full, buzzed, and happy
I WAS IN LOUISVILLE FOR THIRTY-SIX HOURS ON A WORK TRIP and had a night to myself. All I knew about the city was that it did bourbon and baseball bats well and that the place I was staying, the Brown Hotel, had invented a famous sandwich, the Hot Brown, one of those dishes whose first bite is a revelation—how have I lived this long without eating one of these?—and whose fifth bite brings you nearer to death. Try it. Once. I asked the concierge at the Brown for a restaurant recommendation. “Proof on Main,” he said. Then, with what seemed like a note of pride, he added: “Esquire magazine called it one of the best restaurants in America.” It was 2010, five years before I started working at Esquire, but I…