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When I got down to Myrtle Beach, we decided to look for a
place to eat, and saw this seafood restaurant that said on its large sign:
“Calabash Restaurant, all you can eat.”
TLW (The Little Woman) needed to go into a local store and
while she did I found this coupon book she was carrying and thumbed through it.
I discovered ‘Calabash’ is a term used by many restaurants.
In fact there is a Calabash street off of the 17. The 17
route along with The Kings Highway are main roads the locals and tourist
travel. As you travel these roads, and any roads off of them, you will find
that 50% of the vehicles are pickup trucks. Yes, BIG annoying in your way
pick-up trucks. There is no escaping them, they are everywhere, leaving me to
wonder: what the Hell are they all needing to pick up???
Inside the restaurants the food is mostly deep fried, comes
in a plastic woven-like waxed paper lined red basket and the dinner is stuffed
into it. Mostly hamburgers and catfish, shrimp and onion rings or fries, with
Cokes and beer to hydrate the grease to allow it to flow like the NYC sewer
system. Finding a decent restaurant with fine foods is kind of difficult, and
even harder once you get in as the tourist bring in their rug rats that scream
as often as possible, or in their case needed.
As we were dining at one of the Calabash restaurants, TLW
inquired about a certain item on the menu and the waiter, a country boy
explained that Calabash was a way of frying something, I guess a kinder,
gentler way to grease the fins and claws.
So as we left the restaurant, flush with our fresh known knowledge
of Calabash, this local, sitting by himself and taking apart the crab legs,
calls us over. Curious, I respond by walking over to the table.
Local: “You b’long to a band?”
Me: “Why?”
Local: “Ya got the face of a gitar playa.”
Yo gotta love dem locals!
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