Southern Hospitality

"Come on out and let me show you something."

I was hastily packing up the stroller, rushing to get the kids out of the restaurant before they made a scene. (We were at a place called S.N.O.B., after all.) So then this man, in Chef whites and a moustache, smiled at me and helped me leave the restaurant, I just assumed he was trying to get me out of there quickly. I couldn't blame him, really. Faster turnover equals faster profits. Plus, I had small children with me.

"Would you take a look at that!" He said, pointing upwards.

I looked up. What on earth was he talking about? God? The gaslight? What?

"I planted that Jasmine ten years ago! Can you smell that? Bet you don't get those up north!"


I couldn't believe it. The executive chef, the man whose distinctly mustachioed face had stared back at us from multiple press clippings hung on the restaurant walls, wanted to make small talk.

It was the start of the dinner rush. We saw them turn people away, they were so busy.

And still, he wanted to take a minute to talk gardening with a tourist. So I fought my urge to just hightail it out of there and had a lovely conversation about jasmine, fruit and grass-fed beef with the busiest person in the building.

Things are done differently down
there. I loved Charleston. Thank you for making me feel welcome! And thank you, Holly, for your generous guidance on things to do.

My apologies for basically dropping off the face of the internet...Our trip to to South Carolina was absolutely lovely, but coming back home after a week away was brutal. I still haven't unpacked the suitcases, though I think I can blame that on glorious weather we've finally had here in Boston. What a great welcome home, Beantown!