5 delicious August things
From deep talks and pimento cheese.
From Savannah, Georgia to Charleston, South Carolina and all the beachside dives and small town coffee shops in between, it’s impossible to list all the food my husband and I enjoyed during our lowcountry road trip. But, just in case you are ever down that way, here are a few highlights: the deconstructed s’mores dessert at The Public Kitchen and Bar, the rich, pickle-filled pimento cheese at Husk, the light-as-air biscuits at The Pink House, a sandwich at Sorelle that transported me back to Florence, Italy, and the gnocchi at FIG that our waitress described as “little cloud pillows.”
Me in the beachside dive bar of my dreams (left) and the s'mores dessert from The Public Kitchen and Bar in Savannah (right). I was one half of many deep, candid conversations with women this month. We leaned in close on pool loungers under the hot August sun, over the phone an entire country away from one another, in tiny cubicles with our voices hushed and tears in our eyes, at messy breakfast tables, while we were preparing lunch in the kitchen where my best friend grew up. They were the best kind of talks - the sacred ones that sound like look how far you’ve come / I have a lot more to learn / reach out anytime / let go of that / hold onto this / why is it so hard / hang in there / thank you / keep moving your feet / I see you.
Some of the stories that deeply resonated with me this month were read vulnerably via Zoom every Tuesday night during a virtual writing circle led by Molly Rosen, founder of Brooklyn Writers Collective. I may never actually meet any of these writers in real life or even hear from them again, but their voices are like a second heartbeat in my chest. Molly is compassionate, talented, and remarkably skilled at helping writers tap into their creative flow. Fall classes start soon if you’re interested. Bring a fresh notebook and an open heart. Tell Molly I sent you.
A watered-down hibiscus iced tea from Caviar and Bananas. To be clear: it wasn’t about the iced tea. Twenty years ago, give or take a few weeks, I arrived in Charleston, South Carolina for what would be my first and only semester of college there. I transferred from the University of Southern Maine, where I spent the first half of my semester nursing a broken heart and the other half convincing my parents that a change of climate was really the answer. I was a mess.
Dani Shapiro wrote that our younger selves are always with us. The ones we think we’ve put to rest — they cannot be put to rest. Nor should they be. I hadn’t thought about that younger version of myself in a while. But it was Back to School Weekend for the College of Charleston and, as I watched students help their parents slide large boxes and bags of bedding from packed SUVs, I considered how I felt at that time of my life. I wore so many masks. I had no idea who I was. There was so much pain left to endure, the kind that reveals a deeper sense of knowing - about yourself and the world around you. I am so glad I kept going through it all.
When I stepped onto the cobblestone streets, two blondes in pink tutus and t-shirts with the words “Rush Recruitment” hurried past. I thought of that terrified, insecure, overwhelmed 19-year-old version of myself and whispered thank you loud enough for her to hear.
Inside the enchanting Book Lady Bookstore in Savannah. This Mary Oliver poem I stumbled across in The Book Lady Bookstore in Savannah:
The Old Poets of China
Wherever I am, the world comes after me.
It offers me its busyness. It does not believe
that I do not want it. Now I understand
why the old poets of China went so far and high
into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.
