Tasting Notes – Bowen's Island, Charleston, SC

One breezy Sunday afternoon we braved the traffic heading to Folly Beach in search of steamed oysters, fried shrimp and cold, delicious beer. After missing the turn-off twice, we found the pothole-ridden dirt path to Bowen's Island. We wound our way to the "parking lot", where customers haphazardly abandon their cars at amidst piles of oyster shells, and entered the compound of run-down, fire-damaged buildings that make up the restaurant.

Our first stop was the shack where a very kind Southern gent takes orders, runs the register, and chats up the customers (not all at once, mind you, serially and slowly – yet another reminder that I was in a land far, far away from New York City). Our menu selections had been made and we were eagerly eyeing the beer fridge when we realized that Bowen's Island is a cash only establishment. We had a little cash, but who wants to be limited by a pocketbook when faced with steaming heaps of dirt cheap oysters and an evening with nothing better to do? So 30 minutes, lots of beach traffic, and another missed turn later, we returned to Bowen's Island with cash, spent another eternity waiting to order, and sat down in the upstairs dining area with a six pack of Red Stripe and a huge, lunchroom tray of crusty mollusks.

Up to this point, most oysters I had eaten were raw and served atop polished half shells. Not at Bowen's Island. The oysters at Bowen's Island look funky. Really funky. And they are steamed by the bucketful (for which I am grateful – I'm not sure I would trust raw oysters that looked that funky). You get a dull knife, a towel, and a tray full of funkiness, and you go to town.

And we did, and it was excellent. The oysters were perfect – sweet, succulent, and bursting with briny juice. A little cocktail sauce, a lot of beer, and that tray was gone faster than it took us to get there.

And then we waited. And we waited. And we waited some more.

At some point, someone finally served us a tray of fried things, the only memorable parts of which were the tender, mid-sized shrimps and the awful, cement-heavy "hush puppies." But the beer was flowing freely as we enjoyed the sunset over the marsh, and we agreed that our trip to Bowen's Island was good.