Poor Parson's: A Little Pub with a Big Surprise

We have a fairly simple rule when we travel: if the travel time is four hours or less, we drive. Anything much longer than that, we fly. Vacation time is too valuable to spend staring at the interstate when an airplane can get you closer to where you actually want to be. More vacation time, less drive time.

So, with a family wedding bringing us to the North Georgia mountains, we flew into Atlanta, rented a car and headed north. We came a few days early, giving ourselves time to explore that beautiful corner of the country where Georgia, North Carolina and Tennessee meet.

Our home base was Paradise Hills Winery Resort & Spa in Blairsville, where we rented a four-bedroom house with cousins from New York, my sister and brother-in-law, and their son Zach. Arriving a day early also gave Amy and me time to catch up with our longtime friends Greg and Jill, who moved from the Palm Beaches to the area about a year ago.

We knew we would spend some time in Blue Ridge, but Murphy, North Carolina, was only about 30 minutes away and offered a different atmosphere. We had heard about Poor Parson's Pub - a kitschy little Irish-style pub with a reputation for food considerably better than you might expect.

That sounded like our kind of place.

Even the drive from Blairsville to Murphy became part of the evening. Winding mountain roads carried us past lakes, wooded slopes and mountain views - a completely different scene from the flat, familiar stretches of I-95 we are accustomed to in South Florida.

Simply escaping Florida's August humidity already felt like a gift.

Poor Parson's sits in downtown Murphy and, from the moment you walk through the door, there is no mistaking that you have entered a pub. It is small, casual and comfortable, with dark wood, velvet-patterned wallpaper and walls covered with seemingly anything that could possibly be mounted on them: a moose head, a wild boar, ducks, fish, old beer signs and assorted memorabilia collected over what feels like several lifetimes.

An old upright piano sat beside our table. The booths were worn and felt lived in - not neglected, but as though generations of people had settled into them over beers, pub meals and conversations long before we arrived. Nothing felt manufactured to look old. It simply felt old, familiar and wonderfully quirky.

A small sign on the table summed up the restaurant's sense of humor perfectly, reminding diners that they were in Murphy, North Carolina, at a pub - not the Waldorf Astoria.

Point taken.

What we weren't expecting was the menu.

For a casual mountain pub, it was surprisingly ambitious. Prime beef is one of the specialties, joined by substantial salads, seafood and steakhouse-style sides. The steaks are cooked over a live-oak wood fire visible from the dining room, and there is clearly a serious kitchen operating behind all of the mounted wildlife and Guinness signs.

There was another pleasant surprise: the prices. We quickly realized we were no longer in South Florida. A Prime steak dinner here cost significantly less than what we have become accustomed to paying at home, while nothing about the quality suggested compromise.

We began the evening doing what old friends do best - catching up over cocktails. I had my usual Manhattan, Amy ordered a vodka gimlet, Greg went with his customary vodka martini and Jill chose a Cosmopolitan. The conversation hardly stopped. We talked about old times, what was happening in our lives now, future travel plans and whatever else finds its way into conversation when four people have known one another for more than 30 years.

The meal began with a chopped salad that was much more attractive than the words 'chopped salad' might suggest. Onions and tomatoes were arranged inside, while long, thin ribbons of cucumber cut lengthwise wrapped around the outside almost like a collar.

Greg went in another direction with the truffled she-crab and lobster bisque. It was deliciously decadent - rich, creamy and about as far removed from ordinary pub fare as you could imagine. Once again, we found ourselves looking around the room and thinking that this was not necessarily what we expected to be eating in a small North Carolina mountain town.

Then came the steaks.

I ordered the bacon-wrapped filet mignon, cooked medium rare and seasoned just right. The bacon added flavor without overwhelming the beef, and I paired it with the lobster mashed potatoes - because apparently a bacon-wrapped filet required something suitably restrained alongside it.

Greg chose the Prime New York strip. Amy ordered the lamb lollipops, although 'lollipops' almost undersells them. These were not the small, delicate lamb chops that sometimes arrive under that description. They were meaty, hearty and substantial.

Jill went with the Steak Sinatra - tender filet mignonettes served over lobster mashed potatoes with Newburg cream sauce and fresh steamed asparagus.

Throughout dinner, we kept talking, and ultimately that may have been the best part of the evening. Restaurants are easy to review by listing what everyone ate and deciding whether something was properly cooked. But the meals you remember usually involve more than food. They are tied to where you were, who was sitting across the table and what was happening in your life at that particular moment.

We never did see a dessert menu. Perhaps it was an oversight. Then again, after Prime beef, lamb, lobster mashed potatoes and a bowl of she-crab and lobster bisque, nobody at our table was exactly suffering from a shortage of calories.

So we called it an evening.

We had driven over winding mountain roads from Blairsville to a little pub in Murphy, sat beside an old upright piano under the watchful eyes of assorted wildlife, eaten a meal far better than the surroundings had led us to expect, and spent several hours laughing and reminiscing with friends we have known for more than three decades.

Leaving Florida's heat and humidity behind had already made the trip worthwhile. Adding mountain views, an unexpectedly good dinner and old friends made it something special.

Every destination has a story. Every memorable evening leaves an impression. Our hope is simply to share the experiences that make us smile and inspire us to explore.

Enjoy the journey with us! Follow all of our stories at WhiskMeAwayBlog.com - because sometimes the places worth remembering are closer than you think.

— Ira Pearlstine and Amy Smith