Death by Nachos

Chicora Alley has been a downtown Greenville, SC destination for years, so when they opened a place in the nascent foodie haven of Travelers Rest, I had to give them a try. They occupy a building that was once the city firehouse, ergo the name “Firehouse" on the store front.

It is nice to walk into a place and see the wait staff smiling when they don’t have to. A large U-shaped bar commands the main room. We were ushered into the long narrow side room which once housed the fire trucks.

I opted for the barbecue nachos (12) and my partner went with the fish and chips special (14) I also ordered a Highland Brewing Company Oatmeal Porter from nearby Asheville (4).

After about an average wait, the server arrived with a mountain of nachos so large that I almost looked for the busts of dead presidents carved into the side. When she saw the look on my face she said, “With nachos we don’t play.”

"With nachos we don't play."

They had thoughtfully provided two plates so I could share. There was no barbecue on the chips, meat was extra.  Instead they were covered in a nice fresh pico along with black beans and corn, meximelt cheese and barbecue sauce, which added a slightly odd, but not totally off-putting twist. Another waiter stopped by and joked that if I finished the plate, I would get a free T-shirt.

My partner raved over the fish and chips (she’s still talking about them a week later) and offered me a sample. The cod was tender and flaky, and the beer batter was well balanced.

The Fish 'n Chips special

Imaginary or not, a T-shirt was not in the offing due to a bit of bad planning on my part; I had already consumed over half a tray of the chips they had served as an appetizer, so after a heroic effort I had to reluctantly push the plate away. They asked if I wanted a carry out box, but I demurred. Nobody likes soggy nachos. Next time I’m going for the Jerk Shrimp.

Rating: 🐷🐷🐷🐷

Soapstone Church

 Meat and three with dessert Here's what twelve bucks get you at 

Soapstone Church. Drink included.  

The first time I entered Soapstone Church  I was slightly taken aback. There was Polka music echoing from the dining hall. Polka Music is rare enough here in the land of NASCAR and Kenny Chesnee, but it is especially surprising to be heard on an African American church.  But Soapstone church is just that kind of place. Nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians, with a million dollar view of the blue ridge escarpment, Soapstone is the heart of the Liberia Community, which, like the country with the same name, was founded by freed slaves after the Civil War.

Million Dollar View The grounds of Soapstone church offer a 

breathtaking view of the Blue Ridge escarpment. The boulder in 

the foreground is the soapstone that is the church's namesake. The 

sign at the right enjoins people from chipping off pieces of 

the rock

The church is named for a huge soapstone boulder on the grounds. Soapstone is a soft metamorphic  rock that the indigenous people once use to make bowls and utensils.
The grounds boast the first local African American school, which is still standing, and an historic grave yard, that is visited by thousands each year, but even more popular are the fish fries that the church offers on the third Saturday of each month, January through October. on these Saturdays the place is packed with customers, mostly white, affluent retirees from the nearby gated communities, who come to enjoy a big plate of what used to be called soul food back in the day. For twelve bucks, customers can get a plate with fried flounder, barbecue. or fried chicken, three vegetables, a drink and dessert. Everything is seasoned to perfection, from the collard greens to the squash casserole, to the braised potatoes, that are so popular they always run out. The fish fry is ably supervised by Mable Clark, an elvish woman with a gigantic personality who does most of the cooking and makes a point of visiting every table to greet the diners with smiles and backrubs. Mable's claim to fame is the fried flounder which is breaded with her own secret recipe. She tells of a chef from an upscale eatery in nearby Greenville, SC, who ate there  three times, trying to pry the recipe from her brain. Finally she relented and said if he would make a donation to the church she would share her secret. He didn't donate, and has not been back.

Long Day  Mable Clark (center) puts in sixteen hour days 

managing the monthly fish fries but still finds time to visit

with her patrons.

 Years ago, Mable promised her father who was the pastor at the time that she would do what she could to keep the church open after his passing. The fish fry was her way of doing that, but with the membership of the church having dwindled to less than a dozen, it gets harder each year. Recent articles in local papers and consumer magazines have helped to keep her busy for the time being, but who knows what the future holds? At least for the present we still have a circle on our calendar around the third Saturday of the month.
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