(Family) Date Night: Jimmy Kelly’s, Hall of Fame Park, The Southern Steak & Oyster

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.”

When I turned 16, I couldn’t get to the DMV in my parents’ baby-blue, wood-paneled station wagon fast enough. When my son turned 16 last month, he had no interest in getting his license — no desire to drive to Cane’s for chicken fingers and crinkle fries by himself. All he wanted was to golf with his dad, as well as his friend and his friend’s dad, then have a steakhouse dinner with both families. 

The restaurant he chose wasn’t on their game that night — 30-minute wait despite reservations and forgetful service — and I was furious with myself for dropping a car payment at a chain steakhouse instead of supporting local. The upside is that it inspired Steak Sunday: A quarterly family Date Night that we’ll continue until we’ve hit every locally owned steakhouse in town … or bankrupted ourselves — whichever comes first.

Stop 1: Jimmy Kelly’s

Telling my kid the story of Nashville steakhouses means starting at the beginning. In 1934, bootlegger John Kelly opened 216 Supper Club on Eighth Avenue — the year after Prohibition was repealed. In 1949, John’s son Jimmy opened Jimmy Kelly’s across from the Belle Meade Theatre. When that land was sold, Jimmy Kelly’s moved to their current location, a three-story Victorian on Louise Avenue, in the early 1980s. 

Some years later, when my prom date and I walked under that iconic black awning, Jimmy Kelly’s was the most upscale restaurant I’d ever experienced. Walking back under it recently with my husband and son, surrounded by corporate healthcare and apartment buildings, I worried Jimmy Kelly’s might feel dated and sad. Instead, it felt like an old friend still doing their thing and doing it well.

To ensure we got a bar table — the kid can’t sit at the bar proper — we arrived when they opened at 4 p.m. As the hostess led us to the bar, I noticed that early birds had already descended on the main dining room. We settled into a tufted leather banquette in the bar, which had a good view of both TVs plus three stained-glass windows that somehow didn’t feel out of place amid all the shiny wood. Within seconds, the bartender delivered three glasses of ice water that wobbled slightly atop the cushion that buffers the white tablecloth and table.

We ordered from the Bar Bites menu, plus a Caesar because the kid must try a Caesar everywhere we go. The complimentary silver-dollar-size corn cakes arrived first, alongside a ramekin of butter covered with a paper lid that had a tab for easy lifting. Then the salty fried oysters and pickled asparagus, with a half-lemon covered in a mesh net to contain the pulp and seeds when we squeezed. A tiny sprig of parsley added color to a plate of thin bourbon-glazed chicken skewers. We unrolled our black napkins, which didn’t deposit white lint on our clothing. This level of detail isn’t fussy or over-the-top — it’s a subtle art form that whispers, We’ve thought of every possible way to take care of you.

Modern steakhouses hire design teams to create the same baked-in combination of luxury and history that Jimmy Kelly’s exudes, including framed portraits over mantles, gold mirrors, pressed-tin ceilings, drippy chandeliers and patterned wallpaper for days. There have been updates over the years, of course, but it still has the air of a godfather whose ring you should kiss.

Stop 2: Walk of Fame Park 

Anyone can see that downtown’s Walk of Fame Park is 2.5 acres of green space between the Country Music Hall of Fame, Bridgestone Arena, Schermerhorn Symphony Center and the Hilton Nashville Downtown. What you can’t see is that it also acts as a green roof that covers the Gateway Commons parking garage. That’s more interesting to me than the inlaid markers honoring country music legends, all of which look the same aside from the name and date of the induction. And it’s slightly less interesting than the cardio drumming — involving exercise balls in large baskets, drumsticks and dancing — that was happening when we strolled through while there was still a bit of light left in the night sky.

Stop 3: The Southern Steak & Oyster

If Jimmy Kelly’s is the distinguished patriarch of locally owned Nashville steakhouses, The Southern is the fun uncle. Opened in 2012 by Tom Morales — the man behind Tomkats Catering, Saffire, Acme Feed & Seed and more — it doesn’t bother to compete with the 20-plus traditional steakhouses within strolling distance of its downtown corner spot. Instead, it stands out by being steakhouse-ish without taking itself too seriously.

Among other wood-fired entrées like ribs and a pork chop, there’s a strip steak, a filet and the Nudie Suit, a “custom cut” steak named for late, legendary tailor to the country stars Nudie Cohn (whose rhinestone-ensconced Nudie Suits are still frequently replicated). But there are no cushioned tabletops or gold mirrors — just a big-ass bar straight through the middle of the place, an open kitchen, TVs everywhere and trucker hats for sale by the door. No one is particularly gussied up; most guests wear either T-shirts or convention lanyards.

Instead of oysters Rockefeller, The Southern offers oysters with collard greens, andouille sausage and cream. Instead of wagyu sliders on lacquered rolls, there are blue cheese biscuits with beef tenderloin in the middle. Similar variations on the deviled eggs and barbecue shrimp point to their “South of Somewhere” motto.

Service started strong, then stumbled. The strip and filet came out fine, though their temps were swapped. No big deal. But the Farmer’s Plate arrived as a salad, though it wasn’t described that way on the specials sheet — and it was only lettuce and carrot ribbons with a jalapeño slice. Had our server checked back to make sure everything was OK, it could’ve been quickly fixed. But by the time he returned, we were almost finished with everything else. He made no offer to replace the entrée, but rather brought the correct version by for a quick hidey-ho so we could see what it was supposed to look like. That was strange, but it didn’t inspire the same exploding-head-emoji energy I felt when I left the chain steakhouse that set this Steak Sunday Date Night in motion.

Walking back to the car, I asked the kid to compare Caesar salads at both restaurants. He rated them down to a 10th of a point, noting that the lettuce was “too crunchy” in one, the dressing “too prominent.” I guess the Parmesan doesn’t fall far from the grater.