| rev:text
| - My mom and dad were in town on Sunday afternoon. After great internal debate of what Charlotte-area restaurant would best suit them for lunch, I decided on The Liberty. It was a solid choice.
We got there around 12:30, and I figured we'd end up having to sit in the bar area since the dining room was full-up. But the pint-sized Asian hostess was able to immediately fit us into a booth/seat along the central amber-glowing beer wall.
Our waitress, Kristin may have been her name, a proud and tall curly-haired brunette with a slight caramel tint to her pale skin, greeted us forthright with brunch menus, and welcomed us with a sincere smile. In my opinion, The Liberty and Brazwell's Pub on Montford are in stiff competition for maintaining the most attractive wait staffs in Charlotte. As I glanced around the dining room, I struggled to identify which of the tight-black-clad waitresses exceeded the others in form and virtue. I couldn't rank them; they're all just flawless.
My mother, admiring the pallet-wood walls, barrel-keg columns, and frothy-yellow suds inlaid the back-lit wall behind her, turned to me and said, "So... this is basically a bar? A pub?"
I laughed. "Yes, um... it's a restaurant. And a bar. All restaurants are bars these days. Charlotte has evolved into a drinking city of late. We have like nine breweries and a hundred new restaurants. It's a foodie town now."
I checked out the brunch menu. I didn't even realize The Liberty had brunch. Apparently that's a new ubiquitous Charlotte dining offering as well. I browsed the options under the brunch heading - typical fair: omelettes, shrimp and grits, steak and eggs, etc. But for me, The Liberty is a burger joint. It'd be silly to deviate from what they do best. I was, however, particularly moved by the listing in the bottom left corner of the menu - Bottomless Mimosas for $12. Not something I could really do with the folks, but I'd be back for those.
"I'm getting a beer," I said. "You guys want beer?"
My mother declined, but my dad was into it. "I want something dark," he said.
I scanned the beer list - lagers, pale ales, double IPAs, Guinness (eh, maybe), a couple ambers, some of the traditional OMB and Triple C options, but nothing particularly dark. I wanted to order a local beer, but none was quite fitting. Kristin returned, "You guys know what you're drinking?"
"We need something dark-ish. How dark is this Imperial Stout?"
She kind of wavered. "It's... good," she said. "Maybe not that dark, though."
My dad was easily sold. I went for a Triple C Light Rail Pale Ale, which I stuttered out in awkward tongue-twister form. Eh, she knew what I meant.
The beers came quickly. I sampled my father's Imperial Stout; it was, indeed, good - kind of rich and earthy with a sharp after-taste. I'm never disappointed by a pale ale, so I found my Light Rail satisfying - just enough hop to give it a flinch, but easy enough to match most any meal. I tried to get my mother to order a beer or a glass of wine, but she declined. She explained that beer had never suited her. She also later explained that marijuana didn't suit her either; it would cause her to get light-headed and faint. I found that hilarious and adorable; it's amazing the things you learn about your parents in adulthood that you would never be privy to as a child.
We ordered: my dad went with the brisket burger; mom got the signature Liberty Pub Burger. I decided to go rogue and try the fish n' chips. Kristin scribbled it all down, nodded, smiled, fetched our menus, and spun away.
My mom cleared her throat. "So, honey..." she began, "I was reading your Yelp reviews..."
"Oh, dear..."
"Those ones from Philadelphia... I was reading them with your sister..."
"Oh, dear..."
She paused to choose her next words. "We were trying to decide if you're embellishing these things, or if you really drink that much..."
I laughed. "Everything that happened is one-hundred percent true. I only embellish the language; everything situational is real."
She nodded. "Well, if that's the case... I don't think we like this Huxley very much."
I laughed again. "Well, ya know, we've had a weird relationship. I don't really understand why she is the way she is, but I try to give people the benefit of the doubt."
"I don't think you should see her anymore," my mother asserted.
I nodded. "Yeah, that's probably not even really up to me..."
From there, the conversation steered elsewhere. Kristin returned in short time with our entrees. My folks were impressed; I was too. My dad methodically destroyed his brisket burger; my mother only managed half of her Pub burger, but that was a lot for her. I melted over my fish and chips, so much beer batter... so much malt vinegar. And we all salivated mindlessly over the crispy, seasony fries.
At the end, my dad and I argued briefly over the check, before I relented. He is, after all, my elder.
"Are you going to Yelp about this one?" my mom asked me.
"Yes, mother. I am."
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