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A foggy early morning run from the foot hills of Cherokee NC. up into the Great Smoky Mountains ended in a quest for breakfast in Gatlinburg TN. What a morning. The roads of Cherokee are studded with dancers, Native American Music, teepees, snake charmers, herbs, leather, jade, painted bears, you name it. After climbing into the Smokies things stay just as surreal as Gatlinburg is just as wild as Cherokee. More mountain/western than Native American but no less kitchsy and amazing. |
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The only way I could hope to get close to
describing Gatlinburg is the parking lot we turned around in on our
quest for breakfast; not kidding; okay here goes; Cooter’s Place.
Yes, Cooter the longtime and consistent buddy to the Duke boys in
their efforts to make their way, the only way they knew how, which
was of course a little bit more than the law would allow.
http://www.cootersplace.com/
There seems to be one road that runs through the city and parking is at a premium which caused us to pass a couple of options to end up at FlapJack’s Pancake Cabin. Parked pseudo-legally past the dumpsters we strolled inside to eat quickly and get back into the mountains. Sort of like a more serious Cracker Barrel inside we bypassed all of the goofy trinkets and were led upstairs to eat. There was a lot of room downstairs but apparently we just looked like upstairs kinda folk. |
 They Had The Necessities |
 Classic done Classically |
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Trying to get a taste of some varied stuff I
tried to alter my order which our slightly backward but way cheerful
server made out to be fine. She returned a bit later to report her
manager wasn’t in a flexible mood and I was out of luck so we had an
order of French toast and a large amalgam of relatively
straightforward breakfast things. The French toast looked fine and came with some pretty tasty sausage. Not bad. I ordered the Rocky Top Skillet (I know; I didn’t really have much choice) which came with two sausage biscuits and two eggs served over hash browns and a side of country gravy. Oh yeah, all skillets come with 3 buttermilk pancakes. I tried to get less volume but more variety but even in the South apparently, hospitality has its limits. Nothing was bad. Nothing was memorable. I have always been stunned by the number of places that specialize in pancakes. I have had poorly made varieties but have never had one so good that it wasn’t, well something my mom made when I was younger on weekend mornings. The country gravy was thick and nearly devoid of any redeemable flavor. The biscuits, browns, and eggs were fine but it was much easier to leave most of it on the table than it would be in most other breakfast joints.
Might not be a bad thing though. About two hours later I failed to
negotiate a curve on the Blue Ridge Parkway and laid the bike down.
Likely part of the reason it never crossed my mind that this could
be the "Big One" is FlapJack’s wasn’t going to be my last meal.
Sorry about the counselory gallows humor, but its true. Flapjack's
is much ado about not so much. |
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 Didn't Make it Through Half... |
 ...Wasn't That Much of A Tragedy |
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| C | C- | C | C | C | C- | ||
| Coffee and Water | |||||||
