In Search of the Illusive Q Tater

Stationed at the entrance to the Pisgah National Forest in Brevard, NC, amid the bars, ice cream parlors and tube rental kiosks is Hawg Wild Barbecue. It has become a place near and dear to my heart, and one of the three restaurants we regularly visit on our frequent trips to the mountain city.

North Carolina is a big state, and like SC, there are different barbecue traditions for different sections. Hawg Wild Barbecue offers a choice between the vinegary Eastern sauce and the more tomato-ey Western version.  

As special as is the BBQ on a bun, the thing that brings me back is a rare delicacy that is becoming hard to find: The Barbecue Potato.

The barbecue potato is hard to find and hard to beat

 The barbecue potato or "Q tater," as I call it, is a large baked potato piled high with succulent pulled pork barbecue topped with sauce, shredded cheese and sour cream. It is my version of barbecue heaven: a combination of flavors and textures that will please any Q connoisseur.

The décor is Q-joint chic with license plates from around the country nailed to the board walls, and tables topped with glass plate under which is a map of the area, and where customers have jammed their business cards. A big effigy of that great glutton of the ether waves, Homer Simpson sporting a HW T-shirt dominates the lobby.

We like the place so much that when our daughter graduated from Brevard College, and inclement weather dampened our plans for a Pisgah picnic. We knew it was the place to have the celebration. My brother-in-law, who hails from the Lexington NC area was not pleased that the Q was pulled, not chopped as it is around his place, but other than that, all went well.


The Q, the atmosphere and the location make this place a good bet for travelers and locals alike.

🐷🐷🐷🐷

Soapstone Church

 Meat and three with dessert Here's what twelve bucks get you at 

Soapstone Church. Drink included.  

The first time I entered Soapstone Church  I was slightly taken aback. There was Polka music echoing from the dining hall. Polka Music is rare enough here in the land of NASCAR and Kenny Chesnee, but it is especially surprising to be heard on an African American church.  But Soapstone church is just that kind of place. Nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians, with a million dollar view of the blue ridge escarpment, Soapstone is the heart of the Liberia Community, which, like the country with the same name, was founded by freed slaves after the Civil War.

Million Dollar View The grounds of Soapstone church offer a 

breathtaking view of the Blue Ridge escarpment. The boulder in 

the foreground is the soapstone that is the church's namesake. The 

sign at the right enjoins people from chipping off pieces of 

the rock

The church is named for a huge soapstone boulder on the grounds. Soapstone is a soft metamorphic  rock that the indigenous people once use to make bowls and utensils.
The grounds boast the first local African American school, which is still standing, and an historic grave yard, that is visited by thousands each year, but even more popular are the fish fries that the church offers on the third Saturday of each month, January through October. on these Saturdays the place is packed with customers, mostly white, affluent retirees from the nearby gated communities, who come to enjoy a big plate of what used to be called soul food back in the day. For twelve bucks, customers can get a plate with fried flounder, barbecue. or fried chicken, three vegetables, a drink and dessert. Everything is seasoned to perfection, from the collard greens to the squash casserole, to the braised potatoes, that are so popular they always run out. The fish fry is ably supervised by Mable Clark, an elvish woman with a gigantic personality who does most of the cooking and makes a point of visiting every table to greet the diners with smiles and backrubs. Mable's claim to fame is the fried flounder which is breaded with her own secret recipe. She tells of a chef from an upscale eatery in nearby Greenville, SC, who ate there  three times, trying to pry the recipe from her brain. Finally she relented and said if he would make a donation to the church she would share her secret. He didn't donate, and has not been back.

Long Day  Mable Clark (center) puts in sixteen hour days 

managing the monthly fish fries but still finds time to visit

with her patrons.

 Years ago, Mable promised her father who was the pastor at the time that she would do what she could to keep the church open after his passing. The fish fry was her way of doing that, but with the membership of the church having dwindled to less than a dozen, it gets harder each year. Recent articles in local papers and consumer magazines have helped to keep her busy for the time being, but who knows what the future holds? At least for the present we still have a circle on our calendar around the third Saturday of the month.
🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷