It’s an election year, which means it’s time for me to lodge my quadrennial complaint against the term “trudging down to the polls”, which we are all about to hear ad nauseum between now and November. Curiously enough, about the only time Americans seem to trudge anywhere they are on their way to a polling place, and, equally curiously, no one ever seems to get to the polls in any other way but trudging. No one trudges to the store for a gallon of milk, or trudges off to get their hair cut. And, no one seems to breeze over to, drop by, stride proudly toward, nor dash out to the polls (dashing out is reserved for getting milk, I think). Ho, hum. Trudge, trudge. Gotta vote again. What a chore . . .

Okay, so that’s off my chest for another four years.

Now that I’m starting to write more and more about restaurants, and read far, far more restaurant reviews than I used to, I’m starting to notice another phrase that seems almost as much of a journalistic reflex as “trudging down to the polls”. I’ve used it myself at least half a dozen times in the past few years. Have you noticed that no fewer than half of our local restaurants are “tucked away in a strip mall?” They are. Check out the online review archives in our various local outlets.

And it’s not just in Charleston, either. Google the phrase and check out how many restaurants show up. And then count web pages and see how many places tucked away in a strip mall are NOT serving food or beverages. Very few, for some reason. I mean, conceivably, a bookstore or a barber shop could be tucked away in a strip mall just as easily as a restaurant. But they never seem to be.

What is it about strip malls that make them such convenient places for tucking away cute little eateries? And, while we’re at it, what’s so damned remarkable about a restaurant being located in a strip mall in the first place? Something must be, for restaurant reviewers (myself included) regularly make a big deal out of the fact that we actually found something edible in a strip mall location: “You might find it surprising from a little cafe tucked away in a strip mall off of Highway XYZ, but Alfonso Junction actually has some remarkably tasty sandwiches.” As if you have to be in some refurbished brick-walled warehouse or an old converted mansion in order to know how to fry up a steak.

No more for me. When you think about it, why wouldn’t there be good food in strip malls? In this day and age, except for old downtown areas where you actually have classic storefronts, where else would you expect to find a restaurant?

The next time I go downtown and write about one of those high-falutin’ places that are always showing up on the awards lists, I swear I’m going to start the piece off like this: “You might not expect it from a cavernous restaurant in an exquisitely restored 18th Century warehourse in the heart of Charleston’s historic district, but [insert name here] actually has some pretty good food.”

Just watch me.