Twice in a Blue Moon

Perhaps the greatest disappointment was the so-called fish dip po’ boy, made with yellow fin tuna. Here again, poor expectation-management was to blame. I hoped for a golden, batter-dipped tuna steak, deep-fried and served on a crusty roll. But what arrived was mayo-drenched tuna salad (thus the name “fish dip”) smeared on an unimpressive hoagie bun. In its defense, the fish dip had an interesting flavor from the grill and might hold its own in the appetizer version—which we did not try—or make an interesting salad Niçoise if the tuna were gently crumbled, rather than pureed to a fishy mush.

Back to that $5,000 barbecue smoker. The menu goes to great lengths to promote “honest to goodness, true, for real, no kiddin’, Tennessee hickory hardwood, pit-smoked perfection,” which we were eager to taste. We could even smell a scintilla of smoke drifting over the water. But when I asked the server-in-training where the pit was, she looked at me as if maybe I were asking for a latrine. Sensing her confusion, I pointed to the menu and asked where—or if—the barbecue was cooking. She retreated to the kitchen to ask her mentor, and a few minutes later she returned with the enthusiastic report that the barbecue comes from Sysco. We lost confidence in the barbecue and stuck with the safe Lagoon burger.

When we revisited the subject of ’cue on a second visit, there was none available. I don’t know if we missed out on Blue Moon Lagoon’s pièce de résistance, or if we simply dodged a bullet.

But while our lunch may have been disappointing, we couldn’t fault the atmosphere: perfectly blue Tennessee skies, gentle breezes and an ebullient soundtrack of saluting boat horns, quacking ducks and a cascading waterfall across the cove. With such a magnetic ambiance, it’s no wonder that the wait around sunset was at least 45 minutes. Diners around us were taking their time, drinking colorful drinks and, in some cases, dipping tobacco. (Upon being seated, I removed a Gatorade bottle half-full of brown saliva from under my chair.)

At Sunday lunch, the median age of the guests plummeted, as the ratio of sippy cups to Bloody Marys rose. Blue Moon Lagoon is a dream come true for toddler boat-watchers and duck-feeders, and the servers generously provide crackers for turtle chum. But you might want to consider equipping young kids with floaties, since only a swag of nautical rope holds them back from the drink.

Still, we had hoped for more than a boat-themed bar with kid-friendly attractions, and until the kitchen gets its act together, that’s what Blue Moon Lagoon is. That’s not to say it can’t be more, but Alderson is going to have to call back and finish that conversation. Maybe it will go something like this:

Alderson: Hey, it’s Scott. Can you hear me now?

Ford: Thank God you called. We need you, man.

Alderson: Don’t panic. But listen to me. The one thing you have to do is hire a great staff that can execute the details, whether it’s making desserts from scratch, using fresh lettuce or deep-frying things so they’re not dry and leathery. This is the restaurant business—so you need to pay attention to the food. Sure, you’ve got a great location. But it’s not enough to just add water.

Blue Moon Lagoon opens at 2 p.m. Wednesday and Thursday and 11 a.m. Friday through Sunday.