The Levin family decided to meet in Charleston and have dinner at an acclaimed southern restaurant there called Husk. After drinks at the Husk bar next door, and feeling pretty good, we all sauntered over to the restaurant and the outdoor porch for our meal. We had fried chicken skins (or gribnitz in yiddish) with honey, we had fried green tomatoes with spicy pimento sauce, yummy, we had delicious spicy southern biscuits, we had leafy salads with vinegarette, we had spicy cornbread, and we had southern cole slaw for the table. So far so great.
Then came the main course. The usual fish, the usual pork shoulder, the usual sliced steak, all OK…….but papa decided to get the guinea hen loaf! The problem was two fold: he didn’t see the word “loaf” on the menu, and he thought a guinea hen was a small chicken. Needless to say, the look in his eyes when the dish was placed before him gave the impression that he had drifted off into outer space, never to return. The dark meat looked like it had been hammered together in the center of the plate, with thin strips of white meat delicately encircling the center portion. Leslie decided to give herself up and exchange her steak for papa’s bird loaf, and save papa from a fate worse than death. We had gone from the highest of the highs to the bottom of the barrel in a very short time, but had a lot of laughs along the way.
The dessert menu looked very strange as well, so we skipped it and headed for pie a-la-mode and coffee at Kaminsky’s.
I should tell you that when we looked up guinea hen afterward, it said something about eating ticks…..also, during the appetizers, we noticed pigeons in the tree next to us.
Drinks At Husk
Husk
