This week Marché celebrates its fifth birthday.
This morning, Hal woke up and (as usual) scanned the news on his iPad. “I’m hungry,” he said after a moment. “How ’bout it?” I knew just what he was getting at. “Hell yes!” I shouted. We headed east, to Nashville’s so-called “Main Street,” and our favorite place to spend mornings in Nashville.
For most of Marché’s five years, we’ve been stalking this fantastic little French-bistro style restaurant on the wrong side of the river. We’ve befriended the staff—many of them food lovers like us. And we’ve become hopelessly addicted to the perfectly prepared breakfast and brunch fare: this morning’s sweet crepes, stuffed with plums, mascarpone, and honey, were transcendent. A summer favorite of mine is absurdly simple, but fabulous: a slice of dense wheat raisin bread, slathered with homemade ricotta, honey, and fresh peaches. And one of the most surprising and lovely meals I’ve ever had there was this gorgeous carrot and beet soup. It was a work of art:
Marché seldom misses the mark. At worst, I might occasionally order a course that fails to utterly wow me, but I’ve never had anything that even approached mediocre. And at best, I get the chance to experience culinary bliss—and that happens pretty darned often. The ciopino makes my eyes roll back in my head and stick there, and the savory crepes with red pepper sauce set off fireworks in my mouth. (In a good way.)
I wish you a Happy Birthday, Marché, and I’m glad you’re here in my city, making my mouth happy.
One last bit of food porn:
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