South Carolina promised subtlety, but Columbia clearly didn’t get the memo. I walked in expecting polite shrimp, soft grits, maybe a gentle nod to tradition. What I got instead was a full-on flavor parade, blasting its trumpet like it owned the place. Shrimp so plump they practically winked at me.
Grits so buttery they might have their own zip code. And sauce?
Let’s just say it had more personality than half the people in my Zoom contacts. I tried to play it cool, but my fork kept betraying me, diving headfirst, refusing to wait for manners…