The scene was familiar: the step up at the door that I tripped over my first time; the line along the counter, stretching back to the door; plates of cornbread laid out on the counter top, and a giant garlic-stuffed hunk of beef next to the cash register, and steam trays filled to the brim with delicious. Just as luck had it, today my attending told me to go work at the Downtown Clinic this morning since he had no patients coming in to his clinic this morning. The Downtown Clinic of Nashville serves a largely homeless clientele, and offers medical, dental, and psychiatric services, among others. More importantly, the Downtown Clinic is across the street from Arnold’s. By 9am, I was already thinking about lunch–my salivary glands already began running at maximum drool.
By noontime, I was done seeing patients and ready to eat. The adrenaline began to flow through my blood as I left the clinic’s parking lot. I was as excited for lunch as a Vanderbilt med student was on his way to the Goldstrike casino in Tunica.
The line moved particularly slow as I queued up at the end. As I stood in line, I eyed the day’s specialties written in chalk. Roast chicken. BBQ pork and brisket. Roast beef. Catfish. I don’t doubt the deliciousness of said meats. It’s just that as I was deciding what to get, something on the griddle caught my eye. A woman lifted a large baking tray up and started flipping rows of large brown chunks of something. The true identity of Unknown Brown Food could not be elucidated based on sight alone, and the air was one giant scent storm composed of every buttered and fried item along the counter. I asked Counter Guy what Unknown Brown Food was. “Pork chop.”
Eff. Yeah. Give me that.
“Do you want sauce? It’s good.” Counter Guy motioned to a small batch of some creamy white sauce, flecked with green herbs. Sure, why not? I claimed some squash casserole and stewed (not fried!) okra as my sides for my meal. The meat-and-two rang up to be over $8, well over the normal price of the normal meal. Maybe it was a mistake. Or maybe the pork chop is so good–so much in demand–that they can afford to raise prices and still sell out. I didn’t care because I had my takeout box, and was on my way to my car, to drive home, and eat it at home, away from the sights and sounds of the restaurant. No need for any excess sensory stimulation. My brain’s sensory functions were going to be fully devoted to focusing on my food. Yes, I was going to use all 10% of my brain power to enjoy lunch.
Upon closer examination, I was a bit hesitant to take a picture of my food. One, my camera is shitting the bed, and can’t take a semi-proper picture without flash. Two, the pork chop was encrusted in a thin layer of brown, the ultimate enemy of any good food-blogger-picture-taker, aka food pornographer. But you know what, looks be damned (my mom says I’m pretty on the inside!)–I cut a piece and took a bite to really get to know what I ordered. The instant the crust touched my tongue its composition suddenly deteriorated due to salivary enzymes, and molecules of Unknown Brown activated receptors across the surface of my tongue, sending surges of neurotransmitters and and action potential through my cranial nerves and into my brain. I can only imagine what happened next: my pupils dilated, my breathing quickened a little, and ironically, my muscles relaxed. Pure euphoria enveloped my entire being. I was on top of the world, but at one with the world at the same time. I figured out what Unknown Brown was. It tasted like the sauce packets in beef instant ramen bags, most likely MSG, not quite beefy, but savory nevertheless. Forget about yogurts made with crack or brownies made with pot. This pork chop was encrusted in cocaine. Pure. Unadulterated. Nirvana. The sauce–well, it’s like lacing cocaine with ecstasy. I could almost feel my body temperature rise and my teeth clench as I ate more of the pork, tearing off every last fascicle of meat with my hands and teeth. For thirty minutes, I felt amazing. My stomach–tainted and worn out by weeks of nothing near delicious–was bursting with decadence. Afterwards I went into a food coma and withdrawal, made worse by the fact that I had to force myself to stay awake for 3 hours of afternoon lecture. Now thoughts of the ‘chop won’t stop running through my mind. Is this only available on Wednesdays? It may not even matter because it will be a long while before I have another opportunity to visit Arnold’s for lunch. It may actually be a good thing. I’ve seen what happens to substance abusers during my psych rotation. I don’t want to get addicted. But at least now I know that there’s something in Nashville worth flying in out of town for. I can already see myself coming back just for some ‘chop after I graduate medical school.
Arnold’s Nashville, TN
