There’s an old saying – “an army marches on its stomach” and a quick GTS tells me it either comes from Napoleon (Bonaparte, not Dynamite) or Frederick the Great. So either way, it’s been around a long time. I guess it isn’t exactly applicable to me, since I usually eat on the fly or load the front passenger seat with easy to grab munchie type foods when I travel, but I’ll get to it’s applicability in a little bit. Probably.
See, I traveled to Nashville last weekend, for the wedding of two lovely people, shout out to Steph and EJ. I wish you both much love and a lifetime of peace and happiness.
Since it was my first time there, I decided to make a weekend out of it. When I wrote about the trip last week, I solicited suggestions for where to go, what to do, etc. I mean, Nashville is known for music, obvs, but I wanted ideas from people that I know (and that know me) to get a better feel for what I’d enjoy there. Got recommendations to visit the Ryman Auditorium (Yes, it was very cool) the Country Music Hall of Fame (also worth the visit, and I’m not a “country” guy) but, without question, my favorite recommendation came in the form of a text from my good friend and internationally renowned podcaster, Seth *skypoint*, minutes before I got on the road. I’ll paraphrase- “If you get in a bind I’ve got a couple hookups down there for bail money, etc. And whatever else you do, EAT AT MONELL’S! It’s a f**king mazing.”
The man does not lie.
I mean about the Monell’s part.
I didn’t need bail money but I believe that part to be true too. But I digress.
Monell’s is, indeed, a f**king mazing. It’s set in an old house, in an old neighborhood. The food is served family style, meaning, you’re seated at whatever table has room for you and whomever you’re with. When I say “family style” I mean they cook for a family of roughly 84,326 people, each of whom is ravenously hungry. Good Lord there was a lot of food and each plate was at least as good as the one that preceded it. Bite-size cinnamon rolls, biscuits and gravy, corn pudding, cheesy grits, peach preserves, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and country ham. Oh and before I forget, a ginormous plate-full of fried chicken. Jesus, my eyes are glazing over just typing this. It was incredible. Bob and Melissa joined me on Friday morning for my first visit and when we finished we all kind of looked at each other with a “what the hell just happened” look on our faces. Seriously, ridiculously, incredible food. And when I went there yesterday morning for my pre-road meal it was a repeat of wonderful. I had to step a little bit out of my comfort zone to sit at a table of total strangers, but this food would make you do things like that, it’s so worth it. And the people I broke biscuits with were all really nice too, so that helped. If you ever go to Nashville YOU MUST EAT HERE. You have been warned, if you don’t go you have no one to blame but yourself. Seth, my man, any time you feel like sharing foodie recommendations, fire away. My stomach now trusts you completely.
Quick road trip related note… I crossed, I think a couple times each way, what may well be my favorite river, by name only at least. Every time I cross the French Broad River it brings out my inner 15 year-old and I can’t help but giggle. Out loud. I picture in my head a bunch of early settlers standing on the bank of this river, wondering what to name it. And one of them shouts out something about a woman they’d met at a trading post a ways back.
“What was her name?”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. That French broad”
Of course that’s not what the name means, but I have to confess a conversation like that will play out in my head every time I cross that river. And I’ll laugh. Every time.
Before I hit the road, I had to swing by the Post Office to ship out some of my excess candy from the Halloween that wasn’t. As I walked in with my packages, I noticed a couple at the counter with several boxes, each box with numerous holes in it. I assumed they were shipping plants somewhere. But as I stood there, filling out the address tags for the various destinations, I heard a strange sound. I couldn’t quite place it at first. It was very soft, and my brain took a few seconds to register since the noise wasn’t one I’d ever expect to hear at the Post Office, of all places. But, as I listened more intently, sure enough, I heard…
Clucking.
I looked up at the couple, now having set the first pair of boxes up on the counter, and sure enough, they were mailing live chickens. And I’m not even joking. Live. Chickens. In the mail. I don’t know if that’s a thing or not btw. *door knock* “Who is it?” “Chickengram” “Oh! Great! I’ll be right there!” And I wanted to know so much more. Who gets mail-order chickens? What’s the survival rate for mail-order chickens? How many mail-order chickens does it take to make a full load? What other animals can you get mail-order style? How many chickens were in each box? What happens if the chickens don’t care for their traveling companion? What does a chicken battle royale sound like in transit? What happens if the chicken lays eggs in between Point A and Point B? Is there an extra charge, since you got more mail-order chickens than you paid for?
Ok, I’ve got to stop. The more I sit here, the more I want to know about mail-order chickens.
Peace.
I can remember when I was a wee lad in Peotone going to the post office (we all had to pick up our mail there) and hearing and seeing chicks being mailed to area farmers. That was a long time ago.
LOL re the “French Broad”. I totally get it. My giggler is “Dick’s Sporting Goods.” Ok, I’m lieing. I don’t giggle when I see it. I laugh so hard that I cry. Seriously, what 59 yr old woman does that? But come on — Dick’s? ?????