Over the years, I’ve come to enjoy “The Holiday Season” in so many different ways. In my youth, we enjoyed the traditional Christmas at home with family and piles of presents and a big Christmas dinner, sometimes with extended family, adding a huge, chaotic movement (that usually so overwhelmed me, I’d escape some time before it ended). When I grew older and had my own family, I enjoyed a smaller, more intimate movement of pretty lights on a perfectly-arranged tree in our quiet apartment with a few well-chosen gifts. As time passed and my new family and I actualized beliefs not-so-traditional but very casual, we realized that one could discard the stress of gifts and time and money and Christmas decorations to celebrate the beauty of all of winter - which we did for many years in so much peace and joy.
Liberated from the need to buy or receive gifts, from the need even to spend Christmas with friends and family, I was quite comfortable with the thought that, on this year’s Christmas morning, I would spend most of the day alone with the cats and dogs and my warm fire, doing whatever came to mind, eating whatever I wished.
The day would not be completely lazy: I had plans to see a movie with a friend, and my brother phoned in the morning with an invitation to share dinner at his house. No sooner than I hung up my phone, I checked my email to find another invitation from my friend, this time for brunch at my favorite restaurant: Southern Art.
Perhaps you ask why I am so infatuated with the Intercontinental Hotel’s restaurant and bar, why it holds such sway with me that I defer to it instantly with the excitement and giddiness of a child when I’ve had but a few modest experiences at the colorful place. I know I often wonder, even while I’m held in its sway.
There is something about the bright red awnings over a discreet patio on Peachtree Street in Buckhead that draws me every time, the awe-inspiring layout beneath ceilings of tremendous heights, the tall chairs and neat tables arranged as if one had stepped into an exclusive, expensive club as one enters the lobby’s front doors. And then there is the expansiveness of choice laid before you: the Bourbon Bar to the right, lounge chairs to the front, desserts and meats on display at the Ham Bar to the left, and beyond that, the restaurant’s main seating. It is the bounty of sensation, luxury, class and possibility within the whole 180-degree spectrum of my vision that strikes me so.
Christmas Brunch was even more bounteous with tables and stations set all through the restaurant, amidst perfect chocolate waterfalls and mounds and rows of food from SA’s various menus. Even the ham and turkey at the carving station looked appealing to me, the poised staff in white beatifically waiting in generous repose.
We were seated in my favorite dining area, a round room where my friend and I first met during Clay Livingston’s bourbon-tasting and cocktail class. The room was perfectly arranged, I noticed, to allow for comfort and ease of movement during the buffet-style brunch; in my elation, I basked in the brightness of long windows around the room and mild conversation from the other guests. It seemed a wondrous way to spend this day.
We spent at least the first half-hour in one another’s presence, enjoying drinks and exchanging gifts; I took in all that I could of this day’s glory. I adore fine presentation of coffee, when it is served with more sense and class than in a single-serving cup - particularly when the coffee is of good quality. Southern Art unsurprisingly manages their coffee service with such style and grace: Kenny, responsible for our table, brought me a white porcelain two-cup coffeepot and its saucer, pouring the first draught into my matching cup, taking care to immediately gather the scraps of paper envelope left from my raw sugar packets and impressing me with his prompt attentiveness. The coffee was lovely and fresh with the caramels of roasted beans delightfully melding with cream and sugar; I easily sipped through my personal pot while my friends enjoyed their respective drinks - a Sazarac and a Bloody Mary, delighting each other with Christmas gifts.
It is a lovely thing to be surprised, to be included in events; to find that friends so adore you and enjoy your company that they will spontaneously invite you to outings; and it is even more wonderful to find that they, as spontaneously, bestow gifts upon you - knowing you have neither time nor money to return the favor. In my mind, I call such things “being spoiled;” yet the truth of such gifts is that the value is not in the physical items nor the money spent on such things, but in the knowledge and realization of the value one is to such friends that they do such things. There is no way to repay such love, nor should there be; the love and acceptance of that love is gift in itself.
I received, to my surprise, the appropriate gifts of a box of pencils and chocolates to encourage my writing, a copy of 101 Whiskies to Try Before You Die, and a framed watercolor painting of the Sazerac, complete with proportions of each ingredient.
Having finally opened all of our gifts, we moved at last to the buffet, each to discover our respective temptations.
As for me, I may be criticized for limiting my selection and appetite. I walked only just beyond our table to find another circular room filled with salads and fruit, a recessed egg station manned by two more men-in-white ready to cook and serve whatever type of egg suited one’s appetite, and - in the center of the room - a cascade of giant Gulf shrimp and oysters on the half-shell. I was sold. I set a number of oysters and shrimp on my small plate, took a side of cocktail sauce and the smallest bottle of Tabasco I’ve ever seen, found a green apple and returned to our table. The oysters were delicious: sweet and tender and tasting of the sea in their brine; I couldn't bring myself to mask their flavor with anything else for the first few. But I was so charmed by the tiny Tobasco bottles that, despite my general preference for the naked shellfish, I shook droplets of red hot sauce onto a couple, enjoying the biting contrast of heat against their coolness. The huge, pink Gulf shrimp proved irresistible and I indulged in their sweet crispness almost guiltlessly.
In my mind for the entire meal was temperance, for I know too well the possibility and opportunity to overindulge at any Christmas meal, and this was the largest spread I’d ever experienced. But indulgence seems a native part of the season, if not of this specific holiday, and I was being indulged in my favorite things, regardless. I ordered a mimosa and asked Kenny for a sharp knife with which to cut my green apple, but he offered instead to have the kitchen slice it for me. As he happily returned the apple to me, slices plated in a spiral ring, I was delighted. Every instance of my experience working, serving and eating in more casual restaurants was dashed; this service was as great a gift as anything I’d yet received this Christmas.
Having happily nibbled my apple slices through thoughts and plans with my friends, I decided to push my exploration of the stations just a little bit further, to indulge just a little more during what became a three-hour meal. A few more shrimp and oysters on a fresh plate, I passed the dessert station to discover, at the Ham Bar, the same cheeses and condiments I’d enjoyed on my first visit to Southern Art. There was no choice: I recollected my friend’s fondness for cheese and had the station-keeper serve cheeses, condiments and crackers enough to share with the table.
I can’t say I was as mindful during this part of the meal, preferring to let the creamy-sweetness of Southern cheeses ripple lightly over my palate as we chatted on and on. The mimosa was a lovely pairing, if non-traditional; the slightly-sweet acidity never broke my enjoyment for a moment.
The afternoon lingered on and on; I felt spoiled merely in the presence of these friends, in the luxury of this place, in the absence of any responsibility other than to be and to enjoy, basking in all of this goodness. We wound up at the Buckhead Cinemas and watched Disney’s Frozen, an animated tale of a conflicted girl overwhelmed with the responsibility of her powers and her sister’s great love despite being alienated. Disney films are as beautifully-crafted as always, but this one was particularly lovely for having not had a truly evil villain, trading it instead for a conflict of self - a premise much truer and with much greater impact on me, at least.
As I drove to my brother’s house after the movie, I was filled with the spirit of the holidays as I know it best, having enjoyed the day in all of the ways I most love: in the company of friends who valued my presence, in places where even the servers and staff joyfully served bounties to their guests, where the food and drinks and entertainment were enjoyed in perfection perhaps truer than on any other day - and I was grateful, joyous and at peace.
