly empty because the protesters were at 1) work, 2) school or 3) back home taking showers, leaving Occupy Chattanooga in the hands of an address-less man who tends the fire and watches over the tents while everybody’s gone. He happily filled Younger Daughter and I in on why the government was out to get us, augmented by comments from another talkative man on a bicycle who offered opinions as he cycled around the tents and whom we later saw riding around town, still commenting loudly to everybody and nobody. But I liked the whole Occupy Chattanooga vibe. I mean, when Imyself Occupy Chattanooga, I tend more toward Julie Darling Donuts and Good Dog beer & fries, but I’m glad there are other folks out there who are making me think about other things and reminding me that not everyone is so lucky — and not to step on the flowers.
One of my new favorite places is Yellow Deli in Chattanooga, Tennessee. For one thing, it’s just fun to say. Go ahead — try it right now: “Yellow Deli.” See? You can’t say it without smiling. And you can’t eat there without smiling, either. This is the place to, literally, feed your inner hippie. I mean, I’m all for any restaurant that lists “sprouts” as an add-on to your sandwich, offers homemade granola for breakfast and would rather pour you a cup of mate instead of coffee. (The very thought of “mate” instead of coffee horrifies me, but, you know, I celebrate diversity.) Think Bob Dylan meets Sgt. Pepper and then Alice Waters invites everybody over for tea with her friend Arlo Guthrie. Or maybe that’s just my own personal fantasy. But there’s definitely a 1960s-70s vibe here, and there’s a reason for that. A Chattanooga couple founded the Yellow Deli in 1973 as “a place where people from all walks of life could come and touch a living demonstration of God’s love in those who served them.” (http://yellowdeli.com/) Things got a little rocky at times — read both the “History” portion of the website and the Wikipedia entry for varying accounts — but there’s no denying that the Yellow Deli in Chattanooga serves fresh and delicious food along with a warm and casually funky atmosphere. Both my 76-year-old parents, my 20-something-year-old daughters and my three-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable loved it — and there aren’t many places where we all feel at home. The inside is meticulously clean — an admirable feat considering all the rustic wood and handmade touches — the outside is gorgeously landscaped and the whole place is like getting a hug from your best friend. If your best friend could make a Hibiscus Fruit Cooler with sweet-potato pound cake. And don’t look for “Men” and “Women” signage when it comes to the restrooms. I think the Yellow Del’s all-inclusive sign pretty well sums it up.
I love good hot dogs, but I hardly ever eat them because, well, I think we can all agree that good hot dogs are a rare breed. So when a restaurant proclaims that it serves a Good Dog right in its name, that’s a challenge I’ve got to check out. Happily, I can report that Good Dog, in the hip and happening area of Northshore in Chattanooga, Tennessee, does indeed serve a good dog. A fantastically wonderful hot dog, in fact. And I went for the veggie dog, too — and would rank it right up there with some of the best I’ve ever had. Probably because it’s cooked on the same grill right next to the beef dogs, but oh well. It’s the effort that counts. The menu boasts several versions of classic hot dogs (Chicago, New York Street Cart, Cleveland Ballpark) or you can order a plain dog and add whatever toppings you want. Ordering at Good Dog moves fast — there’s almost always a line — so know what you want before it’s your turn or you risk the wrath of everybody behind you. Due to the owner’s Dutch heritage, Heineken is the beer of choice here. And definitely go for the handmade frites, which are served hot and salty in a paper cone you then slip into circles that have been cut in your table. Good Dog is a condiment lover’s dream, as you can see from the photo, which shows only half of the condiment-gallery shelves. Also: When you order the frites, actually say the word “frites” instead of “fries” so you’ll seem like a regular. You’re welcome.
Chattanooga, Tennessee, is pretty much the coolest town ever. Especially when my both of my daughters and Capt. Adorable — my 2-year-old grandson — are there. Well, Younger Daughter (center) always is there, because she’s living and working in Chattanooga. But recently Older Daughter (left) and Capt. Adorable and I went to visit for a day, and those three spread coolness and adorability everywhere we went. For example, nobody could resist commenting on the Captain’s incredibly cute dinosaur hat — we made friends all over the place! We had a great time browsing through the fun and funky North Shore shops, eating scoops of Clumpies Ice Cream one creamy spoonful at a time and trying to limit our choices at Whipped Cupcakes to only a dozen pieces of deliciousness. (What??? Don’t judge us. You know that food always is the most important part of a road trip. And, besides, it was the Captain who demanded the ice cream and the cupcakes. Yeah, that’s it — the Captain made us.) So of course we had to walk all that off on the Walnut Street pedestrian bridge over the Tennessee River, where the Captain insisted on walking as close to the barrier as possible — while holding a trusted hand.
And this is why I am not home decorating for Christmas. Well, this, and I’m lazy, too.
Oh, yes! You know that any eatery that can boast this espresso maker jumps to the top of my list — and Aretha Frankensteins in Chattanooga, Tennessee, is now one of my new favorite spots. Younger Daughter, who lives and works in Chattanooga now, kept promising that I would love this restaurant and she was so right. This funky spot is in the city’s cool NorthShore area, which is full of the hip and the hungry. Well, not hungry after they’ve been to Aretha Frankensteins, home of the biggest, most filling and most declious pancakes ever. EVER. Even Rachael Ray says so. So there. And there’s all sorts of other yummy things for all-day eating, from breakfast to late-night noshing. You have to be patient, though, YD warned, as we walked up the winding stairs. And she was right again. Because you see the shot above, on the right? You see the bar and a couple of tables in the shot on the right? Add in about maybe three or four more tables, constant coffee takeout traffic, a usual line out the door and one server — and you’ve got Aretha Frankensteins. In good weather folks can eat outside and enjoy the NorthShore neighborhood vibe. You’ve got to go. Just don’t be in a hurry. And, really, isn’t that a good thing?
I don’t mind not having TV at our new house yet. I don’t mind not knowing where my good boots are, or my blue leather purse or black leggings I just bought. I don’t mind that I still have to wind my way along a path between boxes or that we still have bath towels covering up a couple of windows. These are all temporary glitches along the Road to Completely Unpacking and Feeling At Home, and I embrace every challenge. (Also: I’ve been reading Anne Lamott.) But I really really really don’t like not having Internet yet. I’ve hit every WiFi spot and skulked around street corners and parking lots in my new town until the convenience of actually sitting in my own living room on my own couch with my own coffee cup and my own Internet kicks in — hopefully, my husband says, this weekend. We’ll see. In the meantime, here are some of the things that have been going on: 1) My 12-year-old nephew in Chattanooga had some dastardly kind of resistant staph infection in his elbow and was in Thompson Children’s Hospital all this past weekend. He was brave and put up with all sorts of IVs and needles and other unpleasant things and was worried mainly about missing school work — which is all his mom because his dad (my brother) would have considered a week off from school a major and unexpected gift. 2) While I was in Chattanooga hanging out with the family, I also got to visit with Younger Daughter, who recently moved there to work and go to school and live in my brother’s basement, which is a much cooler place than it sounds. I went to the grocery story where she works and met all her super-sweet co-workers and admired her handiwork in building her first display of chocolate and cheese — two of our most favorite foods. I’ve taught her well. 3) But in more family medical news, a couple of days later, Older Daughter went in for some allergy tests to try to find out why she’s constantly congested and she found out she’s allergic to — you’ll never believe it – glycerin. Glycerin! Who knew this was something to be allergic to? Of course she couldn’t be allergic to something simple like dog hair — which she actually was hoping for as an excuse to pass their annoyingly yappy dog on to another family. But, no. It’s glycerin. Glycerin!!! I don’t even know what glycerin really is. But whatever it is, it’s in EVERYTHING. Go to your bathroom right now and check all your makeup and lotions and creams and toothpastes. It’s there. It and its evil siblings — glycerol and glycol and other gly-names — are in foods and fabrics, too. apparently glycerin is poised to take over the world. Who knew??? Older Daughter is in for a huge overhauling detox. Or she may just shrug and say, “Oh, well.” She hasn’t decided yet.