Due South: Classic Southern Steakhouses

Plus: A palm paradise in Florida; Chesapeake Bay; British Virgin Islands

PHOTO: LINA ZELDOVICH

St. Johns Botanical Garden and Nature Preserve.

“People tend to associate palms with tropical rainforests, but they grow in the mountains, in the deserts, and even in colder climates,” says John Rossi, owner of the St. Johns Botanical Garden and Nature Preserve in Hastings, Florida. That hasn’t stopped the veterinarian from amassing some four hundred palm species from around the world—plus azaleas, rhododendrons, and orchids—on a single parcel of land that was once littered with rusted car parts. Find out more about the unique passion project turned public green space.

Cape Charles, Virginia. A few weeks ago we made our bi-annual trek to the Eastern Shore to visit family, staying on a campground overlooking the Chesapeake Bay on the southern tip of the peninsula. Here are some highlights of a trip that combined outdoor adventures with beach-town charm.

Island of intrigue: One morning, friends took us out in their skiff to explore nearby barrier islands. Our first stop was Hog Island to visit their fishing lodge, which is perched on stilts atop the oyster beds and harbors a bevy of treasures inside (including a tattered copy of the inaugural issue of G&G). Today the island is owned by the Nature Conservancy, minus a few private parcels, but in the 1800s it hosted a lavish sporting club. After hurricane erosion made the club uninhabitable, many of the houses were shipped by barge back to the mainland and remain there today.
Small-town delights: It’s tradition for us to head north a few miles to the Great Machipongo Clam Shack for a batch of crispy-fried fresh clams. (Tip: For dessert, pick up a pint of Jeni’s ice cream to share on the drive home.) Afterwards, we ambled down Cape Charles’s cheerful main boulevard, swinging by our two favorite shops: the Lemon Tree Gallery and Studio, which spotlights area artisans, and Peach Street Books, an eclectic maze of new and used books housed in a renovated 1930s gas station.
Sunset strolls: Each evening—before our epic board game tournaments—we’d meander along the shoreline that leads to the neighboring Kiptopeke State Park, dipping our toes in the warm water while our dogs chased scuttling ghost crabs. One evening, I watched a trio of ospreys snatch their dinner from the bay and thought how novel it was—at least for South Carolinians accustomed to Atlantic sunrises—to watch the sun sink into a watery horizon.