1 week Ago By [email protected] (Danny Bonvissuto)
Date Night is a multipart road map for everyone who wants a nice evening out, but has no time to plan it. It’s for people who want to do more than just go to one restaurant and call it a night. It’s for overwhelmed parents who don’t get out often; for friends who visit the same three restaurants because they’re too afraid to try someplace new; and for busy folks who keep forgetting all the places they’ve driven past, heard about, seen on social and said, “Let’s remember that place next time we go out.
” Parlour Bar 210 Fourth Ave. N. http://hyatt.
com/dream-hotels/bnadz-dream-nashville/dining Sinatra Bar & Lounge 222 Fourth Ave. N. sinatranashville.
com December kicked my ass. The entire month put on its pointiest boots, taped a bull’s-eye to my butt and went to town. My teen kicked things off with bronchitis, then I went down hard with a virus, only to recover in time to nurse the teen through the flu.
In the final stretch of present buying and marathon wrapping, husband Dom got COVID for Christmas. This is why, when it came time to leave the house for my January Date Night, I just didn’t wanna. It’s too cold out there.
Too windy. Too people-y. I wanted to be quiet.
Needed to be alone . Can’t everyone pretend I’m a bear and let me hibernate? No, they cannot. No one had time for my excuses, including the teen — who needed to be picked up two hours away and dropped off at an airsoft facility in the bowels of downtown Nashville, where everyone looks like they’re either preparing for end times or causing it.
Once I got back in the world, I felt a little more like myself. So I decided to keep going. Pink 75 at Parlour Bar Parlour Bar in the Dream Nashville hotel is a lovely place to ease into humanity, and has become my go-to downtown drink spot for many reasons: 1.
Near Fourth Avenue and Church, it puts a two-block buffer between me and Broadway; 2. With eight tables plus bar seats, it’s small but not so small I have to stalk people for their chair; 3. It has Goldilocks lighting, not too dark and not too bright; 4.
There’s often a well-thought-out and executed seasonal drink menu; 5. It’s a snug, humble space in a district that’s become a little too big for its britches. The Thornless Rose at Parlour Bar In the fall, Dom and I stopped in for a Campfire Old Fashioned with a toasted marshmallow garnish and loved the pumpkin pillows along the banquette so much I found them online and bought a pair.
When we visited earlier this month, Parlour Bar was at the tail end of its Holiday Cheers theme, and we warmed ourselves with a Spiced Winter Wonderland (spiced rum, spiced pear liqueur, lemon, orange juice and honey) and a Cozy Up (Makers Mark, hot apple cider) underneath giant red ornaments and snowflakes hanging from the ceiling. Now they’re offering two Valentine’s Day-themed drinks for those who celebrate: the Pink 75 and Thornless Rose. Parlour Bar is a one-drink wonder.
Somewhere to shed the skin of the flight, drive, day (or in my case, the month of December) and charge up your social battery before the main event. Sinatra Bar & Lounge I’ll admit it: I snubbed Sinatra Bar & Lounge at first. I saw the billboards, couldn’t connect the dots between the Country Music Capital of the World and a Rat Pack crooner, and wrote it off as another music-adjacent locale looking to cash in on the deep pockets of the downtown crowd.
It wasn’t until two unrelated friends who dine out often mentioned they’d been and loved it that I started to wonder if I’d become a little too big for my own britches. Sinatra is just a few doors down from Parlour Bar . Dom and I moved quickly from one to the other to avoid the cold, and we were at the door, with “Luck Be a Lady” blasting through the nearby speakers, in minutes.
From the host stand, I could see it wasn’t a cavernous space: A green banquette snakes along the left side, curving in and out so each couple has privacy while feeling connected to the rest of the restaurant. The bar stretches down the right, and there’s an elevated dining area at the far end. That’s where a guy who wasn’t a Sinatra impersonator but wasn’t really not a Sinatra impersonator sang within view of everyone in the restaurant.
Now this is a reason to leave the house. I knew they’d play music; I didn’t know it’d be live, from a performer walking around the restaurant with a retro wireless mic. Shortly after we were seated, Not Frank absolutely crushed “My Way,” singing to guests somehow not awkwardly, moving on at the exact right time.
Dude was a pro. Creamed Spinach at Sinatra Bar & Lounge Meanwhile, our server put a golf pencil and a “My Way” martini checklist on the table, and Dom immediately started customizing his drink with glee. (“Look babe, there are goat-cheese-stuffed pepperoncini!”).
Meanwhile I read through the spirits menu, which included a $500 2-ounce pour of Jack Daniel’s exclusive Sinatra Century that was created in honor of Old Blue Eyes’ 100th birthday. Shortly after the martini arrived, so did Not Frank. “Drinking alone, my friend?” he asked Dom, gesturing to his martini and my water glass.
“Any requests?” Without missing a beat, Dom asked for “Fly Me to the Moon,” our wedding song, and Not Frank was off with a wink. Sinatra isn’t a theme restaurant; it’s a special-occasion spot with a slightly more-than-subtle Frank Sinatra theme. And as I’m sure you know, the Chairman of the Board didn’t F around.
There’s a dress code and two bouncer-ish guys by the door who look ready to politely enforce it. Service is professional, practiced and perfected (and maybe all-male — at least it was the night of our visit). The menu is extensive, blending high-end Italian with high-end steakhouse.
It is not cheap. There’s not a chicken finger or side of mac-and-cheese to be seen. They make a mighty fine ragu pappardelle, though — braised short rib strands cling to wide noodles in a rich dish I would happily eat nightly until the weather warms.
Sinatra offers eight sauce and butter add-ons to their steaks, but not the blue cheese crust Dom craved. They created one for him, and it came out beautifully — a side of lemony creamed spinach balanced each bite with brightness. Regrets? I had a few.
But then again, too few to mention. Actually I will mention one: Next time we’ll skip the underwhelming tiramisu in favor of a snifter of sambuca with the traditional three coffee beans in the bottom. Toward the end of our meal, Not Frank sang our song as Dom returned from the restroom.
“You can sit here,” I said. “But my husband will be back soon.” “OK then, I’ll make it quick,” he replied.
“I don’t have a lot of money, and my bed is covered in dog hair. Want to spend the rest of your life with me?” After a month of Lipton noodle soup and grilled cheese, it felt foreign to flirt and laugh. That’s the power of food: Some meals just keep you alive — others bring you back to life.
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