Date Night: Sauced Nashville, Fishmonger and River Steps

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 didn’t know anyone at my niece’s volleyball game besides my sister and brother-in-law, and I don’t understand how volleyball works, but I was content to watch and cheer at what seemed like the right time. Then my second-grade crush walked in the door.

That’s Nashville in a nutshell. It’d been at least three decades since we saw each other, but I knew him immediately. When I tapped his shoulder, he turned around, said my name and opened his arms for a hug. During our halftime catch-up, he said he lives one subdivision away from his childhood home, has worked for the same company for 27 years, goes to the same church he was brought up in and sends his daughters to the school he attended.  

“It’s almost as if,” he said with a laugh, “I’ve accomplished nothing.” 

We both know that’s not true. In every class, there are people who can’t imagine leaving and those who can’t imagine staying. I planned to stay, but the comfort I once found in knowing everyone, every street and shortcut started to feel stifling. So Nashville and I broke up. And as exes sometimes do, Nashville grew, matured and got hot while I dated other cities. Years later, we got back together, both of us essentially the same but also completely changed. Now I don’t have to leave Nashville when I need new experiences — I just walk through different doors. 

Stop 1: Sauced Nashville

Were it not for the small red neon sign in the front window, and a sidewalk sandwich board that reads “relax babe … it’s just wine,” I wouldn’t have guessed that the 1850s Germantown house with overgrown landscaping was a wine bar. It’s not trying to be secret — just refreshingly subtle and respectful to the neighborhood.

Inside, the bar occupies most of the length of the main room, which includes a communal table and a few high-tops along the far wall. The bartender quickly assessed my husband Dom and me as first-timers and beckoned us to where he stood behind a well of wine bottles. Sauced, he explained, is menu-free and bar-service-only, offering wines by the glass or bottle.

“So what would you like to try?” he asked.

Bubbles and red for me and a couple different whites for Dom. I loved the interactive-ness of the experience and marvel that they stick to the process of sampling wines for every patron every time, even when it gets busy. We each selected one and settled awkwardly into two nearby seats at the bar — awkward because the bar is built so that you can’t put your legs underneath the bar top and either have to sit sideways or too far back to be comfortable.

It was a minor annoyance quickly forgotten once our butter service arrived: one thick slice of sourdough cut into four pieces on a plate with good butter that had been whipped in house and served in a state that was neither solid nor melted. It was like a salty butter queso. Fantastic.

It took me a minute, but at some point I noticed that the stemmed glasses at Sauced, which has sister locations in Manhattan and Brooklyn, have the logo on the front and the words “I swallow” etched faintly on the back. In this wine bar focused on vinyl, this was a bit of a record-scratch. At first I thought it was a reference to blow jobs. Then I thought, no, it’s about swallowing the wine, not spitting it out. Now I think it’s a cheeky way to do both. After we drained our glasses and sadly said goodbye to the butter, Dom and I debated the swallow situation as we walked east on Monroe Street toward the Cumberland River. At press time, we were still debating it.

Stop 2: Fishmonger

We’ve visited the Neuhoff District every six months or so for the past two years, and it’s a vastly different place every time. At first it was a shell of a space with the well-preserved bones of a meatpacking plant. Back in the fall there were a few goods and services around the apartments, but the area still largely felt deserted. Now there’s a noticeable energy, even though it’s not yet at full tilt, thanks to Sid Mashburn, Babychan, Sensa Padel, a Mas Tacos food truck and Fishmonger.

Like Sauced, Fishmonger was born elsewhere: There are three locations in Atlanta. Unlike Sauced, it’s not a stand-alone space but occupies a pocket in a larger building.

There are a few courtyard tables. Inside, day or night, Fishmonger feels like a small club with a restaurant in it: It’s dark, the music is loud-ish, and the lighting casts a red glow on everything. If you’re going out afterward, maybe to Close Company — the subterranean bar one flight of stairs away — it’s the perfect place to fuel up without weighing yourself down. If you’re headed home after dinner, you’ll still feel like you went club hopping, even if it was just one hop.

We started with the chef’s set oysters: six oysters of unknown origin with extra virgin olive oil, kiwi, citrus foam and tarragon. That sounds like a lot, but it was a light and interesting treatment that didn’t bother this oyster purist one bit. They paired nicely with the creamy smoked fish dip and accompanying bits and pieces of everything bagels — some thin and chewy, others thick and tough enough to crack a tooth.

Our hot fish and blackened grouper sandwiches came out shortly after the apps. I’ve been Insta-stalking Fishmonger’s hot fish sandwich since the restaurant opened in March, and it was the better of the two, arriving open-faced and staying that way until we ate one fillet with a fork so we could make an actual top-and-bottom sandwich out of it. The key to any fish sandwich is to eat it quickly before everything starts to slide around and fall apart, and the toasted Martin’s seeded buns held up well. I had slight logistical issues, however, with the hot brown butter potatoes, which are full fingerlings served in a bowl — easy to contain, hard to eat and cut. Conversely, Dom enjoyed his cucumber salad so much he ate it with his fingers. When I mentioned it was more of a fork food, he said, with all the bravado of a man who’s had two glasses of wine and a cocktail in a two-hour period: “If I thought you could do something about it, I’d stop.” 

Stop 3: River Steps

From Fishmonger, if you head toward the back of the building and out the door, you’ll be above the River Steps, an outdoor area facing the Cumberland with tables for sitting and ledges for lounging. It looks bombed-out in the best possible way, with brick and stone, rusted metal and concrete, plus landscaping that doesn’t look over-manicured. Watch the river boats pass by. Check out the new builds on the other side of the river. Neuhoff is full of unfinished nooks and crannies, plus steps, elevators and signage that may or may not lead where you want to go. That’s OK. It’s a lovely place to get lost.