The Dewberry

Mrs Smith and I have talked about taking a southern trip together for years, so when the opportunity to stay at one of Charleston’s newest hotels, the Dewberry, came my way, we immediately booked a flight down – and started making our list of where to eat.

To explain, Mrs Smith is my best friend who owns a café in Manhattan, and my writing assignments tend to cover food from time to time. Between our respective careers and just having an insatiable interest in all things edible, food is a much-discussed topic between us. And in recent years, Charleston has become a hotbed of gourmet options: traditional, modern, southern, ethnic, casual and upscale… It’s a food-lover’s free-for-all. Oh, and Southern Living magazine also dubbed Charleston ‘The most polite and hospitable city in America’ – a distinction I won’t dispute after my stay.

The Dewberry is a seven-story, mid-century structure, primely-situated in the center of downtown Charleston next to Marion Square. It was originally a federal building that was eventually vacated due to damage from Hurricane Floyd. Mr John Dewberry, the hotel’s namesake proprietor, spent eight years renovating the space into the elegant, 155-room hotel it is today.

Mrs Smith and I arrived on a rainy Thursday morning, several hours before our Superior King room would be ready. The helpful desk staff, however, offered us an identical option one floor below, which we gladly accepted. Our corner suite was heaven for this mid-century-modern design buff – the wide-plank wooden floors nodded to the hotel’s southern roots; the walnut and brass furniture, and beautiful, weathered pine-green leather chaise bench paid tribute to its Sixties heritage.

We quickly unpacked, grabbed our laptops, and plonked ourselves down in the Living Room, the hotel’s stately lounge area to finish some morning work and talk lunch plans. Hominy Grill (a 15-minute walk away) is a casual hometown favorite. There we ordered biscuits, a steaming plate of shrimp ’n’ grits, some delicious veggie sides, plus an extra side of grits for good measure. Afterwards, we walked it all off with a stroll down King Street, one of Charleston’s main thoroughfares, peeking into its shops and cafés.

Back at our suite, we took turns indulging in some solo bath and shower time in the spacious and spa-like bathroom (a rare luxury given our cramped New York apartments), before meeting some local friends for cocktails at the Ordinary: a very extraordinary raw bar and restaurant in a former bank building. Even if you’re not going for a full dinner, it’s worth ordering the addictive potato crisps, which arrive overflowing from silver cups, and the New Orleans-style barbecue shrimp on toast was, in retrospect, one of the best things I ate in Charleston. Afterwards, three of us slipped away to Chez Nous, a charming French restaurant tucked away in a house, where the day’s handwritten menu comprises two appetizers, two entrées and two dessert options – c’est tout! Any American city would be lucky to have such a precious gem.

The next morning, while I waited for breakfast – coffee and delicious savoury cheddar biscuits – to arrive, I decided to check out the gym downstairs. Fitness fanatics be warned: it’s a relatively cramped space with few machines, so you might be better off working up a sweat outdoors. Thankfully, Mrs Smith and I had a full day of walking ahead of us, and the weather was glorious, too.

Several friends had recommended lunch at Leon’s, a popular seafood and fried chicken spot occupying an old body shop that was positively hopping when we arrived. We shared steaming hot hushpuppies, finger-licking peel ’n’ eat shrimp, a fried catfish sandwich, and a clever take on an iceberg wedge salad (the lettuce was cut into a thick slice, like a steak) with a wash of breadcrumbs and buttermilk dressing embedded between the layers. Everything was fabulous, and nothing remained.

Sated and happy, we power-walked back to the Dewberry where our spa appointments awaited. As soon as we passed the reception area, my body instantly felt lighter, while the dimly-lit, quiet lounge area was perfect for sinking even further into a zen-like state. And that was before our massages.

Our evening started with drinks downstairs in the Living Room. A live jazz band played as waiters delivered negronis and bowls of spicy popcorn to tables, adding to the convivial Friday-night scene. The cosy, den-like setting, complete with a stylish Mad Men vibe, was hard to leave, but we had a full night ahead of us. White wine and oysters at Bar Normandy – an idiosyncratic, hole-in-the-wall daytime cafe that morphs into a wine bar at night – was followed by a fuller meal at Edmund’s Oast, a sizable gastropub that felt like a medieval dining hall with its soaring ceilings, and long, communal wooden tables. I especially loved the tangy-hot sweet potatoes with chèvre and the tender grilled octopus with eggplant and subtle hints of sesame.

The next morning, after biscuits and coffee in the room, Mrs Smith and I headed across the street to Marion Square to check out the weekly farmer’s market, which runs from April through late November. She picked up some locally-milled grits, while I sampled boiled peanuts, fresh breads, local honeys, pickled veggies and more, before returning to the Dewberry to check-out and head back to the airport. It was a quick trip, but a fulfilling one in so many ways. And we’re already hungry to go back.