Hot Brown

Yesterday I found myself in Lexington, Virginia. Not much changes in a place like Lexington. The old Harris Teeter grocery is now a Kroger (actually, I believe it was originally a Kroger anyway, before it became Harris Teeter), the bookstore changed it’s name and got a new cat (gray, short hair), and a bunch of new chain restaurants popped up on the outskirts of town to accommodate the tourists who don’t know any better than to eat at the Applebee’s.

It’s hard for me to go back to Lexington. I lived there for seven years and I feel like I knew EVERYBODY in town. It’s strange to walk around and have people give me that look, like “we know you, right? Did you used to live here?” That’s why I always go to The Palms.

I probably spent two of my seven years in Lexington at The Palms. When I wasn’t waitressing I was sitting at a booth with my friends, eating long lunches that more often than not slipped quickly to evenings with pitcher after pitcher of beer. At The Palms, they remember my name, they hug me, they know I want a Hot Brown with potato kurls and an extra side of ranch dressing.



Roast beef, mozzarella, onions, hot peppers, ranch dressing, bacon, lettuce and tomato on a toasted sub roll. The Palms didn’t invent the Hot Brown, but their version is all I know, and it’s my sandwich nirvana. Other people have grandma’s chicken soup, mom’s special meat loaf, dad’s roast beef – for me, a Hot Brown tastes like home.