Friends of the Fellini Kroger

Have you ever been in a hodge-podge of society and thought you were the only “normal” person there? I once saw a guy at the flea market with a parrot on his head and a woman with a ferret on a leash. It’s funny and captivating – maybe even a little scary. That’s also describes the North Knoxville Kroger, affectionately known by some as the “Fellini” Kroger.

Located at 2217 N. Broadway just behind the Taco Bell and the old gas station, the Fellini Kroger got its name for Italian film director and producer Federico Fellini. Fellini is known for his bizarre characters and surreal situations.

On any given night at the Fellini Kroger you could see a fight between a midget and a one-armed man, obese albino twins with matching overalls, ladies fighting over rutabagas or a rugged construction worker with a Pomeranian dog strapped to his back. I once saw a plus-sized grandma with a blue mohawk and Z’s shaved onto the side of her head wearing baggy pants that read “Bite me” repeatedly.

Those are just some of the experiences posted by members of the Facebook group “Friends of the Fellini (North Knox) Kroger.” Facebook user Ann Kidd says she started the group simply because she lives nearby and had always heard stories about the store. The group has more than 450 members so far. “I never imagined it taking off like it has,” says Kidd. “But that just goes to show how well-known the place is and what a reputation it has.”

Group members post their experiences and photos from the infamous store. For instance, there’s a guy who says his girlfriend’s feet were worshipped by a customer while they were shopping. Another group member says the deli clerk tried to convince him the mahi-mahi was dolphin, “you know, like Flipper.” So the employees are Fellini characters as well.

People have been flashed, some characters have declared their level of stoned-ness, and others have been spotted on foot at the Taco Bell drive-through, which is easily considered Fellini-esque by association. I spotted a man buying nothing but a super-sized bottle of mouthwash to drink.

But so far the character that is ubiquitous, yet elusive, is Nipple Guy. He’s a fellow whose appearances have been documented on the Facebook group no less than three times. Nipple Guy just doesn’t seem to understand why men have nipples, and he seeks answers from Fellini Kroger patrons. Sometimes he serenades them.

It's difficult to describe. So, take your in-laws when they come to town. Or take your girlfriend for a cheap date. There’s always something playing at the Fellini Kroger.

The photo above is of Savannah Vaughn. She doesn't work at the Fellini Kroger, but could be called the original Friend of the Fellini Kroger. She's always there arranging product on the shelves or greeting customers as they arrive. It's just not the same without her.

Popcorn Sutton: A Modern Day Dooley

Modern Day Dooley

I remember very well

The day ole Dooley died

The women folk looked sorry

And the men stood round and cried

Now Dooley's on the mountain

He lies there all alone

They put a jug beside him

And a barrel for his stone.

To say that Popcorn Sutton was odd would not be fair to the moonshiner. He was a strange old man. I have never read his book or sampled his product, but I met Popcorn Sutton at his home six months before he died.

I was working as a production assistant for a film crew. They were in town to shoot Johnny Knoxville interviewing local characters, and Popcorn was one such character.

At the time, Popcorn had not yet been sentenced on his conviction of felony possession of a firearm and illegally brewing spirits. He lived at the top of a hill in Cocke County and best as I could tell he kept to himself. Of course he was on house arrest when I met him, only allowed to leave the property for certain occasions such as doctor visits. I just didn’t get the feeling he went around bothering people before he got busted.

Popcorn had already purchased his casket and plastic flowers to go on top. There was a child’s casket in his front yard he said was a beer cooler. It was about 4-feet long, white and has little rails on the sides. He told me as we were leaving that I was the only woman who ever had her picture taken with him he hadn’t kissed. I’m still not sure if he was congratulating me or looking for a hand-out.

Johnny Knoxville hit the nail on the head when he described Popcorn as ribald. That day we learned about things we could have gone the rest of our lives without knowing. You can check out Jackassworld.com for the interview with Johnny Knoxville.

He had a collection of rusty artifacts from San Quentin State Prison, a guest house and an estranged daughter. He also, apparently, liked his women large and had a healthy appetite for pleasing women. He even showed us the sex stirrups in his bedroom.

But underneath it all, it seemed to me at the time, he had finally developed a fear of the law. Popcorn had only done what he knew how to do: make moonshine. And he didn’t care who knew it. He was regularly asked to demonstrate at fairs, and other historical reenactments. Reportedly, he ran more than just water through the still at one demonstration, if you get my drift. And being arrested four previous times kind of put a target on his back.

For whatever reason, his fifth conviction was the one that made him decide to clean up his act. Too little too late, the ubiquitous “they” say. When we were visiting with him that day Popcorn said, “I just hope and pray they don’t send me off.” Of course, he was speaking of going to prison. He never would have survived had he gone. Popcorn chain-smoked non-filtered cigarettes, drank Ensure for nutrition, and although he claimed his liquor was clean, I’m sure the years of homemade brew had taken a toll.

In March, Popcorn received a letter instructing him to report for his 18-month sentence. He was to report on Friday and was found dead on Monday in his car.

Ultimately, it seems as if he lived as died the way he wanted. Strangely enough, the foot-marker for Popcorn’s grave was sitting in front of his house when I was there. Appropriately, it read: “Popcorn said f*** you.” Well said, Popcorn. Well said.

Le beaujolais nouveau est arrive!!

As a professional caterer for nearly ten years now, the Christmas holiday season has become more of a chore than a celebration. Whether I'm in a client's home or our banquet facility, there are candy canes, mistle toe, fake wrapped gifts under fake Christmas trees. Beginning right after Thanksgiving and running straight through until Christmas Eve, it's 80-hour work weeks, eating the same "Holiday" food day in and day out (usually cold and left on the buffet), and no family time to speak of. And then there's the music.

The same tired old songs plying on a loop over and over and over again. Retail workers and package delivery drivers feel my pain.

I have long envied the families and work groups I've catered to. Smiling and drinking because they're happy, not necessarily because they're overworked, tired and sore. They still have the Christmas spirit. I'm not talking about the birth of our lord; I'm talking about the warm, fuzzy feeling from hanging out, baking, drinking, watching the Peanuts Christmas on TV.

Some people think it's cute when the cat plays with Christmas ornaments, then they pick them up and put them back on the tree. By the time Christmas arrives, it looks like I dumped the box of ornaments on the floor and walked away, which I may well have done. My tree dies because my back hurts from loading trucks that I can't be bothered to get down and water the tree. Last year my husband built a contraption of tubes connected to the wall that carries water down to the tree well and now we don't have to crawl behind the tree. Thank you Sug.

As a kid, like all kids I suppose, Christmas was my favorite holiday because of the gifts. Now, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday (second is my birthday. Again, the gifts.)

Thanksgiving is sort of like the calm before the storm for me. I know it's coming, and I have time to mentally prepare. I go to Chattanooga to see my family, we exchange Christmas wish lists and sometimes exchange gifts. I hug and kiss everyone because I'm about to head down into the trenches of Christmas catering. I usually need to decorate my Christmas tree in the week between Thanksgiving and the Storm.

And my favorite wine is released the week before Thanksgiving. It's Georges Duboeuf's Beaujolais nouveau (not to be confused with the Beaujolais primeur or Beaujolais villages.)

I am not a sommelier, but I know more now than I used to. I used to buy wine according to: 1. price
2. how pretty the label was.

In 2000 (Ironically, the year I began my catering career) I bought a bottle of wine because it fit my two criteria-- it was inexpensive and colorfully packaged. It was the Beaujolais nouveau I now consider to be my own, private tradition. For years I have anxiously stalked the liquor store clerks the day after day beginning at Halloween. "Is my wine in yet?":................"No, any day now."

I have been buying it right before Thanksgiving for years now--usually when we're getting ready to decorate our tree (this year we're doing a Christmas palm tree!) I force him to listen to carols, wrap gifts reflect on the upcoming holiday seasons and look at photos from seasons past. This is my one chance to play the part and enjoy the season before I'm inundated with all the food, song and drink that other people actually enjoy at this time of year.

Only this year have I discovered that there's actually a story to this wine. French government, arbitrarily it seems, prohibits the Beaujolais from being distributed or "corked" prior to the third Thursday in November. Hence, my connection to it at Thanksgiving. Apparently, I was slow to get on the booze train because people all over have been privy to this.

There are "roll out" parties across the country and restaurants arrange special dinners to pair with the wine the day it's released. I had no idea its arrival was celebrated by anyone but me. It's almost as if I've suddenly joined a club or fraternity of sorts.

The wine is a red and best served slightly chilled. It pairs easily with almost any food. It's more of a pedestrian wine that's easy to gulp, than it is a "serious" wine that needs to have its bouquet discussed. It's light and fun, like the holidays. Please, no political discussions when I've got my glass of wine in hand.

This year I plan on doing what I always do: enjoy my Thanksgiving with family, hug and kiss everyone goodbye for the next month and head down into the trenches of Christmas catering with January on my mind. This year, though, I think I'll share.

Sante!

Check out past labels

Check out Roll out party pictures

So long, Coach.

Since the day I stepped foot on UT's campus, Phillip Fulmer has been my coach. I never played football, although I am among the few "outsiders" who has had the pleasure of walking on Shields-Watkins field (although not in the checkerboard). But he's the only coach I've known.

People may think we're weird to celebrate 10 years since winning the national championship, but it was arguably the best thing to happen to our program. And people may think
Coach Fulmer leaving is the best thing to happen to the team.

You know what they say about opinions.

It's funny to me how, in a situation like this, it's almost like he's dead. A week ago I was cussing about losing games, now I feel like I'm mourning the loss of a family member. It's sort of like the saying, "You don't know what you have until it's gone."

Only time will tell if that saying is true.

I'm tired of losing football games, but I'm sad to see a Tennessee hero leave on such a down note.

Thanks for the memories, Coach.

Good luck.

I'm ready to go

I started packing my house a couple of months ago. It's funny, Mr. B. usually tells me if I have an idea that's hair-brained or something he thinks I shouldn't do. And usually, it frustrates me. This time, he let me start packing the house back in the summer. He knew we weren't financially ready to make the move and he hadn't begun his job search, but for some reason he let me pack our cold-weather clothes.

I left out the items suitable for fall (except for my Peyton Manning jersey, and I was sad when I had to unpack it and realized we were nowhere close to being ready to move.), but packed the heavy winter stuff.

I packed vases, photos and other non essential household items.

Now what I want to know is: where the hell were his admonishments about half-cocked ideas then?

I started packing because I wanted to be able move at a moment's notice. And I thought it might have worked.

I had a phone interview a couple of days ago. They asked if I would be able to come to Clearwater for a face-to-face interview. I explained that I was able to come at a moment's notice.

Well, they can't be bothered to return my phone call or email. What the hell is wrong with people?

Whatever. I guess I'm starting over.

I'll post the name of the hotel if I, in fact, don't receive the return phone call.