Nashville is like a garden in spring, sprouting new restaurants in all directions. It's a thrilling time to dine out, eat something wonderful and brush up against some of the city's newfound culinary luster.
But honestly, what people really want is a great restaurant near home.
On Nolensville Road in Lenox Village, that's what neighbors have in The Chef and I — a neighborhood gem, under the radar of most urbanites and worth the drive for its well-made food and relaxed surroundings.
What started as a catering company run by chef Chris Rains, a veteran of the downtown arena and Wildhorse Saloon, and wife Erica, opened as a restaurant in January 2013 and soon began popping up in comments on the Scene's dining blog, Bites. The fact that The Chef and I hasn't yet become a destination for central-city diners is partly due to the location at the edge of the county, and partly because the opening didn't involve a highly visible real estate transaction. It just slipped in the side door.
Some years into the business, The Chef and I now caters about 350 events a year, and the restaurant offers cooking classes Mondays and Tuesdays, dinner Wednesday through Saturday and brunch on Sunday. Without an investment-backed splashy opening, growth at The Chef and I has been organic and gradual. That's translated into a menu and decor created by the owners, not suggested by food consultants. There's not a deviled egg, molasses-glazed ramp or stick of reclaimed barn wood in the place.
Instead, C&I's decor is a DIY rock 'n' roll combination of high ceiling, black, purple and silver paint and accents, and black custom-made bar-height tables and chairs fashioned from reclaimed metal.
"It's got that rock-and-roll vibe, a little edgy but not too gritty," says co-owner Erica Rains (she's the "I" in "The Chef and I.") The music, a never-know-what's-next rotation, is part of the experience. One night it might be '80s hits and deep cuts, and another it could be a custom playlist of Jack White, Weezer, Arctic Monkeys and other rock tunes.
Seats at the "show kitchen" at the back of the room let you watch and quiz Rains and the other chefs while they cook and assemble plates. It's worth reserving these seats if you want the full experience. As for the rest of the dining room, walk-ins can usually get a table — a nice change of pace from the midtown scrum.
Like an increasing number of restaurants, The Chef and I offers a bar menu, appetizers and small and large plates, and the distinctions are blurry. Appetizers are generally larger than small plates, our server explained. Beyond that, try not to parse too much. Seared ahi tuna is an appetizer, while Crab Cake With Citrus Aioli and Candied Lemon is a small plate. Kung Pao Chicken Taquitos are an appetizer, while Mini Grass-Fed Beef Burgers are a small plate. The big bowl of Roasted Cauliflower With Pecans on Potato Hash that's enough for two meatless entrees? Appetizer.
It's slightly anarchic, but also a good way to offer a choice of serving sizes, not to mention more OMG tastings per meal.
Those "wow" moments start with cocktails. These lean toward fresh and multi-layered, the kind of drinks you might concoct at home after a Whole Foods spending spree. Cool and Calm is a spa-scented blend of citrusy-peppery Junipero gin, orange juice, lavender, cucumber and a splash of soda. Each sip of Mango Chile Margatini's sweet tequila-and-juice combination is punctuated by the salt-sugar-red pepper mixture on the rim of the glass. Other martinis catch your palate by surprise with moonshine, basil and lemon, or bourbon, thyme, Meyer lemon and cucumber.
An amuse bouche arrives about the same time as the drinks: a chopped meat spread with herbs, a bit of smoked beef drizzled with sauce on a crostini that — in addition to being carefully concocted — is a gesture of hospitality usually seen in more expensive restaurants.
Appetizers and small plates are the best way to sample the kitchen's dexterity, offering more tastes that raise eyebrows — like sweet-hot seared scallop with honey-chili puree, or crunchy tempura shiitake mushrooms with goat cheese and minty pesto. Three ravioli pillows in Thai coconut sauce with basil and arugula were garnished differently than a friend's were the previous week. Still: Firm pasta and creamy coconut with basil — everything's good on this plate.
The best of our small plates was a crisp broiled sea bass with pepper salad in miso. Hot crunchy fish (one of several crunch-coated, skillfully cooked fish we had) and tangy-sweet shreds and cubes of pickled and sweet peppers get an extra touch of umami from miso broth.
For the full effect, you could opt for the chef's tasting menu, which, at $75 for eight tapas-style courses, is pretty reasonable. Throw in two glasses of wine or high-gravity beer from the short, smart lists, and you're still under $100. (There are no plans to get a regular beer license — the sports bar next door fills that niche.)
The kitchen manages the courses well — little plates come out first, then bigger plates. In this new universe of small plates/large plates, chefs tend to lavish creativity on small plates and let large plates appease diners who want a traditional meal. The Chef and I doesn't play that way: Big plates get as much attention as small plates from Rains and the other chefs.
Crispy Kung Pao Duck Breast on a bed of whipped blackened mash topped with asparagus unfolds in layers of chili and peanut flavors abetted by a peppery warmth in the potatoes. Airline Chicken, a dish always in danger of going off the rails into dry and flavorless, offered crisp skin and juicy meat, flanked by swirls of goat cream cheese and crunchy pistachios, plus a garnish of sliced prosciutto, rolled into a rosette and tucked under the wing. That's pretty rock 'n' roll, right there.
Duck and Waffles outdoes its inspiration, chicken and waffles. After you've finished the sliced duck in its crisp skin, another course waits beneath it: a feathery waffle made with a touch of duck fat, impossibly airy and crisp, flavored with sage butter and maple-macerated blackberries. Savory flavors balance the sweet, so the dish is decidedly dinner, never veering toward breakfast.
Rains & Co. keep it traditional for the beef — beef people prefer that you don't get too experimental with their beef. Teres Major Steak, a small filet from inside the chuck, rubbed with house-made rub, seared as you like it, and sliced on a bed of spicy mashed potatoes. It's the menu's most traditional offering.
Weekend or weeknight, it's such a luxury to feel unhurried at dinner, so the sometimes leisurely pace of service didn't bother us, though we all noticed it. It's a neighborhood place, not a "turn the tables" place, after all. And because we were relaxed, we let slide the mismatched expectations: a broth where we expected a glaze (and no spoon for the broth); no skin at all on a crispy-skinned duck; neither hot pepper nor smoky bacon flavor in shrimp-and-grits gravy; mash instead of hash and vice versa.
But out here, away from the high rent, manufactured buzz and jam-packed dining rooms, people are nearer to home, and controlling minutiae seems less important than making and eating good food. On the edge of the county, nice people in love, cooking what they like and you like ... wins.
Email arts@nashvillescene.com
