Bites & Pints Gastro Pub

Located at 2503 Spring Garden St. in Greensboro, Bites & Pints is a gastropub specializing in sandwiches, burgers and dogs, and craft beers. Food specials change weekly, drink specials daily, and patio seating is available.

Formerly the home of Fat Dogs (which has since moved up the street to Spring Garden and Holden), this bar space got a significant makeover and significant input from Crafted! owner/chef/taco wizard Kris Fuller before launching last year. This was enough to give Bites & Pints some hope despite the presence of Hops and Scrambled across the street. It’s a winning concept that does enough to stand out, but so far, it seems to be falling short of its full potential.

Inside, Bites & Pints is considerably more visually appealing than the building’s previous tenant. It’s bright and open with distinctive décor (turquoise and gray) and a lively, casual vibe. There are still plenty of televisions and a full bar, so those seeking a more traditional bar experience won’t feel put off.

B&P’s menu takes a lot of the usual suspects – burgers and dogs and sandwiches and wings – and gives them a shot of excitement. Why settle for a fried chicken sandwich when you can have a chicken and waffle sandwich? Want a Philly cheesesteak? Howabout one with chimichurri and beer cheese? Even the burgers are a ground short rib and brisket blend.

For our first visit, my wife and I split the Kitchen Sink Tots and went with the Chicago Dog and the Surf and Turf Burger (on weekly special), respectively. The tots were the highlight and arguably the best version of loaded tater tots I’ve had to date. Queso freco and lime sour cream give this rendition the edge. The all-beef Chicago Dog, on the other hand, was a winner by virtue of not straying from the formula. Celery, sports peppers, mustard, and tomato delivered the expected flavors and an air of legitimacy.

Unfortunately, the rest of the food was more uneven. The Surf and Turf burger was topped with grilled shrimp, melted pepper jack, mango salsa, and Old Bay aioli. To the dish’s credit, the burger was quality (albeit seemingly smaller than what you’ll find across the street), the shrimp were perfect, and the mango salsa added some welcome sweetness and freshness. However, the whole thing was a mess to eat (do not prematurely remove the load-bearing toothpick), and the Old Bay made it very salty. I chose Asian slaw as my side, and while the red cabbage concoction wasn’t bad, it isn’t something I would necessarily re-order.

Bites & Pints offers fair prices. The dishes might be elevated, but the amount charged hasn’t made a spectacular leap. The Chicago Dog ran $6.50, our tots were $9, and while my burger was $11 (likely owing to the shrimp), burgers and sandwiches usually run in the $6.50 to $8 range, all with a side included. Service was friendly and efficient at the time of our visit, but I got a “beware when it gets busy” vibe from this place.

All told, Bites & Pints is an energetic spot with a very promising menu, but it could benefit from more consistent execution.

7.75/10

Native Son Vineyard

Located at 1511 Mamie May Rd in Franklinville, Native Son Vineyard offers muscadine wines, jellies, and fresh grapes (in season). The tasting room is open from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. Friday through Sunday.

A “mom and pop” operation suggests a small business with humble roots, but in the case of this little winery, there is no hyperbole involved. Mike (winemaker/wholesaler/tour guide) and Tammy (business and marketing) are literally the only two permanent employees. Their passion for what they do shows in their products, but beyond that, experiences here may vary considerably.

Should you drop by Native Son on a whim, you might leave a bit disappointed. The vineyard is off the beaten path and easy to miss, the hours are very limited, and the tasting room is a not-at-all spacious former tobacco barn. There are half a dozen wines available at any given time: about four regulars and two that change as Mike experiments with different combinations. All are muscadine blends, which can be disarming if you aren’t accustomed to that grape.

Fortunately, for those who do like muscadine products, Native Son’s wines will not disappoint. There is little-to-no added sugar, so the wines aren’t cloyingly sweet. They are, however, crisp, fruity and clean. My wife and I sampled all six during our visit and were most impressed by the Golden Warrior (a bronze muscadine blend), Red Warrior (muscadine + raspberry), and Blue Warrior (muscadine + blackberry). The wines normally go for $15/bottle but were priced at $12 when we visited - $11/each if you buy a case.

Were this the end of our visit, we would have left having enjoyed the wine but wondering if it was worth the drive. However, we took advantage of a Groupon that also included a tour (along with a free bottle), and this gave us a considerably greater appreciation for Native Son’s operation. The deck above the cellar offers a breathtaking view of the pasturage below, and Mike was more than willing to let us hang out and eat/drink/take in the scenery if we were so inclined. An energetic storyteller as well as a gracious host, the winemaker also gave us a rundown of the process he follows. Even if you’re familiar with the basics of how wine is made, you can’t help but be impressed by the exacting amount of labor, attention to detail, and quality control that goes into each bottle.

Native Son is likely to mean different things to different people. To those who have visited and sampled larger and more varied vineyards, it might seem almost laughably quaint. To those who opt for the tour experience (currently $22 for two people/$44 for four on Groupon), it’s an inside look at one couple’s labor of love. The one constant is decidedly decent wine.

7.5/10

(Drop-in tasting experience: 6.5 / Tour experience 8.5)

The Last Ballad

In 1929, Ella May Wiggins is a poor white single mother living in a black community in Gaston County, North Carolina. Tired of putting in twelve-hour days at a local textile mill while her children grew sick without her, she quits and becomes both an organizer and a singer for a labor union, which she hopes to integrate. As Ella Mae’s songs become more popular, she wins more recognition within the labor movement and more scorn from mill owners and the local police, and her fate becomes intertwined with those of several.

In recent years, Wiley Cash has emerged as one of North Carolina’s best storytellers. He captures the sense-of-place of the state’s western rural communities and the hardnosed sensibility of its inhabitants as well as anyone this side of Ron Rash. The Last Ballad, Cash’s third novel, sees him wed these skills to an exploration of local history. Ella Mae Wiggins and the Loray Mill Strike may be little remembered these days, but Cash gives them their due and then some in a powerful and evocative novel.

Though Ella Mae is the book’s central character, The Last Ballad does not read like a fictionalized biography. It alternates tales of her trials and tribulations with explorations of those in her orbit: the hapless drunk Verchel Parks, the young black organizer Hampton Haywood, the privileged but socially conscious McAdam family, and Ella Mae’s own daughter, who narrates periodically from a much later date. These shifts in focus allow Ella Mae to retain a mythical quality (for if the novel stayed with her the whole time, such a saintly depiction would invite incredulity) and also show how the injustices that Ella Mae fought against reached across lines of geography, gender, race, and class.

In this way, The Last Ballad is something of a Southern cousin to Dennis Lehane’s brilliant The Given Day, an equally broad-ranging look at the 1919 Boston Police Strike. But whereas Lehane’s book built toward a crescendo of violence, Cash’s keeps its tension at a steady low boil, erupting in devastating moments without fully spilling over. This ensures that The Last Ballad’s losses still sting even when readers know they are coming.

While some readers won’t cotton (pun not intended) to the book’s abundance of perspectives and the contrivance of their connectivity, others may be put off by its perceived schilling for a Communist-affiliated union. This is a shallow criticism if there ever was one. Readers needn’t sing Soviet praises to sympathize with Ella Mae, and in truth, the book isn’t particularly flattering toward union leadership. A more worthwhile source of disappointment is the abundance of sentimentality in the book’s final chapters. So much sorrow arises organically that it makes little sense for Cash to consciously (and clumsily) ratchet it up, yet he did so anyway.

Richly immersive and teeming with personal struggles and crises of conscience, The Last Ballad is a book not easily forgotten.

8.25/10

The Village Diner

Located at 600 W. King Street in Hillsborough, The Village Diner offers Southern fare for breakfast and lunch seven days a week. Food specials change regularly.

This decades-old greasy spoon was recently taken over by Joel Bohlin of the Fetch Hot Dog Co. food truck, who looks to provide some much-needed renovation and rehabilitation. As of January 2018, this is very much a work in progress. Only half of the building is open, the menu is limited, and the staff is still getting its bearings. However, if the food quality offers a glimpse of something to look forward to when the update is complete.

From the outside, the nondescript diner looks unchanged and untouched by time. The inside maintains a homey feel (brick walls and minimal décor) albeit with a few updates (i.e. hanging mason jar lights). It’s currently a smallish space, but that will change when the revamp of the currently-closed main dining room is complete.

Speaking of small, don’t expect an expansive menu during the revamp (or many meatless options, for that matter). What is offered, however, fits The Village Diner’s concept well: fried chicken, meatloaf, Southern sides (collards, green beans, etc.) and a few sandwiches were among the lunch offerings. Those seeking a homestyle meal will not be disappointed.

For our first time in, my wife and I opted for the Reuben and the chili dog, respectively, both with home fries as the side. The Reuben was a good-sized sandwich, none too greasy, with a quality dressing. The chili dog was beer-infused for extra flavor and had a firm bite. The fries were crisp and well-seasoned, and a tiny portion of slaw generated no complaints.

Those accustomed to the old Village Diner’s pricing are likely in for some sticker shock. My chili dog/fries/bit of slaw ran $7.50 while the Reuben and fries was north of $10. While not outrageous, these prices are definitely reaching given the location.

In its current state, The Village Diner is a worthwhile – if limited and slightly overpriced – lunch option. However, when the revamp is complete, it has the potential to be something considerably more.

7.5/10

Silence

In the 17^th century, young Portuguese Jesuit priests Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Garupe (Adam Driver) travel to Japan in search of their fellow priest and mentor Cristovao Ferreira (Liam Neeson), who is rumored to have apostatized. Guided by disgraced fisherman Kichichiro (Yosuke Kobuzaka), the priests come across a Christian community that is being persecuted by the Tokugawa shogunate and its inquisitor, Inoue (Issey Ogata). Though Rodrigues arrives hopeful and determined, watching the converts’ suffering repeatedly tests his faith.

Martin Scorsese’s adaptation of Shusaku Endo’s novel is not a film with mass appeal: it’s long (2 hours and 40 minutes), talky, and full of torture. In lesser hands, that would make it unbearable. But Silence is a passion project for Scorsese, and the effort shows. It’s still a somewhat divisive film albeit a rewarding one for those who have the patience and the stomach for it.

Working in Silence’s favor are lush visuals, well-written characters, and a complex treatment of theme. The film makes the most of its setting, juxtaposing the natural beauty of Japan with the harsh realities of feudal village life. Jay Cocks’s script allows for a good deal of character ambiguity, and the cast is largely successful in playing that out. Kichichiro repeatedly renounces his Christian faith when threatened yet seeks Rodrigues’s forgiveness every time. Through Kobuzaka’s anguish, we see him as a sympathetic figure rather than a treacherous weasel. As Rodrigues, Garfield is sort of an anti-Thomas More. His attempts to remain resolute invite horrible consequences, and the film toys with the idea that he is motivated by a desire for the glory of martyrdom rather than mere benevolence. Ogata plays Inoue as genial rather than sadistic even though the punishments that he inflicts become crueler and crueler. The film works to raise questions about the cost of belief, but it wisely avoids providing obvious and ham-handed answers.

As with many longer films, Silence drags at times, and the score is too understated to impart much tension. A bigger distraction, however, is the film’s treatment of language. English stands in for Portuguese here, a pragmatic choice that nevertheless invites several problems. At one point, a character remarks about the confusion between “son” and “sun,” something that would not exist in Portuguese. Garfield and Driver begin with unconvincing Portuguese accents that are not consistent throughout the film while Neeson doesn’t even bother. Meanwhile, Ogata’s English evokes racist stereotypes and would not sound out of place in a World War II-era propaganda reel. Given how much attention was paid to other elements of the film’s production, it is puzzling to see communication get short shrift.

Despite his deep personal commitment to it (the film was in development for years as the director took other projects solely to secure financing), Silence is not among Scorsese’s best works. It is, however, still thought-provoking and well-crafted in its own right.

8/10