I had occasion to go out to dinner the other night. For the past few years, my idea of going out to dinner has been stopping at Ryan’s and tearing through some fried chicken and mashed potatoes, slapping some soft ice cream on some cold cherry cobbler then getting home in time for The Simpsons.
This night, however, was special; not because I was celebrating anything in particular save being in the company of a long cool woman in a black dress, but because I haven’t been out to eat in Charleston for about five or six years.
To be honest, being a writer, my idea of eating out is half-price burger night at Moe’s Crosstown Tavern, but this night I dressed up and took an out-of-town guest to one of our finer downtown establishments.
Dinners like this generally cost almost half my rent (I’m not kidding), but I had let someone use something I wrote a few years back and was paid with a gift certificate. Since it would be bad form to cash it in, and it would be tacky to try to sell it on the street (I can see it now – me dressed up in a suit coming up to some idiot from Wichita in shorts that long since quit fitting and black socks, “Hey, how ya doin? How ya doin? I got a chit for food, man. I give um to you fo…”), I decided to go to dinner.
Before I launch on that, let me launch on this. I dress for dinner — coat and tie at the least. Downtown Charleston is not the beach. I know that we are the playground for the Atlanta nouveau riche, but I feel that a certain sense of decorum befits an occasion that would equal a Ladson family’s food budget for the next six weeks. I wasn’t going out to eat; I was going to enjoy some fine dining.
It was a warm night (Halloween), but I kept my jacket on. I understand that fine dining establishments have become thicker than flies on a flounder (a pistachio-crusted, plum sauce drizzled flounder at that) on the peninsula. Having a big toe in the industry, I understand that it is tourists that fuel the business, that the dress code is a bit relaxed, a pink blazer, blue starched Brooks Brothers shirt and khaki pants with cute little anchors are acceptable evening attire.
When I grew up, the only fine dining was Perdita’s on Exchange Street. I got to go there on very rare occasions. My father and mother would treat me and any girl I’d been talking to for more than three months to dinner and a psychic examination that would make a proctologist uncomfortable. I dressed well out of self-preservation and it seemed to impress the girl, often it was a screen pass at first and goal.
So I admit, I might be a little neurotic about dressing for dinner, but I just don’t think middle aged over-weight couples should confuse it with a softball game. At the risk of being labeled a misogynist, I firmly believe that once you’re over 55, short gym shorts are not a good look. Certainly not in that setting.
Yet I saw a woman wear such a thing to dinner that night. I don’t know. I guess if I were selling a five dollar piece of meat for $30, and you were willing to buy it, I’d seat you if you were dressed like an hermaphrodite, but still…
Charleston has become somewhat of a magnet for gourmands. Indeed, if you had a week, you could easily eat some of the finest meals in the country in a three-block radius. You could probably pay off the debt of two or three African countries with the money as well, but by the time you got done, you could eat shrimp and grits in so many different ways.
Which brings me to my point: Before we rated whole blocks of time on the Food Channel, on tours, I would point out that I like duck with raspberry sauce as much as the next guy, but Charlestonians never ate it.
Shrimp and grits were for breakfast. It comes from the fact that the shrimp man would go door to door throughout the peninsula and sell shrimp (a full plate for a dime). The plate would be dumped in a skillet of scalding bacon grease, then eaten with grits (ground corn – hominy grist).
It cost about 20 cents a serving.
That night, I had a couple of Diet Cokes; my friend had a couple of cosmopolitans. We had a couple of appetizers as well as two entrees. It cost about $175.
Two nights later, we grilled some steaks and watched the World Series. The meal was about $10. The company was excellent. Watching the Yankees lose: Priceless.
