211 Rutledge Avenue
Charleston, SC 29403
Despite her attempts to cover up her darker history (see: housing cheap tourist trinkets in the old slave market where a museum should be), Charleston is desperate to take off them fancy seersucker clothes and walk around barefoot, drink beer from the actual bottle and admit to the world that the gorgeous pink façade might just be that…
It ain’t just nice big hats and putting butter in the water, it’s more than just the French Quarter, it’s more than hansom cabs.
It’s South Carolina, it’s Gullah, it’s as black as it is white.
Long story short—Charleston has a non-pretentious side.
Which we’re thankful for.
Take FUEL. On the surface, it’s an old 1950s filling station—done many times before, though it somehow never gets old—serving up normal Chucktown fare, to a slightly-inebriated crowd.
However, it’s local eating you forget is local—we’re talking Caribbean, something that makes up a large part of this city. Jerk chicken, biscuits and honey to balance out all the old money. Black beans in the midst of means.
(You think us to be unkind to Charleston? We’re not. We like Charleston in small doses. But there’s a snobbery based in antiquated racism that doesn’t vibe. So when we find a spot like FUEL that embraces any and everything, then we’re gonna herald it.)
It’s a place for afternoon reading and for the clientele to let their dogs be as social as their owners are sure to be after a few Painkillers.
And hey—if they allowed the human tramp stamp that is Guy Fieri to shoot his show there, then you and your pup will be just fine.