A Floridian’s Guide on What To Do in Asheville

The day starts in the woods on an unmarked trailhead that does not appear on any maps known to me, just to locals and those lucky enough to be briefed on the down-low. The route begins on the north side of the University of North Carolina Asheville’s (UNCA) campus, heading first into a patch of woods left lying on its side from last year’s devastating Hurricane Helene. It looks as if the good Lord pressed a palm into the earth. But the indentation is brief, and soon we’re in old-growth hickory and maple forest—leaves rustling and wrens whistling. The path opens up at the top, with sweeping views of downtown Asheville. In the distance, we spot Mount Pisgah, named after the biblical mountain, where it is said Moses first glimpsed the Promised Land. Like a lot of Floridians flocking from the Sunshine State to somewhere with fairer temperatures, for me, Asheville serves as my warm-weather playground—an adult summer camp in Appalachia. I bike, I hike, I play a little too much pickleball. So, after returning to this eclectic mountain town after a very hot month at home in Miami, I decided to build my Perfect Asheville Day. For some, there would be the Biltmore Estate, a comedy tour on the purple LaZoom bus or maybe elk steaks at the Red Stag Grill. Mine is different: no itineraries plucked from a visitor’s brochure, no souvenir pint glasses from chain breweries—just the version I’d show a friend, the Asheville that still feels like discovery. 

A Sermon of Sorts

I first started coming to Asheville two decades ago, spending just a few days each summer to see my best friend from college who had moved here. My wife and I would start every trip with a hike just off the Blue Ridge Parkway. Black Balsam Knob remains our favorite, a choose-your-adventure trip where the trail heads up and over several bald peaks, views interrupted only by the cotton-ball clouds that drift by at an elevation of more than 6,000 feet. In those days, after a hike, we’d eat at the places you’ve heard of, like Chestnut, Chai Pani, Limones or, if we’re celebrating, Cúrate.

But now that we’re spending nearly half the year living in Asheville (we even restored an old log cabin) we look for the places less discovered by those with Florida license plates: burgers on the patio at Universal Joint; cocktails at Little Jumbo; coffee at the cycling-themed coffeehouse, On Your Bike, which is up in Marshall; the six-mile-plus hike up to Looking Glass Rock, where the trail dead-ends on a granite face, dropping down to what looks like eternity. We’ll edge out on our hands and knees to test our bravery and balance.

On this particular perfect day, though, my wife and I finish the hike near UNCA and head just down the road to the North Asheville Tailgate Market. Dogs nose each other as kids dart through the crowds. People haul tote bags stuffed with knobby root veg and hothouse flowers jutting up like decorations. The air smells of cinnamon rolls, so we head to a bakery stand and split a croissant, letting buttery flakes fall to Finn, our goldendoodle. Someone plays acoustic guitar near the Hickory Nut Gap farm stand. I buy some sheep’s milk labneh and kabocha squash. Less of a shopping trip, it’s more of a ritual that doubles as a sermon on how good it feels to be in a place that appreciates local fare.

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We found three charming places to stay in Asheville.

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Lunch is at Leo’s House of Thirst, where Finn sleeps under our two-top on the front porch. We order a Caesar salad that’s bright and briny, then a tartine layered with trout roe on avocado toast decorated with slices of hard-boiled egg and bean sprouts so vibrant they look plucked from a still-life painting.

Leo’s, by the way, is in West Asheville, and some locals will hate me for divulging this. You might find some tourists at The Admiral, Neng Jr.’s and a quirky new spot, Potential New Boyfriend. But it’ll be mostly locals at Old World Levain Bakery, where you should dip a pastry into a latte, or split a cheesesteak on the patio at Finest, or sip bourbon at the Haywood Country Club. This part of town is an entertainment district with a smattering of dive bars, chef-driven eateries, churches, auto repair shops and a mural of Dolly Parton and RuPaul at the heart of it all. 

By midafternoon, the sun finally burns off the mountain haze, and we head to the lawn outside New Belgium Brewing. The French Broad River slides by, catching the sun flickering like lighters at a concert during a ballad. Kids zip by on scooters. Dogs laze on the grass. The patio hums with that communal Asheville energy—half locals, half visitors trying to blend in. I order a Mountain Time, the kind of lager you want on the float trips that glide past, and settle into lazy hour, watching kayakers fight upriver like a metaphor for the Asheville Strong shirts everyone wears.

Late afternoon, I head to Montford, the historic neighborhood where you’ll see impromptu evening wine parties on big porches and—believe it or not—kids still play in the streets. Friends have come back from New York City with an idea they saw at a bar: a backyard bingo night with white elephant prizes. We eat grilled chicken and hot dogs slathered gloriously with pimento cheese. As the sun dips, the sky turns to sherbet—pink, orange and lavender. 

An Insider’s Asheville

Perhaps now you’re thinking that you don’t know a friend with a happening backyard in Asheville where you can recreate bingo night. But I’ll tell you what you can do instead: Head to the River Arts District, where All Souls Pizza stretches out onto an empty lot with its own vegetable garden and charming trellis. On weekend nights with good weather, kids run around playing tag while parents linger under the twinkly lights, noshing on charred pizzas topped with locally foraged mushrooms. Or head to the east side of town, where Highland Brewing has built a park with sand volleyball courts, disc golf and picnic tables shaded by pine trees that drop needles to the ground as soft as carpet. Pack a picnic—ideally with Sunburst Farms Smoked Trout from The Rhu—and make the short climb up the Craggy Pinnacle Trail, just over a mile to a 360-degree overlook. It’s best enjoyed with a glass of wine and a few snacks as the sun dips behind the Smokies, headlamps lighting your way back down. Maybe you’ll tell ghost stories under the twisted and shadowy canopy of branches that give Craggy its name, and maybe you’ll spot fireflies dancing as if they’ve given movement to the stars in the sky.

Of course, there are many more off-the-radar ways to spend a day in Asheville—art tours, dirt-bike parks, saunas in the woods—perhaps just as satiating as the lineup I suggest. The city’s beauty hides in its in-betweens: a fallen forest that’s already growing back, a lunch that feels like a visit to a good friend’s home, a bingo game where nearly everyone wins something small. 

But for me, the perfect day ends just as it does for the mountains—slowly fading into the dark, content to let tomorrow’s adventures unfold.

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