By Noah Manneville, 2013
At midday on the Friday in October when we arrived in Plymouth, the town seemed to be at a standstill. Every door was shut and locked, and the only signs of life were outside the town hall and the police precinct. We had stopped in downtown Plymouth to find a bite to eat, but were disappointed to find the town empty. Just as we were about to leave to find a fast food joint, we passed a building with a sign reading “The Garden Spot.” I peered in through the window and noticed a young man looking back at me. Just as I was about to break the awkward eye contact by walking to the car, the man strode over to the door, opened it, and said we should come back in a few minutes when they opened. Instead of making us stand on the front porch while the restaurant prepared to open, he asked us what we were doing in Plymouth, and suggested we check out the Port ‘O Plymouth maritime museum down the road. After wandering through the museum (which was closed, except for the pier where a replica of a Civil War era ironside was moored) we returned to The Garden Spot and took a seat by the window.
The restaurant was cozy- I faced a mural of a garden scene that featured quotes encouraging good living. The young man introduced himself as Hunter Askew, a native to Plymouth and a waiter at The Garden Spot. After taking our orders, we sat enjoying sweet teas while scanning the quiet street outside the window.
Askew, wearing an Orange Slice soda tee shirt, answered all our questions about Plymouth. After learning we were writers, he offered to introduce us to his father Dennis, the manager of the Domtar Paper Mill, which is the largest employer in Eastern North Carolina. Shortly after this conversation, our food arrived. Both plates looked delicious. I had fried flounder and grilled lemon pepper scallops with a side of red skin potato salad and hush puppies. The cocktail sauce and the tartar sauce were both homemade, which added to my delight. My classmate, with whom I was traveling, ordered the flounder as well, with grilled shrimp and fried okra. The Southern comfort food was filling and flavorful, and despite being a Northerner and having post-unhealthy meal guilt instilled in my very psyche, I had to stop myself from ordering seconds.
After eating, we decided to tour the upstairs bar. Exiting the café, we took a left and turned the corner. A fried oyster was drawn on the wall next to a stairwell that led to the second floor of the building. At the top of the stairs was a small art gallery, and past that the walls opened up to the Garden Spot Oyster Bar. Grabbing two seats at the empty bar, we were greeted by Tim, a local to Plymouth who had spent most of his life in New Jersey. Being the only customers at the time, Tim struck up a conversation with us. I told him where we were from, and he reciprocated. I ordered a dozen oysters, which Tim shucked at the bar while telling us about his personal friendship with First Lady Michelle Obama that had formed while he was bartending in New Jersey. “She sure loved to dance,” Tim said. “She was a great dancer.”
Locals began to trickle into the bar around six o’clock, at which point I pushed back from the bar, satisfied with a belly full of seafood and beer. Before the room filled, we paid the tab and thanked Tim and Hunter. Though Plymouth itself seemed asleep, by the time we left the Garden Spot bar it was as lively as any big city restaurant. I couldn’t help but feel that perhaps I had not given people in Plymouth as much credit as they deserved. Though the streets were empty, the people in the Garden Spot seemed at home.