The king hen hit the 5000 mile-mark in Lexington, the creepiest cute college town on this planet. We were on the search for our first ‘authentic’ southern food and only found penne pasta and grilled turkey sandwiches in the village tucked between the last bastion of all-male old-money higher education and the Virginia military academy.
Sorry pops, but it was dark by the time we got close to the martin ancestral fort at the Cumberland gap, and the hardware restaurant in Abingdon was closed for labor day.
Knoxville = super-8 motel and a midnight BLT from the waffle house for the king hen. Today we cover the length of Tennessee on our way to tonight’s gig in elvis’s hometown. We stopped for lunch in Nashville and finally found what we were looking for, recommended ad hoc by a pretty street-urchin. Thanks for the tip on rippey’s ribs, meth-girl.
ANNOUNCEMENT:
At least one of the members of this band will attempt to dine on nothing but fried catfish and sweet tea until we reach texas. A possible exception will be made in new Orleans for obvious reasons.
…another all/mostly photo post soon. Promise.
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2 comments:
i can't believe you guys are still alive.
i adjusted your chair for your return garrett...
you may very well go into cardiac arrest midway through texas if you live on fried catfish and sweet tea....
...and it just ain't right to eat it without hushpuppies
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