Fresh mountain air, warm sunshine, and the excitement of searching for the perfect blueberries filled the day with anticipation.

As we arrived at the farm, visions of blueberry muffins, pies, and cakes danced through our heads. We eagerly set off through the endless rows of blueberry bushes stretching out before us. To me, it was an impressive sight; to my eight-year-old granddaughter, it seemed to go on forever.

With basket in hand, she raced from bush to bush, carefully choosing the biggest and bluest berries she could find. Every discovery brought a smile, every handful a sense of accomplishment. What seemed like a simple summer outing became something much more—a treasured memory.I can still remember the joy on her face as she wandered between the rows, searching for the biggest, ripest berries. At that age, every bush was an adventure and every handful of blueberries felt like a treasure.

Looking back, I think her happiness came from more than just picking blueberries. It was the simple pleasure of being outdoors, discovering things for herself, and spending time together. Those ordinary moments often become the memories we cherish the most.

Even now, when I think of blueberry muffins, I remember that day and the smile of an eight-year-old girl enjoying a perfect summer afternoon.

By the time we headed home, our baskets were full and our fingers were stained purple from sampling berries along the way. She talked the entire drive back, telling me which bushes had the sweetest berries and insisting that she had found the best ones on the whole farm. I smiled and agreed, because in her eyes it was absolutely true.

Back at the house, we spread the blueberries across the kitchen table and admired our harvest. Some would become muffins, some would be eaten by the handful, and a few would mysteriously disappear whenever a small hand passed by the bowl. The kitchen soon filled with the warm smell of baking, and she could hardly wait for the muffins to come out of the oven.

When they were finally ready, we sat together and enjoyed them while they were still warm. She proudly announced that they were the best blueberry muffins she had ever tasted, and I told her that was because she had picked the berries herself.

Years have passed since that summer day. The farm may have changed, and my granddaughter is no longer the little girl who ran excitedly through the rows of blueberry bushes. But whenever I see fresh blueberries or catch the aroma of muffins baking, I am carried back to that afternoon. I can still see her smile, hear her laughter drifting across the field, and feel the quiet happiness that comes from sharing a simple day with someone you love.

Those blueberries are long gone, but the memory remains as sweet as ever.

Since that time I’ve tried every blueberry muffin recipe I could find in search of the finest. I settled on one of the softest, fluffiest, deliciously buttery blueberry muffins you will ever find. It has a crunchy three ingredient cinnamon brown sugar streusel topping that’s simple and delicious.

When I see sour cream in a recipe, I know it will add moisture and make for a soft decadent muffin. It bakes for 5 minutes at a high temperature, then the temperature is lowered while keeping the oven door closed. This initial high oven temperature quickly lifts up the muffin top.

Toss the berries with a tablespoon of flour before you add them to the batter, just to be sure they won’t sink to the bottom.

The recipe vault is from my online Tides of Tradition cookbook: a paid tier of good recipes tried and true for you to enjoy. Consider becoming a paid subscriber and have access to all the archives. Thank you and bon appetit, y’all! -xoxo Pat

And may you make your own basketful of memories!

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Summer in the South means seersucker suits, sweet tea on the porch, and tomatoes so fresh they practically taste like sunshine. Right now, gardens everywhere are absolutely showing off with ruby red cherry tomatoes that are bursting with sweet, vibrant flavor.

There’s no predicting what serendipitous thoughts might lead to the creation of a super star. Coastal residents and visitors always are fond of salads from the sea. But whether from land or sea these salads are meant to take center stage whenever an impressive meal of cool and elegant fare is in order.

Let’s Get Rollin’! This summer noodle salad is about to reenergize your appetite for all things warm-weather. Grab your biggest, prettiest serving bowl and a mountain of halved cherry tomatoes.

If you managed to score some giant heirloom tomatoes, just chop ‘em up into bite-sized pieces—imperfection is the secret ingredient here! Toss it all with minced garlic, ribbons of fresh basil, a heavy pour of good olive oil, and a pinch of salt and pepper.

It’s incredibly light and honestly tastes just as amazing straight out of the fridge midnight-snack style as it does warm at the picnic table. All the comfort, zero hassle.

Shrimply the Best Summer Pasta Salad

Serves 6

Ingredients

• 2 pints cherry tomatoes, halved (more if you want extra tomatoes)

• 1/2 cup Good olive oil

• 2 tablespoons minced garlic (6 cloves)

• 3 tablespoons finely chopped Vidalia sweet onion

• 18 large basil leaves, julienned, plus extra for serving

• ½ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

• Kosher salt

• ½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

• ½ pound fresh wild caught shrimp

• 1 pound angel hair pasta, cooked according to package directions

• 1½ cups freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus extra for serving; may substitute feta cheese

Combine the tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, basil leaves, finely chopped sweet onion, red pepper flakes, 1 teaspoon salt and the pepper in a large bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and let it sit on the counter for an hour. When ready to serve, bring a large pot of water to a boil and add the pasta. Cook al dente according to the directions on the package.

Drain the pasta well and add to the bowl with the tomatoes. Add the cheese, either feta or parmesan and extra fresh basil leaves and toss well. Serve with crusty bread and extra cheese on the side.

Chef’s Note: About cooking shrimp:

My favorite method is roasting shrimp. The high heat caramelizes the shrimp slightly, concentrates their flavor, and makes them taste sweeter and more intense. It takes under 10 minutes.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Preheat the Oven: Crank your oven up to 400°F.

• Prep the Shrimp: Peel and devein the shrimp. Use a paper towel to pat them completely dry so they roast instead of steam.

• Season Simply: Toss the shrimp right on a baking sheet with a generous drizzle of “good” olive oil, kosher salt, a little Old Bay and freshly ground black pepper. Spread them out so they are in a strict single layer—crowding the pan is a major kitchen crime.

• Roast Fast: Roast for just 6 to 8 minutes (or 8 to 10 minutes for extra jumbo shrimp) until they turn bright pink, firm, and just start to curl into a “C” shape. Be watchful because overcooking shrimp results in rubbery shrimp.

• I recommend tossing the shrimp into the dressing while they are still warm. The shrimp absorb the flavors of the vinaigrette better that way.

Shrimp in a Bath of Raspberry Vinegar and Mint

5 pounds shrimp, peeled, deveined and cook until opaque

1 cup Champagne vinegar

1 cup raspberry vinegar

6 tablesppons sugar

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1 1/2 cups fruity olive oil

mint leaves, chopped to taste

salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Place shrimp in a large mixing bowl. Whisk the vinegars and sugar together in a small bowl until sugar dissolves. Whisk in lemon juice and mint, them the olive oil, and season with salt and pepper. Marinate in the refrigerator at least 3 hours before serving. Serve either as a salad on plates with garnished mint sprigs or as an hors d’oeuvre on a shallow platter with toothpicks.

Summertime Peach and Basil Salad

Want to take this up a notch? Throw the peach wedges on a hot grill for 1–2 minutes per side before adding them to the salad. The heat caramelizes the natural sugars and adds an incredible smoky depth!

Serves 4 - 6

Ingredients

• 4 ripe Southern peaches, pitted and sliced into thick wedges

• 1 lb large shrimp, peeled, deveined, and grilled (or sautéed in olive oil and garlic)

• 4 cups fresh baby arugula or mixed baby greens

• 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved

• ½ cup crumbled goat cheese or feta (for that perfect creamy, salty bite)

• ¼ cup red onion, paper-thinly sliced

• 18 large fresh basil leaves, julienned

• ¼ cup toasted pecan halves (for a true Southern crunch)

Directions

1. Build the Base: Toss the baby greens and thinly sliced red onions in your largest, prettiest serving bowl.

2. Dress the Greens: Drizzle a few tablespoons of your Sorghum Vinaigrette over the greens and give them a gentle toss to coat.

3. Layer the Jewels: Arrange the juicy peach wedges, grilled shrimp, and halved cherry tomatoes beautifully over the bed of greens.

4. The Grand Finale: Scatter the crumbled goat cheese, toasted pecans, and a mountain of fresh julienned basil right over the top.

5. Serve: Give it one final, very light toss right before serving so every forkful gets a little bit of sweet, savory, and nutty perfection.

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Signature Sorghum Vinaigrette

• 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar

• 1/4 cup champagne vinegar

• 1/4 cup sorghum syrup

• 1 pinch salt

• 2 grinds black pepper

• 1 cup extra-virgin olive oil, preferably Georgia Olive Farms

For the sorghum vinaigrette: In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the vinegars with sorghum, salt, and pepper, then slowly drizzle in each oil, whisking constantly. Taste for seasoning and adjust if necessary.

Summer Melon Salad

Serve 4-6

1 ½ cups diced or made into balls cantaloupe

1 ½ cups diced or made into balls watermelon

½ cup Feta cheese, crumbled

⅓ cups roasted chopped pistachios

⅓ cup olive oil

3 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

5 ounces arugula

Place arugula on a platter, add melons, sprinkle with cheese and pistachios. Whisk together the oil and vinegar, add sea salt and pepper. Dress salad and toss. Add more sea salt and pepper if needed.

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When it comes to fresh-baked biscuits, the golden rule is simple: take two and butter ‘em while they’re hot. Crisp on the outside, but wonderfully fluffy and flaky on the inside, a proper Southern biscuit isn’t just food—it’s a warm, culinary hug from the sweet Southern grandmother you always wished you had.

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I used to watch Granny work her magic at the big wooden dough bowl. It was mesmerizing, watching her get completely in the zone. But here is a little secret: she didn’t actually use eggs in her traditional buttermilk biscuits! Instead, it was all about that perfect dance between flour, cold fat, and tangy buttermilk. Right before sliding them into the oven, she’d always dab a little extra butter on top for good measure (because in the South, there’s no such thing as too much butter).

Pair those golden-brown beauties with some homemade strawberry jam and a tall glass of sweet tea, and you’ve got a delicious combination. There are truly no words to describe that first perfect bite.

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The Sorghum Showdown

And don’t forget the sorghum! It’s not delicate and polite in flavor like maple syrup, and it doesn’t have that aggressively bitter, “I’m-doing-this-for-your-own-good” quality of blackstrap molasses—it’s sort of right down the middle. My first core memory of this dark syrup is watching my dad drizzle it over fluffy white biscuits at breakfast with the precision of an engineer. Butter and sorghum are a powerful, mouth-watering combination.

The Kitchen Panic Button

But if being left alone in the kitchen with a biscuit recipe makes you nervous, terrified, or tempted to call for takeout, I used to feel the same way. Take a deep breath and accept the ultimate truth: there is no single “Right Way” to make a biscuit, and the Biscuit Police are not tracking you.

The perfect biscuit is entirely a matter of personal preference. Some people demand mile-high, flaky structures that might require scaffolding, while others prefer wider, more spread-out biscuits designed for maximum surface area. The dough is incredibly forgiving—it can be rolled and cut with a fancy heirloom cutter, pinched and hand-shaped like clay, or aggressively dropped directly from an ice-cream scoop. It might contain butter, lard, or shortening depending on your flavor alignment, but by far, the most critical factor is to first and foremost make them with love (and maybe a little less anxiety).

Your Culinary Workhorse

Buttermilk is your true secret weapon. Its high acidity is essential for reacting with leaveners, giving Southern baked goods their unique, tender texture and signature tang. In rural and depression-era households, absolutely nothing went to waste. Because it was a byproduct of everyday farm life, it became a staple of resourcefulness, connecting us to a generational lineage of scratch-cooking and making the most of what you had.

Even today, the aroma of buttermilk biscuits or pancakes cooking instantly takes me back to a warm childhood kitchen.

My best advice? Use cool hands and a soft, gentle touch. Overworking biscuit dough is a fast track to creating hockey pucks. Treat the dough like a fragile secret, not a workout routine. If your first batch isn’t perfect, it just means you are part of a long tradition of cooks who had to practice to get it right.

Any story I write about biscuits would be incomplete without honoring the late Ms. Nathalie Dupree—my dear friend and mentor from Charleston.

We first crossed paths early in life while working in Atlanta, where she founded and directed the legendary Rich’s Cooking School. Taking a piece of advice from Julia Child to heart, Nathalie made sure the school was completely hands-on. Her classroom became a training ground for culinary passion, even counting The Prince of Tides author Pat Conroy among its famous students.

The school grew so remarkably popular that it ultimately served as the launchpad for her celebrated career in public television. In later years, she became my greatest teacher and friend.

Below, I’ll share some of her recipes and wisdom.

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All are welcome to join - just hit subscribe. xo, Pat

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The Ultimate Golden Rules

Next, use cool hands and a soft, gentle touch. Overworking biscuit dough is a fast track to creating hockey pucks. Treat the dough like a fragile secret, not a workout routine.

Hot biscuits, the absolute undisputed staple of the Southern breakfast table, are delicious with pretty much anything you can throw at them. Whether you load them up with savory sausage gravy, a lake of sorghum, honey, or country ham, just remember the golden rule: eat them while they’re hot, and pass the butter, please.

Nathalie’s Buttery Biscuits

Bake 375 degrees

2 cups self-rising flour

1 cup sour cream

3-4 tablespoons whole milk

Place self-rising flour into a large mixing bowl and make a well in the center. Add sour cream into the well in the flour.

Stir with a wooden spoon approximately 15 times to incorporate the flour and sour cream. The dough will be “shaggy”, not smooth.

Add milk a tablespoon or two at a time, stirring after each addition. Add just enough milk so the dough comes together. Be careful not to overmix the dough. The dough will be a little sticky or wet.

Flour your work surface and turn the dough out. Sprinkle a little flour on the top of the dough and your hands.

Knead the dough gently two or three times. Form it into a ball.

Lightly dust the dough with flour. Flour your rolling pin and roll the dough. Cut with a biscuit cutter and place on a baking pan. If you want the sides of the biscuits to be crunchy, place biscuits about 1” apart on the pan. If you want the biscuits to rise taller, place biscuits next to each other in the pan. They should be touching.

Chef’s Note:

Use your knuckle of the index finger to make a slight indentation in the center of the biscuit dough. Brush with melted butter.

Bake in a preheated oven 450° for 10-15 minutes. Brush with melted butter.

Chef’s Notes:

• Be sure to use self-rising flour! I always make biscuits with White Lily Flour. The soft wheat makes a more tender biscuit.

• Be sure to use a full-fat sour cream.

• I let the sour cream sit at room temperature for about 30 minutes before using it. It is easier to mix the sour cream into the flour if it isn’t straight from the refrigerator.

• Mix the ingredients just until the dough comes together. Over mixing creates a tough biscuit.

• Biscuits can be made ahead and frozen. Remove them from the oven right before they brown. Allow to cool. Wrap in saran wrap and heavy-duty aluminum foil. They will keep in the freezer for a month. When ready to use, place frozen biscuits in a 375° preheated oven and bake for about 15-18 minutes, until biscuits are hot and browned on top.

• Why indent the top of the biscuit? So the melted butter will have a place to pool!

Savory Sausage Gravy

Serves 4

Biscuits are perfect for sopping up Red Eye Gray or this Savory Sausage Gravy. The base is a Southern cream gravy, often called “sawmill gravy.”

Use a cast-iron skillet to capture the crusty, browned sausage bits that add rich flavor. If you want to get a little fancy, toss in a small amount of sauteed mushrooms or diced red bell pepper. Both are optional.

3/4 pound bulk sausage

2 tablespoons reserved drippings

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1/4 cup all-purpose flour

2 1/2 to 3 cups milk, as needed

salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

1 teaspoon crumbled sage leaves

In a large skillet over medium-high heat, cook sausage, breaking it into chunks. Once browned, remove with a slotted spoon to drain off extra fat—reserve 2 tablespoons drippings in a skillet. Add butter if needed. On medium heat, whisk flour into fat to form a light roux. Don’t allow it to darken, or gravy will be brown.

Continue whisking as you add 2 1/2 cups of milk. Cook a few minutes until thick and bubbly. You may thin it down if necessary. Stir in sausage, salt, pepper, and sage. Adjust seasonings to taste. Spoon hot gravy over warm biscuits.

.....................................................................................................

Redeye gravy is a thin, classic Southern pan gravy traditionally made from the drippings of pan-fried country ham deglazed with black coffee.

Unlike thick, milk-based cream gravies (like sawmill or sausage gravy), redeye gravy is lean, dark, and intensely savory. Its distinct name comes from the way the black coffee separates from the reddish ham fat in the bowl, creating a clear, amber “eye” looking right back at you. It is a staple of the traditional Southern breakfast table, specifically meant for sopping up with hot, buttery biscuits.

My theory is this: there must have been a cook somewhere who had trouble scrubbing the pan. Maybe she reached for the coffee pot and used the coffee to deglaze the pan. Then is when she tasted it and decided it made the best gravy.

Queen Street Redeye Gravy

Prep time: 5 minutes | Cook time: 15 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 large center-cut slice country ham (with plenty of fat around the edges)

• ½ cup strong, hot black coffee

• ¼ cup water or low-sodium chicken broth (optional, to mellow the saltiness)

• 1 pinch sugar (optional, to balance the bitterness of the coffee)

Method

Phase 1: Render and Fry

1. Trim the Fat: Take your sharp kitchen knife and trim a thin strip of fat off the outer edge of the country ham slice.

2. Grease the Skillet: Place that strip of fat into a cold, heavy cast-iron skillet. Turn the stove heat to medium-low and let the fat render out until the bottom of the pan is completely slicked with hot grease. Discard the remaining solid piece of fat.

3. Sear the Ham: Raise the heat slightly to medium. Place your country ham slice directly into the hot fat. Cook it for about 3 to 4 minutes per side until the ham is browned and slightly curled at the edges. Remove the ham to a warm serving platter, but do not wipe out the skillet. Those crusty, browned bits stuck to the bottom are pure gold.

Phase 2: The Deglaze (The “Redeye” Magic)

1. Sizzle and Scrape: With the skillet still hot over medium heat, carefully pour the hot black coffee (and the water or broth, if using) directly into the pan. Stand back, as it will hiss and sputter rebelliously.

2. Lift the Fond: Using a wooden spoon or a flat spatula, vigorously scrape up all the browned ham bits and caramelizations stuck to the bottom of the skillet. This infuses the coffee with the smoky, salty essence of the ham.

3. Simmer and Reduce: Bring the liquid to a rolling boil, then lower the heat slightly to a steady simmer. Let it bubble away for about 3 to 5 minutes until the gravy reduces slightly and turns a deep, beautiful mahogany color. If the coffee tastes too bitter or the ham was exceptionally salty, stir in that tiny pinch of sugar to round out the flavors.

Phase 3: Serve

1. Pour it Out: Turn off the heat and pour the piping hot gravy over your fried country ham slice, or transfer it to a small decorative pitcher.

2. Sop it Up: Serve immediately alongside a mountain of fresh, flaky buttermilk biscuits.

Chef’s Note: As the gravy sits for a moment in the bowl or pitcher, you will notice the clear layer of reddish ham fat rise to the top, forming the legendary “red eye” . Don’t stir it away—that’s exactly how it is supposed to look.

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Now, if you aren’t from around here, you might think “Chow Chow” is just a fluffy dog that looks like a miniature bear. But below the Mason-Dixon line, it’s a legendary, pickled vegetable relish that has sat proudly in the pantries of nearly every self-respecting Southern grandmother from Virginia clear across to Texas. Every nana had her own top-secret formula, guarded more closely than the family silver.

Honestly, chow-chow is less of a recipe and more of a late July culinary rescue mission. Late summer produce has this stressful habit of ripening all at the exact same time. Suddenly, your kitchen countertops are completely held hostage by a mountain of cabbage, onions, peppers, and green tomatoes. You can’t eat them fast enough.

Enter the stockpot. Southern women realized that if you chop all those leftover vegetables up, drown them in vinegar, and sweeten them with enough sugar to make your dentist cry, you can preserve the taste of summer in a little glass jar. It’s sweet, it’s tangy, and sometimes it packs a spicy kick.

Historically, nobody is 100% sure where the name or the dish originally came from. One popular theory from the late food historian John Egerton suggests it was actually inspired by 19th-century Chinese immigrant laborers working on the railroads. They spiked their relishes with citrus and ginger, creating a global fusion masterpiece long before fancy restaurants started charging $45 a plate for it.

The best part about chow-chow is its sheer versatility. Traditionally, it was born to rescue a heavy, classic bowl of pinto beans and cornbread by adding a beautiful pop of acidity and crunch. But nowadays? Throw it on everything. Burgers, hot dogs, fried chicken, grilled sausages, barbecue, or fish cakes—if it walks, swims, or goes on a bun, a spoonful of chow-chow will make it better.

So, if you’re feeling a dash of fearlessness in the kitchen this season, grab a colander, round up some green tomatoes, and give it a try. Your taste buds—and your overflowing countertops—will thank you. Serve it with baked chicken, beans, and cornbread, alongside whatever greens happened to be exploding out of the garden at that exact minute. It’s simple, honest food.

Let us know if you make this! We want to hear from everyone.

The recipe carefully handed down through generations of loving grandmas is for our paid subscribers. A big “thank you” for each one of you who stopped by.

Every subscriber and every reader is greatly appreciated. xo, Pat

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Old-Fashioned Southern Chow Chow

Yield: Approximately 3–4 pints

Prep Time: 45 minutes

Inactivity Time: 8–12 hours (Overnight draining)

Cook Time: 15 minutes

Ingredients

Vegetable Base

• 1 small head Green cabbage, cored and quartered

• 2 large Green tomatoes, quartered

• 1 large Sweet onion, quartered

• 1 Red bell pepper, seeded and quartered

• 1 Jalapeño pepper, stemmed and seeded

• ¼ cup Kosher salt

Pickling Liquid & Spice Matrix

• 1 ¼ cups Distilled white vinegar (5% acidity)

• ⅔ cup Granulated sugar

• ¼ cup Water

• 1 tsp Powdered mustard

• 1 tsp Whole mustard seeds

• ½ tsp Ground ginger

• ½ tsp Ground turmeric

• ½ tsp Crushed red pepper flakes

Method

Phase 1: Vegetable Prep and Draining

1. Mise en Place: In the work bowl of a food processor, working in batches, pulse the cabbage, green tomatoes, sweet onion, red bell pepper, and jalapeño until uniformly and finely chopped. Do not over-process into a purée.

2. Dehydrate: Transfer the chopped vegetables to a large glass or stainless steel bowl. Thoroughly stir in the kosher salt.

3. Overnight: Transfer the salted mixture into a large colander set over a deep bowl. Cover and refrigerate overnight (8 to 12 hours) to draw out excess moisture, ensuring a crisp final texture.

Phase 2: Expression and Reduction

4. Press the vegetables firmly against the colander to remove any remaining liquid; discard the extracted brine.

5. Simmer the Base: In a large, non-reactive (stainless steel or enameled) pot, combine the distilled white vinegar, sugar, water, mustard powder, mustard seeds, ground ginger, turmeric, and crushed red pepper. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring until the sugar completely dissolves.

Phase 3: Finishing and Canning

6. Add the drained vegetables to the boiling liquid. Bring the mixture back to a simmer, lower the heat, and cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Process (Optional for Shelf Stability): Ladle the hot chow chow into sterilized pint jars, leaving a half-inch of headspace. Wipe the rims, apply lids and bands, and process in a hot water bath for 10 minutes. If skipping the water bath, allow the jars to cool completely and store them directly in the refrigerator.

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It is truly a privilege to celebrate the Sanders family and the incredible legacy of Seaside Farm. Their dedication to the land and our community is an honor worth noting. Sound the trumpets and have the Marine Corps Band marching down Bay Street, trombones and horns blowing, to announce the arrival of their summer tomatoes. It’s pure joy.

Do you know that every time you pull into a drive-thru and bite into a Burger King Whopper, you are tasting a slice of a tiny, historic sea island in South Carolina.

To the casual traveler, St. Helena Island is a place of quiet beauty—a landscape draped in Spanish moss, deeply rooted in Gullah Geechee culture, and surrounded by marshwaters. But come June, this tranquil island turns into the epicenter of a massive, high-stakes agricultural blitz. This is the home of Seaside Farm, where the Sanders family pulls off a logistical miracle every summer, shipping enough tomatoes to supply fast-food empires across the continent.

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A Legacy From from a Secret Microclimate

The story begins in 1903.

"This isn't just a business to us; it’s what I’ve done my entire life,” says Mac. “My great-granddaddy, Gus Sanders, started this whole commercial scale operation over 120 years ago right here on St. Helena Island. He was a truck farmer, and he realized that the sandy soil right at the water’s edge was special. It stays just a few degrees warmer during those chilly winter nights, completely protected from killing frosts. We are truly blessed to be exactly where we are."

Realizing he had stumbled upon a microclimate goldmine, Gus planted what became the very first commercial tomato crop in Beaufort County.

It’s More Art and Logistics Than Just “Farming”

“Growing tomatoes is as much about logistics as it is about science—maybe even a little bit of art. People see us rolling truckloads of green tomatoes down Sea Island Parkway in June, but they don’t see the months of preparation.

We use a practice called ‘plasticulture’—laying down white plastic liners along rows five and a half feet apart. It conserves water, fights off the weeds, keeps the plants elevated, and reflects the light to keep the bugs off. My father was actually the first one in Beaufort County to introduce drip irrigation back in 1984, and it completely revolutionized our yield, taking us from 1,300 boxes an acre to over 2,200.

But you are entirely at the mercy of the elements. Thunderstorms can wash you away, frost can kill the early crops, or Florida can dump too many tomatoes on the market and tank the price. Some years you make a killing, and other years you just hope to break even. The Lord has been good to us, though.

It Takes a Village (And a Close-Knit Family)

“You have to be completely dialed into the market. If you’ve got a refrigerated semi-truck waiting to take a load to Chicago or Canada, you better have enough tomatoes ready to fill it. We hire over 400 temporary workers through the H-2A program—mostly from Mexico, Guatemala, and Haiti—to hand-pick everything. If we can’t get the people to hand-pick the crop, we’re done.”

Fast forward through six generations of the Sanders family, and that single patch of dirt has evolved into a multi-thousand-acre legacy. Today, the operation dedicates about 400 acres exclusively to tomatoes.

But here is the twist: while most farms harvest over several months, the Sanders family does almost all of their wholesale shipping in a single, adrenaline-fueled, four-week window in June.

Millions of Pounds, Millions of Burgers

During this intense month-long sprint, a crew of hundreds of workers handpicks, packs, and ships between 20 to 24 million pounds of tomatoes.

If you’ve ever wondered how a tomato survives a cross-country trip to a fast-food franchise without turning into mush, the secret is timing. The Sanders family harvests their tomatoes while they are still firm and green.

• They account for an astonishing 65% of the East Coast tomato market during their peak June window.

• Their massive yield fills roughly 600,000 to 800,000 twenty-five pound boxes every summer.

• Packed into refrigerated trucks, these tomatoes are funneled directly into major commercial distribution networks supplying global giants like Burger King, Subway, and major grocery chains across the United States, Canada, and Puerto Rico.

From “Ugly” Tomatoes to Southern Soul

Of course, feeding a fast-food empire requires strict conformity.

Ninety percent of those rejected tomatoes are structurally perfect and completely delicious—they are simply too red, too soft, or too uniquely shaped to survive a multi-day trip in a commercial truck to a Burger King or Subway distribution hub.

Chains like Burger King demand perfectly round, unblemished, uniform slices. Historically, this meant that about 20% of the Sanders’ crop—perfectly delicious tomatoes that were just a little too ripe or uniquely shaped—couldn’t be boxed for the trucks.

Not willing to let good food go to waste, the newest generation of the family found a beautifully Southern solution. They launched a spinoff brand called Seaside Grown. Instead of discarding the “ugly” field-ripened tomatoes that are too soft for a cross-country trip, they crush them into artisan salsas, sauces, and award-winning Bloody Mary mixes right on the island.

The Original Blend Bloody Mary Mix: Their flagship product. It's a chef-inspired, artisan mix featuring their fresh tomatoes blended with pickle brine, tarragon vinegar, and Worcestershire sauce.

A Slice of History on Your Plate

Next time you hear the crunch of a tomato on a fast-food burger, look past the wrapper. You are tasting a century of farming history, a unique maritime microclimate, and the sheer grit of a South Carolina family that feeds a continent, one slice at a time.

The family jokes about the fresh, premium nature of their rescued tomato products by using an old Southern idiom on their labels: "One taste and we think you will agree—it's finer than frog's hair! If it ain't fresh, it ain't in our pot!"

Below is a legendary recipe for Summer Tomato Gazpacho - perfect for Seaside Farm Tomatoes. It’s a long time favorite of mine for you to enjoy for many years to come. I’m sending it with love and blessings! Thank you for stopping by. xoxo Pat

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During my early days in Beaufort, we had a beloved Gullah housekeeper named Miss Dora who lived on the edge of the property. One morning, she walked up the sandy path to my porch, apron tied on and a basket hooked over her arm. “I’m puttin’ in my okra today,” she said with a broad smile. “Not gonna let it get tall and leggy, - I be cuttin’ it before the sun gets too hot.” She told me how to pinch back the tops to keep the pods tender, and then save the seeds each fall in a jar on the kitchen shelf.

In the humid heart of South Carolina’s ACE Basin, a summer garden is more than a plot of dirt—it is a living archive. It carries the seeds, the specialized skills, and the survival stories of a lineage that refused to be erased.

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Dora spoke about her great-grandparents and their lives on the plantations - grueling and relentless. The dawn horn called them from their cabins before the sky turned pink. Barefoot, they filed into the misty fields, hoes in hand, the air heavy with the smell of pluff mud and salt marsh. In summer, the sun beat down without mercy, and the tide-driven irrigation canals they’d dug shimmered in the heat. Malaria and yellow fever took their toll, but the work did not stop—clearing land, mending dikes, planting, and harvesting rice. Alongside the great swaths of grain, they tended smaller garden patches, a place where African plants could take root in American soil.

“Some seeds were small enough to hide in a braid, yet carried the weight of centuries across an ocean.”

Okra was a seed, small enough to vanish into the intricate braid of a woman’s hair. Carried across an unforgiving ocean and tucked against the scalp for safekeeping, those tiny seeds found a second home in the sandy soil of the Lowcountry. Under a relentless sun, they were coaxed into life, transforming into a vessel of memory.

In the Basin, where tidal rivers surrender to the sea, okra took root in the small garden patches of enslaved Africans. These seeds were a carefully guarded treasure. Growing alongside rice and collards, it became a green thread binding generations together—a silent testament to the women who knew exactly how to plant it, when to pick it, and how to cook it just right. Children were taught to pick the pods young, before they turned woody, and to handle the prickly stems without tearing their skin.

In the kitchens of the big houses and in their own small cabins, okra became the backbone of many meals. Stewed with tomatoes and onions into a pot likened to “Southern gravy,” sliced and simmered into rice-based gumbos, or battered and fried into crisp coins for Sunday dinners—it was the taste of survival. Even the mucilaginous quality, which outsiders often turned up their noses at, was prized by Gullah cooks for thickening soups and stretching a pot to feed more mouths.

In the ACE Basin, tides still creep into the old rice canals, and the marsh still hums with life. Okra still rises each summer, green and steadfast, just as it has for centuries.

Documented Oral Traditions and Historical Research

Scholars and food historians, such as Dr. Judith Carney (author of Black Rice), have researched how African crops like rice, okra, and millet were brought across the Atlantic. She writes about how African crops of rice, okra, and millet were smuggled as grains in the hair of the slaves. https://geog.ucla.edu/person/judith-carney/

Of further interest and historical significance, scholars like Dr. Judith Carney have documented how African women used their hair as a “vessel” to ensure their descendants would have the means to feed themselves in a new world.

A Blueprint for Survival: Enslaved women from the Dahomey region and other parts of West Africa are often credited with braiding seeds into their hair before being forced onto slave ships. They hid seeds of okra, molokhia, rice, and black-eyed peas as a way to ensure their descendants would have the "source code" for survival.

• Food historian, David Shields tells us there is a Motherland Okra, originating in Africa. Shields notes that instead of just eating the pods, the plant is also grown for its enormous leaves, which can be eaten much like collard greens. Food scholar Kevin Mitchell from Charleston uses smoked catfish for flavor, bringing in an interesting new dimension.

  No story about okra would be complete without a prize recipe for Okra Soup. My favorite is from legendary Gullah author Mrs. Emily Meggett(1932-2023), revered as the “Matriarch of Edisto Island.”

• Before her passing, she published her groundbreaking, New York Times bestselling cookbook, Gullah Geechee Home Cooking: Recipes from the Matriarch of Edisto Island. One of her absolute signature dishes—and a staple of Gullah cuisine—is her traditional Gullah Okra Soup. Unlike modern stews that use a flour-based roux, Mrs. Meggett’s traditional recipe relies entirely on the natural thickening power of the okra itself, slow-simmered with rich smoked meat.

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Savannah takes on a certain magic when the sun begins to sink beneath the live oak canopy. On the edge of Forsyth Park, framed by sweeping Spanish moss, a grand red-brick mansion stands as a testament to the city's timeless beauty. Now operating as Hotel Bardo, this refined urban escape effortlessly pairs sophisticated, big-city luxury with authentic Southern grace.

When I stepped inside the lobby on a recent afternoon, the energy was evident. It’s a vibrant, stylish scene—a mix of heels-and-jeans wearing New Yorkers, vacationers, and locals perching in velour swivel chairs beneath warm brass lighting. Everyone is there to see and be seen, sipping cocktails or sharing small plates of coastal Italian cuisine at the hotel’s stunning signature restaurant, Saint Bibiana.

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Step Into the Kitchen

The culinary heartbeat of the property is Saint Bibiana, a space that completely changed my expectations of a traditional hotel restaurant. Rather than relying on standard coursed meals, the kitchen champions an intimate, shared-plate philosophy, sending beautifully executed "coastal Italian" dishes to the table the moment they are ready. The menu shines a spotlight on exceptional, lesser-known pasta shapes—most notably their incredible mushroom torchiette. It is a deeply savory, earthy dish featuring rich, beautifully browned mushrooms swirled in a luscious cream sauce.

We are going to be diving headfirst into traditional Southern cooking—a beautiful contrast to the hotel’s daily Italian flair. The chef is keeping the exact menu a closely guarded secret until I tie on my apron, meaning I have no idea if we’ll be perfecting a classic Lowcountry shrimp and grits, frying up green tomatoes, or mastering the art of a flaky Southern biscuit.

But first I must take a look around.

Like almost every historic structure in Savannah, Bardo’s modern luxury rests on a colorful, multi-chapter backstory that stretches back well over a century.

Walking Through History

The elegant estate was originally built in 1888 as the Forsyth Mansion. Over the decades, it evolved alongside the city itself, housing several prominent local families before taking a surprisingly somber turn in its middle age, functioning for years as a grand Southern funeral home. Eventually, it was converted into a boutique lodging experience known as The Mansion on Forsyth Park, operating as a traditional hotel until 2022.

The property entered its current high-design era in early 2024 after a massive, top-to-bottom renovation. While the iconic red-brick facade of the original buildings remain beautifully preserved, it’s the expansion of the grounds that completely stole my attention.

Strolling through the grounds felt like discovering a hidden urban oasis. The lush greenery, weathered brickwork, and gentle coastal breeze melded together perfectly, setting the scene for a relaxed, slow-paced Southern afternoon.

I’ll be taking full notes to bring the chef’s insider secrets, techniques, and the final mystery menu straight to your inbox very soon.

Stay tuned—you won’t want to miss what we cook - strictly Southern. Well, we might make a nod to Hotel Bardo’s Italian heritage.

We’d love to know if you have dined at Hotel Bardo and what you enjoyed. Be sure to comment and let us know about your own experience.

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Black Pepper Torchiette

While the exact in-house recipe at Hotel Bardo is proprietary, you can recreate this restaurant-quality mushroom dish at home using a few core seasonal ingredients.

Key Ingredients

• 1 lb Torchiette pasta

• 1 lb Mixed wild mushrooms (cremini, shiitake, or foraged mushrooms)

• 4 tbsp Unsalted butter

• 2 tbsp Olive oil

• 3 Cloves garlic, thinly sliced

• 1 Large shallot, finely diced

• 1/4 Cup dry white wine (e.g., Pinot Grigio or Sauvignon Blanc)

• 1/2 Cup heavy cream

• 1 Cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

• 1-2 tsp Freshly cracked black pepper (to taste)

• Fresh sage or parsley, chopped

• Salt (to taste)

Instructions

1. Boil the Pasta: Bring a large pot of heavily salted water to a boil. Cook the torchiette until it is al dente (roughly 1 to 2 minutes less than the package instructions). Reserve 1/2 cups of pasta water before draining.

2. Sauté the Mushrooms: Heat 2 tablespoons of butter and the olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the mushrooms and a pinch of salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms are deeply browned and their moisture has evaporated (about 8–10 minutes).

3. Build the Aromatics: Lower the heat to medium. Add the shallot and garlic, cooking until fragrant (about 2 minutes). Season generously with freshly cracked black pepper.

4. Deglaze: Pour in the white wine to deglaze the pan, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom. Simmer until the wine reduces by half (about 2 minutes).

5. Create the Sauce: Pour in the heavy cream, remaining 2 tablespoons of butter, and 1/2 cup of the reserved pasta water. Bring to a gentle simmer.

6. Combine: Add the cooked torchiette directly to the skillet. Toss the pasta vigorously in the sauce until the noodles are well coated.

7. Finish & Serve: Remove the skillet from the heat. Stir in the grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and chopped herbs. If the sauce is too thick, add more reserved pasta water 1/2 cup at a time. Serve immediately with extra black pepper and parmesan.

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My traditional ice cream maker stays buried somewhere in the depths of the garage, a monstrous plastic contraption that requires rock salt, ice, and approximately three business days of patience. I knew I didn’t have time. This was urgent. Memorial Day is almost here and I want friends to enjoy homemade ice cream.

I gathered a few items together and got out the hand mixer, whipping the heavy cream until it looked like billowing, fluffy clouds. I added the sweetened condensed milk, watching in fascination as the thick, golden stream blanketed the bottom of the bowl. Then I added a heavy pinch of flaky sea salt into the caramel and gave it a swirl.

The magic happened during the layering. I poured a third of the fluffy white cream into an old metal loaf pan, then, with the precision of a high-stakes surgeon, drizzled thick, lazy ribbons across the cream. Next, I took out a butter knife and dragged it through, creating intricate, elegant marble patterns. I repeated the process on another layer and dramatically scattered sea salt crystals across the top.

I wrapped it tightly in plastic wrap and put it in the freezer overnight.. The anticipation is half the fun. When I pulled it out the next day, it was rock solid, frosted around the edges, and gorgeous. I dipped a metal scoop into hot water and pressed it into the ice cream. It slid through like butter, curling up into a perfect, creamy scoop. I could see the distinct, golden brown rivers of salted caramel running through the stark white ice cream, dotted with tiny glittering diamonds of sea salt. I thought, “ This isn’t just ice cream, this is a masterpiece. And no machine required. If I can do it, anyone can do it.

Classic Salted Caramel Ice Cream

Line a 9-by-5-by-2 1/2-inch (23-by-13-by-6-cm) loaf pan with plastic wrap or parchment paper.

Caramel: ½ to ¾ cup high-quality salted caramel sauce (store-bought, Trader Joe’s or Ghirardelli works great, or make it homemade

Base: In a medium bowl, stir together 1 can (14 ounces) of sweetened condensed milk, ¼ cup of salted caramel sauce, 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract, and ½ teaspoon of flaky sea salt, like Maldon or fine table salt. Taste- if you want it saltier, add another pinch.

Assemble:

Whip 2 cups of heavy cream to stiff peaks, then gently fold in the caramel condensed milk mixture. Be gentle and don’t overfold, or you will lose that beautiful volume you have created.

The Ribbon effect: Pour half the ice cream mixture into your loaf pan. Drizzle 2 tablespoons of the remaining caramel sauce over the top and drag a knife through it to create swirls.

Pour the rest of the ice cream on top, drizzle the last of the caramel, swirl again, and scatter a tiny pinch of flaky sea salt over the top. Freeze for 6 hours or overnight. Let it sit at room temperature for about 5 minutes to soften a bit before scooping.

Run your ice cream scoop under hot water before scooping out the ice cream. It will be much easier to handle.

Blackberries are in season right now and they make ice cream creamy, dreamy and delicious.

No Churn Blackberry Ice Cream

• 2 pounds fresh blackberries, rinsed and drained, divided

• 1/3 cup white sugar

• 1 teaspoon lemon juice

• 1 (14 ounce) can sweetened condensed milk

• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

• 2 cups heavy cream

• Add 1 ½ pounds of the blackberries (about 5 cups), sugar, and lemon juice to a saucepan and bring to a simmer over medium heat.

• Use a potato masher to crush berries, and continue to simmer until mixture thickens and reduces by half, about 20 minutes. Heat can be turned up to reduce faster, but will require more careful watching to be sure blackberries do not scorch.

• Strain blackberry mixture through a fine-mesh strainer into a bowl, being sure to get every drop of juice; discard fiber and seeds. Stir sweetened condensed milk and vanilla into the bowl; refrigerate mixture until completely cold, about 1 hour.

• Beat cream in a chilled glass or metal bowl with an electric mixer until medium-stiff peaks form. Add half the whipped cream to chilled blackberry mixture; fold in with a whisk until almost all the cream is incorporated. Add remaining whipped cream; use a spatula to gently fold in. Pour mixture into a container, cover, and freeze until solid, at least 4 hours and up to overnight.

• To serve, add as many of the fresh berries you want to the top, and use an ice cream scoop to mix and smash them into the ice cream as you scoop. Add a few remaining berries on top of each serving.

Chef’s Notes

Here are some notes before we get started:

• This was really good, and very easy, since we’re using a machine-free “no-churn” method. However, the real secret to success wasn’t the ice cream recipe, or the technique used to create it, it was the old, “blackberry smash,” as I like to call it, which involves the optional step of smashing and smearing fresh berries into the finished ice cream.

• By adding fresh blackberries before we serve, we create an incredible contrast in taste and texture, as well as cut down on the richness of the base.

• These types of no-churn ice creams do tend to be on the sweeter, richer side, so having the juicy, tartness of the fresh berries to balance things does wonders.

  Whether you “smash” yours or not, I really do hope you give this easy blackberry ice cream a try soon. Enjoy!

• Wishing you all a fabulous stress-free holiday weekend and may summer begin in all its glory. Bon appetit!

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Well, all of this got me thinking. What on earth did they fix for lunch each day as they steamed home to Beaufort from Louisiana?

What kind of boating crew are we dealing with here? Are they seasoned, gourmet grillers, or are they merely surviving on saltines and desperation? Because let’s be honest: what could possibly go wrong when four grown men are left to pack a cooler with absolutely zero outside supervision? It is a miracle of modern science that they made it back at all.

I can hear it now. Someone definitely said, “We don’t need to pack a lunch, boys. We’re gonna catch fresh mahi-mahi and make tacos on the fly!”

Cut to 2:00 p.m. No one has caught a single thing except a tangled line, a severe drop in morale, and a spectacular sunburn. “Lunch” morphs into a hostage negotiation with the cooler: a crushed sleeve of saltine crackers, a shared family-sized bag of stale potato chips, half a tube of squirt cheese, and a single, slightly melted protein bar split four ways with a rusty pocket knife. This culinary masterpiece is washed down with a warm Sun Drop and a random, lukewarm energy drink someone found in the truck console before they left the dock.

Then again, maybe they were overachievers. Maybe they decided to harvest some of their own catch and whip up Shrimp Skewers. But cooking on a moving vessel gets dramatic quickly.

Picture this: one guy is forced to hold a spatula like a samurai sword, fiercely defending their lunch from a circling squadron of aggressive, hyper-focused seagulls executing tactical dive-bombs.

The final presentation is served on a flimsy paper plate held in one hand, balanced by a cold drink in the other. The plate is already structurally failing under the sheer weight of the olive oil. Everyone is eating standing up, trying desperately to keep their sea legs, when the captain suddenly hits a massive wake.

Boom. Everyone’s lunch goes airborne. It’s chaotic, it’s messy, but by golly, they remain resolute!

Get your sea legs ready or try these recipes in the safety of your own backyard.

Now, drum roll please. I am sharing two of my favorite ways to serve shrimp. They are simple and delicious! Enjoy! Have a great Memorial Day celebration. xoxo Pat

Shrimp in Herbed Oil

This elegant, make-ahead dish features succulent jumbo shrimp bathed in a vibrant, citrusy herb marinade. It makes a dazzling presentation for a Memorial Day picnic or any summer gathering. Serve it as a fabulous party appetizer with crusty bread, or turn it into a refreshing summer salad served over cold rice. This recipe is inspired by The Silver Palate 1984. It’s time honored and tested.

• Prep time: 30 minutes

• Marinating time: 3 hours (minimum)

• Yield: Serves 8–10 as an appetizer, or 4 as a main course salad

The Shrimp & Veggies

• 2 pounds jumbo shrimp, shelled and deveined (tails left on for easy handling)

• ½ cup yellow bell pepper, finely diced

• ½ cup red bell pepper, finely diced

The Herbed Citrus Marinade

• ¾ cup olive oil

• ¾ cup dry white wine (such as Sauvignon Blanc)

• ¼ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice

• 2 tbsp. Dijon mustard

• 3 cloves garlic, minced

• 3 tbsp. fresh basil, chopped

• 3 tbsp. fresh dill, chopped

• 1 tbsp. fresh rosemary, finely chopped

• 1 tbsp. fresh thyme, chopped

• 1 tbsp. fresh tarragon, chopped

• Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

• Pinch of red pepper flakes (optional, for a hint of heat)

Directions

1. Whisk the Marinade

In a large, non-reactive glass or ceramic bowl, combine the chopped basil, dill, rosemary, tarragon, thyme, minced garlic, Dijon mustard, and fresh lemon juice. Whisking constantly, slowly drizzle in the white wine and olive oil until the mixture is smoothly emulsified.

2. Season and Toss

Season the marinade to taste with salt, freshly ground black pepper, and red pepper flakes if you like a little kick. Stir in the finely diced red and yellow bell peppers, then add the prepared jumbo shrimp. Toss well to ensure all the shrimp are completely submerged and coated in the herbed oil.

3. Marinate

Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and place it in the refrigerator. Let the shrimp marinate for at least 3 hours to allow the rich herb flavors to completely infuse the seafood.

4. Serve

Remove from the refrigerator and bring slightly up to room temperature just before serving.

• As an appetizer, arrange the shrimp on a large platter with the colorful peppers spooned over the top. Serve with plenty of sliced, crusty French bread to soak up the glorious herbed oil.

• As a Summer Salad, mound cold, cooked white or wild rice on a bed of salad greens, top with the marinated shrimp, and drizzle the herbed oil over the top as the dressing.

Chef’s Notes

• Fresh is Best: Because this recipe relies on a raw oil infusion, using fresh herbs and freshly squeezed lemon juice makes a massive difference in brightness compared to dried alternatives.

• Keep an Eye on the Clock: Do not let the shrimp marinate overnight; the acid from the fresh lemon juice and white wine will eventually break down the delicate shrimp proteins, making them mushy. Three to four hours is the sweet spot!

Shrimp Skewers Wrapped in Basil and Prosciutto

Serves 4

Ingredients:

20 large shrimp peeled and deveined

1 Tbs. olive oil, plus more for brushing

Freshly ground pepper, to taste

20 fresh basil leaves

20 pieces of prosciutto, each 1 inch by 2 to 3 inches

Directions:

Prepare a fire in a grill.

In a large bowl, toss the shrimp with the 1 Tbs. olive oil and pepper to taste. Place a basil leaf on top of a piece of prosciutto and wrap both around the center of a shrimp. Place on a baking sheet with the seam side down. Repeat with the remaining shrimp. Thread the shrimp onto skewers and brush both sides of the shrimp with more olive oil.

Grill until the shrimp are pink and just cooked through, 2 to 3 minutes per side. Serve immediately or at room temperature.

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Share The Diary of Southern Lifestyle Author Pat Branning

I’ve always been drawn to the stories of women who used flour, sugar, and heat to elevate their lives. These women are more than bakers; they are wisdom-keepers who understand that a well-made cake is often a map of a life well-lived.

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I first encountered this particular brand of wisdom—and a legendary cheesecake—at the Whistle Stop Cafe in Thomasville, North Carolina. I was visiting my dad, and we stopped in for the dessert everyone in town had been whispering about. But as is often the case at the Whistle Stop, we left with much more than a full stomach; we left with sage advice to carry home.

While savoring that first bite, the conversation turned to how baking mirrors the development of character.

Ms. Nell, a longtime regular from High Point, leaned in and shared a secret that I’ve carried with me ever since:

“You know the secret to a perfect caramel is taking sugar right to the edge of burning. It needs that hint of toasted complexity to be truly rich. We all have our own ‘burnt’ moments—the failures and the close calls—that are exactly what give our character its depth. Without them, we’re just sugary; with them, we become decadent.”

We sat there and decided that baking is, at its heart, an act of pure transformation. Think about the raw ingredients: dusty flour, slimy eggs, cold butter. On their own, they are messy and unremarkable. But through the application of heat and the virtue of patience, they become something that brings people together.

Life is no different. You aren’t defined by your raw ingredients; you are defined by what you choose to make of them.

That first taste of the cheesecake—with its cinnamon-scented graham cracker crust and that “almost-burnt” caramel—was a revelation. It’s no wonder their business became a local legend. The bars were everything a dessert should be: sticky, creamy, crunchy, and divine.

The glaze on top never quite sets, and it’s not supposed to. It remains a rich, tug-at-your-heartstrings sauce that lingers on the palate and the memory.

If you try these at home, the recipe is simple, but the final instruction is the most difficult to master: know when to turn off the heat.

In baking, as in life, some of our most important growth happens during the cooling period. It’s in those quiet moments after the hard work is done that things finally “set,” and we can finally see the beauty of what we’ve created.

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The recipe is from our online cookbook, Tides of Tradition, for all paid subscribers. It’s just one way we can show our appreciation and thank you for your support. Bon Appetit, y’all.

Let me know in the comments if you like this recipe.

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Whistle Stop Caramel Cheesecake Bars

A decadent, three-layer treat featuring a buttery graham cracker crust, a creamy cheesecake center, and a homemade caramel topping. It will be the star of the show at any gathering.

Ingredients

The Crust

2 cups graham cracker crumbs

1/4 cup sugar

1/2 cup butter, melted

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

The Filling

8 ounces cream cheese, softened

1 1/2 cups sugar

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

4 eggs

1/2 cup sour cream

The Caramel Topping

1/2 cup brown sugar

6 tablespoons butter

14 ounces sweetened condensed milk

2 tablespoons corn syrup

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions

1. Prepare the Crust

Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Mix the graham cracker crumbs, sugar, cinnamon, and melted butter. Press the mixture firmly into the bottom of a 9×13-inch baking dish coated with nonstick spray.

2. Bake the Filling

Beat the cream cheese, sugar, and vanilla until smooth. Add the eggs one at a time, then whisk in the sour cream. Pour the batter over the crust and bake for 50 minutes.

Pro Tip: After baking, turn off the oven and let the cheesecake sit inside with the door open for 15 minutes to prevent cracking. Remove and cool for one hour.

3. Make the Caramel

In a saucepan over medium heat, stir the brown sugar and butter until melted. Whisk in the condensed milk, corn syrup, and vanilla. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, until the mixture reaches 225°F.

4. Finish and Serve

Let the caramel cool in the pan for 3–5 minutes, then pour it over the cooled cheesecake. Smooth the top and let it set completely before cutting into squares.

Storage Note: Since these contain cream cheese and sour cream, be sure to keep any leftovers refrigerated!

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In response to your many requests for the recipes featured in our newsletter this week about Williams Seafood, that place where we all stopped on the way to Tybee, we are delighted to announce that we will be sending recipes for our signature coastal dishes regularly. We truly appreciate your support of our newsletter.

Tides of Tradition is our online cookbook created exclusively for our community of paid subscribers. We are deeply grateful for your support, which allows us to preserve and celebrate these legendary recipes, ensuring they remain a vibrant part of our shared history.

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Tides of Traditions online cookbook recipes:

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My first encounter with the legend was in 1989. Hurricane Hugo was barreling toward Hilton Head Island, a Category 4 giant that had already left a trail of wreckage across the Caribbean. I remember the surreal sight of moving vans lining the beach as neighbors hauled away lifetimes of belongings. I packed my family into our wood-paneled Buick station wagon and joined the exodus inland toward Aiken. Amidst the frantic radio updates and traffic, the stories of the Gray Man were everywhere—whispered in grocery lines and over fences. Everyone wanted to know: Had he been seen? And if so, where?

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So, who—or what—is this spirit? While several names are whispered in local history, the most enduring story is that of a young traveler returning from years abroad to claim his fiancée. Desperate to reach her before a brewing storm made the roads impassable, he spurred his horse into a shortcut across the marsh. He never made it. The horse stumbled into a treacherous pocket of pluff mud, and both were claimed by the rising tide.

Legend says he reappeared days later to his grieving beloved on the windswept beach, his form translucent and draped in a long gray overcoat. He didn’t speak; he simply gestured for her to leave. Her family heeded the silent warning and fled. Upon their return, they found their home standing perfectly intact, a lone survivor among a landscape of splintered timber and sand.

Some historians and folklorists believe the spirit may be Charles Weston, the original owner of the Pelican Inn on Pawleys Island, who was known for his deep devotion to the community. He succumbed to tuberculosis. Not long after his death, visitors to the Pelican Inn reported seeing the ghost of a man in a Civil War uniform, who was believed to be Weston since he fought in the Civil War. Visitors have also claimed to have seen the ghost of Weston’s wife, Emily. It is said that her ghost leaves a lingering scent of perfume in the air.

In addition to the ghosts of the Westons, guests also started reporting encounters with a “Gray Man” along the beach.

Since the first documented sighting in 1822, the Gray Man has become a staple of South Carolina lore. He is a rare kind of ghost—a benevolent harbinger. To see a man in a gray hat walking the dunes just as the sky turns that hurricane purple is a terrifying omen of destruction, yet it carries an “uneasy comfort.” According to the mythology, if you encounter the Gray Man, your home will be spared the storm’s wrath.

One famous account from Hugo, the 1989 storm, involves a couple in Pawley’s Island who claimed to have seen the Gray Man on the beach and even waved at him. When they returned after Hugo, theirs was the only house on their block not destroyed by the surge.

The reports are remarkably consistent across the centuries: he is silent, he wears a wide-brimmed hat, and he often vanishes into the sea spray just as you move toward him.

Regardless of his true origins, sightings continue to roll in with the arrival of the summer storm season, peaking whenever the cone of uncertainty narrows toward the coast. Whether he is a protective spirit or a trick of the coastal light, the Gray Man remains the guardian of the islands.

In the end, when the wind starts to howl and the tide creeps over the docks, only you can decide what to believe. Reports remain remarkably consistent across the decades. The figure often gestures for people to leave the beach or simply stares out at the sea.

Seeing the spirit is a benevolent omen.

For more stories from the South Carolina Lowcountry, hit the subscribe button.

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Long before the era of Paula Deen, before the culinary heights of Elizabeth Terry, and even before the communal tables of Mrs. Wilkes, there was Williams Seafood.

Today, a rusted neon sign is all that remains of this Savannah institution—a ghost standing guard over an empty lot. At its peak, Williams was a regional empire, so famous that its signature deviled crabs were stocked in grocery stores across the South. To this day, I still miss them.

This story on the golden era of seafood shacks is for paid subscribers.

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The restaurant’s long reign ended in a flash when it was destroyed by fire in 2004, but for my family, the memories are anchored to the water. We used to pull The Robcy, our sportfishing boat, right up to their dock near the Bull River bridge. It was the essential stop on the way to the Atlantic—a narrow ribbon of highway and water that ties Savannah to Tybee Island.

We would lean over the stern to pick up several pounds of hush puppies and their legendary shrimp salad. It was the finest I’ve ever tasted, made with those tiny, incomparably sweet creek shrimp. I’ve looked for it on menus for decades, but I don’t think it exists anywhere else. That simple meal was enough to sustain us through a full day of cruising and fishing.

It wasn’t always a massive landmark, though. It began as a humble roadside stand, opened in 1936 by T.W. Williams and his wife, affectionately known to everyone as “Mom” Williams. From those small beginnings, they built a legacy that defined the taste of the Georgia coast for generations.

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T.W. and “Mom” Williams eventually handed the reins to their son, Hubert, and his wife, Martha. Together, they transformed that humble stand into a coastal landmark capable of seating hundreds. By the time the restaurant reached its peak, three generations of the Williams family had worked the floor and the kitchen.

Much like Desposito’s, just a few miles away in Thunderbolt, Williams was more than a restaurant; it was a sanctuary for locals and fishermen. It possessed a “no-frills” coastal charm that defined Savannah dining long before the arrival of high-end bistros and white tablecloths.

During most of the 20th century, Thunderbolt was a true seafood empire. It was a sprawling fishing village stretching along the banks of the Wilmington River, a world of canneries, frozen-food purveyors, and hundreds of shrimp boats docked four deep on either side of the water.

Williams was the titan of a golden era of “fish shacks” that has since vanished into the salt air. It stood alongside legendary names like Frank Paris, Tassie’s Pier, and Allie’s Wharf—famous for the slogan, “Where the elite eat in their bare feet.” While most faded away over the decades, Williams was the survivor that outlasted them all—until that fateful fire in 2004.

Today, it feels as though the true “mom and pop” establishments are all drifting out with the tide, unlikely to return. The landscape is now dominated by corporate chains or “independent” groups that lack the singular soul of a family-run dock.

Now, only the rusted sign remains—the “ghost” of the property. It stands over an empty lot, a favorite subject for local photographers and a bittersweet landmark for those of us who can still catch the phantom scent of those hush puppies and that incomparable shrimp salad.

Unfortunately, the sign has recently been taken down since this story was written.

May this story help preserve the memory of the golden era of fish shacks. Hit the Subscribe button now and help preserve our past. We’d love to hear your memories. Thank you. Pat

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Let’s be honest: college is hard. But for some, the hardest part wasn’t Organic Chemistry—it was figuring out how to boil water without burning the pot.

Enter Carrie Hirsch, the mastermind event planner at our Culinary Institute of the South in Bluffton. She’s seen Michelin stars, the best of the best, but she hasn’t forgotten the rest of us. She celebrates the small wins because her heart belongs to the students with the courage to begin.

She and her son, George Hirsch Jr., have a newly released cookbook for the culinarily challenged - a love letter to the college student who thinks “al dente” is a typo. It’s practical, it’s hilarious, and it’s the perfect graduation (or survival) gift.

Plus, there’s a built-in award at the end - basically it’s an “I Survived My Kitchen Award” for anyone brave enough to turn on the stove. Because in this kitchen, showing up is half the battle.

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Once her son arrived on campus, he was living in a 10x10 dorm room. Students around him had fancy air fryers they didn’t know how to use, even a few “smart” egg cookers, and hot plates that seemed more likely to summon the fire marshal than a decent meal.

This was the exact reality for Carrie’s son and his friends. After watching them blow their entire monthly allowance on lukewarm takeout and “mystery meat” delivery—simply because they were terrified of an actual stove—Carrie decided enough was enough.

Thus, their dorm room survival manual was born.

It begins with a “Boiling Water” Masterclass. Because yes, you can actually mess that up.

There’s even a section on gadget rehab about how to make those gimmicky kitchen tools actually work for you instead of just taking up space.

Budget Bliss: Recipes that cost less than your daily caffeine habit but taste like a home-cooked hug.

Whether you’re a student tired of eating “the wrong things” or a parent tired of funding the local pizza joint, this book is the ultimate graduation (or survival) gift.

Recipes so simple that every college freshman can master them. Zero knowledge is the starting point.

It’s a literal guide to boiling water (no judgment!).

Now let’s move beyond the microwave. Make life simple, stress-free, and student-proof.

Tell us your stories - I want to hear from you! Join the chat and let’s get cookin’!

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My front porch is a place for quiet conversations, reflections after a busy day, al fresco dining, and greeting guests. We linger over coffee here at dawn, pry open oysters in the chill of the evening, crack crabs, watch sunsets, make plans, and share ideas and hopes for the future.

It’s the place for napping, laughing with family and dear friends after Sunday supper, for cooling down with a tall glass of sweet tea after a day at the beach on a hot summer afternoon. This is where we carve our jack-o’-lanterns, hand out treats on Halloween, put up Christmas wreaths, and string lights.

I’ve learned a true Southern woman must have a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge at all times, just in case an unexpected guest should drop by the porch. If you don’t like sweet tea, well, bless your heart. It’s a sure sign you’re not from here. We’ve been taught to divide the North and the South at the Mason-Dixon line, but in reality, it’s divided at the sweet tea line. It’s that point on the map where the next Formica-topped diner just a little north doesn’t have a gracious plenty of sweet tea in a glass pitcher ready to serve. Just exactly where that line is may be a little blurred, but I feel sorry for folks who live above it.

When you’re in the South, you can be sure that in barbecue joints, roadside stands, seafood huts, fancy dining rooms, diners, and dives, folks will be stirring together a few humble ingredients to produce the elixir that tastes and feels like home.

Growing up, I spent countless nights with my parents and friends out on the porch, watching the sun go down, anticipating the thrill of catching lightning bugs once dusk settled upon the land. The bullfrogs played their symphony in the pond out back while crickets got so loud they nearly drowned out our conversations. In the darkness, the whippoorwills called out to us from their woodland home, and each night the faraway sound of a train whistle broke the silence as the Southerner rolled through town on its way to Georgia and all points south.

As I grew older, we sat on the porch and shared dreams of our lives to come and the limitless possibilities. Eventually, I grew up and went to college far away. Those evenings on the porch with mom and dad, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and friends happened less frequently until they became a cherished memory of my childhood.

Once I was married and had my own children, I realized how sacred those times on the porch were. It represented a time and place where slowing down was held in reverence above all activities. Somehow, we had time for it. Now there was soccer practice, horseback riding, choir practice, football practice—the race was on from work to school to extracurricular activities.

The front porch people are mostly gone now. I suspect they sit in air-conditioned comfort behind walls of wired components and TV sets. Lives of celebrities take precedence over the lives of neighbors and friends. We miss out on a part of what makes life rich and wonderful.

I love that neighbors walk by and greet us, and I’ve found that all food tastes a little bit better and conversations last a whole lot longer out there.

The porch remains the most sacred part of my home. It preserves the stories of our days, the endless ramblings of conversation, dreams of what is to come, and visions of endless possibilities.

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A Memorable Soft Shell Crab lunch on the porch with Chef Robert Wysong, formerly Executive Chef at Colleton River, Bluffton. Recipe follows:

This recipe and story were first published in my book, Magnolias, Porches and Sweet Tea, and later featured in Charleston Style and Design magazine.

One of my favorite recipes from the porch is soft shell crab. It became a favorite because it’s a delicious treat and recipe from one of the finest chefs I’ve met along the way, Chef Robert Wysong. At the time, he was the Executive Chef of Colleton River Plantation in Bluffton and had invited us to experience this popular dish to feature in our magazine.

Colleton Soft Shell Crab

SERVES: 4

Inspired by Chef Robert Wysong, former chef of Colleton River Plantation.

INGREDIENTS
4 soft-shell blue crabs
all-purpose flour
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
peanut oil

SEAFOOD SPICE
1 tablespoon Old Bay seasoning
2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Blend all together

REMOULADE SAUCE
1 cup good mayonnaise
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon sweet pickle relish
1/2 tablespoon capers, finely minced
1/2 tablespoon flat-leaf parsley, washed and minced
1/2 tablespoon Worcestershire
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon Tabasco

1. Prepare crabs and dust with seasoned flour. Carefully fry in heated oil, 325°, until golden brown.

2. Remove and drain on a paper towel.

3. Season liberally with seafood spice mixture. Split in half or serve whole and arrange with lemon slices and whole leaf parsley for garnish. Serve with remoulade on the side.

What’s your favorite recipe for soft-shell crab? Share a photo of a recipe. We’d love to hear from you. Join the chat.

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Driving across the bridge out of Beaufort and onto Lady’s Island always triggers a flood of memories—halcyon days that seem to ripen and sweeten with every passing year. Right now, the sun is descending slowly over the Intracoastal Waterway in a cinematic explosion of crimson and gold. It’s the perfect backdrop for tonight: a milestone birthday celebration for our neighbor, retired Marine Corps General Tommy Hopkins.

I cruise past historic porches glowing in haint blue; a silent, ancient promise that evil spirits aren’t welcome at this evening’s table.

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As I pull into Machete Landing, the air is thick with the scent of salt marsh and anticipation. I can almost see them now: my husband and Tommy, standing knee-deep in pluff mud like backyard sorcerers. I remember the rhythmic splash as they’d scoop up the gray earth and fish meal, brewing a potent alchemy for the night’s shrimping. With eyes locked on the horizon of Trenchards Inlet, they lived for the chase. The tide might be restless, and the work back-breaking, but the Lowcountry doesn’t give up its treasures easily.

Tonight, the labor is over, and the reward is imminent. The fire is lit, the water is seasoned to a spicy roar, and soon, the feast begins. It’s time for a Lowcountry shrimp boil.

The table in the backyard, layered in newspaper like a painter’s canvas, soon became a vibrant work of art. We piled it high with steaming mounds of shrimp, sweet corn, savory sausage, and butter-soft potatoes. As the steam rose, it carried the heady perfume of Old Bay, cayenne, and the briny scent of the tidewater. In this neck of the woods, you never eat with a fork and knife. You eat with your fingers, your laughter, and an unashamed appetite.

When it comes to the ingredients, listen carefully: whatever you do, use only large, wild-caught local shrimp. Imported, farm-raised shrimp are an absolute abomination to your heritage; they won’t make your mama proud, and they certainly won’t pass muster at Machete Landing.

And let’s be clear for the uninitiated: Frogmore Stew may carry the name, but don’t you dare think a frog has a single thing to do with it. If anyone shows up with a bullfrog, we’ll hand them a to-go plate and point them toward the nearest pond. The only thing leaping at this table is the joy of grabbing seconds before the platter is picked clean.

The truth is, a shrimp boil isn’t just a meal—it’s a peace summit. It’s hard to hold a grudge when your hands are messy, and your heart is full. Nobody can stay mad with a mouth full of shrimp, and by the time the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, everybody leaves a little lighter and a lot happier than when they came.

Frogmore Stew

Serves 6

6 cut-in-half ears of corn on the cob

6 (4-inch) links of smoked sausage

12 large red new potatoes cut in half

3 pounds of unpeeled fresh, local shrimp

A half dozen blue crabs, scrubbed clean of sand and debris; once cooked, shells should be bright red-orange

1 box Zatarain’s Crawfish, Shrimp, and Crab Boil seasoning

Here’s how it must go: Fill a large pot with enough water to cover all the ingredients and bring it to a boil. Add the box of seasoning. Once the water is boiling, add the red potatoes and the sausage. Cook on medium heat for 20 minutes. Add corn and blue crabs and cook for an additional 8-10 minutes. Give everything a gentle stir to make sure it cooks evenly.

Get another rolling boil going and dump in the shrimp. Cook for one minute and give the pot another stir. This is where things get very critical. With boiled shrimp, a few seconds late can spell disaster. When the first shrimp turn pink and float, turn off the heat and drain the pot.

Next, dump the entire pot onto a table lined with layers of newspaper. Finally, step back and admire the mountain of your awesome creation.

Hit the Subscribe button and never miss a story or a recipe. May these tales of the Lowcountry resonate in the hearts of all who pass this way. This is authentic Lowcountry - tributes to the land we love.

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Spring afternoons in the South aren’t just a time of day; they are a heavy, sometimes humid invitation to head toward the sea islands, crossing over the Woods Memorial swing bridge. Once you leave the sterile hum of the interstate, the air changes. It carries the sharp, briny signature of the Lowcountry—the scent of pluff mud and ancient salt. You follow the lean of the fence lines until the solid earth begins to dissolve into the shimmering expanse of the marsh.

These old farms exist on the edge of two worlds. You see it in the scorch of the South Carolina sun that has bleached the wooden barns to a silver-grey, their silhouettes mirrored in the tidal creeks that snake through the tall grass. Some of these outbuildings teeter on foundations of mismatched brick, held together less by engineering and more by whatever materials were on hand. Live oaks covered in resurrection fern spread their branches wide across this land, standing guard over the good earth, providing shade and solace for all who enter.

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I know battles have been fought here by men on tractors wearing bib overalls and wide-brimmed straw hats. Year after year, they have waged war against the elements of Mother Nature. In the many years that have passed, these farms have witnessed hurricanes, torrential rains, tornadoes, and parching droughts. Passersby headed to the beach on Hwy. 21 may never stop to notice.

Tons of fertile soil have been turned again and again to face the torrid sun and time. Each season, crops such as tomatoes, potatoes, strawberries, watermelons, cucumbers, and peppers have been planted with great faith and promise, harvested with love and hope. Davey Dempsey runs his vegetable stand here most days - he can read a watermelon better than anyone in Beaufort County. After all, he grew up on this land as did the generations before him. He knows firsthand the struggle to earn a good living in the sandy soil of this island.

Tired timbers may be rotting as they sway in the breeze. These outbuildings and barns will forever stand because they were built by men of an era when men had integrity and were as strong and mighty as the substructures of their buildings.

Wisteria trails its woody vines as it climbs around abandoned machinery, disabled, rusted tractors, and broken-down trucks. Each spring, its fragrant lavender blossoms perfume the air and reveal large, velvety leguminous pods. Even amongst the decay, beauty and signs of life carry on.

To me, these are magnificent ruins, every bit as hallowed as the stone temples of faraway lands. This is a landscape of endurance, a battlefield where men on tractors have spent lifetimes negotiating with the moon and the tides.

This land is for patient viewing. It asks you to stop, kick off your shoes, and feel the transition of the earth—from the dry, sandy grit of the tomato rows to the cool, silk-slicked edges of the field beneath the trees. There is a quiet, sacred geometry in the connection between the sun, the soil, and the darkening water.

As the great blue herons take flight and the chorus of songbirds rises to meet the incoming tide, you realize you aren’t just looking at a landscape. This is a place of long-held tradition. Will future generations know the simple joys of foraging for wild pokeweed in the spring, its vibrant purple berries a stark contrast against the lush green landscape? Will they experience the delight of picking strawberries, their fingers stained red from the sun-ripened fruit, the sweet aroma filling the air? Will they understand the deep connection to the land, and the reverence for nature's bounty that has shaped our lives?

In writing, we create a bridge to the future, a way for those who come after us to know the things we held dear, the traditions we cherished, and the land we loved fiercely.

"If you believe in preserving the stories of the land we love fiercely, please consider becoming a subscriber. Together, we can build a bridge to the future, one story at a time." Just hit subscribe.

With love and best wishes, Pat xoxo

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If you took a time machine, pointed it at the 1960s, and accidentally spilled a bucket of fresh shrimp over the control panel, you’d probably land right in front of T.W. Graham & Company in McClellanville.

Owner Patrick “Packy” Runey calls it “the other Mayberry,” and he isn’t just whistling the theme song. Here is how this Lowcountry gem mirrors the iconic fictional town—with a few salty upgrades.

1. The “Andy Taylor” of the Kitchen

In Mayberry, Andy kept the peace with common sense and a slow drawl. At T.W. Graham’s, the peace is kept by Chef Josh McClellan. Much like the local sheriff, Josh has deep roots—his family has been working the local rivers for generations. Instead of locking up troublemakers, he locks down the flavor in the Shrimp and Grits. It’s basically “soul food” diplomacy.

2. The “Aunt Bee” Secret Ingredient

Every Mayberry episode needed a blue-ribbon pie or a secret recipe. Enter Miss Gertrude. Her “Gert’s Famous Crab Balls” are the culinary equivalent of Aunt Bee’s prize-winning pickles (except, you know, actually edible and highly sought after). The recipe is such a local legend that people treat it with more department-level secrecy than the town’s actual bylaws.

3. The Pace of a Sunbathing Turtle

In Mayberry, the biggest traffic jam was a cow in the middle of Main Street. In McClellanville, life moves “at the pace of a sunbathing turtle.” If you’re looking for a New York minute, you’ve taken a very wrong turn at Awendaw. This is a place where “fast food” means the shrimp was caught this morning and only took 15 minutes to reach your plate.

4. A “Funky Repository” of Characters

While Mayberry had Floyd the Barber and Otis, T.W. Graham’s has a ceiling adorned with kayaks and nautical memorabilia. It’s described as a “pirate’s cove,” which is basically what would happen if Barney Fife gave up his one bullet, bought a boat, and started collecting “treasures” from the Atlantic.

5. The “Family” Staff

In a town this small, the staff isn’t just a workforce; they’re a family unit. Whether it’s Stacey Runey’s lavish coconut custard pies or the local watermen delivering the “fresh catch” directly to the back door, the restaurant operates on a level of care you usually only get when you’re visiting your grandmother—assuming your grandmother has a commercial-grade deep fryer.

The Verdict: If you’re looking to escape the 21st century and don’t mind a little Old Bay on your shirt, T.W. Graham & Co. is the closest you’ll get to Mayberry—just with better seafood and significantly fewer black-and-white cameras.

Do you think you’ll start with the legendary crab balls, or are you more of a coconut custard pie enthusiast?

Never miss out on a recipe or story - Hit Subscribe! Read all about their Coconut Custard Pie and how to make their famous Crispy Crab Balls!!!

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The recipe for McClellanville Crispy Crab Balls is a signature creation from T.W. Graham & Co. in McClellanville. The secret to these local favorites is most of all - use fresh local blue crab and "lots and lots of fresh blue crab" with just enough binder to hold them together, creating a velvety smooth interior and a crunchy exterior. It makes a wonderful party appetizer that’s great for date nights and nibbling anytime. These mini crab cake bites are always a hit.

McClellanville Crispy Crab Balls

Yields approximately 35–36 balls. Bake at 450 degrees for 10 to 15 minutes

Ingredients

• 1 pound backfin crabmeat (picked through to remove all shells/cartilage)

• ½ cup mayonnaise

• 1 large egg

• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice (plus the zest of 1 lemon)

• 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

• 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

• 2 tablespoons fine-chopped fresh parsley

• 1 teaspoon hot sauce

• 1 teaspoon Old Bay seasoning

• ⅛ teaspoon sea salt

• 2/3 cup plain panko breadcrumbs

Crumb Coat

• 1 cup Ritz cracker crumbs

• 4 tablespoons melted butter

Instructions

1. Prepare the Base: In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, egg, lemon juice, zest, Worcestershire, mustard, hot sauce, Old Bay, and sea salt until well combined.

2. Combine: Gently fold in the crabmeat and panko breadcrumbs until incorporated. Be sure to break up any large lumps of crab for these small bite-sized balls.

3. Chill: Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour. Chilling is a crucial step to help the loose mixture hold its shape.

4. Form & Coat: Preheat your oven to 450°F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Use a scoop to portion out rounded tablespoons of the mixture. Roll each portion into a small round ball and coat thoroughly in the Ritz cracker crumbs.

5. Bake: Place the coated balls back on the baking sheet and dab each with a bit of melted butter. Bake for 15 minutes in the center of the oven until golden and crispy

   Serve: Enjoy them hot with saltine crackers, lemon wedges, and your choice of sauce

The Perfect Dipping Sauce

For a quick, zesty pairing, you can whip up this simple spiced mayo:

• ½ cup Mayonnaise

• 2 tbsp Hot sauce (adjust to your heat preference)

• A squeeze of fresh lemon juice

• A pinch of sea salt

Since these are quite delicate, it’s best to serve them hot right out of the oven with some extra lemon wedges on the side.

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Let us know if you make these delicious crab balls - and send a photo! We’d love to hear from you. Do you have a dipping sauce you like to use? This is the place to share.

While the specific proprietary recipe for Stacey Runey’s “lavish coconut custard pie” is kept close to the vest by the T.W. Graham & Co. family, the restaurant has shared that the secret lies in its traditional, Lowcountry custard style.

Because this is a coconut custard pie (baked in the oven) rather than a coconut cream pie (pudding-based), you can recreate that “Mayberry” magic at home with this authentic Southern version.

T.W. Graham-Style Coconut Custard Pie

This recipe follows the “Old School” Southern tradition: a rich, buttermilk-based custard that sets in the oven until golden and jiggly.

Ingredients

• 1 unbaked 9-inch deep-dish pie shell (or par-baked for 10 mins if you like it extra crispy)

• 1 cup sugar

• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

• 6 large eggs (The high egg count is the secret to that “lavish” Stacey Runey texture)

• 1 cup buttermilk (Adds that signature Lowcountry tang)

• 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

• 2 cups shredded sweetened coconut

• Pinch of salt

Instructions

1. Prep the Oven: Preheat your oven to 350°F.

2. Whisk the Base: In a medium bowl, whisk together the sugar and melted butter. Add the eggs one at a time, whisking well after each.

3. The “Mayberry” Mix: Stir in the buttermilk, vanilla, and a pinch of salt until smooth.

4. Add the Coconut: Fold in the shredded coconut until it’s evenly distributed.

5. Sprinkle some coconut on the top of the pie.

6. Bake: Pour the mixture into your pie shell. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes. You’re looking for the top to be golden brown and the center to be just barely set (it will firm up as it cools).

7. Cool Down: Let it cool completely on a wire rack for at least 2 hours. This is the hardest part, but as they say in McClellanville, you have to move “at the pace of the tide.”

Pro-Tip from the “Other Mayberry”

To truly mimic the T.W. Graham and Company experience, serve your slice slightly chilled or at room temperature with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream.

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Share your own stories here and join the conversation. We want to hear from you! Bon appetit, y’all!!!!

xoxo Pat

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They say a recipe has no soul—that you have to bring the soul to it yourself. Well, in the Carolina sunshine, the “soul” of a strawberry isn’t just about sugar and cream; it’s about the grit, the drama, and the occasional midnight jazz concert required to keep the berries from being hijacked by the local wildlife.

If you’ve ever bitten into a plump, sun-ripened April strawberry and felt that explosion of tart sweetness, you’ve tasted victory. But behind that serene berry patch lies a battlefield where the weapons of choice range from bib overalls to brass trumpets and trombones.

The Great Deer Heist

Don’t let the “tranquil fields” fool you. While you’re dreaming of shortcake, farm manager Erik Hernandez at Boone Hall Plantation is running a high-stakes security operation.

• The Adversary: Hungry deer who view electric fences as mere “suggestions.”

• The Carnage: One year, five deer staged a “break-in” through a triple-layered fence, devouring the crowns of 1,000 plants.

• The Verdict: No berries, just a group of very satisfied, very athletic deer. Apparently, a young buck is willing to take a literal shock to the system if it means a five-star fruit buffet.

The Secret Weapon: Heavy Metal (and Brass)

Just like my friend Colonel Rathbun from Brickyard Point, today’s farmers have had to get creative. At Ambrose Farms and Wabi Sabi Farm, near Charleston, proprietor Jimmy Livingston has turned his fields into a sensory experience that would confuse even the most seasoned pest.

“I use radios left on all night to scare away the deer—any music with a lot of brass.”

Imagine being a deer looking for a midnight snack, only to be confronted by a high-volume blast of Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass. It’s enough to make any ruminant reconsider their life choices.

The 2 A.M. Bird Patrol

Livingston’s commitment to the strawberry is legendary. Back in the 80s, he faced off against a “mafia” of cedar waxwings—hundreds of them—who refused to leave the buffet. The solution?

1. A loyal dog.

2. A shotgun (aimed safely at the sky).

3. A 2 a.m. wake-up call for the entire neighborhood.

The Takeaway: The next time you enjoy a bowl of Carolina strawberries, take a moment to appreciate the “soul” that went into them. It’s a flavor profile that includes sunshine, hard work, and just a hint of a midnight trombone or two.

What’s your favorite way to serve these hard-won berries—do you keep it simple, or do you have a “soulful” recipe of your own? Please share!

I have a vintage recipe I like to serve with a fresh bowl of berries. The cake is rich and satisfying and pairs well with lighter, refreshing sides. It’s simple, soulful, and Southern. The indulgent Neiman Marcus Cake is a Southern classic known for its rich, gooey texture and delightful buttery flavor.

I’m passionate about sharing vintage-tested recipes passed down through the generations of home cooks. Share your favorite with us and a picture!

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Neiman Marcus Cake with Cream Cheese

Simple ingredients, stunning flavors! A swoon-worthy dessert.

Ingredients for the base layer:

1 box yellow cake mix

1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted

1 large egg

Top Layer

1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese, softened

2 large eggs at room temperature

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

4 cups powdered sugar

Preheat and prep the pan. Preheat to 350 degrees. Grease a 9x13-inch baking pan and line it with parchment paper for easier cleanup.

In a medium bowl, combine the dry yellow cake mix, melted butter, and 1 large egg. This will form a thick, sticky dough. Use a spatula or your hands to mix everything until it’s evenly combined.

Press the Dough into the Pan

Once your crust dough is ready, press it evenly into the bottom of your prepared baking pan. Use your fingers or the back of a spoon to smooth it out. Try to keep the thickness consistent across the whole pan so the cake bakes evenly.

This base layer is rich and buttery, forming the perfect foundation for the creamy topping that comes next. It bakes into a slightly chewy crust that contrasts beautifully with the soft, sweet filling.

Cream Cheese Layer

In a medium mixing bowl, start by beating the softened cream cheese on medium speed until it’s nice and smooth. You want to get rid of any lumps before adding the rest of the ingredients—this makes the final topping light and creamy.

Next, beat in the 2 large eggs and 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract. Mix until everything is fully combined. The mixture should be creamy and pale yellow in color.

Don’t overmix this topping: Once the powdered sugar is fully incorporated, stop. Overmixing can cause the cake to rise too much and crack.

Now, slowly add in the 4 cups of powdered sugar. It’s best to do this in batches, so you don’t end up with a sugar cloud going all over the counter. Keep mixing until the topping is smooth and slightly fluffy. It should be pourable but thick—almost like a thick cake batter.

Once your cream cheese topping is fully mixed, pour it evenly over the crust layer in the pan. Use a spatula to gently spread it out all the way to the edges. This layer will puff slightly as it bakes and then settle as it cools, creating that classic gooey top. Place the pan into your preheated oven and bake for 35 to 40 minutes. You’re looking for a golden brown top and a center that is set but still has a slight jiggle. It should look a little soft in the middle. If you overbake, the cake loses its gooey magic, so keep an eye on it during those final minutes.

Do not try to slice before the cake is totally cooled down. Sometimes it’s a good idea to place it in the fridge for a bit to be sure you can get nice, super clean slices.

Chef’s Note:

For extra flavor, add a small amount of almond extract and a sprinkle of sea salt on top before baking.

Vary it by adding chocolate chips or a swirl of caramel. Have fun with it and make this classic a favorite.

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