We did not have our usual Saturday night. And it didn't even feel like we were in Charleston. though sitting here Sunday morning, I am still smiling at the sweetness (literally and figuratively) of the evening.
Usually, we go out to a nice restaurant.
I love going to restaurants. And since moving here over a month ago (it seems so much longer, in the best sense of the thought!), we have been trying all the 'in' places to go. Prior to moving here, we had already fallen in love with Muse, McCrady's, 39 rue de Jean, Mercanto and, of course, the alter-of-the-coconut Cake, the Peninsula Grill....where we are now regulars (at 10pm for just the cake and wine, if anyone is worried about our budget!) We now have our fav bartender, Morgan, and have befriended the new and so- nice Manager/Somolier, Jacob. A few new favs have been addedas well: the Wild Olive, East Bay Meeting Inn, Monza's, Pane et Vino...but I digress.
We didn't have plans for last night. Partly because we are trying a new restaurant Monday night (Restaurant Fish, which has a half-price wine list on Mondays) and partly because we did go out Friday night and partly because I had seen banners for the last two weeks announcing the Greek festival and I am a major lover of the Gyro!!
So off we went at around 645pm, with the sun softening a bit to a manageable 93 degrees. And after paying a nominal entrance fee for the 40th ever Greek Festival at the imposing Greek Orthodox Church, we entered a big tented yard that completely reminded me of New Jersey and My Big Fat Greek Wedding! Multiple generational families, with kids running around, grandmothers stuffing lamb onto plates and awkward teenagers clustered by gender eyeing each other....loud greek music, dancing long-skirted, babushka-clad women, and yelps of 'oopa' from all around,> It was wild and made me feel totally transported from the southern south to an ethnic carnival that oozed love and family. It was wonderful!
It was clear that this was not a festival that had rides or clothing boothes. or anything other than food. Greek food. And that was fine with me! There were multiple kiosks around the large square, each offering a variation on the greek cuisine....first, there were greek pastries (why the person responsible for the schematic thought pastries should be first was beyond me, but I am not greek....), then greek wines, american sodas, greek gyros, greek souvlaki, greek salads, greek rice, and then, greek potatoes. Ummm, I thought, I don't know what that is...let's start there....
So I joined a very small line to inquire, as Bill stopped at the american soda stand to snag two diet cokes (both for him), and was soon before a smiling face of a young greek man who lit up when I asked him what greek potatoes were. "Oh, we call them elephant ears." Of course you do I thought and stared back in the universal way of saying...'yes, and what the heck are they?, but the non verbal makes it sound friendlier...and he then went into a 4 minute (no exaggeration) explanation, which my brain heard as potato, slice, vetical, fried, spiced, delicious.....so I did what any of you would have done, "perfect I said, we will definintely have an order of that." As I said that, I was vaguely aware that the line behind me had grown substantially but I justified the time I was taking because, well one, I am not greek, and two, I did order it after all!
My sweet man's smile didn't diminish when he looked at me and said: "Oh no...we are not serving them tonight...they take too long and the crowds are too big." At this point Bill had joined me and was beginning to get a pained expression that meant he was either going to have a heat stroke or I should hurry thin along because the people behind me were about to pounce. So I didn't comment, didn't ask why he just didn't said that 6 minutes ago....and said instead in a clear and succinct voice: Two gyros please, one chicken, one lamb.
The gyro was good, not great. The meat was tender, just not hot. The tomatoes were juicy, though I only got two small diced pieces and could have used 36. The tzaziki was wonderful -- full of garlic and had the tang you want. Bill picked at his and in 3 minutes, was ready to leave. I surveyed the scene, knowing I wouldn't be back for their 41st festival, and wished I had the nerve to tell him I wanted another gyro....but opted for "Where should we go for dessert?"
Most importantly, I could tell he was game. Sometimes he looks at me and I know he thinks 'we' have eaten enough....but not tonight. Wisely, he said: "Where would you like to go?" Perfect I thought....I think it is time we find out once and for all if this old-fashioned and just-plain-old looking ice cream stand that we'd been passing over and over was good, great or a deep disappointment. Bill, somewhat reluctantly, but good-naturedly, agreed.
On our 4 minute drive there, I said I thought we needed some kind of code....some easily understood expression of either "a new wonderous find vs a never-to-recommend encounter. " And having been married almost 20 years, where thelaw of short-hand language has kicked in, we quickly agreed that ours would be: "Is it OMG or is it Ludan?"
I am confident OMG is completely understood as the good, but why Ludan as the bad...A sidebar is definitely needed to introduce you to Ludan.
Ludan is a town in France where Bill and I were promised (by a really really Fench neigbor) would have amzing antiques. So, on a brief trip to Paris, we took a day, and a train, and a rental car --- in search of killer French antiques. It took forever to get there and when we arrived in the ancient city 4+ hours after leaving Paris, it was noon-ish (which proves how early we lad to leave!). The town looked like an old French villiage, but it also looked like it had been abandoned.
Seriously, at best I thought it had been evacuated; at worst, I feared a nuclear or Mars attack that left no people, animals or presence of life. (This was pre-9/11, so excuse the non-terroist reference!)
After driving through and glancing worriedly at each other, we finally spotted a sign of life. "Up there" I beseached Bill.....who then drove the little, shabby rental car toward a small alley way....there we saw a lone man, openning a back seat car door and tossing something in....and as we got closer, we saw it was a baguette and his car was idling outside a bakery where, seemingly, all the people of Loudan were waiting for their fresh baguettes (and I surmised that all the other Loudan people were at home waiting for their bread for lunch!
We then found the shop where our French French neighbor had promised fantastic antiques and saw a hand-written sign on the door saying they would re-open at 3pm. 3pm I shrieked!!! URGH>>>>and I thought much worse.
Loudanites (or is Loudanians??) must eat at home, because we could not find a restaurant....and instead, headed back to the bakery. I thought we could at least eat their bread as we waited. Of course, as the day was going, that was not meant to be....they were out of baguettes, and out of almost everything....except for a few pathetc rolls, which I gratefully grabbed....and some butter. When Bill asked if they had CocaCola light, they looked at him like he had just said a dirty word, so we sat in the yucky rental, eating rolls that weren't what I thought even bad French bakeries made and finally, finally 3pm rolled around and the antique shop openned. Or, I should be accurate and say 3:15pm.
The shopkeeper didn't seem rushed. He didn't seem impressed that we had come all the way from Paris to see him. AND HE HAD NO DECENT FURNITURE. I was dumbstruck as I walked around his tiny shop, over and over again, convinced we were missing something. In nine minutes we were back in that ____ car, retracing our steps. We didn't speak for a while. It wasn't Bill's fault I kept trying to tell myself and this adventure some ten years on will be funny I am sure....but it wasnt until we were back in Paris, eating perfecting filet of sole and downing a wonderful white burgundy, that I got my good natured self back. And that is why, when anything is supremely disappointing vs its expectation.....or just bad bad bad....we say, "It is just like Ludan>"
So, with that long sidebar (sorry), we entered the Ye Olde Cafe and Ice Cream Shoppe...did we have a OMG on our hands, or a Loudan. The physical appearnace said Loudan; the employees said Loudan; even the other customers, I am sorry to say, said Loudan.
The Ice Cream screamed OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I had one they called 'banana pudding' and it had amazing swirls of vanilla wafer goodness. It was creamy without being thick; sweet without the cloying. And while I shared my flavor with Bill, I was happy he was smart enough to keep to his coffee mocca chip. Maybe my low moans gave him a clue!
So as we lfinished and walked back to the car, finally happy and happily full, I repeated OMG. Bill nodded. I knew that meant that we would be back. I knew he thought it was full of what he likes to call 'taste memory.'
I wondered if he noticed, as I surely did, that a single scoop was like three scoops anywhere else>>?? Hope not, cuz we are going back real real soon!
sending love from Charleston
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Jets & the Mules
For you football-oriented in my life, I am sure you think that this is going to be a story about Charleston's attempt to get into the NFL. Sorry. And I understand if you opt out of reading more, though I will say in my defense that it is a really good tale of fast planes and hybrids....c'mon, give it a chance..
This is a story about what happened when the Blue Angels came to town....and the impact to the mules and the reaction of the birds.
Lets begin with the Blue Angels. They're the Top Gun-type pilots from the Navy and Marine Corps who fly shatteringly loud and beautifully sleek jets so close to each other over cities and harbors that all on the ground end up with the same expression of wonder and fear. Everyone actually ducks, thinking they are coming in way way way too close to the earth!
These red-white&and-blue jets fly so close to each other that your eyes tell your brain there is going to be a collision. Sometimes, a single plane will be swooping over and then turns its nose up so severely that it absolutely looks like a missle. I love our military (and believe that without the politicians and head honchos, they represent the best of the USA) so watching them practice for their weekend show was an absolute thrill. And since the show was going to take place over the harbor, they were, in essence, practicing right over our house! I wish they would have landed and I could have given them a sample of my latest granola recipe!
These brave, talented, and might I add, buff pilots were, at first, the toast of the Charleston newspaper, the Post & Courier. Even the Blue Angels commander had a Charleston connection, having gone to the Citidel military academy here. (For those who don't know, the Citicdel is the West Point of the South....though now that I think of it, people here would probably reverse that and say that West Point is the Citidel of the damn North >>> but I digress.) So lets back to the contorversy that erupted.
I've come to observe, after my short time of living here, that drama is very prominant in the Southern soul. Everything seems to have the potential to get someone mad or call the police or even suggest a controversial, conspiritorial act. In fact, all three seem to happen with regularity and just minimal provocation!
So, I wasn't totally surprised to learn that the town and the Blue Angels were having a bit of a tussle...I just wasn't expecting it to involve the mules!
Yes, mules. Lets focus on the mules for a moment: Why are there mules in Charleston you ask? Turns out, they've been here since pretty much the beginning of Charleston's history (which is, if you can fathom, 1670!!) The mules, or more accurately the mules' owners, take great pride in claiming to be a major reason for Charleston's popularity.. You see, to take a tour of historic Chrleston, you can get on a bus, take a walking tour or hop aboard the most charming of carriages and saunter through the town, being pulled by a mule or two mules or even a horse.
But the mule is the best...he (or she) with the ears the size of a pyramid is the most regal of them all. Remember, a mule is, lets use the trendy word, a hybrid between a girl horse and a boy donkey and they actually get better mileage than either of their parents. Also, and I see this as a big advantage, they are infertile, so you don't have to worry about them getting pregnant. As a parent, I like that!
The South has always loved and used the mule, and resent all the talk about their supposed stubborness. Mule-lovers, and I have now actually talked to a few, say instead that..."mules have a stong sense of self-preservation. If they are overheated, overworked or overused for any reason, they stop, and they will not move.They are just trying to tell you that they are tired. Horses work til they drop dead. Why don't they get criticized for being suicidal."
I love this kind of logic. It is just not refutable. And so, to me now, the mule seems pretty darn smart! So why would they have a problem with Blue Angels? Turns out it was the politicians who couldn't leave things alone!
Whether real or imagined, the Town fathers decided that the odds that the mules would revolt or have heart attacks when the Blue Angels engines roared over head were big.
I think they envisioned the headline the next day of a tourist being thrown from the carriage or the ASPCA sueing Charleston for 'inhumane/inmule treatment'. So they banned all tour carriages using mules banned during the air show. (They banned the horses too, but no one seemed to get all worked up over that!).
Proprieters of mules argued that their mules were mellow as could be and were too cool to be spooked. But nothing could change the minds of the town politicians, whose paranoia about even a single tourist going flying out of the carriage while the other flying was going on, was clearly palpable. (They have their careers to protect after all....don't all Charleston politicians end up in Washington DC>>>???)
So, while the Blue Angels flew, the mules rested in their barns. And though I don't know this personally, I bet they actually liked having a two hour nap on a Saturday and Sunday! Irony rules!
So, the Blue Angels soared overhead. And were amazing......And clearly had power over the mules. But, they didn't have power over three pelicans who kept swooping up after the pilots were circling around....and these three pelicans, also soared, also flew in tight formation and, I swear, one of them made eye contact with me and communicated clearly as if speaking to me: "See human, we can fly too. In fact, we fly better, tighter and have the additional edge of being completely sympatico with the mules of Charleston," Good point I thought.
The Blue Angels are amazing and remind me that Afganistan, and all the 'stan' countries for that matter, don't have a chance against us, but the bird reminded me that nature, mules and birds included, is even more amazing! Here's to Monday when the birds and the mules return to rule Charleston.
sending love from Charleston
This is a story about what happened when the Blue Angels came to town....and the impact to the mules and the reaction of the birds.
Lets begin with the Blue Angels. They're the Top Gun-type pilots from the Navy and Marine Corps who fly shatteringly loud and beautifully sleek jets so close to each other over cities and harbors that all on the ground end up with the same expression of wonder and fear. Everyone actually ducks, thinking they are coming in way way way too close to the earth!
These red-white&and-blue jets fly so close to each other that your eyes tell your brain there is going to be a collision. Sometimes, a single plane will be swooping over and then turns its nose up so severely that it absolutely looks like a missle. I love our military (and believe that without the politicians and head honchos, they represent the best of the USA) so watching them practice for their weekend show was an absolute thrill. And since the show was going to take place over the harbor, they were, in essence, practicing right over our house! I wish they would have landed and I could have given them a sample of my latest granola recipe!
These brave, talented, and might I add, buff pilots were, at first, the toast of the Charleston newspaper, the Post & Courier. Even the Blue Angels commander had a Charleston connection, having gone to the Citidel military academy here. (For those who don't know, the Citicdel is the West Point of the South....though now that I think of it, people here would probably reverse that and say that West Point is the Citidel of the damn North >>> but I digress.) So lets back to the contorversy that erupted.
I've come to observe, after my short time of living here, that drama is very prominant in the Southern soul. Everything seems to have the potential to get someone mad or call the police or even suggest a controversial, conspiritorial act. In fact, all three seem to happen with regularity and just minimal provocation!
So, I wasn't totally surprised to learn that the town and the Blue Angels were having a bit of a tussle...I just wasn't expecting it to involve the mules!
Yes, mules. Lets focus on the mules for a moment: Why are there mules in Charleston you ask? Turns out, they've been here since pretty much the beginning of Charleston's history (which is, if you can fathom, 1670!!) The mules, or more accurately the mules' owners, take great pride in claiming to be a major reason for Charleston's popularity.. You see, to take a tour of historic Chrleston, you can get on a bus, take a walking tour or hop aboard the most charming of carriages and saunter through the town, being pulled by a mule or two mules or even a horse.
But the mule is the best...he (or she) with the ears the size of a pyramid is the most regal of them all. Remember, a mule is, lets use the trendy word, a hybrid between a girl horse and a boy donkey and they actually get better mileage than either of their parents. Also, and I see this as a big advantage, they are infertile, so you don't have to worry about them getting pregnant. As a parent, I like that!
The South has always loved and used the mule, and resent all the talk about their supposed stubborness. Mule-lovers, and I have now actually talked to a few, say instead that..."mules have a stong sense of self-preservation. If they are overheated, overworked or overused for any reason, they stop, and they will not move.They are just trying to tell you that they are tired. Horses work til they drop dead. Why don't they get criticized for being suicidal."
I love this kind of logic. It is just not refutable. And so, to me now, the mule seems pretty darn smart! So why would they have a problem with Blue Angels? Turns out it was the politicians who couldn't leave things alone!
Whether real or imagined, the Town fathers decided that the odds that the mules would revolt or have heart attacks when the Blue Angels engines roared over head were big.
I think they envisioned the headline the next day of a tourist being thrown from the carriage or the ASPCA sueing Charleston for 'inhumane/inmule treatment'. So they banned all tour carriages using mules banned during the air show. (They banned the horses too, but no one seemed to get all worked up over that!).
Proprieters of mules argued that their mules were mellow as could be and were too cool to be spooked. But nothing could change the minds of the town politicians, whose paranoia about even a single tourist going flying out of the carriage while the other flying was going on, was clearly palpable. (They have their careers to protect after all....don't all Charleston politicians end up in Washington DC>>>???)
So, while the Blue Angels flew, the mules rested in their barns. And though I don't know this personally, I bet they actually liked having a two hour nap on a Saturday and Sunday! Irony rules!
So, the Blue Angels soared overhead. And were amazing......And clearly had power over the mules. But, they didn't have power over three pelicans who kept swooping up after the pilots were circling around....and these three pelicans, also soared, also flew in tight formation and, I swear, one of them made eye contact with me and communicated clearly as if speaking to me: "See human, we can fly too. In fact, we fly better, tighter and have the additional edge of being completely sympatico with the mules of Charleston," Good point I thought.
The Blue Angels are amazing and remind me that Afganistan, and all the 'stan' countries for that matter, don't have a chance against us, but the bird reminded me that nature, mules and birds included, is even more amazing! Here's to Monday when the birds and the mules return to rule Charleston.
sending love from Charleston
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