He has absolutely no idea

I don't remember when I started it, but I know it started as a joke. Every day when I see the kids off to school - usually when I'm headed out the door to work, but sometimes when I am loading one onto the bus, or dropping the other off at school - I give the kids a kiss and a hug, and I say in mock seriousness "Make good choices."

It makes me laugh. And it makes the Critter, in her infinite 12 year old wisdom, roll her eyes. So. Double win for me. 

This week, I was packing my bags for a quick trip out to the West Coast, and giving the Boy a hug as he headed out to catch the school bus. 

He stopped. Turned around. Pointed at me, and said: "Make good... what is it, Daddy?" 


He nodded. "Yep. Make good choices, daddy." 

Without a hint of sarcasm. 

And then my heart exploded. And I had to get on the plane like that. 

Charleston, 2012: Wherein I talk a lot about fried skin

This summer has really flown by. And we kind of weren't paying attention to the planning of any kind of vacation. Before we knew it, the weeks had already been booked for soccer camp, sleep-away camp, classes, you name it. And we were left trying to figure out how to slip in a little family vacation time between all the commitments. 

We also wanted to find another place we could meet up with some of our broader family, like we did last summer in Maine. We picked Charleston, South Carolina - a place that my Bride and I had visited a lot way back when we lived in Augusta, GA. But it had been more than 12 years (!), and we both thought it was time to head back. (the other option was New Orleans, but the Boy isn't quite up to Hurricane-drinking-age yet.) 

In case you have missed out on the experience, South Carolina in August is a touch warm, and a bit humid. It was about 95 degrees with 80%+ humidity most days. We brought the dog along for the trip, and she kept shooting us looks that seemed to indicate she was a little underwhelmed with the Southern Summer.


Hey idiotic man-thing. St. Bernards are freaking Swiss. You know. From the freaking mountains. With the freaking snow. So how about you don't look surprised when I poop in your shoe tonight?

Here are a few other pictures of the week.

We rented this amazingly beautiful carriage house in the center of the historic district. Perfect for a home base for the week.

We roadtripped it down. An 18 hour drive. I love road trips. They were kind of a family tradition when I was growing up that I don't hear enough about these days. But I've got I-95 fairly well charted, and the kids do well in the back seat. So we loaded up the car, and headed south, hunting for what has become the traditional first pit stop on any road trip.

Bojangles - cajun chicken in a biscuit. 

This chicken will not judge you

My Bride and I swap the driving every couple/three hundred miles or so, and I bring along hours and hours of BBC Radio 4 podcasts ('Gardeners' Question Time', 'Thinking Allowed', 'The Farm Programme'). Time just flies by!

I can tell my relative relationship to the Mason-Dixon line from the abundance and variety of porkskin products available at your average gas station.

That one at the top?  You read that correctly. That says "FAT BACK."  In a freaking bag.

These are my people.

Somewhere around the North Carolina border.

The trip really started out all about food, and we tried our best to carry that theme all the way through the week.

Before we went, I had heard an interview with chef Sean Brock, executive chef at McCrady's and owner of Husk - a new restaurant he had recently opened to celebrate and showcase the best of Southern cooking and ingredients. Chef Brock spoke with Churchillian-passion at great length on national radio about the dwindling supply of sorghum syrup to the American public, and why that was a tragedy of near epic proportions.

I told my Bride that I didn't care what else we saw. I had to eat at that guy's restaurant.  

Our favorite breakfast place in Charleston

We browsed and grazed and gluttoned. We planned out outings around where we would eat. Fortunately, Charleston is a walking city, and we walked everywhere, every day, for literally miles and miles and miles (in the sweltering heat. Did I mention it was hot?) - thus ensuring we worked off our last meals, and working up another appetite for the next one. 

We ate lunch at the Swamp Fox on King Street. The decor kind of sucks in a hotel-restaurant-slash-conference-center sort of way. But the food was terrific. 

We started with a complimentary chef's plate of house-made pimento cheese spread, served with slices of pickled okra and crusty french bread. 

"Can I get you a little more South with that, sir?" "No thanks.. I seem to be all set here."

I ordered what I had come to Charleston for: Shrimp & grits. (and a rum cocktail. because there had already been much walking.) 

Those of you who say you do not like grits do not properly understand the heights that such a humble base can be taken to. I tell you: go here. Get these grits. This recipe made me weep. It was that good.

Or maybe it was the rum. Either way, these were the best grits I have ever eaten in my life. 


Topped with garlic, caramelized onions, roasted sliced peppers, and awesome sauce.

We rolled out of that restaurant after getting the chef's card (Steve Klatt - who wants to share his recipes! how cool is that! I love this town).  After a couple of hours of walking around the heat (holy mother of all that is sacred, have I mentioned yet how hot is was there?) we needed refreshement. We found Nick's BBQ. 


Critter: We looked at that place already, didn't we? Isn't it the fancy one?

Me: Kid - anyplace that has a neon pig sign out front is pretty much saying "Come on in. We're short on fancy around here."


Honey - if you read this, I'd really like one of these signs for my birthday.

I picked up perhaps the best BBQ shirt I've ever found at this place. (And I know of which I speak. I have a few BBQ shirts.)  I didn't manage to snag a picture of it. So you'll have to make do with this instead. 



We had dinner the next night a great little place called Poogan's Porch. Poogan was the owner's dog. Apparently he liked the porch. I can see why. It was a nice porch. 

Here the kids were enjoying the "joggling bench" - something I've never run into outside of Charleston. It's kind of like an old fashioned novelty seat, with rockers on the bottom, and long enough that you can bounce (or joggle, if you will) the board up and down, and end up squished together in the middle. 


Critter and the Boy and a bit of old time fun.

There's a tradition in Charleston of she-crab soup. There are competitions. It's more bisque like than chowder-esque. But with chunks of crabmeat in there. Some people leave the crab roe in. I don't know what Poogan's does. But I highly recommend it. 

I also had the grilled peach salad with thinly sliced, crisp rounds of country ham. And then the plantation fried chicken. Mostly because it came with 'spicy collard greens'. And I am totally into that kind of thing. 


I forget what kind of liquor was in my iced tea. Because we had walked a bunch more that day. And it was hot. Did I mention the heat?

The next day, we squeezed in the old City Market. And Ft. Sumter. And Battery Park. 


The old Charleston city market.

These sweet grass baskets are beautiful, but they were charging $200+ dollars for one! I'd rather spend my money on something more lasting. Like lunch, maybe.


Morning tour of Ft. Sumter.

There were many pictures of the kids on/near/in cannons. Assume they all pretty much looked like this.

My Bride and step-mother taking in Battery Park

Actually, I think those were three separate days. But who cares? There's more food to talk about!

When we were at the City Market, we found one vendor selling various confectionaries and sweets. And okra chips. The lady there said she sold more of these than she did all the chocolate combined.

They're deep fried. Taste kind of like sweet potato chips. Except greener. I don't know exactly what that means, but trust me. That's correct. They're delicious, and you can't just eat one. We paired it with cane-sugar cola and grape soda.


It's hard to find this much South in one place outside of a monster truck rally.

Then we got all gussied up for the main event. We hit Husk and McCrady's in a single day for the full on Sean Brock experience. 

Look at how pretty she is. This is the girl I come home to every day. 


Yep. I think I'll keep her.

When I got to Husk and saw the menu, I was like a kid sitting in Santa's lap. "I want one of these. And one of those. And ooh, that other one looks good Screw it. Have the elves bring me two of everything, and an extra helping of reindeer steak." 

I liked it so much, I snagged the menu and started taking notes. 

True story: I have four pigs ears in my freezer, and never before now did I have a clue what to do with them.

Me: What's that like? The pig's ear, I mean? 

Waitress: Like a chicken wing, wrapped in bacon. 

Me: You had me at "bacon". Bring two orders!!


It tasted *exactly* like she described. Except she left out FANTASTIC.

I had catfish for my entree - perfectly done, and re-establishing its place as my favorite of all the fish-housepet crossbreeds.

We ordered a skillet of 'bacon-cornbread' to share for the table. Which came in its own little seasoned, cast iron skillet (the only proper way to make cornbread).  It was coated with bourbon salt. That's salt, drenched in bourbon, and allowed to dry. This can only be explained by divine inspiration.

But wait.

It gets better.

My Bride and I were arguing over who got the last piece when the waitress came back. My step-mother is far too gracious a lady to stake a claim, and it was good enough that I was going to be crass and let her cede without an argument. The kids both wanted more, but they're far too small and un-muscled to put up a real fight for it. However, my Bride can kick my ass if she chooses. And even if she is usually far too sweet to show it, I could tell she was probably willing to draw blood for this one. 

The waitress laughed and explained. 

"That's not just butter you're spreading on that. That's butter whipped with rendered pork lard. That's what makes it so good."

This may be the best thing you have ever eaten in the history of ever.

Where Husk was comfortably fantastic, McCrady's is a fancier affair. It's one of the oldest restaurants in the US - George Washington was served in the upstairs dining room. They have a certain cache of culture and heritage to maintain. It made me glad I had changed into long pants for the evening. 

What I really loved about these restaurants was that the waitstaff was all as excited to see us and tell us about their food as we were to read them and select our meal. That makes a difference. The Critter was over the moon about the skirt steak she ordered, and even the Boy (whose foodie gene is late in blooming) was enjoying himself with the linen tablecloths. 


You can get that camera out of my face and find me some more of that bread, old man.

We had the tasting menu. Mine started with this - beef tartare and crispy fried beef rinds. 

As discussed, I'm pretty versed in your various types of fried pig skins. I can (and do) sometimes wax poetic about the proper treatment and condiments to bring out the flavor and texture. I can even offer an opinion on fried chicken skin.  

But beef rinds? 


There should be a "fried rinds" option for pretty much any animal. Also? On-a-stick.

I shouldn't have been surprised (given my love of all other things rind), but they were fantastic. 

The waitress explained: 

They're not actually skin. They're beef tendon. Thinly sliced and dehydrated. Then dropped into hot oil, seasoned, and served. 

Who the hell thinks of things like this?? A genius. That's who.

How do you top that off?  Small square slices of perfectly skillet-fried pork belly. 


Also? More animals should be made into bacon.

Yes, we did actually get out and see a few other things around town. The architecture and the pace of Charleston will keep it amongst my favorite spots, even if they didn't have the great restaurant scene. And there's plenty of other things in the area to keep one occupied (we didn't make it out to the beach at all. Or the Yorktown.). 

But I love the ad hoc culinary tour we took, and I'd plan another trip of this kind in a heart beat, maybe even out to some of the food source sites and/or into the kitchens of chefs that are open to that kind of thing. I know 'culinary tourism' is a sort of on-again/off-again trend. But I asked my fellow travellers, and they seemed to agree that this trip was an overall success.

More bacon! More cannons!

(For a whole bunch more pics of the trip, you can click here)

Thanks, Irene...

Thanks to the 90+ mile an hour winds hurtling toward my house currently, I'm stuck a few extra days in the UK. This has been a special trip for me for a couple of reasons: It's my last trip here with for my current company. (I start a new gig later next month). And I brought the Critter along with me for the ride. Even after 3 years away, she's maintained her best friendship with one of her old classmates here, and it's given her the week to enjoy together. It was heartwarming to see them pick up like they had never been split up. 

We were supposed to head home tomorrow (and I wasn't really looking forward to the expected-teary-breakup). But Irene has different ideas. All flights headed that way cancelled. 

Ok. No problem. Lemme call BA. 

Oh. You can't. BA customer service in the UK closes at 6pm. So sorry. Call back tomorrow morning! 

What the hell? Can you be a global carrier and not have a 24/7 service line? Really? OK... fine. I can work around that. I've got their US call center number. 

...cue the hold music for 30 minutes or so, since everyone else is doing exactly the same thing...

Me: Hi! Next flight to Boston, please? 

BA: Hmm. Thursday. 

Me: ..sigh... fine. Go ahead and book me. 

BA: No problem sir. 

Me: Can you pleas confirm that's for me and my daughter, right? 

BA: You're the only one on this reservation. 

Me: Hmm. Oh yeah. I think her reservation was added later. 

BA: I need her booking number. 

Me: Urk. I don't have it with me. Can you hang on for a minute or two while I go find it? 

BA: Sir, I can only hold for two minutes, and then I will disconnect the line. 

Me: Do you know how long I was on hold, waiting to talk to you? 

BA: Don't know. Don't care... Sir. 

I might have paraphrased that last bit. But not by much. Clearly, miss BA had been having a busy evening, and making me smile wasn't top of her list of things to get done before she went home tonight. 

On the bright side, that's a few more days to enjoy a proper Indian takeaway. And maybe a meat pie.