Since the last week of November, I’ve faced down countless buffet tables. “Eat me,” says the tenderloin sandwich. “No, thank you,” I reply. “Dig into me,” pleads the cheese ball. “I’ll pass,” is my response. “Just a bite,” cry the ham and biscuits. “Not tonight,” I counter. “Only one,” whispers the tray of brownies. “Don’t get me started,” I warn.
Wouldn’t you know, it was the reindeer food that finally got me. After the first grade room mothers at my daughter’s school confered on the menu for our little angels’ holiday parties, we decided reindeer food would be just the thing. One mom shared the recipe: a bag of pretzels, a box of Goldfish, a bag of peanuts, a bag of holiday M&Ms, a bag of chocolate chips, and a bag of peanut butter chips. The kids loved it. Unfortunately, so did I. I ate it before the party started. I ate it during the party. I ate it when I brought the leftover reindeer food home. One morning, digging into my daily breakfast cup of fat-free, artificially sweetened strawberry yogurt, I considered throwing in a handful of reindeer food. “Whoa!” I said. “Stop the Madness!” I threw the remaining reindeer food into the trash.
The average American gains 10 pounds over the holiday season, from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. Whether your weakness is reindeer food or Christmas cookies or Swedish meatballs, by now you’re probably feeling a little nutritionally challenged. A body can only take so many bacon-wrapped water chestnuts.
You won’t find any meatballs, tenderloin, bacon, or reindeer food at Slice of Life Bakery & Restaurant. What you will find is food that is primarily vegetarian, exceptionally nutritious, and—depending on what you order—for the most part pretty tasty.
If a meal without beef or pork is like a day without sunshine for you, Slice of Life is not your kind of place. Slice has expanded its vegetarian menu to include chicken and fish, but there is absolutely no cow or pig meat in the house.
Slice made its debut on the Nashville restaurant front as a bakery, popular for its homemade muffins, grainy breads, and the infamous whole wheat cheese Danish. Gradually, more breakfast and lunch options were added, as were more tables for in-house dining.
I’m sure that Slice’s location, just on the border of Music Row, was no accident. Back when vegetarians in Nashville were viewed with only slightly less suspicion than child molesters, the music industry—with its eclectic roster of bohemians, artistes, and displaced East and West Coast-ers—was already going for steamed veggies, black beans, brown rice, herbal tea, and even tofu. Slice of Life, Country Life, and Laughing Man Vegetarian Restaurant were all within walking distance of 16th Avenue.
Of the three, Slice of Life has been the most successful in attracting mainstream diners. Laughing Man closed years ago, and Country Life, owned and operated by Seventh Day Adventists, is only open for weekday lunch.
A few years ago, Slice of Life nearly doubled its seating capacity, added wine and beer, and expanded its dinner menu. There is a laid-back, feel-good appeal to the place, with lots of exposed brick, plenty of wood, and Windham Hill-type music playing softly in the background.
Lunch and dinner both begin with baskets of warm wheat rolls and slightly sweet corn muffins. Most Slice regulars order a glass of the bright-red iced herbal tea—a blend of hibiscus, chamomile, lemon grass, and honey ($1.50 with free refills).
My guess is that the most frequently ordered item from the Slice menu, lunch or dinner, is the vegetable combo—steamed fresh vegetables served over brown rice with black beans and onions. Add white cheddar for $1 more, douse with tamari, and you’ve got a mighty tasty meal.
Lunch and dinner can begin with the soup of the day (the hearty clam stew was loaded with clams, corn, carrots, beans, potatoes, and tomatoes) or the 16 bean gumbo. Not surprisingly for a vegetarian restaurant, there are plenty of salads—the house, which accompanies the entrées, is a fresh, if uninspired, pile of Romaine, sprouts, shredded carrots, and red cabbage. The special house dressings are mostly commendable, although some have a disagreeable chalky taste.
Do not order the notorious nachos as an appetizer, unless your whole table is sharing. Even as an entrée, the huge plate of refried beans, tortilla chips, tomatoes, olives, onion, green chilies, jalapeños, cheese, and salsa will almost always go unfinished.
More manageable at lunch are the sandwiches, all served on Slice of Life’s signature homemade wheat bread with sprouts, tomatoes, and the appropriate condiments. When it comes to side dishes, I’d opt for the potato salad—nice-textured white potatoes with chopped red pepper, red onion, celery, olives, plenty of fresh dill, and a light dressing. (I suspect a mayonnaise substitute.)
We especially liked the grilled teriyaki chicken breast sandwich, the grilled mahi mahi sandwich, and the plump veggie burger, which was uncharacteristically moist. The Slice of Life bean burrito is another big bang for the buck, even if it is a little on the bland side. Underseasoning, in fact, is the rule at this restaurant. If you like your food a little more lively, you’ll be requesting the tamari and the Tabasco sauce.
The pasta of the day, which comes with homemade tomato basil sauce, was sorely overcooked, and three of us could find no evidence at all of any basil.
Dinner was less successful than lunch. Two types of chardonnay are offered by the bottle, but the restaurant didn’t have a chilled one on hand. Service was erratic and slightly distant, even though the restaurant wasn’t busy and we were dining early.
There are eight pasta entrées, plus seven seafood or chicken options and three vegan selections. Let me warn you, unless you are a vegan— a vegetarian diet that excludes all animal products, even eggs, milk, and honey—you’ll want to avoid that category. I managed to talk Mr. Wonderful into ordering the Seitan steak, described as being chargrilled with sautéed mushrooms and onions in a vegan béarnaise sauce. One bite apiece was all it took before we renamed it Satan Steak. Without a doubt, it was the most vile thing any of us had ever put in our mouths. Why bother with food at all? Why not just use intravenous feeding tubes?
The best dish we sampled was the shrimp and scallop tarragon, a big plate of nicely cooked fettucine with big fat sautéed shrimp and scallops in a tarragon-perfumed cream sauce. The cheese ravioli didn’t fare so well—the filling had that peculiar chalky texture, and the sun-dried tomato sauce was sweet.
Also good was the large salmon filet, marinated in a sweet and smokey sauce, then grilled and served atop brown rice. The accompanying garlic broccoli was crisp and bright green, but, again, it didn’t have much flavor.
Slice of Life’s bakery case always looks appealing, so we tried the cheesecake and carrot cake—both were dissapointingly dry.
Tab for seven for lunch was $52.56; dinner for four cost $52.22.
The official end of the holiday eating season and the official start of New Year’s Resolution Season are both just around the corner. If you haven’t been on the scales since Nov. 28, you could be in for a nasty shock. But remember, in this country, you’re not alone, and you’ve got more than 300 Diet Days until it begins all over again.
Slice of Life is located at 1811 Division St. (329-2525). Open 8 a.m.-4 p.m. Mon.; 7 a.m.-9 p.m. Tue.-Thur.; 8 a.m.-10 p.m. Fri. & Sat.; 8 a.m.-4 p.m. Sun.
