The Salty Dog Cafe in Hilton Head, SC is not your typical place to take Mom for Mother's Day. However, I think all Mothers should eat exactly
what they want on their big day and nothing foots the bill for my Mom
more than The Salty Dog.
It's located at South Beach Marina on the island of Hilton Head in South Carolina and conveniently located next door to our beach house. It's a working marina, with lots of fishing boats, and everything else from an old fashioned ice cream shop to a bait and tackle shop. There's several restaurants, outdoor bars, musicians at night. But the big attraction is The Salty Dog Cafe.
Growing up, we rented a house there in the summer and I remember the 2 hour waits we would endure just to eat there and buy a t-shirt. We'd make a night of it and spend the evening strolling around the marina, listening to music, eating ice-cream and hoping to spot 'Jake,' the great-grandson of the legendary 'Salty Dog.' Jake was a fisherman's dog and one night, many years ago their boat capsized and Jake paddled for 3 days and nights with his owner hanging onto his collar until they reached the shore. Sounds like a bit of a folktale to me but it sure has sold a lot of t-shirts.
When I was a kid growing up in Birmingham, Alabama, my favorite food in the whole wide world were sugar cookies from Savage's Bakery in Homewood. Made fresh daily, from before I could even walk, I used to go in there with my mother to buy bread and other baked goods, knowing that every trip to Savage's always ended with a big fat old-fashioned buttery cookie, cooked to the perfect yellow consistency and coated with the best flakes of sugary sweetness that would melt in your mouth.
The Waffle House is sort of the unofficial flower of the Southern
Interstate exit. Driving North from the Gulf Coast on I-65 for the past
two years, I have seen the yellow signs blossoming in hamlets from
Alabama to Kentucky, and been intrigued, imagining fluffy waffles with
real syrup, folksy waitresses with coffee pots, and an enlightening
cross section of humanity. My path to Waffle Nirvana was blocked only
by my mother, who has a phobia about unclean public bathrooms which I
believe is a gene-linked trait in Jewish women of her generation.
Having been a teacher, she is able to “hold it” like a camel retains
water in the desert, but during the long trip home from Florida she
insists, not unreasonably, that we choose lunch stops at restaurants
where she can use the restrooms without sedation.
Mention New Orleans and anyone who's been says, "The food's so great. And the music. If you go, you'll love it."
What does traditional Southern cooking, and traditional Jewish cooking have in common. One word. BEIGE!