Tennessee, you sly temptress. I came in thinking I’d “just try a little,” and somehow ended up in a food coma Olympics.
Biscuits stacked like tiny towers of buttery ambition, fried chicken that snapped at me like it had attitude, and pies so decadent I half-expected them to wink. Every plate was a dare, every bite a mic-drop moment.
I wasn’t just eating. I was negotiating with gravity, balancing ambition and stomach space like a high-stakes game show…