Cascades at the Opreyland Hotel in Nashville
I spent the early part of my week this week in Nashville. I had barely a night to recover from my adventurous weekend before I was off on business. It had been almost 12 years since my last visit to Nashville. I remember it clearly. I worked for a PR Agency at the time. Our client had a booth at a surveying trade show at the Nashville Convention Center, only my boss decided I would go and support this show at the last minute, so they booked me a room at the Opreyland hotel.
Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the city of Nashville, the Opreyland hotel is about 15 -20 minutes away from downtown – outside the city. So, I found myself with hefty cab bills each way. One night during that show, my clients decided to go drinking and took me with them. We went to a club where I had to very aggressively fend-off unwanted advances, the bouncer rescued me from a stalker and I took a cab back to my hotel. Shaken from the experience, I stopped at the bar within the hotel for a drink.
The Opreyland hotel is a series of pods in a gigantic complex with hotel-rooms along the periphery of a beautiful atrium, equipped with water fountains, tropical plants, trees and flowers, low bridges, etc designed to feel like an oasis. I sat at the bar in the middle of the atrium admist the greenery talking to a Texan wearing a large cowboy hat and boots that had come to town for a gaming convention. On the other side of me sat a Japanese man with pink hair that worked for Sega. The cowboy told me how he made money placing pinball machines in truck stops throughout the U.S. The entire experience felt like a weird and very surreal dream.
Fast forward to Monday, I landed in Nashville, rented a car and found myself in the very same Opreyland hotel. As I crossed the footbridge that spanned the center of the atrium, waves of these strange memories came flooding back. Later that evening, my colleague and I headed to the Cascades restaurant within the atrium for dinner. I am often quite skeptical of hotel food. It can be hit or miss, and price is no indication or guarantee of quality either.
We sat down and looked at the menu, which looked great. Unable to decide, we opted to share three appetizers, the steamed clams with chorizo:
The braised short ribs:
And the hickory smoked duck wontons.
We decided to buy a bottle of wine from the wine list. Mike wanted a red wine, and we had a mix of fish and beef, so I picked a bottle of Frei Brothers Pinot Noir (it was the best option).
Already full from the appetizers, I had a hard time eating my main course when it arrived. Don’t get me wrong, the seared diver scallops with porcini mushrooms were good, but I just couldn’t finish them. Instead I sipped my wine and chatted comfortably with Mike.
I felt a little badly, as I peppered our server with questions about the menu that she clearly did not know the answer to, like “Who is your chef?” “What kind of spice rub did they use on the short ribs?” or “what is the sweetness that I taste in the sausage and clams?”
At one point Mike chided me to “Stop torturing the waitress.”
When our main courses were completed, Mike decided to check out the dessert menu, pondered it, and finally ordered the Profiterole with Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream.
I asked for a “small” scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream to go along with my hot coca and butterscotch rum, they gave me a mountain.
As we were wrapping up the meal, I tried to buy the line cooks a drink, only to find out that they are not allowed to accept it. I tried to give them cash tips, but they weren’t allowed to accept them either. So, I thanked them, went back to my hotel room and went to bed.
Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the city of Nashville, the Opreyland hotel is about 15 -20 minutes away from downtown – outside the city. So, I found myself with hefty cab bills each way. One night during that show, my clients decided to go drinking and took me with them. We went to a club where I had to very aggressively fend-off unwanted advances, the bouncer rescued me from a stalker and I took a cab back to my hotel. Shaken from the experience, I stopped at the bar within the hotel for a drink.
The Opreyland hotel is a series of pods in a gigantic complex with hotel-rooms along the periphery of a beautiful atrium, equipped with water fountains, tropical plants, trees and flowers, low bridges, etc designed to feel like an oasis. I sat at the bar in the middle of the atrium admist the greenery talking to a Texan wearing a large cowboy hat and boots that had come to town for a gaming convention. On the other side of me sat a Japanese man with pink hair that worked for Sega. The cowboy told me how he made money placing pinball machines in truck stops throughout the U.S. The entire experience felt like a weird and very surreal dream.
Fast forward to Monday, I landed in Nashville, rented a car and found myself in the very same Opreyland hotel. As I crossed the footbridge that spanned the center of the atrium, waves of these strange memories came flooding back. Later that evening, my colleague and I headed to the Cascades restaurant within the atrium for dinner. I am often quite skeptical of hotel food. It can be hit or miss, and price is no indication or guarantee of quality either.
We sat down and looked at the menu, which looked great. Unable to decide, we opted to share three appetizers, the steamed clams with chorizo:
The braised short ribs:
And the hickory smoked duck wontons.
We decided to buy a bottle of wine from the wine list. Mike wanted a red wine, and we had a mix of fish and beef, so I picked a bottle of Frei Brothers Pinot Noir (it was the best option).
Already full from the appetizers, I had a hard time eating my main course when it arrived. Don’t get me wrong, the seared diver scallops with porcini mushrooms were good, but I just couldn’t finish them. Instead I sipped my wine and chatted comfortably with Mike.
I felt a little badly, as I peppered our server with questions about the menu that she clearly did not know the answer to, like “Who is your chef?” “What kind of spice rub did they use on the short ribs?” or “what is the sweetness that I taste in the sausage and clams?”
At one point Mike chided me to “Stop torturing the waitress.”
When our main courses were completed, Mike decided to check out the dessert menu, pondered it, and finally ordered the Profiterole with Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream.
I asked for a “small” scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream to go along with my hot coca and butterscotch rum, they gave me a mountain.
As we were wrapping up the meal, I tried to buy the line cooks a drink, only to find out that they are not allowed to accept it. I tried to give them cash tips, but they weren’t allowed to accept them either. So, I thanked them, went back to my hotel room and went to bed.
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