The Road to Boone Part II

After five hours on the road and with just two hours left of daylight that turned freezing cold and wet, we gave up the idea of a hike.

At the edge of town, Scott pulled into Shannon’s Curtain Bed & Bath where he did business years ago. The charismatic and stylish proprietress was still there and together they lamented about the downward spiral of the industry and the difficulty of running a mom-and-pop in the age of cheap imports and big box stores. In addition to reaffirming Scott’s desire to help small local businesses, the conversation reinforced his wish to introduce the fetching lady to our bachelor neighbor Dave.

A main attraction in the area was the iconic original Mast General Store located in the next town named Valle Crucis, where I thought we were headed but we didn't actually arrive until a detour of three antique shops and a ski resort later (where Scott wanted to go tubing down the icy slope in the drizzling rain but I refused). We made it to the store minutes before they closed.

Mast General is a retail wonder of a bygone era. It miraculously survived the 19th century general store format that sold everything from clothing and toys to houseware, food and hardware. It has eight locations now and the original store built in the late 1800s is a recognized historical landmark.

At the store, I found a red flannel shirt that would go perfectly with my cowboy boots for my new countrified style. Scott found a Western plaid shirt and flannel pajamas. We browsed a full floor of outdoor and winter gear before slipping through the small side door that led to the candy store. More than 500 types of old fashioned candies were sold and I filled my basket with Mary Janes, gummy Coke bottles, Bit-O-Honeys, Lemon Heads, butter toffees, caramels and chocolate malt balls as fast as I could before the store closed. The candy bag was so big that Scott was shocked when it cost more than his pajama pants.

As we checked out, the shop ladies told us that two tenths of a mile down the road was another Mast General that closed half an hour later. That turned out to be the original store instead and we were glad we didn’t miss it.

Upon entering, there was a wall of antique U.S. post office boxes which were still in service. Down the main aisle were homemade breads and other country fare, followed by two hundred-year-old wooden towers fitted with small triangular drawers that housed nuts and screws of varying sizes. In the menswear section, among denim overalls and heavy duty flannel shirts, I found a red adult-sized onesie with a buttoned flap for the derriere. I threatened to buy it to wear around the house but the visual was too scary even for me.

We found another area full of toys, and above that, one full of cast iron skillets, ceramics and other kitchen ware. We didn’t want to leave this retail labyrinth but once again the staff was ready to close shop. We made out with country ham, strawberry butter, and a box of old fashioned candy sticks.

Now, almost 7pm, we were finally ready to explore the heart of Boone.

The main drag was abuzz with pubs, pizza joints, a coffee shop and other eateries where students of Appalachian State University hung out. Along the strip we decided to make a quick stop at Earthfare, a natural, health food supermarket just like Whole Foods, only better, homier, and less expensive.

It was Scott’s turn to be a kid in a candy store and he combed every aisle in wide-eye wonder. We spent 20 minutes at the bulk granolas, nuts and seeds aisle and gawked hungrily at the rotisserie chicken in the hot foods section. At the bakery aisle, while Scott wasn’t looking, I loaded the cart with Challah, roasted pepper focaccia and a loaf of multigrain bread. At Scott’s admonishment I reluctantly put one back. I left him surveying the rows of fizzy drinks before meeting up again at the meat counter displaying a large variety of fresh meats, sausages and seafood. At the cereal aisle we pondered whether toasted wheat germ was better than plain. A full hour later, we emerged from the market loaded with breads, potato chips, crackers, four kinds of granola, and giant malt balls as big as ping-pong balls.

It was time to eat. We went to Hob Nob Farm Café in hopes of finding Southern comfort food made from locally grown ingredients. What we found was a room full of screaming kids and a menu featuring Mexican, Thai, Jamaican, Cuban, Greek, Italian, Indian, Japanese, Southeast and Southwest specialties. It was as far from comfort as it can get.

At our grocery clerk’s recommendation, we discovered Proper on a desolate side street situated at the foot of a motel where a couple was parked in the dark. There was no visible parking within blocks of the restaurant and we were prepared to flee town for Plan C before finding a spot a couple of blocks away.

To our pleasant surprise, Proper was a charming, candlelit converted home that offered a simple, inexpensive yet original Southern menu.

We started with home fries smothered in gravy and Australian white cheddar which was gooey and sinfully rich, and came with homemade ketchup. Entrees on the menu were $8.95, including two sides and biscuit or cornbread. You could choose from a few nightly specials and on Saturday night, they had meatloaf, baked ziti, fried chicken and fried catfish. We had the meatloaf and cornmeal crusted fried chicken, with sides of braised cabbage, green beans, root vegetable soufflé, and corn bread cake with dirty rice and sausage topped with pimento cheese. We scratched our heads at the last one but it was delicious. For dessert, we had a smooth and creamy cappuccino and a spicy chocolate chip cookie with cayenne pepper. Although the food had room for improvement, we found the overall experience a solid four thumbs up.

As always, we didn't leave until the staff cleaned up and was ready to go home. By now it was 10pm, much later than we thought our day trip would end. Poor Scott had a two-hour drive ahead of him while I, as usual, drifted off to sleep until he pulled into our building’s parking lot.

The Road to Boone Part I

It was to be a warm, sunny Saturday in Charlotte and we decided to take a road trip to Boone, a cute college town in the Appalachian Mountains where we could take a hike.

It should have taken two hours but it took us five. That might have been all the antique shops, furniture warehouse, country store and flea market where we were compelled to stop along the way.

About 45 minutes in, we stopped in the town of Lincolnton where a search for “antiques” on Google Map yielded a couple of hits. On Main Street, most of the shops were closed and we were among only a handful of people in sight. Like many other towns we’ve visited, an antique shop or two were among the only ones open. We couldn’t be sure whether the others were typically closed on Saturdays or that they were out of business altogether.

Which was too bad. Had it been open, we would have loved to see what R&W Carp Juice was all about. The decal on the window claimed that it was “a legend”, “a flavoring company that offered a full line of carp suppliers.” Well that cleared it up.

On the other side of the highway, flanked by tall weeds and boarded up buildings, was an exuberant structure painted head-to-toe with a waterfall, whales, dolphins, sea turtles and other ocean life. We thought it was an aquarium, situated in the middle of nowhere. Then we saw that it was the Lamp Shades & Lamps store.

That was Lincolnton.

Back on the highway, another 45 minutes and a furniture outlet warehouse later, we reached Hudson, NC. Scott spotted the rows of wooden stalls that advertised a flea market and we made a quick u-turn. Rinky-dink flea markets are where you can find the best deals, assured Scott.

Most of the stalls had already been packed up and emptied except a couple of tables that displayed muddy jars, mismatched dishes, rusty nails and tarnished rifles. The open air stalls were rimmed by ramshackle shacks that said “Come on in.” We thought the invitation was nice but something told us to stay away.

In the back of the compound there was a grimy storefront that advertised baked goods where we thought we could get a snack. It turned out to be a junk shop with a back room that sold used clothes by the pound. A few bags of popcorn were on offer but I shook my head when Scott asked if he should buy one. “Cayome baeck aind sayee us agayin,” said the shop lady sweetly when we walked out, even as I eyed the long haired man next to her with suspicion. It was a relief when we finally got back into the car. We drove a little further and Scott noted a wire fence strung with old junk and an adjoining shack he wanted to investigate. As he was about to walk in, a man stepped out and spewed a wad of spit on the ground before returning inside. Once inside, Scott heard a woman hiss at the man “if yewr gonna smoke yew do it awtside” then turned to Scott pleasantly and said “let me know if you nyeed anythang.” Scott came out a minute later, not having found anything of interest among the tables full of ceramic figurines. I was glad I stayed in the car for this one.
We stopped for lunch across the highway at a hangar shaped hot pink building that was The BBQ Man, which goes by the motto “if we can’t smoke it, we grill it.” After the flea market, I was simply relieved that the restaurant was clean. We both liked the kitschy, country décor that showcased hundreds of photos and figurines of pigs, never mind that pigs would not looked so happy if they knew they were a staple on the menu.

We’re quite the BBQ experts by now and rated the brisket, pulled pork, and collard greens just so so, the BBQ slaw sour, but the free and freshly deep fried hush puppies awesome if a bit dangerous. We also liked the Brunswick stew made of vegetables, beans and meat – a pot of whatever’s unsold at the end of the day with a touch of tomato sauce.

Another ten minutes on the road brought us to Lenoir, NC where we stopped at the Black Bear General Store. They had firewood, apples, a dozen different ciders, jellies, pickled vegetables, moccasins, fudge, boiled peanuts, handmade baskets, pork skins, old fashioned candies and more. With several dozen sauces and jams we already had at home, we restricted ourselves to buying only two gallons of cider and a small jar of apple butter (which I insisted I needed but later excavated another new jar deep in our pantry.)

Half an hour later, we found ourselves in Blowing Rock where the main attraction was the rock itself, which jutted out from cliffs 4,000 feet high. The name came to be because the spot was so windy that if you threw small objects down the cliff, the wind would blow them right back to you. The Native Indian legend had it that a man leapt off the rock in distress, only to be blown back into his lover’s arms a couple of days later. I can imagine a Stephen King story in which people jump off the cliff and get blown back half alive and in pieces.

Another fifteen minutes and a full five hours after we left Charlotte, we rolled into Boone, finding ourselves covered by a cold drizzle.

Stay tuned for our next installment, The Road to Boone Part II.