Asheville

A few weeks ago, the Chap began describing to me a cabin he’d found in the mountains near Asheville. I said it sounded cute and he responded he was glad because he’d already booked it. I love surprises so insert shit-eating grin here.
We arrived into the little town of Fairview after a four hour drive and no food to find our little house looking like the below. The air was fragrant with sweet onions and we danced back and forth trying to stay warm on the freezing weekend we’d chosen to travel. The owner was friendly and informed us how the first floor of the cabin was a giant sauna. We’d soon come to find out that the room with the wall pull-out bed doubled as a yoga studio. Standard. The house worked well enough for a few days being relatively close to town and with a hot tub that was extra charming when it began to snow as it did.
Photo from Sharon Spring Cabin website.
The property made a charming foreground to the mountains.
Cute little drive way made entirely of onions.

 

View from the balcony near sunset.

 

 

We’d arrived too late Friday night to do much more than settle in, so we devoured a cheese plate I’d put together by buying everything in sight at Whole Foods. I took a tour of the limited CD collection which consisted of albums with cheesey titles like “Pure Romance Volume 1.” Instead of touching those, I managed to find one random Pixies CD and danced with the dog for awhile. When in Rome.
We headed out to dinner at the acclaimed Curaté. Everyone I knew and every magazine article I read said this was the spot to dine in Asheville. A tapas restaurant of chef who trained at El Bulli…my mouth was watering before we ever even arrived. Then it stopped. The meal was good but not great. I want my hair blown back by an NC restaurant, but I guess I’m still looking….
After painting the town red a little while longer, it began to snow and we took a cab home. Snow, mountains, boy, dog…delightful.
The next morning we slept in far too late and chose eating over hiking. I had this vision in my mind of us spending the days tooling around mountains, looking at beautiful things, only to be rewarded with gourmet meals at night…life never goes the way you plan. The chap perhaps was thinking the same thing and we both brought an odd array of t-shirts and lightweight jackets. This didn’t work well for snowy hikes, but did for sitting in front of a fire pit at a brewery. When in Rome.
But first…breakfast! After looking every possible brunch option, we finally settled on the Bon Appetit rec of ‘Biscuit Head.’ We arrived 15 minutes prior to closing, but I still managed to sample nearly all of the butters on the “butter bar.” This must be what heaven looks like. Think moon pie butter, barbecue and chive butter, chocolate and strawberry butter, and some butter butter. Mmmmm
The biscuits were “cat head” biscuits, hopefully not made with real cat heads. Maybe they were the size of a cat head? I don’t know, I don’t like cats unless they are covered in fried chicken, spicy slaw, a poached egg, and apple chutney. Luckily this one was.
After all of those carbs, we followed it up with a few Belgian beers at Wicked Weed  Brewery. We sat outside by the fire and reveled in the antics of 40 something men sneaking into and getting kicked out of a brewery. A hipster sea captain then flashed me his man breasts. While some gentlemen friends would take offense to this, mine just asked the sea captain where we should have dinner. Besties for life.

 

We then hopped in this bus escaped from London and our driver took us home.

 

Just kidding, we had it make us salted Carmel lattes instead. A much more suitable job for a skeleton.

 

Back for a nap and the day ended at a Hipstery dive bar we both loved. Dinner at the Admiral, a fitting place for a sea captain, was lackluster although written up by the NYTimes. Maybe we ordered the wrong things?
Sunday finally brought warmer weather and a four mile hike up a mountain called Bear Wallow. A large clearing at the top gave way to some gorgeous views not done justice by my photos.
I was rather taken with my cute trail guide.

 

Top of the hill.

 

No bears.

 

Golden retriever so happy to be turned mountain goat for a time.

 

Running into the yonder…

 

A great weekend. I’d return to Asheville any time as I still need to hit the galleries, my champagne bar/vintage book store, Grove Park Inn, and of course the Biltmore.

Thoughts?

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