Stricken with hunger on a long drive back into Atlanta, intrepid Scoutmob correspondent Lilly Lampe took a spontaneous detour to explore one of metro Atlanta's most curious of curious finds: the hobbit-sized version of the Georgia-born fried chicken emporium, the Chick-fil-A Dwarf House. After entering the fried chicken and sweet tea temple through a tiny red door, a whole new world unfolded: real silverware replaced the flimsy plastic stuff, servers took the place of drive-thru intercom boxes, and something called a "Hot Brown" took top billing on the menu. It was a bewildering experience, enough to inspire pure poetry. So, in an ode to Truett Cathy's miniaturized eatery, Ms. Lampe regaled us with her impressions in the key of Keats.
I find on my right, a thing I’ve never seen
What is this food chains I’ve never known,
A Dwarf House? Of Chick-Fil-A?
Here, men sit and are served by wait staff;
The menu dazzles with possibilities
Like collards, mac ‘n cheese, even burgers,
Served on real plates, with glasses and silverware
And really tiny chairs;
Short bar stools cramping adult legs like a hug,
And a menu featuring the bewildering “Hot Brown Platter.”
Away! Away! A few U-turns and I drive at thee,
Praying the traffic gods will forgive and not smite,
On my mission towards waffle fries,
And discovery of Chick-Fil-A’s roots.
The Dwarf House came first,
Twenty years before the first Chick-Fil-A
Started by S. Truett Cathy
In Hapeville, that location is open 24 hours a day.
Known by its extra-wee front door
And service with a smile.
There are 11 Dwarf Houses now,
But none inside the A,
So head outside the perimeter,
When the normal take-out won’t do
And treat yo’self to a sit-down meal
Of meat and three, off a hand-held menu.
Because before it was EAT MOR CHIKIN
It was Cathy’s wisdom that set the tone
“Food is essential to life;
Therefore, make it good.”
—By Lilly Lampe