Mary B's sounds so very good to me

From A Man's Gotta Eat, September 13, 2007:

One of my all time favorite meals is chicken and dumplings. And by dumplings I mean strip dumplings cooked in chicken broth, like my Granny Ruby used to make, not Bisquick biscuits cooked in cream of mushroom soup.

I used to make dumplings from scratch (they ain't too hard to make). About two years ago, however, I discovered Mary B's Open Kettle Dumplings in a small grocery store in Camden, Tennessee. I haven't made dumplings from scratch since. Yes, Mary B's dumplings are just as good scratch-made dumplings.

I know for a fact that you can find Mary B's dumplings (and Mary B's frozen biscuits) at Wal-Mart and Food Lion. I'm sure other grocery stores in the Middle Tennessee area have them as well.

I made some chicken 'n' dumplings with a package of Mary B's ce soir (see above pic). I simply boiled a chicken for about an hour, shredded it, placed it in the reserved broth, and dumped in the frozen dumplings. I added some salt and pepper, a pinch of dried thyme, and a quarter-cup of white wine.

Wish you'd been here ...

Takin' care of b'iness

Joltin' Django is doin' business in Connecticut this week. A Man's Gotta Eat will return Friday, June 5.

Crock-Pot® 'que

Crock-Pot® 'que with homemade sauce has sorta become a specialty o' mine. I posted recipes last year. What was left over from my latest batch was given to Mr. Jimmy. He said it was "real good," or something to that effect. Perhaps he'll elaborate.

Hot fish!

I says to myself last night, I says, "A hot fish sammich from Ed's Fish House would sure hit the spot." Well, I went to Ed's and got me a hot fish sammich, and it flat hit the spot, indeed.

I told you about Ed's Fish House back in '07. I'm gonna tell you again ...

Nashville, TN, is famous for many things: Country music, churches on every other corner, education (Vandy, Belmont, TSU, David Lipscomb, etc.), and numerous printing and publishing companies.

More importantly, however, Nashville is famous 'cause restaurateurs within its city limits created "hot chicken," which will be the subject of a future A Man's Gotta Eat post, and "hot fish" sandwiches, which'll be discussed, well, here:

What's a hot fish sandwich, you ask? It's cornmeal-breaded whiting fillets on white bread, with mustard, slices of white onion, pickles, and hot sauce. Sounds like an odd combo, I know, but a hot fish sandwich is just what the doctor ordered when a feller's hungry, indeed.

My favorite hot fish joint is Ed's Fish House in Priest Lake. Ed's does business out of a trailer in the Compton's Foodland parking lot (Smith Springs Road, 'bout a mile and a half south of Bell Road). Ed has been selling fried fish out of his little trailer for over 25 years. That says a lot about the quality of his food. ...

Ed's fish sandwiches are truly two-hand sandwiches. That is, you'll be using both hands from bite one until all you have left are crumbs. (I guess you could cut the sandwich half, or into quarters, but that's not really a manly thing to do.) The cornmeal Ed uses gives the fish a terrific crunch, and he tops the fish with just enough "stuff" on top to enhance, rather than overpower, the crispy fish underneath.

If you've never had a hot fish sandwich, you can't go wrong by heading to Ed's Fish House for your first.

Ed's Fish House
2808 Smith Springs Road
Nashville, TN 37217

Rampin' it up

I didn't know anyone outside of East Tennessee enjoyed eating ramps. Apparently, ramps are quite popular in Québec:

A few years ago, wild leeks, also known as ramps, were enjoyed only by foragers and gourmets who knew the woodland plant offered a delectable onion flavour with a hint of garlic. This year, the wild relative of the onion is everywhere. In grocery stores such as the upscale Pusateri's in

Toronto, ramps sell for $3.99 a bunch. They are also sold wholesale at the Ontario Food Terminal and distributed at greengrocers across the city. Ontario-picked ramps are even advertised in online classified ads in Montreal.

"It's crazy," says Anthony Rose, executive chef at Toronto's Drake Hotel who in the past few weeks has been approached by about 20 different sellers, more than two times the number of people who contacted him last year.

Then there's this ...

But all this attention isn't good news for the leek, says Gérald Le Gal, president of the Quebec-based Association for the Commercialization of Forest Mushrooms and owner of Gourmet Sauvage, a company that sells prepared wild fruits and vegetables.

He doesn't think anyone should be selling ramps.

"Don't touch the stuff. It's just too vulnerable," he says. When you pick a ramp, you take the entire plant, including the bulb. Once the bulb is gone, there is nothing left of the plant; it will not grow back the next year. The Toronto and Region Conservation Authority considers it to be "a species of conservation concern." And eating a nice sized bulb could be the equivalent of dining on an old-growth cedar. "It's a really, really, slow-growth plant. A bulb could be 18 to 20 years old," Mr. Le Gal says.

WTF?! As any East Tennessee old-timer can tell you, Ramps are like wild onions. In an unattended field, the damn things will grow until you don't see nothing but ramps in said field.

Exactly how much ramp-diggin' are Québécois doin'?!

What a BIG AZ sammich!

My ami Mr. Jimmy recently treated me to a "BIG AZ Meatloaf, with catsup" sammich from the vending machine in our place of b'iness. We both agreed that any product that bills itself as a "BIG AZ" anything just needed to be sampled.

Buying a sandwich from a vending machine is a dicey endeavor, indeed. More often than not the buyer is deeply disappointed. (I vividly remember a sandwich I got from a machine in the old Denver airport. It's a miracle that I didn't leave at least 10 teeth behind.) I wasn't disappointed after eating my BIG AZ Meatloaf, and certainly didn't lose any teeth.

When I was in high school, my classmates and I regularly ate $.99 microwave burgers which, even though we knew they were more soybean than hamburger, were oh-so-tasty (especially with lots o' mustard, catsup, and hot sauce).

My BIG AZ Meatloaf tasted a whole lot like those burgers of yore. Mr. Jimmy and I loaded up our respective sammiches with plenty of Texas Pete®, and damn they was good. Almost made me forget about that bad experience back in Denver. Almost.

Wanna be seen at The Steakhouse?

Last time I ate at Morton' Steakhouse, er, Morton's: The Steakhouse, my tab was 80 bucks (and I didn't have nothing to drink, neither). I'm not cheap by any means, but I have been pinching pennies just like everyone else lately.

Dining at Morton's has not been near the top of my dining-out to-do list. After reading yesterday's USA Today, however, I just might have to make my way down to Morton's ... soon. To wit:

With same-store sales down 24% in the first quarter, the chichi steakhouse chain had to do something.

One unlikely move for the chain, where checks normally average $97 per person: $5 mini-burgers at the bar. "This is the worst we've been through," CEO Thomas Baldwin explains. "We have to broaden our appeal and drive guest frequency."

And guests now can wash down their mini-burgers with $4 beers.

Any feller wanna loosen his tie and join me at Morton's for some 5-dollar burgers and 4-dollar beers?

Django hearts Ron's

It wasn't that long ago when I wrote an obit for Ron's BBQ & Fish. Only Ron's didn't die, er, close. The place just re-located to a more business-friendly -- due to leases and sich -- locale.

A friend o' mine was kind enough to treat me to a "plate" from Ron's on Saturday ('cause mon père is in the hospital). I had grilled chicken, turnip greens, and boiled cabbage ...


Lemme tell you something 'bout Ron's grilled chicken, turnip greens, and boiled cabbage: I ain't never had grilled chicken, turnip greens, and boiled cabbage at a meat-and-three, er, two, that's as good as what I had from Ron's. Period.

The grilled chicken was juicy with a crispy skin; the turnip greens were well-seasoned and plentiful (as you can see in the pic above); and the boiled cabbage was crisp and full o' black pepper ... and hot paprika, if I'm not mistaken.

Ron's is as good as it ever was. Hell, it's better than it ever was. (Does that make any sense?)

Next time I eat a meal from Ron's, it's gonna be when pulled-pork is on the menu -- Sundays only. I have it on good authority that Ron's pulled-pork is 'que-contest-winning quality.

We'll see.

Ron's BBQ & Fish
5359 Mt. View Road
Antioch, TN 37013
615.731.6766

Next stop: Nolensville

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Food-writing is about the only thing the Tennessean can do right these days.

Today's Tennessean has a great piece on Patrick Martin, owner of Martin's Bar-B-Que in Nolensville, TN. You can read it here. A sample:

When Pat Martin of Martin's Bar-B-Que Joint in Nolensville gets ready to smoke a whole hog, it makes a Memorial Day weenie roast look downright sissy.

On a recent Friday night, he struggled to hoist a 200-pound hog from the back of a pickup onto a steel table. He rubbed it down with spices (deep-tissue style) before wrestling it into a smoker for a 20-hour stay. Chainsaws and small axes were involved.

"That's the thing about these pigs," Martin said ... "They're slicker than deer guts on a door knob."

By preparing whole hog barbecue, Pat Martin and his cohorts practice a time-intensive art that Martin learned from old-timers in West Tennessee, where he attended college. He's been dabbling in barbecue for years, but he didn't open his Nolensville barbecue restaurant until he'd spent time as a bonds trader, a job his father had held on Wall Street. On June 13, Martin also will hit the streets of New York, but he'll have a 32-foot smoker in tow. And he'll join just 13 other pitmasters from across the country in the Big Apple Barbecue Block Party.

"I'm not a young guy," said Martin, who just turned 37. "But I'm kind of the rookie guy up there."

I've dined at Martin's one time ... 'bout two weeks after it opened. I remember the 'que being very tender and juicy, and I remember drinking a Falls City beer with my meal (that impressed me more than the 'que).

I'm gonna have to get out to Nolensville and give Martin's another look-see, and thus give it a proper review.

Stay tuned.

From the vault

This is a thing that makes me go "hmm" ...

In the December 17 issue of the American Conservative, John Zmirak discusses his recent visit to a Dallas-area Whole Foods grocery store. This quote stands out:

"[T]here ... lingered in me a sense of excess. Did one really need this many choices of chard, and was it really healthy to cultivate such delicate sensibilities? It's one thing to shop at farmers markets because you want to support the folks who grow apples in your area. It's quite another to learn how to care, really care, about whether your sea salt comes from Brittany. C.S. Lewis dubbed such exquisite awareness the 'higher gluttony,' which consists not in excessive consumption but undue attention to food. He smelled it in vegetarians, food faddists, and others who made of their bodies not so much a temple as a fetish."

"He smelled it in vegetarians, food faddists, and others who made of their bodies not so much a temple as a fetish."

I can think of [several] people I know in whom I smell such, indeed.

Re: La prima pizza

GQ's Alan Richman has compiled his list of the 25 best pizza joints in the USA. Check it out here.

Mr. Richman conveniently, or ignorantly, forgets NYC's Lombardi's. Lombardi's still cooks its pizzas in a coal-fired oven. And let me tell you (I speak from experience), ain't a pizza on earth that tastes as good as a pizza that's been cooked in a coal-fired oven.

Indeed, when a pizza's been coal-cooked, the crust gets little smokey black spots - flavorful smokey black spots - on it; and the mozzarella -- oh, the mozzarella -- melts until its golden brown on the top, and full of whole milk goodness underneath.

It feels kinda good when I can tell an expense-account-wielding foodie that he don't know as much as he thinks he does.

"... looks better than it tastes."

I've had a bad week, a very bad week. I made an executive decision this evening that I needed some quality beer in my snoot. The beer I chose was Boddingtons Pub Ale, which I purchased at Publix.

Boddingtons Ale is a decent beer. That's about the best way I can describe it. Boddingtons ain't as good as Abbott Ale, and it certainly ain't as good as Samuel Smith's Pale Ale.

Boddingtons has a great amber color, and the "nitro" contraption gives each pint a creamy head. However, Boddington's lacks the subtle sweetness of a quality ale, and the more you drink the more you begin to notice a bitterness that just shouldn't be in a British ale that's supposed to taste like it was just poured from a tap. (We'll leave the bitterness to Samuel Adam's Boston Lager, thank you.)

Boddingtons looks better than it tastes. It looks like it'll be a while before I taste Boddingtons again. So there.

Sriracha is hot! (redux)

The New York Times' John T. Edge tells us 'bout something I told us, er, you 'bout back in October 2007:

A woman told of smearing Huy Fong’s flagship product, Tuong Ot Sriracha (Sriracha Chili Sauce), on multigrain snack chips. A man proclaimed the purée of fresh red jalapeños, garlic powder, sugar, salt and vinegar to be “the bomb,” and thanked Ms. Lam’s employers for "much joy and pleasure."

Another caller, hampered by a slight slur, botched the pronunciation of the product name before asking whether discount pricing might be available. Finally, he blurted, "I love rooster sauce!" (A strutting rooster, gleaming white against a backdrop of the bright red sauce, dominates Huy Fong’s trademark green-capped clear plastic squeeze bottles.)

'I guess it goes with alcohol," deadpanned Ms. Lam, who, like David Tran, the 64-year-old founder of Huy Fong and creator of its sauce, is both proud of the product’s popularity and flummoxed by fans’ devotion.

Read the rest here.

I ♥ Sam's Kabab Gyros

There's a new gyro joint in my neck of the woods: Sam's Kabab Gyros. I decided to give it a whirl this evening, and boy was I glad I did.

The two fellers who were manning the counter at Sam's were friendly cuss , I tell you what. I was only ten steps in the front door when they offered me samples of their beef, lamb, and chicken. I already knew I wanted a gyro; after gobbling up my samples I decided to go with the lamb.

As soon as I placed my order for a gyro combo -- gyro sandwich, fries, and a drink -- a large fistful o' hand-cut fries were dropped into the fryer; and then one of the Sam's guys went to work on my gyro. He cut a hole in a pita; stuffed it with lamb, lettuce, tomato, cucumber, tabouli, lots of jalapeños (per my request), and more lettuce, tomato and tabouli.

When my fries came out of the fryer, they were dusted with a spicy seasoning. This seems to be standard procedure in most gyro restaurants, and, unfortunately, a lot of restaurants go overboard when it comes to fries-seasoning. That ain't so at Sam's. My fries were dusted with just enough peppery spice so's not to overpower the starchy goodness of the expertly cooked fried taters underneath.

So, how was the gyro? Very damn good. The lamb was juicy. The tabouli was heavy on mint, parsley and olive oil. The jalapeños were crisp and plentiful. And the yogurt sauce was excellent.

Chicago Style Gyrosis, and has been for several years, my favorite local gyro joint Sam's Kabab Gryos, however, is a close second ... a very close second.

Sam's Kabab Gyros
2500 Murfreesboro Pike
Nashville, TN 37217
615.367.5027

Cajun-lovin' ...!

CM, aka The Nightly Daily, tells us 'bout a great eating spot up in Sumner County. To wit:

Last Saturday, a friend and I went to Gallatin on business. After we completed our task, we asked some local folks where we could find a good place to have lunch. They recommended Larriviere's on the square, and it was an excellent experience.

The restaurant is a cross between a meat and three and a burger joint. I took the burger joint option and had a cheeseburger. It had a generously thick cut of Angus beef that was quite juicy. It was piled high with trimmings, and the french fries were also good. They were thick but retained their crispiness.

My friend had crawfish etoufee, and his portion was so large that he could not finish it all.

I highly recommend eating there if the opportunity presents itself. One note: Gallatin is currently refurbishing its town square, so the streets are torn up. However, there is ample parking within walking distance of the eatery, so there should be no problem there. Additionally, there is a Larriviere's located in Mt. Juliet for those who live in that area.

Smothered crawfish ... that's right up my alley. Indeed, there ain't nothing in this world, eatin'-wise, that I love more than boiled or broiled or stewed or baked écrevisse.

So there.

Re: Bœuf déchiqueté

I found this recipe for shredded beef on Jennifer Iserloh's Web site:

Ingredients

1 tablespoon olive oil
2 pounds beef stew meat, trimmed of fat
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon mild chili powder
1 teaspoon paprika
1 star anise pod
1 (15 ounce) can fat free, reduced sodium beef broth

Directions

Warm the oil in a large stockpot over high heat. Brown the beef 5 to 6 minutes turning once or twice. Reduce the heat to medium and add the cumin, chili, paprika, and star anise. Cook an additional minute until the spices become fragrant. Add the beef broth and bring to a slow boil. Reduce to a simmer and cover.

Cook 1 to 1/2 hours until the beef is tender, adding a little water if the beef starts to stick. Cool slightly then shred with your fingers or two forks.

Ms. Iserloh, aka The Skinny Chef, recommends using her shredded beef on "burritos, tacos, and enchiladas."

I think expertly-cooked shredded beef would go better on a buttered Kaiser Roll with green leaf lettuce, thin slices o' ripe tomatoes, and a big-ass dash of a quality horseradish sauce. Oh, and a good pickle should be served alongside.

Lest you think I'm busting on Ms. Iserloh, I'm gonna try her recipe soon. We'll see if her shredded beef is better suited for tacos or sammiches.

Stay tuned.

Gonna sauce you up and work you like a rib ... (what's that from?!)

Like Jerry Seinfeld and coffee, I've always preferred getting my barbecued spare ribs on the outside. I picked up some St. Louis-style spare ribs (cut into three "sets" o' ribs) at my favorite local grocery store on Friday, and I spent about three hours cooking 'em this evening. They were so damn good ... I've been inspired me to try cooking spare ribs at home more often. Here's how I did it:

I have two grills. One is a charcoal grill on which I cook nothing but beef and pork steaks. My other grill is an in-ground gas grill that's hooked into my natural gas line. It preheats faster than an oven; thus, its great for cooking things like hamburgers, chicken breasts, brats and Italian sausages. I decided to cook my St. Louis ribs on the gas grill 'cause I figured I could regulate the heat better. What a great decision I made.

When I started my grill, I only lit one half; and instead of allowing the lit side to preheat on high, as suggested by the manufacturer, I let it heat for about 25 minutes with the heat dial sitting on 1.5 (outta 5).

Meanwhile, I let my ribs warm to room temperature. I rubbed 'em with a mixture of paprika, onion powder, garlic salt, and course-ground black pepper. The ribs rested for another 10-15 minutes, and then they were ready for the grill.

I put my ribs on grill, and not on the side that was heated. They cooked for about 45 minutes before I disturbed 'em. I rubbed both sides of my ribs with liberal dollops of Stubb's Moppin' Sauce, and I closed the lid. When another 45 minutes had passed, I repeated the Moppin' Sauce-moppin' and I closed the lid again. I let the ribs cook for another hour, and I removed them to a shallow baking dish.

While Stubb's Moppin' Sauce is very flavorful, it's also very thin ('cause it's mostly vinegar). I knew my ribs would require a think 'n' hearty sauce prior to serving. I mixed a half-cup of Howton Farm's BBQ sauce with a half-cup of Hunt's ketchup, and I poured it over my ribs -- turning and turning them to make sure every square inch was covered. I put foil over the baking dish and then waited 15 minutes before serving, er, devouring.

My ribs were so tender, the meat was literally following off the bone. And my sauce concoction was damn good, too. You know, if I didn't have any scruples 'bout me, I'd get a lot of Howton Farm's and a lot of Hunt's and market the mixture under the Joltin' Django name.

I'll never be afraid to try spare ribs, baby back ribs, or any other type of rib that needs to be slow-cooked outdoors again. I'm already looking forward to my next rib-grillin' experience. Promise to bring enough beer and you can join me ...!

Love me some Queen City chili!

In honor of the "four-way" Cincinnati chili I made ce soir -- I didn't have any kidney beans, and that's why it was four-way chili -- please to enjoy this A Man's Gotta Eat post from January 2008:

I was 12-years-old the first time I went to Cincinnati. A kid who played on my baseball team that year was from Ohio, and he and his father were huge Reds fans.

One sunny summer day, my friend, his dad and I drove to Cincinnati to take in an under-the-lights Reds-Cardinals game. We stayed at a hotel near the stadium that night, and we started our journey back to Nashville at noon the following day.

Before leaving Cincinnati, however, my friend's dad insisted that we stop at Skyline Chili. Neither my mother or my father were big chili fans (I don't remember my mother ever making chili when I was growing up), and I'd sort of adopted their indifference to the stuff. I don't remember exactly what I ordered, but I know it wasn't chili.

I remember when my friend's dad's chili arrived. It did not resemble any chili I'd ever seen. First of all, it wasn't in a bowl, which was how I'd always seen chili served. And it wasn't just chili on the plate. It was spaghetti noodles and chili and cheese and beans and chopped onions. I was intrigued, to say the least.

My friend's dad asked if I'd like to try his chili. Since what he was eating looked more like a plate of my mother's spaghetti than any chili I'd ever encountered, I probably said, "Yes, please" (I was full o' manners when I was a young boy), and boy was I glad I did.

The first thing you notice about Cincinnati chili is its slightly sweet taste. That's 'cause it is made with cinnamon, cocoa and paprika (Texas-style chili it ain't). I know the sweet taste is what I enjoyed most about my first few bites of Cincinnati chili. I'm sure others feel the same way.

My two traveling companions and I made two more trips to Cincinnati that summer. We saw the Braves play during one of those trips; I don't remember who the Reds played during the other. What I do remember is this: I just begged my friend's dad to take us back to Skyline each time, which he did. I suspect he would've taken us there whether I'd lobbied for the trip or not.

Since those first three trips to Skyline during the summer of my 12th year, I've been a confirmed fan of Cincinnati chili. I've been to Cincinnati a couple-dozen times over the years for business and pleasure, and I've always - and I mean always - go to one of the myriad chili parlors that serve the fine citizens of the Queen City (Skyline, Gold Star, Empress, Dixie Chili, etc.).

Now, if you don't want to drive all the way to Cincinnati to try this unique American dish, you can drive to your nearest Kroger grocery store and get a package of Cincinnati Recipe Chili Mix. (Kroger is the only grocery store in which you're likely to find the stuff, which makes sense considering Kroger is headquartered in Cincinnati.) I've made Cincinnati chili from scratch, but it didn't taste as much like the real thing as the chili I've made with Cincinnati Recipe's mix.

Publix has its mojo workin' (redux)

Back in October 2007, I endorsed Publix's Mojo Chicken as a great from-the-deli entrée. To wit:

Having no plans for dinner this evening, I decided to get something from the Publix deli. What I got was a fresh-roasted Mojo Rotisserie Chicken. Man, what a damn fine chicken it was.

I'd never had a roasted chicken from Publix before; and, to the best of my knowledge, I'd never eaten anything that'd been mojo-seasoned. (Mojo seasoning consists of onion salt, garlic, pepper and spices, and it gives whatever foodstuff upon which it's been placed a tongue-satisfying zip and zing.) ...

I'm very glad that I decided on such a simple dinner. If I'd added anything else to my menu, I may not have noticed how freakin' juicy a Publix roasted chicken is; and the crispy skin may have escaped my attention as well. (Crispy skin and juiciness is a mark of a quality roasted chicken, indeed.)

Next time I get me a Publix chicken, I'm going to make mashed potatoes and fry some corn. Hell, I might even fry up some cornbread to make it a culinary hat-trick, plus one.

Tonight, I paired a Publix Mojo Chicken with French-cut green beans, Mrs. Renfro's jalapeños, and Publix's red potato salad:


I feel kinda bad that it took me so long to try another Mojo chicken. And I feel equally bad that it took me so long to tell you that Publix's red-tater salad is the best store-bought tater salad in the land.

For the record, my mojo's workin' real good right now, and then some.

The power of Pancho!

Let me tell you about a new eatin' place I know. It's a Mexican restaurant in Antioch called Pancho. Sounds like the beginning of a song, don't it?!

I visited Pancho for the first time last week. After my second visit yesterday, the place moved to the top of my Favorite Music City Mexican Restaurants list. Here's why:

Pancho has a buffet Monday-Friday from 11 am to 2 pm ...


... and it's the finest Mexican buffet I've ever visited. Wait, I'd never been to a Mexican buffet restaurant prior to visiting Pancho.

Pancho's buffet "tables" ain't real big, but each and every thing on those tables packs big, big south-of-the-border flavor: warm 'n' fresh lard-filled tortillas; juicy hunks of chicken and beef, served with sautéed onions, tomatoes and green peppers; seasoned ground beef, and spicy seasoned ground beef with onions and carrots; homemade tamales wrapped in corn husks; juicy hunks o' chorizo sausage; black beans bursting with earthy black-bean flavor; and fluffy Mexican rice.

And then there's the pico and the hot and mild salsa and the tomatilla green sauce. Pancho's pico de gallo has lots o' tomatoes, onions, and peppers ... and a whole lot o' cilantro. Same goes for Pancho's salsas. As for the tomatilla sauce, it not only tastes very "green," it tickles the tip of one's tongue with a muted heat; and then it leaves a hot spot in the back of one's throat which lingers for several minutes -- several "Oh, this is good!" minutes.

A Mexican buffet sounds like a real, real bad idea. Thank God Pancho was able to pull it off.

Pancho Mexican Restaurant
1001 Bell Road
Antioch, TN 37013
615.891.3166