My iPhone snaps (next year the real camera comes):
Burma Shave ... you know the lore. And if you don't, then you can read all about it.
While it's too late at night to go deep on this year's Nashville Roundup and the good people of GDP I met there, and Fred and Joe, and the good times we had, and how much it meant to me to go...
I do want to say a word about the real spirit of Hachland Farm -- our beloved Phila -- because I feel not nearly enough has been said about her.
She makes your stay all the more heavenly. It started right from the start:
Curt and I arrived early Friday afternoon, exhausted from a long all-night drive. I think SuperDave was down at the barn, but we didn't know he was there.
We pulled up, and there was Phila, and I was instantly tickled -- grinning and giddy -- because I knew I had just landed in heaven. There's just something about her. At 82, she has more voice and spunk and energy than 12 tigers put together. Plus, when you meet her, it's like deja vu all over again. You're home and you know it. And she offers you coffee (Le Monde, from New Orleans). Then she offers you a slice of home-baked almond pie. And you sit and talk, and listen. And if you keep listening, the stories start flowing...
Phila, a Southern Sweetheart of Hospitality if there ever was one... chef extraordinaire, a ferociously feisty foodie... a true epicurean enthusiast. She has rubbed elbows with Julia Child, hobnobbed with several U.S. presidents, flown the friendly skies to Europe, Japan and more, starred in the first Tennessee cooking show during the live-TV era of the 1950s... heck she even wrote the original menu for the original Cracker Barrel restaurant --- now a famed restaurant chain (where some darn good southern cooking can be had) stretching across the South.
She -- through her lively voice, amazing food and warm grace -- just set the tone for the entire weekend. And from there, it just kept getting better.
Phila, Saturday morning, making biscuits.
She was up at 5 a.m. every day, and if you came back from the barn at 12:00 a.m., there she was still, back at the house, and she'd offer tea.
The unforgettable Phila, at her oven.
