Favorites emerged: the East Nasty, a boneless chicken thigh, sausage gravy, and aged cheddar wedged into a biscuit ( Bon Appétit would name it the best sandwich of 2015), and the Princess, Worley’s take on the Nashville hot chicken craze.
The grind also spawned a devoted following and national acclaim. “We worked twenty-one hours a day and earned eight hundred dollars in a good week. “Food trucks are tough,” he allows, lifting his brow. He got home around 2:00 a.m., which allowed him three hours of sleep before getting up to start the process again.
There is no way,’ but Sarah talked me off the ledge.”īy 5:00 p.m., an exhausted Worley had met his sixty-biscuit quota.
“I was bawling my eyes out,” he says candidly. He began baking at five o’clock that morning in a borrowed commissary, stopping around noon to phone his wife in a biscuit panic. “I knew I had to sell sixty biscuits to break even.” “On the day we launched the food truck in April 2012, we had thirty dollars left in our bank account and an eighteen-month-old baby,” Worley recalls. He sips his cappuccino, peeking under the lid to make sure the barista bothered to add the latte leaf flourish even in a to-go cup (she has), and reveals that the second Biscuit Love outpost will occupy the very restaurant where he and Sarah shared their first date, a romantic detail that tickles him every time he thinks about it, given how far they have come from their modest start less than five years ago. Worley settles into a chair, and a plate of Bonuts arrives: thrice-rolled biscuit dough stuffed with lemon curd and whipped mascarpone filling, a dish he invented in honor of his wife’s birthday. Next time, as it turns out, is soon, as Biscuit Love’s second location (five miles from the first) is nearing the end of construction with an eye toward a February opening. To meet demand, Karl Worley (pictured here, at Biscuit Love) and his wife, Sarah, plan to open a second location nearby in February. But every time I see them, I wish we’d ripped ’em the hell up.” “I still hate these tiles,” he says, jabbing a finger toward the beige floor, one of the few decorative vestiges of Kocktails & Kouture.
Worley walks toward a table in the back of the restaurant, wrinkling his nose as he goes. “It was black walls and spray-painted chandeliers,” Worley recalls of the space that would become the airy, bright brick-and-mortar iteration of what began with his and his wife’s thriving food truck. The tight setup was designed by the owners of the building’s original occupant: Kocktails & Kouture, a combination nightclub and retail shop, which was, surprisingly, not owned by the Kardashians. Worley nods and smiles, then ducks into the narrow pass-through cooler, where he says good morning to the cooks gathering supplies before popping out the other side behind the bar. “You about done?” one of the kitchen staff teases, snapping an apron at Worley as he tests the strength of his repaired shelf. Worley, who is thirty-eight, along with his wife, Sarah, thirty-six, is the owner of Biscuit Love, a revered Nashville breakfast and lunch joint that since its 2015 opening has drawn hour-long lines on weekdays, due in part to the attention to detail currently on display. and the Tennessee- born chef Karl Worley is drilling a screw into the wall, much to the chagrin of his eager prep staff.
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