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In growing organizations, strategy rarely stands still.

Markets shift. Capital enters. Leadership evolves. Operating models expand. Risk profiles change. New expectations emerge from investors, boards, and customers.

Internally, direction advances.

But language often does not.

And that gap — between what the organization is becoming and how it is described — is where confusion, friction, and lost momentum begin.

Strategy evolves before communication does

This is especially true in:

• Scaling firms moving from founder-led to professionally managed
• PE-backed companies navigating performance pressure and visibility
• Advisory firms repositioning around specialization or market focus
• CFO-led organizations managing cost discipline, restructuring, or capital events

Inside the organization, leaders know what has changed.

They understand:

• the new growth thesis
• the trade-offs being made
• the recalibrated risk tolerance
• the shift in priorities

But externally — and often internally — the narrative remains anchored to an earlier version of the company.

The website still describes a legacy model.
Thought leadership still reflects last year’s strategy.
Executive messaging signals continuity when transformation is underway.

The result is not dramatic failure.

It is drift.

What happens when language lags strategy

When strategy advances but language does not, several patterns appear.

1. Internal misalignment increases

Teams begin operating from different assumptions.

Some align to the new direction.
Others rely on historical messaging.
Still others interpret signals informally.

Without shared articulation, interpretation replaces alignment.

That creates friction.

Not because leaders lack clarity, but because clarity has not been structured and expressed.

2. External perception stalls

Investors, partners, and recruits do not see incremental internal progress. They see what is communicated.

If positioning does not reflect current strategy:

• Recruiting attracts the wrong profiles
• Partnerships misalign
• Market perception lags behind actual capability
• Valuation conversations anchor to outdated narratives

Organizations cannot be valued for what they are becoming if they are described as what they used to be.

3. Leadership energy is diverted into correction

When language is not proactively aligned with strategy, leaders spend time correcting misinterpretations.

Board conversations begin with clarification.
Town halls include re-explanation.
Published pieces require caveats.

Energy that could move the organization forward instead goes toward repairing ambiguity.

Why this gap appears

This misalignment rarely happens because leaders are inattentive.

It happens because strategy moves faster than the language used to describe it.

Operational decisions evolve in real time.

Language, by contrast, is often:

• negotiated
• committee-driven
• routed through legal and marketing layers
• optimized for safety rather than direction

Over time, this creates a widening distance between internal conviction and external expression.

In scaling and PE-backed environments, the pace of change accelerates. But messaging frameworks often remain anchored to previous growth phases.

The organization evolves.
The narrative does not.

Strategy requires articulation, not just execution

At senior levels, communication is not a marketing function.

It is a strategic discipline.

Clear articulation does three things:

1. It aligns internal teams around decision logic.
2. It signals intentional direction to external stakeholders.
3. It reduces interpretive friction during transition.

When leaders intentionally update language to reflect strategic movement, momentum compounds.

When they do not, clarity erodes.

Signs your strategy may be outrunning your language

In my experience, there are reliable indicators:

• Leadership conversations feel sharper than public messaging
• Teams debate positioning informally but avoid formal reframing
• Thought leadership feels competent but indistinct
• Recruiting conversations require significant contextual explanation
• Board discussions include repeated narrative clarification

These are not communication failures.

They are articulation gaps.

What alignment actually requires

Before publishing anything new, five questions should be answered clearly:

1. What has materially changed in direction?
2. What are we no longer optimizing for?
3. How does this shift alter how we describe ourselves?
4. Which audiences must understand this first?
5. What language now feels outdated or incomplete?

When these questions are addressed, writing becomes articulation.

Without them, even polished communication feels slightly misaligned.

The role of upstream clarity

Most visible communication challenges originate upstream.

I am rarely brought in simply to “write an article.”

More often, I’m asked to help clarify:

• what the organization is actually signaling
• where positioning no longer matches direction
• how to translate internal conviction into coherent external expression
• how to update narrative without destabilizing credibility
  

Writing is one output.

The core work is aligning language with real strategic movement.

Influence compounds when language matches direction

When strategy and language move together, several things happen:

• Leadership appears decisive rather than reactive
• Recruiting conversations sharpen
• Investor confidence strengthens
• Market perception updates
• Internal alignment stabilizes

Clarity compounds.

But it must be deliberate.

Language is not the messenger. It’s the method.

Strategy rarely fails because leaders lack ideas.

It falters when language fails to keep pace.

When direction changes but articulation does not, organizations operate in a state of partial misalignment — capable, but indistinct.

The most effective leaders recognize that communication is not downstream of strategy. It is one of its primary instruments. When strategy moves, language must move with it.

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The confusion set in immediately.
“So it’s 167 King?”
“No, 193.”
“I thought you said 167?”
“That’s the name of the restaurant, 167 Raw. But the address is 193.”
167, 193, 289. Potato, Potahto,
East Bay Street.

At 167 Raw, the menu lets you know it’s all “space potatoes” ($13) in the end. As for the eponymous 167, it’s in reference to the address of the original Nantucket location, but could also be an indicator of how many minutes you’ll wait for a table in Charleston. Recently expanded and relocated from East Bay to King Street, 167 Raw continues its first come, first served policy that strikes at the very heart of my controlling, Type-A ways. In other words, if you come, expect to stay awhile.

The waiting, however, is the hardest part.

Well, that and everything that’s unfolded since I first wrote those words a week and a half ago.

Greetings the fellow quarantined, health care worker (thank you), and/or first responder (thank you).

At the time of this writing, 167 Raw is offering curbside “brown bag on the corner with your name on it” service, and if you are in a position to avail yourself of such delights, you are in for a treat. If not, please consider this exuberant encouragement to shelter in place, work if you have any (I don’t), and live through these strange times so you can soon enjoy what I’m about to describe.

As much as possible, please keep your cool, teach your kids, and tell the people that you love how much you love them and why.

Regularly Scheduled Program

To start, 167 Raw’s new home is drop-dead gorgeous. It’s as if someone handed over a blank check with the memo “Make it really, really, really ridiculously good looking,” and then the interior designer did that and then some.

Inside, the space isn’t laid out much differently than Il Cortile Del Re, its preceding Italian tenant. There’s a bar on the right, tables to the left, and an additional section in the back. The most significant stylistic upgrade is to the former outdoor patio, now a glorious glass atrium. Both there and behind the bar, you’ll find a chalkboard displaying the day’s seafood offerings.

During my visits, the ceviche was prepared with halibut ($14). Surrounded by plenty of crisp, freshly fried tortilla chips, the ample bowl comes full of tender fish resembling mini marshmallows. Cured in a citrus-forward base, the texture is balanced with slices of pickled red onions and, in a nod to your likely tears of joy, a handful of bright, teardrop-shaped cherry tomatoes.

At first, I overlooked the French oysters ($5 each) thinking it meant they were oysters from France, but no. Ooh la la! These babies are served on the half shell, ice-cold, and garnished with a dollop of both creme fraiche and caviar. But it’s the garnish, a single stem of chive that elevates the combined flavors in this mouthful from raw to awe.

In contrast, the crudo ($14) missed the mark a little. While visually beautiful, the five slices of hamachi were served warm and tasted a little bit fishy. Served with brined cabbage as well as fried cabbage, tarragon mayo sauce, and a ponzu soy sauce, the Asian-forward flavors — albeit a little bit underwhelming that day — were otherwise on point.

Never fear, as the pork carnitas taco ($5) is fire. Served in a corn tortilla and topped with shredded carrots and spicy mayo sauce, the star is the decadent pulled pork, which all signs indicate has spent a little time crisping up into ultra-deliciousness in a deep fryer. Meaty, juicy, yes. This is reason enough to persevere through our epoch’s Great Plague.

The vibe at 167 Raw is pretty casual, so if you’re looking for perfectly staged, “present but invisible” service, they’re not quite there. However, in less social distancy times, expect friendly approaches from pretty much everyone that works there. “Who’s our waiter again?” Who cares, as plenty of people will pop over to see how you’re livin’.

Meanwhile, the soundtrack is dedicated to a moment and securely anchored in Indie Hits of 2010-2011 Land. “All the other kids with the pumped-up kicks,” etc. It may or may not be the Modest Mouse channel, but it’s definitely a quasi-time machine to whoever you were 10 years ago.

The oyster po boy ($14), while containing exactly zero bananas, is bananas. More of a “banh mi meets lobster roll, meets chicken and waffles” … well, that description speaks for itself. Expect a crisp, buttered split-top bun filled with six plump, crisp oysters. From there, it’s topped with arugula, beet vinaigrette, and a whole lot of honey. It’s a hot, sweet, crispy, greasy fusion fever. I’m not telling you what to do, but get a po boy.

My dining companion loves ahi tuna and pretty much lost his mind over the tuna burger ($20). OK, yes, he told the waiter — potentially three times — that grinding up sashimi-grade tuna was “sacrilegious,” but there’s good news, as he also loved it. Thick, bun-sized and super fresh, the patty is lightly seared and topped with butter lettuce, pickled red onions, and arugula. Add to that avocado sauce, a slice of the world’s juiciest yellow tomato and the char of a grill, and this is a very meaty-tasting pescatarian delight.

Taking Stock

As an eternal optimist, perhaps this virus and even no-reservations seating policies can serve as a reminder to go with the flow and be here now. Hang out. Hang out some more. When all this is over, go to 167 Raw with a plan to flex your house-bound muscles a bit more, enjoy being anywhere but your home and get ready for some deliciousness.

These are strange, scary times, and it feels a little bit ridiculous writing a food review in the midst of them. However, if you’re reading this, you’re still here amongst us, and that makes me happy. Stay cool, text a friend, and help a neighbor as you’re able. To quote Carl Sagan, “Even through your hardest days, remember we are all made of stardust.”

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An iconic moment in subculture, reinvented.

Gulp Fiction

Vincent: What the fried rice is this place?

Mia: This is “Jackrabbit Filly.” A Genghis man should love it.

Vincent: Come on, Mia. Let’s go and get some marinated mackerel ($13).

Mia: You can get marinated mackerel here, Daddy-o. Don’t be a hare.

Vincent: Oh, after you, Mustang Sally.

Following suit, the menu at Jackrabbit Filly — Shuai and Corrie Wang’s predestined jump from their popular Short Grain food truck — takes quintessential Asian fare, and adds some vamp. While the lunch and dinner offerings rotate often, rest assured the menu is filled with tasty iterations of kimchi, laksa curry, and Sichuan peppercorns.

The pork and cabbage dumplings ($9) are where Yangtze meets Ganges, with a rich mix of pork, cabbage, ginger, and coriander encased inside the perfectly cooked pasta wrapper. Topped with a pungent chinkiang vinegar and Lao Gan Ma chili crisp sauce, the first bite is like suddenly finding something you hadn’t even realized was missing.

Muse on that while you wait. And wait. And do a little more waiting for a table. Arrive at 5:30 p.m. and the place is already bumping, with the predicted 45-minute biding-of-time ultimately taking 30 minutes longer. Eventually things will presumably die down and/or a reservation system engaged, but for now you can bank on plenty of hobnobbing with strangers. If you have a hankering for Asian fusion and awkward conversations, the front porch has what you need. Huddle under a heat lamp, sip a drink with a name so long and unnecessary it’s a little cringey to say it aloud (“I’ll take a ‘That’s right, Iceman. I am Dangerous,” $10) and watch as converging generations grapple for common ground.

From the name, one might expect the salt and pepper octopus ($11) to arrive as something along the lines of crisp, cornstarch-coated tentacles tossed with Sichuan and jalapeno peppers.

One would be wrong. In actuality, it’s closer to popcorn shrimp than shell-on crunchy crustacean, and there ain’t nothing wrong with that. Topped with green onion and crisp cucumber, all drenched in a buttermilk wasabi aioli, I’m from here on referring to it as octopoda with ranch.

The fish tartare ($12), however, should be called bait and switch. I mean, yes, there’s raw fish, but it’s plated on top of nori-wrapped cylinders of rice and, well — it’s deconstructed sushi. The generous bounty of smoky Chipotle-esque “spicy mayo” and fishy furikake overshadowed the delicate fish, but props for what is undoubtedly a clever idea by any name.

Short Grain’s beloved karaage ($8) endures in both its forms, traditional and Sichuan hot. Basically the best chicken tenders, ever; the meat is juicy, the coating crunchy, and the drizzle of lemon mayo and ponzu — along with some togarashi-induced heat — should be presented with the following disclaimer: “The karaage is a small structure made of chicken. It is delicious, and you are not ready for it.”

You’ll soon cycle through all five stages of grief.

Denial. “It’s not that delicious. I can control myself.”

Anger. “Who the f—- ordered this?!”

Bargaining. “If I finish it all, can I have my soul back?”

Depression. “There is no love here, and there is no pain.”

Acceptance. “I will die because of this, and I am fine with that.”

So, to sum it up, apply for that second mortgage now, because it’s probably also addictive.

A surprising showstopper, the menu’s description of the cauliflower salad ($10) gives insufficient insight as to how I can recreate it at home. “This salad is out of control,” groaned my vegetable-eschewing, suddenly greedy dining companion. Rendered bright green from the cilantro dressing, the tender florets contrast nicely with the crunch of fried chickpeas, peanuts, and puffed rice. While a takeout order — or three — will be necessary to truly re-engineer the dish, I’m not angry.

Despite the crowds and increasing throngs of jostling bodies waiting for a table, service was cheerful and efficient. The two-top to our left remained empty for a while, so it’s possible the extreme busyness is also because they’re pacing things in order to stay in the flow. And it probably doesn’t hurt sales of those “Truth is, I’ve been thirsty all my life” ($10) gin and sochu cocktails. And congrats if you get that reference without Google.

During our wait, we chatted with some guys about their undying affection for the Singapore fried rice ($17). While they eventually gave up and went to get a pizza, we ultimately gazed upon a large dish of ham, pineapple, pea, and carrot-filled grains. Topped with cilantro, Thai basil, five juicy shrimp, and a buttermilk curry aioli, it’s a sweet, smoky, and satisfying version of the classic.

One doesn’t anticipate running into tomatillos at an Asian restaurant. But fusions like this is why fusion exists, and it turns out the indigenous Mexican nightshades make total sense in the mapo tofu verde ($16). So do the pillowy, flavor-soaked ricotta gnudi and crisp, flowery coriander seeds. While a very generous portion, it’s too bad there isn’t some kind of bollillo or Hokkaido milk bread rolls on offer to soak up what remains of the bright, complex sauce.

On that note, short-grain rice ($3) is available as a side dish, and don’t overlook the garlicky greens ($5) listed below it. Topped with ponzu and dressed in a garlicky (duh), gingery sauce, the kale is everything greens dream of becoming when they grow up.

“If I had the authority, I’d give them an award,” sighed my dining companion. While, alas, no World Famous Jackrabbit Filly twist contest exists (yet), a similar, multi-tiered, two-foot-tall trophy sounds about right. Grab some friends, share the love, and share it hard.

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They say a good chef will rise to any challenge. Legend has it, while at an impromptu late-night get together, Mario Batali saved the day by preparing foie gras accompanied with an ad-libbed reduction of orange Nehi soda and Starburst fruit candies (no word on any sexual harassment, but that’s a story for another day). The results were reportedly brilliant.

One imagines Dashi’s chef Stephen Thompson capable of similar unfathomable feats. As it stands, let’s say you’re in the mood for Thai … and Mexican … and definitely Japanese, as well as Korean. And you want them now, and in the same mouthful. No longer must you dispatch a fleet of Uber Eats drivers to satisfy your whims, as food truck Dashi has (also, the truck still roves on Tuesdays) taken their wheels off on Remount Road.

Since early 2015, the Asian-Latin fusion vehicle has been winning admirers all over town. Now permanently occupying the former home of Guatemalan El Chapin restaurant, the decidedly retro, ’70s-themed space is simple and straightforward.

The opposite must be said about the food.

Although fruity candy and citrus soda don’t appear among the listed ingredients on the menu, much about Dashi smacks of similar late-night, last-minute innovation. Saunter up to the counter and behold an eclectic collection of colliding cuisines. Here, banh mi ($12) and pad Thai ($11) mingle with tacos ($5/$9/$12) and burritos ($11), all of which come with a choice of protein. Choose from chili-marinated fried chicken, marinated fried tofu, five-spice pork belly, sauteed shrimp, and seasonal veggies and prepare to welcome a five-pound, eight-ounce bundle of joy into your life.

Encased in a cheese wrap and filled with fried rice, Thai slaw, and Sriracha hollandaise, plus both smoked gouda and mozzarella cheese, this is a diverse, decidedly non-Mexican mouthful. It’s also a mega amount of food, with no less than a dozen shrimp squeezed in. Overall, the flavors are mild and creamy, with the only real heat coming from the accompanying cup of sambal aioli. Burritos with a side of mayonnaise? Welcome to Anything Goesville.

Case in point, the duck ramen ($14). Also quite ample, the unexpected triceps workout is filled with culinary surprises, like rich, tender duck confit and a delightfully runny Scotch egg. While the presentation plays at bibimbap — with fresh cilantro, pickled jalapenos, housemade kimchi, and chunks of five spice-coated pork belly all relegated to their respective corners — the flavors are distinctly Chinese. Filled with Cantonese noodles, cabbage, and broccoli, the duck and miso-based broth is aggressively dominated by the sweet notes of five spice powder.

Set on Remount Road, the once-simple space has been opened up, and metal beams and aluminum ductwork loom overhead. The vibe is casual and noisy, and diners share a neighborly rapport. Along with Wednesday night trivia and occasional live music acts on the outdoor patio, there’s a full bar offering an admirable array of beer, wine, and cocktails.

Service is minimal and laid back. Order at the counter, grab a number and a booth and wait for the grub to arrive. Owing to the enduring food truck model, that doesn’t take long.

While a number of international cuisines are represented, Thailand reigns supreme. The lone salad available at Dashi is a fairly by-the-book Thai beef ($12) variation, made with fresh greens, halved cherry tomatoes, and sliced cucumbers. Topped with thinly carved flank steak and copious grilled red onion rounds, it’s doused in a bright fish sauce and lime juice dressing. Fresh and flavorful, it’s a light dish that’s also somehow substantial.

Dashi’s logo is all about Latin-Asian fusion, but make no assumptions, as other cuisines clamor for attention and many a dish is not what it seems. Made with blue crab and shrimp, the spicy seafood roll ($16) presents as New England fare, but the crisp topping of fried oysters and a generous layer of spicy mayo render it far more evocative of a punchy New Orleans po’ boy than an understated Maine lobster roll.

Similarly, after a few bites of the paella ($15), my dining companion happily proclaimed that he “really liked this dirty rice.” Decidedly oily, the soft grains are mixed with roasted poblanos and thin-sliced, intensely smoky chorizo. Topped with fresh cilantro, broccoli florets, and garlic aioli, note there’s also a family-size portion of sliced chicken breast. Nonetheless, in showcasing smoke over saffron and sausage in place of seafood, the dish comes across far more Cajun than anything hailing from Valencia.

Firing on all cylinders and true to its title, the Thai curry stir fry noodles ($14) are a slurpy, spicy, coconut milky dream. Interlaced with broccoli, carrots, and purple cabbage, the thin Cantonese ramen noodles bathe in a generous pool of vibrant Thai red curry sauce. Lighter appetites can anticipate getting at least two meals out of this, as your protein of choice will once again be administered in Herculean quantities.

Dashi is an enigma, but that seems to be the point. While traditional Japanese dashi is most recognized as a simple, umami-rich broth made with kombu (kelp) and bonito (fish) flakes, at Dashi, the fusion-by-way-of-hostile-takeover menu is all about detonating umami nukes.

Bold, brash, and prone to multilingual flights of fancy, come with an appetite for irreverence. Yes, some of the cheeky mashups are weird, but others are surprisingly serendipitous. Thai curry with Chinese noodles, Indonesian sambal, and Mexican cotija cheese? Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.

Along with Dashi’s whimsical array of globetrotting options and convivial atmosphere, big appetites on a budget can also bank on abundant portions with a large side of unapologetic culinary audacity.

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There are men, and there are “men’s men.” The latter are often described as confident and masculine — the type of man other men want to be. On that note, Butcher & The Boar is a “man’s man” of restaurants. Cocksure and handsome, he’s well-heeled, but easygoing, pulling out a chair while proffering a well-curated array of beer, bourbon, and meat.

And boy, howdy, is there meat — thick meat, raw meat, meat that climbs on rocks. The menu starts with a swaggering pair of samplers. The Butcher’s Platter ($29) includes Texas wild boar ham, turkey braunschweiger, and wild boar head cheese.

The Sausage Sampler ($29) features links of wild boar hot, Texas beef, and Berkshire pork and cheddar. They arrive casually slung amidst pools of barbecue sauce and whole grain mustard, plus a crisp, flavorful mound of red cabbage slaw. The menu also indicates an accompaniment called “stukel,” a foodstuff so rare that the only internet references to it are directly tied to the restaurant’s original Minneapolis location. Process of elimination implies it’s another name for the generous portion of what I would call giardiniera — a fiery melange of hot pepper-infused pickled cauliflower, onions, and carrot slices.

The Boar makes their sausage in house, and it’s a notable strength: The Texas beef link is dense and meaty, with some notable fiery heat. Equally substantial and also possessed of some kick, the wild boar hot link has pronounced chili powder notes. In contrast, the juicy Berkshire pork link — oozing with rich, melted cheddar cheese — is understated and approachable.

As far as the vibe, like any worldly, yet down-to-earth man about town, the Boar offers both elegant charm and casual fun. Similarly, the spaces — and menus — are divided into the chic, subdued interior with its swanky steakhouse fare, and the relaxed outdoor beer garden and its informal eats. At the former, expect wood-fired ribeye ($48) and New York strip ($42), or a salt and sugar-cured beef long rib ($49) that’s been smoked for 14 hours.

With the exception of the smoked pork chop ($39) or 8-ounce filet mignon ($39), the patio menu eschews such formality, focusing on a mix of starters, salads, and sandwiches. The steak tartare ($16), made with bone marrow aioli, jalapenos, and cornichon, arrives looking like a Hostess Sno Ball. “What’s that?” asked my dining companion, pointing suspiciously at the ethereal, flaky white mound.

The answer is a confusing mix of cheese, cheese, tender raw meat cubes, cheese and ‘why’? Completely and utterly dominated by the fine strands of salty pecorino, no trace of the jalapeno, cornichon, or bone marrow can be discerned. On the upside, the oil-rubbed grilled bread shines — a lone voice in the otherwise pecorino-drenched choir.

The snapper ceviche ($14) raises still more questions. A mismatched marriage of Central American tradition, Greek accouterments, and the Anchor Bar in Buffalo, N.Y., what arrives are chunks of fresh, tender snapper bathed in a vibrant orange sauce that tastes remarkably like Tabasco. Topped with pine nuts, yogurt dollops, fresh mint, and served with a bowl of arid seeded crackers it’s … not ceviche. If renamed something along the lines of “Buffalo-style crudo,” the elements might make more sense.

Sadly, service on the patio is also hard to nail down. Due perhaps to the 45-degree nip in the air and a lack of heaters, bonfires, or Tauntaun sleeping bags, our server was something of a phantom. This was exacerbated by a sudden descent of wait staff and the unexpected arrival of all six dishes at once. Coupled with the cramped real estate, the chilly temps made it a challenge to “get it while it’s hot.”

One dish that didn’t suffer any detriment from the Minnesota-spring weather was the peanut butter-stuffed jalapenos ($11). Here, seven halved, grilled jalapenos arrive artfully plated and filled with a trio of peanut butter, boiled peanuts, and chopped roasted peanuts. The unusual hat trick of peanut preparations is then adorned with crumbles of cotija cheese, pickled golden raisins, and fresh cilantro. It’s unclear what may have inspired this recipe — a Chopped mystery basket? Double-dog dare? LSD? — but no.

Cold, hot, in a box, with a fox — this is basically an inadvisable twist on ants on a log.

The “On a Bun” options, however, are solid bets.

The Boar foot long ($12) features a juicy, meaty dog enveloped in a disproportionately outsized brioche bun, the David Byrne-suit of breadstuffs. That aside, the net result is familiar, yet creative, topped with piquant Cajun chow-chow, Fresno peppers, mustard, and mayo.

For $3, one can swap the standard-issue potato chips for fries, Brussels sprouts, or a wedge salad, all of which are worth it. The Brussels are deep fried, then tossed in a tangy, spicy Buffalo-style glaze, while the fries are superlative — a frite by any other name. Similarly, the wedge salad — where even as a side dish, is presented as an actual wedge — shines with house-smoked bacon, blue cheese bits, and balsamic-infused tomato syrup. Despite my general apathy toward ranch dressing, iceberg lettuce, and DIY salad assembly, I’d order it again.

Last, but not least, the butcher burger ($13) is good reason to freeze one’s ass off on a dog-festooned outdoor deck. Juicy, flavorful, and gilded with bacon in two forms, it’s indicative of the Boar’s strengths. When it comes to ground meat formed into a patty or encased in intestines, they know what’s up.

All told, there are kinks to iron out, and the meat-heavy menu may not appeal to everyone. Still, despite a primary focus on beer, bourbon, and beasts, Butcher & The Boar offers enough variations on the theme to satisfy a wide array of tastes.

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An elderly, lifelong mango farmer once told me a joke: A farmer wins a million dollars in the lottery. His friends all ask, “What are you going to do with the money?” The farmer considers this for a minute and replies, “Farm with it until it’s gone, of course.”

Simply put, farming is hard. And expensive. And maybe even inadvisable. Yet everything about Herd Provisions makes it seem not only easy … but enviable.

The hyper-farm-to-table bistro and butcher shop is (per their website) “owner Alec Bradford’s lifelong dedication to humanely raising heritage Ancient White Park cattle, hogs and poultry.” Stated plainly, the meat served by the restaurant has been raised on the owner’s Virginia farm, Leaping Waters (LWF). Meanwhile, just about everything else — from fruits and veggies to the beans, breads, and desserts — are locally sourced.

Occupying a bright, modern new building on Grove Street, the restaurant’s entrance is actually a butcher shop. After walking past the beef, pork, and poultry-filled display in front, there’s a glass-encased meat locker filled with hanging carcasses. Despite the potentially gruesome start to the experience and the fact that “herd” is in the name, the menu features a number of thoughtful vegan and vegetarian options, such as the roasted cauliflower ($17) and roasted delicata squash ($17) entrees.

Similarly, the fritto misto ($8) is the stuff of a veg-lover’s dreams, with cauliflower, zucchini, butternut squash, and maitake mushrooms coated in a super light, crispy crust. Paired with a vibrant lemon aioli and dusted with lemon zest, it’s at once totally addictive and a gentle reminder that there is still good in the world.

The carne cruda ($14) made with LWF top round is less successful. Explained by the warmly attentive and well-informed waitress as a “replacement for the carpaccio because watercress is out of season,” the cruda is served topped with a dusting of fresh horseradish and accompanied by grilled slices of Tiller bread. The cubes of top round are tossed with buttery pine nuts and a lemon-heavy chimichurri that seems to have denatured the meat, ceviche style. As a result, some pieces are incredibly chewy, and all feature a drab gray hue reminiscent of cooked eggplant.

On the opposite end of the color spectrum, the rainbow carrots ($8) are an unexpected showstopper. Truthfully, I don’t like cooked carrots, except now apparently I do. Served in a small cast iron pan, the slightly salty, al dente root vegetables are topped with chopped pistachios, fresh parsley, and bitter celery leaves. In contrast, the ring of honey-sweetened mascarpone cheese surrounding the colorful stack is nothing short of sublime. Light, but decadent, getting your daily allotment of beta carotene has never been more enjoyable.

For those more inclined to sink their teeth into some heritage swine, the pork confit ($24) has got what you need. Nuggets of fork-tender meat are submerged in a rich, bell pepper-based peperonata sauce and complemented by toothy Sea Island red peas. Topped with red jalapeño slices, frisée, and basil and cilantro leaves, the overall flavors come across as more Sichuan or Thai-influenced than the obvious Italian intentions. Gratifying regardless, just be sure not to spill any of the sauce on your ecru pants, as the stain will resist even advanced efforts to eradicate it, six hours soaking in a bucket of OxyClean be damned.

Meanwhile, it seemed improper to visit a butcher/farmer establishment and not sample the Ancient White Park cattle, so the LWF steak of the day, a bavette ($30), was called off the bench. Delicately seasoned, the juicy sirloin is served sliced and cooked perfectly as ordered, allowing the subtle flavors of the grass-fed meat to shine through. While the rich and creamy potato puree is enough to inspire light moaning, it’s upstaged by two thick, ripe slices of heirloom tomato, lightly enhanced with salt, olive oil, and three tiny basil leaves each.

A straightforward celebration of quality ingredients prepared with care, Herd Provisions is a welcome new addition that puts the farm in farm-to-table. While a future in husbandry probably isn’t for everyone, a satisfying dinner here most certainly should be.

The post New Grove Street bistro Herd Provisions serves quality ingredients prepared with care (Charleston City Paper) appeared first on Vanessa Wolf, MBA.

It’s the season of mandatory evacuations and hurricane parties, and there’s nothing quite like cocktail simplicity when contemplating the seaworthiness of your Charleston single.

We asked three celebrated local mixologists to craft something new using the three ingredients of their choice, with delicious results. Whether you tend to face the storms with an aura of tranquility, bravado, or getting the hell out of here, we’ve got a drink for that.

Bold

Batten down the hatches, turn on The Weather Channel and say a prayer with a smooth, smoky ‘Typical Miracle.’ Edmund’s Oast head bartender Jayce McConnell’s cheerful-looking concoction packs a punch. “I don’t try to hide the spirit base in this one at all,” McConnell notes. “With a three-ingredient cocktail you have to make sure everything in the glass stands out and supports the other two.”

Made with Spade & Clover turmeric-root-infused simple syrup, McConnell chose the locally grown plant for both the vibrant yellow color it provides, as well as the “balanced, earthy undertone” the dried plant imparts, perfect for pairing with a plate of tacos al pastor. Turmeric is also a powerful anti-inflammatory and antioxidant, helpful after a day spent manhandling plywood boards.

‘Typical Miracle’

1½ oz. mezcal (Vago Espadín preferably)
1 oz. turmeric syrup (recipe below)
¾ oz. lemon juice

For the turmeric syrup:

1 cup Demerara whole cane sugar
2 oz. Spade & Clover turmeric root, grated

Combine sugar and turmeric in a metal bowl and mix well, pressing the turmeric into the sugar. Allow this to macerate at room temperature for at least an hour. When ready, add 1 cup boiling water and stir until the sugar is dissolved. Strain through a fine mesh strainer, and allow to cool to room temp before use. Store in the refrigerator for up to a week. Prefer a drier drink? Reduce tumeric syrup used to ¾ oz.

Combine ingredients in cocktail shaker and shake well until very cold. Double strain over cracked ice in rocks glass. If you’re feeling fancy, splurge with a fourth ingredient and garnish with a lemon twist or mint leaf.

Fresh

Better safe than sorry. Pack your bags, fuel up the car, and make for sunnier skies. Once there, stop and smell the roses while sipping on bartender Michael Moore’s (39 Rue de Jean) ‘Flora.’

Also the owner of Charleston’s Rooftop Bees and Honey, Moore’s passion project pairs beehives with foster restaurants. “The bees get a safe environment downtown and the restaurant will be getting a greener product with the community becoming a little healthier,” Moore explains. “Win/win for everyone!”

Same goes for his floral cocktail, designed to showcase the honeybee and the deep, molasses-like richness of the honey they produce. “With the deep, clean, and refreshing flavors, I’d suggest a cheese plate to accompany this cocktail,” Moore advises.

‘Flora’

1½ oz. Nippitaty Gin
1½ oz. Hibiscus Tea
½ oz. Rooftop Bees and Honey fall wildflower honey syrup

Shake together and serve over ice, and if you’ve got some on hand, garnish with bee pollen for some extra-special flair.

Smooth

How would The Dude take on a hurricane? Well, you know, with like a bathrobe, a laid-back attitude and a steadfast determination that this aggression will not stand, man. And should storm conditions find him short on milk and vodka, Jamie Price’s (The Royal Tern) ‘The Brew’d Abides Y’All’ is sure to do the trick.

Once handed her assignment, Price took the challenge seriously. “I left The Royal Tern to brainstorm at Low Tide brewery,” she shares. “They have this delicious Hazelnut Brown right now that I wanted to do something with, but I just couldn’t seem to do it justice.”

However, Price’s self-confessed love for fall flavors and Kudu pumpkin spice lattes got her thinking, and — a bag or two of Olde Colony Bakery Original Charleston Benne Wafers later — inspiration struck, man.

A dessert cocktail, this White Russian-esque libation features a base of robust coffee vodka enhanced with a toasted nutty flair and slight toffee sweetness.

‘The Brew’d abides Y’All’

1½ oz. Cannon Coffee Vodka
¼ oz. Frangelico
2 oz. Benne wafer cream (recipe below)

For the Benne wafer cream:

Soak a 5 oz. box of Original Charleston Benne Wafers in 1 pint of cream for a couple hours and blend. Press through cheesecloth.

Shake together and serve over ice.

The post We asked local bartenders to create a cocktail using only three ingredients – and share the recipes (Charleston City Paper) appeared first on Vanessa Wolf, MBA.

According to local lore, Nashville hot chicken owes its existence to a two-timing man.

At the height of the Great Depression, Thornton Prince’s girlfriend grew tired of his philandering ways. Sneaking in early one morning, Thornton discovered his lady had prepared him his favorite dish, fried chicken. However, in an act of revenge, she’d loaded it with all the cayenne pepper in the pantry.

The plan to teach her man a lesson backfired. Thornton loved the intense flavor, and shared some with his brothers, who agreed. While the name of the now ex-girlfriend has been lost to history, the recipe has not. Thornton and his siblings recreated the spicy seasoning, and a few years later, the BBQ Chicken Shack café opened. For nearly 80 years, the fiery poultry remained a popular secret of Nashville’s black community, due mostly to pervasive racial segregation.

In 1980, Thornton’s grand-niece, Andre Prince Jeffries, took over the business and renamed it Prince’s Chicken Shack. A decade later, she moved the establishment to a strip mall in East Nashville, where it remains to this day.

Over the years, others began to emulate the recipe, a trend that was picked up on by the son of a successful restaurateur. The first Hattie B’s opened in 2012, in a hip, trendy area adjacent to both Music Row and the Vanderbilt and Belmont University campuses.

By 2016, KFC had jumped on the bandwagon, and even City Paper was in on the hot stuff, with food writer Robert Donovan gracing a Feb. cover “Searching for Nashville Hot Chicken in Charleston.” Four of the seven local hot chicken spots in Charleston are now shuttered, which means if you’re afflicted with a hankering, you’d best make the trek down the live oak and Spanish-moss canopied Betsy Kerrison Parkway.

A stone’s throw from Kiawah, KinFolk occupies the tiny space once inhabited by Crave Smokehouse. With snug seating for two dozen, it’s something of a shack in its own right. Owned and operated by a pair of brothers, there’s a welcoming “door’s always open” vibe that permeates everything from the decor to the food.

The menu changes often, seemingly most influenced by the whims of nature and her bounty, and on my visit, the heirloom tomato salad ($9) beckoned. Simple and straightforward, it does exactly what one would hope — elevate the pure pleasure of a perfectly ripe, late-summer tomato. Cut into mouthful-sized chunks, the tomatoes are tossed with paper-thin shallots and a light vinaigrette, then finished with ribbons of fresh parsley and basil. In a world where my postage stamp-size backyard nurtured more than just weeds, herbs, and hot peppers … this is the salad I would make for myself.

In contrast, the crispy pork ribs ($10) were less successful. Although the Korean kal-bi like sweet soy “sticky sauce” is on point, the ribs themselves are tough and unforgiving. Efforts to free the meat from the bone result in a scene more befitting a hungry hyena than a first date. On the other hand, seeing how a potential mate handles such an oral tug-of-war might be a good idea after all.

Service is warm and efficient, and the closely set seating lends itself to crossover conversations with fellow diners. While normally one to give a wide berth to communal table situations, the low-key, friendly ambiance is, well, downright familial.

When approaching the Nashville-style hot chicken, I started in the shallow end with the quarter bird ($6.75 leg and thigh/$7.25 breast and wing) prepared mild. The breaded poultry is fried to an enduring outer crunch and then hand coated with a mix of (educated guess) brown sugar, black pepper, and garlic powder, plus cumin, smoked paprika, and lard. In addition, much like Indian or Thai cuisine, note that even the ‘mild’ has a small touch of heat.

Served on a slice of white sandwich bread and accompanied by three lightly brined bread-and-butter pickles, the chicken itself is at once crisp and juicy. Arguably, it’s at the hot level ($14 half chicken/$26 whole) that the dish achieves true Nashville distinction. The melange of black pepper, smoked paprika, and sweet sugar hit first, followed by a slow burn at the back of the throat. The chicken’s inherent mildness helps to temper any real intensity, and the heat lingers for just a few seconds. In other words, order it this way if you can.

I have to imagine that the fire seasoning is closest to what Thornton Prince was served that fateful morning. With a similar sweet/smoky start, the cayenne comes on late and strong, resulting in a long-lasting smolder that can be felt — more than tasted — down one’s throat. It’s also now clear why Thornton didn’t take his punishment all that seriously, as the cayenne’s heat falls in the comparably bearable middle of the Scoville scale, far below the brutal habanero, Scotch bonnet, or bhut jolokia (a.k.a. ghost pepper).

For those less inclined toward spicy food, the B.L.T. ($9) beckons. While not entirely devoid of spice — there are traces of a rub evocative of that on the chicken — the three large, tender slices of smoked pork belly are in genteel company. Placed in a soft, sweet bun along with a fat, juicy slice of heirloom tomato and salad-sized pile of baby red and romaine lettuce, it’s a light, upscale take on the classic sandwich.

Served with pickles and Zapp’s potato chips, upgrading to a housemade side will set you back an additional $2. The cucumber salad ($3.75 a la carte) is an unexpected pleasure. Large chunks of seeded cucumber are tossed with parsley, dill seed, and a sour cream-based dressing. Simple and refreshing, you get the sense that whoever is making this food gives a damn, and is enjoying themselves at the same time.

Meanwhile, the tender pit-cooked beans ($4) lounge in a tangy barbecue sauce and are accompanied by hefty chunks of smoky pulled pork. Chockablock with the tender meat, the generous portion could serve as a meal unto itself.

Last up, the sweet corn salad ($4) took somebody some time to prepare. Freshly shaved from the cob, the toothy grids of corn are combined with diced red onions, parsley, and bell peppers, and tossed in a simple vinaigrette. It’s an uncomplicated taste of summer that also feels like a labor of love.

Living up to its endearing name in both food and service, KinFolk is a charming outpost and a welcome addition to the Charleston family, not to mention a kickass, passive aggressive way to make a cheating (now) ex sweat.

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