After having fed the collector car another 9 gallons at mile 412 of my trip, I decided it was time to feed myself. Now, as the former travel editor and food critic of Southern Living, I believe the best way to get to know a place is by its food. Different cultures may fade away: the children of Italian immigrants may not speak their parent’s language, they may not appreciate Verdi or have a special place in their heart for bizarre politics. But they know mama’s spaghetti recipe.
Food sticks with a culture through war, peace, economic prosperity, and financial collapse. You can take my house, but there’s no damn way you’re taking my cornbread.
So in that vein, I took a little extra time to ask some locals about the best place to eat. Sure enough, they pointed me to a gem of a spot: Mama Gentry’s. Wedged between a tire repair shop and a Pizza Hut, Mama Gentry’s is no Four Seasons. It’s one of those restaurants that still has a smoking section (about half the joint) and red checkered curtains. Still, it smelled great.
The all you could eat buffet, which was more akin to a trough, came with all my favorites: green beans, mashed potatoes, and mac and cheese, that favorite of Southern vegetables (yes, we consider it a veggie). Who could pass up the fried chicken in Kentucky? It was fabulous. So was the chocolate pie and banana pudding. Final tab? $6.50.
As I waddled back to the classic car, I thanked my lucky hubcaps that I don’t live here–I’d be fat as a 1973 Pontiac.