Wherein, The Author Tries To Save And Destroy That Which He Loves
The Potsmokin’ Emily Gould discovers Asheville, NC has hippies. Ahh, to be young again.
No, no no no no. This is where I draw the line. Fuck that. I lived in Asheville for a summer busing tables, saving up money to move to New York. I knew I was leaving behind something incredible at the time - I almost didn’t leave - and god forbid they raid the place, I swear to god, I’ll fucking bludgeon every last one of them. It’s too nice.
Anyway. To be even more of an asshole, let me lay claim to a few places. If you’re going to go, go at it right:
Fuck Thomas Wolfe, first and foremost. If that’s what you’re there to do, go home.
Malaprops is handily the most popular bookstore in town, but it’s hard to find a good seat in the place to read a book, and the customers shop there for the novelty of shopping at an indie bookstore - think of an understocked McNally Robinson, and you’ll get it. The real shit is at Downtown Books and News two blocks away on Lexington, where you can sit all day and no one will say word-one to you. Also, they have a solid collection of rather respectable local rags and comics, and cheap, cheap used books.
Breakfast in Asheville is a legitimate sport. Therefore: Tupelo Honey or any of the places the tourists go are typically overrated (so is the Flying Frog). Go to Oliver and Annabelle’s, which most of the people I know in Asheville haven’t even heard of. Of course, you’re in the south, so a visit pilgrimage is in order sometime between the hours of 11PM and 7AM; visiting at any other time is uncouth. Salsas is pretty legit Mexican fusion-food and the Inoteca at Rezaz is pound-for-pound better than anything else in Asheville, but I worked there, so there’s that. Doc Chey’s is also a solid bet if you’re in a rush and trying to catch a movie.
The Biltmore Estate is nice if you’re having a wedding, I guess. Otherwise, most of the people that visit are either girls with a Jane Austin fetish or rich asshole tourists. And speaking of the Tourists, don’t forget that Crash Davis broke the minor league record with them.
If you’re drinking, stay away from downtown, as cops set up DUI traps almost nightly during the summer. Go get plastered at The Usual Suspects (which is about as great as its name) or if you’re an easy drunk (or a dork) Asheville Pizza & Brewing, but really, that place is just an Asheville novelty. Go to the Mellow Mushroom downtown instead, where you can be three sheets and well baked and you’d fit right in with their typical clientele of awkward frat boys who got too stoned and the people who’re far more stoned than the UNC-A fratboys and for whom this is routine.
If you’re going to get stoned in Asheville, the best place to do it is clearly the Blue Ridge Parkway - the maximum speed limit (on the entire parkway) is 45 MPH, and you’re welcome to pull over on the side of the road (at some parts: above the clouds) and go “hiking.” But if you’re going to do this, do it right: there’s a joint right before you get on the Blue Ridge on the last entrance before you hit town. Don’t fuck up and order it plain, with a sweet tea, or if you’re a wake-and-bake type, on a biscuit, with black coffee. Don’t order a combo - the ‘tots will just get in the way.
Also, fuck the Asheville JCC. It’s mediocre. Make friends and find a better place to go swimming, like a house (or something).
Obligatory plug for stellar indie record shops goes here.
Last thing: Asheville secretly wants to be New York. There’s a fake Flatiron building, a Lexington Ave., a Wall St, and a Broadway that isn’t broad. If you ever need a reminder why you moved to New York in the first place, all you need to do is visit the Asheville Mall. It’s carpeted.