Possibly.
Doubtless Peter, who took the photos, will post at some point about our meeting at the Carter Fold, and all that.
For the moment, I have a few stray seconds in which to type yet another provocation, only I don’t really mean to be provocative.
I mean for you to drive, as we did, to Johnson City, TN. It’s a pretty place, on the way to Asheveille, where, as our renter says, the high-maintenance hippies live. Whilst in Johnson City we drove by the Down Home, which is reputably a fine place to see music, where I was pleased to see Michelle Malone’s name on the marquis. Marquee. Whatever. To see Michelle Malone still out there performing, even though I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen Ms. Malone. No matter.
This is about pizza.
We travel with a six-year-old. Food is, y’know, a struggle, especially given that we are fond of whole grains and vegetables and such.
So, after three days in a tent in the rain, Susan got busy on her new iPhone to find us a proper place to eat in Johnson City. Which, finally found, was closed, it being Sunday and all. So we limped back toward the freeway. At a stoplight, we all somehow looked over and saw a big pile of stone and mortar. I thought it might be a folk art installation, but noticed a few picnic tables outside. I don’t know what Maggie thought it was, but both she and Susan spontaneously emboldened me to turn left and find out.
It was this: scratch pizza. An old house with all manner of workings festooned around the outside. Open Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. They make their own meat. They make their own bread, their own pizza dough. Everything’s fresh.
Pizza is $15. Whatever you put on it, it’s $15, though we recommend their “Trust” pizza, in which you simply talk with the nice folks while ordering and they make up something for you.
I have eaten pizza all over this country. It’s a quest, like mole sauce and barbeque and chili.
Maybe we were just hungry and wet and hungry and road-weary, but I think not.
I think it was the best pizza I’ve ever had. Maybe because it reminds me a bit of the first pizza I ever ate, at the late and lamented (at least I think it’s out of business now) Hungry U in Seattle. But it’s similar only in that the crust is full-bodied and whole-grained. The toppings are vastly superior.
Y’all can chip in with tribal loyalties and regional traditions, and that’s fine.
But Johnson City…it’s a pretty place, in an pretty part of the country.
And we’ll be routing through town whenever we can so as to eat.
Typed before coffee, so be kind, eh?
