Best Medicine with Cayla Clark: Turning your post-Helene canned food stash into a Thanksgiving masterpiece

My fellow Best Medicine co-host, Eric Brown, touched on the topic of finding humor after Tropical Storm Helene in last month’s feature — a delicate art, to say the least. Many of us are still reeling, and the future feels more uncertain than ever. Open mics are slowly resurfacing, and comedy shows are happening again in Asheville and beyond, but there’s still a heaviness in the air that prompts the unavoidable question: “Too soon?”

Yet people keep telling me that they need to laugh. Those little pockets of humor, scattered among the grief and chaos, help keep everyone just a bit more sane. And I’m right there with them — I need to laugh to keep from breaking down 24/7. Stand-up and sketch comedy have been my lifeline back to some semblance of normalcy. Laughter really is the best medicine … right after penicillin, which I happen to be deathly allergic to.

With this in mind, I’ve wrangled three of Asheville’s finest, most resilient funny people for this month’s conversation. 

First up, my partner, Ryan Gordon, who had the privilege of seeing every side of me during the storm. We mutually decided that if our relationship could survive Helene, it could survive anything. Ryan’s also one of my favorite local comics. (And not because I’m biased — but because he won’t take out the trash unless I praise him relentlessly.) Next is the ever-hilarious Cloud Hudson, who managed to spin some absolute comedy gold out of the storm. I’ve caught some of it at recent open mics, and it’s as cathartic as it is funny. Rounding out the lineup is Clay Jones, a comedian whose warm smile and edgy political humor light up the room.

Cayla: Speaking of political humor — let’s talk about that election. As we all know, the felonious Donald Trump swept the vote, which means he’ll be reestablishing residence in the White House come January. If we could swap him out for a true Asheville hero, who would it be? 

Ryan: I’d have to say our cat, Barry. Cayla and I adopted him after spotting a random rehoming post on Instagram, and he’s been an absolute game-changer in the short five or six months he’s been with us. 

Cayla: Oh, God, Ryan. Barry naps for at least 20 hours a day and spends the other four screaming for kibble.

Ryan: So he’s kinda like Biden, with less napping. Listen, Barry would make an exceptional POTUS for several reasons. First off, he’s got the presidential look — he’s orange. He also has multiple felonies; or should I say, feline-ies? (Sorry.) His agenda includes lots of vibing but also some screaming, as Cayla mentioned. He’s an enigma. He can’t be pigeonholed. Ask the last pigeon that tried that. Oh, wait. You can’t. 

Cayla: RIP. 

Ryan: Also, Barry has a voice that would stop any diplomatic negotiation in its tracks. He speaks with the timeless flair of JFK but has an RFK Jr. rasp, a lasting reminder of his problematic catnip habit. This cat is unpredictable, ungovernable and, somehow, still profoundly wise. In short, Barry is the candidate America deserves.

Cloud: Or … does America deserve a candidate at all, Ryan? In this town full of contrarians with an anarchy fetish, it’s easy to get away with a “No One for President” bumper sticker. But this isn’t a joke to me — I seriously believe that everyone who didn’t vote should count as a vote for making literally no one the president. There were approximately 245 million eligible voters in the U.S. this year. This one dude got, like, 76.8 million votes, and the other lady got, like, 74.3 million votes. That leaves 94 million votes cast for no one! A real democracy would take these nonvotes seriously. Let’s finally give the people what they clearly want — absolutely no one in charge of the so-called United States of America. It won’t be that bad. Plenty of workers in this town have had to soldier on when senior management quits on a whim, investors pull out or chancellors randomly resign. So why can’t the federal government do the same? Just pull yourself up by your bootstraps, boys.

Clay: If these last couple of months have taught me anything, it’s this: In times of trouble, the American people don’t need a politician’s speech to make them feel better, they need memes. That is why I would nominate fellow comedian and local memesmith Petey Smith-McDowell for president. 

Cayla: OK, this is a candidate I can get behind. 

Clay: Right?! His administration would eliminate the need for a press secretary, as press releases would all be replaced by a simple, easy-to-understand meme. Imagine the boost to civic education. People would no longer wonder how the economy works because Petey would explain it masterfully using a GIF of Homer Simpson disappearing into the bushes. And lastly, another pro would be that Petey would be virtually immune to scandal, as his only mistress is a Fleshlight. 

Cloud: Good lord, Clay. He almost had my vote. Petey needs a new PR team. 

Cayla: Personally, my pick would be none other than Laura Lynn of the Ingles empire. Picture this: a president who not only fights for affordable groceries and gas but looks sharp as hell doing it. I’m convinced she’d rock the polyester power suit like nobody’s business. She’d be the kind of leader who’d mandate community potlucks to bring neighbors together — all in the name of diplomacy, of course. And she’d finally put the spotlight on the true hero of every barbecue: that mustard potato salad, which, let’s be honest, is straight fire. I could totally see her giving a State of the Union address while urging us all to “keep it local, y’all.” I love her. 

Cayla: Speaking of groceries, I’d be remiss not to at least mention Thanksgiving. One unexpected silver lining of Tropical Storm Helene has been the surplus of donated supplies we now have on hand, which makes for some interesting — if unconventional — holiday dishes. Case in point: My now-famous Clif Bar and Turbidity Casserole. What’s that, you ask? Picture an artisanal layering of crumbled Clif Bars with a rich gravy made from murky and heavily chlorinated tap water. It’s … how do you say … not good. If you had to repurpose hurricane supplies into a Thanksgiving dish, what culinary masterpiece would you whip up?

Ryan:  This is hard to talk about because the storm wiped out all the corn my grandma had meticulously frozen in preparation for Thanksgiving. It’s a real tragedy. You think you know adversity until you’re faced with the absence of my grandma’s corn, the best corn this side of the French Broad River. (I’m not sure which side of the river she’s technically on — it’s one of them — but the corn is unrivaled.) Corn so buttery and sweet, it might as well have been dessert. Now, thanks to Mother Nature, my family will have to choke down corn from a bag. Frozen corn from a store that doesn’t even know my grandma’s name.

Cayla: Say corn one more time.

Ryan: Corn. If I had to prepare a meal with the supplies I have on hand right now, it would be a chaotic masterpiece. For the main course, I’d serve a fine pâté made of canned dog food, elegantly spooned into a to-go container I’d MacGyver out of diapers. For dessert, perhaps a selection of AAA, AA and 9-volt batteries arranged like a charcuterie board. Pair it with a glass of rainwater filtered through my least favorite hoodie for that artisanal touch.

If there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that resilience means never underestimating what you can do with a can of SpaghettiOs and a strong stomach. Still, I’d trade it all for one bite of my grandma’s corn. 

Cloud: As a meteorologist who also studies astrology, I knew this would happen, so naturally I was among those of us who PREPared for this storm. With all these resources to spare, I’ll be making our main course, Turkey of the Sea. For my fish-based, no-bake turkey substitute, I’ll be needing about 75 tuna pouches — you know, the tuna that comes in something the size and shape of a pamphlet of unhinged political beliefs — and all that expired unflavored Jell-o from the ’90s that people thought was an appropriate donation to hurricane relief centers. From these two humble ingredients, and possibly some creek water that went through a bushcrafted reverse osmosis filter, I shall craft the most glorious turkey-shaped tuna aspic known to man. I’ll send images of my creation far and wide in hopes that someone will reply, “Damn, that’s a nice aspic.”

Clay: If I had to turn my hurricane stash into a Thanksgiving dish, Asheville-style, I’d present to you Mountain-Storm Surprise. It’s a rustic, locally sourced (from my pantry) dish that combines canned beans, boxed wine and suspiciously old quinoa. Picture this: a casserole topped with crushed, gluten-free crackers and a drizzle of artisanal hot sauce I found at a farmers market sometime before Tropical Storm Fred.

Cayla: Oh my God, we’re both bringing a casserole. How embarrassing. 

Clay: Yes, but here’s what sets mine apart. For presentation, I’d serve it in a hollowed-out Fleshlight (a pornucopia, if you will). Just like Asheville itself, it’s quirky, unexpected and raises questions you’re not sure you want answered. One bite, and you’ll be thankful the power’s still out so you don’t have to see anyone’s reaction.

Cayla: Should we be concerned about this recurring mention, Clay?

Clay: Bon appétit, y’all.

Ryan: Corn. 

Cayla: All right, let’s talk comedy. Here’s the thing: Stand-up thrives on a rotating audience. We rely on fresh ears to hear our material because, let’s face it, we’re recycling the same jokes over and over until we physically can’t. So, with tourists still scarce, I think the comedy community is facing some unique challenges as we rebuild. Without the usual turnover of audiences, comedians will have to work harder to keep things fresh. It’s a whole new playing field: We might have to break out new material faster, lean into local humor or get creative with themed shows to keep things engaging. What do you think? Do you see other challenges on the horizon as we begin this long journey back to “normal” — or whatever version of normal we end up with?

Cloud: Storms always create a windfall. That means that all those dead limbs in your lawn should be seen as compost gold or firewood for years to come instead of trash to clean up. Comedians turn life’s piles of sh*t into handcrafted manure. I’m not saying that everyone has to transform their pain for it to be valid, or that you have to find a silver lining in the clouds of a hurricane. But I am saying that’s what comedians have to do. That’s kind of, like, our whole deal here. If you want to be sad, be sad. But when you’ve cried so much that tears don’t even provide catharsis anymore and the thought of living one more day feels absurd, come watch the clowns have a mental breakdown. 

Clay: The Asheville comedy scene is in for some serious reinvention. With fewer tourists around, the local crowd isn’t going to be impressed by the same old jokes about kombucha explosions or interpretive dance yoga. No, we’re talking about an audience that already knows the punch line to your joke about the guy at the drum circle who smells like a discarded Fleshlight.

Cayla: Clay — what is going on with you? 

Clay: And let’s not forget themed shows like “Open Mic, Open Third Eye” night, where comedians have to do stand-up while holding a crystal to ensure good vibes. But here’s the real challenge — keeping things interesting enough that the guy who spends his nights running his obscure, psychedelic mushroom tour doesn’t decide mid-set that he’s better off staying home with his emergency flashlight collection (and I’m not talking about the battery-operated kind).

Ryan: I feel like that last one was a loophole, and we can let it slide. 

Clay: Haha, hole. Bottom line? Comedians are going to need local humor so deep it’s practically underground — like that “wellness shop” on Haywood Road that claims it sells essential oils but definitely has an opium den behind the beaded curtain.