How to Satisfy those Honky-Tonk Beer Munchies

Robert’s Western World
416 Broadway
Nashville, TN





You ever notice how a good greasy meal at midnight doesn’t actually need to be good to be good?

You know what I’m talking about.

After a night of honky-tonkin’ up and down Nashville’s infamous Lower Broadway, fried shoe leather on a bun starts to look as good as Kate Upton losing a water balloon fight.

I’m pretty sure “beer munchies” derives from that same part of the brain as “beer goggles” -- only with milder next morning consequences.

I’d like to brag to you that Suit757 was in such a sudsy state of mind at midnight when I ordered my cheeseburger and onion rings from the hot plate in back of Robert’s Western World.

But that would be a lie.

I made this decision stone sober.

Scary enough. But this isn’t Suit757’s first rodeo. Or first visit to Lower Broad.

I’ve done this enough to know that Robert’s Western World is Nashville’s top oasis of real music in the creative wasteland that is “Music City.”

And the tiny flat top out back is one of the few places in town not named Waffle House to eat after the witching house.

Now, understand, nobody comes to Robert’s Western World to eat.

They come to drink beer, soak up the retro atmosphere and hear the best traditional country music in town.

Eating sometimes becomes a byproduct of the above. Which, I guess is why they put the little griddle back there in the first place.

After a long typical Suit757 day of driving across the breadth of Mississippi, Alabama and Tennessee, I finally checked into my Comfort Inn at a quarter to midnight, checked out of my suit and headed down to that stretch of touristy honky-tonks in downtown Nashville.

Literally in the shadow of the famed Ryman Auditorium, home of the original Grand Ole Opry (until the corporate hacks moved it to the suburbs), a strip of decades old honky-tonks lines Lower Broadway.

If you are “in the know” like Suit757, you can bypass the annoying bouncers out front by cutting through the alley out back next to the Ryman. All the honky-tonks have back doors utilized by the locals.

Three doors down, Tootsies is famous as the place where Willie Nelson and Patsy Cline’s husband got drunk one night and wrote “Crazy”, the most played song in the history of the juke box.

On the other side is The Stage on Broadway, which sports an awesome mural of Merle Haggard hocking George Dickel Whiskey with a tag line that reads, “Water’s for teardrops, Dickel’s for drinking.”

But the live music these resurrected tourist traps feature is the typical cheesy pop country pabulum that passes these days for creativity in this town.

Some dude from Upstate New York awkwardly wearing a cowboy hat singing about tractors and honeysuckle and crap that appeals to 55 year old housewives.

If you are looking for REAL country music in the Country Music Capital of the World, Robert’s Western World is about the only place you can find it.

Every night, you’ll find a real deal talented band that always features pedal steel guitar and upright bass and singer with more talent than all the fake pretty boys this town produces in a year.

BR5-49 used to play here before hitting it big time -- or, at least as big as big time can get playing this genre of music.

The setting is as authentic as it gets.

A former Western wear apparel store, the shelves are still lined with cowboy boots for sale.

The bartenders and waitresses are dressed straight out of central casting from a 1950s hipster stage set. Lots of pink hair dye, mousse and tattoos.

I found a spot at the bar in the back right in front of the little griddle.

Being the only sober guy in the joint, I desperately ordered up a Yazoo Pale Ale, a nice hoppy local Nashville brew.

My second choice was less inspired.

Dos Perros, also brewed by Yazoo, is supposed to be a “Mexican style” beer.

Look, I like Mexicans as much as any other gringo.

Chimichangas and mole? Sure.

But I’m not sure Mexican-style beer is a genre that begs for replication.

It tasted like a Corona without the lime. No thanks.

While the Yazoos were $4.50 each, I was able to score a Miller High Life for less than half the price.

Bargain!

That’s a fraction of the cost of a similar quality beer at Tootsies. With a much better soundtrack.

The best thing I can say about the burger is it is cheap and quick.

This isn’t gourmet.

The grill man chisels a block off a stack of frozen burgers and tosses the hard disk onto the flat top.

The onion rings are frozen too, of course.

But the man knows what he’s doing.

He’s like the Michelangelo of frozen meat product.

In ten minutes, the previously frozen block of beef has been transformed into a juicy tender burger with just a trace of pink in the middle. Topped with lettuce, tomato and a slice of raw onion, I’ve had much worse burgers for double the price.

Best of all were all the jealous looks from all the inebriated tourists surrounding me at the bar struck with beer-munchie-envy.

“Dayyyymmmn! That looks goooood!”

Within moments the grill man went from sedately enjoying the talents of the band to being busier than an IRS agent at a Tea Party rally.

Suit757 the trend setter. That’s me. Always on the cutting edge.

Like I said, sometimes you don’t have to be good to be good.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Southern Fried Nirvana

Arnold’s
605 8th Ave. South
Nashville, TN

I’ve written about that Middle Tennessee institution known as “the meat-and-three” on several occasions now.

But, on yet another trip through Trashville, I felt it was now time to quit fooling around and review the pinnacle of meat-and-threes – the granddaddy of them all – Arnold’s.

What makes Arnold’s the greatest?

Simple. Really, really good food.

That’s it.

Trust me, it’s not the atmosphere, service or the location.

Literally on the wrong side of the tracks (actually about 100 feet from the railroad overpass to be exact), in a run-down industrial section of south Nashville, Arnold’s is mobbed at lunchtime five days a week by perfectly respectable businessmen, cops and record company executives.

(Well, okay, you’re right, there’s nothing respectable about Nashville record company executives, but you get the idea.)

While the staff at Arnold’s is Southern-friendly as can be, the service is pretty much do-it-yourself.

First you stand in a long line that often stretches all the way to the front door. As you contemplate what slow-cooked Southern delicacies you are going to consume today, you inch along in the cafeteria line by pie (always first in a real meat-and-three), then lard-flavored vegetables and finally meat.

Kinda like how they always make you walk through the entire damn grocery store to get the beer section. This is classic meat-and-three prioritization.

Once you tell the man behind the counter which three vegetables and which meat you want, you slide your tray to the cash register, pick out your sweet tea and pay the lady at the cash register.

Then the real adventure begins. Finding a table to sit and eat all this goodness at in the tiny packed dining room.

If you’re a single suit like me (suits rarely travel in pairs), you may need to share a table. But don’t worry about awkward conversation-starters with strangers. Everybody’s too busy concentrating on appreciating the exquisite goodness in every bite of this destination-dining institution.

So why do so many Nashvillites endure this hassle? The trek to the wrong side of town, the long wait, the table hovering?

One bite of Arnold’s fried chicken and the answer becomes obvious.

The food here is so good, I’d travel from anywhere, even across country, just to get a whiff of the collard greens. Come to think of it, I DID travel across country today. So the sketchy drive from Music Row is nothing for the locals.

My chosen “three”? Green beans, turnip greens and – in a nod to the fall season – stewed apples.

The beans and greens were chock full of earthy flavor. You know from the first bite, these vegetables have never darkened the inside of an aluminum can. The fact that they weren’t loaded with spices or pig parts made them even more impressive. These vegetables were so good, they stood on their own – nothing but slow cooked goodness.

The stewed apples were excellent also. Unlike the soft apple mush you get at some Southern restaurants, these apples still retained their crisp skin and tart bite even under their sweet syrupy nectar.

I also liked the corn bread variety served up by Arnold’s. As something of a corn bread connoisseur, I consider Arnold’s to be among the best.

Both kinds.

On a small side dish, you get one traditional corn muffin and a small pancake-looking circle of corn bread known in these parts as a “flap jack.” If you are lucky enough to grab them fresh out of the kitchen, they might still retain enough warmth to melt your pat of butter.

The sweetness of the corn bread is a perfect compliment to the earthy flavors of the green beans and turnip greens.

Corn bread. Vegetables. Apples. What about the meat?

Okay, okay, I’m getting to that.

This is the best fried chicken I’ve ever had in my life!

There. I said it.

That statement might cause some issues at home, but it just can’t be denied.

My fried chicken thigh was the moistest, most tender, juicy and flavorful piece of poultry I’ve ever bit into to.

But best of all was the crust. Crunchy, packed with powerful seasonings in every nook and cranny, the crust was a party in every bite. I couldn’t stop eating it – even the crust on the gristle and bones.

The texture was perfect – not dry, not greasy – and the crust didn’t all come sliding off the meat on the first bite like some lesser elevated fried poultry.

This was fried chicken nirvana.

After that meal, you could understand how the pie might be a bit anti-climactic.

But not at Arnold’s.

My chocolate meringue certainly didn’t look like much. It wasn’t going to win any Davidson County Fair beauty contests. The meringue was sort of shriveled up, teetering to the side like it would slide right off into oblivion the moment I touched it with my fork.

But looks can be deceiving.

The chocolate was light but packed an explosion of sweetness. You can not just taste the sugar. You can feel it on your tongue.

Powerful goodness.

And a great way to cap one of the best lunches to be had in all of America.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Swett’s is Good for Your Soul

Swett’s
2725 Clifton Ave.
Nashville, TN
Visited October 19, 2010

Beer selection: None.

Food: “Soul food” heaven.



I know we can get all cloak-and-dagger about this “Suits” thing, but I’ll let you in on a little secret.

Suit757 is a white guy.

Shocker, huh?

But if there is one thing I’ve learned as I’ve made my way across every state in our country in search of good places to eat and drink, it is that some of the best food on earth is prepared by black hands.

Some of my most memorable meals have been served at chicken & waffle joints, BBQ pits, fried chicken shacks and blue collar soul food cafeterias located in the parts of town most suburbanites won’t even drive through with their car doors locked.

In fact, I’m pretty sure in some of these places I might have been the first patron of European ascenstry to darken the door in years. Almost definitely the first one to do so in a suit.

That’s why we call it “Suits in Strange Places”.

So let me say right off the bat, Swett’s is NOT one of those places.

Oh sure, to get there, you have to drive to the sketchy side of town where Swett’s has been serving classic meat-and-three “soul food” since 1954.

But Swett’s is a veritable Nashville tourist attraction. Right up there with Studio B and the Grand Old Opry.

Heck, Swett’s even has an outpost in the airport food court. (You know you’ve made it mainstream when you get a franchise either at the airport or the local Major League Baseball stadium.)

So, no, there is no need to get nervous about a trip to Swett’s. You’ll feel right at home no matter your neighborhood or ancestry. The only thing you need is a taste for great southern cooking and a big appetite.

Other than some intriguing framed pictures of famous customers on the wall next to where the cafeteria line forms, Swett’s has zincho atmosphere. This place is all about eating.

As my place in line quickly snaked by the collage of smiling musicians and football players, I grabbed a tray and came face to face with my first dilemma of the day.

Desert.

Yeah, Swett’s astutely puts desert at the FRONT of the line. Before you’ve stuffed yourself and come to your senses, “There’s no way I can eat another bite.”

Staring at the display of homemade pies, cobblers and brownies, the dilemma morphs from “to get desert or not” to “which one do I want?”

To accompany my chosen pecan pie, I asked the friendly cafeteria lady the throw some fried chicken legs on my plate.

Of course, the beef tips, meat loaf, stewed chicken and ribs all looked heavenly too. Maybe next time.

Next up: vegetables.

From greens to cole slaw to mac & cheese to cabbage. You really can’t go wrong at Swett’s.

Even if it is some nasty veggie you vowed you would never eat again once you left your mother’s clutches, try it again here. You won’t be disappointed. Slow cooked, simmered in spices, drenched in pig fat, larded with bacon. Swett’s will quickly convert the most hardened carnivore into a veggie lover (just don’t ever go home to mom).

My three vegetables were green beans, sweet potatoes and dressing (okay, they are a little loose on the definition of vegetable).

The beans packed such a flavor wallop from all the ham bits and seasonings that you’d hardly know you were eating a vegetable (that’s a compliment, by the way).

Ditto for the sweet potatoes. These babies were so drenched in syrupy sugar and pecans that they tasted like one of the most decadent deserts on the menu. Absolutely delicious!

The dressing was moist, packed with good seasonings and warm out of the oven.

Thanksgiving will never be the same again.

The fried chicken was excellent also, crispy fried with plenty of good spices.

The round pancake-looking “fried corn bread” was a bit of a mystery to me. I tried looking around at the regular customers to see if there was something special I should be doing to it. Like drench it in butter or syrup or honey. It was a little dry and uninspiring just by itself.

Of course I saved the pie for last.

I have a thing about pecan pie. I like it warm.

Unfortunately, Swett’s only serves it at room temperature.

To me, that’s like going skinny dipping with your friends – but all the girls keep their clothes on.

Disappointing. And pointless.

That being said, I have to say Swett’s pecan pie was one of the best I’ve ever had in my life – that’s saying something considering its 72 degree handicap. Chock full of pecans and drizzled in sweetness.

I came to the conclusion that Swett’s can do no wrong. That’s why folks of all types from every corner of Nashville, year after year, keep making the trek to Clifton Avenue at lunchtime.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Meet Meat-and-Three

Iron Pork Chop
930 Lebanon Pike
Nashville, TN
Visited October 13, 2010

Ah, the good ol’ “meat-and-three”.

The meat-and-three is as much a part of Nashville as cheesy pop-country songs and broken dreams.

Sometimes a good meat-and-three is the only thing to look forward to on a trip through Trashville.

I guess I should start with a definition of the meat-and-three, for those of you who have never ventured south of the Ohio River. (Southerners feel free to skip the next paragraph).

Meat-and-threes are humble little Southern-style restaurants that pop up all over weird places in middle Tennessee. The idea is you pick a meat from among four or five choices and then you pick three vegetables on the side from a board that typically lists 10-15 side dishes that rotate on a daily basis.

Hence, the name, “meat-and-three”.

Sweet tea is the requisite beverage. Biscuits or corn bread comes on the side (in the Iron Pork Chop's case, both). Pie is for desert.

The really appealing thing about meat-and-threes to occasional veggie frowners like me is that they usually play fast and lose with the definition of “vegetable”.

For example, macaroni-and-cheese is ALWAYS a meat-and-three veggie option. So is Jell-O, coleslaw and a whole host of other non-garden grown species that would make your Yankee grandmother roll over in her grave.

First of all, let me state that the Iron Pork Chop is not one of Nashville’s more famous celebrity-attended meat-and-threes. No Faith Hill sightings here.

No, I just happened to be driving by while I was hungry. I thought the name sounded cool, so I swerved my compact rental car into the parking lot.

Like Nashville’s best meat-and-threes, the Iron Pork Chop is not in the best location. In fact, it’s directly across the street from a motel that actually advertises rooms for $23 for three hour intervals and “free adult movies”.

But that’s okay. A trip to the seedy side of town is all part of the requisite meat-and-three experience.

The meat part was easy. At the Iron Pork Chop, you get the pork chop. Duh.

But narrowing the vegetables down to just three was harder than the well-worn mattresses across the street.

You have to understand, ordinary sounding vegetables like “green beans” at great meat-and-threes are anything but ordinary. Vegetarians ordering vegetables at a Nashville meat-and-three would run screaming from the building like Anderson Cooper at the Gold Club.

No. Green beans are never just green beans. They are always enhanced with pork or bacon or fat or all three to give them that delicious hearty flavor of the South. I’m convinced pig fat is the single essential ingredient in all Southern cooking, especially vegetables.

Vegans, don’t say I didn’t warn you. (Why are you reading this blog anyway?)

Squash casserole and stewed tomatoes are other meat-and-three staples, so sweet and slow cooked, they could qualify as desert. I’ve had squash casserole so carb-loaded, the dish could better be described as “squash cobbler”.

So I have to admit being a bit disappointed when I was served my chosen “three”.

The macaroni and cheese was the runny Kraft in-the-box kind your mother made you when you were a kid. Not too exciting.

The turnip greens had a decent earthy flavor to them, but no sign of any hog fat, hog jowl, ham hock, pork belly. Nothing. Just a vegetarian-friendly mulch of mushy greens.

Iron Pork Chop’s squash casserole tilted toward protein rather than carbs, as the squash was stewed in a mild cheese sauce which I really liked. Definitely the top draw of my chosen three.

The highlight of this meat-and-three was…the meat.

Pork chops can be tricky. Too often they can be bland, tough, dried up or -- heaven forbid -- all three.

But not Iron Pork Chop’s namesake.

This beauty is breaded and fried.

Do I need to repeat my Suit757 mantra about frying? Yeah, pig is good. Fried pig is awesome!

The thin crust reminded me of the zesty delicate layer of grease and corn meal you find on good fried chicken. It also locked in the flavor and moisture of the perfectly cooked chop.

If you are going to name your joint after a menu item, that menu item sure as heck better be good. The Iron Pork Chop passes.

Of course, no visit to a meat-and-three is complete without one very important meal capper – PIE!

My chocolate meringue was nice. I’m not sure it was home-made. But whether it is frozen, store-bought or from scratch, there just ain’t no such thing as a bad chocolate meringue pie.

It turns out the pie was a good analogy for my entire Iron Pork Chop experience. It was good. How could fried pig, Southern veggies and pie be anything but?

However, it just doesn’t quite live up to those other more famous Nashville meat-and-three legends like Arnold’s and the Loveless Café.

But hey, look on the bright side. At least you don’t have to fight Faith Hill for that last piece of pie.

Rating: Would Wear Shirt If It Were Free.

Southern Tradition Survives In Trashville

Elliston Place Soda Shop
2111 Elliston Place
Nashville, TN
Visited August 18, 2010

Beer selection: None.

Food: Delicious Southern cooking.

Nashville gets a bad rap. And, frankly, it’s entirely deserved.

The city is built around taking what is supposed to be artistic expression and stripping it down to a commercial pre-packaged product for the masses.

Here’s what happens when you build your entire industry around catering to the lowest common denominator of fickle pop culture whims: tradition, history and good taste get tossed aside like conservative principles the day after a Republican gets elected.

That’s why I always look forward to a trip to Elliston Place Soda Shop whenever I’m in Nashville. The place is like an unchanging rock among a churning sea of bad taste.

Hannah Montana doesn’t hang out here. At least, I hope not.

No, Elliston Place Soda Shop hasn’t changed a bit since the day it opened 60 years ago.

As you flip through the little juke boxes at each booth you still see the same songs by George Jones, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Sr. and Hank Williams Jr.

And the homemade biscuits are Southern-delicious every time.

Today, I got the country ham, scrambled eggs and grits to accompany my requisite buttermilk biscuits.

The ham was great -- not salty in the least bit -- an interesting variation on country hams from further east of these parts.

Since my first day waiting tables at a Southern breakfast restaurant 20 years ago, I’ve marveled at how well the tastes and textures of eggs, ham and biscuit compliment each other. It’s a match made in heaven. There’s no better way to start your day.

But it is the grits that are the star at Elliston Place.

I’ve developed a theory about grits over the last 20 years I’ve been eating them that Elliston Place has required me to alter. (I can change my opinions about some things, on occasion.)

Since grits aren’t normally known to pack a major flavor wallop (unless you get those fancy grits with cheese or ham or gravy in there like they serve at four star Southern restaurants at dinner time), I used to be believe that it is all about the texture when grading grits.

You don’t want your grits too clumpy. And you don’t want them too runny.

You want them moist, but still fork edible.

Elliston Place achieves not just grits perfection on the texture scale. They score a 10 on taste too.

If anyone tries to tell you grits don’t have any taste, you need to immediately bring them to Nashville.

These grits, while completely ungilded, have a delicious hominy taste. No grits-virgin Yankee could ever taste these and ask that typical Yankee question, “So, what are grits, anyway?”

You know right away when you taste that first fork-full of Elliston Place’s grits. You can’t help but notice that deep, earthy corn meal flavor, which gets even better with a small dab of butter and a quick shake of salt and pepper.

Elliston Place Soda Shop is also a great place for lunch.

Come sit at the lunch counter and order up your favorite meat-and-three along with a chocolate milk shake or malt, made the old fashioned way – just like they’ve been doing here for six decades.

Yep. You can count on Elliston Place every time. Every meal.

So no matter what kind of crappy pabulum the suits around the corner on Music Row are churning out this week, you always know there is one place in Nashville that won’t let you down or leave Southern tradition behind.

Just don’t forget to throw a dime in the juke box for George Jones for me.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Welcome To Nashvilleland: You Must Be This Tall To Eat Here

Jack’s Bar-B-Que
416 Broadway
Nashville, TN
Visited August 17, 2010

Beer selection: A lame selection of $5 bottled beers

Food: Tasty, but over-priced BBQ

“Nashville Sucks!”

Among the so-called “creative class” it’s the most popular mantra since “Hope & Change.”

I have 32 songs on my Tennessee I-Pod playlist (yes, I have a playlist for most states). 17 of those songs are about Nashville specifically, 16 of which reflect the aforementioned theme.

Music City’s number one product is cheesy pop music.

And I do mean “product”.

Corporate hacks pick some pretty guy or gal out of a face book who can barely carry a note, write them a song with lame lyrics, provide them a backing instrumental track, and market the slop to middle aged white women.

If these aspiring artists had a creative bone in their body, it’s quickly squelched. So, it’s just easier to pick someone who doesn’t, goes the Nashville corporate thinking.

So I wondered, how good can corporate Nashville BBQ be?

I went to Jack’s to find out.

Nashville, Inc. became crystal clear the very first time I stepped foot in the famed Wild Horse Saloon over a decade ago.

A “band” of “guys” who looked like they were recruited off a male cheerleading squad or a Jetblue employee picnic were on stage “singing” what can only be described as “music” that reminded me of Milli Vanalli with a twang.

I’m pretty sure above the pulse of the synthesizers I could make out Hank Williams rolling in his grave.

I spent almost a decade hiding in my hotel room on subsequent Nashville trips.

Then I got up some courage and checked out Lower Broadway.

Lower Broad is a touristy version of what Nashville used to be, or so the corporate hacks want the tourists to think.

You have the famed Ryman Auditorium, a converted church that hosted The Grand Old Opry for three decades before the corporate hacks decided to move the Opry, appropriately enough, to a theme park out in some God-forsaken, soulless expanse of Nashville suburban hell.

Right along side the Ryman is a smelly alley that leads to the back doors of a series of touristy honky-tonks.

Touristy honky-tonks?

Isn’t that kind of an oxymoron? Not in Nashville.

Tootsie’s is the most famous, known as the place where Willie Nelson and Patsy Cline’s husband got drunk one night and wrote “Crazy”, the most famous song in the history of the juke box. I suppose Tootsie’s has its divey charms, but $6 for a PBR is a bit ridiculous, even if there is no cover charge.

The best place on the Lower Broad strip is Robert’s Western World, a former cowboy boots store where PBRs are just $2.50, and you can still hear real musicians playing real instruments performing real country music. You can even get a decent burger or fried bologna sandwich from the dude at the griddle in the back.

Next door is where you can find Jack’s. And I was hungry for some BBQ.

Jack’s reminded me of dining at EPCOT in Disney World.

The food was pretty good, but over-priced. And the joint, which had the atmosphere of an amusement park cafeteria, was mobbed with stroller-pushing tourists and their screaming kids.

For $25, I stood in the cafeteria line and got the three meat platter (three ribs – only two of which had meat, plus sausage & pork), baked beans, green beans, a slice or two of corn bread, a tiny piece of chess pie and a Shiner Bock.

While that sounds like a lot, Jack’s doesn’t exactly go over board on portion sizes. The three meat platter is more of a sampling of a few bites of this and a few bites of that.

But what do expect at a theme park? I mean, Nashville?

The good news is the BBQ was legit. Smoky and tasty, just like it should be, especially the ribs (the two with the meat on them, that is).

Jack’s is exactly what tourists from Pennsylvania think BBQ should be.

Keep it simple, don’t get too creative and charge the hell out of ‘em for it.

And that’s why Jack’s is a perfect metaphor for the theme park that is Nashville.

Rating: Would Wear Shirt If It Were Free