by Angela Perez

Ah, the Florida Panhandle. I visited it for the first time as a last-minute side trip on my way home to N.C. after staying for a month in Ft. Lauderdale (to decide if I want to move there – I do not. That’s another story for another time). I posted to social media that I was heading west from Jacksonville, FL, to see what was happening in this remote part of the Sunshine State. And dozens of friends posted and texted back: “Don’t go to the Redneck Riviera!” I was warned that this was some sort of backwater, ultra-conservative, redneck rodeo and that I would hate it there. And this seems to be a common perception of the region – it is where folks from the southern parts of Alabama, Georgia, and Mississippi come to frolic in crystal clear turquoise water and lounge on white sugar sands. My response was, “Why should these folks corner the market on the most beautiful beaches in the U.S.?” And let me tell you, when I first saw the waters of Panama City Beach, my jaw dropped. I swear, I thought I was in the Caribbean. I would say that the Panhandle has the most beautiful beaches in the entire U.S.
But I was curious how such stunning beaches had escaped gentrification – where were the luxury spas and hotels, the exclusive resorts, the high-end restaurants? This beach has mostly middle-of-the-road, relatively cheap hotels and motels catering to working-class families on a hard-won long weekend or a week-long vacation.
At least, that is how it appeared on the surface. Once I saw that gorgeous ocean, I decided, I need to get to the bottom of this bizarre turn of real estate development events – how is this place so run down and middle class? By the way, I come from a run-down and middle class, so I don’t mind it – but I am dying to know how this place ended up in the way it is and with such a bad reputation. So, anyway, I decided to check out food blogs and TripAdvisor and see if I could find excellent, chef-driven restaurants – and there were, in fact, many high-end, eclectic places. And lots of coffee houses and local breweries. There is, indeed, a “foodie” scene – don’t get me started on gourmet foodscapes and gentrification – that’s not what this article is ultimately about. Well, it kind of is.)
As I mentioned, I did find a chef-driven restaurant in Panama City Beach (abbreviated by the locals with the catchy “PCB” – Hunt & Gather Raw Bar and Pub. The website immediately won me over, mainly because they emphasized in all caps:

NO CHILDREN’S MENU OR HIGH CHAIRS OFFERED/WE ARE NOT A KID-FRIENDLY ENVIRONMENT

Such an environment is a god-send in a tourist place crawling with screaming children and bored teenagers. I also loved that the site features a picture of the chef and owner, Derek Langford, with the day’s menu feature on his shoulders. I sat at the bar – the bartenders and staff were all super friendly. I came early in the evening on a Saturday night and the staff informed that this was unusual – that there was some kind of major country music festival going on starring Kenny Chesney and the whole town was there along with hundreds of other folks who had driven and flown in for the three-day show. “Every weekend,” said one server, “there is about an hour wait at least.” Now, this restaurant is rather expensive and has an incredible winelist – so this ain’t no mid-range, beach-front, fried-food, family-friendly tourist trap. This place is solidly folks with money to spend on elevated culinary experiences.
A middle-aged local couple was seated next to me at the bar. We got to chatting and they told me they come every week (which means they are dropping about $150 – $200 each time) and, like many other locals, are loyal customers. “The good restaurants, the arts, the good coffee, it’s all here,” she said. “You just have to know where to look. It gets eclipsed by all the tourist traps and cheap hotels.” I has passed some of those traps on the way to the restaurant from my hotel: giant, garish putt-putt golf complexes, a giant priate ship leading the way to some kind of noisy enternatainment complex chock-full of children screaming in glee and wonder, and so on and so forth.
I ended up having a few things from the small plate menu – delightful deviled eggs with smoked trout roe, lamb lollipops, and brown butter scallops. Here is the small plate menu as of June 2023:

There also were a few elk and bison items on the menu that piqued my curiousity – why were these featured so prominently in a beach town in Florida? I am so sad I didn’t ask more about that. The couple I was chatting with told me that this restaurant started out as a food truck that grew so much in popularity that the chef decided to make it a store-front. I should note, this place is in an unassuming strip mall at the far end away from the road – I would never have found it if I wasn’t seeking out good restaurants on TripAdvisor. And, most importantly, there is LOTS of good, convenient parking. Those who know me know that I must have good parking (unless, of course, I am Ubering, which I always do when I know I am going to drink alcohol).
I am writing this little vignetted mainly to let folks know that the Panhandle is much more than the Redneck Riviera and don’t let that reputation steer you away from come of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen (and I go to the Caribbean a lot).

I do want to leave you with one little thing that happened before the couple I told you about above was seated next to me:
At one end of the bar is a lamp – a copy of the infamous fishnet-stockinged leg lamp in “A Christmas Story.” I overheard two twenty-something women next (who had already dropped $300 on wine so far) glare at this lamp in bewilderment and disgust. One exclaimed, “Oh my GAWD. What IS that? Why would an expensive place like this this HAVE that?!” I started to explain it to her, but then I was so annoyed that these young women could afford expensive wine while I spent my 20s scraping together my tip money from waitressing for Schlitz Malt Liquor and Brass Monkey and Night Train. One of the gals, a fairly unattractive skinny brown-haired, mousy gal in a stretchy tube top dress, proclaims loudly, “Bitch, I am having a one-night stand tonight!!!” I sipped my Brunello, chuckled smugly at the fun and folly of youth, and kept the legacy of the lamp and its importance in American pop culture to myself.