Our last day has come

/

What a perfectly rejuvenating, fun, laid-back trip this has been. Charleston is terrific, y'all, a city to which I'd happily return at any moment. I desperately need to head home today, however, so that the cholesterol build-up that has surely occurred since we arrived can subside; my liver would also love a break from the joys of such festive living; and I miss vegetables as experienced in a clean and spare state. I'm almost embarrassed to say that, still full from last night, we cancelled our lunch plans for today and have already commenced with more restrained eating. Even a good run this morning didn't much lessen the feeling of over-stuffed plaguing every bit of my body. Nonetheless, every calorie, every drop was worth it, and I will happily trudge to the airport like a pack-mule, laden with grits, Carolina gold rice, coffee and all manner of other goodies currently stuffed in my bags. I am newly inspired by the many ways in which we've enjoyed seafood here. Indeed, by the way we've enjoyed everything we've eaten here.

I have got to hand it to Charleston: this is a city that really takes food, coffee and drink seriously. I have drunk so many unique, memorable wines here and tip my hat to the willingness of area sommeliers to jump off the beaten path and seek out new ways to excite wine drinkers. Last night, before drinks with friends, T and I went to Social, a French Quarter wine bar committed to sourcing from small, artisinal producers, for an aperitif (you see what I mean? pre-drink drinks, post-drink drinks...). I opted for a flight of unusual whites, expecting three small pours that would perfectly whet my whistle in the 45 minutes we had. Swear to god, these were full-on glasses of wine and it soon became clear I'd started my night on a seriously boozy foot. Cheers!

When we sat down at Social, I was totally chagrined to see a the SF/ATL football game playing on a TV in the corner. However, Social is one of the only places I've ever been that's managed to have a tube and not lose a good wine bar vibe. The bartenders knew what they were talking about, and two of my three wines -a Greek assyrtiko and the Chateau Musar "Jeune" [same vineyard as that fab red I had at McCrady's on Friday], a blend of viognier, chardonnay and vermentino grown in Lebanon- were fantastic. Crisp, racy, decidedly not your standard whites. T ordered a beer that made both our mouths sing. If you're a beer-lover, it was like a cross between an American IPA and a Belgian Saison. I gotta get the name...

As tipsy'ness was upon us, we ordered two quick items: a shrimp dish and a remarkably awesome bruschetta topped with ricotta, sage, apple and butternut squash. RiDICulously yum. They to drinks with friends at their lovely home and then a spontaneous dinner at The Ordinary, a seafood restaurant that just opened last fall.

If you've ever been to Balthazar in NYC (one of the all-time greats, in terms of both food and atmosphere), you'd think you were visiting its delightful step-sister in stepping foot inside The Ordinary. Oh mamma, the ambiance at this joint is great: sky-high ceilings; huge, globey lights; gorgeous, endless wood bar; towering staircase; white tiles everywhere; just the right noise level -definitely hopping but not a mosh pit; and awesome seafood. Naturally we sat at the bar, and decided to start with the Oysters Moscow; raw guys on the half shell topped with a dollop of crème fraîche and caviar. I opted for the extremely local capers blades oysters and was not disappointed. Feeling rather czarina-like, I ordered a perfect glass of Chablis, and we then indulged in black roux gumbo and some BBQ white shrimp. To.Die.For. Must make black roux. Thank god we walked home.

So you can see why I might be full, might be in the slightest need of a detox. It sure has been fun though. Oh, and best coffee here is to be found at Black Tap, not Kudu, according to a multi-day tasting done by T and moi! But more on that later.

Les idiots a le bar

/

So, back to last night. T and I were seated at the corner of the bar: around the bend, to T's left, were four seats; flanking my right, the long arm of the ell, were about six more. Initially, there were two lovely couples sitting at my ten o'clock, yet unfortunately, they were soon replaced by two more, and, as I was facing T, I was a box-seat patron to the theatrical spectacle happening off the port bow. Homme A: Robert Pattinson look-alike saunters in, all puffed hair and pomposity. He's sheathed in layers of black for that casual, "I might have just rolled out of bed but whether I did or not, you can bet these duds set me back some" look. He conspicuously peels off his sweater, revealing the lowest scoop neck tee I've ever seen on a man. Did he shave his chest for this or is he simply rather bare? I'm not sure but I was taken aback by his plunging neckline. He ruches each sleeve up as if he wishes it were a cap-sleeved shirt but primarily to show off a tat and some decently toned guns. I dare say it takes a real sense of "I feel cool" to set one's sleeves in this manner, and to repeatedly do so as naturally, they slipped. Insufferable!

He proceeds to ask for tastes of pretty much every red by the glass on the list, finally, feigning fluster and defeat, he declares, "just give me $20 by the glass, I'm just gonna go for it." Bartender, cool as a cucumber/hip/good at his job, invokes Vincent Vega's exclamation about the $5 milkshake (see Pulp Fiction) and ultimately serves the guy a glass for $18 (the $20 was a 1986 Italian, and I felt kinda glad he reserved it for someone who'd know what was being poured).

Dame A: Homme A's gal-pal, she comes in chewing gum like she's in a contest to see who can smack it the loudest and largest. Hey tonsils, how are you? And, as if she were an LA celeb, she is, despite the warm'ish weather, clad in an enormous knit sweater which she kept wrapping around her face, and on occasion in her mouth, like a toddler might with a beloved safety blanky. She finally, and to her credit fairly discreetly, gets rid of the gum, takes 2 bites of her sea bass crudo, and returns to her sweater.

Homme & Dame B: In one of those "you should really stop looking but can't" moments, I stare, mouth agape, at Fleshy-faced, Suit-wearing, iPhone-tethered, Buddy Holly Glasses as he assumes the position to sweater girl's right. He looks peevish and gruff, to put it mildly. From the band encircling his left ring finger, I take it he's married to the lass on his right, who is pouty and quiet and rather lacking in the top-lip department. She pulls out her glittery silver iPhone -wouldn't you?- at which point he actually looks at her and starts hissing in one of those more than audible anger-whispers about how obsessed she is and PUT.IT.AWAY. He then returns to his, and she pouts a bit more -wouldn't you?. They order some wine and eventually have one more intense conversation, so intense you're wondering if they're plotting to take over the world in five minutes but she forgot the briefcase with the codes back at home.