Hushpuppies (or hush puppies?)

Hush puppy. Hushpuppy. One word or two?

It can be both. Who knew?

Anything dipped in the magic cauldron of a deep fryer comes out tasting 4x better than before. It's true of chicken, fish, apples, ice cream, shrimp, potatoes, cheese (oh, cheese curds) and even pickles.

And then there are hush puppies (or hushpuppies? I can't decide). I'll be honest. I don't know what they actually are. A Google search says, "golden fritters made from a thick cornmeal-based batter that is fried until crisp outside and tender-chewy inside.”

To me, hushpuppies (going with that one) are the beach. And by the beach, I mean the Isle of Palms, Sullivan's Island, and Folly Beach — they are Charleston in fritter form.

They are crunchy, soft bites of memory and charm. They are the vacation mind where work doesn't trespass. The day’s plans are made up on the spot.

They are the white sand and the distant roar of waves coming from over the dunes. The gray-brown, hole-ridden, wooden walkways cut through the sand, the crabs and the undergrowth. The water spigot where a mom is trying to get the sand off of a 3-year-old girl — the key word there is trying.

They are taking your sandals off too soon and feeling the bottoms of your feet burn on the white sand. They are white women under umbrellas reading Sue Crafton and Gillian Flynn. They are high school boys playing Spike Ball loudly because the high school girls are close by and acting like they’re not watching.

They are a beach chair. The rear bar sinks into the sand once the waves reach you taking the empty bag of Baked Lays with them. Sadly, that wave was a pile driver on the droopy sandcastle you made by digging down into the wet sand and dripping globs into soaring towers.

They are a shower where you discover you’re sunburned and the only shampoo is the “Loreal Kids Watermelon.” Yes, the bottle that looks like a fish.

They are the feeling of putting on clean clothes after the shower when your whole body feels tingly. The bottom of the shower still has dark brown, glistening sand on it, but at least it's not caked on your calves anymore.

They are supper on a restaurant deck with a view of the marshes, or the harbor, or at a place with a large stuffed marlin on the wall and a picture of the man who caught him (Jim Hogan, Key Largo, 2004). The kids order "Smurfs," which is just Sprite with blue food coloring to you but to them, it's a glass of the supernatural.

There is some older fellow with a ponytail and an aloha shirt in the corner singing every Jimmy Buffett song he knows on a Takamine guitar. “He Went to Paris,” “Come Monday”. You sing along a bit to “A Pirate Looks at Forty.”

I'm gushing. Hushpuppies are none of these things. They're just cornmeal fritters fried until crisp outside and tender on the inside.

But if they can both hush puppies and hushpuppies, maybe they can be all of those things too.