champagne & lobster

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Although this is my seventh year living in Charleston, the past year is the one in which I've felt the most connected to this little piece of earth and warm community of people. Whether it's through the now-familiar drive to Awendaw, in Sam's wild stories about Edisto Island decades ago, or witnessing a clam-harvest out at Bulls Bay -- Blake and I have been humbled in realizing that no matter how small a place may seem or how thoroughly you think you know it, there is always deeper digging to be done.

Last weekend's new experience was the marriage of lobster and champagne on a Sunday afternoon with friends. I grew up with frequent Outer Banks crab boils (or "steamer pots," as we call them), but never once have I cracked into the tail of a lobster. We gathered in the courtyard of Heirloom Books' cozy new space nestled into Broad Street (which has the most exquisite selection of treasures), and things got messy. There's no better way to spend time with both new friends and old, than to stand next to them in a bib with champagne flowing and lobster splattering while digging into that third piece of corn-on-the-cob.