5 to Try: Nashville places every tourist should eat
Every Nashville visitor has a certain checklist. It might include a “Nashville” stock exterior shot drive-by (here's hoping that show comes back on another station for another season). Maybe it’s a dreamed-of visit to the Country Music Hall of Fame. It could even be a Keith and Nicole sighting, which are always exciting because you're trying to act like you're too cool to care but inside you are Freaking. Out. (In case you were wondering, you're not allowed to bother celebs when in Music City. That's just how we do.) But that checklist should definitely include a visit to some restaurants you might not have expected 10 or 15 years ago but which definitely have become the exception, rather than the rule, when it comes to Nashville’s dining scene.
404 Kitchen
404 12th Ave. S.
the404nashville.com; 615-251-1404
Just because our Southern cuisine is stone cold awesome doesn’t mean you can’t still get a seasonally awesome hot stone crab dish. Specifically, Chef Matt Bolus' Florida Stone Crab dish, currently crabbing up the menu with it’s stone-cold awesomeness. It’s served with frascatelli, a Roman pasta-dumpling that kind of looks like cauliflower; chervil, an herbal cousin to the parsley family; preserved Meyer lemon, which is the second best way to eat lemon (after pie); and colatura di alici, the anchovy-based version of fish sauce. You can thank me later for saving you all those Google searches, and for turning you on to this dish.
The Pharmacy Burger Parlor & Beer Garden
731 Mcferrin Ave.
thepharmacynashville.com; 615-712-9517
On a flight from San Francisco recently, the guy next to me asked for some Nashville foodie recommendations. When I moved on to burgers, he said, haughtily, “We didn’t come to Nashville to eat a burger.” Um, OK. But we are real flesh-and-blood people whose diet isn’t comprised entirely of fried chicken, collard greens and biscuits while we strum our gee-tars on the porch barefooted. So, you know, we do enjoy burgers, and some dang good ones at that. So when I bite into my Farm Burger and the yellow yolk oozes out over the bacon, I will wipe off my chin and salute you, San Francisco plane guy. You’re really missing out.
Five Daughters Bakery
1110 Caruthers Ave.
fivedaughtersbakery.com; 615-490-6554
Every generation adds a little something that, over time, builds up our civilization. Fred Flintstone added the first Jeep, foot-brakes optional. Twentieth-century minds brought us television, which can be both good (“Orange Is the New Black”) and bad (“The Bachelor.”) And this generation? They’ve gifted us the cronut. Now, whether you call it a Super-Fluffy Mega Doughnut, God’s Gift to the Pastry World or, as in the case of Five Daughters, the 100 Layer Donut, at the first bite your taste buds will perform an impromptu a capella version of “Allelujah” that would rival the Vienna Boys Choir.
Martin’s Bar-B-Que Joint
7238 Nolensville Road
martinsbbqjoint.com; 615-776-1856
There are a few things you should know about Nashville barbecue: We don’t have a signature style like North Carolina or Kansas City, which is why we argue constantly about just what barbecue is. Consequently, any barbecue joint worth its pulled pork in a vinegar sauce (I may be a Nashvillian, but I was born a Tar Heel!) knows to carry all styles on the menu. So, yeah, you can usually get wet or dry ribs; sauce in white, red, spicy or mild; beef brisket; chicken; smoked turkey; and of course pulled pork. If they’re really for real, they’ll have mac-n-cheese as a side. If they’re really really for real? They’ll be roasting a whole hog on the pit every 24 hours.
Wholly Chow
2948 Sidco Drive
whollychow.com; 615-823-8362
You know a relationship will stand the test of time when you can hold your tongue through his bad driving (all the while internally screaming, "For the love of God, use your BLINKER!") and he can just sigh quietly while you cuss out your computer when it does that one thing that makes you lose your mind. But the real test is whether someone can reach over for a bite of pancake without drawing back a bloody stump. I kind of can’t believe I’m giving up my secret brunch spot, but it’s every food journalist’s responsibility to give up the goods, so I guess I have no choice. Just like I had no choice but to stab my beloved lightly on the back of the hand. (He’ll be fine, after the shots.)
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