La Fourchette

After getting a parking spot directly in front of La Fourchette at 8pm Friday (I have unbelievable luck parking), we had no trouble getting a table and a glass of champagne. (We had reservations, but the place was half empty. Why??) Settling in, I took a look at the menu: all French.

For me, French menus are dangerous. I've heard enough of the French language to have a good grasp on pronunciation, and know how a printed word should sound, but my mouth isn't as familiar as my ear so when I actually try to say anything, it sounds like someone stepped on a frog and I get weird/embarrassed looks from waitresses. As usual though, Maggie is there to bail me out by drilling me in advance and correcting my pronunciation. So, after barely mangling La Salade De Fromages Chauds and Le Steak Frites (Maggie ordered Salmon cooked in parchment paper, the French spelling of which I won't try to reproduce here), we were treated to one of our best meals yet.

"Intimate" is such a cop-out word to describe a restaurant, but in the case of La Fourchette try to take it seriously for a moment, rather than dismissing it as a cliché. The space was unexpectedly small, but ultimately right-sized. The interior, no doubt aided by the age of the old King St. building that contains it, has a tremendous amount of character for a three-year-old restaurant.

The skirt steak was deliciously crusted and presented with a lightly dressed stack of Bibb lettuce. On the menu, the side was described simply as Salade Verte, so the Bibb lettuce was a welcome surprise. The Frites are deep-friend in duck fat, and the warm cheese plate was properly portioned for two with enough variety to feel adventurous, while also pleasing everyone.

Service was fast, friendly, and French. I don't envy the job of the hiring manager - where in Charleston is there a ready supply of amiable, French-speaking women? Most seem to be working at La Fourchette.

It's too bad we have to wait 43 weeks to go back.