Pity the poor bride who hoped to get married on the second Saturday of May and tried to book a caterer. It's the Steeplechase, darlings. The Iroquois Steeplechase, to be exact—the grand old Nashville feeding frenzy that demands the services of every professional kitchen within 50 miles. (There's also a horse race that day.)
The most discriminating bride would die for the famed feeder of Nashville society, Kates Catering. Alas, Charlie has the Iroquois Society Tent, where 250 upper-crusters (people, not hors d'oeuvres) will graze all day long on a lovely buffet of sweet potato biscuits and ham, crab cakes and such—'til later, when the staff rolls out the tea food—cucumber sandwiches and the beloved cheddar dreams for late afternoon nibbling and liquor sopping.
Daughter Danielle Kates handles the heftier fare in the owner/riders/trainers' tent: chicken, corn soufflé, Southern comfort food for those who actually touch the horses. All the caterers run a tent, or a "club." Gaylord Opryland Resort does the Paddock Club; they invented and presumably copyrighted the Iroquois Steeplechase Signature Cookie. Someone alert Neiman-Marcus.
The Turf Club gets a hearty boxed lunch (assembled by Publix) and non-alcoholic beverages for $30 ($15 for youth, adult or child), Key lime pie included. Drink all day from that bar for $50. Give your keys to the designated driver.
There are tents and clubs, clubs and tents, and most of them represent Steeplechase sponsors—remember, all monies raised go to the Monroe Carrell Jr. Children's Hospital at Vanderbilt. Should you be unfamiliar with Steeplechase tradition, please know that the "clubs" are for invited guests only. If you're not on the lists, perhaps it's cruel to list the epicurean details of society sustenance, like, say, smoked oyster and artichoke soup, or chocolate bread pudding with ganache.
Tailgaters—who have just as much fun, get just as lit and can get just as burnt if they forget the hat—have tasty choices of their own with the famed Steeplechase box lunches, done up by two favorite Nashville purveyors of all things bread. They don't seem that dissimilar to regular box lunches; neither one has Opryland's Signature Cookie. But Provence will pack a fruit tart in with your sandwich—three choices available, or a salad sampler, or, for true Francophiles, a paté and cheese box. For about $50, get the big Provence Paté and Cheese picnic box; you and three friends can feast on cheeses, paté, fresh fruit, dried figs, roasted almonds, tapenade and fresh-baked pistelles. Take that, Club people. (Be sure to order 48 hours ahead for your box lunches—you can't buy them off the rack.)
The unofficial official food of Steeplechase is tenderloin on yeast rolls with mayonnaise-horseradish sauce, and you can order that from Bread & Company. They have six other sandwiches, with a choice of two side items and dessert, priced from $13.95 to $19.95. Sunburn is one thing, food poisoniing another, so B&C insists on packing its goodies in coolers; a minimum of four is requested and call-ahead orders are a must.
While a great amount of leeway is offered Steeplechase attendees when it comes to their al fresco dining habits, it's not NASCAR—not that there's anything wrong with that—and there are certain policies and rules of conduct that apply to all, no matter what color your wristband. They are as follows: No glass containers—that means wine, liquor, beer and mixers, white lightnin'—not even glass condiment jars. Kegs are permitted. Underage drinking, even outside, is against the law, kids. Have an ID (a real one) or suffer the consequences. They're not kidding. Really. The sale of food, drink, merchandise or service—chair massages, aloe vera application, hair braiding, life coaching, et al.—is strictly prohibited.
As in life, it's wise to keep your tailgate areas clean.
