Sunday Afternoon in the Park…
Buccachio | 22 March 2007
…with my friends Twyford and Sandi was a blast. We settled in under the awning at Mayfel’s (27 Patton Avenue : 828.252.8840) across from Asheville’s Pritchard Park. This is prime territory for people-watching, conversing, reading, theorizing, studying, partying, etc… and could pass for a classic Parisian cafe frequented by philosophers such as Jean-Paul Sartre or Michel Foucault. I’m a professor and a writer–and Mayfel’s is the perfect place to pull out my red-ink Lamy fountain pen and begin merciless draft edits. What better location to enjoy equally ruthless grading of student examinations?
Twyford and Sandi had other purposes. Twyford just began studying linguistics at William and Mary, a higher-eduation institution in old Williamsburg, the low-country swampy-humid equivalent of Asheville. We two have been planning regular visits to Asheville since 2000. Twyford is particuarly interested in language change, attracted to Appalachian culture, and drawn to the mountains he calls “the big dudes.” His reasons for coming were to escape academia for several days and go canoeing in the French Broad River. Sandi was mostly along for the ride, looking forward to setting aside personal struggles for a while, and planning to engage in urban hiking. Back in the summer of 2003, Sandi and I went trekking wilderness in the Virginia highlands near Blacksburg. I severely injured my leg and Sandi thought he would need to carry me down the mountain. Fortunately, Asheville is much less hazardous.
We noticed Mayfel’s during our first orange-skied evening downtown. The immediate attraction was structural (not in the derridean sense)–an awning would shelter streetside seating from the blazing July sun. We decided to return the following day under noontime skies and have lunch. We soon discovered that this was an excellent idea–Mayfel’s offers a wealth of delicious lunch choices, from a New Orleans-style Po’boy to the cuisine-Americaine Quarter-Pound burger (no “Pulp Fiction” references, please) with fresh organic greens and cheese. I ordered the Muffuletta and began hacking at manuscripts.
The sandwich that arrived was marvelous–Italian meats and layered on sourdough. Hard sopressata gave the sandwich a certain crunchy quality characteristic of fine cured meats salami . A layer of pastrami added a savory velvet texture to the sandwich. Prosciutto di Parma completed the trio with a paper-thin salty bite. Cured meats must necessarily age correctly to reveal their most subtle flavor dimensions, and Mayfel’s uses good quality meats which are produced following proved traditional methods. Three savory cheeses were lavished atop this mountain of flavor. Provolone Dolce was melted softly into the meat grain, fusing the various layers with gentle fruit overtones. Slices of Fresh mozzarella were added to provide some body to the cheeses. Cooking favorite asiago imbued a spicy, fresh zest. Topping this was piquant olive ragout. Needless to say, I enjoyed every bite.
Twyford ordered the Po’boy–complete with delicately fried tail-off gulf shrimp, country coleslaw, thousand island and cocktail sauce. According to Twyford, the best thing about a “real” Po’boy (we argued the philosophical definition of “reality” during lunch) is that “you taste the fresh sparkle of briney abyss awash in your mouth.” I admit that I don’t personally relish the idea of plankton between my teeth. My parents are originally from Mississippi–and denizens of the deep south insist that gulf shrimp have a distinctly different flavor than their Atlantic cousins–and I would agree. Although typically the same species, Gulf shrimp live in warmer waters and consume a different diet, affecting their flavor and texture dramatically. They are smaller than Atlantic shrimp, and I would describe them as having a buttery aroma with grassy notes.
Sandi commented that his Grilled Marinated Chicken sandwich was equally tasty. He commented that the poutry was particularly tender (”like slow-cooked stuff, you know?”) and that the tangy remoulade added just the right amount of spice. Mayfel’s also added fresh organic ruffage–local tomatoes and romaine. I normally think of chicken as a rather difficult food to mistreat; most chicken verges somewhere between moderately tender and moderately tough, and the garden-variety species produces a naturally malleable meat. Only rarely have I tasted indisputeably bad chicken, which usually come about from overcooking until the texture becomes leathery, but this abuse requires true incompetence. On the other hand, chicken poses a challenge to the chef seeking something really spectacular. While the bird soaks up whatever flavors other ingrediants impart, invention in this arena is rare. The best chicken I have ever enjoyed wasn’t the familiar ugly baryard creature at all, but the gamey Red Junglefowl, ancient Asian ancestor of modern chickens. Sandi thought his sandwich was reasonable for the price but asked “chicken is chicken, right?”
That afternoon we went hiking at Craggy Gardens and returned later with weary legs and throbbing feet. Mayfel’s seemed like a great place to rest, and we gathered around another streetside table. None of us were exceptionally hungry yet, so we settled upon a round of coffee and beignets. Anyone who has never tasted a beignet should take special notice here–Mayfel’s does this Louisiana treat right. The beignet is essentially a deep-fried French doughnut dusted with powdered sugar, and Mayfel’s is among a small handful of cafes outside New Orleans who deliver the goods–buttery, light and sweet. The pastry should be light and fluffy, containing almost equal portions of air and dough, with enough bouyancy to float a ship. Bad beignets are the normal standard beyond the Crescent City, and these tend toward Krispy-Creme style doughnuts, sweet bagels, or even (shudder) half-cooked scones.
The coffee is a French Roast prepared for Mayfel’s by Counter Culture Coffee, a deliciously dark grade known for caramelized sugars and low acidity. The only downside to French Roast is that these beans typically retain precious little of the original flavor imbued from the soil, atmosphere and rainfall of plantation (for a flavor-oriented coffeeshop that ships great beans and other fermented products, click here). Mayfel’s doesn’t suffer from this taste trade-off because their brew is generally just a cup of Mississippi mud to accompany other, stonger flavors.
One can also enjoy live music from nearby Pritchard Park, Asheville’s center of municipal and participatory music. A classic Asheville drum circle erupted across the street suring our visit to Mayfel’s. A pleasant experience to follow many tasty treats.