For a determined and insane couple living in New York City, it’s possible to drive to Charleston in a day and make a 7:00 dinner reservation. All you need to do is depart at 5:00am, stop only for gas and urgent calls of nature, defy all local speed limits (even the enlightened 70mph highway limits in the Carolinas) and not get caught. I hear it’s possible to make the trip from New Jersey in half that time, but even before sunrise it takes as long to get off the island of Manhattan as it does to get from the New Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel the rest of the way to Charleston.
Barreling down one of the world’s most un-picturesque stretches of road, the barely coherent Interstate 95 where the only remotely interesting things we saw were tacky billboards and a bona fide chain gang collecting trash on the median under the watchful eyes of heavily armed North Carolina prison guards, I couldn’t help noticing all the cities, states and regions we were passing by. On this trip, despite a planned two months on the road, the missed opportunities started piling up within moments: There was to be no stop in Philadelphia for breakfast at Carman’s Country Kitchen; no visit to Jerry Sheldon, my bulldog-breeder friend in Bethesda; no North Carolina Barbecue adventures with Dean McCord, my Raleigh-based guru of all things smoked, pickled, larded, and fried; no visit to the Outer Banks, where I’ve never been. It’s difficult to resist the urge to let a long-haul road trip be defined by what you need to skip. Is it possible, in one lifetime, to see all of North America? I wonder if it's even possible to see all of Brooklyn.
Our planned compromise for this cross-country road-trip -- and in using the plural "our" I refer to me, my wife Ellen, our bulldog Momo, and our '98 Plymouth Grand Voyager SE minivan -- is a Southern route followed by a drive up the West Coast to Vancouver followed by an Easterly drive the whole way across Canada. After Charleston, our next key stop will be the area long known as the "Redneck Riviera" (the Gulf coast of Northwestern Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas).
There was one thing we couldn't miss on our I-95 itinerary, though, and that was South of the Border. South of the Border (or SOB, as it is called), is one of those relentlessly exuberant roadside attractions that have defined the American road-trip since the early days of automobile travel. In this instance, the border refers to the North Carolina/South Carolina divide, and straddling that border you will find a Mexican-themed metropolis of gift shops, snacks, fireworks, and even a motel, announced by scores of billboards scattered across hundreds of miles of highway, all united by the omnipresent Pedro. To quote the excellent Roadside America site:
As with other great accidental discoveries like X-rays and penicillin, it took a man of vision to realize SOB's vast potential. That man was Alan Schafer, who began his rise to roadside immortality in 1950 with a simple beer stand. When building supplies began being delivered to "Schafer Project: South Of The [North Carolina] Border," a neon light went on in his head. He began to import Mexican souvenirs, and on one such trip arranged for two Mexican boys to come to America and work for him. As Schafer said, "Somebody began calling them 'Pedro' and 'Pancho,' and since it fit into the theme, we began calling them both 'Pedro.'" Today, all SOB workers, regardless of race, creed or color, are called Pedro. http://www.roadsidea...t/SCDILsob.html
Thus, at SOB, you will find among many other things: Pedro's Sombrero Tower with its 22-story-high observation deck serviced by a glass elevator (though there isn't much to see); the Pedroland theme park; Pedro's Pizza and Sub Shop; Pedro's Pantry; and of course Pedro's Golf of Mexico. Here we are, with one of many Pedros:
The great Alan Shafer, I regret to say, left this world in 2001 at the age of 87.
We made it to Charleston with a good three minutes to unload our endless parade of bags from the minivan, check in to the pet-friendly Charleston Place hotel (where they not only accommodate dogs but also fawn over them and provide custom painted food and water bowls, gourmet dog biscuits and plush dog beds by the esteemed St. John) and change our outer layer of clothes before heading to dinner at the hotel's Charleston Grill restaurant. Momo used this time to ascertain his favorite spot in the room, a bedside table under which he fit nicely:
Haute cuisine is a process, and that process at its best partly involves taking classic popular cuisine and refining it into something subtler, more flavorful and more sophisticated. Most chefs' attempts to do this are embarrassing failures, though, in part because most chefs are incompetent and in part because you need a good underlying concept to work with and too much classic American food is hopeless. It can take a hundred years before a super-genius like New York's Daniel Boulud successfully reinvents a seminal dish like the hamburger (which Mr. Boulud has done at his new DB Bistro Moderne by forming the patty around a core of braised short ribs and foie gras).
At Charleston Grill, widely regarded as one of the two best restaurants in Charleston (the other is Peninsula Grill at the Planters Inn), chef Robert Waggoner has applied the haute cuisine process effectively to a great number of low-country and classic American staples, which gives the cuisine a regional stamp while allowing for the use of advanced technique.
Potato skins, that classic, ubiquitous, and awful bar snack, are something I'd never have thought about trying to improve, but Mr. Waggoner has turned the humble "loaded" potato skin into one of the world's great garnishes and he has printed the word "skins" right on the menu of a decidedly upscale restaurant. Three of these updated skins accompany a grouper entrée -- a solid dish in itself -- and they are one of the great culinary surprises: Hollowed out fingerling potatoes filled with a mixture of bacon (from a local producer) and caramelized onions, and topped with a cube of foie gras.
A recipe follows.
The skins are just an illustration, one that I found noteworthy. But Mr. Waggoner's approach to cuisine is playful across the board. Where that sense of whimsy and a firm grasp of technique (no doubt enriched by stages with Jacques Lameloise, Charles Barrier, Pierre Gagnaire, Gerard Boyer and Mark Meneau) meet the better ingredients available in the region (particularly seafood, of course), rewarding dishes ensue.
My quick glance at the wine list revealed a strong cellar, but I focused on the 50+ by-the-glass selections. With just two people and multiple courses, by-the-glass is my preference.
Charleston Grill is a low-key, elegant spot with quiet, professional service (for example, when I returned mid-afternoon the next day to beg the chef for his potato skins recipe, I asked the dazzling hostess if she would ask the chef to come out and talk to me for a second because I had the dog with me and couldn't go in; her response was matter-of-factly to offer to walk Momo while I went inside to talk to the chef -- lucky Momo! ). By contrast, when you step into Peninsula Grill across the street, it's like slamming into a brick wall of energy.
I can't remember the last time I entered a serious restaurant and felt so enlivened by the ambience. Mostly, I notice food, and nice service and atmosphere are extras. But you can't make it to your table at Peninsula without getting swept away by the whole experience: This is a restaurant where everybody is thrilled to be, and for good reason.
Robert Carter, the Robert-in-residence at Peninsula Grill (I imagine plenty of confusion, what with two restaurants named Grill across the street from one another with chefs named Robert; I bet they are confused more often than New York's two DBs: David Bouley and Daniel Boulud), won me over with some of the most honest cooking I've seen. I must confess I was prepared to dislike Peninsula Grill. From all the second-hand reports (all positive, but none convincing) I assumed I'd be encountering a typically overwrought hotel restaurant with an inflated Mobil-guide-perpetuated reputation and dull food. But Peninsula Grill exceeds all the hype, in part because the hype has missed the point.
As at his neighbor's restaurant, Mr. Carter is working towards a Southeastern-inspired vision of haute cuisine. But he is also a minimalist and each dish has been streamlined into a deceptively straightforward proposition. It has become a stereotype for chefs to recite platitudes about how "it's all about the ingredients" and then both to use mediocre ingredients and bury them under mountains of distractions. When Mr. Carter speaks of ingredients, however, it's worth listening.
For example, his Berkshire (that's the name of a breed of pig) pork, from a farmer in Iowa who apparently sells 90% of his output to Japan, makes for the best pork chop I have ever eaten. About two inches thick, cooked pink on the inside, and tasting as though it has been injected with a special sugar solution distilled from Chinese spare ribs, it would be a shame to mess up such a beautiful piece of meat with too much sauce or garnish. Mr. Carter wisely serves it with nothing more than two scoops of Cheddar grits and a bed of bitter greens that elevates the meat above a simple sauce. The soft-shell crabs, which just came into early season a few days ago, are deep-fried tempura style (memo to all chefs: deep-frying is the only way to cook soft-shell crabs) and are the finest specimens I've seen. And Peninsula Grill is also noteworthy for one of America's finest desserts: A twelve-layer coconut cake inspired by a recipe from Mr. Carter's mother. You don't have to love coconut to love this cake, and even if you hate coconut you'll like it a lot.
We did by-the-glass at Peninsula as well, though we were sorely tempted by a diverse international list. Still, with Merryvale Cabernet and Au Bon Climat Pinot Noir available in glasses, there wasn't much need to go to the bottles.
Mr. Carter deserves praise not only for inspiring his customers and his waitstaff, but also for including his personal e-mail address right on his restaurant's Web site (see below) -- and he answers.
Sticky Fingers is the jam-packed-every-day barbecue spot on Charleston's main drag. There are now eight restaurants in the Sticky Fingers chain, which has recently started a mail order business as well.
There is such a thing as South Carolina-style barbecue, which as I understand it is similar to North Carolina-style but with a mustard-based sauce. Sticky Fingers, however, is primarily a Memphis-style rib joint. So, an expression of regional South Carolina barbecue it isn't. But the ribs are outstanding. The same hickory smoking technology in use at many of the top barbecue places (gas-regulated Southern Pride smokers with log-fed fireboxes) is applied to ribs in five different styles, the best of which is the dry style -- the acid test of good barbecue because it allows for no cheating with a wet sauce. Pulled pork is also sweet and smoky with an evident red smoke-ring on the exterior parts. I suggest you order it with sauce on the side, though, and season it to your taste.
A couple of secrets about Sticky Fingers, one of which I'm allowed to tell you and one of which I'm not (though I will tell both, of course): First, Sticky Fingers is as far as I know the only barbecue restaurant that is also a bed-and-breakfast. Right upstairs from the restaurant (you check in at the takeout counter) are five newly renovated suites. The two I looked at were beautifully done with the original brick walls, restored heart of pine floors, sleek kitchenettes, Whirlpools, gas fireplaces, DVD players, and high-speed Internet access. The B&B operation goes by the name Meeting Street Suites. There are no indicia of barbecue in the rooms, but pork is always close at hand. Second, Sticky Fingers has done something that I imagine goes on a lot in small cities where the tourist crowds make it impossible for local businesspeople to get into restaurants for lunch: Created a secret lunch club of sorts. You don't actually have to be a member, but if you are in the know and you conduct yourself nonchalantly you can sidle up to the back entrance and pay a flat fee of $8 to partake in a Sticky Fingers lunch buffet -- no waiting. You did not hear this from me.
If you only go to one restaurant in Charleston, however, you must go to Bowen's Island. This is beyond a recommendation: It is a commandment. Bowen's Island, which I'd never have known about were it not for Holly Moore's site, is on James Island, just across a connector from Charleston. James Island has that Florida Keys shabby feel to it and you know you're in for an experience when Bowen's Island restaurant is announced by a dilapidated billboard, and then you miss the turn because the signage is so bad, and then the paved road degenerates into a very poorly maintained dirt road culminating in a crumbling shack on the beach surrounded by mountains of oyster shells. As I entered the restaurant, and I should add that I was the only person eating there at 6:00pm on a Thursday, the guy behind the counter sized me up, stared at his feet, and muttered, "What do you want."
All-you-can-eat oysters cost $18.50. For most people, all-you-can-eat will be one serving: A heaping shovelful containing half a bushel of freshly cooked oysters. The oyster cook, a gentleman named Henry, digs up the oysters right nearby every day and he cooks and shovels all night. He will shovel until you tell him you're done, and then he will shovel a bit more. Tables are covered in newspaper and in the center of each is a hole feeding into a trash can. The oysters are clumped together and it takes some effort to get to the insides of all of them, but a sharp implement is provided for this purpose. You also get, for your $18.50, a bottle of cocktail sauce, a quarter-box sleeve of saltines, a small tray of hush puppies and a towel.
Oysters are one of those things I can never get enough of. At several dollars a piece in most New York restaurants, they are an appetizer. At Bowen's, they are a feast in and of themselves. Finally, enough oysters. And it doesn't hurt that they are oysters without rival in terms of their freshness and brininess. Had I more time, I'd have tried a few raw as well. Henry is very accommodating.
For a definitive analysis and many more photos of Bowen's, see http://www.hollyeats.com/Bowens.htm
In the few moments we weren't eating, we became convinced that Charleston is a vibrant and wonderful city, a great juxtaposition of urban renewal and early American history. A carriage ride -- touristy but with surprisingly informative guides (you'll get equal doses of hardcore history and contemporary gossip) -- is a good way to get an overview of the city. The nice people at Palmetto Carriage Works had no problem with letting Momo ride along.
The weather was cool and sunny, our carriage was pulled by an ornery mule named Katie, and my wife and bulldog were at my side. It doesn't get much better than that.
Charleston Grill Potato Skins
For 12 skins
6-small (golf ball size) Yukon Gold potatoes
6-oz. fresh foie gras cut into 1 oz. pieces
1-large onion (preferably Wadmalaw), sliced thin
12-slices smoked bacon
Salt and fresh ground white pepper
½-quart frying oil
1-bunch chives, chopped fine
Cook the sliced bacon in a heavy-bottomed pan until crispy.
Remove the bacon and half the remaining fat.
Add the sliced onion and cook until caramelized.
Season with white pepper only, adding small amounts of water to deglaze if needed.
Add the cooked bacon to the onions and puree in a food processor.
Check seasoning.
Salt and pepper the foie gras pieces and sauté them in a small pan very hot with no oil added.
Cook 5 to 10 seconds on each side.
Remove and place on a paper towel.
Cut the potatoes in half and remove the center with a small spoon.
Heat the frying oil in a pot to 350º and deep-fry the potatoes for approximately 3 minutes until tender.
Spoon some onion-bacon puree into the potato skin.
Add 1 piece of foie gras on top.
Bake at 375º for 3 to 5 minutes.
Sprinkle with chopped chives on top.
Addresses
Charleston Grill
224 King Street (in the Charleston Place hotel)
Charleston, SC
(843) 577-4522
http://www.charlestongrill.com/
Bowen's Island
1870 Bowen Island Rd, Off Foley Rd
James Island, SC
(803) 795-2757
Peninsula Grill
112 North Market Street (in the Planters Inn hotel)
Charleston, SC
(843) 723-0700
http://www.peninsulagrill.com/
South of the Border
I-95 - U.S. 301-501 at the North Carolina/South Carolina line
(800) 845-6011
Sticky Fingers
235 Meeting Street
Charleston, SC
(843) 853-7427
http://www.stickyfingersonline.com/
Photos by Ellen R. Shapiro
