If you ask me, the best part of Annie, the 1982 film version of the Broadway musical, is the number "Let's Go to the Movies." I love it when Daddy Warbucks buys every seat in the theater and gives his glamour-deprived charge her first big night on the town. The stage, the lights, the grandeur — Annie wears a dress, Daddy Warbucks a bowtie. That song wasn't even part of the original Broadway production, and yet it pops into my head every time I log onto RegalCinemas.com.
It came flooding back on two recent trips to Sinema, the culinary blockbuster headlined by former Top Chef contestant Dale Levitski in the erstwhile Melrose Cinema. From the valet drop-off at the vintage marquee to the grand staircase rising from lobby to mezzanine, a night at Sinema is an opulent affair, positively baroque in its see-and-be-seen splendor. It's hard to think of a local venue that places such a premium on its decor, which includes countless groupings of plush furniture, black-and-white portraits of Hollywood stars, and a constellation of elegant low lighting reflected off smoky gold mirror ceiling tiles.
The restaurant occupies two floors, with the clattering main dining room at ground level and the lounge with limited menu at the top of the sweeping Art Deco staircase. The second story is so chic and seductive that on one visit, we dined downstairs at 5:30 p.m. — prime-time reservations have been hard to come by — then migrated upstairs for cleverly named cocktails until 10 p.m. Call it a Sinema double feature.
With Ryman Hospitality Properties CEO and Gaylord Entertainment veteran Colin Reed and family members investing in the enterprise, along with M.L. Rose owner Austin Ray, it's no surprise that Sinema is a polished production. Not only is there a high sheen of professionalism across the 8,000-square-foot floor plan, but there's also a level of sophistication in the marketing of the establishment, which has helped quickly to elevate Sinema onto A-lists of the food blogosphere.
Indeed, Chicago transplant and James Beard semifinalist #DaleLevitski and his cuisine are trending in Nashville, with frequent nods on Twitter and myriad close-ups on Instagram. Seldom have we seen so many gushing reviews across social media, and it's possible that in the face of so much untempered flattery our expectations were unreasonably high.
A more evenhanded accounting might liken Sinema to a diverting big-budget film with a talented ensemble cast, including a few breakout stars, whose performances are often upstaged by the Oscar-worthy set design. It gets two thumbs up, but it isn't quite a contender for Best Picture. Yet.
Let's start with the scene-stealers. The star of the show was a beautifully composed still-life of sweet zucchini bread topped with a custardy quenelle of foie gras mousse and grainy cashew butter laced with curry. Inventive, playful and complex, with layered notes of stone fruit, earth, salt and sugar and textures of cream, cake and crunch, this opener was worthy of its own hashtag.
Next was a starter called simply "Licorice." Sitting in a former movie theater, we vaguely suspected a reference to Twizzlers or Good & Plenty candy. Instead, we received a deconstructed salad of butter lettuce with shaved Asian pear, macadamia nuts, goat cheese and a black pepper tuile. Licorice was there, as promised, in the anise taste of fennel. But the real showstopper was the peppermint vinaigrette, which tingled the tongue with the same surprising delight as, say, a handful of Pop Rocks.
Cryptically named "Seaweed" combined elements of earth and ocean with a dramatic flourish. The server delivered a deep bowl bearing a colorful and delicate arrangement of beef carpaccio, lump crab, shaved lotus wheels, shiitake mushrooms and herbs, then proceeded to tip a teapot of golden seaweed broth over the composition. It yielded a soup that was simultaneously warm and cool, crisp and comforting, marine and meadow.
In a world of such promising trailers, we had high hopes for the main feature. Yet even though the entrées were uniformly well-executed, they did not maintain the whimsy and wow factor that made the appetizers so memorable.
To be sure, we enjoyed a flaky barramundi with kale, leeks, fingerling potatoes and lemon-caper brown butter, as well as hearty lamb chops with barley risotto. (The lamb has since been replaced with a veal loin.) We just didn't pine for these dishes later, as we did for zucchini bread/foie gras sundae or bacon-ham pierogis with stone fruits.
The so-called puttanesca exceeded expectations for a vegetarian entrée, packing plenty of color, texture and flavor into house-made pasta pillows stuffed with fresh ricotta and plated with golden-crisp fried green tomato and whipped eggplant with bright accents of lemon and herbs.
We did get a kick out of one signature entrée: Levitski & Co. meld the bistro traditions of steak frites and French onion soup into one decadent dish by soaking hunks of baguette in rich broth, placing them on a ribeye and melting cheese over the top. Myriad cinematic analogies could apply to this amusingly over-the-top sequel to steak frites — A Million Ways to Dine in the West? — but in the end, only you know whether your cardiac constitution (and wallet) can handle this $44 dose of glistening lipids.
On our follow-up visit, we dropped in sans reservation on Saturday night. We found a cozy booth in the secluded back section, facing intricately carved panels of artwork that had an unsettling optical effect when one stared too long at them. We shifted our seating to avoid hypnosis. Ultimately, I had to get up and touch the surface to prove to myself it wasn't moving.
Bar concessions lean toward finger foods — fries with chili aioli, house-made chips, cheese and charcuterie plates dotted with pickled vegetables. A few items appear both upstairs and downstairs, including Levitski's signature shrimp cocktail, reinvented as a citrus-tinged spin on hot chicken. Baguettes from Bella Nashville Bakery have cameos in both lounge (accompanying ricotta with broccoli and bacon) and dining room (as tartines). The two varieties of open-faced sandwiches — anchovy-zucchini-tomato and carpaccio-cremini-plum-mustard — were pretty but a little on the soggy side. We ended up cherry-picking the toppings and leaving a lot of bread on the table.
We particularly enjoyed a near-greaseless frito misto complemented by fragrant herb aioli, though we wished there were more than two bites of succulent fish in the vegetable-heavy $12 basket. In fact, we were in the middle of a conversation about local fish-and-chips prices when a server and two guests stopped in front of our table and apologized for interrupting us. The patrons wanted to have their photograph taken in front of the eye-popping panels of art, and the obliging server needed to shimmy into our booth to get the right angle.
This interlude brought new perspective to the finances of fried fish. Yes, $12 is a hefty price tag for a cheap and cheerful pub staple. Or for three sugar cookies with lemon curd and blueberries, which was our favorite simple dessert. Or for a specialty cocktail.
But this couple smiling for their souvenir snapshot reminded us that Sinema is about more than just a meal on the table. It's about a night on the town. Judging by their grins, an evening in the handsome landmark theater was well worth the price of admission.
Sinema serves dinner Monday through Saturday, with the lounge opening at 4:30 p.m. Sunday brunch will start this fall.
Email arts@nashvillescene.com.
