Uncle Bud’s
356 White Bridge Rd., and eight other locations in Middle Tennessee 353-0016
Ten years ago, when the Scene launched its annual “You Are So Nashville If...” write-in contest, the first winner was, “...if you think our Parthenon is better because the other one fell apart.” At the time, our Parthenon was still in fairly good shape and minus the scaffolding it now wears. I remember the paper’s writers and editors laughing and laughing at that entry, mindful yet scornful of the popular sentiment that newer is better, that an imitation of the original is somehow more desirable than the original itself.
Lately, I’ve been hearing and reading a lot about Las Vegas’ surge in popularity as a tourist destination, thanks in part to the opening of several colossal hotels/casinos that recreate other famous cities. There is Paris, France, complete with an Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe. There is an Egyptian-themed hotel, with a pyramid and a sphinx. There is even New York, New York, which includes several of the Big Apple’s landmarks and neighborhoods, such as Little Italy.
I thought of all this sitting in Uncle Bud’s on White Bridge Road the other night. Though the building itself—formerly a Po’ Folks—is probably no more than 20 years old, the restaurant is designed and decorated to resemble a rustic old house, one you might find out in the country. The walls and floors are made of rough wood; gingham curtains hang in faux and real windows; oilcloth covers the wooden tables; reproduction advertising signs and worn ball caps hang on the walls and from the ceiling. The serving staff dresses in overalls, and the menu is written in vintage Cracker Barrel: “Tastes so good you’ll slap your pappy.”
It is all fairly reminiscent of the original Uncle Bud’s restaurant, the one that really was an old house, ramshackle yet cozy, out in the country on Hillsboro Road almost to Franklin—back when there used to be a lot of country between Nashville and Franklin. When I first moved here, I used to take out-of-town guests there to give them a genuine taste of regional cuisine.
Everyone sat down at big old wooden tables, and servers brought bowls of home-cooked white beans, peppery coleslaw, sliced onions, pickle spears, and baskets of fried hush puppies. Though Uncle Bud’s may have offered other options, we always ordered the all-you-can-eat catfish fillets and were rewarded with big plates of plump, flaky, golden fried catfish served with fries and tartar sauce. We ate till we were ready to burst, then moaned all the way back to Nashville, fat and happy.
Several years ago, the original Uncle Bud’s on Hillsboro Road was closed, and another opened in a brand-new cavernous building in Franklin. As I recall, there was a manmade pond out front with a big plastic catfish leaping from the water. I took my family out there once when they were visiting from Texas, but it just wasn’t the same. I never went back.
I remember reading somewhere that the owner of Uncle Bud’s sold his restaurant and the name to a local investor group, who before long built several more Uncle Bud’s, much like the one in Franklin. I vaguely remember hearing that the original owner had opened another catfish place somewhere in Bellevue.
In trying to find out a little bit more about the evolution of Uncle Bud’s from a quaint, independent catfish shack to a corporate, cookie-cutter chain, I asked our server at the White Bridge Road restaurant. She was sweet but clueless—and was probably in grade school when the original Uncle Bud’s was in business.
I called the number listed on the menu for catering. The friendly gentleman who answered gave me another phone number for what turned out to be Restaurant Management Group and an extension for the company’s PR person. After I tried unsuccessfully to reach her—she was on vacation—the phone operator directed me to the comptroller, who didn’t return my call.
The operator did tell me that Restaurant Management Group is owned by Dave Wachtel, a familiar name in the local restaurant industry. A member of Business Nashville’s Rich List, Wachtel is the former president and CEO of Shoney’s. He left there in 1982, purchased the first O’Charley’s on 21st Avenue South, and grew it into a successful chain before leaving and starting RMG. Besides Uncle Bud’s, the group also provides administrative services to The Merchants, Mere Bulles, and the Santa Fe Cattle Co. chain.
Still wanting to know more, I made a few calls to some colleagues in the news business. Bob Battle, veteran writer and former senior business editor for The Nashville Banner, remembered the Uncle Bud’s on Hillsboro Road. He said there really was a Bud, who, in addition to running his restaurant, also played with Danny Davis and the Nashville Brass. Battle thought that after Bud sold the original store, the restaurateur eventually ended up in Bellevue. Former Banner food writer (and occasional Scene contributor) Nicki Pendleton Wood confirmed that Bud had opened a couple of different places in the Bellevue area, most recently one called Tastebud’s. I called the number listed for Tastebud’s in the phone book and was greeted with the recording, “We are sorry, but this number is no longer in service.” Dead end.
And that’d be the end of the story, if not for the nine restaurants operating under the Uncle Bud’s name in the Nashville area. But if, like me, you have fond memories of the original Uncle Bud’s and hope to find some of its cornball ambiance and its good, simple fare, don’t bother. On a recent trip, our party of seven plowed through the menu, from appetizer (rubbery tasteless bits of fried alligator) to dessert (a frosty mug of key lime pie that left an exceedingly unpleasant aftertaste). We found nothing whatsoever to recommend. Even the catfish, Uncle Bud’s signature dish, was a disgrace, as flat and tough as a piece of beef jerky but lacking the flavor. The hush puppies were straight out of a box, the beans out of a can, with teensy bits of unidentifiable meat product. If that don’t beat all, the corn dog, ordered from the kids’ menu, was dismissed after just one disgusted bite.
I should have known better. After all, I wouldn’t expect to be struck by a sense of ancient history at Nashville’s Parthenon, and I wouldn’t go to Las Vegas to experience Paris or New York. If you want the real deal, you’ve got to go to the source, whether it be Greece, France, or Manhattan. And if you want a plate of catfish and fixins so good you’ll slap your pappy, you’ve got to drive out to Ashland City, a town that is rightfully proud of its authentic down-home catfish joints.
