Podcast
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Ranch Water in this episode) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
Episode 34 Notes: Dancing and Drinking Hearts with the Devil
Before the devil went down to Georgia he was in London, and he found himself at the end of a nasty joke that led to an omen to ward off evil. An omen that found its way to North America and lives still in your glass today. So, drink up… can’t let the devil have his day.
This episode features Wiseacre Brewing Company and their Set Up Ranch Water
Transcript of Podcast:
*Note – This is the full episode and containers spoilers. You can always listen to the podcast above.
The Devil made his way to London to explore the delicacies of that culture and do what the devil does best – spread evil and collect souls like bottle caps to store in the dungeons of his fiery hell. Culture, even in today’s terms might be an overstatement for London. And back then, it definitely was the case.
The city was, admittedly, bigger than the Devil expected. Sprawling red roofs, which he liked, stretched on this side of the River Thames and the other side too. A bridge even connected the two parts of the city. A few boats were working the shore line, casting nets into the water and hauling up fish. And, while it wasn’t a city boasting the millions of people it has today, it was a bustling place.
The bars were brimming with people drinking warm mead and shitty beer that pales in comparison to beer made at great places like Wiseacre Brewing Company in Memphis, Tennessee today, for instance.
And… there was nothing really to explore there beyond the usual vices of booze, sex and violence. The devil was coming for souls and finding nothing new under the sun. It was the year 969 AD. People didn’t live long enough for their vices to really wreak havoc on the world.
Since the devil was in the place of fish and chips, before fish and chips were a thing, and because London was, quite frankly, a shit hole, he was angry. His anger was intensified by his hoof. He’d traveled a long way to get here, and it had damaged one of his hooves. He was in quite a bit of pain.
“You, sir.” He said to one of the men he passed. “Nearest way to a blacksmith?”
The man huffed. “You’re in luck. I’m one.” He stepped back and looked the devil over. Then pointed. “Your hoof?”
The devil raised it, along with his eyebrow. “Can you fix it?”
“Sure can.” The man extended a hand. “The name’s Dunstan.” Then he gave a wave of his hand and ushered the man to a nearby building. “Come on. My shop’s in here.”
Dunstan threw open the doors to the blacksmith shop and went inside. The devil followed. There was an iron furnace burning red hot in the far corner of the room and tools hung on hooks along one wall.
It was hot, but the heat felt like home for the devil. He groaned and dropped his knee into a chair, gripping the back of the chair with his hands and exposing his injured hoof. The flickering firelight made it glow eerily.
Dunstan had walked away to gather up tools. He returned and dropped them next to him on the floor. “Ahh, yes. I see.” He pressed on it. “Does this hurt?”
The Devil let out a roar that sent the mice scurrying back into their holes.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
“Just fix it.” The Devil grumbled. “Or I’ll take off your head.”
Dunstan wrapped his arm around the devil’s foot for leverage and locked the leg into place in the crook of his arm. He clamped down in a swift motion and slammed a piece of iron onto the hoof at the same time.
The Devil let out a roar. “Dammit, I’m going to kill you.” He yanked his foot away. “Fix it.”
But, there was no where for him to go. Dunstan had him locked down tight. “What do you think I’m doing? Your open sore will be the least of your problems when I’m done with you.”
Dunstan brought his hammer slamming into the first nail of the iron and sent another shock of pain through the devil. “By the power of God. I banish you.”
Now, while the devil could be pushed away he certainly couldn’t be banished by a mortal. And while the devil couldn’t die he could most certainly feel pain. He was feeling pain now too. Excruciating pain as the nail drove into his already injured hoof.
The devil also knew that this man was no mere blacksmith. This man was a believer, a follower of the one who had cast him out of heaven and forced him to make a home in the smoldering, fire filled pits of the place they call hell.
There was another tink of the hammer hitting a nail and connecting with the iron, and another nail driving straight into his hoof. The Devil let out another yell and swiped at Dunstan, but he was off balance and couldn’t see behind where Dunstan was behind him to do any real damage.
The third nail strike was the worst and it came fast and without warning, like the other two. The Devil was lightheaded with pain and feeling very foolish about being tricked by this priest named Dunstan.
Although he didn’t want to, he had no choice but to submit. “Okay.” He growled, pulling at his foot. “What do you want?”
“Be gone with you.” Dunstan yelled again.
The devil rolled his eyes. The hubris of the man. “Okay… that’s not really the way this works. Just can’t die and all.” His foot was throbbing. The iron attached to him was burning and radiating pain through his leg and up to his chest. It was making him sick to his stomach. “Just take it off.”
“No.”
“You know I can kill you.”
“You’ll never get this iron off.”
“Okay, okay.” The pain was becoming unbearable. He couldn’t walk around with this on forever. He needed it removed. “What do you want?”
“Agree to never tempt or harm anyone who has one of these present.”
He didn’t even know what one of these was. And, telling the devil to not do his devil things was kind of a tall order. He might just take the –
Clank. The hammer connected with a nail and sunk it deep into his hoof. He howled again. He was nearly to the point where sawing off his leg seemed a better option than enduring any more pain.
“Fine.” He howled. “I’ll agree to never tempt or harm anyone who has one of those thingies present. I swear it… on my own name I’ll swear it.”
“On God’s name.”
“Never.”
There was a pause. There was no more hammering. There was only the constant pain in his foot and leg. Then, just as fast as it had started, it stopped and the pain drained out of him like water draining out of a basin.
Dunstan was beside him then, holding a bloody piece of metal with the nails still in it. “It’s called a horseshoe. Keep it so you know what to avoid.”
He thrust it into the devil’s hand. And it has remained in the devil’s hand all of this time, and in all parts of the world. Thanks to the trickery of St. Dunstan, a Bishop of London, who convinced the devil he was going to help him, but instead hurt him.
Fast forward thousands of years, through all the mischief and evil of the devil and he never forgot his deal. He always avoided the houses where a horseshoe was nailed above a threshold.
It was this legend that created the horseshoe as a symbol for good luck, as a ward against evil spirits and the devil.
And, in Mexico, a place and a people steeped in superstition and religious reverence, the horseshoe became a tradition on farms and ranch lands.
In 1870, Felix had a horseshoe nailed to the threshold of his newly purchased Hacienda, which was at the foot of a mountain in the Sierra Madres. Felix needed all the help he could get too, for he was embarking on a new journey, a terrifying, borderline, ungodly journey in his own right.
He was cooking hearts in water, crushing them, and extracting their liquids. Felix had hired men to go out into the countryside in search of hearts. They would take their knives, walk the land, and slice up the things they found, ripping out the hearts and keeping them. Then, they would take these hearts and return to Felix, who started experimenting with them.
He wasn’t the first to experiment with hearts either, and he wouldn’t be the last. In fact, his work would become so important to humanity that it would travel around the world and shape the lives of millions of people.
And while Felix wasn’t the first to cook with hearts, he was the first to employ a new process, a process that was built on time, and hence, patience. He took the heart juices he’d always used and, instead of consuming them right then and there, decided to let them sit for a bit. He experimented with the time frame too. Some he let sit for only a month. Others, he let sit for a year.
In the end, what he discovered was that his clear heart juice had darkened and turned amber. The taste changed too. What was once harsh had, like most of us, mellowed out with age.
It would be Felix’s son Aurelio who would really take what his father started and make it into something known around the world. Imagine that, a drink made with heart juice, consumed around the world. Now that’s something only the devil could love. And this new drink, made from hearts, and allowed to mellow for months, would actually be used in another very popular, modern drink.
And Aurelio would also carry on the superstition and the healthy fear of evil and the devil that his father had. So, when Aurelio was on the hacienda, looking out over the fields of the property, watching the sun, he took it as a sign when rays of light caught on a horseshoe.
It was at that moment he knew that he had to include the horseshoe, this instrument of luck and the key to warding off evil on their drink of hearts. Because they were playing too closely to the devil and dancing with the devil usually leaves you tripped up. So, he put the horseshoe on their drink.
And it’s been on every bottle ever since.
A horseshoe with the heel facing the opening of the bottle so every drink is poured through the horseshoe and imbued with luck to ward off evil spirits and the devil.
Herradura…the Mexican tequila company started by Felix Lopez, puts this on all of their tequila bottles.
Tequila that’s made with blue weber agave hearts.
Which are cooked, sliced and mashed to drain them of their juice. The resulting liquid is then fermented and turned into tequila.
Then if you take that tequila and age it anywhere from 2 to 11 months you get reposada tequila
A smoother, more flavorful tequila.
And Reposada, imbued with the history and protections against evil and the devil of Mexico and their superstitions…
Is used in Wiseacre’s Set Up Ranch Water.
Ranch Water
Ranch water has been around for almost 30 years now. It’s basically a seltzer that contains lime, tequila and seltzer water.
But, most seltzers are malt based.
And Wiseacre Brewing Company has taken the extra step of intention to use Reposada tequila in theirs… because it tastes better and because when you have a drink in the South… it’s good to find ways to ward off the devil whenever you can.
After all, he did go down to Georgia to steal easier souls and lick his wounds when he was tricked into wearing a horseshoe by St. Dunstan.
Anyway…I’ll drink to that.
Podcast
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Wisconsin Pull Tabs this week) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
Episode 33 Notes: Interview with Dayton
In this episode, I sat down with Dayton, the president and one of the owners for Wisconsin Souvenir Milk Caps, the company that started pull tab bar culture in Wisconsin. We discussed the start of the business, and stories of entrepreneurship and legal battles about his grandfather, who started the business.
Podcast
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Wisconsin Pull Tabs this week) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
Episode 32 Notes: Cardboard Crack
How did a 600 year old Japanese game, POGS, and baseball cards create a bar game that’s illegal in most US states?
Transcript of Podcast:
*Note – This is the full episode and containers spoilers. You can always listen to the podcast above.
It was a three PBR day at the bar, so a normal day, and Spencer was getting his usual fix after a long day of work. He went to the bar for the beer, and also for another type of fix that you can’t get many other places. You see, he was in Wisconsin and shelling out ones on a quick fix that doesn’t exist out of state. You’ve probably never heard of this fix either, unless you live in Wisconsin. And even if you do live in Wisconsin there is still a good chance you haven’t heard of what I’m talking about.
Because this fix is uniquely Wisconsin and few other states have such a bar attraction. It’s not legal most other places. But, just because more than 90% of states think something is illegal…is a thing really illegal? Yet I understand. Because when Walter started giving out these fixes he faced the wrath of Milwaukee and the state of Wisconsin. They seized his property. They took him to court. They said what he was doing was illegal and they weren’t going to stand for it. In reality, the government saw Walter as competition. They wanted their cut and they weren’t going to let him get away with selling his fix. The government always wants their cut.
You see, most bars in most states in the US have to settle for silly ol’ juke boxes, blaring achey breaky heart or Taylor Swift. Now, I’ve got nothing against Taylor Swift and her mad talent, but she’s the last person I want to hear at a dive bar, or most any bar I go to. I’m just not going to the bar to cry into my beer. I’m going to celebrate and have fun, and if I’m feeling lucky, get a quick fix of some cardboard crack.
So, Spencer was having a good day. He was getting his fix that few know about, but one that has been around for hundreds of years. It all started when a Japanese game found its way to Hawaii and then became something Spencer was consuming at a small town bar in Wisconsin. Pfft! And they say small town Wisconsin isn’t cultured…
It all started in Japan during the 1600’s with a simple game. This game was the start of many things, in fact. But, at the beginning this game consisted of rigid, cardboard cards that were similar to what we’d call baseball cards today. Instead of a ball player and his stats, the image side of the card had cultural icons. It could have had a ninja or a samurai. The images evolved through the centuries, but always stayed in touch with the culture of the time. The game was called Menko, and it’s still around today.
Today, it’s a nod to a spiritual part of the past. For centuries, even though it’s hard to imagine now, before there were cellphones that could distract us every second of every day like an electronic drip of dopamine, we had to have fun other ways. So, for the kids in Japan, Menko was that way.
They’d collect Menko cards, trade them, make new friends by asking what others had collected, and do battle against each other. It was a social game. A simple game. A fun game.
I toss down a card to start. Then you toss down a card. If you flip my card with the gust of tossing down your card, you get to keep both cards. Or, if your card lands on my card, you keep my card. Flip or hit. The person with the most cards at the end of the game wins. The game is that simple, and the images on the card have nothing to do with the game itself. The images on the cards make the cards fun to collect, fun to trade, and fun to look at. Simplicity and the game of collecting are why Menko was so popular.
We’re collectors by human nature. Whether it’s spouses, sabertooth tiger teeth, or acorns. We like to collect things and it’s deeply ingrained into who we are as homo sapiens. The things you collect also say a lot about you as a person. Take, for instance, someone who collects used underwear. That type of person is a very different type of person, and one I don’t want to meet, than someone who collects toy cars.
The collectible nature of the images and the simplicity of the game gave people a sense of control over the game, the ability to master the rules and how to play, which felt really good. Plus, they got to look at cool artwork. The design of a thing has been something people still collect today, whether it’s baseball cards, beanie babies, Pokemon cards, magic the gathering cards, or special edition beer cans.
The simplicity and collectibility is why Menko made its way to Hawaii. And, is usually the case, when something travels across cultural lines, the rules stayed the same, but the pieces changed. There was a time in our history when you didn’t go to the store to get your milk. A literal milk man, and he was usually a man, so I’m not gender typing here, would stop by your house and drop off fresh milk on your doorstep. It came in a glass bottle, condensing slightly on the outside, and corked with a thick, flat cardboard cap. These caps had a flat side, the top and an open side, the side latched on to the milk bottle. Kids collect these milk caps and play a game with them.
They would stack them. Then they would drop a heavier object on to the top of the stack. When the debris settled, any face up caps were kept by the player and the face down ones were re-stacked for the next player to try. When all the caps were collected by players, the person with the most caps, won. It was that simple.
Stack the caps. Smack the caps. Keep the up caps. Win the game. Another super simple game and a variation on the original Menko game from Japan.
Seeing an opportunity, and capitalism being what it is, a company decided to increase the value of their product by creating decorative caps specifically for this game. They were putting the collectible aspect back into the game that Menko had. While they never sold their juice with a cardboard cap, they did use the small collectible caps as a marketing promo to create brand exposure. This was the 1970’s and the company in Hawaii was trying to sell their Passion Orange Guava juice. I have no idea if that was a hard sell, or not, but it’s a drink I’d try at least once.
But, I do know putting Passion Orange Guava on the cap of these promo items would be a bit wordy. So, they abbreviated that, put that abbreviation on the small caps, and then gave them away. If you’re a child of the 90’s you might be catching on to where this is head. Passion Orange Guava juice…abbreviated as P.O.G. on the cap. Which gave way to the game of POGs that features colorful and specially designed round discs which game players collected and used to compete with each other. They stacked the POGs, then use a slammer to try flipping the POGs. Then collect the ones that have flipped, just like the game with the milk caps.
Let’s head back over to Spencer, who has just struck it lucky on his usually nightly fix. He’s done with PBR number two at this point and might be staying for more than a third tonight. He’s really feeling it now too. Standing up from his bar stool and high fiving his buddy next to him. Others are looking. Others are excited. Others wished they got his fix.
And we’ve got Walter to thank for this. The fix he created was Wisconsin Milk Caps, of which the majority are sold at bars in Wisconsin for $1 a piece. This game is simple, and like the other games that came before it, it’s a collectible. Think of a scratch off game and you’re close to what this is. But, this isn’t a scratch off game.
This game is a piece of cardboard with one side having five perforated slots you rip open. Some call this game pull tabs… because you literally pull the tabs. Below each tab, when you rip them open, are the shapes that you might find in a slot machine. Pieces of fruit, like cherries or limes or watermelon. Bells. A lucky clover.
If one of the tabs has three matching shapes on it, you win the corresponding dollar prize, which usually ranges from $1 – $250.
On the back side is a circle, with a collectible design inside of it. Yes, similar to a POG, and although users can do anything they want with the game piece they are encouraged to collect the designs, since they frequently change and have a collectible nature about them.
Now, what makes this game so fun is that it’s a great social game. You can be at the bar with a few friends, each throw in ten bucks, divide up the milk caps, and rip them open. The bar will pay you out your winnings and you can keep playing or keep whatever you’ve made. It’s an addicting little game. Low cost to play. Fun with friends. And an easy way to pass the time and get a little fix of adrenaline and excitement along the way.
Of course, the Attorney General and the city of Milwaukee thought differently, which is why they raided Walter’s office and took all his milk caps, with the accusation that this was an illegal lottery game.
Walter, not one to back down from a fight, no matter the cost, and he knew it was going to cost him, went to court over the issue. You see, it’s estimated that Wisconsin milk caps siphon away millions a year from the lottery. That is, of course, assuming that people who play milk caps are also going to go out gambling in other ways. I think that’s a fallacy, because I like milk caps, but I don’t like to gamble. Either way, the Department of Revenue saw someone dipping into their pocket and they were taking action.
Walter, on the other hand, called their bluff. One man, took on the state of Wisconsin. And you know they weren’t going to back down, because the government likes their money, however they can get it. But, Walter, argued that the same statue which allowed McDonalds to promote games like their monopoly game, a game where you collect monopoly pieces on food products you’ve purchased to try winning cash prizes, should also allow him to sell his game. After all, he was selling a collectible that also happened to give the end user a chance at also winning a cash prize.
In the end, Walter won. When the case was appealed, the decision was upheld in court and he won that too. Wisconsin Milk Caps is the only legally sanctioned version of the game in Wisconsin, and, although it seems no one, from the courts to the attorney general of Wisconsin, liked this decision, they all respected it. They respected the statute, even though they didn’t agree with it. Because doing otherwise would infringe upon the rights of Wisconsin residents like Walter who were navigating within the bounds of the law.
In today’s world, where overstep by governmental authorities and public individuals is more common, I respect that. And, in many ways, that makes Wisconsin Milk Caps a game that embraces not only a 600 year old tradition passed to the US from Japan, and then from Hawaii to Wisconsin, but also a representation of conviction and right.
For, had Walter caved under pressure from the state of Wisconsin, or, had he decided to not fight based on what he knew was right, this game wouldn’t be around today or it would have been absorbed by the Wisconsin Lottery.
And while it may be a frustration for the state and the Wisconsin Lottery, because of the money it pulls away from their pockets, it’s also a reminder of the rights of citizens. Because the state upheld those rights, even when they didn’t like it or want to.
And for that reason alone, I’m willing to grab a PBR, stick a few bucks into the machine in support of such a concept, and pull some tabs anytime I find myself in a Wisconsin bar…which is quite often.
Anyway… I’ll drink to that.
Podcast
Podcast Summary:
“Anyway, I’ll Drink to That” is a Boozn Sam’s production, exploring the fun, quirky, and fascinating tales of drinks (Nashville Hot Chicken and beer this week) that define culture, history and the world. Every drink has a story to tell, and I’m going to tell it…as true as I can. Hosted by Sam, from Boozn Sam’s. Saddle up with a good cocktail and give me a few minutes of your time for a mystery surrounding a drink that changed the world.
Episode 31 Notes: Malice Made Magic
What makes Nashville hot chicken real? What does a drunken womanizer and a pissed off woman have to do with Nashville’s most famous cuisine? Join us now to find out for yourself.
Transcript of Podcast:
*Note – This is the full episode and containers spoilers. You can always listen to the podcast above.
There were too many women and not enough time. That was Thornton’s problem. Thornton was working his way toward his next wife and struggling to choose the right woman. It was the early 1930’s and he was in Nashville finding every opportunity he could to sow his oats. And… oh… there was no shortage of opportunity.
Thornton had his pick of women. He was tall, dark, and muscular. His smile melted hearts and there was a rich, timber quality about his voice that drove women crayzee. He’d always had a way with the ladies. That’s part of the reason he’d gone through several marriages already. There were just too many options and Thornton…loved the ladies.
Take last night, for instance. He’d gotten home late. It was Sunday, not Saturday, when he stumbled in. He was drunk and smelling like the woman he’d spent the night with. He had her scent, but the walk home in the hot night had left him sweaty. Between his sweat and the smell of booze coming out of every pore of his being, he knew there was no way she knew.
The she, of course, was his live in girlfriend. And she was different from the woman he’d spent last night with. While he debated what to do, he also felt sure that he’d gotten away with it. Of course, all the ladies listening now know that’s not the case. I haven’t met a woman that can’t sniff out a lie a mile away.
But, Thornton was mostly, kinda, pretty much sure that she didn’t have a clue. He sat at the breakfast table sipping on his coffee and nursing a pounding headache from the night before. She was cooking him breakfast in the kitchen, like she always did. So, that was a good sign. Surely, if she was angry, she’d just say so. She’d use her words. Surely, any woman would do that. They wouldn’t play guessing games… or see if you can read minds…or test you in any way whatsoever just to see if you care. Right? Right?
So, Thornton, knowing this, felt pretty good about his chances of not getting caught. He watched her work, picking the food out of the bowl and then transferring it to the hot skillet. It sizzled and let up a bit of steam with it hit. He smelled it instantly.
“Smell good in there.” He sipped his coffee.
“Thanks, honey.” She poked at the fry pan. “I’m making you something real special today.”
Thornton liked special. He took another sip of coffee. His head pounded from his hangover but the coffee was helping and he was feeling pretty darn good indeed. His mind wandered to the woman from last night. He’d met her out at the bar. Someone new. And that was always exciting. She was new and fun.
The drinking and the womanizing and the lying was just a regular Saturday night for Thornton. He liked to have a good time. He looked up from his coffee when he heard her enter the room. She smiled and set a plate of food down in front of him.
“Eat up, Princey, baby.”
Prince. That was what everyone called him. He was Thornton Prince, but went by Prince. He flashed his smile, the smile he knew made all the ladies melt. “Thanks, sweet baby.”
Only she didn’t melt. But, Prince didn’t notice. He already had eyes for nothing but his plate of food.
The food was steaming and looked amazing. It smelled different. Just a bit. Not much and he couldn’t place it. But, it could have also been his senses, beat into submission by the alcohol and lack of sleep.
His girl turned away and headed back to the kitchen to clean up. He heard the banging of pans and dishes. How lucky he was to have a woman like her? Someone that cooked and cleaned? Tended to his needs? Plus, he could still go out and live it up with the boys on a Saturday night like usual.
Thornton cut off his first piece of meat and stuffed it into his mouth. It was hot but he chewed it. Then…he coughed. He felt the heat next. Not, the temperature heat, but the spice heat. It burned his lips and the inside of his mouth. His tongue was on fire.
Next came the classic meat sweats and he pulled at the collar of his shirt. He coughed again. “Baby, this is something special.”
She was in the room again, smiling sweetly. Batting her eyes at him, her hands folded in front of her stomach and on top of her apron. “Oh, do you like it? Please, eat up.”
Ol’ Prince could pick up on a trick and he knew he was being played. He knew something was up, but didn’t know what.
She clearly was not happy with him. But, he wasn’t about to let her know he knew. The first rule of dating women is never asking them if they are okay. They’ll share when they’re ready.
Besides, he was Prince, and Prince does what he wants. So, as casually as he could, he cut into his breakfast and plopped another piece in his mouth. Another explosion of flavor hit him and brought on a new wave of heat and sweat. He gulped it down. He looked at her. She was still smiling. She was urging him to keep eating.
So, he took another bite. And another. By bite six he was getting used to the heat. The shock had worn off. He was starting to enjoy it now. In fact, he was enjoying it so much that an idea came to him. He’d never actually had something like this before.
Sure, the style of cooking was nothing new, a relic of the older African American days, and a style of cuisine that stuck around still today. But, the spice was different. The heat. Whatever she’d done, she’d somehow blended a traditional take on the meal with a new kick. And it did kick, but you got used to it.
Perhaps… there was something here.
“Say, what you put on this? It’s pretty good.”
She huffed. She put her hands on her hips and stomped. “I know you was out last night with another woman. I smell it on ya. You can’t hide it.”
Oh, he thought. So, she does know. Since there was no denying it, he said nothing. She was a good woman and he could have done a bit better with her, maybe. Instead, he went back to eating breakfast.
Of course, offering no explanation was probably one of the worst things. But, the worst thing he could have done, he did. That was ignore her comment AND go back to eating the breakfast she’d made in a failed attempt to punish him.
She exploded in a chorus of cursing and shouting that ended with her packing up her shit and walking herself out of the house.
So, Prince, found himself without a girlfriend because she did indeed know what he had done last night and he was not as smooth or as suave as he though, even if he was a Casanova with the ladies. And, worse still for Prince, he didn’t get the recipe for what she’d cooked.
He had some experimenting to do, and he went to work. When he finally perfected the blend, he tested it out with family and friends. Their appreciation of his breakfast inspired him to take the next leap, which was to open his own restaurant, serving this uniquely Nashville food.
Four generations later that six booth restaurant and the recipe he came up with, which was meant to be a punishment from his girlfriend, was still around. In fact, it became so famous that a festival was started in its honor. Competitors popped up all over Nashville too and now there are almost two dozen of them in the area. They popped up around the world too.
But, the thing is, there is nothing like the original. There is no place anywhere that makes this breakfast, like it’s made in Nashville.
Nashville Hot Chicken
First, this breakfast has been served in Nashville’s African American communities for decades, which is where its roots come from.
Meat is marinated in a water-based spice blend that also contains buttermilk.
Buttermilk helps lock in the meat juices and adds to the food’s flavor.
Then the meat is floured.
Then fried. While using a deep fryer is more common today, an authentic place will still pan fry their meal.
Finally, a special spicy paste is applied. This was the secret and a secret. A blend of hot sauce, cayenne, garlic, and lard.
When it’s made traditionally, Nashville style, the paste is brushed on right after the food is fried.
In common variations today, the paste is added as part of the breading and then fried.
The variations, though, aren’t what we’re here for. And there is an art to making this dish, an art which is closely guarded by the most authentic, original restaurants in Nashville. It’s why there is literally nowhere in the world that makes this food like they do in Nashville.
It’s why people arrive at the airport and get a ride straight to these restaurants before doing anything else.
It’s why some of these restaurants ship their food all over the world.
And it’s how Thornton Prince, a notorious womanizer, who was married five times over his lifetime, ended up the creator of all this magic.
Magic from malice.
A scorned, angry girlfriend trying to enact punishment on her man for cheating by over-spicing his morning breakfast in an attempt to make him suffer one last time before she left. Because hurting people hurt people, and she was definitely hurt by Prince.
Instead her plan backfired, which I’m sure made her even angrier. After the initial shock of how spicy the food was wore off, Prince actually found the dish quite tasty.
It was probably great for his hangover. And it definitely goes great with a light beer to help soothe that burning mouth feel. It was so tasty and so perfect for what he wanted that he turned this food – Nashville Hot Chicken – into a thing far beyond breakfast. And start a restaurant that would be passed through his family for four generations, where it’s still a staple of Nashville and bears his name today.
It’s called Prince’s Hot Chicken.
And it was also the inspiration behind the Music City Nashville Hot Chicken Festival which was been kickin’ since 2006 and, in 2024, is in its 18th year.
Finally, it’s proof that the good lord Jesus, right here in the bible belt of America, turned sin into beauty, by turning adultery into Nashville’s most famous fried food. Malice made magic.
Anyway…I’ll drink to that. And also have a bit of Nashville hot chicken as a side piece.