Comment Archives: Locations: Restaurants: Breakfast
Re: “Noshville”
I was introduced to this great place to eat by an English friend who lives in Nashville. I later took some other friends along. The food is good, with plenty of choice to suit pretty much all tastes.
Re: “Arnold's Country Kitchen”
This is the best meat and 3 in Nashville, no -best in the state, no - maybe in the South. I have eaten there dozens of times and never been disappointed.
Re: “417 Union”
This is a great venue, not only for eating, but the upstairs dining room doubles as a gallery for local artists. The current exhibit is by photographer, Nancy Diana, and features her "Signs of Life: Nashville - Part I & 2" series, her "Sustenance" series, and many of her landscapes of Middle Tennessee. Here's a link to many of the photos being shown: http://www.pbase.com/bellanundo/signs_of_l…
Here's another: http://www.pbase.com/bellanundo/signs_of_l…
Re: “Noshville”
great place for a Dr. Brown's soda, corned beef on rye (no cheese, no vegetables) with lots of brown spicy mustard! dessert of black and white cookies is a must! if you haven't tried these imported delicious items, stop what you are doing and drive to one of the noshville locations now!
Re: “417 Union”
oiiiiiiiiii vovo tudo bem eu estou morrendo de saudade
Re: “Pfunky Griddle”
The Pfunky Griddle is set in a house, and has the sort of quaint ambience that makes you want to like it; attractive, in spite of the jungle mural motif painted on walls that look to have once been the bedrooms of a few 5 and 6 year old children.
I am seated pretty quickly, and as I’m seated the hostess turns on a griddle at my table. Whoa. I didn’t know the Griddle in The Pfunky Griddle would be one at my own table. I looked around and noticed there was a large griddle in the middle of each table. The mother and daughter at the table next to me seemed to be enjoying their griddle. So I decided to go with it. I figured maybe it’d be something like an experience at The Melting Pot or a Japanese restaurant like Benihanas. It wasn’t.
The waitress gives me a menu and explains to me when I tell her I’ve never been to The Pfunky Griddle “we provide you your batter and materials to make your own pancake, French toast, or eggs.” The wheels in my head start turning. I’m bummed—because I was in one of those rare moods to get pancakes, but I had no desire to cook them. I’m more an egg girl. But then she tells me I’ll have to make my own eggs, and there aren’t any omelets on the menu anyway. They do have potatoes, grits, and a few other sides that you don’t have to cook. I figured I would do less damage making French toast than pancakes (which, let’s be honest, are NOT easy to make which is why people go to a restaurant to get them!), and I can’t have breakfast without eggs so I ordered one egg. I wanted to eat at least one thing that I didn’t have to cook myself, so I ordered potatoes.
The waitress disappears and arrives back with a plastic blue plate and a big black spatula--my utensils. She also has the smallest cup of coffee I’ve ever seen outside of a fun house. And I’ve actually never been to a fun house, so it was the smallest cup of coffee I’ve ever seen.
As I’m waiting for my food to come out, I check out my table. My griddle is making me a little bit hot, and I notice the table has vegetable spray, salt, paper, and sugar. Soon, the waitress comes out. “here’s your egg.” She meant it quite literally. She presented me an egg, in its shell, nesting in a bowl. It was topped by another bowl. You haven’t been disappointed with what you ordered in a restaurant until a waitress comes out to you and says here’s your egg and quite literally gives you an egg.
“And here’s your French toast.” She slides a bowl of some mixture and a plate of wheat bread on my table, and prepares to leave. “Sooo,” I say tentatively, “do I just spray this vegetable spray on the griddle?” “Oh!” she says, “I can do that for you!”. I’m thinking I’m the one who just left home to eat, I really would like them to cook the entire meal for me instead of just spraying my griddle.
She sprays my griddle thoroughly, then turns to leave again. “So how long should I cook this?” I ask, pointing to my French toast. I’m a pretty good cook, but I can screw up members of the pancake, French toast, waffle family something terrible. “Oh, however long you want. The griddle’s pretty hot.” I’m the one sitting in front of the griddle, I know how hot it is. She leaves.
Left alone, I start problem solving. Okay. I decide to make my egg first. I break the egg, use some of the milk that the waitress had brought for my coffee, and salt and pepper. I mix up the egg with my fork—that I’ll eventually be eating my food with. Then I change tasks and focus on my French toast. I dip my bread in the French toast mixture (which I assume is made of egg and cinnamon). Eventually, I’ve filled my griddle with bread dipped in the egg and cinnamon batter. I figure I may as well cook my lonely looking egg. My breakfast potatoes arrive, and it turns out they’re mashed. I’m slightly disappointed because I was kinda’ craving some hash browns. I’m starting to think these folks object to having to stand over a griddle or grill themselves. The waitress hasn’t picked up my mess yet—my leftover egg shell, my batter for my French toast, and all the plates I have left over.
I put my egg on the griddle, and I will admit an egg does well to be spread out on a griddle. I eat my egg. It is tasty! This isn’t really surprising, however, because I make a tasty egg at home. My French toast is o-kay. It’s not great, but that’s not really my fault. I don’t think the batter is that great---which is actually pretty annoying since their one job is to make the batter.
By this point, I’m just thinking this is a silly idea. Silly as daycares that spell kids K-I-D-Z or call themselves something like Kiddie Kollege. Misspelling words for a business advantage is silly, and this concept is silly. It’s as if the laziness of them not having to cook is just contagious, and gets into everything. The waitress doesn’t refill my coffee cup or bring me water. When I finally ask for more coffee, she brings me cold coffee. And my entire meal I stared at the refrigerator so I could see them storing the store-bought orange juice.
One of my favorite words is trifling. It’s a word that captures a combination of laziness, thoughtlessness, and silliness. It’s one of the world’s best words in my opinion, particularly because there are some things that are just such a bizarre combination of lazy, thoughtless, and silly that they just have to be described as trifling. And so is The Pfunky Griddle. I think the concept in some ways could have potential. But I don't think it's there yet. Perhaps they should let Parliament keep the P-funk..
P.S. All this being said, if you have a kid I could see how this could be a good time.
Rating Detail:
Food: 2
Service: 2
Atmosphere: 2
Value: 2
Overall: 2
Re: “Pfunky Griddle”
The Pfunky Griddle is set in a house, and has the sort of quaint ambience that makes you want to like it; attractive, in spite of the jungle mural motif painted on walls that look to have once been the bedrooms of a few 5 and 6 year old children.
I am seated pretty quickly, and as I’m seated the hostess turns on a griddle at my table. Whoa. I didn’t know the Griddle in The Pfunky Griddle would be one at my own table. I looked around and noticed there was a large griddle in the middle of each table. The mother and daughter at the table next to me seemed to be enjoying their griddle. So I decided to go with it. I figured maybe it’d be something like an experience at The Melting Pot or a Japanese restaurant like Benihanas. It wasn’t.
The waitress gives me a menu and explains to me when I tell her I’ve never been to The Pfunky Griddle “we provide you your batter and materials to make your own pancake, French toast, or eggs.” The wheels in my head start turning. I’m bummed—because I was in one of those rare moods to get pancakes, but I had no desire to cook them. I’m more an egg girl. But then she tells me I’ll have to make my own eggs, and there aren’t any omelets on the menu anyway. They do have potatoes, grits, and a few other sides that you don’t have to cook. I figured I would do less damage making French toast than pancakes (which, let’s be honest, are NOT easy to make which is why people go to a restaurant to get them!), and I can’t have breakfast without eggs so I ordered one egg. I wanted to eat at least one thing that I didn’t have to cook myself, so I ordered potatoes.
The waitress disappears and arrives back with a plastic blue plate and a big black spatula and the smallest cup of coffee I’ve ever seen outside of a fun house. And I’ve actually never been to a fun house, so it was the smallest cup of coffee I’ve ever seen. Then the waitress goes back to her standing area.
As I’m waiting for my food to come out, I check out my table. My griddle is making me a little bit hot, and I notice the table has vegetable spray, salt, paper, and sugar. Soon, the waitress comes out. “here’s your egg.” She meant it quite literally. She presented me an egg, in its shell, nesting in a bowl. It was topped by another bowl. You haven’t been disappointed with what you ordered in a restaurant until a waitress comes out to you and says here’s your egg and quite literally gives you an egg.
“And here’s your French toast.” She slides a bowl of some mixture and a plate of wheat bread on my table, and prepares to leave. “Sooo,” I say tentatively, “do I just spray this vegetable spray on the griddle?” “Oh!” she says, “I can do that for you!”. I’m thinking I’m the one who just left home to eat, I really would like them to cook the entire meal for me instead of just spraying my griddle.
She sprays my griddle thoroughly, then turns to leave again. “So how long should I cook this?” I ask, pointing to my French toast. I’m a pretty good cook, but I can screw up members of the pancake, French toast, waffle family something terrible. “Oh, however long you want. The griddle’s pretty hot.” I’m the one sitting in front of the griddle, I know how hot it is. She leaves.
Left alone, I start problem solving. Okay. I decide to make my egg first. I break the egg, use some of the milk that the waitress had brought for my coffee, and salt and pepper. I mix up the egg with my fork—that I’ll eventually be eating my food with. Then I start dipping my bread in the French toast mixture made out of I assume egg and cinnamon. Eventually, I’ve filled my griddle with bread dipped in the egg and cinnamon batter. I figure I may as well cook my lonely looking egg. My breakfast potatoes arrive, and it turns out they’re mashed. I’m slightly disappointed because I was kinda’ craving some hash browns. I’m starting to think these folks object to having to stand over a griddle or grill themselves. The waitress hasn’t picked up my mess yet—my leftover egg shell, my batter for my French toast, and all the plates I have left over.
I put my egg on the griddle, and I will admit an egg does well to be spread out on a griddle. I eat my egg. It is tasty! This isn’t really surprising, however, because I make a tasty egg at home. My French toast is o-kay. It’s not great, but that’s not really my fault. I don’t think the batter is that great---which is actually pretty annoying since their one job is to make the batter.
By this point, I’m just thinking this is a silly idea. The Pfunky Griddle isn’t clever, it’s just silly. Silly as daycares that spell kids K-I-D-Z or call themselves something like Kiddie Kollege. Misspelling words for a business advantage is silly, and this concept is silly. It’s as if the laziness of them not having to cook is just contagious, and gets into everything. The waitress doesn’t refill my coffee cup or bring me water. When I finally ask for more coffee, she brings me cold coffee.
One of my favorite words is ‘trifling’. It’s a word that captures a combination of laziness, thoughtlessness, and silliness. It’s one of the world’s best words in my opinion, particularly because there are some things that are just such a bizarre combination of lazy, thoughtless, and silly that they just have to be described as trifling. And so is The Pfunky Griddle. In my experience, this restaurant was as trifling as spelling funky with an unnecessary P. Perhaps they should let Parliament keep the P-funk.
P.S. All this being said, if you have a kid I could see how this could be a good time.
Rating Detail:
Food: 2
Service: 2
Atmosphere: 3
Value: 2
Overall: 2
Re: “Pfunky Griddle”
This place is just awesome!!! Better pancakes than I can make at home and someone else cleans up the mess. We ate out on their new patio...it was really nice. I like lots of different toppings on my pancakes...chocolate chips and peanut butter mmmmm :) You can cook just about anything at home, The Pfunky Griddle is just....better :)
Rating Detail:
Food: 5
Service: 4
Atmosphere: 4
Value: 4
Overall: 5
Re: “417 Union”
The food is really good but I don't like the prices. I usually end up spending 10 or 11 dollars for meat and two and drink.
Rating Detail:
Food: 5
Service: 5
Atmosphere: 5
Value: 3
Overall: 4
Re: “Arnold's Country Kitchen”
I am a southern boy, so when I heard of Arnold’s Country Kitchen and all of their accolades, I had to go. I grabbed my big appetite cousin and we headed over the railroad tracks. Luckily we got there just before the big rush, the place was almost packed, but fifteen minutes later there was a line outside the door and it spilled over into the parking area. The place is small with just a few tables but that’s cool. It wouldn’t hurt them to do a deep cleaning. The order line, plates, and eating utensils reminded me of a prison cafeteria (never been, but seen them on TV).
So we are about to order and the good thing is, you can see all the food you are about to devour (especially my beloved CHESS PIE). It was Tuesday so I ordered the meatloaf, 1 piece of catfish, candied yams, turnip greens, mac & cheese, hot water cornbread and chess pie of course. My cousin ordered the meatloaf as well, along with the same sides plus the white beans. Everything was just ok, but the turnip greens were missing that love and extra home cooked flavor. The meatloaf was not my fave but edible; however, the mac and cheese was the winner on the plate. The chess pie was average (try Rose’s home-style catering and bakery chess squares). I made the catfish work with a lil added hot sauce. Oh boy I wish they would have had some good sweet red Kool-Aid ha-ha.
One of the good things was the service, they moved the line pretty fast and everyone had a smile on their face. They recognized the regulars, and chit chatted with every guest. The price for portion size of food is pretty accurate. I can’t say it’s the best meat and three in Nashville, but all in all the food was average nothing to tell mother about. This establishment is part of Nashville’s’ history, but James Beard award winner, I don’t think so. More important, this is a Nashville institution that the people here love.