The Treehouse

At some point during childhood, if one is lucky enough to have a treehouse, he or she reaches an age when hanging out in a tree just isn't enough. For me, that moment came quickly, which was a shame since my dad spent a lot of time making the thing. I opted to hail my electronics -- CD players, portable TVs, etc. -- up the wooden slats that were fastened to the tree's trunk. Some people, however -- and I knew a few kids who did this -- choose to turn their high place of floral refuge into clandestine getaways, dragging up spirits and booze and all other manner of legal (well, maybe not at their age) and possibly illegal substances. And, honestly, there's something comforting about the image (if you ignore the illegality of underage drinking and possibility of intoxicated, high-fall-related injury): sitting in a small, cozy, wooden box, surrounded by warm memories of summer days and comic books, drinking some version of warmth from a glass. That fuzzy feeling is captured pretty accurately by The Treehouse in East Nashville.

First of all, I need to get one image out of the way, a likeness between The Treehouse and something else, a connection that I couldn't shake from the moment Sarah and I walked out onto the back wooden-slatted patio. That something else was one of my favorite and most cherished childhood associations: Calvin and Hobbes. More specifically, G.R.O.S.S. (or, Get Rid Of Slimy girlS), the openly but adorably misogynistic, treehouse-based club where Calvin and Hobbes plot against Susie Derkins, Calvin's neighborhood girl-next-door (and hinted love interest). The comparison doesn't have anything to do with the misogyny, of course, but I could easily imagine that a kid like Calvin, once he discovered alcohol, would combine the two interests into something akin to The Treehouse. Except with more tigers, of course.

To speak of the actual experience, I would have to add an additional likeness to describe The Treehouse: a speakeasy. With it's daily (and nightly) changing menu, list of uniquely named cocktails, and subtle, dim lightly, one could imagine more adventurous Prohibition-era couples defiantly sipping drinks on the wooden platform behind the main bar/restaurant area. And with the crows-nest the perfect lookout height, it's the perfect set up to maintain its secrecy. Luckily for us, though, The Treehouse is no secret -- even if it is slightly tucked away in a corner of Five Points. 

Sarah and I (and one of Sarah's friends who joined us for the evening) got a couple drinks each, all of which standard bar items, and we shared a plate of plantains that were on the "Late Night" menu. The only real difference between the regular dinner menu and the Late Night menu is that most of the items on the latter deal with breakfast-related ingredients, and they don't mind uncensoring some of the more colorfully named sauces (namely, the "F-ing Hotsauce" reverts to its true, not-so-family-friendly full name). The plantains -- served in what looked like handmade clay dishes -- came with black beans, the aforementioned hot sauce, and a few other partitioned ingredients, and whether eaten all together or separately, each part of the whole dish was delicious. 

Between the atmosphere, the drinks, and the unique, refreshing approach to bar food, The Treehouse is a place to go to often, even if only to see what new cocktails get added to the menu every so often, or to take note of each individually painted wooden slat in the surrounding fences. Like Calvin and Hobbes and their G.R.O.S.S. fort, the idea is surrounding yourself with those you love and sharing those commonalities in a leisurely, relaxed environment -- which The Treehouse excels at. Unlike C&H, though, women are welcome.