The Penny Path Cafe & Crepe Shop

Located at 104 East Martin Luther King Jr. Drive in downtown High Point, The Penny Path Café & Crepe Shop offers sweet and savory crepes and coffee drinks. The establishment is open Tuesday through Sunday.

Boasting an intriguing concept, colorful décor, and tasty food, The Penny Path could desperately benefit from a bigger location. This place is tiny, which wouldn’t be a problem if it were coffee-only. The scarcity of space, however, undercuts its appeal as a dine-in destination.

Fortunately that (and déclassé paper plates/plastic forks) is the only reason for complaint here. The staff are pleasant and were kind enough to let us come in a few minutes prior to the official opening time. The menu boasts plenty of options ranging from classic crepes (sugar, honey, Nutella, suzette) to more fanciful sweet (fruit cheesecake) and savory (pizza, red pepper) concoctions to the bold Kitchen Sink (a multi-cheese/spread/veggie behemoth). 

My wife and I went with the Mandarin Dreams (cream, mandarin oranges, Nutella, and shaved coconut) and the fruit cheesecake (cream, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and honey with a chocolate drizzle). Both crepes were under $8, generously portioned and very, very good. The fruit cheesecake was sweet without being cloying, and the berries paired nicely with the chocolate and cream. I would not hesitate to reorder though the savory side of the menu merits exploration as well.

The twenty-person (or fewer) seating capacity combined with its popularity conspire to make frequenting The Penny Path a challenge, but if you are blessed with patience and/or stop by at an off hour, the crepes are worth it.

Furious Hours

Casey Cep’s first book is a true crime account with seemingly limitless amounts of intrigue. Divided into three sections, it focuses alternately on the Rev. Willie Maxwell, attorney Tom Radney, and Harper Lee and a series of crimes in 1970s Alabama that serves as a point of convergence. Maxwell, a rural black minister, acquires a sinister reputation after a succession of wives and other relatives die in mysterious “accidents” and he cashes in on multiple insurance policies. Never convicted, Maxwell is nonetheless the subject of ceaseless gossip up until he his gunned down at the funeral of one of his suspected victims. Radney, a politically connected liberal lawyer, represents Maxwell and helps him sue reluctant insurers. But after years of defending the sinister minister, he then becomes counsel for the reverend’s killer, Robert Burns. Lee, fame-averse and ambivalent about the smash success of To Kill a Mockingbird, travels from New York back to Alabama to get the story but finds tight-lipped locals and a disheartening amount of innuendo.

Blessed with lively prose, Furious Hours succeeds in mining its characters’ contradictions and complexities albeit sometimes at the expense of sustaining tension. Biographical detours into the pasts of Radney and Lee help frame them as tragic figures (Maxwell not so much), but in doing so, the book loses the central thread of the Burns trial. In Radney’s case, this fleshing-out shows the dichotomy between courtroom bully and a gracious gent run out of politics by Klan-aligned forces. In Lee’s case, it reveals a witty writer and skillful researcher embittered by taxes and a loss of privacy. The latter’s tale isn’t anything new to Lee devotees, but it still does her justice.

While Furious Hours will disappoint some by straying from Maxwell-related malfeasance and others by including Lee almost tangentially, the hybrid true crime/character sketch approach is, if nothing else, refreshing.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

By 1969, Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a former TV Western star turned failed film actor and alcoholic, reduced to taking villainous guest star roles that play on his former fame. He is supported by his best friend and erstwhile stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), a war veteran and alleged wife killer who works as Rick’s valet. When Rick learns that Roman Polanski (Rafal Zawierucha) and Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) have moved in next door, he begins plotting a comeback. Meanwhile, Cliff crosses paths with a young hippie woman (Margaret Qualley) whose “family” is staying out on an old movie ranch.

Excess has been a constant in Quentin Tarantino’s long and varied career, but the nature of that excess has changed considerably. In the 1990s, it was profanity and violence, but for the past decade, it has largely been character-building conversations. Whereas his previous outing, The Hateful Eight, was a tense though largely bloodless buildup to a gory final third, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is a loose, ambling, often comedic romp that saves its barbarity for a few scant, explosive moments toward the end.

A devotee of B-movies and genre entertainment, Tarantino could not have asked for more suitable subject matter, and from an aesthetic standpoint, he absolutely nails the setting. The cars, the clothes, and the music are obvious cues, but the film’s bright palette and even the title fonts all scream 1960s Hollywood. This makes the scenes that step outside of that bouncy, boozy milieu – a visit to the Manson Family-occupied Spahn Movie Ranch is singularly creepy – all the more jarring.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is also absolutely awash in trivia, in-jokes, and meta-references. Rick thumbs his nose at Italian-produced spaghetti westerns and their questionable production values, yet this movie owes a debt beyond its title to Sergio Leone. When Rick lands a guest starring spot on Lancer, who should appear as gunslinging series lead James Stacy but Timothy Olyphant, referencing his trigger-happy turns as Seth Bullock (Deadwood) and Raylan Givens (Justified). Kurt Russell (also the film’s narrator) and Zoe Bell show up as a husband and wife stunt coordinator team, a play on their opposing turns in Tarantino’s earlier Death Proof.

For the most part, the film is impeccably cast. DiCaprio can go from self-pitying to stone drunk to intensely determined at will, and though she isn’t given nearly as much material to work with, Robbie makes for a vivacious and (according to the slain actress’s sister) very convincing Tate. Newcomer child actress Julia Butters holds her own as a serious young thespian opposite Rick on Lancer while former child actress Dakota Fanning is unrecognizable – and unhinged – as Squeaky Fromme. The likes of Al Pacino, Bruce Dern, Luke Perry (in his final role) and others show up as well though the film is sorely missing a Samuel L. Jackson appearance, and Steven R. McQueen may have fared better as his namesake grandfather than Damian Lewis.

Stellar cast aside, some elements of characterization strike a false note. Bruce Lee (Mike Moh) is disrespectfully portrayed as a braggart while Tate’s friend/ex-boyfriend Jay Sebring (Emile Hirsch) comes across as an immature, opportunistic weasel despite being a Korean War vet and a very successful hair stylist. Perhaps the biggest question mark is Cliff, who is treated like a weird loser by nearly every character besides Rick despite being a very competent driver and fighter who looks like Brad Pitt.

Even more divisive, however, is the film’s ending, which focuses on an infamous August night on Cielo Drive. It is as gory as expected but definitely not in a way that is expected. Whether Tarantino is trying to write the history he would have wanted to see it happen or whether he is trying to make a statement about overt chaotic evil vs. entrenched yet concealed malevolence is anyone’s guess.

Some have speculated that Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is Tarantino’s reaction to a midlife crisis: a middle-aged white guy pushing back against notions of his own irrelevance. But one needn’t have any sympathy for Rick or Cliff or see in them any rectitude to find their misadventures, long and drawn out as they may be, thoroughly amusing.

The Mecca Restaurant

Located at 13 East Martin Street in downtown Raleigh, The Mecca Restaurant offers Southern food for breakfast and lunch daily and dinner every day except Sunday. There is a full bar, and private dining is available.

Calling a restaurant “The Mecca” sounds like the height of hipster pretention, but this place is very much the opposite. Founded by Greek immigrants in 1930, The Mecca is as old-school as old-school gets with classic décor, a comfortably familiar menu, and competent execution all-around.

While there are definitely more chic and comfortable places to dine, The Mecca oozes nostalgia. Red stools along a long counter, a black and white checkered floor, and heavy wooden booths give the look of a place untouched by time. The menu is equally immune to faddishness, offering Southern favorites (fried chicken, fried fish, and chopped BBQ), a few nods to the founders’ heritage (a Greek salad and Zorba’s beef tips), and the eyebrow-raising Garry Dorn burger (a veal cutlet sandwich).

Hungry from wandering around GalaxyCon, my wife and I bypassed sandwiches in favor of platters: fried fish and BBQ, respectively. Both came with a hushpuppy, slaw, and two sides (mac n cheese for both of us, butter beans for her, and fried okra for me). While neither dish was attractively plated, both tasted considerably better than they looked. After decades, The Mecca has making this kind of food down to a science. Both the fish and the okra were fried to a golden brown sans greasiness, the slaw was creamy, and the BBQ was not dried out. Admittedly, vinegar-based is not my preferred style, but The Mecca’s was as good as a rendition of that type as I’ve had anywhere.

For three quarters of the meal, service was courteous, prompt, and attentive. However, we made the mistake of ordering a blackberry cobbler after The Mecca got busier, and the dessert took so long to reach us that they ended up comping it. At under $3, it still would have been worthwhile, and much of The Mecca’s menu is similarly value-conscious. Both lunch dishes were under $10 apiece, and while the fried fish contained a disappointingly small amount of fish, there was still enough on the plate for a filling meal.

The Mecca is the kind of time-displaced icon that everyone should try at least once, but for those who are willing to trade innovation for simplicity, it’s more than just a novelty act.

Blue Zucchini & Co.

Located at 1506 North Main Street in High Point, Blue Zucchini offers burgers, salads, and sandwiches for lunch and dinner. Food specials change daily.

Though its name may call to mind artsy vegan food, Blue Zucchini’s closest analog is probably Greensboro’s Iron Hen (minus its much-maligned owner) in that it supplies comforting American eats in a quaint and quirky albeit somewhat crowded space. That isn’t to say that there aren’t vegetarian options here – there definitely are – but rather that one should recalibrate expectations accordingly.

And what should one expect? Go during lunchtime on a weekday, and expect a brief wait for a table. Expect to gawk at the desserts positioned conveniently near the register. Expect to gawk at the brightly colored interior and either nod in approval or find it a bit much. Expect to be torn between at least two different sandwiches (and, possibly, at least two different sides) when perusing the menu.

These expectations dispensed with, my wife and I opted for a fried green tomato starter, a West L.A. (turkey, bacon, avocado, cheese, chipotle mayo, lettuce, and tomato on sourdough) and a Low Rider (roast beef, cherry peppers, Havarti, and horseradish mayo on a baguette), with cups of black bean soup on the side. Fried green tomatoes are one of our litmus test dishes, and Blue Zucchini’s rendition (with pimento and balsamic) proved to be a mixed bag. The tomatoes were both thickly sliced and thickly battered and were nice and crisp. However, they were also quite dry. Thanks to odd plating, only the two slices in the middle had any pimento (sandwiched between them). Fortunately, the sandwiches were less confounding. Gooey melted cheese and a nice kick from the horseradish mayo made the Low Rider a winner. The black bean soup’s addition of salsa and sour cream kept it from being one-note. Prompt service and reasonable pricing ($9.75 and $8.95, sides included) made for more points in Blue Zucchini’s favor.

It remains to be seen whether or not Blue Zucchini handles dinner entrees as well as it does sandwiches, but it has all the makings of a solid lunch spot – albeit not one worth more than a fifteen-minute wait.

Rascals Tavern

Located at 2270 Golden Gate Drive in the Golden Gate Shopping Center in Greensboro, Rascals Tavern serves upscale pub fare for lunch and dinner Tuesday through Sunday. There is a full bar, limited outdoor seating, and a brunch on Sundays.

The brainchild of owner/chef Jessica Borgione, Rascals Tavern is an inspired blend of old and new. The name and the ambiance (low lighting and lots of wood) recall an earlier era, but the menu offers modern twists on many familiar dishes. It’s a concept that holds a lot of appeal though the execution isn’t seamless.

My wife and I visited for Sunday brunch and found Rascals to be not quite full yet plenty lively. We were able to snag a table though there seemed to be plenty of room around the bar. While Rascals lunch and dinner menus offered quite a few tantalizing options – this is one of the few places in the area to offer Scotch eggs – the brunch menu was considerably more compact. Fortunately, it didn’t lack for appeal. Benedicts, hashes, and biscuits n gravy represented the savory side while French toast and blueberry pancakes accounted for the sweets.

We opted for a beef hash and a fried green tomato benedict, respectively. Both dishes were generously portioned and looked great. The benedict combined the expected poached egg and hollandaise with a fried green tomato, greens, Italian salami…and a blueberry reduction, of all things. The last component seemed puzzling, but it proved to be a saving grace as it balanced the saltiness of the salami quite well. The dish was a perfect blend of creamy, crunchy, salty, and sweet. The hash featured well-seasoned beef and crisp potatoes. Though tasty, it was rather dry, and attempts to remedy that led to a ten-minute wait for a small cup of ranch. Our poor server was hustling nonstop from table to table during that time, and at least at the time of our visit, Rascals appeared to be seriously understaffed.

That aside, service up to that point was fine, pricing isn’t too much of a reach ($12 and $10 for our two dishes), and food quality is a definite strength. I don’t get out to northeastern Greensboro much, but Rascals has enough character to make it worth another visit.

Spider-Man: Far From Home

In New York City, students at the Midtown School of Science and Technology cope with suddenly returning five years after blinking out of existence by taking a summer trip to Europe. Still reeling from the loss of his mentor, Peter Parker (Tom Holland) hopes to put his superhero career as Spider-Man on pause and tell his classmate M.J. (Zendaya) how he feels about her. But spymaster Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) has other ideas, pressing Peter into service alongside Quentin Beck (Jake Gyllenhaal), who claims to be a hero from an alternate earth (whom the media dub “Mysterio”). Their purpose is to stop the Elementals, a group of element-based monsters wreaking havoc across the globe.

Another Columbia Pictures/Marvel Studios co-production, this sequel to 2017’s Spider-Man: Homecoming occupies an odd position. On the one hand, it is very much a follow-up to this year’s Avengers: Endgame and is virtually inaccessible as a stand-alone movie. On the other hand, its more comedic tone and focus on high school antics contrast sharply with the Avengers’ cosmos-altering epic grandeur. This makes for a bit of an identity crisis, yet Far From Home is still a solidly entertaining film.

Much of the film’s appeal boils down to sheer charisma. Holland is arguably the best portrayer of Peter Parker to date, nailing the character’s nervousness and nerdy exuberance while still demonstrating quick-thinking and bravery. His banter with equally nerdy best friend Ned (Jacob Batalon) gives the film humor, but his awkward exchanges with M.J., who seems to be trolling him at every turn, really shine. Jackson’s work as Fury, a paranoid, no-nonsense, perpetually aggrieved tactician, is a welcome addition to any Marvel film while Gyllenhaal takes a character often mocked for having a dumb costume and imbues him with legitimate menace. Those familiar with Mysterio’s comic book origins will not be surprised by the character’s trajectory (which Far From Home tries its damndest to play off as a shocking twist), but what is surprising is the effortless duality that Gyllenhaal brings to the role. He was once considered as an injury replacement for Tobey Maguire as Spider-Man, and Beck’s heroic feats give us a glimpse of how he may have fared. At the same time, Mysterio also evokes Gyllenhaal’s unsettling work in Nightcrawler (the thriller about the deeply unethical cameraman, not the teleporting X-Men character).

On the opposite side of the camera, John Watts’s direction delivers fluid, kinetic action sequences and he handles the film’s tonal shifts well. Michael Giacchino’s score is a mostly fitting complement, save for the film’s cringeworthy inclusion of Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” over a cheesy fallen heroes montage.

Beyond that, the Elementals are fairly ridiculous-looking stand-ins for actual Spider-Man villains (i.e. Sandman and Hydro-Man), and while their appearance is given a logical in-movie explanation, they still call to mind less refined CGI monsters from fifteen years ago. The plot is also but the thinnest of excuses to bring characters together, but for a good chunk of the audience, that will likely not matter.

When all is said and done, Far From Home is both too vivacious to be forgettable and too light to be groundbreaking. It occupies an ever-broadening middle tier of Marvel movies, which makes it still well worth viewing for anyone with any interest in the source material.