The alarm went off at 4:30. We had scheduled a Lift for 5:15 to take us to the Madison Regional Airport. We were to fly from Madison to Charlotte, North Carolina and then on to New Bern. I had never even heard of New Bern. You'd think any place with an airport big enough for a commercial plane to fly into would be a metropolis I'd at least heard of. Well, no, I hadn't. I had to confess to myself that maybe I wasn't as sophisticated a worldly traveler as I thought I was. What it did teach me is there is still a good part of the world out there to put in my travel wish book of yet to see places.
Air travel is stressful enough without the added issue of Covid. Add on the Delta variant surge and traveling to places were smoking is still allowed and you have a bit of a heart beating sweaty palm situation. When it was all done we had survived the fear of a double flight, triple airport adventure without having to reprimand any maskless travelers. There were only a few times I had to restrain myself from tapping a shoulder to remind someone that a mask needs to not only cover your mouth but your nose as well. The funny thing was most of the offenders looked like Marjorie Taylor Green. Best to back off.
One of the advantages of flying into a tiny regional airport is the lack of a crowd or lines for anything you need to do. I was expecting a hefty wait at the car rental counter but when I got there the attendant was ready with the keys, a ready contract with a place to sign my name and a big toothy smile with "Hope you'all have a nice time here, ya hear"
Then we were off to meet our friends at their hotel and off to lunch in New Bern before we were all to drive to the rental on Emerald Isle.
New Bern, founded in 1710 by the Baron of Bernberg is a beautiful town, much bigger than I had expected, graced with historic brick and stone architecture and dripping in Spanish moss. After trying unsuccessfully to parallel park and having to get out of the car and let my partner, the all and powerful Rick get in and prove he was way more butch then me by getting the car in the spot a good two-feet away form the curb we had a little time to walk around before our lunch reservation. It was enough to wet our appetite for a return visit before our week on the Outer Banks was to come to an end.
After our visual taste of the town it was time for lunch. Here's where a beautiful quaint town jumped into the exceptional category. We opened the front door of Cypress Hall. It was a walk into a Caleb Carr novel. A long narrow space, the second floor joists ripped off leaving the entry and bar soaring two stories
ending in a balcony seating area over the exposed kitchen at the end of the hall. I must have twirled in circles as I walked to our table not able to look forward but having to absorb the space in a dizzying three-dimensional three-sixty.
Once we were seated we ordered drinks. Rick ordered a Martini very dry, shaken and not stirred. Johannah went for wine, Adam had a local craft beer, I settled for sweet tea but Emmy showed us all up with a Bloody Mary that was a meal in itself. A swirl of spicy tomato juice and vodka topped with, get this, a skewer starting with a pimento olive, a wedge of Colby, an iced shrimp under a second olive then a folded slice of prosciutto all weighted down with a deviled egg hanging on for dear life. And if that wasn't enough they stuck a pickle wedge in the glass and draped a rasher of bacon seductively laid over the glass's edge. I had no idea of how she could possibly move on from here to an entre.
And now for the food...Adam went for the salmon, JoHannah, Rick and Emmy went for the cheddar biscuits, eggs any style, maple cured bacon and hollandaise sauce but I went full Southern cooking. I'm not sure what made me choose the meal I went for. JoHannah just shook her head. Rick made a genuine stink face but I still said, "I'll have the fried chicken and waffles".
When my plate, a gleaming white charger, was set in front of me it created a halo encircling a glisening piece of perfectly fried chicken breast resting on a bed of arugula and beet salad with a side of waffles smothered in maple syrup and cinnamon bun icing. There was little doubt I was going to enjoy every bit of this heavenly crunchy fried chicken. My eyes anticipated stabbing a succulent piece of chicken, swirling it on my fork and sliding it in the icing doing a slow drip of off the warm stack of waffles. Then lifting the fork with bits of arugula caught in the sticky syrup up to my mouth and instantly transforming me into a sleeveless flannel shirt wearing, chewin' tobacco spitter, Waffle House regular. One bite was all it took.
Full and satisfied with only the tiniest bit of waffle stuck to my lower lip we all boarded back in our rental cars for the final journey to our destination: a week's worth of sun on the Atlantic coast on Emerald Isle
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