front porch: saying goodbye

It completely breaks my heart to say that Front Porch has closed it’s doors. I honestly don’t know what to say. 

27 years. 

The Front Porch is older than I am. I grew up here. When I was little, my mom would set me up a pallet in the back dining room for a nap. I started cashiering with Mary Lou at an age so young, I don't even remember how old I was. I do know that I was so young that I had to stand on a drink crate, just so I could see all the buttons. It wasn't long before I could do the job all on my own. I was the last face each customer would see before leaving. It was my job to make sure they enjoyed every bit of their time dining with us and leave them with a smile. A few years later, I was promoted to waitress. Soon enough, I had the whole back room to take care of. You wouldn’t believe how many tips a 13 year old can make waiting tables. Oh my gosh, you are so cute! How old are you? Here let me give you all my money! At a very young age, I learned to work hard for money. And I learned to save it.Working at the restaurant was the best thing my dad could have made me do. Sure my feet were killing me everyday after a long, busy shift, but it was worth it. So many life lessons, but most importantly, I learned how to treat people. And I think that is the best quality that one can have. The restaurant showed me tons of different people of different ages, races, and financial standing. Everyone deserves the same respect.

The restaurant will always have a special place in my heart. There are just so many memories. Seeing Ms. Carol whipping up a fresh batch of biscuits or Ms. Pam stirring the pots of green beans and lima beans. Helping my dad make some homemade fudge. Sharing a waitress station with Bertha. Cashiering with Mary Lou. It’s just such a big part of my life. Of my dad’s life. He has worked his butt off everyday in the last 27 years to see the restaurant succeed. He gave it everything that he had. So many times, he would drive to Savannah to eat dinner with Rob and I and then turn right back around because he had to work the next day. Every time that I would call my dad and ask what he was doing, I would always get the same response. Working. Like, duh, Larkin, you know that! It was his dream. And he never stopped working for it. 

I'm very sad to see the doors close and I worry for my family. What will my dad and uncle and the rest of the employees do for work? All I can do is keep good thoughts and pray that God has a plan for everyone. 

On behalf of my family, I want to say thank you to everyone that has joined us in the last 27 years. It has been truly wonderful.

imperfection

I have dreams of owning a bakery one day. Making sweet rustic cakes just like this one. Cakes where the frosting is rough, showing that someone made it. They used their hands. You can see the spatula marks. It's not perfect, like it came out of some machine. They have flaws. And little characteristics. They are real. 

No two cakes come out looking the same. Especially the 14 Layer Cake. That one is always different. And each time, we say "oh, this is the prettiest one!" But we love them all. No, my cakes aren't all perfectly level, and no, they don't have the exact same amount of frosting in between each layer. But, they are real. And they taste divine. So, does it really matter? To me, it's all just cake in the end. And as long as it tastes good, I'm a happy camper.