Adventures of a Wandering Thirtysomething

The options for food are endless in Asheville and the locals are more than happy to point out some of the best spots to try. While dining at the popular Tupelo Honey Café (all homemade, local, gourmet Southern-style cuisine – be sure to try the rosemary lemonade, it’s delish!), our server brought out a visitor’s map and circled all of the other local places we should check out including microbreweries, an Indian restaurant where all the food is prepared by Indians who are in the U.S. on visas, and a seafood restaurant run by a fisherman from Maine who gets his seafood from his family’s daily catch back home. We also checked out The Market Place for dinner, which came highly recommended by some of the top chefs in the U.S. and didn’t disappoint.

To work off all the calories racked up on our foodie adventures, we spent our time doing the other best thing to do in Asheville: hike the mountains! With Toby in tow, we made our way to the top of Chimney Rock and took in the beautiful views of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Given that it hasn’t been since Europe that we’ve done a slightly strenuous tourist spot, it was startling to see just how out of shape Americans are. The 500-some stair climb was a breeze for us, but we watched most struggle and complain their whole way up. Note to Americans: when 80-year-old grannies from foreign countries could kick your 30-year-old ass in a hike, it might be time to consider some exercise.

Perhaps we should have taken this as a sign of what was to come…

For the second half of our weekend, we headed back over to the Tennessee side via the Blue Ridge Parkway to Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge in the Great Smoky Mountains. Driving along through the gorgeous mountains and taking in all the scenery, we thought we were going to a quaint mountain town. We had no idea that when we would finally spill out into civilization it would be the biggest hell on earth we have ever seen in our lives.

There are truly no words to describe what the home of Dollywood and all things redneck is really like. The closest I can come is to pair the image of Las Vegas with every stereotype of the South you have ever seen or heard in your life, and then juxtapose it against a view of a gorgeous mountain range that is mostly blocked out by flashing lights, life-size replicas of the Titanic, and carnival rides. I have never been so embarrassed to be an American in my life.

Once we got over the initial shock and disgust, however, we did find a few gems. The Old Mill District in Pigeon Forge, which dates back to the mid-1800s, still grinds out flour and cornmeal for use in its restaurant and for purchase in its cute country shop. Applewood Farms, with its two restaurants, shops, creamery and beautiful setting was a great place to enjoy a traditional Southern five-course Sunday dinner (roughly three meals worth of food). Wild Plum, a quaint little restaurant open a few hours each day and located in Gatlinburg’s arts district a few miles outside of the main town, is a must. Zorb, where they essentially put you in a ball and roll you down a hill, is only found here and New Zealand. And, of course, we couldn’t pass up the chance to try moonshine at the Ole Smoky Moonshine Holler. It took some balls to try that stuff, especially the 100 proof that had only been distilled twice and could probably cure cancer with how much it burned, but we actually ended up buying one of the better tasting ones.