Jack Fry's carries on in Louisville the tradition of quasi-speakeasies best embodied in New York's P.J. Clarke's and L.A.'s Musso & Frank. Bathed in warm hues of brown, with a piano player tucked in a corner and worn leather banquettes along the walls, Jack Fry's has an ambience it probably started with in 1933. The restaurant went upscale a long time ago, however, and now the food skews more toward ambitious glosses on southern comfort food (shrimp & grits), along with beef and bourbon (and sometimes both in one: the filet mignon has a glaze made with Woodford Reserve). Somewhat counter-intuitively, I had the tuna steak instead. I'm generally afraid of ordering any fish in the Midwest (or South, barely), but what the hell—it had probably arrived via a UPS jet that morning.

Read more of Greg Lindsay's travel blog, IN TRANSIT.