I’ve never really liked American country music, but it’s probably because I never really understood it.
I grew up on hip hop, R&B, teen pop, hippie Mamas and the Papas and piano classical music. It was already an eclectic mix. I loved songs with stories and beautiful harmonies. So why not ever country? I couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason, except for plain old irrational bias.
Something changed on my road trip. Bored driving long hours, I would twist the dial to tune the FM radio. I skipped through all the stations, popping into this one and that one to all kinds of country music, from bluegrass to slow ballads to twangy ones to pop rock. Carrie Underwood’s “Southbound” seemed to play on a loop. Some of the lyrics were uninspired, but many of the melodies had a comforting tone, of home, of family. After being away from America for so long, I began to feel attached to those down-to-earth values of knowing your roots and community.
That was just a taster. I broadened my palate in Nashville, during the guided tour of Ryman Auditorium. We shuffled into one of the backstage rooms gilded with the portraits of country’s legendary female stars. Our guide rattled off their names: Allison Krauss, Dolly Parton, Kitty Wells. Minnie Pearl, the charismatic co-host of the Grand Ole Opry radio show. Her signature greeting to the audience should be a ringtone: “How-DEEEEEE!”
Watching old online videos of her performances, I could see why people loved her. She was loud, and full of energy, and she seemed to talk to you like she was letting you in on a funny secret or the first to know the latest juicy town gossip. She welcomed you like you were her own, and then I got it, what the spirit of country was all about.
Notes on the Nashville diet
I’m one of those “vegetarians” who are, in reality, flexitarians. I eat mostly vegetables, but I will never say no to trying a delicious protein. Because I couldn’t not eat a truly Nashville hot chicken.
Hattie B’s: A local favorite that got so famous the line out the door was made up of mostly tourists. It was yummy. The skin of the spicy fried chicken was crispy, savory and a little vinegary. My one regret: Should have gotten the spiciest grade: “Damn hot.”
Later, two Uber drivers each separately said I should try a place in a plantation house called Monell’s, where guests eat next to each other at communal tables and there is a buffet with all the soul food you could want.
Shades of beige: The breakfast at my B&B was a carb heaven made from scratch (“Mmhmm, of course,” one of hosts said) and involved:
- Biscuits
- Fried chicken
- Gravy with sausage
- Mac ‘n’ cheese with four kinds of cheese
- Sautéed potatoes
- Scrambled eggs
Voila, the beige diet. The host said people have gone straight back to sleep after breakfast and missed their flights. It’s happened several times.
