They were playing an old George Jones record when Sturgill Simpson, one of the hottest acts in country music right now, came breezing through the front door of City House during happy hour on a recent evening. I watched him as he sat down, alone, for a bite to eat at the chef’s bar, and I couldn’t help noticing he was wearing sneakers instead of boots. It’s an apt star sighting for City House, I suppose—a restaurant that shares Simpson’s understated manner. The walls are white stucco, patches of brick are the only “art,” and the bartender might wear nothing fancier than a pair of blue jeans and a Lazzaroli Pasta T-shirt.

In the decade since it opened, City House—which I’ve always considered an Italian restaurant with a Tennessee twist—has stayed true to its roots by continuing to serve local ingredients in a rustic style reminiscent of the best of the boot. I’ve watched Chef Tandy Wilson, one of the nicest chefs you’ll ever meet, blissfully take a saw to the limb of a whole hog in the restaurant’s kitchen before carefully breaking it down for house-made salumi as well as sausage for his pizza. (He also used it for lardo for his bruschetta and cracklings for his meaty cannellini beans.) Maybe that’s why I was surprised late last year when Wilson told me he wanted to showcase more vegetables from local farmers at his restaurant. He followed through on that promise, and now shows off Tennessee produce in not just straightforward side dishes but also the crunchy, creative salads I’ve fallen hard for lately—think chopped cauliflower with crisp cabbage and toasted almonds, tossed with a dressing of puréed raisins.

That sweet, earthy dressing reminds me of a favorite dish from my past—the stewed raisins that were served with the meat-and-three at Hap Townes, a bygone but beloved Nashville institution. And, while nostalgia might gently tap me on the shoulder at City House, it never wallops me over the head. Take the sour corn cake, served over white beans with beet tops, garlic, and olive oil. It puts me in the mind of the soup beans and cornbread of my Appalachian youth, but Wilson’s version is a thin pancake that’s perfectly crisp at the edges, balanced atop a bed of beans turned pink by the tender beet greens.

And there’s more to City House than just memories. Wilson’s penchant for Italian food is also manifested in pizzas made with dough that’s aged for three days, to give it a touch of tang before it’s kissed with char in a wood-fired oven. His toppings are always fresh, and always spectacular, whether it’s the tomato sauce for a classic margherita or something more unexpected, like a slightly singed broccoli pie with Grana Padano, mayo, and garlic, speckled with bits of fiery dried chili. Regulars know to ask for a runny egg on top of their pizza, which creates a hot mess of a dish that’s as delicious as it is sloppy.

Like the best Italian cuisine, the food at City House shows off the seasons, with dishes like delightfully bitter chard, its stems still a bit crunchy, served with pan-roasted whole trout. If I’m lucky, I’ll sometimes catch Wilson’s occasional riff on his mom’s Jezebel sauce (caramelized onion, rhubarb, and sorghum, heated up with horseradish and mustard) on roasted chicken or catfish. And, whenever I show up for the restaurant’s popular Sunday Suppers, I always spot servers, chefs, and restaurateurs from other local establishments, sampling the kitchen’s most playful menu of the week. Wilson thinks of Sunday as an R&D day: a chance to try out new dishes and explore the staff members’ diverse culinary heritages.