On Vodka and Diet Coke's second day in Charleston, they decide to do some venturing to new and faraway lands -- first to the Charleston Tea Plantation in order to drink their weight in tea....
|So What You're Saying Is, You DON'T Have Any Vodka to Spike This Tea With?!|
|What Kind of Plantation Is This?!|
|Toto, I Don't Think We're In Charleston Anymore|
1. Orangeburg is an hour and a half away.
2. We have no idea what hash is.
Plowing onwards, we blast a strange combination of showtunes and Kanye West in our rental car until we reach the exit for Orangeburg, where we end up driving on -- wait for it -- FIVE CHOP ROAD. On our way to get bar-b-que.
Only in South Carolina, folks. Only in South Carolina.
|Oh Yeah, Your Car DEFINITELY Looks Cooler Now. Solid Work|
|Luckily, the Army Is Here to Protect Us|
This must be some darn good hash.
|The Le Bec Fin of South Carolina|
|Yes, Hi, We're From Up North. Please Help Us|
"What is that?" Diet Coke asks.
"I don't know," Vodka answers. "It's not hash."
We're sure you can guess where this story is going.
|Spoiler: This Is Hash|
In truth, we overhear a conversation about THE HASH. And guess what? It is NOT the item that Vodka is scooping onto her plate with wild abandon.
|NOT HASH YOU FOOL|
|They're Very Into Styrofoam in Orangeburg|
Relatively fine in texture, the hash somehow manages to hold itself together over the rice. The taste is tangy like a beautiful combination of ketchup and bar-b-que sauce (clearly, Diet Coke takes exception to her no-condiments rule when they're combined in an unrecognizable substance), and we believe we can discern bits of meat, onion, and possibly potato. Whatever is in this concoction, however, is unimportant -- we like it. We like it much, much more than we thought we would.
|Time to Go Back For Seconds... and Thirds... and Fourths...|
|And Our First Taste Ever of Sweet Tea is Equally Satisfying|
|Plateful of Plenty|
"I thought this was hash, by the way," she tells Diet Coke, pointing to the overflowing portion of pulled pork.
"You really need to get out more," Diet Coke retorts, and we dissolve into laughter that is ten times louder than anything else going on in this room.
Already full from our one plate of goodness ("They really made a profit off of us"), we deposit our trash and prepare to leave, but not before Vodka returns to the main counter to photograph the food trays.
|What? Everyone Doesn't Take Pictures of the Hushpuppies?|
|"IS THIS TRUE?!" --Vodka, the Gullible Southern Tourist|
As, we suppose, life should be.
Dukes Bar-B-Que's Hash: 4 stars