Blame Paul Prudhomme, the beloved Cajun chef whose 1980s popularization of “blackened redfish” started this mess. In North Carolina, Sciaenops ocellatus was variously called “red drum,” “channel bass,” and, occasionally, “spottail” or “spottail bass,” but it was hardly ever called “redfish.” That was pre-Prudhomme. Now the moniker “redfish” has nearly replaced the venerable “red drum.” But the fish haven’t noticed. The official state saltwater fish of North Carolina — “channel bass,” to be precise — still skulks in the heavy surf of nearshore breakers, still feeds in the fertile currents pouring out of the salt marsh, still quickens the hearts of anglers who hear the reel zinging with a fish so strong you can’t stop it at first, so you hang on to the rod, listening to the line ripping from the reel, whining in the wind, the unofficial theme song of the saltwater autumn.
Feature image, above: Channel bass are a favorite catch of North Carolina sport fishermen like Dave Lusk.
In North Carolina, spring brings the scent of fresh-cut grass and memories of helping Dad mow the lawn.
Nostalgic burger joints are like time machines, delivering something extra special that keeps us coming back.
This tiny city block in downtown Greensboro once had a gigantic reputation. Not so much for its charbroiled beef patties — though they, too, were plentiful — but for its colorful characters and their wild shenanigans.
In the 1950s, as Americans hit freshly paved roads in shiny new cars during the postwar boom, a new kind of restaurant took shape: the drive-in. From those first thin patties to the elaborate gourmet hamburgers of today, North Carolina has spent the past 80 years making burger history.
