The Best Food I Never Ate
By Robbie Perdue
Every city has its culinary legends, those time-honored institutions that serve up more than just a meal—they dish out history, culture, and the collective memory of a community. In Charleston, South Carolina, a city renowned for its vibrant food scene, one such place was Martha Lou’s Kitchen. It was the kind of eatery that locals would proudly recommend and visitors would add to their must-try lists, eager to sample the storied flavors of the South. And yet, despite my numerous trips to Charleston, I never did eat at Martha Lou’s Kitchen. It’s a miss that I’ve come to regret deeply, a reminder of missed opportunities and the ephemeral nature of our experiences.
Martha Lou’s Kitchen wasn’t just a restaurant; it was a beacon of Southern cooking, a place where the soul of the cuisine was as palpable as the scent of fried chicken wafting through the air. Martha Lou Gadsden, the matriarch and namesake, poured her heart into every dish she served. The pink exterior of the building was as vibrant and welcoming as Martha Lou’s smile, inviting hungry souls to come and partake in a meal that was cooked with love and steeped in generations of tradition.
I remember passing by the restaurant, noting the lines of people that often stretched out the door, a testament to the food’s reputation. “Next time,” I would tell myself, assuming that the institution would always be there, an unchanging fixture in a fast-moving world. But the truth is, nothing is permanent, and the places we put off visiting, the experiences we delay for another day, may not always wait for us.
The menu at Martha Lou’s Kitchen was a roll call of Southern classics: crispy fried chicken with a golden-brown crust that promised the perfect crunch, collard greens simmered to tender perfection, macaroni and cheese with a creamy, indulgent heart, and cornbread so good it could be a meal in itself. These were dishes that told a story, each bite a chapter of the South’s rich culinary narrative.
Martha Lou’s Kitchen was more than a place to eat; it was a place to gather, to share stories, and to celebrate the simple joy of a good meal. It was a cornerstone of the community, a place where everyone, from politicians to poets, could sit side by side, united by the universal language of good food.
But in September 2020, the kitchen went quiet. The doors closed, and with them, a chapter of Charleston’s culinary history ended. The news of the closure hit me with a pang of regret. I had missed my chance to experience Martha Lou’s Kitchen, to understand the heart and soul of a place that had meant so much to so many.
This is the lesson I learned too late: Don’t wait. Don’t put off the experiences that call to you, the places that beckon you to visit. We move through life thinking there’s always more time—more time to explore, to discover, to savor—but the truth is, time is the one thing we can’t count on.
So, I urge you, if there’s a Martha Lou’s Kitchen in your life, a place you’ve always wanted to visit or an experience you’ve longed to have, go. Make the time. Because one day, the opportunity might no longer be there, and you’ll be left with the echo of what could have been, the ghost of a chance not taken.
Martha Lou’s Kitchen may be gone, but its spirit endures in the stories of those who ate there, in the memories of the flavors and the warmth that defined it. Let it be a reminder to us all to seize the moment, to taste the food, to visit the places that draw us in. Life is a collection of moments, and it’s up to us to make them count—before they slip away, like the last table at a beloved restaurant, waiting for no one.
Robbie Perdue
is a native North Carolinian who enjoys cooking, butchery, and is passionate about all things BBQ. He straddles two worlds as an IT professional and a farmer who loves heritage livestock and heirloom vegetables. His perfect day would be hunting deer, dove, or ducks then babysitting his smoker while watching the sunset over the blackwater of Lake Waccamaw.
