Thanks for the kind words. I'll do my best to post as much as possible as soon as possible. Carly did win for being the furthest to travel to Nashville. She loves the sandwich book.
Feeling revitalized after five hours of sleep at a Country Inn and Suites, we continued onward south on I-65. Carly, being as intrepid as any traveller, decided that we should venture off the Interstate and partake in one of Indiana's culinary delights, the Pork Tenderloin Sandwich. According to Jane and Michael, the tiny town of Gnaw Bone has some of the most succulent sandwiches in all of Indiana. With that endorsement, we traversed off the highway and made our way to this tiny town. As we entered the town, our hearts sank. One of the most sobering parts of Roadfood is when a place with great food closes and you don't think far enough in advance to check their state of busines. As we passed an abandoned gas station, we decided to place a call to try to comprehend our quagmire. After getting someone on the phone, we found out that this restaurant still existed, but was up the road further west. Elated, we continued onward.
Yet, after twenty minutes the only place we found was the Gnaw Bone Sorghum Mill, not the Gnaw Bone Food and Fuel, the former a tiny market with allegedly terrific bread. Terribly confused, Carly and I went to investigate this situation. We were greeted by an elderly woman whose sister runs the place, but had to go home to babysit her grandchildren. She would not be back until 1:00 and since it was 11:00 we would have to wait a few hours. The woman guarding the store could sell us vegetables or lovely lawn ornaments, but she did not have the key to let us sample the infamous sorghum bread. Her bright scarf covering most of her head and thick Southern Indianan accent only made our dissatisifcation more papable.
During this uniquely absurd interaction, Carly and I came to the conclusion that we should redial the phone number to see where we erred with our previously dynamitely innate roadfood spidey sense. After asking for more detailed directions, we had found the restaurant. Apparently, it moved to the Salt Creek Golf Course further west and changed its name to the 19th Hole.
After ultimately navigating our way to the restaurant, which is in the main buliding, down the stairs and around the corner, we entered a lounge covered with golf kotchkies and banners celebrating the history of Indiana basketball, including a bumper sticker with the slogan of Bobby Knight for President. The waitress, a woman in her late sixties, brought us the speciality of the house, a pork tenderloin sandwich.
Breaded on a boring bun, way too small to encapsulate the massive girth of the pork, the sandwich seemed awkward and potentially overrated. Yet, as we squirted on the quintessial condiment of mayo and layered the sandwich with onions, tomatoes, and lettuce, we anticipated our first authentic Indiana pork tenderloin. The first couple of bites indicated nothing too special. Yet, it was one of those meals that gradually reached its potential and by the end we were disappointed that this crisp stunningly white meat with a distinctively divine moistness was no longer on our plates. Next time we intend to order a large one. As we basked in our porcine glory, we noticed the familiarity of the waitress with some of the local golfers, particularly when one older gent smacked her bottom and pleaded her not to tell "Bob" about his fresh hands. You can't buy an experience like watching the links on the 19th Hole.