Wednesday began as every day could (as far as I'm concerned) with a two-yolk sunny-side up barnyard egg accompanied by a patty of trout sausage. I'd give you the name of the bed and breakfast if it were a bed and breakfast, but it's not - it's the home of friends who used to live in Ft. Lauderdale.

Yesterday Bruce and Lyn took us across to border to Tennessee, where we white-water rafted down the Pigeon River with a guide who had the slightly disconcerting name of Wade. Happily, none of us had to.

Today, having had our fill of fish farms, ranches and rapids, we drove into the big city (see if you can guess the name). We saw the building that housed the psychiatric clinic where Zelda Fitzgerald died, and a newer facility where James Taylor spent some time (and, I presume, wrote "Fire and Rain.")

We stopped into the Grove Park Inn -- the huge lobby with its walk-in fireplaces, the picture in the hall of F. Scott Fitzgerald in a Rooster tie - and ended up in Biltmore Village. Here our friends Graham and Donnette led us to Rezaz, where we had a delicious lunch - lamb patties with polenta fries, Turkish pizza -- in a simple, elegant setting for about $11 a person. The waiter graciously took care of the celiacs, making sure that nothing on their plates contained or had come into contact with wheat. I had lobbied for 12 Bones, but barbecue is everywhere here and how often do you get to eat the excellent creations of a Persian chef in the mountains of Carolina?