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Herb and Hen are my parents. Herb is my father's real name (short for Herbert Nicholas) and Hen is my mother's nickname. She acquired it at some point along the long journey of raising her four children and it is an allusion to the whole "mother hen" thing. Her real name is Margaret. It strikes me with no small irony that they both have "food" names, especially since they, like me, love great food and have little patience for or interest in bad food.
That's probably a big part of the reason they come to visit me twice a year here in the great food town that is Charleston on their seasonal treks to and from their dual homes in Kansas City and Naples, FL. They've been doing that for the decade I've lived here. It's hard for me to believe that Herb is now 77, Hen is now 75, and I'm now 45. Maybe it's the passage of time, maybe it's the irrepressible knock of mortality on our collective consciousness' door, or maybe it's just the growing pool of wisdom that comes with time, but each time they come, we seem to have more fun, learn more, and eat more. And, perhaps most importantly, try and be more patient and kind, as hard as that can oddly be with those you love most.
They just left here yesterday after a four-day whirlwind of "Doin' The Charleston" which, for us, meant long walks, big breakfasts (at home) and an indulgent round of restaurant dining. The hardest part was, like always, selecting where to go. Hen has her favorites (Magnolia and Hominy Grill) and is loathe to depart from the tried and true, despite my desperate urgings to try something new. Herb is a bit more adventurous, but embraces Charleston Grill as his long-standing "night out" restaurant. So, all of these (save Hominy Grill due to schedule logistic issues) made our list, and we threw Al di La into the mix, for good, Italian measure.
After a long morning walk, Magnolia was the first gustatory target on day one. Hen loves the linens and lovely look of the place; we all love it for its consistently delicious Southern flared food. The fried chicken, mashed potatoes, pepper biscuits, pan gravy and super fabulous collards was my selection. Herb and Hen were decidedly more restrained in their respective ahi ahi and flounder dishes. All was amazing and we were left pondering the amazing legacy Executive Chef Donald Barickman has left upon this town. His touch is everywhere and still graces the goodness at Magnolia.
Al di La's panini (especially the mozzarella, arugula and prosciutto variety), steaming creamy tomato soup, and shepherd's salad, all served with $7 off on all bottles of wine on a quiet Tuesday were the tasty precursors to the final coup de grace that lurked later that evening at Charleston Grill.
Is there a more beautiful dining room in all of Charleston? If so, I can only think of a few that come close. The deep, mahogany colored walls, multiple enclaves for Jonathon Green's artwork, and creamy upholstery all scream subtle sophistication in a decidedly Southern dialect. Mickey Bakst and his service staff make you feel like you're sailing first class on The Titanic. Not a single need goes unnoticed. And then, there is Michelle Weaver. Maybe one of the most behind-the-scenes, and publicly under-regaled chefs in town, Michelle does indeed weave magic. Her new tasting menu and recent additions to the standing menu - most notably the foie gras with a mascarpone cream nestled on sauteed apples and served with fryer-hot beignets - is worth a trip alone. The heirloom tomato salad (pictured above) burst with farm-fresh flavor and texture in Hen's mouth, while Hen and Herb both savored Charleston Grill's show-stopping crab cakes. All breads were warm and fresh from the oven, but the flavor that is not to be missed is the almost cake-like cornbread muffins, that sparkle with little golden gems of fresh corn.
Watch out, world! Charleston just keeps on getting better and consistently sets the most joyful stage imaginable for my familial visits. Thank you, thank you for all of you out there who make it happen! We all were walking with a heavier step and lighter hearts by the time Herb and Hen pulled out of the train station early yesterday morning. And, we'll savor all the memories forever. That's the greatest gift of all.
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