Off the Map: Only Hostile Diners Eat at 9:15pm

Hanger Steak with Agrodolce Sauce -- Fig, Charleston, SC
Fig

If there is one surefire way to annoy Vodka and any of her compatriots before we even sit down to eat in your establishment, it is to give us a "late night" dinner reservation.

And then not even seat us on time.

We Are Essentially Sophia Petrillo. We Like an Early Bird Special

This is the problem that Vodka and Diet Coke face upon entering the final restaurant of their Charleston trip, Fig.  Despite the fact that Vodka made a reservation the day they became available, called twice to try to change it, and arrived in person the day before to sweet-talk them into seating us at, say, 5:00pm, we have a 9:15pm reservation.

9:15!  That's a solid hour past when we're even comfortable being outside!

We Only Like to Venture Out During Daylight Hours

Forging ahead, we stumble into Fig at 9:12pm, and we are told that our table is not yet ready.  We are led to the bar area to wait.

And to wait... and to WAIT.

And predictably, Vodka is becoming furious.

#1 Thing Vodka Hates to Do? WAIT

"Your table will be ready in a few minutes," a hostess tries to appease us, with which she is greeted by a silent nod by Diet Coke and a hostile glare from Vodka.

"The table where we're going to seat you has paid, but they're lingering," another hostess approaches a few minutes later.

"Can we go harass them?" Vodka asks.

"I mean, I can't encourage that, but I won't stop you...," the hostess replies, which would be a challenge Vodka would be prepared to meet had the hostess actually showed us which table was the one in flux, and not just skedaddled away at warp speed.

Hey Fig, It's Time to Start Comping Some Drinks Around Here

By 9:25pm, Vodka has decided that if we are not seated by 9:30, she is going to throw a complaining fit worthy of her New Jersey upbringing.  Free food and drinks and general bowing down best be involved.  After all, we discover from our time facing the Fig wall that the chef won the James Beard award in 2009.  FOUR years ago.  This is old news, now, Charleston -- WHY are you still grappling with seating issues?

SHAPE UP AND PULL YOURSELVES TOGETHER

Lucky for the entire Fig staff, they deign to seat us at 9:29pm, just as Vodka is placing one of her pointed witch boots on the floor to march off to the hostess stand.  We flop ourselves down at the table in a decidedly unpleasant manner, and all of the Southern geniality which has infused us over the past two days is certainly long-forgotten.

Goodbye Southern Charm. You Were Nice While We Knew Ya'll

It's barely been 20 minutes, and Fig is already demonstrating perfectly how restaurant mismanagement can hinder a diner's opinion of the place instantaneously.  Especially when said diner is as prone to annoyance as Vodka.

Time to Start Drinking. Heavily

Trying to soldier on, Vodka orders a glass of pinot noir ("Which one are you getting?" "Are there two?  Then the cheaper one") and attempts to use the restroom.  Upon reaching the area, she finds a line of people five-deep waiting for the individual stalls.

What is WRONG with this place? 

Refusing to wait for the second time in less than a half hour, Vodka stomps back to our table to complain about the bathroom situation to Diet Coke, who confirms that individual stalls are the bane of restaurants' existence due to the primping factor that goes on at the sink.  Poor showing, Fig.

We Don't Even Have Food Yet and We Already Dislike You

In an attempt to boost our own morale, we get down to ordering.  Not exactly starving after our full day of bar-b-que and hot dogs, Diet Coke asks how many gnocchi are in the appetizer.  "Nine," our waitress answers.  Deciding that this will not be enough for her entree, we order the gnocchi as an appetizer to share.

And when it arrives, there are only eight gnocchi.

Seriously, Fig?  Now you're messing with our pasta portions?

Go Ahead -- Count Them. ONE IS MISSING

"Disappointingly," said gnocchi are actually rather delicious ("I almost wanted them to be bad just cause this place is so awfully managed").  Draped in bolognese sauce with a hint of mint and shredded parmesan, the gnocchi themselves are light and fluffy.

Okay, Fine, Fig -- This Is Better Than We Thought You Were Capable Of

But You Still Cheated Us Out of a Gnocchi!

We enjoy them much more than we're prepared to, though we are less taken with the fact that instead of providing a bread BASKET (read: lots of bread), we are each handed a single slice by our waitress on which to gnaw.

Um, could you spare some more carbs, Fig?

Is There Some Kind of Flour Shortage in Charleston?

The bread is fine (though the butter is unsalted, and no salt shaker is on the table, which we can all agree is a travesty) -- generally nothing special, which besides the gnocchi, ends up being the theme of the night.  Diet Coke orders the fish stew with shrimp, mussels, squid, grits, and rouille, and Vodka orders the closest equivalent to the Best Thing I Ever Ate dish, the wagyu bistro steak with wheat berries, cape beans, sweet corn, salad verte, and sauce bordelaise.  It should come as no surprise that Fig is proving to be one of those restaurants we despise: one which, once featured on a national program entitled THE BEST THING I EVER ATE, promptly stops serving the dish on a regular basis.  For this reason, instead of Alex Guarnaschelli's chosen SAUCED dish, the hanger steak with agrodolce sauce, Vodka has to settle for the only other beef dish on the menu.  And when it comes to Fig, we are more than over having to settle.

Beef. The WRONG Beef, But Beef Nonetheless

We sit twiddling our thumbs as the clock strikes 10pm, then again 15 minutes later, and there are still no entrees in sight.  At this point, to say Fig is mismanaged time-wise would be the understatement of the century.  Nothing in this place flows smoothly, and whether it's because they take too many reservations for any given time or are too busy in the kitchen sawing off single slices of bread is unclear.  But the place is not working well.

This Restaurant Should Be Renamed "Customer Hostility R Us"

Finally, our dinners appear before us, at a time when we would be much more comfortable snuggled up to our pillows.  Diet Coke's fish stew is strictly "fine."  It has a hint of licorice flavor to the broth, which is odd, and the grits at the bottom of the pot are the least successful we have had so far, but there is nothing completely offensive.

A Cauldron of Fish Products

Naturally, Diet Coke Refused to Use the Provided Mayonnaise

Once Again, The Bread "Portion" Is Incredibly Lacking

Similarly, Vodka's fake Best Thing I Ever Ate creation is tasty enough.  A long strip of thinly cut beef sits next to a side salad (which proves to be the most flavorful thing on the plate) and a portion of beans, corns, and wheat berries (which is at least interesting in texture).

When the Side Salad Is the Most Appealing Part of a Plate, Something Is Wrong

The beef is cooked fairly well but still proves to be a bit chewy, and the sauce on top is good, but it is nothing we would think twice about in other circumstances.

"Who picked this place?" Diet Coke asks.

"Alex Guarnaschelli," Vodka answers.  "The same one who picked that caramel apple."

"She must have been drunk while in Charleston," Diet Coke surmises.  "Or so overtaken by the humidity that she wasn't thinking straight."

Also, Next Time She Should Specify That The Best Thing I Ever Ate Dish Has to STAY ON THE MENU

By the end of our meal, which has taken double the amount of time that it should have, we are convinced that had Fig provided us with, say, a 7:45pm reservation (and then actually seated us at that time), they would have done a lot better.  But by the time we reached our table, this place was doomed.

Fire Up Your Cannons, Fig -- We're Going to War

If one only had a single night to eat in Charleston, we would recommend Magnolias 100-times over this place, if only because it is classic Southern, while Fig is not even remotely unique.  Though to be fair, we'd probably skip dinner all together and just recommend Hominy Grill, because nothing says Southern goodness like a side of chocolate pudding for breakfast.

Fig's Hanger Steak with Agrodolce Sauce: 3 stars

Off the Map: We'll Go Anywhere for a Hot Dog

Cosmic Dog -- Jack's Cosmic Dogs, Mt. Pleasant, SC
Jack's Cosmic Dogs

For the record, if one is ever attempting to get to Jack's Cosmic Dogs in Mt. Pleasant, SC, do NOT listen to Google OR Apple Maps.  They will both ask you to turn down a dirt road that is PAST the entrance of Jack's.

Thanks for the Help, Technology

Thankfully, Vodka is a big fan of Google Street View, so she had scoped out the area enough to know that Jack's driveway is NOT off of a dirt road, and she and Diet Coke reached the place without incident.

Well, If "Without Incident" Can Be Defined as "Cursing All Map Programs"

When inside, Diet Coke, still full from our jaunt to Orangeburg, is only in the mood for a chocolate milkshake, while Vodka orders Alton Brown's Best Thing I Ever Ate HOMETOWN FAVORITE choice of the cosmic dog.

So Many Hot Dogs, So Little Stomach Space

Now, Vodka is hesitant about this choice for a few reasons:

1. Alton, chocolate pudding aside, tends to have what one would call "weird" tastes.

2. The cosmic dog comes with "blue chz slaw" (note: who trusts restauranz that uze Z's in their dezcriptionz?) and sweet potato mustard (and sweet potatoes are just about the only food in the world that Vodka DESPISES).

And -- Sidenote -- Who's in Charge of the Decor Around Here?!

Nevertheless, Best Thing I Ever Ate rules always apply, and she forfeits the more logical menu choice of "hot dog on a bun" in favor of Alton's pick.

Such a Martyr

We sit at a high top table and await our order, which takes all of 60 seconds to produce (and costs about $5 -- that's a pricing plan we can live with).  Diet Coke is claiming a certain "allergy" to the nitrates found in hot dogs (ironically, she has no such reaction to the same nitrates found in red wine), and she sips contentedly on her milkshake (which tastes like it was made with actual milk and ice cream instead of chemicals -- good job, Jack).

A Step Above McDonald's, But Just a Step

(We Mean That As a Compliment - McDonald's Milkshakes Are Godly Creatures)

Vodka, meanwhile, contemplates how to consume this dog, as it is almost as unwieldy in size as the caramel apple.

Does This Thing Come with Instructions?

The roll, which is soft and nimble, is about three times the size of the hot dog, and the whole thing is smothered in a gargantuan portion of the blue "chz" slaw.  Diving in, Vodka is shocked for a few reasons:

1. She doesn't hate it.
2. The sweet potato mustard is actually tasty.
3. She has yet to come across the actual hot dog.

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

Moving further into the creation, she finds herself unexpectedly enjoying it.  The hot dog itself is juicy (if impossible to see), the blue cheese (we've had enough of the Z business) is crunchy and flavorful, with healthy dollops of blue cheese throughout, and the roll and mustard pull the whole thing together.

Jack's Side of Pickles, Though, Could Stand for Some Improvement

Overall, this cosmic dog is ten times better than such an odd combination of ingredients has any right to be, with one small caveat:

The hot dog itself is virtually non-existent.

Holy Lot Of Bread, Batman

Indeed, similar to our complaints about Weiner's Circle hot dogs in Chicago, the meat itself at Jack's Cosmic Dogs is almost beside the point.  In this case, unlike in Chicago, it's kind of okay, because the concoction is still delicious, but still -- would it kill them to beef up the dogs a little?

One Last Question -- Does Oscar the Grouch Live in Their Trash Cans?

With this 4 star conclusion, we climb into our rental car and head back to the city for our final night in Charleston.  And we pray that we do not end up on any dirt roads along the way.

Country Roads, Take Us Home

Jack's Cosmic Dogs's Cosmic Dog: 4 stars

Off the Map: You Really Need to Get Out More

Hash -- Dukes Bar-B-Que, Orangeburg, SC
Dukes Bar-B-Que

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?!

...with said tea followed directly by a journey to Orangeburg, SC for some hash at Dukes Bar-B-Que, as recommended by Sunny Anderson on the HOMETOWN FAVORITES episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate.

Toto, I Don't Think We're In Charleston Anymore

The potential problems with this plan?

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

After a short "scenic" tour around Orangeburg ("There's a 'no parking' sign on that grass"), we arrive at the dirt sidelines that serve as the Dukes parking lot.

Luckily, the Army Is Here to Protect Us

We take our first tentative steps into the place, feeling decidedly out of our element, until we arrive inside.  Where it is dead quiet.

::crickets:: ::crickets::

PACKED, but completely silent.  Eerily silent.  Reverently silent.  Instead of boisterous conversations over plates of all-you-can-eat bar-b-que goodness, the dining room patrons are all huddled over their respective plates, eating quietly.  Le Bernardin couldn't get their customers to be this respectful of their food.

This must be some darn good hash.

The Le Bec Fin of South Carolina

We approach the main counter and hand over $9 each for our share of the goods.  Before us stands some recognizable items -- fried chicken and macaroni and cheese and green beans -- and some decidedly less recognizable items -- namely, the HASH.

Yes, Hi, We're From Up North. Please Help Us

Indeed, after Vodka picks up her styrofoam plate, she looks at the food spread out in front of her and purposely skips over the first container of brown, chili-looking mush.

"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

Piling on a helping of stripped-down meat that Vodka is convinced is the hash, we overhear a conversation in line behind us concerning the gooey brown stuff.

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

Backtracking through the (thankfully now empty) line, we each place some sticky white rice on our plates and then top it with the ever-confusing hash substance.  Still not trusting her instincts, when Vodka reaches the end of the line, she points to her plate and asks one of the (very patient) workers, "Is this the hash?"  Assured that it is, we take our seats at one of the long tables and folding chairs assembled throughout the room.

They're Very Into Styrofoam in Orangeburg

Pouring ourselves a healthy portion of the sweet tea that Dukes keeps stocked on each table, we raise our plastic forks and prepare for our first foray into hashland.

Hash Stash

And you know what?  The stuff is delectable.  We don't know what the heck it is, but it's fantastic.

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...

The rest of Dukes's food is equally satisfying.  The fried chicken (our third of the trip -- it will be a miracle if we can fit on the plane home) is traditional and yummy, and the mac and cheese stupendous.

And Our First Taste Ever of Sweet Tea is Equally Satisfying

Plateful of Plenty

The only thing on her plate that Vodka is not crazy about is the pulled pork, but primarily because of the level of confusion it caused earlier.

"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?

When she is given a slightly quizzical look by the same woman she had questioned about the hash, Vodka tells her, "I don't get out much" by way of explanation.

"IS THIS TRUE?!" --Vodka, the Gullible Southern Tourist

This comment, like everything else in this establishment, is met with silence.  Clearly in the South Carolina lowcountry, nobody talks about the hash -- they just enjoy it by the styrofoam plate-full. 

As, we suppose, life should be.

Dukes Bar-B-Que's Hash: 4 stars