Paula Hock, owner of Divine Art Cafe, prefers not to emphasize the extraordinary mission-driven nature of her nonprofit breakfast-and-lunch restaurant in East Nashville, but the fact is as impossible to hide as her own ebullient generosity.
On three consecutive weekdays, as customers trickle in, the following things happen behind the scenes: A 21-year-old enrollee in Lipscomb's IDEAL program — which offers job training to students with developmental disabilities — learns to wash windows, under the patient tutelage of a cafe employee; three gloved grandmas volunteer in the kitchen, teaching recovering addicts who work in the cafe how to prepare pie crust and lentil stew; a 63-year-old man named Victor (who has the distinct air of someone lacking a mailing address) stops in just before closing time to carry patio chairs inside, in return for a large to-go cup of coffee.
Much of this activity is part of Hock's evolving tripartite mission for the cafe. Part one: offering recovering addicts a nurturing re-entry to the workforce. Part two: helping people with disabilities learn to function on the job. Part three: elderly outreach in various forms — from visiting older neighborhood residents who live alone to inviting the owner's own retired Lebanese mom and aunt, and their longtime Italian friend, to teach pie-making to women who have, for most of their lives, lacked positive mentors.
"It's good to keep the tradition going," says Lillian Corazza, the lone Italian kitchen grandma, whose chocolate pie is legendary. "Our parents were immigrants. We learned a lot from them, because we had to make do. Once we're dead, nobody will make these things anymore."
If all those missions seem a bit scattered, consider Hock's overarching purpose, which encompasses them all: "We want to serve everybody who walks through the door," she says. Service, to her, means trying to fulfill whatever variety of need crosses her threshold. Mostly, that means serving her customers a smoothie, a latte or a sandwich in a relaxed environment that prioritizes comfort over cool. Most afternoons, it means finding Victor something to do so he can earn his coffee. Occasionally, it means inviting octogenarians to share their culinary expertise, so all that mastery won't go to waste, locked away behind a set of failing eyes.
Hock, 58, has rarely limited herself to one life's purpose at a time. After a stint in the Peace Corps in the 1980s, a career as a nurse, raising two sons and creating a successful candy company called Divine Art Toffee, Hock asked herself, "How can I give back? How can we be a light in a developing community?" She scraped together savings from her toffee business, donations from friends and her husband's contributions (he is a doctor), and opened on Aug. 18 to little fanfare or press. There's not even a sign on the building.
Hock's divine art is hospitality — not simply as one-half of the phrase "hospitality industry," but as the word's actual definition: generosity. Warmth. Comradeship. Welcome. The place feels refreshingly real and unbranded, and free of the cooler-than-thou aesthetic that's gone viral in so many It City boomtown eateries.
Hidden in a ground-floor, back-corner space on the southwest corner of Gallatin and West Eastland avenues — in the retail building also home to Little Octopus — Divine Art (once you find it) thrums with the quietly cheerful entropy of a big-family household run by a powerful but benevolent matriarch. That seems to be the atmosphere Hock was aiming for. Raised in a "huge Lebanese low-income family in East Nashville," she says that opening the cafe was like a homecoming. She hopes to recapture the feel of Sunday dinners at her grandmother's home on Eastland, when a cast of 13 kids and 39 grandkids would pile in and be fed mounds of kibbeh (beef and bulgur meatballs), sfeehas (meat pies) and other Levantine specialties.
Hock laughs that her Lebanese-grandma-inspired decor — anchored by a few bejeweled lamps and a vintage divan — might fail to impress design-savvy millennials. But if we've learned anything from Nashville's own social enterprise star Becca Stevens, who won international renown for founding Magdalene, Thistle Farms and the Thistle Stop Cafe, it's this: Kindness can be cool.
Farzin Ferdowsi agrees. Ferdowsi is an Iranian émigré who found success as a fast-food franchisee and banker and serves on the board of the Boys and Girls Club of Middle Tennessee. "The young generation, they cherish this kind of thing," he says. "Once they know that the business is going toward a good cause, they will come." Ferdowsi himself seems to cherish what Hock is trying to do here. Months ago, when his doctor (Hock's husband) told Ferdowsi about the cafe-in-progress, Ferdowsi offered to donate kitchen equipment and labor to help her get up and running. "I like passionate people who try things," he says, grinning as he savors a homemade mini-bundt cake with blueberry compote.
For now, the nonprofit cafe relies on donations to stay afloat and advance its missions, but Ferdowsi believes it could become self-sustaining. "Wonderful! Very delicious," he says, after a bite of apricot turnover. "She's done a great job. It will build."
Meanwhile, business has been slow. But on a recent Tuesday just after closing time, things were looking up: Employee Rebecca Boles smiled at the day's receipts. "We did great today!" she tells Hock.
Boles, a 42-year-old blonde, needs the cafe to succeed. After a family member introduced her to crack cocaine at 18, she ricocheted among addiction, incarceration and relapse until about a year ago. She says sharing a bond with employees who are also recovering addicts helps her stay sober. "We each struggle with different fears and hopes. We know what each other are going through," she says.
"I am learning to trust myself," she adds. "I can surely see a future here."
Leslie Morgan, a 31-year-old trans man with stretched ear lobes and gleaming dermal piercings lining his cheekbone, recounts a similar history: Until two years ago, he says, "I was living to drink." Morgan, who is estranged from his own mother, sees Hock as a loving maternal figure. "My background is not the cleanest," he smiles. "She embraced me and took me in and didn't question my past."
Morgan, Boles and other employees share most every role at Divine Art, from taking inventory to manning the espresso machine and register and preparing the small menu of panini, salads and smoothies. Hock and her employees developed the menu as a team of taste-testers, all of whom seem to delight in asking new customers to sample their latest experiment.
On recent visits, I sampled Morning-Glory, a deep purple smoothie of blueberry, banana and kale, and Key-Lime, a whey-protein and Greek yogurt smoothie with lime and honey. Both were delicious, filling and made to order with fresh fruit and sparing use of natural sweeteners. Although I'm not usually a fan of flavored espresso beverages, I enjoyed the Coco-raz (named for Hock's beloved deceased Yorkie), a latte with steamed chocolate milk and raspberry. Standard espresso drinks are also excellent: Hock buys her beans from Garage Coffee Company and trains her staff well.
On another visit, an employee recommended the Thai vegan panini — a peanut butter, orange marmalade, basil and Sriracha sandwich on wheat bread. It sounded terrible. And then I took a bite. Just to be sure, I took another one, and another one, and so on ... until the whole thing was gone. Such a sandwich cannot possibly work. And yet, it did.
Brilliant standouts were the homemade desserts, many of the recipes courtesy of aforementioned back-of-house volunteer grandmas. Do not miss the turnover of the day — Hock's mother, Lorease Stangline, taught Boles the technique, and adapted the pies from fried to baked. "How pretty they look!" says Stangline, as Boles pats out dough circles.
"She taught me how to make pie crust," says Boles. "I never knew how."
On a recent Saturday morning, Hock suggested I try the Lebanese grandmas' savory sfeehas, served with velvety Greek yogurt. "What do you think?" Hock asks.
"Delicious," I assure her.
"Try another one," she says, heading toward the kitchen. "I'll pop it in the oven."
"I don't know where she came from," says Leslie Morgan, shaking his head at Hock. "But she's awesome." He seems genuinely happy here — the word "euphoria" is tattooed in dark blue on his arm. When asked why customers should come to Divine Art Cafe, and what makes the place special, he smiles. "You'll feel that you matter," he says. "Because I feel like I matter when I'm here."
"Anytime you have service based on love," adds Rebecca Boles, "you can't beat it."
Email arts@nashvillescene.com
