Louisville Magazine

JUL 2016

Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.

Issue link: https://loumag.epubxp.com/i/696273

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Page 82 of 112

80 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 7.16 inamarcellaevents.com shamrockpets.com of bad paintings of Derby horses I can smell the dung, except there is no dung, only me, slick with sweat and close to overfowing. I get it down. I get the hell out. A shadow on the lip of the curb like a wing. No, I don't need a menu, just a Hot Brown. No, no drinks, just the Hot Brown. My fourth Hot Brown. If I weren't so weighted with turkey I'd tackle the server just to keep from eating another Hot Brown. Upstairs at Gary's on Spring, surrounded by bald men and wrinkled women who smell like baths of lotion, I'm going to eat another Hot Brown. Paintings of wine hanging on brick walls taunt me with their expectedness, because who could expect anyone to eat four Hot Browns? Tere it is, almost a slider version of the dish, four little mounds of Hot Brown. With Hannah already Hot Browned out, I make my roommate, Micah, eat two of them. He says he likes it, that the turkey isn't dry like turkey gets, and me, I'm eating my fourth Hot Brown, and it's a Hot Brown, and what do you want from me? I'm praying for the cessation of my own existence, but I'm still here. Tank God almighty it's not here anymore. Te doorman at Zanz- abar says the mythical Hot Brown mac n' cheese skillet I've read about in shadowy corners of the internet has been removed. He leads me past the arcade, young women sipping beer at the bar. About 7:30, plenty of time before the bands go on. Doorman puts a golden vinyl record sleeve into my hands. It falls open into a menu, food items listed under "Player 1," "Player 2," and my inner arcade-lov- ing kid grins, quickly remembers his youthful difculty with motion sickness, and takes a few slow, deep breaths. I run my fnger down the page, my stomach infating as I read dish after dish. Hot Brown, Hot Brown, Hot Brown? Nope. I drop the menu right there on the bar and head out into the bright evening. A breeze like the back of my mother's hand on my feverish forehead. Te doorman comes out behind me, asks if I found what I was looking for. I choke back a gag and tell him yes, I've got all I need and more.

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