The Hot Brown: Kentucky's Most Famous (and Least Eaten) "Staple"

The Hot Brown: Kentucky's Most Famous (and Least Eaten) "Staple"

Alright, folks, let's clear the air.

Every time someone from out of state rolls into Kentucky, bless their heart, they ask about the Hot Brown.

"Oh, the Kentucky Hot Brown! That's your state's food staple, right? I hear every restaurant offers it!"

And yeah, every restaurant does offer it. They put it on the menu right next to the fried catfish and the Derby Pie, like it's some kind of everyday, down-home grub.

But let me tell you, as a Kentucky Dude who's lived here longer than most folks have owned a decent pair of boots, the Hot Brown is about as much of a "staple" as a tuxedo is for a fishing trip.

I don't know a single soul who's ever cranked one of those things out in their home kitchen.

My nanny, who could make a feast out of a single turnip and a prayer, never once thought, "You know what this Tuesday night needs? An open-faced turkey sandwich drowned in Mornay sauce, topped with bacon, and then broiled until it looks like a golden-brown monument to dairy."

Nah. Too many steps, too much cheese for a casual Tuesday.

And at restaurants? Unless you're in a fancy hotel dining room, or a tourist trap where folks are wearing fanny packs and asking for directions to the Bourbon Trail, you ain't seeing locals ordering it.

We're getting the burger, the fried chicken, maybe a pulled pork sandwich.

The Hot Brown is that distant, slightly intimidating relative you only see at weddings, impressive, but definitely not part of the regular rotation.

It's a culinary Frankenstein's monster: a delicious, glorious, artery-clogging Frankenstein's monster, but a monster nonetheless.

So, if it's not our everyday grub, where did this legendary (and rarely consumed) beast even come from?

A Brief, Less Ranty, History Lesson

The Hot Brown isn't some ancient Appalachian secret; it was born out of late-night hunger at the Brown Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky, in the 1920s.

Chef Fred Schmidt created it as a hearty alternative to ham and eggs for weary ballroom dancers: an open-faced turkey sandwich on white bread, smothered in rich Mornay sauce, topped with Pecorino Romano, bacon, and tomatoes, then broiled until bubbly.

It was a luxurious indulgence for hotel guests, not a common household dish.

So, I'm making a formal plea to all Kentucky restaurateurs and history buffs:

Let's retire the Hot Brown from its undeserved "staple" status.

Let it live on in the hallowed halls of the Brown Hotel, a monument to a bygone era, but please, for the love of all that is holy and truly Kentuckian, take it off every other menu.

We've got fried chicken, burgoo, and Derby Pie that actually get eaten.