Barnstormin'

Yesterday, my dad and I drove to the tiny Knott County High School gym to watch an afternoon of magic.

Rajon Rando chats with Coach Sheppard's son.

Now, Daddy and I wouldn't have traveled twenty miles into a neighboring county to see a magician.  But, we were as excited as little kids going to the circus for what we did see: The Big Blue All-Stars team, a squad of former UK Wildcats (and a couple of non-Wildcats whom we wish we'd signed) who now play professionally.  It' was an old-fashioned barnstorming tour, courtesy of the NBA Lockout.

In Eastern Kentucky, few things mean more to us than basketball and family.  For most of us, members of the University of Kentucky's basketball team are family. We often recall our players by the way their respective seasons intersected with our own lives: All-Stars Coach Jeff Sheppard, for example, is my contemporary.  He was on Kentucky's two National Champion teams, which just so happen to coincide with my own matriculation in Lexington.  We remember them fondly long after they leave the basketball program --  DeMarcus Cousins, who only played one season at Kentucky (but what a season it was!) drew multiple standing ovations during the exhibition game.  I laughed to my father that I'd be willing to bet that anyone in the audience would gladly invite DeMarcus home for dinner if given the opportunity.

As a die-hard basketball fan with deep Eastern Kentucky roots, I found the All-Stars game to be a surreal juxtaposition.  Kentucky basketball legends -- many of whom now command multi-million dollar contracts in the NBA -- playing ball in the same tiny high school gymnasium where I once stood as a cheerleader.  These superstars were playing against a local college team -- the same school for which my daddy played college ball, on whose campus my granddaddy quite literally grew up, and whose original buildings were designed by my great-great-uncle.  I was cheering for an alumnus of a recent NBA Champion team while running into grade school classmates.  And yet, it all boiled down to one simple word: Love.

Sheppard coaches Cousins and Faried.

As fans, we were there because we love the game.  Both the All-Stars and the Alice Lloyd Eagles were there because they love the game.  We were there to express our appreciation for all the hours of entertainment the players had provided. As Josh "Jorts" Harrellson clowned for the crowd, we cheered for the remarkable lessons in perseverance and dedication that his career at Kentucky taught us all.  As Morehead State's Kenneth Faried (my little brother's college classmate) executed dunk after dunk, we were cheering more for the man who took down Louisville in the first round of the NCAA tournament than for each impressive shot.  

But, mainly, we were cheering as 6'8 Faried -- the 22nd pick in the 2011 draft and future Denver Nuggets superstar-- spent a sunny October Sunday rolling the basketball to an adorably tiny toddler during the shootaround.  As Faried lifted the pretty pink-clad child up for a photo op, it was easy to imagine that he and his All-Star Teammates consider us family as well.

Opening Weekend

I'd been in college for about a month when the first weekend of October rolled around.  I was surprised when I went to class that Friday morning -- suddenly, tons of guys were in coat and tie and girls were in the finest dresses that Laura Ashley had to offer.  I knew it wasn't a particular fraternity or sorority event at 11 a.m., so I sheepishly asked why everyone was so gussied up.  "It's Opening Day at Keeneland," someone responded. "People are going straight on to the track."

Image via Keeneland.

I grew up in a small Eastern Kentucky town -- one that adheres to pretty strict Baptist values.  I knew that Lexington was famous for its horses, and I even watched the Derby on television every year.  But, there was still a little piece of my upbringing that told me that racetracks are for gambling.  And drinking.  And, likely, cavorting.  Things that we just didn't do back home.  Soon, I wound up going for a day at the track with my sorority sisters, and found that it wasn't an unsavory enterprise at all.  In fact, it was one of the more civilized enterprises which I'd ever undertaken.  The beautifully manicured track, the call to post -- it was all so meticulous.  There were even attendants in the bathroom!  It was as though I'd entered a portal to a more sophisticated time somewhere along Versailles Road.

Image via Herald-Leader

Lexington is the Horse Capital of the World*.  The fragile, temperamental racehorses comprise the city's signature industry, and notoriously live more pampered, sheltered lives than most Lexingtonians.  City streets are named for the most famous horses, as are cocktails, restaurants, and anything else you can think of.  It's a far cry from my hometown, where, although you heard of the occasional pet pony, most horses were farm animals.  Horses plowed fields and occasionally entertained the kids; they certainly didn't have HVAC systems in their barns, nor their own pets. But, the day I stood in the paddock and looked in the eyes of a competitive racehorse, I knew that racing was the horse's true calling.  

After a year or so in Lexington, I began to take the track for granted as well.  I went to many Opening Days of my own.  I learned that I loved to take in the track on rainy weekdays, when the crowds were sparse and the jockeys compensated for sloppy tracks with more strategic riding.  Over the years, I've attended countless professional events in the dining rooms and meeting rooms.  I've introduced members of my family to the track.  And, yes, I've engaged in a little cavorting of my own.  But, no matter how often I visit the track, I always take one moment to remember my initial reaction.  Things just always seem a little nostalgic and a lot more sophisticated at Keeneland.  It's as though you're traveling through the track's 75 year history every time you walk into the Clubhouse or down to the rail. And that is, indeed, a magical journey.

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* Get over yourself, Ocala.

Red's Donuts

I'll make this simple. Paducah is home to the best donuts in the world. And look, I like to consider myself something of a fried dough connoisseur. I've eaten ponchkes in New York City, beignets in New Orleans, and yo-yos from a food cart in Tunisia, but nothing - and I mean nothing - comes close to a glazed donut from Red's. 

The story goes that Vernon Rudolph bought a doughnut shop from a French chef from New Orleans. As a part of the deal, he also got the chef's secret recipe for yeast-raised doughnuts. The shop eventually became Red's and if the name Vernon Rudolph sounds familar, it's because he went on to found Krispy Kreme. 

I won't sully this discussion with a comparison of Krispy Kreme and a Red's donut because there is no comparison. I will only say this - Red's donuts don't have to be eaten hot off the assembly line. They are good cold. They are good several days old. They are good - no matter what. 

So, next time you're in Paducah or anywhere in a 100 mile radius I suggest you stop by. You will not be disappointed.

~ Sarah Stewart Holland

The Sartorial Side of Keeneland

I’ve often thought I’d like to see the cast of Jersey Shore navigate a fish-out-of-water setting. Instead of putting them in their native New Jersey, or flashy Miami, or even Italy (where they’ve done nothing but make all Americans look like tasteless rubes), why not take them out of their natural habitat and send them to the most WASP-ish place on earth, the Keeneland clubhouse? I think America would enjoy seeing the Situation be forced to put on a blue blazer over a velour Ed Hardy track suit. We’d love watching Snooki be escorted out by one of those sweet elderly ushers, mascara streaming down her face, after a day of behaving badly. Actually, let’s face it: she wouldn’t last five minutes.

Keeneland chic is anti-Jerseylicious; it’s low-key, well-bred, and effortless by definition. The perfect outfit for a fall day at Keeneland has been the same since the track opened in 1936: brown leather boots, a tweed dress, a cashmere cardigan, pearls. Too much shine or bling is a fatal mistake. If you look like you’re trying too hard, you’ve missed the whole point.

There’s a difference between dressing for Churchill Downs and Keeneland, and I think that difference can be distilled down to one factor: effort. At Keeneland, everyone does try; the key is to make the right amount of effort: not too little, but definitely not too much.

Churchill Downs, bless its heart, has an anything goes, Bourbon Street quality. Especially at night racing, it’s all gluttony, excess, and pimp hats. If pimp hats seem out of place at Keeneland, it’s because there’s no dance party in the paddock. The paddock there is used for more traditional paddock purposes—horse viewing, people watching, and strutting of one’s stuff. At night racing, the main use of the Churchill Downs paddock is an after-dark dance party with someone called “DJ Squeeze.”

I’m not knocking the dance party. I want Churchill Downs to thrive on days other than Derby Day, and night racing truly brings out people from all walks of life and packs them into the massive new structure that is Churchill Downs. All God’s children go to night racing, and they fill in every section and level of seats according to the pre-appointed social position prescribed by their ticket or, Lord-willing, Turf Club pin. Of course, there are portions of the track that will forever remain pimp hat-free; the best place to watch the paddock carnivale is from a perch high above, where the dress code is more Lilly than Snooki.

What I love about Keeneland, though, is its lack of flash, its quiet dignity. It’s where we Kentuckians go when we want to be on our best behavior, and we know to adhere to its old-school dress codes and decorum. All our statewide vices may be on parade—the bourbon, the tobacco, the gambling—but for the most part we try to bring our best manners with us, too.

We may live in a Jerseyfied world, but as long as there's a Keeneland, there'll be at least one place where a classic strand of pearls trumps rhinestone-encrusted sunglasses, where men are required to wear jackets, and women are strongly encouraged to act like ladies. And we mostly do—even as we carry flasks full of Four Roses in our purses. Snooki could learn a thing or two.

In Photos: St. James Art Fair

Every year I hear about people going to the St. James Art Fair in Old Louisville. I went a couple of times when I was younger. I remember that it's always around early October and it's definitely a Kentucky event that is reminiscent of fall.
The St. James Art Fair website describes the show as follows:

The St. James Court Art Show ® is a juried fine arts and fine crafts show. Always held the first full weekend of October, it hosts an impressive 750 artists from North America. Held in the heart of historic Old Louisville among the country's largest collection of Victorian homes, the St. James Court Art Show® has for over five decades provided our neighborhood, city and state with a rich cultural and artistic legacy.

This year's fair has already passed, but definitely put it on your "Kentucky Events Calendar" for next year!

Kick-Ass Kentucky

I'm sure y'all have seen the Kentucky for Kentucky project by now.

If you haven't, it's a couple of guys with deep Kentucky roots (and even deeper Central Kentucky accents) who've set out to make a Super Bowl commercial about our beautiful Commonwealth.  They only need to raise $3.5 million dollars by November 7th.   Their mission is to spread the word of what they call our Kick-Ass Kentucky: the home of beautiful people like Diane Sawyer and George Clooney as well as icons like Dr. Thompson and the Colonel, and the birthplace of bluegrass music and bourbon.  Now, I think this is brilliant.  It's the perfect blend: it's funny, a bit ironic, and infused with a deep love of our homeland.  It makes me want to support the project, and to dine at Griffin Van Meter's fabulous Stella's Kentucky Deli even more than I already do. (Seriously, y'all.  Go there. Now. You'll thank me.)

Since I first saw this video a few weeks ago, I've thought a lot about a "Kick-Ass Kentucky." Now, I think it's both hilarious and commendable that these guys are spreading the word about our awesome state in a country boy-meets-hipster fashion. Sometimes, I'm forced to acknowledge that the whole world doesn't always think Kentucky is quite as Kick-Ass as I (and the dudes behind the commercial efforts) do.

Over the years, I've worked for a international, Midwestern-based corporation and lived in a large Southern city.  I've encountered a lot of stereotypes, half-baked ideas, and general misconceptions about the Commonwealth.   I've explained, time and again, that my family is neither toothless and illiterate nor the owners of champion racehorses.  It's the oddest thing to me, it seems that  I always encounter Kentucky stereotypes that place us in the extreme ends of the socioeconomic spectrum. Somewhere between explaining that I'd never once dated a cousin and that I'd never sat beside Jessica Simpson on Millionaire's Row, I realized that, like most stereotypes, these arise more from ignorance than malice. The truth is, most of the Kentuckians I know are educated and hard-working.  My friends drive Volvos, carry Kate Spade bags,  nurse a Starbucks addiction and watch Jon Stewart.  The Kentucky of my adult life isn't all that different from anyplace else I could live.

Well, except for the fact that Kentucky is a little more Kick-Ass.

Kentucky Places: The Seelbach

Louisville's Seelbach Hotel is a throwback to more elegant days. With a storied past that includes bourbon with Scott Fitzgerald and poker with Al Capone, the Seelbach is a flashy time capsule amidst downtown Louisville's office buildings and tourist sites.

Built in the early 1900s by Bavarian brothers Otto and Louis Seelbach, the hotel became synonymous with luxury.  The early guest list included gangsters like Al Capone and Lucky Luciano, as well as Presidents Taft and Harding. F. Scott Fitzgerald is said to have been ejected from the Seelbach after a night of debauchery, and later included the hotel as the backdrop for Daisy and Tom Buchanan's wedding in The Great Gatsby.

The Seelbach has been renovated, rebranded, and reinvented many times since its 1905 opening, but retains the elegance and charm of its early years.  Most every Kentucky girl has a Seelbach story; we've attended frat formals and weddings  in the Rathskeller,  met colleagues for drinks in the lobby bar, and dined in the five-diamond Oak Room.  It's as much a Louisville tradition as baseball bats or horse racing.

I always recommend the Seelbach to anyone visiting Louisville for the first (or the fortieth) time.  The  gorgeous rooms, complete with four-poster mahogany beds, are the epitome of Southern hospitality. (Did I mention that my beloved labrador, Max, was treated like a king there?)  It's thrilling to imagine you're staying among the ghosts of Prohibition-era gangsters or Jazz Age belles.  The Starbucks (around the corner from my beau's old office) is the best in the city.  The lunch buffet at Otto's is a downtown tradition.  And the services at Z Salon are amazing. (I can't recommend the massages highly enough!)

Just try to keep yourself a little more restrained than Fitzgerald did...

Seelbach Hilton
500 Fourth Street
Louisville, KY 40202
http://www.seelbachhilton.com