AUTHOR BIO: Eric Barton is editor of The Adventurist and a freelance journalist who has reviewed restaurants for more than two decades. Email him here.
Near the end of dinner last night, the two guys shucking in front of us and a couple to our right were suddenly doubled over, laughing the way people laugh when the night has gone from good to great. My wife and I just looked at each other and smiled. Whatever the punchline was, it felt exactly right for The Darling Oyster Bar, a place clearly built more for fun than for hushed, special-occasion seriousness.
The Savannah outpost sits in a 130-year-old building at the corner of Montgomery and Bay, with big windows behind the oyster bar that look out over Franklin Square’s live oaks and a dining room that feels like it has stories. There is leather and dark wood and brick with the whitewash half-stripped away, heavy curtains and the kind of woodwork that looks taken off an old sailing ship. It is the rare “designed” restaurant that does not feel staged. I especially liked the striped bar chairs at the raw bar, which are comfortable enough that you start negotiating with yourself about a second round—and maybe another later.
The Darling started in Charleston, and owners Ben Russell-Schlesinger and Bobby Young have brought the same coastal playbook to Savannah: a raw bar front and center, seafood plateaus, and Lowcountry touches that feel like the greatest hits of every beach town weekend you wish you had taken. The Savannah location has not rolled out lunch or brunch yet, but judging by the good showing on a random, rainy weeknight dinner last night, they’re already doing just fine.
We started with roasted oysters in maître d’ butter and breadcrumbs, which is exactly the sort of dish you want to eat while watching someone shuck bivalves eight inches from your nose. The topping brought just enough crunch to stand up to the butter, which arrived bubbling and just shy of scorching. You can get them a couple other ways—Alabama white sauce with bacon or a pimento-cheese situation with sourdough soppers—which all sound like the answers to different nights.
The green salad reads like a token gesture on the menu and then arrives looking lovely: a small mountain of sliced carrots and cucumbers and assorted veg, all under a confetti of crisp breadcrumbs. Just perfectly dressed, it was the light starter we needed before diving deeper into a heavy menu, which is what you want from a salad in a place like this.
The lobster roll might be the most surprising plate of the night. This one is diced and tossed in mayo with Old Bay over the top, tasting less like a New Englander exile and more like a Lowcountry boil. The hushpuppies on the side showed up nearly as big as mid-summer peaches; they come with sorghum butter, which is the sort of detail you remember the next day when you realize you are still a little full.
The burger nearly sticks the landing. The patty has plenty of flavor; the bun is buttered and toasted on all sides in that deeply satisfying, we-mean-it way. The only misstep is the heavy hand with the special sauce, which tends to take over a bite. It is the kind of flaw you forgive when you are halfway through and still going.
We did not make it to dessert, which is probably for the best, considering the options include key lime pie, Basque cheesecake, and s’mores with chocolate mousse. Godspeed to the table that gets through oysters, hushpuppies, lobster roll, burger, and then still orders s’mores.
What The Darling is already doing well in Savannah is the thing that is hardest to fake: it feels like the room you want to be in. The historic building and the tall ceilings and the coppery drapes all matter, but what you remember is the sound of shuckers laughing with strangers at the bar, the clink of shells piling up in front of you, and the sense that you accidentally picked the right night to go out.
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