The fact that I rarely have time to eat what I've been told is the most important meal of the day might explain why I'm not very important, or at least why I'm always starving by 11 a.m. On those mornings that I do manage to carve out some mealtime, I head directly to Sweet 16th to order up one of their breakfast sandwiches — a hearty square of buttery egg casserole dappled with green chiles, served piping hot and stupid delicious on a glorious cheddar scone. As luck would have it, they also happen to carry the coffee beans that make me fist-bump my Chemex every morning: Drew's Brews' Nicaragua. And I'm always hard-pressed to leave without picking up some scones or brookies for later. I wish this was my every-morning ritual. (Sweet 16th is also home of the world's greatest chocolate cake, but that is a topic for another day — the 20th day of July, perhaps, for no particular reason.)
A day that begins at Sweet 16th is bound to rule pretty hard, and the fact that The Silly Goose sits just a few blocks away means Thursday's child doesn't, in fact, have far to go to keep the culinary good vibes in full effect. In a kitchen smaller than the one at my house — though the restaurant will be expanding this summer into the larger space next door, and I'm not bragging — chef Roderick Bailey serves up an awesome menu of sandwiches and entrées that emphasize fresh, locally sourced ingredients, many of which are listed on a chalkboard next to the counter. You might think a guy who makes one of his salads (the lush, delectable "Goose Stack") in a cylindrical stainless steel mold would oversee a pretentious restaurant, but The Silly Goose is anything but — it's just good food with flair and lots of flavor, served up by friendly folks. In other words, the perfect place to eat a more healthful, leafy follow-up to that hearty first meal and subsequent brookie-snacking ... well, and maybe snag some of their incredible homemade ice cream. (This is a dream day, after all.)
Not that my little corner of East Nashville doesn't have its share of good dinner options, but when I'm planning the perfect day, the evening has to include kogi and kimchi — and for that, it's off to Antioch Pike. Not that we care what they think anyway, but people who call Nashville "the new LA" obviously don't know shit about Korean cuisine, because we're not even in the same league there. But whatever. Arguably the closest Nashville comes to mirroring that town's prodigious array of hanshik (that's Korean for "Korean food") is So Gong Dong. I say that because any city with a legitimate Korean food scene will have, in addition to the basic all-purpose restaurants, places that specialize in one particular dish. In So Gong Dong's case, that's soon dooboo jjigae, or soft tofu stew. That might sound fluffy and insubstantial, but this is serious eating. Sticklers for all-purpose Korean restaurant menu items — your bulgogis and bibimbaps and what-have-you — can still find them here (this is still Nashville, after all), but the house specialty is where it's at, served boiling hot and bright red with incendiary spice.
Nothing against South Nashville — dancing to some reggae down the street at Caribbean Hut actually doesn't sound like a bad idea — but since noraebang (the Korean version of karaoke) isn't really an option, I'm heading back to the East Side to ponder the ancient question: Why is drinking outdoors at night so pleasant and refreshing? I don't really care, as long as Village Pub & Beer Garden keeps letting me do so, close to my house and with a nice assortment of brews (and stiffer elixirs) at the ready. In addition to its great atmosphere and reasonably priced libations, Village Pub has a secret weapon: the food. While the drinks have me asking my liver, "Will you still love me tomorrow?" the Pub's soft pretzel sandwiches have me saying, "I need you tonight." After all, chances aren't good that I'll have time for breakfast two days in a row.
