Oysters
When are we going to stop making fun of hipsters? I’m asking myself more than you, Scene readers, but the question is earnest. Urban Cowboy Public House is attached to an ultra-trendy bed-and-breakfast that advertises itself as available for photo shoots and is descended from a parent company in Brooklyn. Every piece of it, on paper, feels like it is actively trying to troll me.
But here’s the thing: Damn, those hipsters know where to find great food.
On my last visit to Urban Cowboy in East Nashville, I ordered beside a 6-foot-4 man wearing a cape. Did that hamper my enjoyment? Not a bit. Smoky meats, eclectic tunes, odd ensembles — it all worked for me in a “Keep Austin Weird” kind of way. Can you imagine anything more fun than if Liberace, Gus from Lonesome Dove and Macho Man Randy Savage opened a restaurant together? Well, this is that, and it’s a friggin’ blast.
Basil Gimlet
The crew at Public House has cultivated a laid-back vibe in part by not having servers. You order at the bar, and they bring your food in waves. It’s what you might call a “fast-fancy” setup. The cocktails, however, take time — relatively new East Side speakeasy Attaboy pulls drinks out of thin air much faster — but they’re all delicious, so no one minds. The Rosé Paloma (rosé, lime, salt, grapefruit) is tangy, effervescent and has been responsible for a thousand “sick days” after brunch gone wild. The Basil Gimlet is potent and botanical, with gin, vermouth, citrus, basil and black pepper. The Spritz is equal parts stuff I never drink (sherry, aperitivo, vermouth) and stuff I always do (citrus, salt) with an orange/rhubarb flavor that’s bitter but balanced. They also serve cool stuff like orange wine, which sounds like a drink your redneck cousin would make from Pixy Stix and Zima, but which is actually a crisp Italian alternative to rosé.
Despite being attached to a bed-and-breakfast, Urban Cowboy is a neighborhood bar. Several people got “NORM!”-style greetings while I was there. It’s also a “work hard, play hard” place, if I can say that without sounding like a billboard trying to sell condos to millennials. My bartender at brunch had gone home at 4 a.m., returned at 7, and was taking a shot of Jameson as his shift ended at 3 p.m. That is a hurl-worthy timeline, but there he was, firing on all cylinders, stopping between cocktail shakes to chat with me about apples.
And about them apples: They’re called Mountain Rose, and they’re exquisite. Delicate, hard-to-grow and harvested just once a year, they come exclusively from one farm in Oregon. Tart, juicy and sweet like strawberries, their flesh is so shockingly pink that when I first saw one, I thought it was lox. At brunch, the apples were shaved and stacked atop melted triple-cream cheese on a squishy bun with a sprinkle of crunchy brown sugar. It was a decadent, revelatory take on brie and apples, and a testament to why artisanal ingredients matter in capable hands.
Next was the deconstructed crab roll, a presentation I admit I thought was a bit precious until I started eating. Pickled shaved celery; toasted bread; drawn butter; sweet, succulent meat — my perfect bite was different from my neighbor’s (as a notorious crab fiend, I don’t need much bread), and if it had come composed, I wouldn’t have gotten to make it my own. Then came the aged smoked beef, which was charred outside, pink throughout and served with a sort of sauce gribiche: hard-boiled egg, spicy mustard greens, briny capers and biting citrus. Think prime rib meets Niçoise salad. It would have made the world’s best French dip if I’d had any left over.
Smoke and fire — they inform every dish at Urban Cowboy Public House in a satisfying, primal way. The cooking setup was inspired by an Argentinian grill, so the wood and hot coals give the food a smoky accent but let the ingredients shine. Nowhere is that clearer than in the abalone mushroom broth with pork fat. It’s reminiscent of three soups I love — French onion, creamy mushroom and miso — and the oyster-mushroom flavor and smoky, silky fat meld into a broth that’s downright magical. If you’re lucky enough to go when they have it: 1. Buy me 10, and I’ll get you back, and 2. Close your eyes before you taste it — you’ll swear it’s full of cream.
Aged smoked beef
Next we had grilled lettuces with pine nuts and feta. For me, hot lettuce is about as appetizing as a bologna smoothie, but this was spectacular. The charred crunchy greens, creamy cheese and toasty nuts somehow turned salad into comfort food. The roasted spaghetti squash came draped in raclette, which is basically Swiss cheese that went to finishing school. Smeared on crusty sourdough, it was like a sweet, earthy version of queso fundido.
The bahn mi was another hit: tender roast pork, tart pickles and an umami-rich pâté that I swear tasted like tuna salad (in a good way). The raw-beef tonnato actually does use tuna in a creamy, funky sauce that’s savory and surprising. It’s the most interesting raw beef preparation I’ve seen since Trevor Moran’s crispy snail egg tartare at The Catbird Seat. The oysters were vibrant, with pickled young ginger and a hint of fish sauce bringing out their salinity. The chicken wings dripped with roasty goodness, dressed simply with lemon and garlic in that confident way only great cooks can pull off. The charred sweet potatoes were also good.
And that’s the worst thing I’ll say — the potatoes were good. Eight dishes at $69 pre-tax and tip, and seven were phenomenal. The menu changes regularly, but the quality and prices are consistent. Show me any fine-dining spot in town offering that kind of value, and I’ll personally start a Rascal Flatts-themed pedal tavern. What’s their secret? For my money, it’s chef Tom Bayless. After his stints at The Catbird Seat and Bastion, you know his face if not his name, though anyone who loves food should know both.
The culinary playground Bayless has created at Urban Cowboy Public House is fun and forward-thinking, and if he’s not The Next Big Thing in Nashville, we’re all doing it wrong.
