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Harold's Country Club

Yemassee, South Carolina

about an 45 min. (50 mi.) north of Savannah

Open Wednesday (burgers) Thursday (pot luck) and Saturday (steaks) nights only

Important: call for directions and you must call ahead for reservations (you reserve food, not a table).

Yemassee, South Carolina
843-589-4360

 

Directions from Sav.: take Talmadge Bridge Hwy 17 North to I-95 (Exit 5 Hardeeville)

North on I-95 to Exit 33 East (Pointe South),

One mile then turn left on Hwy 17alt/21 for 4 miles (veer left)

look for Harold's on the left.

Harold's still sells gasoline and live bait, but owners Harold and Mary Peeples cook up a hearty potluck dinner on Thursdays (menu varies week to week) and rib-eye steak on Saturdays (6:30 pm or 8:00 pm) for area hunters, fishermen, motorcycle riders, plantation owners and whoever else calls ahead.  Last time we were there gas (cash only) was $3.20 per gallon but the pumps could only do $1.60 per gal. so you multiply the price on the pump by two.  Shirt and shoes are required; camouflage hunting attire is common.  Beer and mixed drinks are available, as is a game of pool.

About 5 miles from Harold's is Sheldon Church, a mystical place that remains after being burned by both the British in the Revolutionary War and by the Union forces during the Civil war.  Ask for directions at Harold's.

An excerpt from a blog...

At 7:30 P.M., it was off to Harold's Country Club and Gas Station in Yemassee, about 25 miles west of Beaufort. I had never seen anything like Harold's in my almost 50 years and I can't wait to go back. It is an legendary and authentically southern haunt-a kind of place that takes you back to the real rural south that I remember growing up in- a place and a way of life that is sadly vanishing- being slowly but surely overrun by strip malls and cookie cutter housing developments. I pray that these unique "landmarks" like Harold's never disappear. As a southerner I'm a proud of the social,cultural and racial progress we have made but I'm also not the least bit ashamed of my rural, redneck heritage-these are my people-I love them and their music and their dancing and their reckless passion for life and a good time.
We parked the car and made our way past the old-timey gas pumps (still functioning) and in through the front door of an old country gas station/tackle shop/bar chock full of the most bizarre mishmash of humanity I have ever seen this side of a county fair. Old toothless men and women, kids from age 3 and up and rich folks from town just looking for a reason to put on the Wranglers and cowboy boots , drink some beer and eat some damn good food. Cristina ordered me a 22 0z. Budweiser which came wrapped in a paper sack and by the time I had killed about a quarter of it, we were told to get into the food line. We made our way single-file into a hallway where we gave our party's name, paid our money, took an oval Chinette plate and stood in front of a table. On the table were three large aluminum covered pans and behind each pan sat a blue-haired dowager with a set of tongs. Each pan contained the steaks cooked medium, medium-well and well done and our order was conveyed loudly to the first "steakwoman," "3 mediums, Lee party of three!" She plopped a 16 oz, well gristled, beautiful piece of "cow ass" on each of our Chinette plates and we entered the big room. On the left was a table with salad, baked potato, potato salad and green beans. We sat at a wooden table and commenced to eating. The room was packed but not noisy with all the people cramming steak and potato into their faces. About 9:00 P.M., the dining room was cleared out and the entire crowd waddled back into the main part of the gas station where the Karaoke was cranking up. Folks, I've seen karaoke, and most of it is incredibly lame-non-tune carrying drunks up on stage on a dare trying to sing "Brandy," but this was different. The freakin' song book was as hefty as a New York City phone directory and the "DJ" would call individuals by name to come up and sing their song. Some were lame, but some were flat out talented. Old men and young kids burned up the small dance floor they had carved out of the crowd by their twisting and twirling. One old man danced and drank until I saw him outside laying passed out on a propane tank. A few minutes later he was back in and at it again.