The first step is always to admit you have a problem. So this is me admitting that I am a food slut. A culinary whore. I realized this tonight while dining at the unbelievably amazing Fat Hen. I practically melted in my chair while listening to the dinner specials. Hearing the words ” grilled with a sauce of garlic and butter”, “balsamic reduction” and ” caramelized onions” I felt my tongue get all tingly and my stomach fill with butterflies. Tonight I feasted upon grilled tile fish with a garlic butter sauce. Served on a bed of wilted Swiss chard, fresh corn off the cob and caramelized baby onions and fresh tomatoes that burst open inside my mouth with an explosion of earth grown goodness. And just when I thought I was done… the waiter brought the dessert menu. And that just about did me in. Berry Cobbler with just baked shortbread biscuits split open to embrace handfuls of fresh picked berries and covered in creme fraiche. Homemade mint ice cream nestled inside tiny dollops of golden puff pastry. Warm bread pudding with a scoop of Vanilla Anglaise. My face flushed. My heart began to beat a rumba inside my chest. Little beads of sweat began to form along my forehead. By the time he was done I was sliding down my chair fanning my face with a menu. If I was a cat I would have been purring. Don’t you feel it too? I ended up with a dish of Vanilla Creme Brulee. A wafer thin layer of crisp caramel hiding a dreamy creamy vanilla custard that just disappears slowly in the warmth of a welcoming mouth.
Do you see what I mean. I have developed over the years this deep love with food. Food that is made with care and love. Food that is infused with fresh ingredients carefully chosen for their robustness of flavor, brilliant color or a homegrown smell that dances through your nose only to tango their way to your tongue. Food that makes everything quiver with a primal joy just in anticipation of wrapping your lips around each morsel of sensory taunts. And it’s not just the eating of food. It’s creating food. The steady rhythm that begins in the arm blending and folding batter for a homemade cake that travels straight to the hips and the toes so that they are providing a physical balance of swinging and tapping to the music of the bowl and spoon. The sizzle of fresh garlic hitting the oil in a cast iron skillet. And then there’s the giving of food. Golden brown zucchini bread wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. (Go ahead.. admit you hear the Sound of Music too when you say that out loud). Hoping your guest eyes get wide with appreciation as you slice through a mile high layer of homemade mashed potatoes on a deep dish, fresh from the oven Shepard’s pie. A container of warm and peppery chicken noodle soup for a sick friend. I love it all.
There I go again. Somebody please open a window. It’s getting hot in here. And if you love food as I have come to love food then Charleston is the place to be. I have eaten well this weekend. My taste buds have been overjoyed and overwhelmed at all the exquisite and varied delectable excursions we have had in the last 4 days. They shall be sad to say goodbye to this city in the wee hours of tomorrow morning.
Franny Bolsa 