The Story Behind the Dish: Flyte, Nashville, TN

I am a sucker for a story, and I realized on a recent trip to Nashville that knowing the story behind my food seemed to make it more special.  Mark and I returned to an old favorite, a local, independently owned restaurant in the 8th Avenue South neighborhood, called Flyte.  I once read that after three or four bites of the same flavor, our taste buds tire and no longer appreciate nuances.  Flyte is the perfect antidote to this conundrum as they serve many of their dishes and wines in small tastings of three, called flights, a concept that originated in wine tasting where it allowed one to compare wines side-by-side, more objectively. Their wine list is extensive and brilliantly categorizes the wine by old and new vine with detailed descriptions like, "crushed ripe black cherry and blackberry fruit, evolving into bittersweet chocolate on the finish. Full bodied and chewy."   

After ordering, we received a lushious carrot custard as an amuse bouche from the chef, Matthew Lackey.  The thick, rich custard was served in bite size rectangles and had a deep, sweet carrot flavor that awakened our senses for the plates yet to come. 

As it was a quiet night, Chef Lackey visited our table to chat.  I recognize that all chefs don't want to be celebrities, but as a patron I cannot help but feel more connected to my food when the chef makes an appearance on the floor, and this was the first of many visits throughout the night from this twenty-five year old, enthusiastic chef, sporting wild hipster hair and an effervescent personality.  He shared his inspiration behind our first appetizer.   On his drive from Charleston, South Carolina where he learned his trade under the tutelege of reknown James Beard winning Chef Sean Brock, to Nashville for his first executive chef opportunity at Flyte, he realized he was in the region of a local dairy, whose products he adored.  He stopped a passing tractor, asking for directions to the dairy, only to find out the driver was the dairy farmer himself.  Typical of a small town story set in the south, the farmer invited him to dine on his front porch, where he served fresh cream and cheeses with beets from the garden.  As Chef Lackey left the farm to drive west, he thought about the flavors he just enjoyed and how he might combine them with his Charleston roots.  It was then that his peekytoe crab appetizer was born.  Tender crab tasting lightly of the sea, was served on a bed of golden sliced beets, with baby pea shoots, and topped with burrata cheese.  The homemade burrata, which is a fresh mozzarella filled with cream, added a luxuriousness to the crisp flavors of the vegetables and the brininess of the crab.


  

Our next appetizer was a beautiful marinated pork belly, served over turnips that were cut into paper thin noodles, all resting in a Benton's bacon kombu broth, with rapinito and oyster mushrooms.  The pork was sumptuous, the turnips crunchy and the broth amazingly light, yet flavorful.    

Seeing as we were at Flyte we had to try the soup and salad flights.  The carrot ginger soup was sweet and creamy, the anasazi bean was savory, salty and warming, and lastly, the one that rocked my world, the beautiful flavor of roasted turnip was brought out in a silky, cheesy, bowl-licking third soup.  The salad flight inlcuded an arugula salad with goat chevre, candied hazelnuts and a light, perfectly salted walnut oil dressing.  Next was a red beet salad, which showcased the crisp, sweet vegetable along with pears, arugula and a sherry vinaigrette. Finally there was a malt salad served with apples, spring greens, feta and toasted pecans.  


As a main dish, the Spanish turbo, cooked immaculately, was meaty and light in flavor, served over celeriac, baby carrots, and cippolini onions.  The celeriac, a personal favorite, was divine.  It had enough texture, yet melted in your mouth with that deep celery root flavor.  The confit Sonoma duck leg, was falling off the bone over brussel sprouts, braised cabbage and a tangy mustard sauce.  


Clearly there was no chance of dessert after the afore described spread, however when our server brought the check along with hommade caramels, there was no stopping me.  What should have been a simple little treat, was actually quite exquisite. Chewy, and buttery, the sweetness was offset by a hint of salt, leaving me wanting a whole box of caramels!  
Upon reflection, I realized that our dinner was much more of an event, than a meal.  From the smallest dishes like the carrot custard and the caramel to the peekie toe crab, pork belly and duck, everything was executed exactingly.  The star of the show, was Chef Lackey who took joy in explaining the inspiration for his dishes, talking about the sourcing for his products, including the relationships he had developed with local farmers, and even sharing his plans for a new city garden at the restaurant.  His passion is contagious, and evident in every dish served. 

The Patterson House, Nashville, TN: Cocktail Divinity

Spring fever hit me hard this year. Unseasonably warm temperatures and an eerie quiet at work, due to spring break, had me itching for excitement.  An especially interesting episode of American Pickers, highlighting their new store, sealed the deal - it was time for a road trip to Nashville. The drive north was everything you romanticize spring to be, the hills swathed in color from the southern red buds, with their bright, almost fluorescent fuschia limbs, green fields dotted with cattle, and the occasional tractor holding up traffic. We planned our trip so that we would arrive in Nashville in time for a pre-dinner cocktail at The Patterson House. On a previous trip, I attempted imbibe there, but ignorantly arrived after dinner on a Saturday only to learn the wait was over two hours. Fool me once, shame on me...  This time, I took a lesson from my parents and arrived at the nondescript, sign-less, corner building, at the early bird hour of 6:30 PM where along with other seasoned patrons, we had a choice of bar or booth. Upon entering we were greeted and whisked through lush velvet curtains to a chandelier lit, majestic room.  This is the stuff of which fairytale dates are made. Romantic booths lined the walls.  An old school, rich dark wooden bar filled the center of the room, and one wall at the back was lined with library shelves of books. At least 5 bartenders moved gracefully behind the bar, confidently managing their stations of liquors, tincture bottles of homemade bitters, and bowls and bowls of fresh fruit, all ready for the onslaught of the evening.

The cocktail menu was broken up by categories - whiskey, vodka, tequila, gin, etc. and each category offered approximately six signature cocktails. Being a whiskey girl, I opted for their signature Manhattan. Our bartender, dressed in a hip, vest and tie, clearly took pride in his work as any artist does. He measured the liquor out precisely starting with Jim Beam rye whiskey. He added Carpano Antica (sweet herbal vermouth), Corsair Spiced Rum and eye droplets of homemade angostura bitters.  He stirred and tested the drink while adjusting the flavors. Finally, when he had it just right, and only after chilling with more ice, did he stir with a flourish. Poured into an antique champagne glass with a sidecar, he spritzed the drink with a citrus peel and then garnished it with a dark, intensely flavored, sweet cherry. Smooth, deep flavors of whiskey with hints of aromatic bitters and light lasting flavor of vanilla, filled my mouth. Instantly I was transported to a fictional era, a time that was elegant, decadent and a little dangerous.

Mark ordered a perfect spring drink:  tres agaves reposado, lime, green chartreuse (a liquor that is traditionally comprised of 130 herbal extracts), house falernum (a syrup used in cocktails to imbue flavors of almond, ginger and/or cloves, and lime, and sometimes vanilla or allspice) with a single ice sphere and orange peel. Served in an old fashioned glass, atop a perfectly round, gigantic ice cube, the sweet and tangy concoction was reminiscent of a margarita, but in a rich and sophisticated way. Citrus flavors gently played against the tequila; herbal notes from the chartreuse and falernum cut the flavors and added a layer of intricacy and depth, which showcased the mastery of our artistic bartender and the house-made mixers.

While the Patterson House is known for its cocktails, we found the warmed olives to be meaty and satisfying, ever so slightly hinting of an herb infused oil.

I hated to leave the cocoon of date paradise, but our dinner reservation crept upon us. I parted the velvet curtains and returned to the beautiful spring evening, with the elated and even giddy confidence, that I had discovered cocktail divinity.

Restaurant Iris, Memphis, TN

I am a fan of eating in the bar.  Perhaps this draw stems from my high school and college years spent waiting tables, where the bar was the staff’s social epicenter of the restaurant or maybe it was my early career years in sales where eating alone at a bar was a way to feel less alone. Regardless of the origin, one of my favorite bar tables is at Restaurant Iris in Memphis, Tennessee.  Set in a house in midtown, the bar at Iris is a cozy nook off the entrance, encased in plush floor-to-ceiling curtains, bathed in alabaster candles, where you can watch everyone come and go, while enjoying the full menu and top-notch service.  I would probably also love a table at Iris, but seeing as you have to book weeks in advance, I will leave that to all those who actually plan in life. 


Dinner and a show in the city - what girl would say no?  While I was very excited to see the world's most renown jazz organist, Joey DeFrancesco at the Germantown Performing Arts Center, the deal was sweetened further by a promise of dinner at my favorite restaurant in Memphis, whose chef this very night was off winning an award cooking up heritage pork raised by my friend Brad at Ole Thyme Farms in Oxford.  

At Restaurant Iris on this rainy night, I fine-tuned a theory that will require countless hours of research to ensure validity -- that is, I hypothesize that restaurants that offer Sazeracs on their cocktail menus are more likely to serve memorably decadent food.  The Sazerac, a classic New Orleans cocktail made at Iris with pernod, bitters, rye, simple syrup, and lemon twist, was served in a wine glass on the rocks and hit all the right herbal notes with a sweet, yet strong finish.  The Pimms cup cocktail, a historic drink hailing from London, featuring Pimms No. 1, a gin based liqueur, laced with herbs, and mixed with lemon, spritz, and cucumber, while great on this dreary night, has most certainly secured a spot at the top of my summer cocktail list. With our drinks, we were treated to an amuse-bouche, and although it was not much larger than a quarter, the chopped green apple, goat cheese, pecan and honey-drizzled crostini, packed huge flavor in one bite.  This is one of those dishes that seems so simple that I make all sorts of promises to myself to try to recreate it at home for for friends.

While I grew up in a food loving family that valued dining out, the restaurants we patronized were of the all-you-can-eat crab leg or twin lobster variety, not French cuisine.  I adore both, and by no means am I complaining about great seafood, but I keenly remember my first foie gras, at Farallon in San Francisco.  Like most “firsts”, this little slice of livered heaven changed my life and palette forever.  Iris’ version was seared to perfection with a salty, caramelized crust, encasing a silky, rich interior, with a roasted sweet shallot with an herbed oil.  Like a child, I must have cut my piece into a dozen miniscule bites, but in this case it was to savor every last morsel.  


Not one to shy away from an unusual dish, I could not help but resist one of the new winter dishes for its pure schizophrenic appeal; the veal schnitzel was topped with a farm fresh sunny side-up egg and fresh anchovies, on a bed of knöpfle tossed with oregano and capers. 

 As if that was not sensory pleasure enough, the entire dish was served over a boysenberry glaze.  The briny flavor of the anchovies counter-balanced the buttery veal and the runny egg yolk for a wonderfully salty bite, that when dipped in the sweet boysenberry sauce, made your taste buds jump.  The flavorful knöpfle, a Hungarian style noodle with a chewy dumpling texture, completed the dish.   

The braised American kobe short rib, was served over a roasted winter vegetable fregula, a pasta similar to an Israeli couscous.  This meal was most certainly the antidote to a drizzly winter night; the rich braised texture of the beef was deeply satisfying and frankly there are not too many things in life that make me happier than a perfect baby carrot, smaller than my pinkie finger, with the miniature greens still attached.  

Farm cheddar with sea salt and honey immediately sold us on the cheese plate for dessert.  Creamy and salty, the cheddar was perfect on its own and also wonderful when paired with the tomato marmalade.  The Manchego coupled nicely with the rich caramelized onion marmalade and the fresh gouda was mild and clean, completely unlike the more popular aged or smoked versions.  Being a cheese purist, I didn’t try the crostini that came with the dish until the end, which was a blessing, as the toasts glean what I am calling their “crack essence” from being flash fried, creating a crispy crunch with a very satisfying chew.  Deep fried bread…might make me as happy as baby carrots....

Smoky cocktails, house cured charcuterie, and bacon bitters: Snackbar, Oxford, MS

Don't let the miles of farmland on all sides or the quaint town square fool you, Oxford, Mississippi is a little gem of a food town. Oxford takes its cuisine seriously, after all, it is the home of the Southern Foodways Alliance, an organization that researches, documents and celebrates southern culture through food. Because of this, it is odd that I have not spent much time writing about the gastronomic riches in my own backyard. There are plenty of culinary experiences, from the simple BBQ at Handy Andy's to the soul food at Ajax Diner, for which which much has already been penned; I cannot add anything unique. However, recently my passion for one establishment has reached a crescendo that I cannot ignore. I am in love with Snackbar.

Panacea

One of John Currence's four brilliant concepts, the french brasserie is wrapped in warm wood walls, hung with deer heads, creating a cozy lodge-like feel, yet the funky, hip lighting lends an urban, almost European atmosphere. No matter the season, there is a feng shui about Snackbar that beckons me. This used to be a point of contention with my partner, who only just recently came under the same spell, thanks to a magical fall cocktail called the Antigua. Smooth Don Julio anejo tequila, an aged liquor, is mixed with a house-made, slightly sweet, chipotle infused, agave syrup, a splash of soda, and finished with a caramelized slice of orange, making a drink that can only be described as "smoke-in-a-glass". Drinking the Antigua, you cannot help but think of falling leaves, Fair Isle wool sweaters, and wood burning fires. Another favorite off the seasonal cocktail menu is the Panacea. Made up of Bernheim Original Kentucky Wheat Bourbon, Averna, which is a sweet and bitter Sicilian herbal liqueur, Heering Cherry Liqueur, and a Galliano Rinse, this is a great choice for those who enjoy a good Old Fashioned.

Pickle Plate

The drinks alone are worth the trip to Snackbar, however the food is equally memorable. Locals extol their truffle parmesan frites, an addictive, exquisite french fry served aside a hangar steak or as a side dish. Regardless of how they are served, I promise you will not forgive the last one at the bottom of the parchment-lined cylinder for being the last one. Their raw bar is fresh and their charcuterie includes greats like duck leg pâté and pâté de foie de poulet (chicken liver, mushroom pâté). While classic dishes stay on the menu, many of their dishes are seasonal including a past favorite, the fried mac and cheese small plate. On a recent trip, I reminisced to the waitress about an inventive pickle plate about which I still fantasized, and after a quick check with the chefs, she returned to the table with a whipped-up version that will tide me over until the original returns. Prior to my original plate, I thought of pickles as cucumbers, drowned in dill or bread and butter brines, found in the grocery store aisle. I had no inkling of the complexity of spices, let alone the diversity of vegetables that can be pickled. Our mini version included a curried cauliflower, a lemony shrimp, crisp, thin haricot vert, a briny egg, crunchy okra, tangy black-eyed peas, and even cinnamon and clove spiced mango.

Boudin Balls

Off the charcuterie menu, we ordered boudin balls, a cajun pork and rice sausage, rolled and deep fried, harkening to Currence's roots in New Orleans. Although paired with a grainy mustard and greens, the perfectly crisp outside and creamy sausage and rice mixture on the inside, needed no accompaniment. Snackbar's burger has been praised in many southern magazines as a favorite, and while not out-of-the-ordinary, the compilation of local and house made accoutrements certainly make it a winner. White Oak pastures beef is topped with sister restaurant's Big Bad Breakfast bacon, house-made cheddar, house tomato jam, creole mustard, onions, and greens, and then sandwiched in a airy brioche bun.

The hearty and yet delicate risotto was made with healthy portions of fresh lump crab meat, sweet corn, red bell peppers, shallot, and thyme. And to further indulge the creamy factor, the pasta was finished with a lush mascarpone cheese. The redfish courtboullion, served as a special, included a perfectly cooked, flaky filet, topped with a tomato based sauce reminiscent of a sweet caponata.

On a recent return trip to satisfy an Antigua craving, Brian served us at the bar, where we tried a new fish special, the corvina. Billed as similar to a sea bass, this firm, yet mild white fish was served atop a pumpkin seed puree with roasted baby eggplants; it hit all of the rich notes of fall, yet remained light.

Redfish Courtbuillion

The cocktails are the creative inventions of the superb bar tending staff, often egged on by owner John Currence. He once told me, jokingly, that seeing the creativity and shear volume spawned by a contest amongst the bar staff to develop the most unique bitters, he feared where it might eventually lead. Fortunately bacon bitters, a mainstay on the cocktail list, was clearly a winning result. Currence's dynamic leadership style has undoubtedly allowed Vishwesh Bhatt, Chef at Snackbar and member of the City Grocery Restaurant group for over ten years, to exercise his talent, masterfully coupling classic country french flavors with southern comfort food.

Perhaps one of the other reasons I have restrained from writing about local eateries, is that Snackbar, located a half mile north of the square, still seems like a well kept secret from the throngs of college students, football fans and tourists who patronize the well established haunts. While I hate to jeopardize the neighborhood pub aura, I can no longer keep quiet about my love affair with Snackbar.

Corvina

Honky Tonks, Duck Fat, and Cheesy Chicken Pie - Nashville, TN

Unlike most New Englanders who grew up in the late '70s, I loved country music as a child.  While my friends were rocking out to Rick Springfield, I wore out Johnny Cash tapes on my cassette player and sat riveted, nightly with my parents as they watched the country music TV station.  We lived frugally, my parents had a date night every Saturday, sans kids, and my Dad loved the motto "children were to be seen and not heard", so you can imagine my elation when I found out that my folks were taking me, an eight year old, to a Johnny Cash concert at the Cohasset Music Circus. This also happened to be fourth grade, my lost year.  Inexplicably, most afternoons in the second half of fourth grade, I would fall sound asleep at my desk after lunch.  I tried hard to avoid this embarrassing fate as I not only shared a desk with the fourth grade heart throb, Billy Lincoln, but being the bookworm that I was, I devastatingly snoozed right through reading period where Mrs. Henderson was reading us the the enthralling story of James and the Giant Peach.  This went on for six months, including countless trips to the nurse and even a few school counseling sessions with my folks to determine if there was foul play at home.  Near bursting with excitement on an early summer night, I dressed up to attend my first-ever concert, alone with my parents, to hear my idol, Johnny Cash.  Unfortunately I only made it three songs deep before falling sound asleep in the 3rd row.  I was devastated and ashamed, and although it was only a few weeks later that we learned the pharmacist had mixed up my fluoride pills with an elderly person's blood pressure medication, causing me to pass-out daily, I still carry regret that I missed most of that concert.

Perhaps this history explains the tingling excitement I get at the prospect of visiting Nashville, a mere four hours from my current residence.  Recently I set out early on a Friday afternoon to meet two of my country music-loving girlfriends in the music city for a weekend of honky tonks and food. Country music blasting out of my open sun roof, I sang along loudly, and off-key, with great gusto "I am not here for a long time, I am here for a good time....", only interrupted occasionally by my need to stop and take in the back road views. Autumn in the upper south is stunning; the air is void of all humidity after a long summer's grip, and it settles into a comfortable 78 degrees for weeks on end, the fall foliage lights the undulating hillsides breaking up the vast plains of cotton, which hold their own unique beauty. Row after row of plants are covered in huge orbs of stark white cotton; it seems unreal that a textile can actually grow directly from nature in such purity. The sun nears the horizon as I roll into Nashville, fittingly in time for cocktail hour at the Capitol Grill Oak Bar located on the lower level of the historic and elegant Hermitage Hotel, where we were staying. The pub is cozy, and old-school refined, a perfect place to imbibe great wine, catch-up on gossip, and plot our upcoming adventures.  Little did we know that there was a time when three women would not have been allowed, as the bar was a gentleman's club, rumored to have been accessed by wealthy politicians via a tunnel that connected the capitol to the bar's famed men's room, which in recent years has been named the "best bathroom in America".  Strangely I can vouch for this title, as I was offered a tour when walking past to the ladies room, by a kindly older gentleman, happy to show off the glamorous art deco interior.

Hungry and buzzing with first-night-of-vacation energy, we set off by cab to Tayst, a restaurant known for its fresh local food and dedication to sustainability. What began as a pursuit to find the best tasting, local food, the chefs at Tayst are now deeply entrenched in the values of the green movement. They compost, they purvey green products for the restaurant such as beeswax candles and cleaning products, all in an effort to ensure that the entire dining experience respects the earth and the bounty it has provided.  Lest you fear tree-hugging, tofu laden dishes, rest assured that the menu is playful and creatively modern while steeped in the classics.  In fact the only reference to tofu on the entire menu was the  ravioli appetizer, consisting of paper thin slices of turnip, filled with tofu walnut ricotta, laced with sage brown butter, lemon balm and mint.  If that is hippie, bring on the patchouli.  

The foie gras was stylistically gorgeous. A thin round slice of apple was cored and filled with seared foie gras, which when eaten together provided superb juxtaposition; the crisp, sweet apple contrasted the rich, silky foie gras beautifully. The only downside was that I had to share it with my girlfriends.

Fortunately the third starter was a surprise stunner, at least for me as I have a slight aversion to the texture of spaghetti squash. As is often the case here in the south, if you take an unremarkable vegetable, mix it with eggs and fry it, it becomes something otherworldly. The hush puppie-sized spaghetti squash fritters were crisp on the outside, soft on the inside and completely worthy of the highly coveted "best app" title.

Next the watermelon salad was colorful, served with fried lardon and caramelized onions. Creamy and bursting with flavor, the squash soup was clearly not made from pallid grocery store squash.

The savory goat cheesecake was beautifully displayed next to a summer squash salad and a heap of sweet grilled cherry tomatoes. When eaten together, the cheesecake offered a sinfully rich depth to the bright salads.

Our waiter oozed southern charm, delighting my L.A. girlfriends with his chivalry. He warned us that the chicken dish, complete with a chicken cheese pie, was outrageous. Being a yankee, I expected a pot-pie of some sort, but in keeping with southern tradition instead it was a flaky, fried pie, filled with a cheesy chicken concoction; this is the type of meal you can envision begging your grandmother to make with holiday leftovers. The pie was served with a succulent roasted chicken and a flavorful corn salsa.

The trout dish caught our attention as it was served atop a bolognese. The vibrant pink fish was buttery and surprisingly well paired with the tomato meat sauce, then ringed with a basil emulsion.

Lastly, the special was a rich, meaty sturgeon served over a broth piled high with wax beans, sweet turnips and arugula. The sous chef visited with us and shared his enthusiasm for the fresh sturgeon, a surprise his fish monger had delivered that day.

We ended our meal with the flour less chocolate cake, and candied fruit, which paired amazingly well with our zinfandel, however I think anything including the local Tennessee moonshine would have gone well with that creamy slice of heaven. Smitten by the food and the service, we reluctantly took leave of Tayst to head to Second Street and Broadway for a tourist's Nashville music experience.

Robert's Western World, an ole Nashville establishment known for its great bands, walls lined with boots for sale, and cold Pabst Blue Ribbon, seemed like the logical next step.  We nabbed a table and had barely wiped the condensation off our PBRs when we were dragged out to dance by a rodeo belt wearing cowboy, complete with a hat, embroidered shirt and boots.  Apparently he learned more than roping on the ranch as this guy knew his way around a dance floor, leading us through dips and spins that would make those on Dancing with the Stars envious.  The crowd was diverse; it was a place where we made friends quickly. Time flew by, as it does when feeling completely ebullient, and in the wee hours of the morning, we left the neon behind for our hotel, almost hungry enough from dancing for the fried bologna sandwiches they were grilling up at the back of the bar.

In the morning we hit Puckett's Grocery for a southern version of eggs benedict - poached eggs over a biscuit, topped with creamy pork gravy. Now if that did did not soak up our previous night's adventures, nothing would. After lazing around the hotel we readied ourselves for afternoon snacks and a little shopping. As we walked the few blocks from the hotel to Broadway we noticed a few folks dressed up in bloodied costumes, but seeing as Nashville has a diverse blend of art and tradition, we didn't think much of it until a bit later, while comfortably seated at Merchants eating tater tots fried in duck fat, washed down with local Yazoo beer, we saw hundreds of zombies walking past the large picture windows. Apparently we were in town just in time for the annual zombie walk.

We spent time in Germantown, Hillsboro Village and Music Row and barely scratched the surface of what Nashville has to offer; there is much more to the city than the country scene.  Perhaps because of our deep love of music or because I am still making up for my lost Johnny Cash concert, we thoroughly enjoyed the tourist tour of the city.  I am reminded of Jason Alean's hit Crazy Town, "Its a crazy town full of neon dreams, everybody plays, everybody sings, Hollywood with a touch of twang..."  We did not once hear even a mediocre band; the talent was staggering, the musicians were accessible, and southern culture and chivalry reign strong.

From the old world elegance of the Hermitage to the green movement at Tayst, and of course the bars of downtown, where the music starts at ten in the morning and for all I know it doesn't stop, I found one of those rare places where my night actually exceeded my preconceived expectations. Since returning to Oxford, I have found an excuse to wear my boots every day and continue to crank up the country music, channeling a little Nashville spirit into my daily life.

As for my lost fourth grade year, we never sued the pharmacy, but, I now have a built-in excuse for anything I cannot recall learning - algebra...must have missed that in the 4th grade.

Parlor Market, Jackson, MS

New Orleans in a glass...does it not sound like the perfect way to begin one's weekend? In my case, the night was Friday, the place was Parlor Market in Jackson, Mississippi and the drink was a Vieux Carré. Rye whiskey, cognac, sweet vermouth, benedictine, and bitters swirled in a glass, reminiscent of the classic, New Orleans sazerac, coupled with a dark, candle-lit atmosphere, a deserted downtown city, an early weekend electricity in the air, and I felt excitedly like a character in a Raymond Chandler novel. Fortunately, no shots were fired, or damsels found in distress, just a romantic meal to awaken the senses.

On our way to the coast from Oxford, we decide to break-up our trip in Jackson, and were thrilled to learn that our friends were playing downtown at 119 Underground. This cozy basement blues club and restaurant, is keeping Mississippi blues alive and adding entertainment to an otherwise sleepy urban downtown. After popping in for a quick visit, which included a huge treat, a tour of the building's dreamy loft apartment and businesses, we left for a late reservation at Parlor Market. Jackson is one of those cities that evacuates at night for the suburbs. Fortunately, places like 119 Underground and Parlor Market are revitalizing city life in this historic district.

From the moment we entered Parlor Market, the service was warm and attentive. The vibe was hip and yet classic. The menu offered a number of raw bar options and appetizers. I rarely turn down an opportunity to eat foie gras and the description made it clear that tonight would be no exception. Served atop a french bread style brioche, the foie gras was served with a kudzu jelly and a red-eye gravy, with a fried sunny-side-up quail egg. As one would expect, the foie gras was silken and rich. I often experience the purist syndrome with foie gras, in that I want to simply eat it plain to relish the buttery depth of the liver, but after trying that, I moved on to feast on the pudding-like texture of the brioche, encapsulated by the crispy french-toast exterior. When dipped in the sweet kudzu jelly, made from the fruit of the infamous locally invasive vine, and the rich coffee flavored red-eye gravy, I felt I had discovered the love child of an affair between France and Mississippi.

In addition to the foie gras, we ordered the southern cheese plate, which included a salty blue cheese, a truffle cheese,  a cinnamon and vanilla gouda and an aged, buttery cheese for which our server didn't know the name (it reminded me of a piave vecchio). Served with locally made jalepeno honey, tiger melon, small seedless muscadine grapes, blueberries, incredibly fresh roasted candied pecans, and sliced brioche, I felt like I had gone to tapas heaven.

For my main course, I could not resist the venison special, seared with a dry rub atop a butternut squash puree, drizzled with a truffle gravy, alongside a mushroom and foie gras bread pudding with fig preserves and a haricot vert and sun choke stir fry. Please believe me when I tell you that I could have cut the venison with a fork! The loin was flavorful and tender, almost delicate, and completely unrelated to any of the game venison I have cooked on my grill. The bread pudding should be illegal, it was moist, deep in flavor, and completely satisfying on the tongue. The bright and crispy haricot vert, juxtaposed the fullness of the meal as did the treat of the sun chokes, one of those delightful root vegetables that just never quite make it to my home table.

Mark opted for the burger and as you might expect, it was a work of art worthy of the finest european pub.  In keeping with their bread of choice trend, the burger was served on buttered, toasted brioche with butter lettuce, heirloom tomato, and horseradish pecan cheddar. It was accompanied by sweet potato pomme frites in their own miniature fryer basket -- fried to perfection.

While the famed strawberry cake tempted us, the shear richness of our meal prevented us from indulging further, leaving us with a reason to return. While it is easy to patronize our local suburban venues, there is something sexy and historic about driving into the city for a night of great gastronomy and music. Put on your heels, crank the music, and head downtown for a night worthy of writing home.

Eat Southern....Cabo San Lucas, the "south" of the Mexican Baja peninsula

Infinity Pool at Playa Grande

Mole, margaritas, fresh shrimp, caesar salad and carbonara...admittedly that seems like a strange list of favorites from a trip to Mexico, but as Mark keeps reminding me, Cabo is barely Mexico. Sitting at the southern end of the Baja peninsula, this desert seaside town provides a nice blend of Mexican culture, with a tourist friendly ease. The restaurants all accept American currency, and yet you can still find a local Mexican woman making authentic masa tortillas in an open kitchen. My high school best friend, Kristin and I met in this resort town with the goals of relaxing poolside by day, and experiencing the culture via food and drink by night. Along the way we enjoyed the traditional cuisine and took some risks, discovering Italian with a Mexican twist.

We stayed at the Playa Grande, a beautiful resort on the beach with five pools, luxurious spa, and great service, save the checking in and out process which you would have thought was a first for them. During the day we enjoyed delicious fish tacos and ceviche, poolside. It could have been the sun and the salt air, or the adrenalin from frequently spotting whales swimming along the beach, but these simple dishes were outrageously delicious. I was reminded that very few simple ingredients: fish, lettuce, tomatoes and lime, often taste better than loading on layers of flavor. Cheese and sour cream, so often used in American Mexican food, were rarely used here.

Banana Wrapped Sea Bass

Our first night we dined at Mi Casa restaurant in downtown Cabo San Lucas, which was walking distance from our resort. We entered the restaurant through a traditional storefront, were led through a hallway that opened onto a lush, colorful courtyard, stepped up almost amphitheater style, with three levels of dining. Giddy about seeing each other after 2 years and excited about the dining experiences that lay ahead, we wasted no time in diving in with La Mixta de la Huerta, a simple salad made from local organic greens, zucchini, red onions, red pepper, corn, crispy fried tortilla strips, cotija cheese and a pineapple-cilantro-jalapeno vinaigrette. The vegetables were crisp and fresh. For a second starter, we chose the Ceviche capengo campechano which included shrimp, baby octopus, fish, and scallops. Surprisingly the ceviche was sweet, tossed lightly with tomatoes, and full of the natural flavor of the fish. The ceviche was not acidic, considering this cooking technique uses acids, typically citrus, to "cook" the fish instead of heat. Alongside a margarita and Don Julio tequila both on the rocks, we found ourselves happy, relaxed, and thus easy targets for the spunky mariachi band. Note to others: you may say "no thank you" to these roving free-lance bands, when they inevitably arrive at your table, in all restaurants, otherwise they will not leave until you tip them.

El Mole Poblano

While the chili-spiced sea bass cooked in a banana leaf served with fresh vegetables and rice, was perfectly pleasing, the El mole poblano, stole the show. Deliciously tender, fall-off-the-bone chicken, reminiscent of southern bbq, was smothered in a complex mole sauce, boasting over 35 ingredients. This meal causes me to contradict my earlier mentioned simplicity rule, forcing me to create a new rule: if you cannot keep your ingredients simple, go extreme! The mole sauce which hinted of chocolate and chili, proved to be the best meal of the vacation. We could not resist an order of fresh masa tortillas made at an open kitchen right in the heart of the courtyard, with a serving of fresh guacamole. These masa tortillas, made by an adorable local woman, have ruined store bought flour tortillas for me, for life. The corn flavor, combined with a slightly mealy texture, juxtaposed the fresh creamy guacamole that teased me, knowing I would not be able to replicate them back home.

Masa Tortillas

For dessert we could not pass up the Tarte de peras en damiana, a pear tart with local goat cheese and liquor, which did not disappoint. The crust was flaky, the cheese was creamy, and it was not overly sweetened, allowing all the flavors to present themselves.

Veering away from the traditional, we tried Doc wine bar and Italian restaurant, which proved to be another favorite. Situated next door to Mi Casa, it is a small cozy restaurant, reminiscent of Italy, with an open kitchen and extensive wine menu. The chefs hail from Italy, so the dishes are based on classics, but there is certainly a Mexican influence on the flavors. We both adored our main courses. Their signature dish called Doc, consisted of guanciale (spaghetti), cream, thyme,  habanera chile and sweet corn. The guanciale was creamy and luscious, yet unlike a typical Italian cream-type dish, it was fiery, flavored by the Mexican chiles. The second dish was equally spicy, the penne arrabiatta included tomato, garlic, parsley and a lot of hot red chili pepper. The red sauce was again redolent of the Italian dishes with which we grew up in the northeast, except for the intense kick of heat. Both Kristin and I enjoy spicy food, therefore these dishes appealed to our nature, but they are not for the faint of tongue. In fact, we garnered major points with the wait staff and owner when they saw we could not only handle the heat, but enjoy it.

On Monday night we discovered our planned restaurant was closed so we ventured to the more touristy marina area. Here we discovered a great little gem of a restaurant, Los Deseos, that while it served great food, to me will be remembered for the service. It was here that we discovered a brilliant perk, shared by many of the outdoor restaurants - ponchos on the back of your chair. Inevitably the 90 degree heat of the day, drops after dark, in true desert fashion. Seeing me shivering in my strappy sundress, our waiter arrived to drape a poncho over me, feeling very romantically, international. Another silly pleasure was a personal purse stand upon arrival at your table. This accoutrement was small, yet completely memorable.

Kristin showing off the poncho and purse stand

On our final night we ventured over to Medano beach, a short cab ride from our resort, boasting a beautiful, swimmable beach (the beach at the resort is off limits for swimming due to dangerous riptides) and a popular, casual, palapa (grass hut) restaurant, cheekily called "The Office". The outdoor tables sit directly in the sand almost down to the water's edge, making for a perfect evening cocktail destination. Along with our now standard margaritas, we dined on grilled shrimp scampi. These were served fresh off the grill, hinting of smoke and smothered in a garlic, butter sauce. The meat was sweet and tender; light fare that made a delicious start to the night.


From The Office, we walked across the street to an upscale sister establishment called Edith's. Edith's may be the most romantically set restaurant, I have ever enjoyed. Set in a verdant courtyard, lit with small white lights and candles, one cannot help but be intoxicated by the exotic vibe. We began with a caesar salad made tableside. To my delight, the entertaining chef broke open a soft boiled egg, and drizzled the runny yoke into the dressing, which may be the secret ingredient as this salad proved to be incredibly creamy and rich, exceeding all previous caesar salad experiences.

Shrimp Scampi

Our main course was a surf and turf for two with lobster, lamb and beef filet wrapped in bacon. The local lobster was tender and rich. The lamb chops were cooked rare, seasoned well, and had a perfect balance of lamb flavor without being too gamey. These chops were so good, I did not think twice about gnawing on the bones, enjoying every last ounce. The filet was wonderful, and felt a bit more natural and flavorful than your typical pristine American filet.

Surf and Turf

After five days of a vacation routine consisting of big decisions like whether to hang on our room balcony with a view of the marina, or go to the the infinity pool at the Ridge, with a swim up bar, or relax at the ocean view pool, or to get an hour and a half massage on the beach, it was hard to leave my close friend Kristin and all of this luxury behind. We parted ways, safe in knowing we had ideas for our next trip, and vowing to attempt our own version of a mole sauce back home, some rainy day, when 35 ingredients doesn't sound daunting. My money is on Kristin.

View of the Marina from our balcony