Honky Tonkin’

December 1-3

We made the ride from Sevierville to Nashville without incident. We were up and down hills, playing with trucks. and we drove straight through, except for a brief stop now and then to stretch.

I expected to reach the Holiday Inn Express on Spence Lane in Nashville around two. My calculations left out the hour we’d pick up by crossing into the Central Time Zone. We arrived around one.

The lady at the desk said we couldn’t check in until two.

We checked the map and found the Hermitage,  Andrew Jackson’s plantation. We could drive east to Old Hickory Blvd. and figure it out from there.

It worked just like that. So when we pulled up the lane, the gate was closed.

There was a man standing by the fence. Is something wrong? 

No, the place is closed on Tuesday and Wednesday.

We got back to the hotel still too soon and decided to kill time at the bar across the street, an Irish-style pub called The Lost Paddy. 

We found it kind of dodgy to cross the street. Traffic comes over a rise not far from where we were crossing. They’re not looking for foot traffic, which seems to be out of style in this neighborhood. Crossing at the light at the foot of the hill looked no safer.

It was still early in the day, so I asked for a half pint. The bartender half-filled a pint glass with Smithwicks. It’s an Irish red and I used to drink it years ago at the Erie Saloon in Montclair.

But this time it seemed watery. I think there are a number of American craft brewers’ red ales that are better, especially the red IPAs. 

Joanna and I shared an appetizer of onion rings, and I had a half pint of Lagunitas IPA.

We finally got to check in and took it easy for a while, until we were ready for dinner.

Having gone through the appetizer and salad, we went back to the Paddy for the main course. 

It was near dark, so for safety we took the car to cross the street.

Joanna had an Irish stew made with beef instead of lamb. I had a taste and it was as good as any I’ve had. And I ate Irish stew in Dublin. 

I went for bangers and mash. They were extraordinary. The gravy was savory with no cloying sweetness that often plagues this combination. The sausages had a judicious touch of sage and weren’t too salty.

I had saved the Guinness tap for the main event and had two pints before we left.

Thursday we went back to the Hermitage.

We started with the introductory material at the museum. I noticed that the organization that takes care of the place is trying to acknowledge the role slavery played in Jackson’s social standing.

We started our tour with a film about Jackson. The film discussed his lasting influence on American democracy. It also said that he was an abuser and could be ruthless.

The scholars interviewed in the film agreed that both sides of the man have to be remembered.

Quite a few buildings from the original plantation are still standing.

We took the self-guided tour of the grounds. We passed the big house but didn’t go inside.  

There is a log cabin right behind the house that housed the slave, Alfred, who took care of the wagons. He would live into the early 20th century.

Alfred stayed at the Hermitage as a free man after the Civil War. He eventually bought the cabin and enough surrounding land to produce some cotton and milk. 

The original plantation house was a two-story log cabin. 

When the current brick mansion was built, Jackson took the top story off the cabin and turned the first floor into slave quarters. That and the original cookhouse are side by side a little way from the mansion. 

Jackson and his wife, Rachel, are buried in a tomb at one corner of the flower garden. There are some family graves on one side of the tomb. On the other is Alfred’s grave. 

A detached kitchen at the big house and a smokehouse are also original.

Photo of the day is a test by Joanna to see if I can look presidential. 

After the Hermitage, we headed for the Ryman Auditorium. I had remembered that it’s in the honky tonk zone, which centers on Broadway.

The Google directions may have worked fine, but I can’t say for sure.  We were to take U.S. 70 west to a left on Korean Veterans Blvd. Then about quarter mile later, we were to turn right onto Rep .John Lewis Way, which would take us to the Ryman.

We followed the directions well enough from the Hermitage. Much of the way retraced the route we had just taken.

We were well along when traffic came to a stop. And stayed that way a long time.

A train was parked across a grade crossing near the middle of town and nothing was going to get past it.

Cars started to make U-turns. 

Finally, I gave up waiting and followed their example. I took the first turn that might take us to a parallel road.

We followed a less-than-straight route and stumbled on John Lewis Way. 

We found a parking garage with plenty of room next to the auditorium.

Joanna asked me who Ryman was. I didn’t know. All I did know is that the Ryman Auditorium was the stage of the Grand Old Opry. The national radio broadcasts originated there. Later, a TV show used the stage. 

The story on a plaque gave us the answer. Ryman was a steamboat captain who was inspired by a tent preacher’s sermon to build the place. It started as a church, and still has colored glass in its groin-arch windows.

The Ryman is a block uphill from Broadway, where the honky tonks are.

The weather was warm, so most of the windows were open to the street. Talk about the battle of the bands. They were all playing super loud. The rooftop bars were crammed. So were the street-level saloons, and maybe the mid-level ones, too.

We were getting a mite peckish, so we stepped into Merchants, which had no band, but did have jambalaya and roast chicken on the menu.

The building was a charming old pile. It may have been a hotel at one time, but I’m not sure. One of the hamburgers is the 1892 burger, which costs $18.92, for the year the place was built.

There is even an old shoe-shine chair in one corner. Maybe not as old as the building, but it has been around a good while, too.

Merchants itself is a lot younger, about 30 years old, one sign says.

Joanna opted for the chicken. I had to try the jambalaya on dirty rice.

The chicken was perfect. Joanna gave me some of the white meat to add to my stew. 

The jambalaya had chicken and andouille, as expected, along with onion and celery. I didn’t note any bell pepper, the third element of Creole cookery’s holy trinity.

The most unusual thing about it was the broth. It was mostly tomato puree. I usually think of jambalaya with a brown broth. This was bright red. It worked very well, though.

I had a glass of Chardonnay from the Raeburn Winery, which I learned later is in the Russian River Valley in California. Yes, it was buttery. (Thanks for the word, John.) As an extra kick, or two, it also had an almost bitter, dry finish, and a touch of hot spice.

A Pinot Grigio delle Venezie called Cielo was also good, but not as interesting as one of my favorites, which is from Albino Armani.

The ride back was funny, but long. We got stuck for a while behind what I thought was a party bus. We could see people inside boozing and dancing. The carriage was shaking. It was creeping at maybe five miles an hour.

We saw when I managed to pass that it was a trailer pulled by a pickup truck.

We got lost, of course, because we had come by an improvised way. I tried to follow the Google instructions in reverse, but couldn’t find U.S. 70, also known as the Lebanon Pike. 

I went back downtown to start over. We found our way on the second try. We found John Lewis Way and took it to the right intersection. I missed a twist somewhere on the route and came toward the hotel from a different side. Joanna saw the Holiday Inn Express sign up on the hill. 

By then, I needed another glass of wine. So we ducked into the Lost Paddy for a Pinot Noir. It may have been great, or maybe not. How could I tell? By that time, anything stronger than water was welcome.

I’m writing this from West Memphis, Ark. I’ll bring everybody up to date on that in a couple of days.

Good night to all, and remember: If you don’t get lost, you aren’t traveling hard enough.

Be well.

Harry