Comfort Cajun
A new neighborhood joint in Whites Creek offers hill folks and city dwellers alike a taste of New Orleans, live music and a lot of charm
by Liz Garrigan
There’s something really telling—and absolutely perfect—about Richard Trest’s explanation for why his charming little Cajun joint, open now for about a month-and-a-half, doesn’t serve étouffée. “A lot of people want me to,” he says. But here’s the rub: étouffée is to gumbo what quiche is to scrambled eggs. They both contain a roux and seafood, of course, but étouffée is a more demanding dish whose consistency has to be “just right.” It’s a sauce—whereas gumbo is a soup—that must be coddled and baby-sat to turn out perfectly.
For now, Trest is going to stick with what’s hearty and unfinicky, not because he can’t cook the Louisiana delicacy, but because he wants to leave some breathing room in his kitchen schedule to visit with guests and to play a little harmonica when his songwriting friends are entertaining in the restaurant on Friday and Saturday nights. Nothing like enjoying your red beans and rice (even vegetarian ones, mind you) to the acoustic likes of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” “He Stopped Loving Her Today” and original tunes by local songwriters. Eventually, Trest says with resigned certainty, he will submit to the clamoring for étouffée.
The food here is perhaps best characterized as comfort Cajun. Ri’Chard’s (pronounced REE-SHARDS, a playful perversion of his American name and a takeoff on the French Quarter’s Broussard’s) has a lot in common with its northern Davidson County location in that you won’t find anything pretentious on the menu or in the neighborhood. Trest, whose family is from New Orleans and who moved here with his wife and kids five years ago, kindly allowed me into his kitchen after I’d finished a generous serving of his mouth-watering French toast on Sunday. To illustrate the point of no pretension, he isn’t shy about saying that the cheese sauce in the shrimp/crawfish fettuccini features Velveeta. Then there’s the fact that, during Sunday brunch, orange juice comes served in Styrofoam cups. Meanwhile, the only wine available is what you might discreetly bring along in a Dixie cup—and patrons do. The beer permit is in the works, and this is a good place to ask Councilman Adam Dread to speed that along, please. Your country constituents would be most grateful.
The colorful history of the area only enhances the charm of this place. Sitting amid a cluster of historic buildings that once represented the center of Whites Creek, Ri’Chard’s is located in an 1870 structure that’s listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The original Whites Creek bank, also on the National Register, is next door, and in 1881 magistrate W.L. Earthman ordered the arrest of a Jesse James gang member in a house right across the street. (Ri’Chard’s server Robyn Guidara quit her corporate gig, moved to Whites Creek and, when she’s not waiting tables or rescuing dogs, is working on a history of the area to raise money for greenways.)
The menu for Sunday brunch is the same as throughout the week—jambalaya, gumbo, fried pickles, po’boys of every imaginable conceit and Trest’s sirloin-and-pico “Swamp Burger,” among the many offerings. But diners have the added options of fried plantains and French toast, the latter generously soaked in egg before being toasted on the grill, with choice of sausage. The only two suggestions that might improve the brunch experience—though I will be back to my neighborhood joint in any case—are chicory coffee and beignets. Then again, beignets are, like étouffée, high maintenance—requiring just the right thickness of dough, a constant eye on the browning, and turning at precise times. So, I’ll settle for the chicory coffee.
The menu for Sunday brunch is the same as throughout the week—jambalaya, gumbo, fried pickles, po’boys of every imaginable conceit and Trest’s sirloin-and-pico “Swamp Burger,” among the many offerings. But diners have the added options of fried plantains and French toast, the latter generously soaked in egg before being toasted on the grill, with choice of sausage. The only two suggestions that might improve the brunch experience—though I will be back to my neighborhood joint in any case—are chicory coffee and beignets. Then again, beignets are, like étouffée, high maintenance—requiring just the right thickness of dough, a constant eye on the browning, and turning at precise times. So, I’ll settle for the chicory coffee.
In the end, it’s not just the tasty brunch and spicy victuals that make Ri’Chard’s special. It’s also the localness of the place, the down-home feeling of the dining room and the warm community of locals and songwriters who are loyal to Trest, himself a performer who plays around town. (Don’t miss Crystal Armentrout, who’s there this Friday night.) We country dwellers now have a place to be regulars—our own version of the Whistlestop Café, Cheers or Mel’s Diner.
