Steer wrestling, a practice credited to legendary cowboy and rodeo star Bill Pickett, usually involves leaping onto a steer from the back of a specially trained horse. At the Madison
Put ramekins on a baking sheet. Bake for 25-35 minutes, until puffed and golden. Remove from oven, and let stand for 5 minutes. With a flexible spatula, remove strata to
Wiggling impatiently in the mini rocking chair on the porch at Farmer and the Dail, my 2-year-old daughter, Reagan, hollers for her portion of the bakery’s famed “biscuit bomb.” I
Wiggling impatiently in the mini rocking chair on the porch at Farmer and the Dail, my 2-year-old daughter, Reagan, hollers for her portion of the bakery’s famed “biscuit bomb.” I
Wiggling impatiently in the mini rocking chair on the porch at Farmer and the Dail, my 2-year-old daughter, Reagan, hollers for her portion of the bakery’s famed “biscuit bomb.” I
A Greene County bakery outgrew its former space thanks, in part, to the popularity of its generously loaded biscuits and baked goods — just like the ones you’d get at Grandma’s house.
Wiggling impatiently in the mini rocking chair on the porch at Farmer and the Dail, my 2-year-old daughter, Reagan, hollers for her portion of the bakery’s famed “biscuit bomb.” I quickly unwrap the steaming, oversize, buttery treat and tear it open, sending a cascade of chopped bacon onto the table, strands of melted cheese dangling from the two halves. It’s stuffed full, as the biscuit bombs always are, because that’s the way owner Stacy “Dail” Bailes prefers to eat hers.
“We like to do things the way you would do them at home,” she says, noting that she also puts a lot of sprinkles on her cookies. Everything on the menu — from the old-fashioned jacks (glazed hand pies brimming with local, seasonal fruit) to the cheesecake brownies to the grits bowls — is generously, if not gratuitously, loaded.
To accommodate the loyal locals and the out-of-town crowds, Farmer and the Dail recently moved to a spacious building in Snow Hill, off U.S. Highway 258. It’s a far cry from the modest cookie-decorating classes that Stacy and her husband, Zac, started offering from her mom’s backyard kitchen in 2015, but even in expanding, they’re careful to maintain the hospitality and flavors that have helped their business boom. “We really wanted it to feel like you’re going to your grandma’s house and getting made-from-scratch food, and the warm and cozy feelings that come with it,” Stacy says.
As she rocks on the porch, Reagan feels right at home. She takes big, crumbly bites of her biscuit bomb, which renders her uncharacteristically silent — at least for a few moments.
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.