As suspected, my posting on my NEW and IMPROVED blog has faded at a rapid rate. BUT! I will not abandon it to the wiles of system administrators who will delete all your hard work for the slight infraction of not paying your bill. NO WAY! It’s just that starting a new job, packing up an entire house full of stuff, finding a new house (apartment) in a city on the other side of the country, planning a 5-week long trip to Europe, throwing your cutest husband a 30th birthday party, and attempting to enjoy your last weeks in Nashville take us an awful lot of time. BUT! I vow to be better. Starting….now.
If you have talked to me for longer than one minute, you probably know about my all-encompassing love of food. I love food. I love all food. I would marry food if I hadn’t already married a beardy Blake. Unfortunately (for me), I have mostly found the food situation in Nashville to be lacking. Don’t get me wrong – I can gorge myself on southern cooking with the best of them, but there are only so many times someone with my propensity towards ENORMOUS THIGHS can eat chicken tenders and still fit into reasonably sized clothing. So, when I first heard about The Catbird Seat, I thought it had to be a rumor.
“Wait, a restaurant in Nashville was on the list of top ten new restaurants in GQ? Are you sure?” I would ask, condescendingly (because I suck.)
The answer was overwhelmingly YES.
Blake and I debated going as a Valentine’s day present to one another, but we just could not justify the price. While very much a food-lover, I am also a money-not-haver, so $100 per plate plus a $30 drink pairing (What? You don’t have to do the drink pairing? Blasphemy!) just did not fit into the budget of two people with one job between them.
But I still talked about it. I can rationalize almost any “experiential” splurge in the world. I mean, “It’s once in the lifetime! When will we be back in Nashville? We have to do it!” And finally, “What if we agree to go only if I get a job before we leave Nashville? It can be both a graduation dinner and a YAY! I got a job dinner!”
I got a job!
So, off to The Catbird Seat it was.
The restaurant has about 20 seats, all at a bar circling the kitchen, where the two chefs and two other people (sous chefs? Helper outers? I am not the most versed on kitchen titles, despite all the Top Chef’s I have watched over the years) prepare all the food. There is no menu, although they do ask if you have any dietary restrictions (I considered telling them I was a vegan with celiac disease just to be a little punk. But that would have GREATLY reduced the deliciousness of my meal, and Blake refused to be the guinea pig. Butt head.)
Then, they bring out course after course of complete randomness that coincidentally is also delicious. For example:
NOT A OREO! This is, in fact, some sort delicious mutant of mushroom “cookie” with some sort of cheese “cream filling” inside (man I should be a food writer), a fact I discovered only AFTER cheerfully popping it in my mouth immediately after sitting down, exclaiming “Mmm! Oreo!” Note: This is not “approved” fine dining behavior.
We were served 9 courses in total, not counting the seemingly endless tiny things that kept showing up after I threw in the flag (seriously, there was a moment where I was pretty sure I was about to vomit from over-eating.) I won’t describe, because, well, as seen above – I seem to not have retained all the important details of what I was eating, but I will attempt to at least sort of let you what all these pictures are.
Oh, and we ended on SORT OF AN OREO. But I was too full to even look it fully in an eye, so I have to take Blake’s word that it was just as delicious as the Oreo-Imposter.