Sunday lunch in North Carolina is not a meal. It is a full commitment.
You do not just pop in somewhere and grab a plate. You drive with intention, you arrive hungry, and you leave wondering why you ever wasted a Sunday doing anything else.
It started for me on a random afternoon when I followed the smell of cast iron and slow-cooked something through the door of a place I almost drove past. The parking lot was packed with locals who clearly knew something I did not…