We've arrived, starving and in need of a bike shop. The local bike shop is closed on Mondays, so we allow our stomachs to control our steps. Right on the main intersection in town, sits the Galax Smokehouse. Signs in the windows claim it to be the best of the best barbecue restaurants in America. At this point, we're set on eating there and I walk in as Wes locks up his bike. Walking through the door, a sign gives me three more reasons to smile widely. Pepper jack mac n' cheese is the daily special. Wings are 50¢ each. They have homemade banana pudding. We spend weeks eating rice and pasta in order to afford meals like this one. We're going all out.
Tammy, our waitress, asks how we're doing today and additionally what we would like to drink. Two giant sweet teas, please. She races around the restaurant, getting our drinks while asking how everybody's meals are. The restaurant is nearly half full, because nothing is half empty in regards to barbecue, and she's the only server working. Handling it like a boss. Walls are covered in photographs and documents from the town. Photos from times past, along with current community baseball teams. Plastic and ceramic pigs decorate the various shelves and windows. The menu is overwhelming to even a hungry man and we end up asking her three different sets of questions. Each time, she gives us a few minutes to narrow down our decisions.
Wes goes the all-you-can-eat route, for an additional $3. I go with the standard dinner meal, plus six wings. Thinking it's going to take a while, I wash up in the restroom. Returning five minutes later, there my plate sits, piping hot. One huge pile of pulled pork, smoked mashed potatoes, pepper jack mac and cheese, hush puppies, BBQ bread, three hot wings and three teriyaki. As with anywhere in, or even near, the South, the sauce is the boss. Molasses tangy BBQ, two vinegar based, sweet tomato based, hot tomato based, North Caroline BBQ with a hint of mustard, Alabama white sauce with a horseradish base. So many choices, but luckily there's plenty of food. At least I thought it was plenty of food. It should be, seeing as the average person would probably have difficulty finishing a plate. In the end, I pay the charge and bump it up to all-I-can-eat. Tammy is eager to feed us as much food as possible. The cook is asking where we're putting it all, as she raises her eyebrow in questioning.
I'll take another plate, please. More pulled pork, BBQ bread, and hush puppies. This time it's complimented with potato salad and apple fritters. The pulled pork is piled upon the bread, then doused with sauce. I primarily switch back and forth between tangy molasses and Alabama white. Apple fritters are little fried pockets of sliced apple, mixed with sugar and cinnamon. They're best when steaming with heat, so I munch on them first and ignore their resemblance of dessert. Mouthfuls of food are only slowed down by gulps of sweet tea and conversation with Tammy. She tells us more about the town and area, while we answer questions about our trip. The common questions we encounter are as follows. Where do you sleep? Do you cook? When will you finish? Why? Some answers take longer than others, but I'm sure to eat in between, chewing with my mouth closed and swallowing before talking again. It's difficult, but doable.
It's getting late, we don't feel like cooking dinner, we're stuffed and still need to try the banana pudding. We ask Tammy how much it would cost us to take one more final plate to enjoy at camp. She glances around and says she'll see what she can do. Next thing we know, we're being handed a final plate, large banana puddings and to-go containers. Putting the containers out by our bikes, I walk back inside and pay for our meals. We make sure to reciprocate the good will Tammy showed us and carry final conversations with the staff. They wish us safety on our trip and we thank them as many times as possible without overdoing it.
As with any time we stuff ourselves, camp ends up being up the steepest hill of our trip. Short, but extremely steep. I've had a silly goal of not having to walk my bike up a single portion of our trip and therefore crank up it. Having to zig zag the entire width of the road by the time I get to the top. Hammocks are hung and we digest for a couple hours. We eventually return to our gluttonous ways and open our containers of savory BBQ. Wes manages to tackle his entire container. The additional wings I ate must be taking up the nooks he is filling. I eat half my container and half the pudding, saving the rest for breakfast. The pudding is a masterpiece of texture. Creamy pudding with vanilla wafer cookies mixed in, as large chunks of banana make up the remainder. I wish I had another container. Not that's being greedy. Tonight we go to bed very happy, even with uncomfortable food babies.
The next day, we get some needed items at the local bike shop. Bolt for my rear rack, magnet for my cycle computer, and a few tightening turns on our Brooks leather saddles. The man at the bike shop gives us some beta on the parkway and climb up Mt. Mitchell. Allowing us to leave our bikes in the shop for peace of mind, we walk around town. The Galax Smokehouse is a block away and we both have very little self control. We dip right back into it. Tammy isn't here today. This time we try sampler dishes in order to get a variety of the food. All on one plate, I get beef brisket, spare ribs, mac and cheese, apple fritters, hush puppies and corn nuggets. Needless to say, it's all amazing. We eat a lot less than the day before and are able to walk out the door, rather than waddle. All the fuel, and a little extra, needed for a day on a bicycle. Thank you Tammy and the Galax Smokehouse. Hands down, the best BBQ of my life.
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