Charleston
03 June 2024
I’ve stayed in the nondescript Northern bit of Myrtle Beach, a drab dual carriageway with a few streets of private houses leading to the beachfront on one side and a stretch of bars, shops, restaurants and entertainments on the other.
As my penultimate destination of Charleston is only 100 miles south, I go to take a look at South Myrtle Beach to see if I was missing out. The north is like the Cradle of Civilisation by comparison. ‘South’ is just a grisly strip of amusement arcades, fast-food restaurants, all-day Happy Hour drinking hovels and lap-dancing bars. Enormous, Soviet Union-style apartment blocks, built cheek-by-jowl, obscure all ocean views.
Not stopping, I fight my way through thirty miles of stop-lights, every half-mile, and get out of it as quickly as I can. North is just about OK. South is grim: like Blackpool, only bigger.
Charleston is approached over a spectacular bridge with views of the harbour area, complete with various marinas full of bobbing boats. The city is famous for many things including a preserved historic centre and superb restaurants. I’ve booked the walking tour for tomorrow and Southside for dinner this evening which sets the bar at a very high level.
Shrimps from local producer Tarvin, are cooked in an iron skillet with a reduction of Iberian ham, saffron and Pecorino cheese with some Tuscan bread to mop it up. It might sound like an unlikely combination until you taste it. To follow, a double pork chop with charred Wakefield cabbage, smoked blue cheese and mustard vinaigrette elevates this humble cut to an art form.
I ask to take a copy of the menu saying I’m going to have a shot at this dish. The manager just shakes his head ruefully, explaining it relies on a secret ingredient in the rub. As I’m neither a local nor a chef, he shares it with me on the basis I don’t tell anyone… I had no idea xxxx produced pollen.
04 June 2024
Brian, a Charleston native, hosts a two-hour history and walking tour of Charleston. His detailed knowledge is hugely impressive, but I find myself back in ‘O’ level History, when a teacher similarly fire-hosed us with so much fact, very little of it stuck.
In fairness, as I was the only person booked on the tour, the one-on-one attention probably meant I got more than I bargained for. Regardless, it’s a very beautiful city, preserved but not ossified, so still has a sense of purpose and energy about it.
Paula and Richard have driven up from Orlando having seen the Rolling Stones the night before. We are booked at Husk, the restaurant credited with kicking off the Charleston dining revolution when it was founded by local enfant terrible, Sean Brock in 2010.
He’s moved on but the quality and inventiveness have remained. We share Pimento Cheese, The ‘Hamery’ Country Ham, Buttermilk Biscuits (like scones) and Pickles along with Wood Fired North Carolina Oysters, Smoked Beef Fat, Roasted Garlic, Parsley & Bread Crumb.
Mains of Georgia Pork Ribeye, Heirloom Baked Beans and Fennel for Richard, and Roasted Chicken, Nostrale Rice, Ramps (like dinky spring onions), Mushrooms, Green Beans for me are the business. Only Paula’s Ink Gemelli, North Carolina Crab and Green Tomato Puttanesca collapses under the weight of expectations so it’s taken off the bill.
After sharing a Mississippi Mud Pie comprising Duke’s Chocolate Cake, Methodical Coffee Ice Cream, Chile Tahini, Fudge Sauce, Benne Brittle, Toasted Marshmallow and a Basque Cheesecake with Strawberries, Pretzel Crumble and Whipped Cream, we are in need of a digestif so head towards the whisky bar in the house next door and part of the Husk setup.
On the way out, one of an immaculately groomed, same-sex male couple from Sydney, Australia compliments Paula on her vintage Louis Vuitton bag. He tells me that when the Gays comment on a bag, you know it’s rully good and gushes to Paula about the wonderful time they’ve had. The food is so good in Charleston, they’ve put on sooo much weight though, his toned torso in a slim-fit, tailored shirt presented as unconvincing evidence of their gluttony.
The selection of whiskies is comprehensive to say the least and presided over by Josh, the knowledgable and opinionated barman. He shows off some of his wares including a 141.6º Willett Kentucky Bourbon at $60 but by no means the most expensive. He also has a 20-year old Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve that retails at $3,600 a bottle. Someone else at the other end of the bar orders a shot while we’re there. I reckon that must be $350 worth…
We have a couple from the ‘other’ end of the list but the bill is still fairly horrific. I suggest we split despite Richards’s insistence on paying. Josh says we should settle the matter by guessing which credit card is in which of his hands, a bizarre contest of financial manliness if ever there was one. I choose and lose (or win, depending on your perspective) and Richard gets his way.
Charleston really does have the lot. History in spades, much of it relevant to UK visitors; swanky shopping, if that’s your thing; elegant hotels with guests to match (unless you’re staying where I am…), four beaches within a few miles, and world-class dining. As it’s on the east coast, it would be a perfect week’s holiday apart from the absence of any direct flights from the UK. Don’t let that put you off though.
