Her Homemade Desserts Sell Out Everyday

Hey friend, climb on in the backseat and ride along with us; we're going somewhere unique. At the edge of the town of Crossnore, NC, tucked into one of those tight mountain curves that scares the heebie-jeebies out of the outlanders, sits Jennifer Pinter's specialty dessert shop.

"When we opened the shop twenty years ago, all the locals laughed at us," said Jennifer. "Nothing had ever made a go of it in this curve, but I think that curve was a blessing for this place."

I can't argue. That curve becomes so sharp so quick that drivers find themselves almost at a stop. That's the first time you find yourself wondering if you went through a time tunnel, because sitting directly in front of you is the Linville River Mercantile and Bakery, and it just beckons you to pull over.

Now, friends, I must confess: the first time I was in Jennifer's parking lot, it was on a foggy afternoon, and when I walked through her doors, I was spooked. It looked like 1929, and I half expected Rod Serling to walk out of the back and say, "Welcome to the Twilight Zone." But the smell of Jennifer's freshly baked goods sent those thoughts scampering away.

Jennifer isn't just a baker, though. She's a designer, a collector, and a woman who's spent thirty-some years cultivating her sources. The whole place is intended to make you forget the constraints that today's lifestyle puts on us. If you love history and antiques, you'll want to pitch a tent and camp out in her store.

When I sat right down at the turn-of-the-century round oak ice cream table that rested four feet from a 1920s soda counter and saw a stack of fluted ice cream sundae dishes, my mouth started watering. I was about to make my order when I noticed a short hall that ended with a wall of mirrors. Pointing at it, I asked Jennifer, "Anybody ever think the hall is twice as long and run into themselves?"

Jennifer grinned. "One day a woman went down that hall and politely excused herself to the oncoming lady. When she got no answer, she came back and told me she'd just met the rudest woman in Avery County. The whole store was snickering, so I had to break the news to her."

But let's get to the reason we came: the baked goods. When she first opened the mercantile, the cooking was a side venture, and before she knew it, she had a full-fledged bakery. "Everything is made in that kitchen, every single day, and sells out by the end of the day," said Jennifer. And yes, you guessed it — this is the only place you can get her goods.

Cheesecake, key lime pie, coconut custard pie, pecan pie, and that's just on the top shelf. Look one shelf lower and you'll see a mouth-watering plantation pie, a sweet cream custard with chocolate, coconut, and pecans. Don't you dare reach for that cast iron skillet pineapple upside-down cake, or there's going to be a fight. Every day there's a cobbler, and the day we visited it was mountain berry — strawberry, blueberry, blackberry, and raspberry all together. Let me sum up the dessert case this way: Granny Smith, who's your mommy now?

Jennifer's clerk and friend followed us outside to tell us about the peanut butter tort. "This one is serious business," she said. "Chocolate cookie crumb on the bottom, a light peanut butter mousse with a little cream cheese worked in, and chocolate ganache over the top. It sells quick, so if you want one, you'd best come first thing in the morning."

My response was, "I'm not touching the stuff. It sounds like it could be illegal."

Before we headed back to the car, we stopped by Henry and Gloria's table. The Mercantile was their last stop before heading home to Florida. Jason asked Gloria to rate the place on a scale of one to ten; she looked him straight in the eye and said a twelve. His follow-up question — "What's your favorite part of the store?" — was answered with no hesitation. "Jennifer," she said. "She is the kindest, sweetest person and the best baker we've ever known." When somebody keeps coming from Florida to your place of business, year after year, you don't need my recommendation.

"The shop was gathering dust for a while after my husband died this past December," said Jennifer. "But I am ready to get back to our dream."

It's a dream that's been unfolding in that curve for twenty-plus years, so the next time you find yourself easing around that curve in Crossnore, pull in and sit at the ice cream table — or get the peanut butter tort — and tell her the ride-about guys sent you.

Click here to ride along with us and meet Jennifer at the Linville River Mercantile.

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From Nashville Back to Avery County: The Story of Fiddler Alan Johnson

If you find yourself in Avery County on a Sunday afternoon, stop on by the Pineola Inn and watch Alan Johnson sawing away on the fiddle. He may be the busiest musician in the High Country. Ask him how many bands he plays in, and he might say, "I don't know." 

When Jason and I sat down with him, it turned out this local fiddle player has a Nashville connection.

"I had a brother ten years older who wanted to play rock and roll, and a daddy who played the fiddle," said Alan. "So growing up there was every kind of music in the house. I picked up the fiddle around age nine and have never really put it down." Today he plays with the David Wiseman Band, the Johnson Brothers and a group known as Woody and the String Band.

But for many years, Alan lived and played in Nashville. "I moved there at age twenty-nine chasing a dream." Grinning, he says, "I handed out my card left and right; they called it the Nashville handshake. That's when you shake a person's hand and palm them your card. It took six months to get my first call, and I promise you, I was about ready to pack it in and come home.

But, for some reason, John Hartford, writer of Gentle on My Mind, was in Alan's corner. "He befriended me when I first arrived in Nashville," said Alan. "Almost exactly six months to the day I arrived in Nashville, the phone rang, and it was Hartford." He had called to make sure Alan hadn't given up. Within a week of that call, Alan had three gigs, and the rest is history. Alan smiled when reminiscing about how he and Hartford would often sit in Hartford's house playing their fiddles just for the pleasure of it.

"I am not the greatest fiddle player in the world," said Alan. "Those guys sit and practice all day long, the way a golfer hits a thousand practice balls a day. That's just not me." But Alan had a gift. When growing up, he heard something one of his heroes, like Doyle Lawson, played. He could instantly play it back note for note.

So why does a working Nashville fiddler end up back in Avery County playing at the Pineola Inn on Sunday afternoons? The best reason I can think of. A little boy missing his daddy. "When it came down to the music or the boy, there was really no contest," said Alan. It's been forty-six years since he picked up that first fiddle, and he's still playing. That sounds like a man at peace with the trade he made.

Watch the video to hear Alan tell the Hartford story himself, to catch a rare old clip of Alan and his family picking at the Hampton store years ago, and to hear what Avery County's fiddle player sounds like on a Sunday afternoon.

Watch our ride-about to meet Alan Johnson, Avery County's fiddle player.

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THE QUILTERS OF AVERY COUNTY AND THE BET THAT MADE US GO THERE.

Now let me tell you how this ride-about got started. Jason and I had ourselves a genuine dispute. I spent years in the antique business selling quilts, so I know good and well which pattern folks asked for the most. But, of course, Jason did not believe me. There was only one way to settle it: put the question to the women who'd know for certain.

So we went to see the Avery Riverwalk Quilting Guild. Now let me tell you, that was a room full of talented women! I know, because my wife used to be one. Our contact was Cindy, and let me tell you, that woman is a little ball of fire. When Cindy puts her energy into something, it comes out first-class every time. She'll run a raffle you'd figure might raise two or three hundred dollars, and doggone if she doesn't pull in two thousand.

Right fast, after we walked in, it looked like one of those ladies was wearing her quilt. But when she stood up, it turned out to be a unique pair of quilted overalls. She confessed she didn't make them — but declared she sure could have, if she decided to put her mind to it.

Karen gave us the grand tour. She walked us past a patriotic sampler. Every block was different, but similar enough to come together into something beautiful. She named the patterns in the sampler, so check the video to see how they blended together into a fabulous quilt.

I had to cover my eyes when she pointed out the Ohio quilting star. I mean, come on, Karen — North Carolina has a quilting star! And what the heck is a "wonky star" set on an angle? (Turns out "wonky star" is an actual industry term. Who knew?) She also showed us a wall hanging the guild presented to the New Christian Church for hosting them every month.

Karen let us in on how quilting has changed, too. In the old days — before Jason's and my grandparents — women would gather around a big table with needle and thread, bring food, talk all day, and stitch a quilt together by hand. The guild sort of keeps that tradition alive. They meet at ten in the morning, have a program, share a potluck lunch, and then sew individually in the afternoon on programmable machines. Oh yeah — the talking? This old boy don't say nothing about that!

Here's something our ride-about partners might not know: folks have been quilting for over 3,000 years. We have quilts in our own home that my wife's mother made sixty years ago, and they kept us warm again this past winter.

But I haven't forgotten the bet. Jason and I drove all the way to Avery County to find out, once and for all, which quilt pattern reigns supreme — and one of us walked away right, the other one wrong. I'm not going to spoil it here.

Watch the ride-about to find out who won the bet — and meet the quilters of Avery County.

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