Asheville: The South’s Insider Destination
Long an insider’s escape for Southerners, Asheville, N.C., is catching on fast with the rest of the country
By Deborah Dunn
HENRY JAMES WASN’T much taken with Asheville, the small mountain town in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina. The novelist spent a week there in 1905 as a guest at Biltmore, George Vanderbilt’s 250-room French Renaissance home. “It is a strange gorgeous colossus,” he wrote to Edith Wharton, “in a vast void of desolation.”
But Mr. James is one of the few who’ve had an unkind word to say about Asheville, one of America’s oldest holiday towns. It was a favorite of the Gilded Age glitterati, including Ms. Wharton, who arrived at Biltmore not long after Mr. James and dispatched a more enthusiastic letter (referencing a popular painting of the day) about the “divine landscape, ‘under a roof of blue Ionian weather.’ ”
Staring out the window of my friend Hap Endler’s snug Cessna on an impromptu aerial tour of Asheville and the surrounding Blue Ridge Mountains, I found myself siding with Ms. Wharton. It was a pale blue September afternoon and we were flying over wave after wave of mountain tops covered in oak, maple and pine trees, a deep-green sea dappled in gold and red.
When we flew over Asheville, set squarely in the middle of the French Broad River Valley, I could see just a few tall buildings, most dating to the 1920s, sprout from the compact downtown. I could even make out the small, leafy squares where young buskers play their guitars and washboards on one corner, while a group of young homeless men panhandle for coffee on another. We were up too high to see the sign outside the Indian restaurant, Chai Pani, that reads “Namaste, Y’all,” but I knew that it was there: I’d seen it that morning on my way to the Early Girl Eatery, where a tattooed waiter in a cowboy shirt served me fried-green tomatoes over grits.
Hap and his wife, Julia Weatherford, live just outside of Asheville, in the town of Black Mountain. They’ve entertained me for years with stories about their colorful corner of Appalachia (where Julia, eager to dye her own yarn, bought a flock of sheep), but I had yet to see it for myself. Then, in September, Hap called to give me the latest. “Asheville is hopping. New breweries and restaurants are popping up like crazy and a bunch of hotels are under construction,” he said. Come on down. I’ll take you to President Obama’s favorite barbecue place.” How could I refuse?
Though the city and surrounding mountains have long been a top vacation destination for Southerners and have drawn luminaries from Albert Einstein to Willem de Kooning over the years, it’s only now starting to catch on with travelers outside of the South. A growing number of East and West Coasters are flying in to hike, fly fish and kayak and to lap up the beer (Asheville has 18 breweries and counting). They’re also coming for the restaurants, galleries and the music, all found in surprising abundance for a town smaller than Nantucket.
Even President Obama is a fan. He’s been to Asheville (population: 87,000) four times in the past eight years and during his last trip, in 2013, he hinted that he and FLOTUS might spend time there after they leave the White House. “I love coming to Asheville,” the president said during a speech at a nearby auto parts plant. “Michelle and I always talk about how after this whole presidency thing, we’re looking for a little spot to…play a little golf, do a little hiking, fishing, barbecue,” he said.
“On any given night, the sidewalks are packed with people and you think ‘Whoa, is there a festival in town?’” said Dini Cecil Pickering, George Vanderbilt’s great granddaughter, who grew up in south Asheville when many of those art deco office buildings were shuttered. “But, no, it’s just a regular night in Asheville.” Thanks to revitalization efforts by Ms. Pickering’s father and other local business owners, the city center started humming back to life in the 1990s. Now it’s busier than ever, with a record-breaking nine million visitors to the area this year, eight hotels slated to open next year, as well as the 209-room Village Hotel on the Biltmore Estate, due to open this December. “You actually have to make reservations now at restaurants,” said Ms. Pickering.
You’ll need a reservation at Katie Button’s Cúrate. After earning her stripes at the now-closed El Bulli on Spain’s Costa Brava and at José Andrés’ restaurants in Los Angeles and Washington, D.C., Ms. Button opened this Spanish restaurant in 2011. There, in her narrow, saffron-painted dining room carved out of a 1920s bus terminal, Ms. Button prepares plates of jamón ibérico and garlicky squid-and-noodle paella in her open kitchen, on the other side of a perpetually packed long marble bar. Last year, she opened a boite-cum-bistro, Nightbell, which serves Southern cooking kicked up several notches (forget the humble chicken and waffle pairing; here, waffles come with duck confit and foie gras poutine).
Ms. Button, who is originally from Greenville, S.C., moved to Asheville in 2010. “We fell in love with the scenery and the vibrancy of the city. And there’s a real connection between the community and the local farmers. For a chef, it’s a very exciting place to be right now,” said Ms. Button, one of five local chefs in town who have been nominated for a James Beard Award.
In the River Arts District, where the old brick tobacco and textile warehouses on the banks of the French Broad River are now filled with galleries and artists’ studios, I met Akira Satake in his sun-drenched Gallery Mugen, which was filled with so many white-glazed ceramics striated like bark that it resembled a birch-tree forest. Mr. Satake moved to Asheville 12 years ago, leaving behind a career as a music producer in Manhattan to become a full-time potter and banjo player. He told me he first started playing banjo as a teenager in Osaka, inspired by the recordings of Doc Watson. “I never thought I’d end up living in the same area as my first music love,” Mr. Satake said. “There’s a strong acoustic-music scene here and very loyal fans, so we see a lot of big-name acts. This is not your average small town in the South.”
You can say that again. The city has had three Jewish mayors in its 218-year history, including the current one, Esther Manheimer, who, when I asked her to name one of her favorite places in town, instantly nominated the Wedge, a scruffy, convivial River Arts District brewery with picnic tables set up by the railroad tracks. “There’s nothing more fun or local than spending a summer night drinking an Iron Rail ale outside at the Wedge,” Mayor Manheimer said. She also recommended I come back next October for the annual Hard Lox festival, a popular Jewish food fair held opposite City Hall.
Not surprisingly, there’s usually a long line these days at President Obama’s favored barbecue joint, 12 Bones Smokehouse, so I got my barbecue fix at Buxton Hall instead. It’s a brand-new spot from two other James Beard Award nominees, Elliott Moss and Meherwan Irani, that serves dangerously addictive food. Mr. Moss’s specialty is slow-cooked whole hog, but I went for the pit-smoked chicken instead, with a side of grits and gravy, and a silky chocolate-bourbon pie for dessert—and I don’t regret a single calorie.
I had planned to stay in Asheville for five days, but there was too much I hadn’t done, too many places I hadn’t eaten so I extended my trip for another three. I spent the rest of the week busier than I ever expected, white-water rafting between giant, mossy boulders on the French Broad River, wandering around Thomas Wolfe’s yellow, wood-frame boyhood home and grazing on roasted red peppers and sweet potato tarts at the Tailgate Farmer’s Market.
In the hills just above downtown Asheville is the Omni Grove Park Inn, a rock-sculpture of a resort that has counted Thomas Edison, Henry Ford and 10 U.S. presidents, including Mr. Obama, as guests. F. Scott Fitzgerald famously drank his way through two summers in rooms 441 and 443, while his wife Zelda was holed up at a nearby mental hospital. Nowadays, visitors and locals park themselves on the expansive tiered terrace and toast the mountain views with trout-stuffed hush puppies and tall glasses of local beer.
On my last night in Asheville, Tracey Johnston-Crum, the director of public relations at the Grove Park Inn, offered to show me one of her favorite spots in the city, one that few tourists can find on their own. Half-hidden in plain sight, on top of the Thirsty Monk pub in the heart of downtown, is the Top of the Monk, a sparsely furnished speakeasy-style bar, where Kala Brooks whips up pre-Prohibition-style cocktails under a string of bare bulbs. All the herbs used—lavender, lemon balm, sage—are grown on the terrace patio and Ms. Brooks is fanatical about her historical research. “It involves a lot of nerdery,” she admitted.
It’s the kind of place that, in other cities, might also involve a lot of snobbery, but not here. “We don’t take ourselves too seriously in Asheville,” said Ms. Johnston-Crum. “If we did, we’d be laughed out of town.”
The Lowdown // Getting the Most Out of Asheville
Staying There: Asheville’s Hotel Indigo has bright, spacious rooms a short walk to downtown’s restaurants and nightlife (from about $170 a night, hotelindigo.com).
The 210-room Inn on Biltmore Estate is the swankiest hotel for miles and surrounded by parkland, well suited for biking and long strolls (from about $300 a night; biltmore.com). The Omni Grove Park Inn, north of downtown in the affluent Sunset Mountain neighborhood, has great views and a prized collection of original Arts & Crafts furniture; rooms in the original wing are small but charming (from about $220 a night; omnihotels.com).
Eating There: All Souls Pizza is not your typical pie joint. The owners mill their own grains, and pizza toppings are as local as can be (175 Clingman Ave.; allsoulspizza.com). Buxton Hall Barbecue serves pasture-raised hogs every which way—as house-smoked sausage cracklings, even muscadine jelly (32 Banks Ave.; buxtonhall.com). Cúrate is an elegant but simple tapas bar from an El Bulli alum (11 Biltmore Ave.; curatetapasbar.com). Asheville native Patrick O’Cain converted an old gas station into the unlikeliest of restaurants, Gan Shan Station, which serves pan-Asian dishes with a Southern twist, such as shrimp congee made with rice grits and peanuts (143 Charlotte St.; ganshanstation.com). Breakfast or lunch at the jolly Early Girl Eatery is a crash course in Appalachian cooking, with dishes like tomato gravy and apple stack cake (8 Wall St.; earlygirleatery.com). Many restaurants in town are of the farm-to-table variety but Rhubarb, from star chef John Fleer (he put Blackberry Farm on the culinary map), is in a league of its own (7 SW Pack Sq., rhubarbasheville.com).
Drinking There: You’ll find artists, farmers, lawyers and possibly the mayor drinking craft beer and snacking on peanuts or kimchi tacos outdoors at the Wedge Brewing Company (37 Paynes Way, wedgebrewing.com). The Top of the Monk serves artful cocktails (92 Patton Ave.; topofthemonk.com).
Live music: The Orange Peel draws the biggest names to town, with acts such as Sturgill Simpson and Lucinda Williams (101 Biltmore Ave.; theorangepeel.net) but many locals prefer to see their bluegrass and indie rock at smaller venues like the Grey Eagle, in the River Arts District (185 Clingman Ave.; thegreyeagle.com ) and Isis in West Asheville (743 Haywood Rd.;isisasheville.com). A classic Irish pub, Jack of the Wood hosts live bluegrass, Old-Time Appalachian and Celtic bands at least three days a week (95 Patton Ave.; jackofthewood.com).