Never Run from the Chain Gang

The news outlets here in Nashville recently covered a story about a 28-year-old man (if you can call him that) who escaped from a prison work release program. While other inmates picked up trash along the interstate he decided to make a run for it, and initially succeed.

Reading this story, and too many like it in the past, I couldn’t help but ponder why we have such difficulty learning from our mistakes.

Life gives us lessons all the time. If we look to experience to avoid preventable mistakes, then we unlock the true worth of history. Most of us were taught this early in life, have had countless reminders, and still have trouble applying it in our personal and professional lives. I know I do.

The inmate who bolted in Nashville is a perfect example of this simple but valuable lesson.

He stayed on the lam for six days, until he was caught in Texas, hiding under a mattress with a bag of money from a bank robbery earlier that same day. He faces multiple new charges and will be sentenced to a much longer term in prison. If he’d paid his dues and accepted the error of his previous ways, he would have been eligible for parole in 2016.

Here’s the point: It never ends well when we try to outrun our own mistakes. We must take accountability for the pain, sorrow and shortcomings of the past in order to grow toward the future.

Holy Cannoli!

It’s fried.

It’s creamy.

It’s sweet.

It’s amazing.

Not all cannolis are created equal. Not by a long shot. It is possible to mess up a seemingly simple combination of fried dough and sweet cream. The pastry can be dry and tasteless. The filling can be have a weird consistency or taste. When it happens, it is heart-wrenching.

This is never the case at Nana Rosa Italian Food. Just look at this picture, then go and get some. There’s really nothing more to say.



Okay, one more thing to say: I can never eat cannoli without thinking of this SNL skit with Adam Sandler and the great Chris Farley. RIP Chris.

Need Supporters for a Customer Service Renaissance

What happened to the concept of customer service? Huh?

You’d think in this economy every business would be drilling its employees on the importance of pleasing the customer. Money is tight for most families and good jobs are hard to come by, yet I find front line workers every day who treat customers like we should be grateful that they chose to come to work. It’s the other way around, for crying out loud!

What I always believed to be the minimum standard for customer service has greatly diminished or been lost altogether, even here in the South, where it should thrive if nowhere else.

Here are three examples from the past 24 hours:

1.     Yesterday was on a conference call with a client and another third party. A representative from the third party said to my client, “There’s absolutely no way we are meeting that deadline. Sorry.” What? After an awkward pause the client – who pays the bill of this vendor – had to initiate the conversation about what other arrangements could be made and coax the third party vendor to commit to some reasonable plan. Never in my career would I handle a situation like that. Maybe it was my upbringing. Maybe it was my professional training. At any rate, I am proud to carry a work ethic that is about doing whatever it takes to make my customers happy.

2.     Went to Subway for lunch today. I go to this same spot at least once a week. It’s three blocks from my office. I know the woman at the register recognizes me. Yet as we complete the transaction I don’t get a “Thank you,” “Enjoy your lunch,” “Have a nice day,” or any other simple courtesy I should expect after handing over my money. In fact, I often find that I am the one saying “Thank you” – even though I paid you!

3.     On the way home from work we stopped to get the car from our local gas station service center. We trust these folks with all our auto maintenance and repairs, and they are typically polite. Today after I settled the bill, the manager asked one of the mechanics to pull the car around to the front door. He did, and as I walked around the front of the car, he got out, shut the door and walked the other way without so much as glancing at me, the guy who just paid the bill. I stood there for a second, shook my head, then drove away, re-evaluating the whole relationship. There are lots of mechanics in town, and plenty who I’m sure would love to earn our business.

So, from this point forward, I am launching a Customer Service Renaissance. What does this Renaissance entail, you ask? I won’t deny that there will likely be some indefinite boycotts, as I am known to practice. But the bigger issue here is choice.  

I will choose to do business only with companies that train their employees to treat customers the way we expect to be treated.

Give me less attitude and more gratitude.

Give me the bubbly 16-year-old at Chick-fil-A. Give me Publix, where shopping really is a pleasure. Give me Disney World, where employees in the Magic Kingdom made my little girl’s dreams come true.

I will not conform to anything less.

The Customer Service Renaissance has begun. Who's with me?

The Most Important Question About Onion Rings

Are they rough, or smooth?

Whenever I ask this in public I get one of two responses. (Mrs. H-CC is both embarrassed and entertained when I do it. Actually, she probably feels that way most any time she is in public with me.)

Some people know exactly what I am talking about and immediately answer the question with confidence. I trust these people. We bond.

Others look at me with a confused, slightly annoyed expression.

That’s when I see an opportunity to educate.

Everything about an onion ring comes down to the characteristics of the batter. The majority of rings, at least that I’ve seen, have a smooth, greasy batter. They’re the kind you’d get at a state fair or something. The kind that come in a little red-and-white-checkered paper boat with wax paper in the bottom and hanging out on all sides. The kind that make you hear yourself getting fatter.

My kind of onion ring has a light, crunchy batter that looks basically dry to the eye, even if it leaves visible grease on your fingertips. Here is a good example. Note the color and roughness around the edges.

Next time you are considering onion rings as an appetizer or side, ask the server or the guy at the window, “Are they rough? Or are they smooth?” It’s the only thing you need to know.

Grits: Born, Loved and Hated in the USA

Had grits this morning and was reminded of my love for this controversial breakfast fare.

What are grits anyhow? I can hardly eat them without thinking of the hilarious scene from My Cousin Vinny.

The only thing that people seem to know about grits is that they are made from corn. I also know for a fact that they are far superior to their cousin hominy. Ever tried that stuff? Like corn on steroids, but then kind of mushy, depending I guess on how it's cooked. Gross.
 
According to Wikipedia, we can thank the Native Americans for grits. Who would have thought they did anything special with corn?

I wonder if when Columbus sailed the ocean blue he found two camps of Native Americans: Those who loved grits and those who hated them, because there is absolutely no middle ground in modern America. Everyone I know is zealous one way or the other. Some people who claim to not like them admit to never having tried them. I have given up on pushing grits to grit-haters for lack of success.

Being from the South, I grew up on standard grits, not the cheese-flavored varieties and other fancy travesties. I am a purist. Focus on getting the consistency right so they aren't too runny or too stiff. After that all you need is butter, salt and pepper.

Happy Day to Us

Mrs. H-CC and I celebrated two blissful years of marriage on July 18, 2011.

Because we vacation with family every June and July, we made an agreement to take a weekend anniversary getaway every September. I get the joy of planning the trip and surprising her. This year we are going to [censored]!

We’re always home on the actual day of our wedding, so we celebrate by going to our favorite restaurant – Stoney River steakhouse. When I sleep I don’t see sugarplums. This is what dances through my head:

 

Since my first Stoney River experience several years ago, I’ve told anyone who will listen – and many people who wouldn’t – that it is my absolute favorite restaurant of all time. I won’t argue that you can’t find a better steak somewhere else. I admit there are proprietary spots around the country that probably offer better food, unique atmospheres and all that jazz. But to me Stoney River provides the best end-to-end meal in Nashville, or anywhere else I’ve been.

The fried bread and homemade honey cinnamon butter starts it off. The steaks are amazing. The au gratin potatoes are exceptional. The fudge cake is the best dessert I’ve ever had in a restaurant.

It’s consistent. You know what you are going to get. They always meet or exceed expectations.

It’s not stuffy. The ambiance is upscale, but not pretentious like some comparable places where you’ll spend more than $100 on dinner for two. You feel like your money is going toward the food, not the atmosphere, and it’s worth every penny.

Of course the best part of the meal is looking across the table at my beautiful bride. I wouldn’t care if we had anniversary dinner at Denny’s, as long as I can see her smile.

Happy anniversary, Soulmate. I’m the luckiest man in the world.

Hot Chicken Pasta - Amerigo, Nashville

Fried chicken and pasta? What’s not to like?

Last week my colleague and I went to Amerigo for lunch. It’s a good Italian restaurant, so I expected to order one of the traditional pasta dishes I’ve had before, a caeser salad or maybe a Panini. I hadn’t been in a while and the menu had changed. Immediately the special of the day jumped out – hot chicken pasta. Fits perfectly in my strict high-carb diet.

Unless you are from Nashville, have visited Nashville, or some Southern city that replicates hot chicken, you can’t truly understand hot chicken.

If Emeril were to describe it, he might call it Southern fried chicken “kicked up a few notches,” followed by a “BAM!”

It’s a secret combination of spices that somehow adds a firey kick without compromising the juiciness. To understand it is to experience it.

Check out this video as background.

Former Nashville Mayor Bill Purcell is so obsessed with it that he created the Nashville Hot Chicken Festival. Mrs. H-CC and I attended this year for the second time. Only a glorious celebration of fried chicken and locally-brewed beer would lure us to stand in line for an hour to eat hot food outside, in the middle of the day, in 100 degree weather, with thousands of strangers.

But back to Amerigo…

While it may not be on par with Nashville’s Prince’s, it tastes pretty authentic. And the pairing with fettuccini and cream sauce is unique. It’s not something you could pair with a tomato sauce. Could have done with more scallions on top, for variety if nothing else.

The dish was good enough that I’d order it again. But it really just made me want more hot chicken.

What it Means to Truly Be Free

It’s Independence Day weekend. Once a year we light some fireworks and patron furniture sales to celebrate the birth of our nation, the greatest society in the history of mankind.

We also like to use this holiday as an excuse to eat. In that respect it’s not unlike any other holiday here in the South. Would be a great opportunity for me to blog about a juicy burger, baked beans made with bacon fat or some homemade pie.

But today I want to write about something unrelated to food, something much more important.

During communion in church this morning I had some thoughts.

First, I thought about the last time we had communion, when MiniMe got back to the pew and said aloud, “My cracker was yummy!”

Then I began thinking about how lucky I am to have been born and live in the greatest country in the world. More than 230 years ago a small group of courageous Englishmen had a dream and a plan. Today, despite how divided we have grown because of social and political differences, their dream of America is still very much alive, and I feel so blessed to be a part of it.

Among our most unique and precious freedoms in this country is the freedom of religion. Many people have forgotten, or chose to deny, that being able to worship who and how we want was their strongest motivator when our founding fathers escaped Europe to settle here.

I am a Christian and I believe in God the Father, Jesus the Son and the Holy Spirit. I believe we can live in a land void of tyrannical men and oppressive man-made laws, but unless we accept the grace of God we can never be truly free here on earth.

By our very human nature we carry a selfish darkness that can be figurative chains within us. I know because I struggle with it continually.

It is His grace and His grace alone that allows us to let go of our sins and live a life of peace.

This divine plan is far greater even than the freedom we enjoy in the United States.

Freedom from ourselves is something we should celebrate every day.

Brooklyn’s in the House

*I acknowledge up front that this post is too long for a blog; go to Nick’s and you’ll see why.   

The old Nick’s Italian Deli was a highlight of my first career stint in downtown Nashville.  Our small group of friends and co-workers were there about once a week.  I couldn’t get enough. 

Then I took a job in the ‘burbs and was never able to make it to SoBro for lunch.  Time passed and I heard it closed.  I made my way through the standard grieving process – denial, anger, despair, and finally acceptance.  My cravings for pepperoni rolls and chicken parm subs went unsatisfied because I knew no other place could ever measure up. 

Then...one day...I stumbled across something online and learned a Nick’s location was open in Franklin, just down the road from my office.  Guess where I had lunch the next day?

These days I am conveniently in the area twice a week, and in the last couple of years have become a solid Nick’s customer again.  Not with the frequency of the old days, but with a more important mission: Schooling MiniMe on the difference between Chef Boyardee and good Italian food.  And she’s eating it up.  Literally.

What makes Nick’s special is that it is authentic.  It’s real.  It’s quality.  Whatever I order, and I've had a lot on the extensive menu, is consistently exceptional and priced fair.  And it all comes with a side of Brooklyn attitude.

The ambiance has changed a little over the years.  Ritzy Williamson County has different standards than downtown Nashville, I guess.  But two distinguishing characteristics remain: NY Yankee memorabilia, and art tributes to the classic wise guys in Goodfellas, The Sopranos and, of course, The Godfather.

Nick is the real-life Don of Italian food in Middle Tennessee.

Fuhgeddaboudit!

 

Honey Butter Makes It Better

I make a concerted effort to limit the amount of energy and space I devote on this blog to anything having to do with chain restaurants.  I will make some exceptions, such as the honey butter croissants from Rafferty’s. 

My mother introduced me to croissants when I was a boy with the occasional plastic-wrapped box from the grocery, and I’ve always appreciated the buttery, flaky, airy texture. It’s unlike any other bread.  Even the unauthentic canned Pillsbury variety is good. (I mean no disrespect to Pillsbury.  I love everything about Pillsbury.  In fact I plan to pay homage to their products on this blog.  They have mastered mass-produced breads and sweets.) 

MiniMe and I periodically hit Rafferty’s in our weeknight routine largely because she loves their croissants.  There is really nothing special about the croissants.  They are quite average, and are usually served at room temperature.  Any bread is best served warm in my opinion.

The thing that makes these croissants unique is the honey butter drizzle on top.  I think they call it butter, but it’s more like icing.  Even in this low-light, poor quality photo, you can see its seductive glisten…

Say what you will about the French, but they did a good thing in croissants. 

Add some honey butter/icing, and you’ve got carbs fit for a princess.

Thank You, Pioneer Woman

For the past many months Mrs. High-Carb Carl has been obsessed with The Pioneer Woman. 

I gave my bride the gift of sight for Christmas (laser surgery) and still think her favorite gift may be the Ree Drummond cookbook she got from her mom.

Most weeks she tries at least one new Pioneer Woman recipe, planning the grocery list around the listed ingredients.  This week it was chicken pot pie.  And it was money.

Just look at this golden masterpiece…

Two thoughts raced through my mind as I devoured my second man-sized piece:

1. Pot pie is awesome.  How could I have never appreciated it before?  It’s like a meat and three (or five) with dessert, all in one package.  Anything is good baked inside a flaky pie crust.
2. Pioneer Woman is awesome.  She has transformed my wife’s entire outlook on the kitchen and I am reaping the benefits.
3. My wife is awesome.  We still laugh about meals she botched when we were dating; so many that we both agreed that I should do the cooking.  Now she is the primary cook, and is really good at it.

Okay, that was more than two thoughts.  It all happened so fast.

Thank you, Pioneer Woman, for domesticating my football-loving, beer-drinking, strikingly-beautiful-in-all-the-right-feminine-ways-but-so-cool-in-a-non-girly-sort-of-way wife. 

“Something amazing happens when you taste it!”

My four-year-old daughter summed it up well with that statement.

The Garlic Knots at Knead Dough Pizzeria in Hendersonville, Tenn., is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.  Period.

It’s that stick-to-your-ribs kind of bread that is filling but gets better with every bite, so you keep going until they are gone, which for us is a few short minutes.  There is a thin, golden brown layer of crust, just on top.  The “knots” label is given on account of the twisted dough that forms random sections of deliciousness, like a good homemade cinnamon roll.  No two rolls are the same shape.

The inside is dense and always warm and soft, cooked to that perfect point just beyond doughy.

The bread itself is amazing.  But then...the rolls are swimming in a pool of melted butter, garlic, sprinkled cheese and Italian herbs.  I would eat a stranger’s sweaty sock if it were covered in this nectar. 

As if the taste isn’t enough, this appetizer lists for a modest $3.50.

Bravo, Knead Dough.  Bravo.

Authentic Philly? In Nashville?

All famous American foods began as unique local favorites and gained popularity until they were copied throughout the country, even the world.  Philly cheesesteak is one of them.

You can find a Philly on the menu just about anywhere that serves sandwiches.  Some commercialized Phillies are darn good (Jersey Mike’s may be the best), but I’ve been disappointed more times than I can recall.  There are so many wannabes you can never be totally sure what you are going to get, especially if you have no baseline of what an “authentic” Philly is even supposed to be. 

I’ve been to Philly, but was either too young or too pressed for time on a business trip to be able to stop and experience a real cheesesteak.

Thanks to Labor of Love Mobile Food, I finally had the experience today, just a few short blocks from my office.

We learned of LOL from a recent article in the local business news and plotted a visit today when they were scheduled to be parked close.  These friendly folks are Philly transplants and take their sandwich-making seriously. 

The meat was juicy and tender.  The peppers and onions were fresh and not too firm, not too soft.  The provolone was oh so melty.  And the bread.  Oh the bread.  They use Amoroso’s hearth-baked rolls shipped direct from Philly.  They’re soft and tasty, but sturdy enough to hold all the fixings and the juices they produce.  

The way it all worked together was like a 100-piece orchestra playing a sold out concert in Flavor Town (shout out to Guy Fieri and TripleD).

These photos should tell you all you need to know.

BEFORE

AFTER

We’ll be back.  LOL.

The Staff of Life

I love bread.  How can anyone not?

Bread has been a staple for mankind throughout our existence.

Bread was what Jesus broke at the Last Supper as a symbolic gesture of His selfless act of divine grace and love.  To not love bread is sacrilegious.

Well, maybe that is not quite how God intended it, but I do think He gave us bread to enjoy.  And enjoy it I do!

If you have renounced bread as part of some carb-free diet, then please stop reading here.  You will likely be disgusted by my blog.  Maybe tempted.  Maybe both. 

Everyone else: Let’s pause for a moment to think about how many different forms of bread exist, and how many foods are based on bread.  It’s astounding.  It’s exciting.  It gives me a lot to write about.

Of course I have my personal favorites, but I can also appreciate bread’s diversity and acknowledge that people like different breads for different reasons.  I won’t neglect you.

My dream job is to travel the globe tasting bread and writing about it so other bread-lovers can have better bread experiences.  This blog is my start.

Life Lessons in Cereal

It was early one weekend morning.  I was 8, maybe 9, brother Dan two years my elder.  As we made our way down the steps for breakfast, there was Dad, sitting at the bar about to pour his bowl of Special K cereal. 

Dad instructed us to get our bowls for an important lesson.  He moved to the other side of the counter to face us.  We sat and listened as he carefully explained and demonstrated the process of achieving optimum milk coverage in our cereal.  It went something like this:

1.   Be sure to pour just the right amount of milk.  Start with less than you think and check the line at the bottom of the bowl.  Adding more is a lot easier than having to drink overage with the spoon.

2.   Immediately begin churning the flakes from the bottom up with your spoon.  Turn the bowl counter-clockwise with the other hand at the same time.  (At first it was kind of like patting your head and rubbing your stomach, but we quickly got the hang of it.  It really is the best method.)

3.   Repeat the synchronized process described in step 2 until all flakes are properly coated.

4.   Dig in immediately to avoid soggy flakes.

I use this technique every time I eat cereal, which is nearly every day, sometimes even for dinner.

More important than the effect it had on my lifelong cereal consumption, though, is the fond memories it created between us.  My brother and I will always carry the story with us and smile when we think of it. 

Dad saw an opportunity to teach us something that day.  He won’t say whether it was planned or spontaneous, but either way it had a lasting impression. 

As parents we don’t know when those opportunities will present themselves.  I only hope I can teach Alex things that she remembers fondly when she is an adult.