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March 25, 2007

I Eat Kentucky

Note that this entry will be long, dull, and potentially nauseating. If you don't care for basketball, grease, or the state of Kentucky, please check back in a few days, when we will return to the subject of deliberately decorated paper.

For the stalwarts among you, here we go.

Every year my dad and I pick a city in which to watch the first two rounds of the men's NCAA basketball tournament. We get together, watch basketball, bond, eat poorly. We both invite a friend each year. This year Dad invited his friend Chris Robinson and I invited J.T. This year we chose to go to Lexington, KY, in large part because of Lexington's prominent place in the annals of college basketball greatness. The University of Kentucky Wildcats have won seven national championships, second only to UCLA's 11, and are the winningest program (in terms of overall wins) in the history of college basketball. That's some heady stuff.

Dad and his friend Chris Robinson are big University of Kansas fans. KU is another of the great storied college basketball programs, also among the top five in all-time wins. And though I, too, have a soft spot for KU, my heart bleeds blue for Duke, my mother's alma mater. Duke has pretty much owned college basketball for the past decade. As a result, everyone hates Duke and loves it when they lose. I take this personally. My passion for the Blue Devils is nearly pathological. Years like this one, in which they struggled all year to close out games and went out in the first round of both the ACC conference and national tournaments, are very, very painful.

Most of you probably care little about all this basketball talk, but the trip to Lexington was basketball-based, so it's important to lay a little groundwork.

Onward to the good stuff. J.T. and I embarked early last Wednesday morning. We decided to drive.

The trip was unremarkable, but interesting. J.T. filled me in on the DC art scene. We stopped for lunch in a place called Nitro in West Virginia. Nitro features some mighty fine nuclear power plant steam stacks. J.T. confessed that he was interested in contriving a picture in which it would appear that I was jumping over the Nitro nuclear facility. I was wary, not because the challenge was not a delicious one, but because I had packed lightly for the trip and had no backup pair of jeans should the Annapolis debacle happen to repeat itself. We agreed that I would make the jump on the return trip. Just to make things interesting, we declared that I would only make the jump if Duke won its first-round game. Which seemed, at the time, like a given.

Eight hours after we left Arlington, VA, we were in Lexington. J.T., as it happens, is from Lexington. Which means he knew all of the best places to eat.

Such as Columbia's, one of Kentucky's oldest restaurants, right downtown.

Columbia's is where my tour of Kentucky cuisine began in earnest. Dad, Chris Robinson, J.T., J.T.'s mom and I got a table in the back. I had been fasting since Nitro.

At J.T.'s earnest recommendation, I ordered the Nighthawk Special, which he described as a steak floating in a lake of butter surrounded by fat fries. Here is the Nighthawk.

Ooh La La!

I apologize if you are getting hungry. One of the best things about the Nighthawk is that it is preceded by the Diego Salad. The Diego, a towering mound of finely chopped iceberg lettuce drowned in the dressing of your choice, has a puzzling name to be sure. J.T. could not offer a story of origins. So instead of contemplating my Diego, I ate it. Right after taking this picture.

I apologize if you are getting hungry.

While chewing the Diego, I placed a call to J.T.'s girlfriend Bren, who had done her best to warn me off the Diego. It seems that Bren has some classy standards when it comes to salad. I left a message politely disagreeing with her on the merits of the Diego.

I was not the only person to attempt the Nighthawk. Dad got one, too. So did J.T.

As much as I loved dousing tender forkfulls of steak in the butter lake, I was somewhat covetous of what J.T.'s mom Jo ordered, the incredibly tempting Hot Brown, pictured here once more as evidence of my deep admiration.

I apologize if you're getting hungry.

After not eating the Hot Brown, I was incredibly full, and yet. The best was yet to come.

Blackberry cobbler with ice cream.

It's probably a good time to mention that Kentucky, Kansas, and Duke fans don't always get along. All three teams have beaten one another in really important games. And all three want to be thought of as THE premiere basketball program. KU can claim to be the early home of James Naismith, who invented basketball, and home to legendary coach Phog Allen. Kentucky has a lot of championships and the most wins all-time. Duke has three championships and the best record in the past decade. All three are great. But there is only room for one at the top.

Thus, bitterness and hostility, deep-seeded and potent, swirl like hurricane winds in the hearts of all three. Dad, Chris Robinson, and I were in the heart of Kentuckydom. And so it seemed appropriate to wear our KU hats.

Even though the lamp above our heads was waving a different banner.

Throughout the evening, we were "given a hard time" by the Kentucky fans in our midst. We're talking about Montague/Capulet type tensions here. In general, people try to keep the rivalry fun and genial. But this is not always possible.

The streets of Lexington were full of people expressing their enthusiasm for the Wildcats, even though the Wildcats were playing in Chicago in the first two rounds, and not in Lexington.

Grilling on the street, in the rain, is par for the course for an enthusiastic Kentucky fan.

Thursday morning, we headed to Cracker Barrel for morning sustenance. I neglected to photograph my pile of french toast, but it was plentiful and delicious.

Dad warmed himself by the roaring Cracker Barrel fire.

Bellies full and hearts aflame in anticipation of basketball, we headed to Rupp Arena, storied home of the Kentucky Wildcats.

The view from our seats:

In the first game, we watched Louisville demoralize Stanford. Louisville is a mere hour's drive from Lexington, and the entire arena seemed full of their crazy fans. Stanford went down hard. It was not a competitive game. The second game featured Texas A&M v. Penn. Penn did their best to give A&M a good contest and held their own for a while. Ultimately, the game was not close. And yet we enjoyed watching.

After the first two games, they empty the arena, so we ventured forth to compete with the other 23,000 people for seats in a restaurant. The first place we went had a four-hour wait and so we moved on. Fortunately, J.T.'s insider knowledge led us to Hutchinson's, a drugstore/soda fountain that has been owned and operated by the same folks for decades. We sat right at the counter and ordered our food as hordes of uninformed fans marched past in search of a sports bar.

I ordered two chili cheese dogs (again, no photograph) and a milkshake.

The soda fountain.

A nice stained glass window.

Old scale/character reader.

After eating our fill, we headed back to Rupp for two more games. Ohio State easily downed Central Connecticut State, and in the only really competitive game of the day, Xavier won a nail-biter over BYU.

My Duke Blue Devils were playing their first-round game versus the Rams of Virginia Commonwealth University at the same time as the OSU/CCS game, and so I stood in the lobby of Rupp, watching the game on a small TV with no sound. I was alone, content to watch my team build a 13-point lead. I felt fairly confident, in spite of Duke's tendency, all season long, to blow big leads in the second half. Alas, VCU kept making three-point shots. It was horrible. Duke kept playing basketball like a bad basketball team. The lead shrunk. It was horrible. My heart sunk. With 6 minutes left in the game, the OSH/CCS game let out and suddenly I was surrounded by hundreds of Louisville fans, all of whom HATE Duke. Each time VCU made another three-point shot, the crowd went wild while I sat there in mute agony watching my dreams crumble into a bitter-chalky substance. There was one other Duke fan in attendance. He stood next to me, fidgiting uncomfortably. The final buzzer sounded. Our team had lost, failing to advance to the round of 16 for the first time in 9 years. It hurt. It hurt.

The last game ended after midnight, and so we headed back to our motel to rest.

It is, perhaps, a good time to say a few words about the room that dad and I shared. I will leave out the names to protect the guilty, but our accommodations were not without character-building flaws.

For example, our toilet stood out at an odd angle to the wall.

In addition to the obvious aesthetic problems this caused, it made mid-night peeing somewhat hazardous. One has certain expectations about toilet alignment. Minor injuries were narrowly averted.

Also, this piece of metal stuck out from the side of my bed frame.

I stubbed my toes on it twice, once in a way that compelled me to say horrible things.

Additionally, the only available chair had a microwave sitting in it. And the carpet was bubbled as if the room had recently been under water. And the TV cabinet was well out from the wall.

Why? I cannot say. A less charitable Duke fan might cite some fundamental lack in the fiber of Kentucky as the underlying reason. But I am not that kind of Duke fan.

In spite of the strange room features, I slept well. Dad slept well. The next morning we set out for downtown Lexington.

Our first stop, at J.T.'s recommendation, was Tolly Ho, a 24/7 joint on the UK campus that is known for shady characters and outstanding breakfasts.

I surveyed the menu. And ordered...

...the Mega Ho Triple.

Because, I mean, how could I not. It was delicious. After eating it, I was in pain.

After breakfast, we moved on to history.

As I mentioned earlier, we chose Lexington because of the greatness of the Kentucky basketball tradition. Again, because of J.T. and his insider's connections, we were able to get the inside track on experiencing this legacy firsthand.

J.T.'s mom works for the State, but her office happens to be in the same University of Kentucky building that houses the early arena in which Adolph Rupp, towering figure of college basketball lore, coached his championship teams of the mid-1950s. Jo let us into the storied Alumni Gym, which is now used primarily for UK volleyball practice.

Here is a rare sight: KU fans standing willingly by a UK logo. Just doesn't feel right.

Dad took some shots.

Next we walked a few hundred yards down the road to Memorial Gym, the home of UK basketball between Alumni Gym and Rupp.

The door was locked, but we sneaked in the back, wound our way through the basement corridors, and eventually found our way onto the court through the chute that the team once entered through.

Here is the Kentucky basketball bling. They are way decorated.

At this point, it was about 11:00 in the morning. Since it was the second day of the first round, we wanted to find a place to watch the games happening elsewhere throughout the country. 16 games would be contested before midnight and we wanted to watch them all. At J.T.'s recommendation, we chose Two Keys, a sports bar frequented by the UK student crowds. Fortunately for us, it was spring break, so we had the place to ourselves. To begin with. At 11:00am we had our choice of tables, so we picked a centrally located table from which we had easy views of 8 televisions. We proceeded to order food and watch games for the next 13 hours. This is what we do come tournament time.

Here are the "two keys".

Here are a few of the TVs at our disposal.

Here is the really big one.

Here is my lunch, a buffalo chicken sandwich. The Mega Ho Triple had not entirely exited my stomach by the time I ordered this, but the time had come to eat. This entry is about eating, after all.

As the day turned to evening and the evening turned to night, Kentucky fans started arriving in droves to watch the Kentucky/Villanova game, which was to be the last game of the evening. Kentucky boosters appeared, handing out various Kentucky spirit items. Such as these fine plastic beads, which have since been gifted to my outstanding wife.

The game was close, but Kentucky prevailed, sending the mobs of Kentucky fans into demonstrative delight.

This one agreed to pose for the rare photo of a Kansas fan and a Kentucky fan not glaring at one another. This photo was only possible because the Kentucky fan was happy and drunk, and because my father is such a magnanimous fellow.

At the end of 16 games, we were ready for bed.

We rose the next day and headed back to Tolly Ho. We found parking near the arena, paid our ten bucks, and then marveled in the generosity of the parking attendant, who volunteered to drive us the 12 or so blocks to Tolly Ho. What was the catch, we wondered. There appeared to be no catch. We're Kansas fans, you know, we said. And although he was a self-professed Kentucky fan, the fellow did not glare, sneer, or reverse course. He dropped us off at Tolly Ho with a smile and kind words. It was staggering. He would not even take a tip. We learned a lot that day, we KU and Duke fans, about the pockets of goodness within the vast Kentucky fandom.

This time I ordered an omelette which, though not small, was not quite as disturbing a breakfast as the Mega Ho Triple.

Oh, and hash browns, of course. I needed something to put ketchup on.

After Tolly Ho we headed back to Rupp for two outstanding second-round games. We watched Ohio State pull the ultimate comeback against a scrappy Xaivier squad and Texas A&M prevail in heroic fashion against a Louisville team backed by a decidedly partisan crowd. Both games were amazing basketball.

After the game, we went back to Two Keys to watch more basketball. In retrospect, I wonder if there is anything better in life than college basketball and the Mega Ho Triple.

The next morning, it was time to leave. I collected J.T. from his mom's house, and we set out for home. We did stop in Nitro, but in light of Duke's demise, did not take the jumping shot. We did make a pit stop at a gas station there, in which I observed some interesting political commentary.

We also stumbled upon a point of sharp disagreement regarding the gender of the attendant at the gas station. I was absolutely convinced that the person was a woman and J.T. absolutely convinced that the person was a man. We debated the point at some length, each providing supporting evidence, but neither could convince the other to change his mind. It was maddening. And fascinating. And diverting, as we wound our way up, down, and around the West Virginia hills.

We reached Arlington around 5:00, a few minutes into the Kansas/Kentucky second round game. Tempted though I was to watch the action, I knew better than to push J.T.'s and my friendship by subjecting it to a test from which one of us would emerge disappointed and, by definition, somewhat hostile toward the other party. And so I drove on, smiling sweetly, though inwardly while listening to KU beat Kentucky into a fine blue paste on the radio.

It is important to note that the weekend had nothing to do with basketball, cheeseburgers, or androgynous gas station personnel.

Rather, the weekend was about spending time with our parents.

All the rest is just a good excuse.

Posted by bogenamp at March 25, 2007 03:51 PM

Comments

Posted by: Peter Everett at March 25, 2007 11:25 PM

Posted by: Jo at March 26, 2007 04:15 PM