Date Night: ZieherSmith, Sadie’s and Van Leeuwen

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.”

I had all the ingredients for sauce and meatballs, a surplus of mini marshmallows for hot chocolate and a full fridge and pantry. That was the extent of my ice storm prep. The Friday night before it hit, my husband Dom and I had a let’s-get-out-while-we-can dinner with my father-in-law Lou, who assured us over eggplant stew at Noôsh that he’d be fine with his portable generator should anything go sideways. 

By Monday, he was not fine. Without power in a big house, he was cold and willing to brave the roads between his house and ours for warmth and a meatball or four. By Wednesday, when his neighbors texted that the power was back on, he was nowhere near fine: The pipes above his kitchen burst and his ceiling was on the floor in standing water. 

Lou wouldn’t commit to moving in with Dom and me. He brought enough clothes for a couple days and stayed packed, his bags and briefcase at the foot of the bed. After a few days, he set up his vitamins on the desk and put a few short-sleeve button-down shirts and American flag ties in the closet. He didn’t want to take up too much space, but he’d let me feed him. So a few Friday nights later, when Dom was out of town, Lou called to say he’d be home for dinner. It’d been a hard week of contractor meetings, insurance claims and watching strangers box up his life and put it in the garage. I told him that’s fine, but we’re going out. 

Stop 1: ZieherSmith

Lou is not a man who goes to art galleries: He goes to work, the bank, Kroger, church, golf courses and the same restaurant over and over, which drives me nuts. I’ll stroll through a gallery on vacation, but it rarely occurs to me to visit one in my own town. It’s impostor syndrome: If I can’t afford to drop thousands on a painting or sculpture, do I even deserve a peek? 

“Shut up and look,” said Scott Zieher of ZieherSmith in Edgehill, adding that walk-ins who purchase are rare and the majority of sales are made by appointment. “Best free entertainment in the world.” Scott and Andrea Zieher (formerly Smith) opened ZieherSmith in New York’s Chelsea art district in 2003 and relocated to Nashville in 2019. I met them in 2021 — not as gallerists, but as fellow baseball parents sharing bleachers and concession-stand candy all over town. When they opened ZieherSmith last year, I stopped by on my way to a doubleheader in Nolensville. There were kids making bead crafts by the front door while people chatted in small groups. There was no pressure to buy. No snooty snobbery. Just good art and good people. 

Lou and I attended the opening of Yanira Vissepo: On the Mountainside by the River. We marveled at the intricate layers of black linen cutouts atop canvases that, Andrea explained, Vissepo stained herself. We made two trips around the main room, taking it all in, then perused the T-shirts, books, tinned fish and tiny strawberry magnets in This National Life, the makers’ gallery/gift shop on shelving that’s a work of art itself. In less than 15 minutes we were in and out, high on the creativity of others.

Stop 2: Sadie’s 

In nicer weather, I’d make the 12-minute walk from ZieherSmith to Sadie’s, but it was drizzly and cold, and my boots were not made for walking. Instead I drove three minutes, scored a spot along Villa Place and parallel parked so smoothly not even Lou could think of a way to improve upon it. 

Sadie’s is all warm grays, whites and beiges, lamps, plants and big banquettes that run the length of the restaurant, plus a patio that hugs the corner of Villa and Edgehill. It’s a calm, subtly beautiful space that doesn’t strike me as overly feminine, but on multiple visits I’ve noticed men are in the minority while women of all ages sip espresso martinis together. Meanwhile, a steady stream of guys file into Jack Brown’s Beer & Burger Joint across the street.

Lou, the only person (and certainly the only Italian) I’ve ever known who eats for fuel and not for pleasure or comfort, said “This pita is so good” three times as he ran torn-off pieces through the sweet and savory whipped feta strewn with honeycomb, edible flowers and pomegranate seeds. Can I describe these full discs without using the word “pillowy”? Yes. They were spongy and substantial and have ruined floury, flat store-bought pita for me forever. We received two with the whipped feta and two more with the hummus and roasted mushrooms that inspired me to do a little seat dance after my first bite. It could’ve been a hearty vegetarian meal on its own.

I met Lou for the first time over dinner at the Cool Springs Buca di Beppo in 2003. Dom, then my co-worker, flirted his way into a restaurant review, so I told him to meet me with a big group so we could eat the house down family-style. He brought his parents Lou and Lucy, his sister Laura (who was pregnant with twins) and his roommate Chris. I’ve eaten a million meals all over the country with Lou since, but never just the two of us. 

So I only found out over matching Yasmin cocktails of rum, plum, fig and cardamom that he shucked oysters at a Florida restaurant during high school to pay for the 1966 Chevy Nova he bought at 16. I learned between bites of pomegranate salmon kebabs — which I thought might be too sweet, but totally weren’t — that he made $1.25 an hour at the A&P, but they’d only give him part-time hours. So Lou went to the Oyster House, where he made 25 cents less but could work 70 hours. We talked about the couple of dates he’s gone on since Lucy died in 2021, and how the women his age seem “so old.” He asked me good questions in return, like where I worked in college (International Deli, Tuscaloosa, Ala.), why a girl from small-town Franklin would choose a big SEC school where she didn’t know anyone (long story), and would I like some of his chicken souvlaki (yes please).

Stop 3: Van Leeuwen 

If the ladies are at Sadie’s and the gentlemen are at Jack Brown’s, everyone comes together at Van Leeuwen (van-lou-inn), next door to Sadie’s in what was once NoBaked Cookie Dough. Now a chain with locations in many states across the country — and three here in Nashville so far — Van Leeuwen started as an NYC food truck in 2008. By the scoop and pint, they sell French ice cream (made with eggs) and vegan ice cream (oats, cashews) in flavor combos like Strawberry Matcha Latte, Black Cherry Chip, Earl Grey Tea and Honeycomb. I was pleasantly surprised by the brownie in the Peanut Butter Brownie Honeycomb — it was dense and cakey, not just a brown blob of vague brownie-ness. Lou, who’s usually a peanut butter guy, had the Mint Chip, which was originally white with brown specks until Van Leeuwen recently added a green hue. 

After catching up with Dom on the phone when we returned home, I fell asleep without saying goodnight to Lou. When I woke up the next morning, there was a notebook-paper note under my door in his all-caps combo of cursive and block print: Thank you for an enjoyable night out. Food and company was outstanding. —Lou.