Loretta, what are you thinking

There's a chain of Loretta Lynn Kitcken's in the south that has lowered the bar for stomach raunch. On a northeast bound road trip and a weary stopover in eastern TN we should happen upon an exit catering to transient truckers and some of America's finest road warriors. The dining selection was like every other interstate exit in the northwestern hemisphere. McCraps, Arbites, Burger KlingOns, Pizza Puke, Taco Belch, Cracker Barf, IToss ..... You get the picture. To be different we opted for the presumably native fare by venturing to Loretta Lynn's Kitchen. What could possibly be disappointing with a brand moniker of one of America's most beloved country songbirds. Plus, the front facade was genuine artificial quaint appalachian clapboard. Well the first amonous sign was the single, and I emphasize single, patron seated by itself in a large dining room on a Friday evening at the peak dinner hour. This patron, undoubltly a trucker, had a gut paunch the size of Rhode Island, a road stare that only years of sniffing diesel fuel could possibly induce and an appetite that every southern wild bog boar would envy. The 2nd sign was the southern growl from bitch woman ordering us to plant ourselves at an open table. Then it gets interesting. BTW, trucker boy is still staring at us like we're ET's 1st cousins. I wasn't sure if I would need to protect my accompanying female companions or my own tight little butt. We soon had the menu choice to make. The 9.99 buffet was suggested by our underaged, overdressed but charming school girl waitress. So we opt for the all you can eat special. It has now been 12 hours since our diet mountain dew breakfast so the hunger pangs are strong and obviously clouding our judgement. We venture to the buffet spread and the real fun begins. The fried mystery looks wholesome with 1/2" thick crusts hiddening whatever lurks beneath. I quickly passed. The pulled pork is at least unbattered but it obviously has been laying in wait for at least a week if not longer and who knows what sauce it was stewing in. Next to it waits something that looks like barbequed ribs. Must have been some damn thin pig because the meat to bone ratio was heavy on the bone. The corn kernels appeared to be fully saturated with water and were as gummy looking as wallpaper paste. The oversized green beans looked no better, except the pie sized seeds poking through the skins. The bread rolls actually looked ok but like a true Americanized delicacy had been sopped in butter or pig lard. The mashed potatoes for sure had been poured from a can and had that crusty skin protecting the underbelly. The pickled beets were a deep violet and smiling at me. We cautiously loaded our plates. Back at the table the stainless fork was mangled so bad I had to straighten the tines out before it was safe to insert into my food shute. This was not a problem because this was the thinest gauge stainless I have ever seen. It was bending just from my glare. It soon became apparent that this southern country fare was not going to make it to my gullet. To top it off the diet coke had a distinctive chlorine hangover. So I'm sure the plastic glass was thoroughly disinfected as well has my stomach lining. Trucker boy had rolled himself out by now and was probably casing out our motel room.

The decor was pleasantly interesting. Pictures of past and present country and western performers were hang everywhere with what appeared to be real imitation autographs. I bet none of them high brows chowed at one of these joints more than once.

So if you should ever find yourself in a hoooowdieee state with a growling gut make sure to pay Loretta's a visit. Oh, and pack a lunch beforehand.