Veggie Review: Eastland Cafe

For the second year in a row, Bill and I have given up meat for Lent. So far (5 days in), this go-round has been much easier: I’ve had my eyes peeled for new and interesting vegetarian recipes for months and have more dishes I want to cook than days until we’re back eating meat. That being said, the most challenging part of this experiment, eating out, is the same. So, if only to make next year even easier, I’m going to review our forays into vegetarian eating in Nashville. 

First up: Eastland Cafe. This was our first time to this East Nashville spot and it’s already on my list of staples. The atmosphere is inviting, the staff is welcoming, and the incredible kitchen smells hit you the minute your foot crosses the threshold. They had me at homemade-and-still-hot-from-the-oven bread when we sat down.

We started with the goat cheese brulee with local honey; we loved it. Off to a good start. When we looked for entrées, though, I think I had an easier time than Bill did: I love making two appetizers my meal, while he prefers a full-portion main. So he had the only vegetarian entrée on the menu, local linguine with broccoli rabe and a host of other vegetables, and I had a simple salad with house-pulled mozzarella and a bowl of french onion soup. Everything was delicious and satisfying; we didn’t miss the meat (much). 

But when you boil that cabbage down, here’s the bottom line: 

  1. How easy is it to be a vegetarian at Eastland Cafe? Moderate-to-difficult. While there are several vegetarian appetizers and salads, there is only one vegetarian entrée and none of the specials (though delicious-sounding) were veggie-friendly. 
  2. If you go back as a vegetarian, will you have to eat the same thing? It depends. If you’re like me and are happy with a salad and a veggie app, you’ll have options. If not, I hope you like their one entrée offering. 
  3. If you do have to eat the same thing twice, will you be upset about it? NO. The food we had was so good that I would gladly double up. 

In sum, we will rush back to Eastland Cafe as soon as we’re meat-eaters again, and not just for the house-cured bacon. Well, maybe just for the house-cured bacon. 

I made my own pasta. It made me feel like a badass. That is all. 

I made my own pasta. It made me feel like a badass. That is all. 

Oh. My. Foie.

Bill and I have been waiting (very patiently, I might add) to try foie gras for the first time. We wanted our first foie experience to be incredible and done correctly. When our Montreal trip was in the works, we tried everything to land a reservation at the famed foie paradise, Au Pied du Cochon. Alas, no such luck; apparently our week-ahead call was 51 weeks late. Down but not out, we resolved ourselves to keep waiting… until last night. For my birthday, I asked Bill for a no-holds-barred dinner at Watermark, one of the best restaurants in Nashville. Within the first 5 seconds of being handed our menus, we saw it: Hudson Valley Foie Gras ‘A’, served with local fig and brioche bread pudding, candied pecans, and peach gastrique. Angels sang. Trumpets played. The heavens parted. The wait was over. 

How did I love it? Let me count the ways, but not here; I’m not going to try to describe the flavor. Not only would it be impossible, but I would never destroy the mystery for someone who, like me, might’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to try their first foie.

Thanks to the folks at Watermark for a flawless (yes, flawless) first piece of foie gras. Though I can’t be certain the next will live up to it, I’m okay with chasing another piece of perfect foie. 

Marché Atwater

I spent the last few days eating my way through Montreal with my extended family: grilled arctic char, perfectly-roasted rack of lamb… what’s not to love?  And while the artfully crafted entrées at some of the city’s finest restaurants were outstanding, my favorite meal, bar none, was the hodge-podge of local flavor at a Montreal market, Marché Atwater.  I don’t know if it was the row of fresh raspberries, the house-made charcuterie, or the ever-present smell of freshly baking bread… or the fact that I was so damn hungry from trekking my tail through the streets, but I was bewitched.  I’ve never tasted cheese so good, duck paté so subtle and delicate, or a croissant (with the perfect amount of slightly warm dark chocolate in the center) so luscious.  I could write poems about this food.  

If you find yourself north of the border, I highly recommend wandering through this quaint but sprawling Montreal market.  I regret that I didn’t get any pictures of the spread… I must have been too busy stuffing my face.

This Saturday morning, I raked myself out of the all-too-warm bed to make cranberry-orange scones for my husband, who has been (very nicely and very frequently) requesting them. And yes, they’re shaped like hearts. Judge all you want.

This Saturday morning, I raked myself out of the all-too-warm bed to make cranberry-orange scones for my husband, who has been (very nicely and very frequently) requesting them.

And yes, they’re shaped like hearts. Judge all you want.

(Almost) Fall

I love fall. I love the pumpkins, I love the cranberries, I even love the ridiculous Halloween decorations. But I live in the South, where Nashville straddles summer and fall until about October. The solution? A menu that takes advantage of the last of the summer tomatoes and eases us into the flavors of fall. Lucky for me, one of my favorite cookbooks, A Platter of Figs by David Tanis, sets out inventive menus by the season. Tonight’s spread began with garlic-rubbed Tomato Bread topped with anchovies. The bread was a decent start, but the highlight was the broth in the Fish Soup with Mussels and Chorizo, which I easily could have mainlined:

Fish Soup with Mussels and Chorizo

Garlic, saffron, herbs, chorizo, AND liquor from fresh mussels? Yes ma’am. Goat Cheese with Honey rounded out the menu. It was a perfect dessert (and one my not-so-sweet-toothed husband enjoyed) that made me feel like fall was just around the corner.

Goat Cheese with Honey

Now if it would just cool on down so I can braise a short rib or two…

Today’s Top 5: Summer Drinks

St. Louis went from winter to summer in about 48 hours. With the cold weather went my cravings for pot roast, chili, and thick red wine. They’ve been replaced by thoughts of fresh corn, scallops, and the following list of beverages. Here are my top 5 drinks for the summer. 

  1. Margarita. Let’s be honest—I drink these year-round. But I’ll admit they’re best in the summer. I like mine tart: just silver agave tequila, a hint of triple sec, and fresh lime juice. Shaken, served straight up, salt on the rim. 
  2. Modelo Especial. I’m partial to Mexican beer, and this is my favorite. I’ve heard from beer aficionados that you’re supposed to take the chill off a bit, but I like mine really, really cold. 
  3. New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. There’s something about the in-your-face grapefruit in these wines that screams summer to me; I gravitate toward them as soon as the thermostat hits 80. 
  4. Mint Julep. The Julep is a nod to my southern roots (and reminds me of my wedding), but I’ll throw Mojito in this category as well. As long as you have some mint in the drink, summery it is. 
  5. Pina Colada. Admittedly a guilty pleasure. Hot weather begs for a good ole’ beachy umbrella drink. And yes—serve it to me in a coconut, please. 

Cheers!

Baby, It’s Cold Inside

My wonderful siblings-in-law recently gifted me with a Cuisinart Ice Cream Maker. I’ve been dying to try my hand at my dad’s famous 4th of July peppermint ice cream, but I started with a basic for my first go-round. A monkey could make vanilla ice cream with this contraption, yet I still encountered problems. So instead of providing a recipe, I’ll spare you the mistakes I made and share a few well-learned tips for your next ice cream venture. 

  1. Chill the bowl for a full 24 hours: There is nothing more frustrating than trying to make ice cream and being left with really cold soup. 
  2. Chill the mixture that goes into the maker overnight. See note 1 above. 
  3. If you’re doing classic vanilla, splurge for decent vanilla extract (beware of ones that list water as the first ingredient or ones that hide the word “immitation” in small letters). 
  4. Buy a vanilla bean. They’re about $10 a pop, but you don’t have to use the whole thing and it’s worth it so your final product isn’t so … well … vanilla. 

I hope your first attempts go more smoothly than mine, but even with the hiccups and a few four-letter words, the final product was nothing short of heavenly. Peppermint, here I come!