Let’s not forget about our juke joints, good lord we love them. Much obliged to their history we pay homage to some of our local spots by naming our pralines after them. The soulful music, cold libations and the time Aunt Birdie cut all her husbands shoe laces when she found out he had gone jukin without her, will never be forgotten.

We’re the best kept secret few folks know, even less understand. That hint of sinful indulgence on a Saturday night that’ll fill your soul with enough joy it’ll have you shoutin’ all the way into Sunday morning service. That sweet, briny sensation, like sitting down by the marsh on a cool summer evening, the bliss Lowcountry natives hold so dear. Rowdy, defiantly delicious and bold, yet sweet as golden honey.