Road trips are a delicious opportunity to try new foods. I shun the typical road food that lines the interstate highways, corporate soul-less fast food joints and the like. Sure, you know what you’re going to get, but I’m an adventurous sort of guy and I like eating the regional specialties of where I’m traveling. I especially like to eat what the locals eat, because I can tell a lot about folks by what they eat.
Jill and I recently made a road trip down to South Carolina to make the wedding cake for my cousin Katie and her new husband. The trip down was an adventure in itself, mostly because of the rather large wedding cake that we had packaged up in boxes in the trunk as well as the ridiculous amount of traffic that lined the beltway around Washington D.C. What should have been an eight-hour trip, ended up being an eleven-hour trip. Fortunately, the cake made it safe and sound, and the Katie was tremendously happy that her cousin and his wife got to play such an important role in her special day.
Once we got the cake safely in the fridge at the reception site, we decided to head out to explore. Since we were in Dillon, South Carolina, we wanted to get some southern food. (Anyone who has driven down I-95 has been by Dillon, although they may not know it… Dillon is the home of South of the Border, the Mexican themed kitsch tourist trap just south of the North Carolina border.)
So how does one find a good restaurant in unfamiliar territory? Ask the locals, of course, so that’s what we did. Unfortunately, the nice young lady at the desk (with an almost incomprehensible southern accent) wasn’t too much help. She mentioned a few places, but since she seemed to be debating with herself about where the best barbeque place was, none of them were directed towards me. She finally settled on the BBQ joint next the hotel, which struck me as suspicious since she didn’t seem too confidant in that choice and I tend not to trust that the best food in town is also where all of the tourists are going.
Jill and I decided to drive around a little bit, and we’d see what we stumbled upon. We headed towards downtown Dillon, since downtown is usually the first place I go when visiting a new area. The downtown was a little dilapidated, and there wasn’t too much there in the way of food. We stopped into one place, a local grill that had one occupied table and a not very impressive looking menu. We moved on.
We were headed back towards the hotel, to the original place that was half-heartedly recommended to us, when we drove up to a small restaurant with a full parking lot and an unassuming façade. Papa Tom’s it was called, and as soon I saw it, I recognized that this was one of the places the lady at the front desk had mentioned to herself. We quickly pulled in.
Jill and I walked up to the ordering window and a nice woman with short bleached blond hair asked what we’d like. We perused the menu and settled on a BBQ sandwich platter and fried chicken, both came with fresh slaw and French fries. To drink, we of course went for sweet tea (your only other option in the south is lemonade). We were warned that it would be about twenty minutes before our order was done, since they make everything fresh there… always a good sign.
After seating ourselves in the tiny dining room off to the side, and watching the locals filter in, our food came out. The chicken was lightly breaded and golden brown. It looked and smelled incredible. I tore off a piece of the meat, and the juices literally dripped from the meat. It was steaming profusely, and so I blew ever so gently on it before popping the piece into my mouth. It was everything I could ever hope for in fried chicken. It tasted as good as it looked, and we quickly devoured both pieces. The tea, which I had found too sweet by itself, was actually a wonderful foil to the salty, greasy chicken. The slaw, sprinkled with flecks of green and white, was clearly freshly made and was crunchy and creamy and cooled my mouth. The fries were okay, but with a few squirts of catsup, went well with the rest of the meal. Jill’s BBQ was not be ignored though. The pulled pork was tender and vinegary, and on a white bread roll with slaw on top, it was darn good.
We chatted it up with the blond-haired woman, who owns and runs the shop with her sister, and she was happy to see a couple of northerners enjoying her southern food. There certainly is a certain charm to the south… perhaps it’s the hospitality; maybe it’s the accent. I don’t know what it is, but I like it and I can’t wait until my next excuse to head back down south for some fried chicken and BBQ. If I’m back in Dillon, I’ll be sure to stop at exit 193 for some more of Papa Tom’s.
