Dive bars, honky-tonks and chasing Bourdain

Never turn down a chance to dine where Anthony Bourdain sampled life’s finest. And in this case, finest is used loosely — especially when it comes to dive-bar cuisine.

Dino’s Fine Food marquee lights up the East Nashville night.

Dino’s in East Nashville is a far cry from white linen-draped tables and fine china, but it doesn’t make the food any less sought after. I kicked a recent visit to Nashville off with a great cheeseburger at the same worn counter where Bourdain had pulled up a stool years earlier. The place smells like decades of good decisions — grease, beer and something faintly smoky that clings to the walls like honky-tonk twang.

The Dino’s cheeseburger and fries — unpretentious, unforgettable.

The burger arrived in a paper basket without ceremony, flanked by seasoned fries and an ice-cold drink. Overhead, a Dolly Parton cutout presided over the room beneath a disco ball and a tangle of Christmas lights.

Inside Dino’s: Dolly watches over the room from above the disco ball.

The order window at Dino’s — part diner, part time capsule.

There's something quietly sacred about eating in a place Bourdain loved. The man had a gift for finding the soul of a city, not in its five-star restaurants but in its dive bars, its lunch counters, its rooms where the barstools were held together by years of duct tape and luck. Dino's fits that description perfectly.

To keep the dive-bar motif moving, I crossed town to Santa’s Pub, where the Christmas lights stay up year-round because some places have earned the right to celebrate whenever they please. Santa’s beer list glows in neon on a chalkboard behind the bar, surrounded by a lifetime’s worth of holiday kitsch, snowmen figurines, a vintage cash register and a sign that cuts right to the chase: No Tabs. Cash Only. Two Drink Minimum.

Santa’s Pub hosts Christmas every night of the year.

Cash only and two drinks. Always play by the rules.

The stage at Santa’s, framed in tinsel and red lights, waits for the next karaoke singer.

The Santa’s Pub photo booth: memories for five dollars.

It’s the kind of room where strangers become temporary friends over a cold beer and a favorite karaoke song. A photo booth tucked in the corner suggests that whatever happens there is worth remembering. Bourdain would have approved.

A rainy Broadway night — neon, music and the best of Nashville’s honky-tonk strip.

Robert's Western World is always a must-stop for me. The neon sign out front advertised Honky Tonk Heaven, and in that, they nailed truth in advertising. Inside, a row of cowboy boots gleamed under red light alongside framed portraits of country legends like Marty Robbins and Marvin Rainwater. Two of my dad’s all-time favorites. On the stage, a guitarist in a black hat (rumored to have a Grammy) leaned into the microphone with sweat rolling down his face and played like he had a score to settle.

Marty Robins is enshrined at Robert’s. One of my dad’s favorite artists, so by default I grew up listening to his music.

A performer works the stage at Robert’s Western World on Broadway.

Two-stepping at Robert's. The way country music is meant to be heard.

Bourdain knew the best meals aren’t always the most expensive ones, and the best music doesn’t always come from the biggest stages. Sometimes it comes from a bar where the sound spills out the doors and windows, and the crowd is three-deep at all times.