I woke up early Tuesday morning in Nashville.  Still tired from the weekend and the traveling, I became painfully aware that my stamina as an adult is about half of what it used to be in my romping teenage years.  

I checked out of the hotel, met up with Mike and headed into Nashville for our meetings.  We had enough time after our meetings to have lunch and catch our flights.  I could’t leave Nashville without having some barbecue.

We heard rumors of Corky’s – but didn’t know where to find it.  Instead, we went downtown to Jack’s.  About two blocks from the Nashville Convention Center stood a long-time Barbecue joint with a large neon sign illustrating dancing Pigs and the name of Jack’s lit up.  

“This is the place,” I thought as we parked the car and walked over.



As soon as we walked into the place, we were confronted with a very long line.  It dawned on me that Jack’s proximity to the convention center made it a popular lunch spot with the trade show crowd.  As we waited, we read the scores of memorabilia (including a rave from the New York Times!) on the walls and listened to the colorful and political commentary coming from the line-cook staff.  They held a friendly banter with the Nashville State Troopers, to which the poor check out girl received the brunt of the abuse.



As we waited, I watched as a burly man with a meat cleaver hacked away at luscious looking pork shoulder while another somewhat less burly man pulled ribs from a room-sized smoker.  



Decisions, Decisions!   

In the end, my indecision led me to the combo platter while Mike single-minded chose the ribs.






They offered three different style Barbecue sauces, HOT (not my choice), “Kansas City” style and “Tennessee-Original” style.  The Original style had a strong base of vinegar and onions that gave it a tangy flavor that Mike preferred.  I, however, melted away in the intense smokiness of the “Kansas City” style sauce.  I wanted to buy it and bring it home – only – it is a liquid and the FAA will not let me bring it on a plane.

My first bite of the pulled pork mesmerized me.  For the next 45 minutes, I slowly savored every bite.  The ribs – oh, the ribs – to say they melted in my mouth would feign praise unworthy of these ribs’ greatness.  I didn’t care how cold it felt in the upper room – although Mike was freezing – or if the cops sitting nearby were having a somewhat distasteful conversation, or if I stood out like a sore thumb with my wild red hair, taking pictures of my food.   All I could think about was the awesomeness of this pork.  

I ordered two sides, baked beans and creamed corn.  They were good.  The beans were better than the corn.  The only flaw in the whole meal had been the corn bread.  It was dry and hard with no sweetness to it at all.  Now, I have had non-sweet corn breads before and they were yummy, but this one wasn’t it.  This corn bread reminded me of medieval Europe – when people used bread as plates to hold food rather than items that they consumed.

Once I finished eating, I became aware of how cold the room was.  In fact, it was freezing.  The fans blew so strongly that the paper towels on each table were flapping around.  I saw the crowd that had filled up the restaurant.  The spell was broken. 

I looked at Mike and said “ready?” 

Mike nodded and we left.  For the remainder of the week — I've eaten nothing salads.  I still feel bloated from four days of rich — but delicious — food.