A Foodie Road Trip in North and South Carolina

For five years, I’ve chased la dolce vita along Italian coastlines. But this summer, I was stuck in North Carolina waiting on the paperwork for my official move to Italy this fall, and I was devastated—until my Italian fiancé booked his first-ever trip to America. Watching Stefano’s excitement as I planned our Carolina road trip opened my eyes to the hidden magic in my own backyard. His only request was to taste the Carolinas and steer clear of Italian joints. OK, there was some Italian involved. I can’t deny it. I love Italy.

Cary, North Carolina

From Raleigh-Durham International Airport (RDU), I whisked jet-lagged Stefano to North Carolina’s most luxurious recovery zone, The Umstead Hotel and Spa, armed with a made-from-scratch tomato pie. I eased him into Southern cuisine with a fried green tomato and pimento cheese sandwich at the hotel bar. To my delight, he approved.

The next evening, after our indulgent couples massage, we sat down for dinner at Herons, where chef Steven Devereaux Greene orchestrated an entire tomato symphony. Stefano watched, mesmerized, as tomatoes emerged in “tomato water blankets” and conjured literal tomato clouds above our plates, complete with oysters and a smoke show. “These oysters were harvested on Friday, at 11:51 a.m. from Harkers Island,” our waitress announced. Over three courses of dessert, we sipped ice wine that Stefano declared tasted “like drinking apple pie.”

The North Carolina Coast

Two days later, road trip sandwiches from Figulīna in hand, we drove to the Outer Banks. Even as a North Carolinian, I’m impressed by its wild beauty, though the drive feels endless. We made the obligatory Southern pit stop for boiled peanuts—Stefano remained diplomatically unimpressed—but the coastal seafood, especially the soft-shell crab, more than made up for it.

What struck me was watching him experience the Atlantic Ocean for the first time. He’d grown up with the Mediterranean’s calm, turquoise seas, so seeing these gray, angry waves crash against miles of velvety sand left him speechless. I realized I was seeing my own coast through his eyes: vast, untamed, and somehow more beautiful than I’d remembered.

We settled into Pamlico Station by Edgecamp in Rodanthe and spent our days practicing the slow life: biking, beach walks, and feasting on locally made crab dip and lobster mac and cheese. “Amore, what do you think about American coffee?” I asked one morning. “It’s better than nothing,” he replied, as I fumbled with a clunky American coffee machine. (After years in Italy, my heart belongs to Moka pots and espresso machines.)

A flat tire cost us a batch of fresh apple uglies from Orange Blossom Bakery & Cafe in Buxton, but sometimes the best adventures are unplanned detours. We made our way toward Duck on a spare tire and stopped for summer peaches and coffee at a friend’s holiday rental while the tire was being repaired.

Back in action, we stopped for lunch at one of my favorite spots in the Outer Banks, TRiO in Kitty Hawk, where he tried his first shrimp and grits and fresh catch with a divine verde cream sauce.

We finally made it to The Sanderling a couple hours later. It’s the only resort in the Outer Banks, and it’s been a holiday destination for decades. At Lifesaving Station, one of the resort’s dining outlets, we decided on crab everything: hush puppies, dip, and cakes. The next day brought spotty weather that prevented me from seeing the wild horses for the third time in my life, but I did catch Stefano ordering a cold brew at Duck Donuts, which was exciting. We sat outside inhaling hot doughnuts, trying several flavors before deciding the maple bacon was “too much” and declaring our loyalty to the simple glazed original.

Dinner at Theodosia, chef Vivian Howard’s newest venture, was steeped in coastal elegance. Charlotte Coman, chef de cuisine and an old Raleigh friend, greeted us with a bubbly toast and insisted we try the Down East Light Rolls with Ashe County cheddar cheese curds and apple preserves. “I want six of these for breakfast,” Stefano announced. The catch-of-the-day fish toast was perfection, but we couldn’t leave without Howard’s famous tomato pie, served in a tiny cast iron like your own personal pan pizza. The cocktails are standout, with lots of libations made with Outer Banks Distilling (the rum is excellent).

On our way out of town, we made an obligatory stop to O’Neal’s Sea Harvest in Wanchese. No frills at its finest: a soft-shell crab BLT and fried bay scallops that Stefano still talks about as one of his favorite bites from the entire trip.

With the Beach Boys as our soundtrack, we drove south to Wilmington and checked into Trailborn Surf & Sound on Wrightsville Beach. The recently renovated hotel offers modern luxuries like buttery sheets and Parachute’s Cloud Cotton robes, which we pranced around in while drinking Albariño in bed one morning.

That evening, we met friends at La Duna Paradiso, where Italian techniques marry North Carolina seafood. We laughed endlessly and lingered over house-made limoncello, which Stefano noted he regularly makes at home in Italy. Stacked pancakes for breakfast? Yes, please. We walked on the beach a lot in an effort to digest and soak up the last summer rays.

The next night, I made Stefano eat two dinners. First, Rx Chicken & Oysters, to see Sarah and James Doss—who always have the best diving stories. Here, Stefano discovered butter beans (with N.C. blue crab cakes atop), Lucy Bea oysters, and buttermilk pie, which he described as “like a cuddle.” We still wax on about the fried oysters and Bogue Sound watermelon dish with boiled peanuts.

At Seabird, we had our second full dinner. Luckily, I’d learned in Tuscany I’d met my match in eating and drinking marathons. “Hurry up and take a photo, it is spectacular,” Stefano urged as chef Dean Neff’s exquisite bluefin tuna arrived.

During the meal, I translated “you are the mayonnaise to my tomato sandwich” into Italian and texted it to him. We survived dinner and packed dessert to go. Our Uber driver back to Trailborn thought we were intoxicated. “Yes,” I replied, “On food, not booze.”

I love staying in Wrightsville Beach, as you can walk everywhere, like Sundays Cafe (it sits on top of a surf shop), and South Beach Grill, for peel-and-eat shrimp and fried black-eyed peas.

But barbecue was high on Stefano’s American food bucket list. “Can we eat brisket now?” he asked pitmaster Brandon Shepard in his most excited voice as we arrived at Shepard Barbecue in Wilmington. When the rain started, we retreated to the car for what became our first “car-becue.” Watching him navigate his first encounter with Carolina BBQ reminded me why I fell in love with both him and this place I call home. He went on to make me text Shepard—at the end of our trip, after we’d completed two other BBQ spots—to tell him his brisket was best.

Charleston, South Carolina

Charleston is arguably my favorite eating city in the country, though our timing worked against us. Chubby Fish was closed for August (chef James London follows the European model and takes a much-needed break), and Kultura was closed on its normal schedule—though I returned solo a couple weeks later for chef Nikko Cagalanan’s Jollibee, his brilliant take on Filipino spaghetti.

Still, we managed to crush a few spots and become infatuated with Hotel Richemont, located on Society Street, in the heart of it all. After being on the road for over a week, the living area in the hotel, with my dream L-shaped corner couch, proved to be a favorite amenity. It’s home to Two Bit Club, a Vietnamese-inspired restaurant, and we enjoyed our vegetable-forward lunch.

We still managed to eat ourselves silly at The Darling Oyster Bar, tucked inside a century-old building; Edmund’s Original, to squeeze chef Bob Cook and have a beer and his spicy pimento cheese; the original Halls Chophouse—I had to show Stefano an over-the-top steakhouse experience, and don’t forget the creamed corn side—Harken Cafe & Bakery; and Babas on Cannon, for a cream puff and a peanut mocha (one of my all-time favorite drinks). It’ll take more convincing to turn the Italians on to the peanut mocha, but give me a little more time. We walked around the peninsula looking at the candy-colored houses and shops. There was also Lewis Barbecue. It was giant beef rib day (Saturday), and we met friends and went into the meat sweats—oh, how I’ve missed the green chile corn pudding.

Post House Inn was a hideout from the food in Charleston proper, although we didn’t escape it too well, as the Post House restaurant is amazing (I loved the butter bean salad). The best part? It’s just a walk upstairs. I adore this place for the William Morris wallpapered rooms with antiques and modern pieces, and who doesn’t love a bike amenity? Biking around Mount Pleasant is romantic in itself.

A spontaneous stop to see my sister, niece, and my niece’s husband (he’s a green thumb and plant scientist) in Matthews, South Carolina, included a lunch filled with squash pie, watermelon gazpacho, and more. Stefano had wanted to try North Carolina wine, so my family brought a bottle for him to taste. “My favorite surprise was finding a wine connection between Veneto and the Carolinas; that reminds me of me and you,” he told me in the car. The wine he’s referring to is Duplin County’s rosé, which is nostalgic to me because I grew up screaming Deana Carter’s “Strawberry Wine” at the top of my lungs.

This was our strawberry wine, and Stefano had a similar story with Fragolino, Italy’s uva fragola wine (strawberry grape). We rolled out of their driveway full of love and summertime vegetables, en route to Cashiers, North Carolina.

Western North Carolina

We made it to High Hampton resort around dusk and checked in to a room with a clawfoot tub and a perfect chaise lounge. It’s my version of a “Dirty Dancing” lodge—and I’d book a stay solely to eat from the duo chef Scott Franqueza and pastry chef April Franqueza.

The risotto impressed even the Italian, as did the sommelier’s by-the-glass wines. Just when we thought we couldn’t eat anymore, I saw a parade of the entire dessert menu being chauffeured to our table. “Amore, good luck,” I said to him. Spoiler alert: We had no trouble finishing the desserts, and I will shout to the rooftops that April is arguably the best pastry chef in the state. Stefano still talks about the piña colada pavlova. Since biscuits and gravy are a side here, we were thankful for all the trails around the property to burn them off. There are also all kinds of activities to partake in; however, one of my favorites is relaxing. Another flat tire incident led us to Cashiers for a fix. We spent the afternoon walking around the town and popped into La Poste (a cool wine shop with bocce ball) for wine and snacks.

Biscuits to an Italian means sweet cookies, most likely, so convincing Stefano to eat a Cajun fried chicken biscuit from Bojangles on the way to our next stop was not easy. In the end, he said it was better than he imagined. It’s a rite of passage in the South.

I’d long wanted to check out The Horse Shoe Farm in Hendersonville, and it’s still hard to describe. An otherworldly mountain escape where everything is tricked out in crystals—yes, a silo garnished with a giant crystal—a blue-hued Chihuly sculpture by the pool, goats over yonder, and tasteful yet boldly decorated cottages. Sign me up.

We loved this spot so much. At The Silo Cookhouse, Stefano and I were so excited to see the abundance of vegetable-forward dishes from chef Brett Suess. I would drive several hours for his cabbage and cheese dish alone.

On the second day on property, I waltzed over to The Stable Spa for one of the greatest experiences I’ve ever had: the “Way of the Medicine Woman” journey with Melisa Austin. It’s a personalized healing service with pressure point and color therapy, an herbal scrub, and more. I was light and airy for the rest of my time here, and even Stefano wondered what kind of magic happened that day.

From Hendersonville, it was on to the gorgeous Maggie Valley. I’ve only visited Cataloochee Ranch solo and always dreamed of coming back with a partner. I once ordered so much food, they delivered a turquoise blue Smeg microwave later that evening, so it was nice to come back with Stefano and have an eating partner in crime. Woody is my favorite cabin (the tub and shower combo is tops), and there’s nothing like waking up to the Great Smoky Mountains with a cup of coffee on the porch.

We were there for one night only, so we had to make the most of one dinner at Switchback with chef Jeb Aldrich. The sunburst trout dish with heirloom tomatoes, Jimmy Nardello sweet peppers, and spices took us both straight back to the Mediterranean. The focaccia service comes with a butter candle, and it’s divine. If you’re around for lunch, the smash burger is the best in the state, as they’ve got Black Angus cattle on their mountain pastures and make their own ground beef for the menus of the ranch and its sibling property, The Swag.

We then rolled into Asheville and checked into Wrong Way River Lodge & Cabins for a restful 48 hours. I love staying here as it’s across from the French Broad River, and it’s super peaceful. Stefano finally had a legitimate espresso at Mother in Asheville. I scored a reservation at Crusco, a delicious spot that led to serious bowl scraping with the pasta dishes and nightcaps of Italian-approved Eda Rhyne’s amaro and Appalachian fernet. We swung by Hole Doughnuts—still the best doughnut I’ve ever had, full stop—Chai Pani for okra fries, tandoori chicken, and sabudana vada tots, and Leo’s House of Thirst for the tomato BLT sandwich (on Mother’s special tomato bread). We also toured the gardens of the Biltmore Estate—another magical moment of seeing my state through the eyes of Stefano.

Raleigh and Durham, North Carolina

I thought 21 days was a lot of time, but in the end, the cities had to be condensed. We had to make the most of it and do one day in Raleigh and one day in Durham. In Raleigh, we stayed at one of my favorite boutique hotels, Heights House, just outside the hustle and bustle but walkable to it all. It’s in an 1800s mansion with classic Italianate nuances like a rotunda, Corinthian columns, and a gorgeous stained-glass skylight.

The Parlor, one of the city’s best bars, is also inside the hotel. Sadly, we were there on a Monday, so it was closed (and so was Ajja), but we opted for a chic aperitivo hour in true Italian style with some friends before hitting St. Roch for dinner, where we consumed everything on the menu. I shared chef Sunny Gerhart’s gator bolognese and chili crab claws with Stefano. Note: If you stay at Heights House, plan for a leisurely breakfast with Boulted Bread, Michael’s English Muffins, and a whole spread of blissful items.

In between the Triangle cities (Raleigh, Durham, and Chapel Hill), we loaded up the car with some traditional Eastern North Carolina fare from Sam Jones BBQ or lunch with my mom.

Next stop: Durham. I’ve long touted The Durham Hotel as it reminds me of The Jetsons—it’s a mid-century modern property in an old bank, done just right. And it’s home to my favorite barista, Mark Daumen, who put coffee soda on the map in these parts.

Durham was super fast and furious. I toured Stefano around the Sarah P. Duke Gardens and Duke University—the chapel here feels like it’s straight out of Harry Potter. We had an espresso with Mark and then went on a nice walk to chef Oscar Diaz’s Aaktun Coffee + BAr to meet friends for dinner. It’s a fun new addition to Durham that feels like you’re in the jungle in Tulum. After dinner, I had to add one more stop: The Parlour, for the best ice cream around. It’s not gelato, but there’s no denying the salted butter caramel and Vietnamese coffee scoops.

Our three-week road trip ended in one of my favorite North Carolina hideouts: The Fearrington House Inn. Even though it’s in Pittsboro, around 35 minutes from RDU, it feels like being in the Provençal countryside. There are Belted Galloway cows, a tiny village of shops—including independent bookstore McIntyre’s Books—and The Fearrington House Restaurant, which has always been one of the most elevated dining experiences in all of North Carolina.

The 62-degree egg has a way of captivating its audience, and Stefano was so impressed with the entire experience, start to finish; the elevated wines left us both speechless in excitement. “If they don’t get a Michelin star, something is rigged,” he said. We spent our final moments relaxing.

As we shared a grilled pimento cheese sandwich from The Belted Goat—Stefano’s last bite stateside—I had a realization. For years, I’d been pursuing la dolce vita across an ocean, but it had been waiting for me here all along. In soft-shell crab BLTs and tomato pies served in cast-iron skillets. In perfect summer peaches, meetups with friends all over the Carolinas, and seeing my own home through the eyes of someone who loves me enough to eat two dinners in one night.

Sometimes, the sweetest life isn’t found on a distant coastline, but right where you are, with the right person beside you.