travel / Our Somm Life / Page 23

It’s become quite apparent to me that I crave the adventure of traveling abroad. Maybe it was the few years we spent in West Germany in my youth; or the countless visits to foreign boyfriends with British accents; or most recently, last years’s romantic whirlwind of the French countryside with the sommelier. Whatever the virus, I’ve definitely caught it.

A few weeks ago, my youngest sister, DJ Emils, and I congregated in a frozen NYC to lift off to the greener pastures of Ireland. We had been planning for months, scouring Internet deals, researching trip advisor hotel reviews, and shaping our itinerary around the most beloved, off-beaten scenery. After countless discussions, we settled on a six night self-drive tour along the southern coast, from County Clare to Dublin, through EuropeanDestinations (at an amazing deal, I might add!).

We arrived at Shannon Airport before dawn, extremely excited, yet underwhelmed in the emptiness and utter shabbiness of the actual facility. It somewhat reminded me of a lonely uncle, shut-in from the world, with graying hairs teased out from behind the ears, uncontrollable and indistinguishable cursing, and the tendency to drink heavily. Plus, scary puppets.

After dealing with a very hardened, unhappy, tired Avis representative, we set off in pitch blackness towards the Cliffs of Moher. Luckily, the Irish learned long ago that most visitors need constant reminders to drive on the left, often placing road signs displaying the obvious, with gigantic white arrows depicting lanes, and reflective text on the asphalt.

Despite my inexperience with the imperalistic standard of driving backwards, we navigated our way out of the busy suburbs of Limerick and into the countryside. As the sun gained altitude in the East, green pastures emerged before our hungry eyes.

Tight twists and turns on country roads led us to the Cliffs of Moher, a painstakingly tranquil, magnificent wonder which took our breath away, and left us in complete awe. We were officially in Eire.

We marinated in the Irish sun, and lagging from only a few hours sleep, navigated our way back to Ennis, where an early check in prompted a deep afternoon nap. After all, pubs, fish and chips, and Guinness awaited. We had so many #twistedsistergoestoIreland adventures to come. With men playing flutes. And sheep. And old castle stairwells. Stay tuned, y’all.

Slainte.

What I had previously known of foods of the Deep South I learned from watching celebrity chefs. John Besh. Hugh Acheson. Richard Blais. even Paula Deen. yes, I know.

After visiting Thomasville, drenched in heavy oak, weeping in willows, and laden in a humid breeze, I may have changed my opinion on what the food represents. No longer will I automatically defer my opinion to chicken fried everything- cornmeal dusted with larger than life biscuits- but I may lighten my daydreams with something more delicious.

Like the house made pimento cheese that is found on almost every menu. Some are better than others, like that of Sweet Grass Dairy.

A true ~~Deep~~ New South institution, Sweet Grass not only encapsulates artisan and locally sourced menus, but tops it off with an inviting atmosphere, top notch service, and a well rounded wine list. This beet salad with chèvre wasn’t too shabby, either.

And while there were no wine bars or pubs that we had the pleasure of visiting on this trip, we did snag a cocktail at the Glen Arven Country Club, who, among other notable achievements, has a storied past of golf titles, as well as a stacked bourbon list.

If our stay would have included a weekend, non-holiday night, we would have absolutely deferred to Liam’s. However, the sommelier and I were not disappointed in our choice of Thomasville’s Chop House on the Bricks.

With sultry steaks (see above) and sexy scallops, The Chop House provides the basics for small town Southerners: comfort cuisine, quality ingredients, and pickled ingenuity. Much like this tuna tartare with okra and carrots.

I wouldn’t recommend going to the Chop House without sneaking a peak at the history up above (an old Vanderbilt-style leisure resort), however I wouldn’t recommend going below, as the stairs aren’t quite sturdy and the spirits many. Because, you know, hauntings are scary.

(photo credit: my uber-talented brother-in-law.)

Go to Thomasville for the food. Go for the hospitality. Even go for breakfast at Q cafe, complete with grits.

In the words of one sweet-drawled, laid back manager, “The New South has arrived.” I tend to agree.

Cheers y’all.

wine. food. family.

Category Archives: travel

that time #twistedsistergoestoIreland happened.

eating in the Deep New South.