Alley Taps: Nashville — A Girl's Guide to Drinking Alone

162 Printers Alley, Downtown, Nashville TN

By Nora Kaye, Guest Writer

The Place: An unassuming hole in the wall that reminds me of a cozy hobbit dwelling with live music. As an homage to Sammi Katz, queen of cocktails, I was planning to go to Nashville’s Red Phone Booth, an elegant speakeasy where I was hoping to treat myself to some cup of alcohol flambé. But alas and alack, the phone booth was “out of order” and I didn’t have a “member code.” A previous version of me would have been doused with, how do they say, “the fear of missing out.” But these days if I’m not invited to the club my mantra is fuck ‘em, keep walkin’…the line. (That is an attempt at a Johnny Cash reference which seems pretty Nashville. Sorry, and also–you’re welcome.)

Sooooo, a Google recalibration brings me to Alley Taps on Printers Alley. As I cross over into this mural-filled, string-lit alleyway, I breathe a little easier, knowing I am closer to finding a welcoming bar.

The Time: Monday August 1, 7:30pm. Why the fork am I in Nashville you might ask? You might not ask if you don’t know me, but I find myself in this city on a solo downtown adventure before an ESPN commercial shoot tomorrow. Things like this rarely happen to me, but when you’ve been worrying about how to pay for your cat’s September orthodonture bill and you’ve watched Friday Night Lights completely through at least 7 times, it feels like maybe the universe is a little bit listening.

The Vibe: I had hit my capacity of listening to honky tonk hits on the main drag. I love covers: a little Fleetwood, a bit of the Kinks, a dose of Sweet Home Alabam’. But when Baby by Bieber floods Broadway, I know it is my time to find a new haunt. And thankfully, Alley Taps is this breath of fresh…music? Its unassuming exterior opens up into a surprisingly spacious bar; maybe I have found my own speakeasy of sorts. It has the twangy Nashville musicians on a stage in the corner playing originals to a smattering of fans, an older crew dotting the bar, and a few dates scattered throughout. With its low ceilings, incandescent lighting and exposed brick interior (run, don’t walk, you StreetEasy voyeurs), it feels almost subterranean. As if you have stumbled into Bilbo Baggins’ for an afternoon tea, but thankfully, he’s serving alcohol. It hits that sweet spot for me between earnest whimsy and no frills.

The Bartender: I love the grounded energy of the bartender: half hostess, half no bullshit. She isn’t chatty but moves around the horseshoe-shaped bar with directional grace, leaving no patron unserved. I also overhear that she is off in “three minutes” and as someone who has worked in service, it is kind that she even serves me a drop.

The Drank: I order their local sour, the TrimTab Berry Sour, which might actually be from Alabama, but who am I to tell Alley Taps “what is local” since I’m not confident I could correctly label all 50 states, much to my 6th-grade social studies teacher’s chagrin. It isn’t a life-altering sour (have you ever had Collective Arts’ Guava Gose??) but it’s just enough like juice for me!

Was I Hit On?: Without any bartender chit-chat available, I reside myself to not really being spoken to. I don’t consider myself a misanthrope but the solitude is welcome after being bombarded by multiple bachelorette party buses in the heart of Nashville. As I sip my sour at the end of the bar, I consider if I am actually just jealous I wasn’t on one. It’s so fun to say you have a mantra, but the actual practicing of it–

This meditation on self is interrupted when an older man two stools down asks if I am “part of the band.”

I know, alert alert, man talks to you in a bar. It’s the first scene of any Lifetime movie…some of which end in a saccharine wedding, others end with me stuffed into a barrel and dropped into the Cumberland River. But there is a barstool between us and I really feel like I could take him. And…it’s actually nice! Let’s call him Ted, because that's really close to his name. He works as a beverage distributor and answers all the earnest questions I have about beer: the markets, the trends, the pandemonium caused by spiked seltzer.

I order a second drink, the Nashville cider, which is too sweet but sometimes those things don’t matter much. I chat a bit more with Ted, shake his hand, and leave. I then get into a Tesla Uber where the driver tries to get me to sing karaoke, but that’s a story for a DIFFERENT BLOG.

Should You Drink Here Alone?: If you find yourself in Nashville and are in need of something a bit easy and homey, have a little beer and little music at Alley Taps. And a conversation with a stranger, but only if you wanna!

Nora Kaye is a Brooklyn-based filmmaker, writer, and performer, passionate about telling comedic stories about the messiness of humanity. She recently fell in love with sours after a lifetime of being a "cider gal.” Growth: it can happen, in mysterious and glutenous ways. norakaye.com