Metro Pulse/Restaruant Rover/Brickyard Blues

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Brickyard Blues
7545 Brickyard Rd.
938-9898

by Connie Seuer

Purveyors to the multitudes of murky coffees of dubious origin, we are to fine liquids what Enron is to banking, and to haute cuisine what Bill Clinton is to integrity." These aren't exactly encouraging words for the soon-to-dine. But my curiosity had been thoroughly piqued.

I arrived at Brickyard Blues, a roadside café located in the heart of Powell, tucked behind darkish windows and a squatty awning, to meet my lunch date, Heinrich, who was joining me from Oak Ridge. Beyond peckish and in a tad of a rush, we ordered at the counter, served ourselves drinks, and took the only table left in the house.

The eclectic décor—a sort of shabby chic meets teen-boy bedroom—is set to a steady, I-IV-V chord progression and is the visual embodiment of what makes the place work: layers. There's a nod to the Knoxville Brick Company that operated nearby for nigh on 40 years, and there's the whole blues thang (B.B. King bellows from the stereo and concert bills spackle the yellow walls). This is all fine and well, making for a homey, personalized version of Beale Street's chain restaurants. Then, out of nowhere, there are shout-outs to the Commonwealth. A British flag hangs from a corner wall, a tacked-up license plate sports Old Glory crossing the Union Jack, and the magazine rack's chock with back issues of Realm: The Magazine of Britain's History & Countryside (everything you ever wanted to know about thatched roofs!). Layers, I tell ya.

Brickyard is co-owned by a Brit-born chap and a bright-eyed American gal who offer up sarnies (that's sandwiches, y'all) and daily specials of soups, salads, and lunch plates inspired by tastes from both home and abroad. They open early with coffee ($1, medium), pastries ($1.50), and egg & bacon croissants ($3.50), but you'll find the full menu at lunchtime.

The salad special, Sweet & Spicy Orzo, was a cool complement for an unseasonably warm spring day. Luckily, the 'yard offers a taster's portion ($.75), allowing me to sample the light blend of al dente pasta, plump white grapes, mint, parsley, sweet apricots, and crunchy roasted almonds, without infringing on my sandwich appetite.

Heinrich selected one of the day's special soups, Cream of Spinach ($2.95). When the full bowl of emerald and cream arrived, garnished with crème fraiche, I demanded a spoonful. And another, and another. Heinrich was equally swooned by the soup, causing a row over the last licks.

Ready for a gust from abroad, I put in a work request for the Brick Layers Special ($5). This hefty butty arrived in build-yourself style, hence the name. The masonry, your basic toasted French bread, was surrounded by ample selections of mortar:

lettuce, tomato wedges, thick slices of aged white cheddar, crisp cucumbers, Branston pickle, and pickled onions. Unless you cross the pond on a regular basis, Branston pickle—a relish/chutney of crunchy, vinegared root vegetables in a clove and date-spiked syrup—is probably a new component to your sandwich matrix. It ranks as one of the UK's best-loved condiments, and it's right at home on the Brick Layer. Less to my liking were the pickled onions, also a staple of Britannic larders. I found them to be dry and too sharp, but Heinrich, the barmy bloke, loved 'em.

The Chicken Bacon Peanut Butter ($5.45), seeming like a Sunday afternoon, what's-in-the-bloody-fridge combination, revealed flavorful grilled chicken and smoky bacon that more than cooperated with the nutty PB. Topped with lettuce and tomato (hold the mayo), the hoagie missed only one ingredient—the cheddar cheese promised by the menu. This was a small oversight, something that happens to the best of kitchens, and the overall sandwich suffered not. Nary a crumb remained.

In the interest of good research (and pure gluttony), we also sampled The Sikeston ($5.45). Its hot-pressed, thinly sliced roasted pork was made magic with a gingered BBQ sauce, but the coleslaw topper was too mayo-y for our taste. The Sikeston won't disappoint, but consider asking for the slaw on the side. For a lighter, less traditional sarny, try the Nut Rissole ($5). It's a shining star on the Brickyard's card, a truly unique bake of grains, nuts, seeds, fresh herbs, and vegetables served inside a whole wheat pita. Accompanied by sprouts, tomato, cucumbers, and onions, with a lemon tahini dressing, the rissole reminds of a well-prepared falafel (minus the fried and with chunkier texture). A bag of chips comes with it for some extra lunch crunch.

For afters, we surveyed the sweets on display: fruit turnovers, one remaining slice of rich red velvet cake, and an oblong, sugared pastry with dense, chocolate filling ($1.50). We elected the eclair-like pastry and sufficiently sated our sweet tooth. And while we were enjoying those last bites of rich, chocolate-y goodness, we realized that we were no longer in a rush. Brickyard's laid back atmosphere pulls off speedy service while remaining at ease.

So what's with the 'yard's "if stars are the ratings, then we are the black hole" self-effacing attitude? Just that—a thick and refreshing layer of modesty. Brickyard Blues may appear to have an identity crisis on the outside, but don't be fooled. The Blues crew knows exactly who they are, and, as a visit will show, they know exactly what they're doing.