Q Tour

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?