Bacchanalia: The Tasting Menu

Lyrics

[Intro]
Howell Mill Road holds its breath after dark.
And in this old brick room, a new story starts.

[Verse 1]
The walls remember cotton gins, or maybe plow parts.
They remember the sweat of a different kind of art.
But tonight, they just hold the low murmur of hearts.
And the names whispered, a quiet reverence.
Anne Quatrano.
Clifford Harrison.
They lit this lamp in 1993.
Handed us a menu with no choices, you see.
Just a promise.
Just a journey.

[Chorus]
This is the tasting menu.
A quiet conversation between the plate and the palate.
This is the candlelight on old brick.
The ghost of industry, the taste of grace.
Each course, a paragraph.
Each flavor, a carefully chosen word.
Here, in the factory of sensation.

[Verse 2]
They don't shout about the South, they let it speak for itself.
In a language of reductions and foam and earth from the shelf.
The James Beard award came, I think it was 2013.
A confirmation of what we'd already seen.
That a warehouse could become a cathedral of taste.
That nothing beautiful is ever laid to waste.
Just transformed.
Just reborn.

[Bridge]
Before the district had its proper name,
Before the artists and the shops all came,
There was this flame.
A single, steady, pioneering flame.
Proving a rail yard siding could be a destination.
This wasn't just dinner.
This was an invitation.
A map to the future of the corridor.

[Outro]
The last sip of wine.
The fork rests, a silver comma at the end of the line.
Leaving the warmth, back to the street.
The city feels different now.
More complete.