Cooks not chefs

Yesterday was typical weather for the area. It rained on and off all day. Sometimes hard, sometimes it drizzled, but for the entire day there was some sort of precipitation. At times the sun would cascade a brilliant ray and the heat would come, but that was short lived. We had wanted to go to a beach, but the weather did not cooperate at all.

So, we went exploring. After Janet and I worked out and had breakfast at our wholesome hotel next to the strip joint in West Myrtle Beach, we decided to take a drive. We considered taking in a movie, but our drive in the rain was more fun as we actually saw a lot of the area. We headed south on route 17 all the way to Georgetown. Despite the drab weather we drove around and marveled at the lovely historical homes along the oak lined streets. We drove around the business district dotted with little charming shops, but did not care to walk along the Harbor Walk or even dodge the raindrops to get a cup of coffee. We turned north again when we saw looming in the near distance a not very pleasant looking paper mill factory.

Our next stop on the rain parade was Pawley’s Island.

We were fascinated with the prospect of visiting Pawley’s Island. We had read that historians from this neck of the woods consider Pawley’s Island, and nearby Litchfield Beach, as the first ocean side vacation spot in America. Evidently during the 1700’s plantation owners would move their families and their help to the island during the summer heat to escape mosquitos (and malaria). The rain did not dampen our enthusiasm at driving along the narrow roads of this very quiet, laid-back place. There is a historic district with the legacy of some of the homes on placards, but the island brims with summer rental homes. All along the inland side of the island were piers that led out into the marshes. Most ended with a little gazebo, we assumed for the owners to either fish or watch birds. On the two low lying bridges that crossed the marshes onto the island there were people crabbing and fishing even in the rain. At one point we stopped so I could add to my sand collection.

There is a remote feel to Pawley’s island, although it is very close to the commerce along Route 17. There was a serenity here that is in stark contrast to Myrtle Beach. Had we been blessed with beautiful sunny weather we would have remained on this lovely island, but we got drenched just getting my sand, so we headed back north again.

We shunned the opportunity to visit places like the Huntington Beach State Park and Brookgreen Gardens, both places worthy of sunnier days, but it was getting to be mid-afternoon and time to be thinking about happy hours. So, we steered the car back to Murrells Inlet. We got back on the Marsh Walk and today went to Drunken Jack’s for a beer and some free popcorn. On the back of their bar menu is the story of Goat Island. They introduced goats to this island so they would eat all the vegetation and give patrons an unimpeded view of the inlet. We nodded approvingly, ate our popcorn and dodged raindrops back to the car so we could eat at Russell’s.

The day before we had popped our head into this restaurant and overhearing locals at the Dead Dog Saloon along the Marsh Walk giving visitors advice about where to eat.

We had climbed the stairs, admired the outdoor deck, admired the wooden bar with the view of the inlet, admired the menu and dining area and vowed to return.

Set high on stilts across the road from the inlet Russell’s has the look of a ship with the angular deck pointing towards the water, and the seafood served is as fresh as if they themselves hauled in the catch. Inside the cozy and worn wheel house (bar) there were no beer taps and no “frozen” drinks and the bartender struggled with my straight up margarita request, and, with whimsical and nautical motif pictures and phrases and maps adorning the walls it was not a luxury setting. But VFH cares more for the quality and price and although it was somewhat cramped Russell’s was a bit more roomy and airy with all the big windows.

We started with a dozen succulent oysters that were cheaper than anywhere else we’d seen at Murrells Inlet and an order of Conch Fritters. My plate brimmed with a Blackened Grouper that too was a couple dollars cheaper than anywhere else and Janet had a Seafood Melee of broiled and blackened critters that featured some of the freshest shrimp she had ever eaten. Dessert was not plausible. Large portions of such high quality food tend to prevent you from over stuffing yourself.

Afterwards as we finished our drinks on the prow of the deck we met Russell. Or, he met us. We watched him work the room as we sat at the bar during dinner, thanking patrons for coming and daubing at imaginary spills on the lacquered wood altar. Tall, wiry, with a bushy mustache hiding a gap toothed wide smile, he was at times proud, on the edge of arrogant, and at othes defensive over his little world that was Murrells Inlet. He did most of the talking. He was born in a house across the road from his restaurant and … well… he’d been there a long time. Better you visit his place and let him bend your ear. He was very proud of the food he served at his place and its preparation. It was far from fancy, but that’s not what people want he had said. He spoke of the fierce competition for patrons in Murrells Inlet and making sure his product was fresh and good was his edge. We agreed, saying we had traveled extensively through southwest Louisiana and his food was as wonderful. But, the difference at Russell’s is, he said, that people what they want, that’s why they have good honest food there. You won’t find chefs there, only cooks.