This edition of Full Belly Files was originally emailed to subscribers on September 29, 2023. To receive Matt Kettmann’s food newsletter in your inbox each Friday, sign up at independent.com/newsletters.
Florida is a funny place.
The political and cultural rivalries between that Sunshine and our Golden states are apparent upon arrival, and they only grow more palpable with each interaction and intersection. The curious twist is that the long histories, diametric upper/lower class divisions, urban-versus-rural geographies, and carefree beachy vibes of each state are remarkably similar.
The effect is like looking at a funhouse mirror, where you recognize some features rather intimately while others appear outsized and misshapen. Depending on your angle, the reflected caricatures can trigger everything from humor and ridicule to sadness and sympathy, as much of what seems funny on the surface probably comes from deep-rooted socioeconomic disparities.
But that’s not really what I was thinking about during my week-long trip to St. Augustine, where my cousin got married last Sunday. Rather, I was immersed in the city’s fascinating, if brutal, colonial lore, much of which reminded me about Santa Barbara’s early days. (I bet that much of downtown S.B. would look alike if it weren’t for the earthquakes.) And when we weren’t walking the old town (founded in 1572!), looking for alligators on airboats (saw two small ones, even though it was hunting season!), and exploring the sandy, seashell-stocked beaches (water’s warm!), we were eating and drinking in the Ancient City’s varied haunts.
