Live from The Catbird Seat

So September brought us a stressful trial, weeks of single-parenting, and scant blog posts. October brought us a credit card bill full of emotional shopping, catching up on sleep, even fewer blog posts, and a dinner reservation I had been anticipating for months. 

The Catbird Seat is a twenty seat restaurant with a quirky reservation process. Reservations open exactly thirty days in advance at midnight. Because they serve a very limited audience every night and close shop Sunday-Tuesday, reservations are a hot commodity. I tried in vain in February because they had just been nominated for a James Beard Award. I tried in vain in June when our visitors had one request, TCS. I tried in vain in August for my birthday. No dice. I finally got reservations last week only to discover I was double booked. Praise the epicurean gods when the hostess took pity on me and moved our reservation one day later. 

My friends who had already beat the system weren't all that impressed. They felt that the chefs were not successful at yukking it up with the diners gathered around the tiny kitchen. Sure, the food was better than you would find in most Nashville establishments, but the lack of a dress code at the hottest establishment in town killed the mood.  I didn't want their negativity to color my opinion and thankfully it didn't.

We arrived on time, choosing the wine pairings and let the menu unfold. Thank goodness we didn't get a preview or a chance to make requests because 90% of the meal were dishes I never would have ordered if I had had my druthers, including but not limited to: langostine, fennel, kimchi and custard served in a shell far too closely resembling a raw chicken egg. 

It was far and away the best meal I have ever had.  Dishes ranged from a simple cracker jack to a porcini mushroom oreo cookie to tender filet of wagyu beef.  The mussel with edible shell was one of the single best bites I have ever tasted.  I would easily order the cod as my last dying meal. 

I am an adventurous eater and have eaten in my fair share of the country's top chef restaurants, Michel Richard, Wolfgang Puck, Mike Isabella, Brian Voltaggio, Mario Batalli, Jose Andres, Cathal Anderson. Perhaps it was simply because I was able to try things I wouldn't normally otherwise and the chefs were putting forward their best. Perhaps it was the adult beverages.  Perhaps it was the country star seated at the end of the bar. Perhaps it was because we were seated at Josh Habiger's station and I was allowed to chat and ask questions. Perhaps it was because Josh lived in New Brighton once upon a bad break-up. 

Whatever it is, I will be trying to game the quirky reservation system again and again. Now I just need some more excuses to do so. Bring on the visitors. Bring on the promotions.  Just please don't bring on another six week trial. 

What I Envisioned

Rocky and I discussed our move to Nashville for years and years.  There were several images I had in mind when I fantasized about our life in Tennessee.

Relaxing on our Front Porch

I would broaden my appreciation for southern literature beyond Pat Conroy, Katherine Stockett and Lee Smith to include Eudora Welty and William Faulkner.

We would perfect our recipes for fried chicken and peach cobbler.

We would subscribe to Southern Living, Garden and Gun and American Rifleman

We would attend the Derby, not just Derby Parties

Our children's wardrobes would be filled with monogrammed couture.

But sometimes our reality is a little different.  Our home resembles more sharecropper shack than southern bungalow.  Our days are filled with near-90 degree temperatures in March, bugs the size of Texas, and burnt chicken.  And then there are those nasty opossums.

  That's what today feels like.  The South is biting back!

Biscuits and Babysitters

When we were contemplating a move to Tennessee, we weighed several factors.  I'm not going to lie, but family nearby who wouldn't mind babysitting Bennett was near the top of our list.  Sure, we had friends who loved us enough to give up their Saturday night so we could have one too.  But, we knew it was quite a burden and it was hard to ask.  Six months later, and we've gone on two whopping dinners solo.  Babysitting a toddler is still a burden, and it is still hard to ask, even parents.

I was thrilled when we received restaurant gift cards and offers to babysit. We finally got to take them up on it last Saturday night. Mack and Kate's was so worth the wait! 
Mack and Kate's is a lovely thirty minute drive south on Hillsboro Pike.  By day, you can take in the scenic route filled with cow pastures, rolling hills and Williamson County mansions.  By night, you can take in the scenic route filled with deer, dark winding roads, and Williamson County mansions with olympic sized fountains in the front drive.  No joke, come visit, I'll show you.

The place was cozy and intimate, filled to the brim with antiques and rustic wood.  Not only would I have them cater my next event, I'd happily invite them to decorate my abode too.  We enjoyed a nice cocktail, and debated our menu like we were debating states' rights, pork chop or protective tariffs?  We ultimately decided on the braised beef rib and the scallops.  We were pleased as punch when some fluffy biscuits arrived at our table with a side of honey butter.  I had not intended to blog our dinner, but I couldn't resist when they brought our mini lions-head soup bowls to our table.  They were too presh not to preserve for posterity. 

I think our waiter noticed the flash, because he suddenly became loads more attentive.  I think he thought I must be a legitimate food blogger because from that point on, he was refilling glasses on cue, not too pushy and pacing the meal just right.  He provided the perfect suggestions for wine pairings and helped us narrow down our list of desserts.  He told us all about the celebrities that frequent the establishment and when we departed, told us to call anytime.  If we had trouble getting a reservation, he'd squeeze us in lickety split.  Or maybe he just thought we were one of those folks in one of those fancy mansions? 

Regardless, the food was good, the company was grand, and the baby was fast asleep.

Biscuits and Patience

Two weekends ago, I started a batch of biscuits. I had made biscuits before of the pop-tube, mix and from scratch variety. I however, had never made an authentic Southern recipe that called for Southern flour. The lovely Virginia Willis waxed poetic about the differences and I bought her argument, and a fourth variety of flour to clutter my pantry.

I read her gluten explanation much more thoroughly than I read the recipe. That Sunday, we were having our friends, the NewlyWeirs for Sunday Supper. Rocky was making fried chicken and corn on the cob. I was responsible for the macaroni and cheese and biscuits. Bennett sat on the floor, and played with a wooden spoon for an hour, while I measured, proofed the yeast, accidentally doubled the sugar, kneaded the dough and consulted the recipe again. “Refrigerate overnight or up to one week.” Hmm, I didn’t think our friends were eager to wait overnight, even if these were the best darned biscuits they’d ever had.

Instead, I’d make them the next day for our impromptu barbecue. I kneaded the dough five more times, then consulted the recipe again, “allow to rest for one hour or overnight.” Well, fiddle dee dee, our guests were set to arrive any minute. Back to the fridge, again.

Tuesday night, the biscuits were finally ready. I let them come to room temperature and put them in the oven. They came out looking perfect. They had risen. They were browned and soft. They tasted great too, if a little sweet.

I had made multiple attempts to finish what seemed like an easy task, sort of like our attempts to relocate to Tennessee.  But, our patience has paid off.  I accepted a public affairs position for a small association in Williamson County.  I start in July.  We never imagined it would be my career to take us back home.

It's a lot to stomach.  We are finally being given the opportunity we've been dreaming of for years, it just isn't happening quite how we envisioned it.  It has been a lot harder to say goodbye and the uncertainty of what lies ahead is daunting.  I just have to hope that the outcome is as perfect as those biscuits, maybe even a little sweet.