I confess that I feel a bit dafty writing about the first food encountered in the Americas. It may not be representative of colonial reality; the fare has been pure dead brilliant. However, it is important to note we are barely in America. I mean, that is the Atlantic Ocean at the door so, perhaps, we are still influenced by the high standards of Scottish cuisine. Indeed, that must be the correct understanding. A contributing factor may be that I have been in an automobile for hours and hours. The endless road has much traffic, many lanes to choose from, and fences to keep you from the opposite lanes of traffic. There are also great belching trucks the size of ocean liners by the hundreds. Everyone is traveling near the speed of sound. One is bound to be befuddled by so much movement and discombobulated by the change in locations. I have traveled further in two weeks than the first 20 years of my life. Why? Well must be on with my brief.
A most impressive meal of my first American experience was found in Charleston, a very proper spot on a tree lined street. The second good dinning occurred in a shop stuffed between a grocery and a nail salon! It was actually excellent food and not a chippy shop or kababs. Why? What possessed the owner to insert a quality dining establishment in such an unlikely place?
In Charleston we dined at a restaurant named 22 Queen. Why the Yankee Doodles would think of 22 queens, another perplexing moment. The restaurant does have a long tradition of excellence. The fare included: braised short ribs, a delectable duck dish, a clever medley of sea food and pasta and flounder. We can all guess who ordered the flounder.
At the nearly indistinguishable restaurant (by a nail salon!!), Long Island Cafe on Isle of Palms, fish and seafood were the prime attractions. We were joined again by the lass's daughter and husband. The ladies had their favorite, fried oysters. The husband an oyster and scallop speciality The lad who, again, was repetitious, had flounder and french fries. There may be no hope here.
A most pleasant surprise so far was the fine meals prepared in the beach lodging. We ate well. As I recall, among the dishes were: Oysters Rockefeller, shrimp and grits, and shrimp pasta. I still am uncertain what a grit might be, regardless, it is rather tasty. I will look it up. However, I must add that luncheon is still pitiful. I did not mention that the lass and the lad also ate from a truck in a parking lot. I was appalled. I canna believe I am about to pen this sentence, the food was actually quite good. Tacos I believe they are called. Why did they appear from the truck? Who cooked them? Help me understand this custom. So confused.
I am also flummoxed by the staggering number of beside-the-road eating stops that pockmark the landscape with pure hackit. Yet, we stopped at one - again. Of course, the establishment had no seating inside the shop, so eating outside on a steel chair by the curb was the single choice. Unbelievable. I am grateful we ate in the car with the car at a standstill at least. This habit is not conducive to proper enjoyment of food. Even though the food was not too bad. Did I really say that! Ouch.
Well it is back in the automobile for another few thousand miles of travel. We will most certainly be inland so the real America is about to be unveiled. I may pack a snack to two from Charleston, for I may not eat well again for weeks. Do not fear, gentle reader, I will report in two weeks from the hinterland. I press on regardless in the tradition of all puffins everywhere.
I remain, your humble servant,
Respectfully submitted,
Miss Rowena Brambleglen
