The summer I was 12 years old, my paternal grandmother invited my sister and my cousin on a trip to the Biltmore Estate in North Carolina.* As my sister was looking through a brochure about it, I said I wanted to go. So, I had invited myself. What I meant to say was that it would be so cool if I was going too. This is how being a little sister has its perks; you get to just tag along to anything they do. Most likely I was allowed to go because I was young enough to get in for free (the adult ticket said “free wine tasting”, while mine said “free grape juice tasting”.)

Anyway, this trip was a big deal for me because it was my first trip, and so far the only trip, that I took without my mother. It was a great big road trip, the kind I love. There’s just something about traveling all day in a car to go somewhere new. I have a feeling that this was the trip that made me want to travel everywhere when I get older.**

The only pictures we have from this trip are of the garden because the house itself is like a museum. I would love to go back with my mother, even just to see the garden, so I could write about it. I might love this place so much because I love the past; I love learning about the past as much as learning about other cultures.

I’m really fond of this memory, but what I truly remember most about this trip is the food. At the Estate, there were themed restaurants; we went to the Italian one. It looked like a normal American restaurant; the only difference I remember pointing out was the tablecloth was checkered-blue, which I’d never seen before. Before I was served my plate of pizza (this was before I discovered pasta and then ate it every day after), we were served slices of baked bread, like any other Italian place for eating. With this basket of bread, they give us three tiny saucers of oil, so they were all different flavors I guess. I remember being amazed by this; I had probably never eaten oil before this. (I may sound uncultured as a child by today’s standards, but I know you grew up on chicken nuggets and grilled chesses too.) I thought it tasted great, while my cousin said that it tasted like she was eating flowers. I wouldn’t doubt that she might actually know what flowers taste like. And then, there was dessert. Chocolate mousse… in a chocolate cup! How incredible! As I said, this is a cherished memory.

Because it was on our way back home, and since we were already on vacation, we also went to Pigeon Forge for a day or two. I don’t remember much about being there except that the place was pretty crazy looking. The restaurant we visited might have been called Tony’s; all I know for sure is that it was the fanciest restaurant I’ve been to yet. The only place I could compare it to then is the place in Hell’s Kitchen. I really just remember what I ate: a plate of pasta with shrimp. Why is this important to me? Because I ordered this while knowing it had chipotle sauce in it. It was the spiciest food I’ve ever had in my whole life, and at this fancy place I trusted! I was just a child, you know.
Now we were almost home; first we had to drop my cousin off where she lived. Before we left, we went to dinner at a hibachi grill restaurant. This place is something I will probably remember the rest of my life, since I can still remember every detail about it, and it’s been a long time since I was 12. Like I said, I’m interested in other cultures, which might be why it was so great to me. Walking in, it was like any other restaurant, although I remember the main sitting area being darkly light, which was different from other places I’d been before. To the right was the kitchen, where a waitress came out. If I could have seen her, I probably would have thought she was pretty, but I did see that she was wearing a kimono. When she led us away, I looked to the left and saw a fish tank lighted with a purple glow and a bar. When I picture bars in my head as I daydream, I see this bar, with a box T.V hanging from the ceiling and that one man sitting there. We were led pass rows of booths to the room with stations of grills. I couldn’t tell you how many stations there were in this room, I only saw my own as the only one. If you’ve been to a hibachi grill place, you know the cooks not only cook but do special tricks with the food.*** It was all very entertaining to me. I remember liking that we got each section of food one at a time, because it all took different times to cook. First, I got brought a small bowl of mushroom soup. Next, we got our scoops of fried rice. If you couldn’t have guessed by now, this was the first time I ate fried rice, and I found it great. Then, I got steamed broccoli and carrots. I was different from seemingly every other child; I loved and still love vegetables. I believe my meat was just some form of orange chicken formed into balls, very simple. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better (and when I thought I couldn’t eat another bite), they brought us the same sized small bowl of vanilla ice cream (!) and a fortune cookie (!!). Now who doesn’t like a fortune cookie?****

My trip was over; I would go home and tell everything to my mother like I always do. So, when I’m grown up and travel everywhere, this is what I’ll do. I sure she loves my stories the best.

*If you don’t know what that is (as I didn’t when I was 12) here is a link to the website.

**When I talk about traveling when I grow up, my mother will say, “Send me a postcard. You know where I will live; it will be your house.” (Because I’ll be rich, and she’ll still be as poor as we are now.)

*** As a 12 year old, I had not yet begun to fall in love with every cool or nice person I would come in contact with, like I do now. So I cannot say I was in love with this guy, okay?

**** I now wish I would have kept all the fortunes I would get in my life, but I never thought about it back then.