These days, it feels like I’m pointing the car toward Raleigh every couple of weeks. One trip it’s to record podcast interviews. The next, it’s to stand in front of NC reps and plead for a little common sense—which is funny, considering politics bore me stiff, and Raleigh has never been my kinda town.
But when something matters, you show up.
That’s what I tell myself every time I head north.
The real reward always comes on the drive home.
That red-and-white Hwy 55 sign appears like a quiet promise, and I pull in worn out from talking all day, ready for something that just feels good.
The second I walk through those doors, I’m 11 years old again—slid into a booth while Mama orders, already begging for a strawberry milkshake before we’ve even settled in.
Then I think about taking my own girls there when they were small. Same routine. Same bright voices. Same plea the moment we crossed the threshold.
Same ritual.
Next generation.
There’s something quietly beautiful about that kind of hand-me-down joy—especially now that they’re grown.
The restaurant itself is a perfect little time capsule: turquoise and fuchsia booths, black-and-white checkered floors, chrome catching the light, murals of classic cars cruising under neon signs. The jukebox hums oldies just loud enough to sing along with. The grill sizzles right out front. And the staff treats everybody like kin.
It’s nostalgia done right—warm, genuine, never trying too hard.
And the food? Pure comfort.
Fresh, never-frozen burgers, hand-pattied and grilled to order. Cheesesteaks piled high with shaved steak and melted cheese. Crispy tenders. Fried shrimp platters. Whatever you’re craving, they’ve got you covered.
I usually get a pimento cheeseburger and fries—tater tots when I’m feeling a little rebellious—but the frozen custard is what really seals the deal.
Those shakes are so thick you can turn the cup upside down, and they’re the sweetest way to close out a long day of speaking up.
It all started back in 1991, when Kenney Moore opened Andy’s Cheesesteaks and Cheeseburgers in Goldsboro—a place that quickly became legend across eastern North Carolina.
When it grew, it became Hwy 55, carrying that same retro diner spirit across the state and into neighboring ones. Most locations are still right here in North Carolina, ready with booths, drive-thrus, or delivery—whatever suits you.
After the miles, the microphones, and the meetings, sliding into a booth at Hwy 55 feels like finally exhaling. Simple food. Good memories. A reminder of easier days.
Lord knows we could all use more of that.
So if you’re ever rolling through North Carolina with a hungry stomach and a weary heart, pull off at the next Hwy 55. Order something indulgent. Let the retro charm settle in. Just be for a minute.
You’ll drive away lighter.
I promise.
