Georgia Coasting

Skipper’s Fish Camp
85 Screven St.
Darien, GA




“Guys, it just doesn’t get any better than this.”

Remember that iconic Old Milwaukee television commercial -- all the dudes sitting around a campfire on the beach, sun setting into the lake, knocking back cold ones?

Yeah. That’s what I was thinking to myself on this sunny spring afternoon as I sipped my ice cold Sweetwater 420 sitting on the back deck at Skipper’s Fish Camp.

Sun shining down, a cool breeze blowing off the Darien River, shrimp boats motoring by and Charlie Daniels and Hank Williams, Jr. on the outdoor sound system.

Ahhh, yeah.

It just doesn’t get any better than this.

Other than the Outlaw Country soundtrack, the only other sounds are the cries of the sea gulls and the
locals at the table next to me calling out their “hey y’alls” to the shrimpers who just tied up to the pilings across the salt marsh.

Darien, Georgia is a fleeting little coastal town, one of the few remaining still genuinely tied to the bounties of the surrounding waters.

The one block downtown consists of four or five buildings.

Just downhill toward the water’s edge lies Skipper’s and a row of shrimp boats -- an increasingly rare sight on the southeastern coastline.

Cold hard economics makes it difficult to cling to this fading, salty way of life.

With diesel at four bucks per gallon, it can cost several hundred dollars to fill a shrimp boat’s fuel tank for a day of trawling the coastal waters.

Even at the $11 per pound going retail rate for local jumbo shrimp, it’s hard to eke out much of a profit.

Worse yet, folks can go to the local Piggly Wiggly and buy shrimp for $3-$4 per pound.

Of course that bargain shrimp doesn’t come from the Darien River. It comes from a shrimp farm in Thailand.

Can you taste the difference?

Absolutely.

No comparison.

Local Georgia shrimp are firmer and sweeter.

Besides, seafood is supposed to come from the sea -- not some Third World farm on the other side of the planet where masses of frankenshrimp swim in their own waste.

But don’t worry about the health consequences of such shrimp factories. The fish food the shrimp are fed is spiked with mass amounts of anti-biotics -- so you won’t get sick.

Some Department of Agriculture bureaucrat would probably try to convince me this is “progress”.

No thanks.

Give me a plate of shrimp that came right out of the deep blue sea in front of me.

That’s what you get at Skipper’s Fish Camp where your meal probably came right off one of the boats docked out back.

A favorite way to enjoy local wild-caught shrimp here in the Low Country is shrimp and grits.

Skipper’s version piles a whole mess of shrimp in a bowl of cheese grits topped with smoky bacon.

I got my local shrimp blackened with a crab cake combo.

With a light peppery seasoning, my shrimp had a nice skillet char on the outside while remaining succulent and tender on the inside.

My crab cake was a Low Country version typical of this part of the coast.

Around the Chesapeake Bay, crab cakes tend to be baseball shaped mounds of moist crab meat faintly held together by mayonnaise and a few traces of bread crumbs.

They do crab cakes a bit differently down here.

Skipper’s crab cake was flattened rather than round, with more seasoning, less mayo and a nice dark crust from the skillet.

I’m not going to start any fist fights over which version I like better, but let’s just say any open-minded “when in Rome” crab cake connoisseur won’t be disappointed at Skipper’s.

Skipper’s sides were a highlight rather than an afterthought.

Collard greens chockfull of pork fat.

Sweet potato casserole mixed up with lots of pecans and brown sugar.

And top notch homemade onion rings. The batter compliments rather than overshadows the thick, sweet, juicy rings of local Vidalia onion.

Of course no trip to Coastal Georgia is complete without sampling some local alligator.

Skipper’s gator bites back as the tender greasy meat is deep fried and then tossed in a fiery hot buffalo sauce.

I had to order several pints of Georgia’s favorite craft brew, Sweetwater 420, to douse the flames.

Yep. Had to.

Drinking beer in the sun on a Wednesday afternoon. Local shrimp, crab and gator.

Nope. It doesn’t get much better.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Shipping Off to Guantanamo Well Fed

Blackstone’s Café
205 Scott St.
Beaufort, South Carolina





If President Obama were kind enough to offer me one final meal before he slapped on the cuffs and exiled me to Guantanamo, it would have to be shrimp & grits.

Nothing beats fresh wild caught American shrimp. And good Southern grits are one of those rare side items perfectly at home on a breakfast, lunch or dinner menu.

In combination, shrimp & grits encourages creativity. Like Mitt Romney’s position on abortion, no two versions are alike.

I’m happy to report, the chef at the Blackstone’s Café here in the heart of South Carolina’s Low Country takes full advantage.

Blackstone’s “Cajun” Shrimp & Grits are LOADED!

Onion. Green Pepper. Red Pepper. Crumbled breakfast sausage. And mounds of melted cheese.

Oh, and a good generous portion of local shrimp buried amid all that goodness and grits.

Whew!

That’s an explosion of flavor in every bite.

My only quibble with my “Cajun” shrimp & grits was with the “Cajun” part. These shrimp & grits need a bit more spice to earn that label.

On the side came a warm golden Southern biscuit which can only be described as buttery perfection.

Of course I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to sample Blackstone’s specialty of the house, homemade corned beef hash.

A mishmash of crispy fried corned beef and potatoes, this is as good as hash can get.

There’s just something about that wonderful textural variety of soft and crunchy corned beef mixed with skillet browned home fries that makes a breakfast like this worth getting up early for.

And trust me, folks here in Beaufort are happy to do just that.

Packed with that classic breakfast joint eclectic mix of hung-over partiers and freshly scrubbed after-churchers, I chose the less crowed, though less interesting, back patio to enjoy my meal.

Though quiet and pleasant on a cool morning, I kind of missed being amid the hub bub inside. Plastered with prep school banners and Marine Corp paraphernalia, Blackstone’s décor reflects its local flavor well.

Just down the road from Paris Island, Blackstone’s Café reflects the conservative pro-military bias of this corner of the Palmetto State.

You’ve got to love a restaurant owner passionate enough about saving America to post the “Tytler Cycle of Democracy” in the men’s room.

The average age of the worlds greatest civilizations from the beginning of history, has been about 200 years. During those 200 years, these nations always progressed through the following sequence:

From bondage to spiritual faith
from spiritual faith to great courage
from courage to liberty
from liberty to abundance
from abundance to selfishness
from selfishness to complacency
from complacency to apathy
from apathy to dependency
from dependency back to bondage.

– Alexander Fraser Tytler (1747-1813)

Never mind that no one can actually definitively cite the 18th Century Scottish historian as the originator of this bit of wisdom, but the message stands on its own. Nothing like educating a captive audience!

Unfortunately, Suit757 doesn’t put much stock in the “educate the masses” theory of saving the country. See above about that “apathy” thing.

Too many folks just can’t be educated – even captive with manhood in hand. Much more effective to mobilize the ALREADY educated.

But still, as I paid my tab and walked out the front door, prominently adorned with a “Fair Tax” bumper sticker, I felt good having given patronage to a philosophical soul mate.

I’m pretty sure the owner of Blackstone’s is right up there next to Suit757 at the top of Obama’s political enemies list.

Come to think of it, I’m pretty excited about that. At least we’ll be well fed down in Guantanamo.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Rebels And Yankees Unite Over Grits And The Man In Black

Tupelo Honey Café
12 College St.
Asheville, North Carolina

Beer selection: Great selection of local microbrews.

Food: Southern cuisine served with Yankee flare.



To understand Asheville, North Carolina, you must understand that in the minds of certain Yankees, Southern culture is cool. And hip.

In contrast, I have yet to meet a Southerner who finds anything about Yankee culture the least bit interesting (except maybe The Sopranos).

This fascination with everything Southern is quite understandable. The South has better weather, politics, music, women…and, most importantly, food. It’s just that most Yankees have never lifted their head up out of their brown, crusty snow pile long enough to notice.

So if you think I’m about to launch into some rant out carpet bagging Yankee posers coming down to God’s country to pretend they fit in, well…I’ll save that post for the Buckhead bars in Atlanta.

Not today.

That’s because the Yankee celebration of Southern culture that goes on in Asheville is a good thing.

Here in Asheville you don’t have that most annoying bread of Yankees who look down on a South they’ve never visited and know nothing about.

No. Yankees come to Asheville because they actually LIKE biscuits, grits and Johnny Cash.

All three of which were on full display at lunchtime at the Tupelo Honey Café in downtown Asheville.

Johnny Cash provides the perfect sound track to lunch. Even Yankees who think they don’t like country music, like The Man in Black.

Even Yankees who think they don’t like grits, will love them here.

Tupelo Honey Café’s motto is “Asheville’s New South Kitchen”.

Translation: traditional Southern cooking exotically spruced up in the hands of a creative chef from New Jersey who fell in love with the South.

The result is one of the South’s premier meeting places for open-minded North Carolina natives and adventurous Northern tourists and transplants. Like what Willie Nelson did for the rednecks and the hippies in Austin, the Tupelo Honey Café does for hungry Rebels and Yankees here in Asheville.

I say open-minded natives because the Southern cooking coming out of the kitchen here bares little resemblance to the biscuits and grits at your local town square meat-and-three.

No ordinary Southern restaurant would serve warm biscuits with organic home-made jam rather than a traditional pat of butter. Or gild their grits with goat cheese or red pepper (or, anything in the least bit spicy). Or, heaven forbid, serve it all along with a flight of locally produced microbrews.

But that’s exactly what you get here -- to the delight of an eclectic mix of locals, transplants and tourists alike.

Yeah, it may not be like grandma fixed it, but these folks appreciate good food when they taste it.

Like the shrimp and grits, one of my all time favorite dishes.

What I love about shrimp and grits is that like the snow flakes falling outside on the College St. sidewalk on this frigid afternoon, no two versions are ever the same.

In the small Southern town I live in, you can go to over a dozen eateries to try different versions of the classic Low Country dish – some with cheese, some without; some with gravy, some without; some with ham, some with sausage, some with bacon, some without; some with creamy grits, some with fried grits. And you know what? Every last one of them is delicious.

Shrimp and grits rewards creativity. A perfect choice at a place like the Tupelo Honey Café.

Fresh shrimp layered on a creamy bed of goat cheese grits, generously enhanced by discs of andouille sausage and smothered in a spicy red pepper gravy, this has to be one of the best shrimp and grits dishes of all time.

The big surprise was the major taste-bud-kicking spice in these shrimp and grits.

Fortunately, the Tupelo Honey Café, like most eateries here in “Beer City USA”, had just what my taste buds needed – a nice selection of local microbrews on tap.

Ah, but here’s the dilemma. Which local microbrew?

So many beers, so little time.

Just when I thought my lunch couldn’t get any better, my enthusiastic friendly waitress solved my problem by suggesting a flight of beer – the indecisive beer drinker’s salvation.

Sure enough, within seconds, she brought out four 5 oz. servings of locally brewed beer and helpfully identified and described each one, which is very important for determining favorites for future beer drinking adventures.

Johnny Cash, shrimp and grits – AND an education.

Who ever said drinking beer kills brain cells anyway?

Well, to be honest, I’ve already forgotten the name of the pilsner. But that’s okay. Skunky like a Eurotrash import, it wasn’t going to make my top ten list anyway.

The Pisgah Porter would be perfect evidence for my “don’t judge a beer by its color” mantra. The darkest beer on this flight by far, was the most tasteless. Thin, bland and watery, this porter just didn’t do it for me.

The second darkest beer, Highland Gaelic Ale, was much tastier – a nice balance between sweet malt and hoppy spice.

By far the best of the flight was the Pisgah Pale Ale, a locally brewed organic beer that had a nice strong hoppy taste and a crisp, clean finish.

We have a winner!

My waitress, curious about my scientific conclusion, concurred with my decision.

“That’s my favorite too,” she said. “It’s delicious!”

As the last strains of “Folsom Prison Blues” played on the sound system and I pulled on my overcoat to venture back into the icy mountain air, I contemplated what a quirky unique place this is.

Carolina and New York accents peacefully comingling.

Out-of-this-world Southern cooking by a chef from New Jersey.

Mouth-tinglingly spicy shrimp and grits.

And chicks who dig hoppy microbrewed beers.

Like the food served up at the Tupelo Honey Café, Asheville is one of a kind.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!