In the first room of Rob Levin’s studio, his designs — elongated and pointed, intricate and etched, brilliantly hued — catch the morning sun. In the second and third rooms, ceiling-high stacks of branches and bamboo dominate. In the fourth, shelves hold dozens of pieces awaiting completion. This last room, where Levin watches the seasons change outside, is where the true work gets done, on a decades-old bench surrounded by glass furnaces — plus corrugated tin panels to protect him from the heat his remarkable creations require.
Feature image: To create “ribbons” of glass on a finished piece (above left), Levin adds globules of hot glass while the piece is still in progress.
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.
