Date Night: Park Cafe and Lola

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’m trying to get out of my house and into the world more often. Working from home is 99 percent awesome with the 1 percent downside that I spend too much time in my own head. So when I  interact with an actual human being while walking the dog or checking out at the grocery store, I feel rusty and wonder if what I’m saying makes any sense — or if people are just smiling and nodding until they can politely move away from the crazy lady who’s yapping too much because she never talks to anyone.

It’s with this intention in mind that I asked my husband Dom, who needed to run a few errands before our latest Date Night, to drop me off at our first stop on his way. I wanted to be the anonymous woman at the bar for a half-hour just to see what magic the universe would send my way. The universe did not disappoint.

Stop 1: Park Cafe

In the 24 years since Park Cafe opened, it’s been dark outside and packed inside every time I’ve visited. So being there for the happy hour — 4 to 6 p.m., in the daylight before the dinner rush — made me feel a little naked. I took a seat at the bar, set my purse on the spot to my left for Dom and ordered an $8 Sunset Margarita (tequila, triple sec, sour, lime and pomegranate juice) while listening to a conversation the man to my right and two ladies were having about gutter cleaning. I am a champion eavesdropper; I only wish there were a way to monetize this gift. 

The man was clearly a regular: The bartender called him by name and random passersby stopped to say hello. After the two ladies paid their tab and left, Mr. Regular turned to me and asked how I managed to look tan on the first sunny, warm day of 2025. I explained that I’d just taken a long walk in a tank top and that my skin soaks up the sun quickly. Then he asked my all-time favorite question. 

I hope you don’t mind me asking, but … are you Jewish?

As a woman of Italian and Middle Eastern heritage, I used to get this question all the time when Nashville was less ethnically diverse. Then people stopped asking, likely out of fear of being canceled or perhaps because they just never looked up from their phones. I love when people ask me this, because they’re always genuinely curious and it never fails to jumpstart an interesting conversation. In this case, Mr. Regular and I started there, then moved on to DNA testing; his dog; a rally he attended at the Capitol (with his dog); Franklin in the ’70s and ’80s; a book he read; the book I brought with me to the bar in case I was bored; his long-ago divorce; and how important it is to get to the bar at Sperry’s in Belle Meade right at 4 p.m. if you want a seat. 

In the middle of our easy back-and-forth, Dom texted that he was making his way through traffic, so I ordered him a Cuke Duke (cucumber vodka, spicy bitters, orgeat syrup, soda, lime) and two appetizers to share from the happy hour menu.

Shortly after Dom arrived, Mr. Regular bid us goodnight, prompting Dom to ask if he’d been hitting on me. While we drug thick squash and carrot wedges through a nice plate of hummus mixed with pesto, I explained that it didn’t feel that way. I think we both just needed to talk to someone. Dom, who is a card-carrying member of the Anti-Mayo Coalition, wouldn’t touch the goat cheese pizza because Dijonnaise was listed as an ingredient. Too bad for him — that hint of mustard, mixed with the warm goat cheese, rosemary, caramelized onions and almonds, made it memorable. 

Park, as the locals call it, was a chef-owned restaurant until late 2023, when it was bought by the hospitality group that also purchased Germantown Café, but it still feels like a neighborhood hang and hasn’t been stripped of its soul (or, thankfully, its green chile mac-and-cheese). 

Stop 2: Lola

Lola is right next door to Park Cafe, but I never pass up an opportunity to stroll the Murphy Road strip that starts with a coin-operated laundromat and ends with a life-size yellow longhorn bull right before the roundabout. I love that a few steps separate you from adopting a puppy, doing a load of whites and buying either a cold Sun Drop or a $50 pair of earrings. That’s the Nashville I know and love. 

Part of the Siège Hospitality restaurant group that has Kalamatas and Santo in Green Hills and Epice in 12South — all of which are Mediterranean — Lola stands out with Spanish tapas. It fills a niche in a walkable area that already offers Italian, Mexican and barbecue. 

The space is striking: It reminds me of Epice in that white walls and a few design details let the people and food add the color, plus the ever-important patio vibe. But Lola is newer and sleeker, with tall ceilings and more natural light. Day or night, it’s one of those beautiful spaces that makes everyone in it beautiful by association.

Dom and I toasted not with a drink, but with the Veggie Gilda, two small skewers with an olive, cornichon, pepper and cube of cheese on each — possibly the smartest $4 dish in town. Then we scooped Tomatoes Tartare, basically a sexier version of salsa, onto sesame crackers and used our forks when the crackers quickly ran out. 

Thanks to fantastic pacing, crispy artichokes followed with crispier bits of basil in the bottom of the bowl, which I ate with my fingers; then it was local mushrooms in Parmesan cream, cured egg yolk and kimchi broth. In the glow of string lights, I couldn’t tell the difference between slices of fish and citrus in the tuna crudo, which made every bite a fun surprise.

From our spot on the patio, which was enclosed and heated (for now), we finished up with a Crèma Catalana, a Spanish version of crème brûlée that expertly pairs the unlikely flavor combo of espresso and lemon. Dom wanted to crack it all beforehand, but I preferred to crack the citrus-sugar crust with each bite. Something about that sound is so satisfying. 

Our two-top was just beside Lola’s bar. That gave me a lovely view of Maher Fawaz, Siège Hospitality co-owner, who stopped in for a pulse check, and — in stark contrast — a man on his laptop Slack messaging in one tab and scrolling $2 million properties on another, sadly preventing anyone from getting to know him or learning anything about his ethnic heritage and the cleanliness of his gutters.