Dispatches from Asheville
Celibacy, a grifter + how I turned into a sandwich
DISCLAIMER: No sultry scenes are painted in this newsletter as I’ve been dry since I left Lyon + Paris in January. But other fun happenings, like…..
“Can we ride over in your car?,” Elliott Moss says to me in the parking lot of Little Louie’s. I wanted to see his progress in the forthcoming Regina’s. I internally freak the f*ck out pondering ways to suddenly fake my death before letting him see the inside of my car. “I’ll give you a minute,” he laughingly says—after seeing the sheer panic on my face. I immediately, internally brainstorm on what I could possibly accomplish in 60 seconds “Nevermind,” I say—“Hop in.”
He gets in. The seatbelt is already fastened from a previous beach walk with Charlie, the dog. He sits on a bag of Marsh Hen Mills grits, and in the floorboard, there’s a sea of shit spiraling around like myself on the regular, including a jar of Duke’s mayo, French’s mustard, parking tickets, free weights, oat milk, and random trash rolling around. In the console, there are shark teeth and dolphin vertebrae fossils. (Let me explain, I was on a boat with Cris looking for shark teeth; check out her Burnt & Sandy charters in Charleston).
He chuckled and said he’d show me the inside of his van to make me feel less cringe. Of course, Elliott can smoke meats like no other but I also love his knack for the style and character of a space. Regina’s is going to be epic. Point is, don’t change who you are for someone else. Let the haphazard shine! And if you ever get in my car and it’s spotless, question everything.
Cúrate invited me to celebrate their 12th anniversary, and while already stoked, I peeled tires out of the driveway when I learned the Cinco Jotas jamon men were coming…..Hola!. One night, at a pintxos party, mouthwatering Spanish snacks were set atop Mother’s bread. And the second night, jamon galore, Montecillo Gran Reserva, a Cinco Jotas Solomillo special (acorn-fed pork tenderloin), and a salty, perfectly cured Carolina Heritage ham by way of meat maestro Jonathan Pridgen. I carved a few slices on the C5 leg with the supervision of master carver, Raúl Garrido. I’ll spend more time learning this skill in the fall.
For the last few weeks, I’ve been dealing with my own version of Anna Delvey, a smooth criminal, riding off of my golden reputation to travel near and far (mostly far). I cannot go into detail yet until I have legal advice but rest assured I’m working on a piece I’d like to title, “Do you know WHO I AM?”
In Asheville, I ate for two weeks straight. “I am a sandwich,” I murmur to a friend in passing after several consecutive days of munching on some deliciousness between two slices of bread. I spent time with the culinary-obsessed Neomi Negrón (of tempting, tasty Buggy Pops) and her husband and artist, Reuben. We pop into Blue Spiral 1 so I can see Benjamin (Paris Loft), firsthand.
I later text Reuben: “The details of Benjamin. It makes me remember little details from a lover in Champagne. After consumption, the empty pâté glass on his kitchen counter served as an ashtray. Some of the ashes didn’t make it into the glass but on the table; Cancoillotte slowly dripped down the side of the container; remnants of a ripped-apart baguette with crust everywhere. Benjamin’s mattress gave me all the feels….I wish you could draw my Champagne lover. Thanks for this portal back in time.”
COLUMNS COMING SOON! I struggle with how to share my information so we’ll start here and it will evolve. In the coming weeks, a few columns will roll out, featuring reviews, essays, shorter stories, and all the sensual feels. This includes Dispatches, Less Than 36 Seats (love letters to my favorite restaurants under 36 seats; I picked this number because I needed the cutoff to include Wright’s Tavern in St. Louis), Cheese Dating (discoveries made along my travels about cheese) and Fork, Marry, Kill (on-spot interviews with chefs, winemakers, baristas, writers, publicists, food friends, and more).
DISPATCHES FROM ASHEVILLE:
A FIRST:
Newstock Food Studio: Like a bakery-meets-art studio. Ashley Capps won’t tell you this as she’s humble but her resume is a love letter to food a la Eleven Madison Park, Rhubarb, and Buxton Hall Barbecue, to name a few. In my adulthood, however, I’ve learned it’s the person, not the place (or even the media outlet) that makes something amazing—in this case, Ashley Capps. Go there, be fed, and be well. The menu is ever-changing but on my 3rd visit, I became smitten with this sexual-looking cinna-roll and a spicy black garlic sour soup.
The Med: where a bigger-than-your-face chocolate chip pancake can be ordered in singularity, and makes a great side to a burger.
Little Louie’s Elliott’s smoked meatball parmesan hoagie and a side of Louie fries—best described by myself as fries that eat more like pasta, dipped into your nonna’s Sunday sauce—satisfied my soul. I ate more than my fair share of wings, perhaps the best I’ve had to date and I’ll be back for the brisket cheesesteak soon.
Tastee Diner: I startled Steven Goff outside, sipping on a Trenta-sized iced coffee in the sun. This is his signature ritual and I am here for it. I came for the chopped cheese and stayed for some family shenanigans, where Steven proceeded to scold his mom for dumping salt on her fries prior to tasting them. Stay tuned for a whole essay on this…
Neng Jr'.’s: Sweetbreads (organ meat from the thymus gland and pancreas), when done right, are a chef’s kiss. If you think you hate them I promise you’ll slurp up every last bit of the sweetbreads and the otherworldly tomato sauce. The tangy, savory, chicory salad will make you question what a good salad really is (this is it!) and the rock shrimp with hand-pulled noodles were a dream. I messaged Silver Cousler the next day instating that Neng Jr.'s was no doubt a form of “fantasy dining.” You rub your eyes and ask yourself, “Is this a dream? Am I really here,” the entire ride. Along with Wright’s Tavern, this will be a future subject in my “Less Than 36 Seats” column.
Altamont Deli & Grill: Yes. The Italian Sub, served cold, was so good that I inhaled it on a bus stop street across the way as I couldn’t resist.
Cultura: I ate here when it first opened and it was good, not mind-blowing. Peers convinced me to revisit it in a whole new light, preferably on a Cease & Desist (something I’d also like to serve my grifter soon!) on a Sunday night. Neomi scored a res for Oaxaca Bell, where Luis Martinez created an impressive feast; a riff on Taco Bell. This month it’s Outback GrahamHouse, a riff on Outback Steakhouse, which I am so sad to miss.
ALWAYS ON ROTATION:
Contrada: Seat yourself as you would in Europe at this tiny, not-so-hidden gem. It’s dimly lit, it’s simple, it’s sexy, and it’s delicious. I love solo-sitting in a corner spot and ordering a whole pizza and a Lambruso spritz. Brian Canipelli is incredible and if you haven’t been to Cucina 24 I’d start there first.
La Bodega: Breakfast: Go with a friend (thx, Mickey!) and get a Sobrasada croissant….stuffed with a dreamy Mallorcan-style chorizo, a Xuixo (a delicious, deep-fried Catalan pastry filled with velvety cream), whatever empanadas are on the menu, and palmeras (like a cookie and French pastry had an offspring, with one half dipped in citrusy chocolate). Lunch: a croissant bikini (that has nothing to do with a swimsuit. Thanks to Felix I got to learn about its history and will be writing about this soon! Dinner: Upstairs, pop up at the bar and order a Gilda, ensaladilla rusa (Spain’s prized Russian potato salad with tuna), and Jamón ibérico)—and hope that Jessica Salyer is working and drink whatever she recommends.
Leo’s House of Thirst: I don’t like PB&J but I am obsessed with CLM&J (chicken liver mousse and jelly). I fantasize about slathering it between two pieces of white bread, crust on, cutting it in half, and eating it like a child. The steak tartare changes with the szns but trust me, it’s what hooked me on Leo’s in the first place. A favorite pastime is sitting at the bar with Jess, when she’s off, and drinking whatever incredible wine Katilyn pours into our glasses. (Tap Tuesdays is where it’s at).
Chai Pani: The wait can be daunting but there’s no better way to bond with new spirit animals than by sharing an iced Chai, Bhel Puri (a crunchy, tangy, Indian street food staple), and okra fries.
A LAST:
Avenue M: Really a first and a last. Finally made it to see chef Andrew McLeod at one of his last dinner services. Not ironically, the cured meat display was a highlight and I'll be hawking his @kingsalumi account to hawk his next move…
RECENTLY PUBLISHED:
Yes, I’m 40 and Stay at Hostels—These Are the Design-Forward Ones I’ve Loved
Make Like a Queen on This Hot Solo Travel Trip to Spain
The ‘Cracker Barrel’ of Barbecue Is Coming to East Durham
Thailand’s Tarutao National Park Spans 51 Islands of Natural Contemplation
Follow a Decadent Steakhouse Lunch with a Siesta in Madrid
And a fun podcast I recorded with Eat Sleep Drink Repeat!
CURRENTLY BITCHEN ABOUT:
FEEDBACK: I have lots more for Asheville but looking for subscriber feedback. What is more helpful to digest “dispatch” guides? I’ll eventually get into well-rounded guides but will try a few things out first. More on my descriptions and thoughts? TELL ME!
ASHEVILLE R&R Thank you Wrong Way Campground and Chesnut Street Inn for opening your doors to me when I hit rock bottom with writer’s block. I'll dive deeper into these spots soon but here’s a recent piece for Southern Living in case you’re trying to decide which spot. My answer: why not both?
-(the real) Jenn Rice
you’ve got my mouth waterin and a hankering to drive to Asheville pronto! once again ..... bravo Jenn
I'm a huge fan of the dispatch guides!!