The Pork Trifecta

There is a road trip myth that tells the tale of people traveling the highways and byways of North America who, when a-hungered for lunch, happen upon greasy spoons, truck stops, diners or mom and pop cafés where they find exceptionally good food and meet authentic local characters, so that they not only get to taste great home cookin’ but also experience local culture as well. And pie. There is always pie.

I don’t know if these travelers exist or not, but if they do, they must have some kind of radar for good lunch, because this almost never happens to us. In 35 years of road trips I think I can count on one hand how many times a midday stop at a local eatery somewhere off the Interstate has resulted in a decent meal. We seem to pick places where the food is dreadful and the clientele makes us nervous. Mostly we have given up our search for indigenous culinary experiences when traveling from A to B. These days when we are on the road we mostly just head straight to the Mickey D’s – which ain’t hard because you don’t have to travel far in this fair land to find a McDonald’s. And although you will be appalled by the slovenly manners of the pimply 16 year old in a hair net who has failed diction class who takes your order, you will at least know that your food will be identical to the last Mickey D’s at which you dined.

But we continue to dream. Case in point: We were on our way to Asheville, North Carolina on the first day of our trip, just getting close to lunch and the southern end of Kentucky, when we spotted a billboard advertising “The Birthplace of Kentucky Fried Chicken  — The Colonel Sanders Cafe and Museum.” Wow! Who could resist that? The word, “café” made me think it might be fancy!  It was indeed the historic site of Harlan Sanders first café, and it did have a quasi-museum where we saw where the colonel first conjured his eleven herbs and spices, how he set up his 1940 Sanders motel units to entice travelers to set a spell, and we viewed some KFC memorabilia. But the food service was the same as it is nation-wide in the fast food establishment of the same name. Original or extra-crispy. And I couldn’t understand a word the girl taking our order us was saying. She asked if Ken wanted “Slahhenwegges.” Hm?  “Slahhenwegges.” He just nodded and said, “Sure.” She asked me the same question. I couldn’t understand her either. Pardon? She repeated herself, “Slahhenwegges?” I said “Sure.” No idea. It was cole slaw and fried potatoes cut into wedge shapes. Slahhenwegges.

   

In Charleston, we ate very well, as one does in urban centers. Here are some of the wonderful restaurants we tried, all of them focused on local cuisine and outstanding service and ambience.  

 

High Cotton, Charleston, SC                       

Hominy Grill, Charleston, SC

On the road again, we renewed our search for homegrown fare. We found it. Could this be the elusive café of legend where regional cooking reigns supreme and there is a place of honor on the wall of fame for conquering a burger as big as your head?  “Maurice’s BBQ Piggie (sic) Park” in Columbia, South Carolina. There were three billboards announcing its imminence for 35 miles down the road. We had to go. You understand.

Maurice's Piggie Park

The room was enormous, with booths and tables and that mop line half way up the grimy walls. There was a framed photo of Edwina, Waitress of the Year, 1959. She was the only one representing the modern era. Other photos dated to the Civil War – Grandpa Jebediah in his uniform.

The southern buffet was too daunting, so we opted for pulled pork sandwiches with Hush Puppies (deep fried corn bread) potato salad with bacon and beans stewed with pork hocks. Pretty much a Pork Trifecta. The sandwiches were liberally doused with traditional South Carolina barbecue sauce which has a mustard base. Tasty. For half a minute I thought I would buy a bottle of Maurice’s special BBQ sauce to take home, but the bottles were so sticky I had to go wash my hands after examining the labels.

We ate. We used the restrooms. We got back in the car and continued on our way. The next day we ate lunch at McDonalds.