Southern Hospitality

If Paris is a wife, New Orleans is a mistress

Posted by Amanda on 25 May, 2012 in Southern Hospitality, The Blog | 0 comments

Alistair did not like New Orleans very much. "It smells like ass", was a common refrain. The drunken louts and titty bars of Bourbon Street did nothing to endear him to her either. I on the other hand, loved her in all her smeared mascara beauty...

I’ll have a Jack

Posted by Amanda on 19 May, 2012 in Southern Hospitality, The Blog | 0 comments

A few days ago we drove an hour and a half from Nashville to Lynchburg, Tennessee – home of Jack Daniel’s. The distillery was everything I hoped for. A great (free) tour, friendly locals and tons of character. I even got my own engraved bottle of Single Barrel. Water source for Jack Al pulls a pose Black trees outside distillery Family tree Burnt wood from the rickyard, to filter Jack Guitar, man Jack poker face Lynchburg. Population: 460 Jack guards his spring Just needs some balls Lynchburg humour Get on my

Jack White at the Ryman Auditorium

Posted by Alistair on 17 May, 2012 in Southern Hospitality, The Blog | 1 comment

Historic. That’s the word Jack White clearly had in mind when he opened the world tour for his first solo album Blunderbuss at the Ryman auditorium on Tuesday. Rebranded as Jack White III, and supported by a five piece band, he wanted to make his first show at this legendary venue as memorable as possible. The Ryman is an imposing venue – in reputation, rather than size. It used to hold the Grand Old Opry until 1974 and has hosted everyone from Elvis to Johnny Cash to Patsy Cline and, of course, Hank Williams. No wonder then that White throws everything he has at this show....

Savannah steals my heart – via my stomach

Posted by Alistair on 14 May, 2012 in Southern Hospitality, The Blog | 1 comment

Love is a shifty critter. Describing it is like describing light or air – it’s too full of subtle subjectivity to ever completely pin down. But I’ve fallen in love over the past four days – unexpectedly and delightfully. No one is usurping Amanda as my soulmate – don’t worry kids. The lady I’ve fallen for is over 250 years old and made mainly of brick and stone. The Hostess of the South she is called – a gracious hostess indeed. I knew almost nothing about Savannah before we arrived here. I wasn’t even sure how to spell it (those two ens...