Why do we eat out? Robert Moss ponders this question in his essay about the approachability and “chefiness” of food. He dines out for the same reasons I do. To find something new. To see a chef’s point of view. To experience something memorable. It’s too easy to make macaroni and cheese at home, or grill a steak, or toss together a fresh salad. What’s not easy is finding topnotch ingredients, or taking several days to make one dish with many components, or composing a perfectly balanced and beautiful plate. That’s why we save our money and go to the best restaurants with the most serious chefs. To get a taste of something extraordinary and have our minds blown by someone’s creativity and talent. I recently had a dish that did just that. It was made with the most exquisite vegetables and put together with tremendous care and thought. As soon as I saw it on the menu I wanted it — the nine-vegetable salad at FIG. Each veggie, at the height of its flavor, was painstakingly prepared — some were pickled, others blanched, some served raw — and they all came together in a perfectly composed salad I’d never dare spend so much time on at home. It was a magical dish that made me appreciate the chef’s skill and care with vegetables. And it made me happy that I was able to experience it. So that’s why I go out to eat. For dishes like the 9-vegetable salad at FIG. —Stephanie Barna
Chefs are composers, and food is their opus. But as with any artist, a chef can experience creative block. Some days, they can write countless recipes. On others, they're stuck. — Susan Cohen
"A Manhattan without bitters is like pound cake without vanilla extract or chicken noodle soup without salt and pepper," says Ian Farley, bar manager of West Ashley's the Original Ms. Rose's. "When you forget to add it, you notice." — Erin Holaday Ziegler
"Oh, good Lord," my wife said as we left yet another newly opened restaurant, full but unsatisfied. "We should have just stayed home and cooked." — Robert Moss
Brunch in Charleston got real about eight years ago when a big dish called chicken and waffles showed up. Back in the day, I spent an alarming amount of time at A.C.'s Bar and Grill and was convinced that they had invented this strangely good combination. Fried chicken, fluffy waffles, sticky syrup — the ingredients were simple, but the combination was sublime. — Kelly Rae Smith
The way is narrow and shallow into Fish Creek, a remote bend in the ACE Basin where Taylor Sikes goes to check on his oysters. Hooking a right off the South Edisto River, Sikes guns the flatboat as he enters the nearly hidden creek, fully aware that he has about a foot of clearance underneath. — Paul Bowers
For years the American palate has led a rather undistinguished search for the sour. In modern times — since the advent of deep freeze refrigeration, vacuum packaging, and a supply chain that provides the same bevy of vegetables regardless of weather or season — our idea of a pickle has barely moved beyond the drab medallions that inhabit the upper layer of a Big Mac. — Jeff Allen
I had just sat down at one of those generic hotel bars in a city on the East Coast — they all sort of run together after a while — when it struck me that something was missing. At first I thought it was the lack of interesting booze on the bar shelves: a handful of decent bourbons and scotches, a few premium vodkas, but no rye whiskey or any interesting liqueurs beyond a wayward bottle of Campari. — Robert Moss
Can you imagine eating a french fry without ketchup? What does ketchup taste like anyway? It's a little sweet and a bit salty, but it's also something else, something deeper and more satisfying. That hard-to-identify taste actually has a name — umami. — Stephanie Barna
It's been exactly 545 days since my wife Heather and I opened our restaurant, Two Boroughs Larder. Since that day, I have counted every single minute of every hour in every one of those days. I am constantly wishing that there was simply more time, that if I just had a few more hours I could get caught up. I could get ahead of this game. Hell, I could even get some sleep. — Josh Keeler
