This past weekend Hubs and I drove up to Asheville, NC to spend the weekend with our dear friend Gail. Gail lives on a mountain, surrounded by dense forest, with only a few neighbors within shouting distance. It's a gorgeous setting, wonderfully remote but with all the attractions of Asheville just a few minutes away. Because it's wilderness, Gail's place is frequently visited by bears, who enjoy lolling about under her crabapple trees and treating themselves to water from the little pond and waterfall just off her patio.
I have always loved bears, but have never been lucky enough to see one in the wild. So I was hoping I'd get a chance to spot one while we were there.
Friday came and went. No bears. Ditto for Saturday. But on Sunday morning, just as we were preparing to sit down to a lovely brunch, Gail's dog, who had been looking out her French doors, suddenly went crazy barking. Sure enough, ambling along the edge of Gail's flower garden was a magnificent black bear! I raced to the window just in time to catch a glimpse of the sun shining on his lustrous dark coat as he headed for the crabapple tree a few feet beyond the pond. There he proceeded to snack on apples, then laid down in the shade to take a nap, totally uninterested in anything but being indolent.
What a thrill for me! He was a beautiful creature, easily 200 pounds. Gail said he visits on a regular basis and has been doing so since he was a cub. Her only complaint was that she once found him sitting in the pond like a big hairy Buddha, which of course displaced a good bit of the water in it. So my instructions were to poke my head outside and blow as hard as I could on a whistle she keeps by the back door if it looked like he was going to wade into the pond again. Secretly I was hoping he would, just so I could get a better look at him.
But this time he wasn't so inclined. He stayed put in the shade until he heard Gail's daughter's car coming up the driveway. His big head turned in the direction of the noise, then he slowly got up and in just seconds he disappeared into the woods.
Those few minutes of observing a wild bear up close and personal were quite an experience for me. It was something I will never forget. How anyone could shoot or harm such a beautiful animal is totally beyond me. The heartbreaking case of Cecil the lion just brings home the urgent need to protect the amazing animals we share this planet with. If we don't, someday they will all be gone. And a vital part of our humanity will have gone with them. That's not a world I want to live in. Do you??
©2015 Lynn Edwards
Showing posts with label Asheville NC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Asheville NC. Show all posts
Saturday, August 1, 2015
Thursday, July 17, 2014
The Very Best Fried Chicken Ever
I love fried chicken. Nothing can compare to honest to goodness home fried chicken -- succulent, with just the right amount of crispy golden coating, seasoned to perfection, bursting with juicy flavor...........but I digress. Sadly, I have avoided eating fried chicken for years due to health reasons. But on our last trip to Asheville, my resolve to "eat healthy" vanished when our friends Gail and Ed introduced us to a gastronomic den of iniquity known as Rocky's Hot Chicken Shack.
The minute we stepped out of the car onto Rocky's parking lot, I knew I was in trouble. The delicious fragrance of chicken being deep fried wafted through the air, putting my taste buds on high alert. Inside, I dutifully scanned the menu for something that wasn't fried, but by then I was hopelessly in the grip of an overpowering urge to sink my teeth into something that was fried. Every fiber of my being was screaming for that incomparable taste and texture, fueled by the heady aromas that had assailed my nostrils the moment I had opened the car door.
When I spotted a menu item touting chicken featuring a sweet-hot crispy coating, I was done for. Like a bird dog on point, my attention never wavered from that one selection. It sounded soooo good. It was all my naughty fried chicken fantasies come true. Ignoring every health dictum about high cholesterol and stifling a mental image of my frowning cardiologist, I eagerly placed my order: a plate with two thighs, fried okra (hey, as long as I was sinning, I might as well take it to the max) and sweet potato casserole with a slab of cornbread on the side.
When they brought the food out, I couldn't believe my eyes. On the oversized plate were two of the biggest pieces of chicken I had ever seen. They were so massive they looked like thighs from a 30 pound turkey. A restaurant employee had forewarned us about the portion sizes prior to our placing our orders, but I had taken the information with a grain of salt. I should have listened to him.
When I sank my teeth into that chicken, it was like fireworks exploding on the Fourth of July with a visit from Publisher's Clearinghouse thrown in. The taste was beyond delicious. It was oh-my-god-don't-let-it-end-super-freaking-awesome. Never, in all my life, have I had fried chicken that tasted that good. This wasn't fried chicken; it was a religious experience on a plate. I ate the whole thing -- every single bit of it. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned......and would do it all over again without a shred of remorse. It was worth every. single. decadent. mouthful. I might burn in hell for my gluttony and for the horrors inflicted on my arteries, but I don't care.
It's a darned good thing we don't live in Asheville. I'd be slinking over to Rocky's on a weekly basis. Just knowing the place was within a few minutes' drive would be enough to do me in. I'd be like a drug addict whose life is totally focused on getting his next fix. Oh yeah, Rocky's corrupted me, all right. Every time I think of that glorious goodness, that melt-in-your-mouth deliciousness, I get weak in the knees and start salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs. The only antidote I have for this insatiable craving is holing up in my studio and concentrating on my art. It's impossible for me to focus on fried chicken and design and composition at the same time. Thank goodness there's something that can take my mind off Rocky's.
If you ever find yourself in Asheville, take my advice and avoid Rocky's Hot Chicken Shack like the plague. It's in West Asheville at 1455 Patton Avenue. You're much better off not knowing what you're missing, but if you do go, call me. We'll start a Rocky's Chicken support group.
Text and image ©2014 Lynn Edwards
The minute we stepped out of the car onto Rocky's parking lot, I knew I was in trouble. The delicious fragrance of chicken being deep fried wafted through the air, putting my taste buds on high alert. Inside, I dutifully scanned the menu for something that wasn't fried, but by then I was hopelessly in the grip of an overpowering urge to sink my teeth into something that was fried. Every fiber of my being was screaming for that incomparable taste and texture, fueled by the heady aromas that had assailed my nostrils the moment I had opened the car door.
 |
| The chicken that led me into temptation. |
When I spotted a menu item touting chicken featuring a sweet-hot crispy coating, I was done for. Like a bird dog on point, my attention never wavered from that one selection. It sounded soooo good. It was all my naughty fried chicken fantasies come true. Ignoring every health dictum about high cholesterol and stifling a mental image of my frowning cardiologist, I eagerly placed my order: a plate with two thighs, fried okra (hey, as long as I was sinning, I might as well take it to the max) and sweet potato casserole with a slab of cornbread on the side.
When they brought the food out, I couldn't believe my eyes. On the oversized plate were two of the biggest pieces of chicken I had ever seen. They were so massive they looked like thighs from a 30 pound turkey. A restaurant employee had forewarned us about the portion sizes prior to our placing our orders, but I had taken the information with a grain of salt. I should have listened to him.
When I sank my teeth into that chicken, it was like fireworks exploding on the Fourth of July with a visit from Publisher's Clearinghouse thrown in. The taste was beyond delicious. It was oh-my-god-don't-let-it-end-super-freaking-awesome. Never, in all my life, have I had fried chicken that tasted that good. This wasn't fried chicken; it was a religious experience on a plate. I ate the whole thing -- every single bit of it. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned......and would do it all over again without a shred of remorse. It was worth every. single. decadent. mouthful. I might burn in hell for my gluttony and for the horrors inflicted on my arteries, but I don't care.
It's a darned good thing we don't live in Asheville. I'd be slinking over to Rocky's on a weekly basis. Just knowing the place was within a few minutes' drive would be enough to do me in. I'd be like a drug addict whose life is totally focused on getting his next fix. Oh yeah, Rocky's corrupted me, all right. Every time I think of that glorious goodness, that melt-in-your-mouth deliciousness, I get weak in the knees and start salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs. The only antidote I have for this insatiable craving is holing up in my studio and concentrating on my art. It's impossible for me to focus on fried chicken and design and composition at the same time. Thank goodness there's something that can take my mind off Rocky's.
If you ever find yourself in Asheville, take my advice and avoid Rocky's Hot Chicken Shack like the plague. It's in West Asheville at 1455 Patton Avenue. You're much better off not knowing what you're missing, but if you do go, call me. We'll start a Rocky's Chicken support group.
Text and image ©2014 Lynn Edwards
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)