"Charleston at Table" is a limited series by Thomas Ellen. It is in the fashion of Eugene Briffault's "Paris à Table".
Click here to read the other parts in the series.
--
Me pinguem et nitidum bene curata cute vises, cum ridere voles, Epicuri de grege porcum - Horace
Someone pointed out to me — or perhaps I read it, or maybe I even heard it myself — that music radio stations still describe themselves as playing tunes from "the '70s, '80s, '90s and today." Ostensibly, this "today" begins with the inauguration of President George W. Bush and continues until the moment of this writing in 2026.
Twenty-six years of today.
Most people can distinguish a song from the '70s with only a short listen; likewise with the '80s and '90s. One need not have lived through those eras to recognize them. Each had a style, and the lyrics of most songs tended to harp on the same moments, anxieties and fashions of those periods. The distinctions remain obvious. Yet none of this appears to be true for the 26 years of today.
To join a long line of hack writers and chattering-class inanities before me: Francis Fukuyama's "The End of History and the Last Man" seems all too prescient (or is it more fashionable to say he was wrong? I wouldn't know — I haven't read it).
This long today, this malaise, may be omnipresent in larger national cultural discussions about music and literature, et cetera, but here we do not lack for eras. We do not lack for eras because Charleston's historical and cultural arc can be followed by the lamp of memory: architecture.
We need not dwell on the preceding centuries to make the point. We need not note the Pink House and its nod to Bermuda and the pirate age. Nor do we need to mention the Charleston Hotel, once at 200 Meeting St., or Institute Hall farther down the street, both of which embodied the antebellum era. We need not mention the Riviera or the Sottile as theaters that rose to prominence as film became the dominant medium. Nor need we mention the Ashley River Bridge as a conduit of expansion for both the automobile and the city itself, the bridge that made annexation of outlying areas more practical. And we need not note that Dock Street Theatre contains so many multitudes of the antebellum and New Deal eras. We are speaking only about the last 35 years or so — Après Hugo, if you will allow it.
Après Hugo has been described better by others, particularly Jack Trotter in a 2014 essay collected in "The Last Train to Dixie." In "'In All the Ancient Circles:' Tourism and the Decline of Charleston's Elite Families," Trotter traced the displacement of locals from their peninsula homes to the outer boroughs after Hurricane Hugo's destruction. This era is defined by newcomers moving in as homes became too expensive for many older families south of Broad Street.
This period also saw the creation of Waterfront Park. What was once the site of Crokat's Pier, fish stalls and overgrown waterfront is now a place where locals and tourists alike sit on benches, watch ships roll into the harbor and observe dolphins on the hunt.
Charleston Place, though built a few years before Hugo, is emblematic of this era. It brought in the luxury stores that now stretch along King Street. Perhaps even the James Island Connector helps define the era, bringing the island closer to the peninsula. But of all these projects, it is the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge, completed in 2005, that best embodies Après Hugo. Its massive size and spiderweb design suggest a city ready for expansion.
Après Hugo lasted from the first winds of Sept. 21, 1989, until 2012, when Travel + Leisure first named Charleston its top destination. Thus began Le Déluge.
Le Déluge is defined by luxury tourism and the experience economy. Think of Anthony Bourdain visiting Charleston and extolling its food scene. This era is marked by the expansion of food and beverage establishments — Husk comes most readily to mind. At the same time, the service industry grew. Many graduates entering the workforce during the Great Recession could not find jobs matching their education, so bussing tables had to suffice.
Le Déluge is every resident's nuisance: full parking spaces, beaches crowded with tourists and restaurants booked weeks in advance. It is visible in the Michelin-recognized restaurants now dotting the peninsula, their lines stretching around the block. I do not seek to place blame on Travel + Leisure; it is merely a useful reference point for this polemic.
But travel defines the cultural zeitgeist of the early 2010s. Anyone in their 30s or 40s knows someone who visited Charleston — or perhaps came for a visit and never left. Millennials moved to destinations. They moved where they could write about the place or tell their friends how unique it was. As a former resident of Richmond, Virginia, I am all too familiar with this Brooklyn-lite phenomenon.
What building defines this age, Le Déluge? Where will we look 100 years from now and say, "There is the embodiment. There you can see Le Déluge"?
There are several contenders. The Hotel Bennett is a good place to start. Opened in 2019, it is a luxury hotel featuring a patisserie, restaurants and a rooftop bar — glamour calibrated to millennial tastes. Tasteful and well appointed, it overlooks Marion Square and appropriately guides visitors between the old and the new.
But the apogee of Le Déluge, where it reaches its fullest expression, may be The Cooper. Opened only recently, it has already achieved a degree of notoriety. Situated along the Cooper River on Concord Street, it possesses all the qualities of a structure destined to define the era.
First and foremost, it is exclusive. Many complain about the "resortification" of the city. Perhaps one should consider that not being invited does not necessarily make something bad. The Cooper partitions tourists by class and frustrates locals who wish to enjoy a new watering hole but cannot find the entrance — a clever maneuver by designers to keep those on the street exactly there.
Part of its exclusivity comes from its hefty price tag. But Charleston is expensive because it is desirable. What no one wants to hear is: "You are not invited." The Cooper has the nerve to say it aloud.
It can also boast a fine-dining establishment. Having spent only an evening at the bar, I can nevertheless attest to its refinement. Finally, The Cooper possesses a distinctive style. Inside, one feels as though they have boarded a yacht. The brass, the teak — it is as though you are aboard a newly launched private vessel from Rotterdam. Rather than repeat a style from another era, The Cooper attempts to carve out its own.
You may not be invited to The Cooper, but you are invited to Ben Navarro's other grand achievement of this era: American Gardens.
Opening during the 2025 Christmas season, it is a welcome refuge for those weary from shopping along King Street. Its impact has already been substantial. Anyone who visited during the holiday season can attest to the appeal of its Venetian carousel. Those who like to solve life's problems with a walk can sit beneath its shade trees while fountains provide a soundtrack for contemplation.
It offers residents and tourists alike something increasingly rare: a beautiful garden, fountains and a place to rest and reflect. In my estimation, it is the greatest public asset on the peninsula today.
But Navarro is not finished, nor is history. Perhaps Fukuyama was wrong.
With his acquisition of Union Pier, Charleston will likely see one of the largest expansions of residential development in its recent history. If The Cooper and American Gardens are any indication, there is reason for optimism.
Après Hugo and Le Déluge. It is tempting to lament the carriage passing your home while you sip your coffee and mutter, "Privacy, please." But those riding in that carriage crave what all people crave: beauty.
Charleston is impossible to replicate elsewhere today. Zoning laws in most jurisdictions make it nearly impossible to build something equally grand and enduring. The notion that newcomers seek to transform Charleston into the places they left behind is overthinking things. Life is too short for such conspiracies. We underestimate the strength of what makes Charleston so alluring.
The city was built with bastions, and those bastions remain.
With The Cooper and American Gardens, we may have reached the peak of Le Déluge. What comes next is still being written. I think of the recent Project 3500 presentations at Dock Street Theatre, where plans were unveiled for 3,500 affordable homes on the peninsula. Could that project inaugurate a new era? One can dream.
But when else have so many accolades been bestowed upon Charleston? When else was the city so desired, so envied for its beauty? When else did everyone want to be here?
The pews at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist fill 15 minutes before Sunday Mass. St. Philip's Church has been restored to its former glory and is building a classical school. We complain about lines at bars, but perhaps we should think of the line we will one day encounter at the Gate.
For all its faults, Le Déluge is a golden age. It is a flood of pleasure, leaving us neck-deep in exceptional food and drink. Savor it. Have another. Have too much.
You are living in it.
Today is the Golden Age.