You've Got To Love The South

I’m giving you a fair warning, just reading this could cause weight gain:

  5 Riverside Drive is not the easiest place to find. It was on one of those roads winding along a river. When it comes to hunting and foraging I’m pretty tenacious and we wanted these ribs in a fierce way. A less committed person (like a man) may have given up or not attempted the mission at all without the aide of GPS. We smelled the aroma before we rounded the last bend finding The 12 Bones Smokehouse, Asheville, NC  and we were full of great expectation.  I was feeling a bit disheveled after spending the day exploring the nearby waterfalls, being exposed to a fine mist in addition to it being a cloudy, drizzling kind of day.

There’s so much to decide but with the guidance of a staff member we ordered the blueberry-chipotle and brown sugar dry rub ribs, along with BBQ brisket, jalapeno cheese grits, mashed sweet potatoes, corn pudding and a wedge salad. We planned to cart off enough food to feed a small army back at the house. I started to wander around following the wait staff bringing food out to some tables. I was trying nonchalantly to snap a few pictures of these plates while my daughter kept giving me the cut it out sign and patted the barstool. She accused me of behaving like a Japanese tourist taking pictures of every fart and fiddle I passed by.

Like an obedient mother, I climbed up on the stool and perused the beer menu perplexed as I am not much of a beer drinker.The bar guy come over to take our beer order and I couldn’t help notice how ruggedly adorable he was. I asked him if any of his beers were similar to Blue Moon. He gave me a crooked smile and a  little attitude as he said, “ How about the Wit beer, as long as you can drink it without the orange.” I know when I’m being ridiculed (he’s thinking who is this Yankee chick that’s going to be all high maintenance)? I  flashed him my most provocative smile and slid my SassTown.com business card over the bar to him and pretended like I always socialized so smoothly.

Somehow in a few minutes I had raised his opinion of me and  he became engaging, interested and the man could definitely talk and work at the same time. My quiet prodding yielded the info I was burning  for. Despite their fame from winning Good Morning America’s “Best Bites” award, a much publicized visit from then candidate Obama, and their popularity with the locals, the  profit driven marketeer in me couldn’t help wonder about their limited hours of business. Turns out it is a combination of business philosophy, lack of space for expansion and their location in a warehouse district which isn’t very populated after work hours.

To top off the perfect find of great food at a good price our new friend also gave us the hottest in the know tip for the  food adventurer that I have ever gotten. He very casually inquired if we had ever been to The Admiral in West Asheville? As we had not, we were informed about this non touristy hole in the wall place where some interesting drink and incredible food could be had. We were hooked and put it on the planner for the next evening. Back at my Dad’s place we enjoyed our booty from 12 Bones Smokehouse and fed 8 people plus had leftovers for $99. Everything about the food was fully satisfying to this here Yankee.

 The following evening after a day of family fun we made our excuses and hit the West Asheville area in search of The Admiral. It is a more crusty side of town, not the area tourists are regularly routed too. It is more like the working man’s business area, peppered with dive bars, a lumber yard, auto repair garages and a lot of small independent businesses. The very small parking lot was full, so we had to street park a few blocks down. I felt slightly uneasy walking back to The Admiral because I’m a weenie when it comes to wandering in unfamiliar areas that are a little bit gritty. Using a little common sense we were perfectly fine, but I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a crowd was going to be inside the place.

I couldn’t have imagined it. Entering the dive bar chic establishment  I pretended to be totally confident (you know the fake it until you make it philosophy) as we walked through the dimly lit table area and on up to the bar. I couldn’t help but notice the table full of biker looking fellas I had to squeeze past on my way. Despite my sassy sundress they didn’t seem to give me one bit a notice as they were too busy enjoying food that was definitely incongruous with the surroundings. I’m  talking about grilled scallops over jasmine rice, rib eye steak with perfectly roasted and crisp fingerling potatoes, delicate frog legs and a delicious looking fish sandwich on ciabatta with an arugula salad on the side. At the next table an older trio were looking thoroughly satisfied with a concoction I later learned were the best Pub style bangers and mash.

We made our way to some seats at the bar next to the open kitchen where everyone was moving at a pretty fierce clip you don’t see all the time in the south. Our bartender was striking in a I don’t wear much make up kind of way (damn her)and quickly sold us on the special cocktail of the night: Watermelon-basil elixir with ginger, lime and citron Stoli. Holy mama it was the kind of drink that could lead the most straight laced gal astray, arriving home missing her panties. And looking around at the crowd I’m sure there were more than a few males that would have been very obliging to any hanky panky we could have suggested.

Despite the most eclectic looking group of  patrons it was a completely satisfying evening with enough going on to keep me interested but nothing alarming. After an hour some of the middle aged diners left and a bit more of a rabble rousing 30ish crowd trickled in. Tattoos, denim and t-shirts were the common denominator. We chatted with the staff and quietly observed the most unpretentious bar serving up some seriously bad ass food (meaning Anthony Bourdain kind of good).

The small plate of sliced breast of duck on top of what was described as gazpacho of edamame and just picked jewel tomatoes proved to be a downright sultry experience. Shortly before we left one of the staff sat down at the bar beside me doodling over the plain photo copied menu and I politely inquired if they were changing up the menu. Chef Drew as it turns out, laughed and said he tweaked the menu daily according to his whims and what they scored at the farmer’s market .

About the only complaint I could find in the subsequent reviews of the place is that you never know what’s going to be on the menu and if you are silly enough to fall in love with a particular item you may be disappointed if it disappears for a time before it shows back up. Definitely worth a walk on the wild side.

Nerves of Steel

Road Trip Day 2:

Remember the old saying "you get what you pay for?" All three of us paid for a good nights sleep but I don't think any of us got one. I thought we were being so super cool, researching it out and staying in this quaint (as in out of date) vintage 60's motel. We were excited with the massaging bed and all.

I gave a few minutes of worry that we were staying at a "motel" with the room door opening directly outside but there was a new and sturdy looking lock so I didn't say anything to my daughters and after watching CSI Miami and George Lopez we all fell asleep.

I woke up at 3 a.m. and turned off the tv my nightowl had left on. I warned myself, just go back to sleep and suprisingly I did, only to be jolted awake by a loud alarm sound. I am talking about a stunning kind of pulsating buzz that you would hear when Jason Bourne breaches security at some top secret weapons cache, along with a flashing light.

We were all totally freaked out. Could it be an air raid alarm, a fire drill? Holy shit What is it? I glanced at the clock, 5:40. Is that ungodly sound just the ancient alarm clock, like one of the first digital clocks invented. It was. The s.t.u.p.i.d vintage digital alarm clock. I shut it off. Realized the flashing light was just my computer. So I talked myself and my charges down off of the ledge.

By now, all of our hearts are pounding. I reassured my darlings all was o.k. and we really needed to go back to sleep. I lay there convincing myself, actually feeling a bit drowsy and closed my eyes and relaxed. Suddenly the noise returned. I grabbed that demon possessed clock, yanked the plug out of the wall and tossed it under the lousy massaging bed singing get behind me, Satan.

The girls did sort of drift off to sleep but there was not a chance on this earth that I would. I organized our belongings and made them get up by 7:30. We checked out and were out of there by 8 a.m. I had promised them pancakes for breakfast so we had that. I could feel my eyeballs rolling around like they were coated with sand even as I had a cup of coffee with my food. Plan was made to stop and get some stronger type of stimulant so I pulled off at the next exit where I knew there was a Starbucks and loaded up.

Less than an hour later I knew I was in trouble. It was a beautiful morning but for any of you who haven't driven on I-75 through Tennessee and then onto I-40 east, it is not a job for the faint hearted or unfocused. I am telling you it requires nerves of steel between the mountains, the curves and the semi trucks. I was so tired and so highly irritated that this was disrupting my travel schedule I thought my head might pop off. 

 Apologizing to my daughters, and astounding them at that, I explained we would have to pull off and I would try to take a nap and gather my wits. The first thing we came to was this deserted Hillbilly Market. The way my girls looked at me when I pulled into this gem was like I had grown another head. "I'm scared" the baby cried. So on we went around the bend and found a cool shadely spot under a tree in a Cracker Barrel. I laid down in the back seat and fell asleep, despite all the caffiene I had consumed.

I heard them debating about when to wake me up. 15 more minutes I said and drifted back off. A short time later we went on in the Cracker Barrel, used the facilities, bought two jars of cobbler filling (one peach and one blackberry) and we got our show officially on the road, having spent a little over an hour sleeping.

Luckily we didn't have a lot of miles to drive, and although I felt much more alert we were all acting crabby and contencious instead of like the fun bunch we can be. Traffic was moving and there were a lot of trucks but so far the highway was wide open and we were getting excited to be making good progress.

 

We made our move onto 640 East and then onto I-40 and we were on the mountain freeway now. They always take my breath away at this point of the drive . I am just a mountain person, it is in my blood. Hello curves and grade changes and hello truckers. You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours.

It didn't take long until I was sandwiched inbetween a couple of big rigs, but I manned up and kept as cool as a cucumber. My helpers were getting exasperated with me because I kept giving them cues of what I wanted pictures of and they were always mashing that button about 5 seconds too late. 

At least y'all are headed west. Good. I don't need 500 tons of Mack breathing down my neck or squeezing me into the cement barrier in the middle. Oh no, mama's got company behind us. Where are those signs we made? 

OK now. So that's how it's going to be. I am alert, caffiene oozing out of my pores. All synapses are firing and here comes that big curve girls, get a picture of that truck warning sign...you know the steep grade change on the curve that could cause them to topple over on the curve. What do you mean you missed it?

I only got squeezed into the median once and I didn't make contact thank you very much. And that honking you did Mr Trucker, that helped me out really well. Why don't you try scaring me a few more times. Girls get those get over and back off signs out! Girls. Girls. Girls, do you hear me? I guess not because one was hiding under a blaket and the other looked to be sleeping.

This should get your juices flowing. TUNNEL! Hooonnnkkkk. Wooo Hooo. The baby refuses to come out from under the blanket. But that was fun. My teenager is rolling her eyes. That's a good sign and so is this, our blessed Exit!

Hello Candler exit, we are so so glad to see you. If we weren't all so cranky we would get out and dance around that sign. I look at the clock, I am running so behind I feel shamed. Whatever, we are here safe and sound so we head off the exit and in a few short turns we are headed up the mountain that my people are from. It's also a narrow winding road but every turn is familiar and in 7 short minutes we have reached destination Virgil.

The only bad side to this is I have to scoot up that steep narrow drive and tell him to hop in becasue we need to head back down the mountain to pick up Princess #1 in 20 minutes from the airport. At least with a very relieved gramps in the car we are all much more cheerful and less likely to tear each other hair out.