Publisher's Synopsis
Shortly after I moved to Beaufort, South Carolina, I decided to go to this quaint little restaurant that I heard about for lunch. It sits on a side street corner in downtown Beaufort, as if it owned the entire block. As you walk inside, it's southern... it's charming... it's Gullah. My friend use to say that the only thing that makes food Gullah is the spices and okra, otherwise you were eating regular soul food. The restaurant had this southern mixed with African décor that mesmerized you. And, if you let it, it very well would take you to another place and time. It quickly became one of my favorite restaurants. For quite some time I was the only black patron in the restaurant, which was very interesting considering the type of food served. I don't remember noticing that, before. I'm not sure why I noticed it, today. There were sailors, business people, and college students, but it did puzzle me as to why I was the "only one." Now, on the one hand, it could be because it is still early in the lunch hour, around 11:00am. I came early and had plans to perch here for several hours to write. And, on the other hand, maybe there is a story as to why there were no black people patronizing this restaurant. Maybe, there had been some scandal involving the restaurant. Like, maybe the original owners of this corner were a black family whose family member was murdered and the restaurant was swindled out from under them by the grandparents of the present owner; or maybe, it was sold at auction due to foreclosure; or even, acquired as payment for a gambling debt and the new owner promised not to change the name. Then again, maybe the restaurant was being boycotted, in protest, for not hiring black chefs and management. Only if you weren't from this area, like me, you wouldn't know what really happened. No one seemed to be concerned or excited by me being there, so I decided maybe it was just too early or the wrong day of the week. Then just as I was looking at the menu and happy that pork wasn't in everything, in walked two black women who did not have that "lovers-of-excitement-and-adventure" look about them, but they just were here to eat after a very boring church board meeting. Then the mailman, black, dawned in his raincoat and safari hat, which covered jheri curls, walked in. He politely walked through nodding to the customers, including me, delivered the mail and left. The music was excellent. Bowie, Bon Jovi, Roberta Flack, Phoebe Snow and the Elton John style music, is just what I needed.
