If I could have any wish granted this holiday season, I would wish for a 2010 Honda Fit or maybe a Unicorn, which might or might not take me to Candy Mountain.
(although either seems a little on the unlikely side of wishes.)
Typically in the past when I have been presented with an opportunity to make a wish, I have ALWAYS wished for either a pony or to live happily ever after with an amazing man. Since I am both unlucky in love and clearly ponyless, I think it’s safe to say that wishes are complete bullshit.
I guess if I had to pick a more reasonable wish I would wish that eating the decadent food served at Monell’s restaurant was good for me and not insanely caloric and unhealthy.
But, as we’ve already established, wishes are bullshit hopes that never come to fruition.
So I suppose I’m just going to either get really fat or have to use self control and spread out my visits.
So, this is Monell’s. And basically we are in love. Or, well… I should say that I’m in love with Monell’s and Monell’s is kinda jerking me around.
You see, it all started about a month ago when a friend of mine had a birthday breakfast here and I happily attended.
And I ate.
Blissful and forever a changed woman as I shoveled buttermilk biscuits and peach preserves into my mouth.
Oh I fell hard.
Almost to the point of not being able to stand up without assistance.
So much eating took place. It was a bloodbath of consumption.
Believe you me.
Monell’s is structured how boarding house dining rooms used to operate, where strangers all sit together and food is served family style.
You name it, it gets brought to the table.
Since my first visit, I have been FIVE other times…THIS MONTH…..yeah, that’s like once a week (plus twice in one week).
(I know. I know.)
It is safe to declare that Monell’s serves the best Southern Food I have ever had.
It is artery-cloggingly divine.
I mean, living in Nashville, I really know Southern Food. I’m all over it.
Sometimes Southern cuisine can be overcooked, under seasoned, and super greasy.
You won’t find anything like that here.
Every dish is lovingly prepared and richly satisfying.
It is perfect, simple, and I’m utterly smitten.
Okay. Get ready. This is about to get really delicious.
When you arrive at the Germantown location, depending on the size of your party, you will be seated at one of their seven long tables already set up with sweet tea, water, cucumber salad, broccoli salad, fruit salad, coleslaw, or some other cold mayonaise-based salad option. (Mia if you are reading this, look away now)
It will come as no surprise to you that I like everything I have tried at Monell’s although this usually presents me with several obstacles when I visit:
1. ) The food is brought to the table in gigantic bowls slowly, which increases your chances of filling up too quickly on sweet tea, biscuits, and broccoli salad before the star of the show (skillet fried chicken) has even made it to your plate.
2.) I lose my ability to effectively utilize portion control and ALWAYS overeat at Monell’s.
I usually leave half of almost anything I order at a restaurant on my plate, but here, I am transformed into a ferocious professional eater.
This is my best friend in the whole wide universe Abigail, passing me the ridiculously tasty macaroni and cheese.
She’s so beautiful and talented at handing me things.
To. Die. For.
Yes, that’s my plate overflowing with green beans, corn pudding, macaroni & cheese, whipped potatoes, and spinach lasagna.
And my favorite thing.
Maybe more than all of the Honda Fits, Ponies, and Unicorns in the heavens…
Skillet Fried Chicken.
I’m not sure how to adequately explain to you how bewildered and astonished I am every time I sink my teeth into a piece of Monell’s Fried chicken. It gives me heart palpitations just thinking about it.
Right now, I just made myself salivate.
The skin in perfectly crispy, golden, lightly salted, peppered, and forged in the fluffy clouds of culinary heaven.
I practiced unheard of levels of restraint waiting until my plate was full with food before eating.
It was rough. But people were cheering me on.
(I’m going to weigh 500 pounds)
There was also banana pudding, but I ate it before I had a chance to photograph it because at some point I turned into an animal.
The moral of the story here is that this place is serious.
It is not for the faint of heart, diabetics, or those who fear large portions of insanely rich Southern cooking.
This is the kind of food that could very well make you believe in God.
Go get fat at Monell’s and you will thank me.