Friday certainly started dramatically. With Hermine having come ashore as a category 1 hurricane causing a lot of damage and the projected path taking it almost directly over the top of Savannah, the city was in a little bit of freakout mode. Everything shut down – schools were closed, businesses shuttered, people stayed home from work. The town took it very seriously.
So it was a little bit of the boy who cried wolf when Hermine, downgraded to a strong tropical storm by this point, pretty much fell apart just before it got to Savannah. There was a lot of wind – it blew down a few trees, a lot of branches, and a couple of things that weren’t secured properly like some metal crowd barrier fences that got blown into the street. There was a decent amount of rain but it only caused some localized street flooding. There were a few power outages around town, but that was really it.
Still when there’s a hurricane a-coming (Golden Girls reference), it is best not to spit into the proverbial wind so I pretty much stayed put in my room for the bulk of the day. Around lunch time the wind was blowing rather gustily but there wasn’t much rain so I decided to venture forth and find something more interesting than the Hilton Garden Inn’s lunch buffet. Unfortunately, as mentioned, everything was closed. Even the McDonald’s was closed, so you know they weren’t kidding around. So I slogged back to the hotel and did the buffet. It was exactly what you would expect of a Hilton Garden Inn buffet.
By late afternoon, the rain had stopped, the wind had died down, and the sun was even peeking through the clouds so I moved some stuff around and went to 700 Drayton for dinner. Located in a gorgeous mansion built in 1881, the restaurant and neighboring hotel are right up at the top of the pecking order for “fancy” in Savannah. Due to the storm, I had one of the many rooms in the house all to myself with a stunning chandelier and a fireplace…
Dinner was a wild boar shank braised in IPA and served with cheddar grits and asparagus.
I was a little nervous ordering it seeing as how I’ve had a couple of bad experiences with boar before. As much as we’d like to think is just a pig that hasn’t been housebroken it is actually pretty different in terms of the taste but a lot of it depends on preparation. Chef knew what he was doing here. It was practically falling off the bone, deliciously tender, and a little fatty on the edges but in a good way. The cheddar grits were a little on the bland side but it was probably just the boar overwhelming things. I’d give it a solid A- overall.
A lovely surprise came at the end of the meal when the check was presented – or rather a note that told me that The Fat Pack had taken care of my meal. Steve, Diana, Nettie, Steve, Chuck, Wes, Audrey, Robin, and Leigh Anne, thank you very much. It meant a lot to me that you would do that, although I’m still not sure when I told you where I was going to be eating so I’m pretty sure there was some witchcraft involved in that.
Afterward, I ventured over to get that picture of Scary Mary that I mentioned. This is a statue of the Virgin Mary that sits in a window on an enclosed bridge that runs between a church and a school and has gained a bit of a reputation as being either haunted, possessed, or just downright creepy. I’m voting for all three after I looked at the pictures I took. Now, before I go any further I want you to get context of where Scary Mary is at…
She’s facing an alley behind the church so it’s not look out onto the street or a courtyard or anything.
Now… look at these two pictures, which I did nothing to other than resize them… the first where the statue looks fine, almost beatific…
And this one, where I’m pretty sure she has developed a bit of an evil grin…
Now, I’m sure that this is just because it had rained and the window was a little foggy and I moved positions slightly when I took the pictures and its some sort of reflection in the glass, but come on! That’s creepy, right?
That night I went back to the bar where I was amused by this sign:
And hung out with drag queens as midnight rolled in and I turned 50 years old.
Saturday morning, on my actual birthday, I went back to 700 Drayton to take park in their cooking class. Led by New Jersey native Peter Russo, the classes run regularly all week out of a custom built kitchen and feature a bunch of different programs. The one I did was a Farmer’s Market, where Chef took us across the street where every Saturday you’ll find a bunch of locally grown produce, cheeses, meat, and more in the gorgeous Forsyth Park…
He had already gotten the meat so we picked up kale, grits, red onions, carrots, cheddar and herb goat cheese and had a honey tasting just because it was there. He gave us some tips on how to spot the best produce (which boiled down to “when in doubt, ask – they WANT you to buy something”), we cooed over the chickens eating watermelon…
And then we took our purchases back to the kitchen and got to work…
We prepared… grilled chicken in a jerk spice marinade; grilled beef fillets; grilled shrimp in Maryland Old Bay seasoning; kale cooked in butter, garlic, onions, and bacon fat (which Chef Russo kept calling “love” – “this is love” he’d say as he spooned it into a pot) and then topped with bacon; roasted carrots and onions in a balsamic reduction; and cheddar and goat cheese grits. As you can tell, from the photo above, the man is not shy about the fat content in his food. When preparing the grits he brought out a gallon of whole milk and asked, “How much of this should we put in here?” Someone said, “A cup.” Another said, “Two cups.” He said, “That’s right, all of it” and poured it into the pot. The same was done with cheese, butter, and bacon fat. He may die young of a massive coronary, but he will be revered as a god.
After we ate, I just walked around a bunch, enjoying the city. Forsyth Park, the squares, the moss-covered tree-lined streets, the cute shops.
I went to one called Chocolat, purveyor of all things sweet by Adam Turoni. This guy is a bit of a prodigy – he started cooking when he was 8, got his first kitchen job at 14, became the lead pastry chef in a restaurant at 17, and had published several books and opened his own chocolate making company by 20. I on the other hand just turned 50 and I watch a lot of TV. Whatever. His stuff is outrageously expensive, but so, so good. I got some milk chocolate caramels with a dark chocolate drizzle and sea salt, Bailey’s Irish Creme truffles, a honey infused chocolate bar with hand-painted edible gold leaf, and a jar of honey caramel to bring home. Here are a few of the pieces…
One of my sightseeing stops was at The Waving Girl statue along the river. Florence Martus was her name and, according to legend, she fell in love with a sailor who went to sea and to ensure his safe return she greeted each ship as it came into the Savannah River from the Atlantic with a handkerchief by day and a lantern by night. They say she didn’t miss a ship once in more than 40 years between 1887 and 1931 as she waited for her love to come back to her… but he never did.
Then it was time for Bacon Fest 2016! Knocked back a day by Hermine, the festival features arts and crafts vendors, music, booze, games, and (of course) food vendors offering a bunch of different bacony goodness items…
I was a little disappointed because the number of food vendors was smaller than it has been in the past and the offerings not quite as original. I was told by one person that several restaurants had to drop out because they were originally scheduled for Friday and Saturday and couldn’t commit to Saturday and Sunday so they just didn’t come. Hermine, you bitch!
But I still got some interesting bacon inventions including Chicken Fried Bacon with a ranch and Buffalo sauce drizzle…
A classic bacon wrapped hot dog with ketchup and onions:
Bacon pups… which I was told were like hush puppies with bacon, cheddar, and jalapeno but which tasted like corn bread and nothing else. The woman who told me what they were was very nice and I can’t imagine why she’d lie to me, but I suspect she was…
And for the sweeter side, cherry glazed bacon and chocolate bacon…
I know it’s sacrilege, but I’m not a fan of the chocolate bacon. But I will keep trying it until I find one I like.
I got back to my room and was delighted to find a package there from Maureen, who very thoughtfully sent me birthday cake… or rather, six of them in sealed Mason jars from Wicked Cakes of Savannah. There is cookie dough, wedding cake, red velvet, turtle, lemon and blueberry, and carrot. I devoured the cookie dough and brought the rest home with me so it’ll be birthday cakes for the next week. Thank you Maureen!!
Since the Lady Chablis had cancelled her show, I decided to go instead to the Savannah Theater to catch one of their long-running singing and dancing revues, “Savannah Live!” The facility is the oldest continually operating theater in the United States, first opened in 1818. It has been substantially redone after fires and hurricanes damaged it, most recently in the 1940s when it got its current “streamline” art deco look…
The show featured a cast of six singer/dancers, a featured singer, and a five piece band who did covers of everything from Queen to “Phantom of the Opera” to Gladys Knight and the Pips (“Midnight Train to Georgia,” naturally) to *NSYNC and beyond with a little bit of comedy and heartfelt salutes to our troops along the way. Having reviewed every revue that has ever played Vegas, I have seen this type of show a bazillion times and what I found most interesting was not the talent or quality – they are all fine, good, some even quite good – but rather the spirit. The people in these types of shows in Vegas are still holding onto the idea that they are going to be famous some day. These folks in “Savannah Live!” seem to just want to entertain the folks that come to their town. It may not have been standing ovation worthy (although they got one, which we need to get under control and only give out to productions that actually deserve them) but it was light-hearted and earnestly delivered fun so I give it a thumbs up.
After the show, I took another walk through the some of the less popular squares and streets away from the bar district that draws the drunk, loud tourists who do stupid things like pedal just to get a drink:
Why would you do this? You can go sit on a bar stool and someone will bring you a drink and you don’t need to do anything other than lift it to your mouth. I don’t get it. I honestly don’t.
Anyway, I don’t have the kind of camera that will take really good night pictures, but you’ll just have to believe me when I tell you that it is absolutely beautiful, serene, somehow magical, and with just the right touch of the eerie to give it that something extra special.
I of course went back to Troup Square to visit my beloved Armillary, featured heavily in my book Ineritas and also swung by the Colonial Park cemetery, which is featured heavily in book two (which I am currently writing).
Then of course it was back to the bar for some more drinking, dancing, and drag shows, where I was thrilled beyond measure to catch Layla, a saucy queen who loves to do country music, doing the classic “Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia” speech from “Designing Women,” which I used to know by heart…
“And that, Marjorie, just so you will know and so your children will someday know…” If you’ve never seen the whole thing, watch it here:
All in all, it was a very, very fine birthday.
Sunday I was a bit bummed – I always am when I have to leave Savannah – but I cheered myself up with a visit on the way back to Atlanta with a stop at the Woodbury Shop in Senoia, the official home of “The Walking Dead.” I bought a bunch of stuff and visited their museum, which has props from the show and walls that have been signed by all of the cast. Check out the one from Melissa McBride below…
Accommodations provided by The Grand Hyatt in Buckhead, which had a nice view of the Atlanta skyline in the distance:
And then finally my last southern meal, at a restaurant called Southern Art. Chicken and dumplings soup, buttermilk fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, and macaroni and cheese. I left very happy and very, very full.
Finally 
I flew home today and there is really only one more story to tell and it is of the crazy woman on my plane. I had a window seat, which I prefer (more room, less getting bumped by people coming down the aisle), and as I approached my row, crazy woman was standing in it, in front of the aisle seat. She was in her late 50s, I’d guess, with lots of makeup, lots of jewelry, LOTS of perfume, and either a lot of vodka or a lot of mental instability.
She said, with a slightly wild-eyed look, “Are you in the window seat here?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Do you want to switch to the aisle seat?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I prefer the window.”
“But I need the window,” she said.
“Uh… what?” I asked, now holding up people behind me because she wouldn’t let me into my seat.
“I need the window!” she said, freaking out a bit.
“I’m sorry,” I said and kind of pushed past her to get to my seat.
She then plopped down in the aisle seat and stared at me with a hateful gaze, silently for about 30 seconds and then said, “Are you going to keep the shades shut?”
“The window shades?” I asked, unsure if I had hear her correctly. After she nodded vigorously and crazily, I continued, “I’m not sure. I may watch a movie and I have some work to do so I’ll probably keep them shut most of the time.”
“I am terribly claustrophobic,” she proclaimed loudly, “And the window shades must remain open.”
Okay, so, up until then I’d been confused but was handling it with what I thought was a firm, but polite, standing of my ground. But at that point I was done. I was tired, I was cranky, I was hungry, I was done.
“Perhaps,” I said, channeling my best Julia Sugarbaker, “You should have of that before you bought an aisle seat.”
“There were no window seats available when I booked my ticket!” she practically screamed.
“Funny,” I said, still full Julia, “There were when I bought mine.”
She harrumphed… almost literally harrumphed and got up, pushing past the people who were still boarding so she could get to the flight attendant. She proceeded to complain that I was unwilling to switch seats with her. The flight attendant said, “If he doesn’t want to move, there’s nothing we can do,” which was good because at that point you couldn’t have gotten me out of that seat with a crowbar.
The woman in the row ahead of us, meekly raised her hand and said, “My son will switch – he has a window seat.” The crazy woman harrumphed back to my row, gave me a harrumph that seemed to indicate she thought she had some sort victory over me even though my skinny ass was still sitting exactly where it had been all along, and then harrumphed to take the kid’s seat. She raised the shades with a slam, and then stared back repeatedly until the plane took off. During the flight she was up no fewer than 20 times, asking the flight attendant for water, for juice, for an extra blanket, for nuts, for the time, I stopped paying attention, but it is worth noting that the woman’s new seat… was in ROW 1!!! Literally she could have said, in a normal speaking voice, “Excuse me, Flight Attendant?” and the flight attendant would have heard her but she decided it was necessary to get up out of her seat every single time. I was so tempted to sneak over there and shut the shades while she was up.
Perhaps I just need to watch Julia Sugarbaker some more.
Thanks for following along. I hope you had some fun reading because I certainly had a lot of fun doing. It was good 50th birthday trip. Looking forward to 51!
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