There are two doors, about half an hour apart on 53. One in Rome, one in Calhoun. What happens behind them is the same thing wearing two different temperatures — somebody who knows your name, your shape, your shade, and what you said about your sister's wedding last time you sat down.
That's the whole business. Not a service we added once the chairs were paid for — the reason we opened at all. In a small town the luxury was never anonymity. It's being recognized by somebody whose taste you trust.
One opinion, since you're here: we'll always tell you the price before we start. A place that surprises you at the register hasn't earned the word it put on its own sign.
It's the kind of thing people used to drive to Atlanta for. You don't anymore.