Smoked banana, grilled rose petals, pickled raisins, scallion ash, horseradish oil, black vinegar — I count up all the new flavors I’ve tried in the last two hours. Soft hip-hop plays and candles flicker in the low lighting. 

The room is drenched in red: red booths, red bar, red walls. I feel like I’m inside a beating heart, but I’m at Fancypants in Nashville — a “choose your own adventure” restaurant with no categories on the menu, no predetermined path from appetizers to entrees. Instead, the menu is a grid, and you order however you want. 

Wild ingredients and vegetables reign supreme, but you’ll also find ribeyes and steak tartare. A live-fire grill by the bar delivers flame-kissed focaccia that’s shaped like a drum and served on a scalloped, gold-rimmed plate. 

Every menu item has designated vintage dishware. Surprises appear throughout the meal, from hibiscus-juniper welcome drinks to teensy tomato tarts and sparkling basil vinegar. 

My cocktail’s ice cube bears an indented letter “F” filled with purple liquid; the waitress spritzes it with anise from a perfume bottle. She brings potato-crusted cauliflower swimming in coconut gravy, and then a foie gras tart with elderberries and foraged mushroom gelée. 

We scoop up avocado and smoked banana with an ash-dusted rice cracker the size of my head. Candy-sprinkle cheesecake entices us to linger late into the night. Slow-paced and sensuous, the meal at Fancypants is a mental palate cleanser for the flash and fuss of Nashville’s famous honky-tonk scene: the Neon Neighborhood.

We’d spent the afternoon in the middle of the merrymaking on Lower Broadway, where music spills from every door and window. Talented singers croon on the sidewalks while crowds swarm around them. Tractors tow barn-style wagons full of beer drinkers down the street. Bachelorette parties march by in matching pink outfits, every girl’s face displaying a different emotion: excitement, affection, confusion, irritation, boredom and one too many piña coladas. Tourists take it all in from their roosts on rooftop bars. This “Honky Tonk Highway” is a fascinating slice of American culture and a true musical treasure. 

But I spent 15 years working in the music industry, and I’ve maxed out on this boisterous brand of revelry. I’m not here for the music — I’m here to eat, and I’ve brought my mother along for the ride.

We found Fancypants in East Nashville (“East Nasty” to the locals), a quirky culinary hotspot just an 8-minute ride from our downtown hotel. Uber and Lyft cars are copious and convenient in the city, and we rarely wait more than five minutes. 

We’re staying at the Fairlane Hotel Nashville by Oliver, luxe boutique lodgings in a glamorous mid-century bank building. They greet us with glasses of sparkling wine — always an easy way to win me over. Brass details and terrazzo floors create a retro-modern vibe, and the restaurant, Ellington’s, serves goat cheese-stuffed peppadews and lobster carbonara. Best of all, the hotel’s location is central to every neighborhood we visit. Lower Broadway is close yet not too close, three blocks away through historic Printer’s Alley. 

Our room is beautifully outfitted with oodles of wood and a marble shower, but my favorite part is the cushy king-sized bed. Its padded green velvet headboard sports a fold-down tray table in the middle with a couple of cupholders. Let the lounging begin.

Day 2: From Greece to Japan to Mexico

We’re back in East Nashville for lunch the next day after touring the Nashville Parthenon, a full-scale replica of the ancient original in Athens. Located in grassy Centennial Park, it houses several art galleries and history exhibits. The pièce de résistance is a 42-foot figure of the goddess Athena, the tallest indoor statue in the Western world. 

I scroll through my photos of the gilded goddess while I wait in line at Kisser, a 2024 James Beard nominee for Best New Restaurant. They don’t take reservations, so we’re there 15 minutes before opening. There’s already a line, but we make the first seating. Those who didn’t make it wander off to explore neighboring shops like Garage Sale Vintage (and its craft cocktail bar). 

Kisser’s odd name comes from kissaten, the Japanese word for a traditional corner cafe. The laid-back eatery has communal tables and shared counters in blond wood, with ocean-blue tiles on one wall. It’s small but not cramped, with a lively open kitchen. 

I start with a strawberry matcha latte and an egg salad “sando” on thick-cut Japanese milk bread baked in-house. Jammy eggs and Kewpie mayo combine for a soothing, custard-like creaminess. The inari is a stunner, a tofu skin pocket stuffed with rice and shrimp salad. Beads of masago roe, the edible eggs of capelin fish, burst one by one in my mouth, and it’s hard not to eat the whole thing at once. 

Kisser’s “big salad” balances pearly miso dressing with bonito flakes and sesame; its chicken katsu is pounded thin and panko-perfect. I finish with another green drink, a melon soda float with mochi balls on top. Like everything at Kisser, it’s simple and unpretentious — Japanese comfort food done right.

Later we head to the opposite side of downtown to Nashville’s 12 South neighborhood, a half-mile stretch lined with designer boutiques and trendy bistros. Draper James, Reese Witherspoon’s shop, is packed with women scooping up floral headbands and darling dresses. Husbands wait on the bench outside. 

We browse “Dolly for President” mugs at Serendipity and rainbow-colored bags at Stoney Clover Lane. I eyeball the churro ice cream sandwiches at Playdate, a novel cafe in a 1920s house with an adult-sized slide on the porch. 

We have reservations at Fonda 12 South, Nashville’s newest Mexican restaurant. I usually avoid eating Mexican food when I travel this far from Mexico. But the chef is a Mexico City native with Fonda restaurants already in New York and Tokyo, so I make an exception — and I’m glad I did. Tasteful Mexican decor sets a stylish stage for tableside guac and pomegranate margaritas. 

No chips and salsa appear, and I’m slightly alarmed. I forget all about it when the house-made flour and blue corn tortillas arrive with our queso fundido: melted cheese heaven. 

We order a build-your-own taco board that comes with a skillet of pork carnitas and three multicolored salsas. My money’s on the green. Thin-sliced cabbage slaw perches beside a bowl of inky refried black beans. My mouth waters from the smoky adobo aroma, and I find myself hoping my hair soaks up the smell. 

I have dessert next door at Jeni’s Splendid Ice Cream, one scoop of sweet potato marshmallow praline pecan.

Day 3: Of Caves and Churches

It’s happy hour at Coral Club, whose strange strip mall setting makes you wonder if you’re in the right place. Inside, however, you’re transported to a world of soft shadows and warm, easy light. 

It’s described as “seaside-inspired,” but to me, it’s more like a cave. Candles glow in the cozy hideaway, the bartenders are chill and there’s a breezy rooftop too. I could hang out here all night. We munch on black truffle popcorn and sip cinnamon-sprinkled cocktails made with gin, port and almond liqueur.

I pull myself away to stroll to dinner at Bad Idea, a Laotian-fusion restaurant in a lofty converted church. Like Coral Club, it’s dark and moody. The designers took the building’s ecclesiastical architecture and ran with it, adding bold light fixtures and carved wooden walls. The horseshoe bar is crowned with stained glass, and original church windows gaze onto the neighborhood beyond. 

Couples sipping wine on the mezzanine are spoiled for choice with a 3,000-bottle cellar, and the 2.5-ounce pours provide impetus to sample away. I settle on an Australian Sauv Blanc with my spicy scallop-stuffed crêpe. The seafood’s tenderness plays off its heat, and the lacey tuile topper gives me something to crunch. 

Bad Idea’s menu has three shareable mains: grilled jerk mushrooms, pork collar with oyster sauce or fish with mala spice. Each is paired with marigold crêpes and an entourage of chili sauces, fermented cabbage and purple herbs. I choose the fish of the day, cod, and soon learn what “mala” means: mouth-numbing. Oops … probably should have Googled that one first. 

After every few bites of the fiery dish, I must wait for my mouth to cool down — yet the fried cod is incredible, airy and crisp, and I want to gobble it down. Luckily our cheese ice cream dessert turns down the thermostat. My mom likes the Velveeta with summer berries; I prefer the tomato-basil mascarpone. 

Day 4: Best Seat in the House

We wake up and walk two blocks for breakfast at D’Andrews Bakery & Café, a 2024 James Beard Award semifinalist for Outstanding Bakery. The chunky oatmeal cherry cookies look alluring, but I opt for a Paris-Brest pastry and a pear almond tart with white chocolate crème. We balance the sweet with a Brie and jambon tarte dotted with sundried tomatoes.

We spend the morning gawking at rhinestone-covered outfits and Elvis’ gold-plated Cadillac in the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, then drift over to Assembly Food Hall. 

The 66,000-square-foot space is a whirlwind of cuisines, from specialty waffles to steamed dumplings, sushi and shawarma. You can try a shaved ice and cotton candy confection at Cotton & Snow or sample Nashville’s original hot chicken at Prince’s. I go for a roasted pineapple sage margarita with paneer tikka masala, and we snag epic seating on the balcony. 

Our table is right in front of the Mother Church of Country Music: Ryman Auditorium, the neo-Gothic concert hall that birthed bluegrass and the Grand Ole Opry. Its graceful arched windows and red-brick facade point into the blue of heaven. 

I sit transfixed by the stunning view. It’s a reverent finale to my foodventure, another moment of sanctuary found just beneath the surface of the singular city of Nashville.