Q Tour

I could live in Nashville . It’s colorful and young. It’s the old south embracing new conventions and new ideas- maybe music is a sufficient vehicle to move forward in. The whole day was ours to do with what we pleased. Terry insisted on making us breakfast- twist the arm. So we had delicious shrimp omelets with sausage- AS IF we haven’t consumed enough of the piggy- but we had been neglecting the sausage. Then, for morning dessert we had crepes with fresh peaches. Lawdy, it’s gonna be a good day.

I did research on some little neighborhoods in Nashville- I didn’t want to just hang out with the tourists. So on our way into Q stop #1 for the day, we drove to an area known as East Nashville-Five Points. This is one of those neighborhoods that is “up and coming”- with great little shops, cozy restaurants and earthy markets. Some places to note: Bongo Java East (coffee house that roasts it’s beans on site, organic and free trade- and if you don’t care about that , the coffee IS good). Around the corner and up the street is a VW bus turned weenie stand- “I dream of Weenie”- the only full service weenery in Nashville . Noteworthy new market that just opened up is called “The Turnip Truck”- which is a family joke in which my father has to always remind me that he did not fall off of one. Across the street from the market in an old bank (circa 1950s) is this groovy little wine store- Woodland Wine Merchant- Good design and good wine is mighty fine! The lovely couple in the shop gave us some alternatives for the Q- so we followed the locals advice and exchanged one pit for another.

We were also reminded that Hatch Print Show was in Nashville- and not 100 steps from where we had dinner last night.Eeeekkkk, I would have shot myself had I missed this. So we had to drop by there on our way back through town. Hatch is an old letterpress print shop that still prints, mainly, entertainment posters. Acuff, Patsy Cline, Willie, Cash- if they were playing in TN, then Hatch most likely printed the posters. We picked up a few prints and I daydreamed about how I could come back as an intern.

Something else to note about BBQ joints round here. They close early. That either means 3 o’clock or 7 o’clock- sometimes 6, sometimes 8, but that’s early don’t cha think.

Wine couple (I didn’t catch their names- sorry), suggested we go to a little dive joint- Hog Heaven- behind the McDonalds near Vanderbilt U. Sure enough, shack with screened porch, painted pig on the building was servin up some grub. Let me just interject by saying, I gave everyone an out on lunch- we didn’t have to do BBQ- mainly because the whining has begun- but they keep going back- they keep ordering the combo plates- as if the legacy of this trip depends on their perseverance. Anyway, we ordered the usual ribs, pork, slaw- but this time we ordered their specialty, which is smoked turkey with cheese and this special white sauce. We also opted for the blackberry cobbler. Apparently, KFC approached them last year to buy the recipe for this sauce- they said “nah”- which led me to believe that was a lie. Short and sweet of it, the turkey gig could have been done better- better bun, melt your cheese, keep your turkey tender- but the sauce was pretty good. The ribs were also very good. I’m telling ya when pork humbly falls off the bone in such a subservient way, who can resist.
After lunch, mom and T walked over to the park where there is a replica of the Parthenon. Dad and I walked over to Sweetwater, the dive bar attached to Hog Heaven. We figured we’d get more info from a barstool than a brochure. Luckily, happy hour starts at 2 o’clock at the Sweetwater, and the local flavor sitting at the bar were handy dandy pools of local knowledge. Nick and Steve appeared to be PBR drinkin worthless rednecks- but judging by appearance is so rude. We found all about where all the recording studios were around town, the good honky tonk bars, good museums vs. bad ones, and then the nugget came- “Oh, you have to go to Loveless Café for breakfast- you gonna be here in the morning?”. I’m thinking, we don’t need to drive 20 miles out of our way for breakfast. Then he said the magic word- the only prefix that can go in front of biscuit that would make me want to drive endlessly for breakfast- “cathead”- ah yeah. For those of you who don’t know what a cathead biscuit is, well it’s flat- mostly crust- and it’s as big round as a cat’s head- perfect vehicle for homemade jam and country ham. The other bonus to drving this far out of the way is that the other BBQ joint that was recommended is way the heck out there to- two birds- all before noon.

One other note: What the hell goes on with that part of my brain when I get in the south that says “go ahead eat whatever you want- it’s good, it’s all good”- that part of the brain that suddenly craves powdered gems and moon pies, Krystal burgers and cold beer, boiled peanuts and fried okra. I just don’t know, but it’s wrong.

Family nugget for the day: Mom bought one of those cute little swirly flag-a-ma-jiggies to put outside the RV- in case you can’t find your way back from your walk you can locate your motor home with a cute kitchy little colorful fluttering butterfly. Anyway, she was putting it together and dad was contemplating how he was going to get this stake in the ground. And he says…wait for it….

“you know that grounds gonna be harder than a weddin’ peter”

That’s funny, I can’t make this shit up.
Yeah, we’ve been lauging as much as we’ve been eating.

I have to go get the powdered sugar off my hands now, it’s cocktail hour.

Bye now!

Longest day of travel is today. Roan Mountain to Johnson City to Chuky to Knoxville to Nashville .

We stopped off in Chuky to visit with Bill and Nori Morgan- good friends of the ‘rents. They have property on an airstrip and are in the process of building a condo in the hangar so that they’ll have somewhere to live while they build the house- this is what retired people do- build things to live in while they are building other things. Can you people just retire- sit on the front porch and do nothing. geese.
The drive through this part of the Tennessee gave us peaks at Mennonite children playing hopscotch on the playground, hundred year old farmhouses (that mom wants to buy and turn into the B&B), barns with dried tobacco hanging within, and the strangest little wooden contraptions on the mailboxes that housed advertisements for God. One of the marquis at a church on the way out of Chuky said:

Pray for the

Troops Rain
Unconcerned

Hmmm.

We didn’t plan on stopping into Knoxville for Q, but Anne Refalovich (sorry if I botched the spelling A), is from ‘round these parts, and she suggested we may want to stop at Scruggs. Now this is the kind of joint you ain’t gonna find online with a fancy website, bottled bbq sauce and tshirts. This is the real McCoy. Mr John mans the house, while we found other business partner sitting in a booth reading the paper- that’d be Jim. Apparently they were tired of not having anything to eat- being in the business of educating and all- so they decided to open a BBQ joint about 33 years ago. I’m pretty sure most of the things in there are about this old as well, except for the video games which are probably only 27 years old- classic Pac Man. Oh yeah, the food (BTW, Terry is writing about food and such- just having a time posting it- coming soon). So, first of all we get settled in with some sweet tea. Mr. John says “it’s the best sweet tea in the ghetto”- that’s saying a lot- and it is some damn fine sweet tea. I think we consumed almost a gallon. At Scruggs we ordered the pulled pork, the beef sandwich, the chicken wings and the ribs. Ribs are sold by the bone- makes sense to me. My opinion, best pulled pork we’ve had since being on the road- good flavor, just fatty and salty enough. I also liked the ribs quite a bit. Just one ravenous look at the thing and the meat falls off the bone. The meat was sweet, smoky and pink- hey, that sounds like somebody I know.
The chicken wing is something that I feel is birthing into it’s own spotlight. We’ve had them ever since we left GA, and they seem to be a pretty decent staple. But these ain’t those little things you poke in your hole on Superbowl Sunday- these are some serious jumbo birds we’re talking about. Well Mr. John insisted that we tried his wings as well. We were surprised because they weren’t smoked or dredged in sauce and cooked- these were simply fried jumbo chicken wings. [Jimmy, this could have been part of the Fried Chicken Tour- oh yeah, we are also adding an addendum of Red Velvet Cake side tour]. These mother of fried chicken wings were juicy and delicious. Mr. John, try smoking some of them things and then doing your magic- that’d be something to try.
My cousin Neal took a reprieve out of building his own house to come over and hug our necks. Always good to see family if only for a hug.

On the road to Nashville ….

Arrived. Dialed in. Called the two nearest Q stands for a possible rendevous for dinner. One is only open until 3. The other is open until 8. It’s 7:25. We are on the other side of town. Hurry hurry get in the car, get get. In true Marshall fashion, and with the help of the turbo on the beetle and trusting the inner compass- we arrived at Jack’s BBQ at 7:48. Situated on Broadway among a few honky tonk bars- kind of like Lodo, but with more doo-rags and wranglers. Dad had been standing in line, so when we arrived we rushed to the front. This did not make weary hungry fat people happy. So we quickly ordered a combo plate- Pulled pork, ribs, beef, mac-n-cheese and green beans. I’m starting to realize that the secret to pulled pork is that it has to be part of something, it just can’t stand alone- it needs the buttery bun and the tangy sauce AND the slaw- that equals happiness. So once this epiphany occurred, I have been much more forgiving on the pork- I can’t say the same for T who’s idealistic view of the pulled piggy is rather lofty. The beef was outstanding- I’m pretty sure it got an eyebrow raise from T. Wines in Piedmont get a Tre Bichierre- BBQ in the south get an eyebrow raised- same same. And the ribs were delish. We can see that we’re geographically gravitating to the style in which I love- Dry rubbed and sweetly succulent. I’m pretty certain there was some cherry wood in the smoker and not just that pedestrian hickory. The green beans were ‘home’ for sure- flat, wide and loved by a ham hock. Terry says “Where do they get these?”, “Uh, right out of a can”. I think we all agreed this has been the best food overall, too bad we had to rush the experience.

We did manage to hit a souvenir stand tucked in between The Stage and The Orchid Blossom and we did manage to buy a belt buckle with mud flap girls on them- oh yeah. I had to forego the “Whiskey makes you frisky” wife beater- you can’t have everything.

After dinner, Tand I were standing outside discussing the nature of our burps.
“I haven’t belched once in the past 48 hours that didn’t have a smoky quality to it”

“Yeah, me neither”

And we’re only on day 3.

There were two rules for the trip. No religion. No politics.

Dad broke rank with a joke:

What’s the difference between a Methodist and a Baptist?

A: The Methodists will speak to each other in the liquor store

I think baby jesus would find that funny, don’t you?