I woke up Saturday, Labor day weekend and wanted to run away. (it was 2 days before my son’s big “18″ and I was feeling sorry for myself). So I started packing and informed the rest of the family we were taking a last minute road trip to Asheville. We booked a room at the Aloft on the way out the door.
Because, why not.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been to Asheville when there wasn’t a festival, and the city did not disappoint. The festival that weekend was the mountain xpress festival. I still don’t know what it means, but there were lots of women dressed like birds all over the place.
I made the grave mistake of bringing my 13 year old, who did nothing but bitch, moan and whine about the lack of cleanliness of a few groups of hippies, and the smell of patchouli wafting through the air.
Bob and his friends went on a drunk boy fest up to Asheville a few months before and came home raving about Curate. He said we should go there for dinner, and I actually had heard of it via Anthony Bourdain….
Unfortunately he left out the part about it not being a kid friendly menu. (understatement of the month.)
This resulted in a whine and pout fest, not by my 6 and 4 year old, but from my 13 year old princess. A quick promise of ice cream for dinner, I polished off a second bottle of wine, and left half unconscious.
In college, I studied the history of Biltmore and its architecture in one of my American Art classes. At 20 years old, I remember thinking I would just die to see it.
So now I cannot go to Asheville without driving by. (insert eyerolls by each and every one of my family members.)
But there is one thing that does make my kids smile in Asheville while visiting the Biltmore…..ice cream and an ass. Not a joke. The farm is their favorite. I just made sure not to explain to them where beloved “chicken fingers” really come from.