West Ashley 'Onion' is a sweet spot

'It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," proverbs say.

And in the aftermath of the epic consequences of Hurricane Katrina, we can say that is true for the owners and chefs of The Glass Onion.

Tossed north to the South, Charles Vincent and Sarah O'Kelley found work in the kitchens of FIG and Ted's Butcherblock, found friendship in Chris Stewart (SNOB and FIG), and found a mission for the creation of their restaurant: "We all grew up with food as a focal point in our lives and want to remind customers of the simple joy brought about by the perfectly cooked fried chicken, hearty gumbo, crisp homemade pickles and soft, buttery cookies." Armed with passion, energy and a heavy dose of the TLC that so defines Southern foodways, they set about to transform the former used bookstore, Book Exchange, into an oasis of Southern comfort — the edible kind.

The space is homespun and uncluttered. A cork ceiling muffles sound and tin-painted "canvases" express both philosophy and whimsy in the open, airy dining room.

The tables are topped with butcher paper and laminated photos of the "culinary" stars Miss Piggy, Einstein, Louis Armstrong or Big Bird identify the table "number" for your order. An Italian deli in Minneapolis did the same for their numbering system, and it always brought a smile to hear "Frank Sinatra," "Sophia Loren," "Madonna" or "Tony Soprano" when your order was ready.

To the right of the counter (where you will place your order) is a massive chalkboard listing the daily specials. If sunlight catches it, it is difficult to read and from my experience, it is the most cumbersome aspect of dining at the Onion. You stand there, reading this chalkboard, as guests queue up behind you, you go to the counter, place your order and get one of the above-listed characters to identify your table for the server/runner.

Your food is brought out to you, and this is another process/procedure issue — the entrees came first, followed by the soups. Our friendly "restaurant-hop" clued us in on a little secret: Order what you want first, keep your ticket open, take your seat and then decide. This though could cause another problem if a line has formed at the ordering station and you need to go to the back of the line.

The owners and chefs are committed to the "locavore" philosophy, which is to eat what grows here, when it grows here and support the local food economy and farmer communities. They proudly "devil" Celeste Albers' eggs, serve vegetables from Rita Bachman and Pete Ambrose, drizzle their cornbread with Dan Kennerty's honey and serve shrimp from Raul's on Shem Creek delivered by Kimberly Morales.

They list the names of the farms that supply their chickens, beef and pork products on their Web site.

They are a scratch kitchen and will run out of menu items. The latter is a cause of frustration for diners.

There is one price for wine: $5 per glass; $22 per bottle. They pour ABITA beer and mix up a refreshing Radler — the Arnold Palmer of the bar set — beer and lemonade derived from the Bavarian cyclists' (radler) custom of mixing lemon-lime soda into their beer.

Chef Vincent holds on to his "N'Awlins" roots and executes a great Shrimp Po Boy ($11), fresh, sweet, tender shrimp on a roll. It's not too hard, not too soft, but just right to cozy those shrimp up to a red, ripe tomato and leafy lettuce. For my taste, serve a little remoulade on the side. Accompanied by two slices of house-made pickles, the plate could benefit from a dollop of slaw or potato salad.

We ordered a side of the potato salad and you could taste its homemade goodness all the way through to the slightly tart flavors of a sprinkle of vinegar before the mayonnaise, carrot flecks, minced onion and fresh thyme got to work on the earthy, starch tuber.

Chuck's Chicken and Sausage Gumbo (big $8, little $5) layers all the great flavors of bell pepper, sweet, caramelized onions, nutty rice, pungent sausage and tender nubbins of chicken in a dark brown broth with nary a starchy aftertaste of rice.

The cold Tomato Soup ($5) was very unusual, ruddy in color, with an odd flavor, seasoned with strands of basil; it was the weakest item we tried.

The Southern culinary canvas would be amiss without a classic Fried Chicken Plate ($12) served with two sides. The chicken is tender, juicy, crunchy and hot. It was both cooled and complemented by a side of slaw and gilded with Anson Mills grits with cheese.

A Meatball Po Boy ($8), untried by us, appeared as a Dagwood-sized sandwich with enough mozzarella to send strands telescoping with each bite taken by a diner at a nearby table.

The sides are $2 each or 4 for $7. Combine summer corn and tomato stew with rice ($14), a wedge of Bibb lettuce with buttermilk dressing and oven-fresh cornbread with honey and you are in hog heaven with the pig.

A signature dish is their Crispy Braised Pork Belly with Grits and Kale ($12) and Jennie Ruth's Deviled Eggs ($.75). A classic Southern pilau ($14) is served with local shrimp, cult favorite Benton Bacon and spring peas over rice.

Brunch is served on Saturdays.

Desserts are made in-house, many by Sarah O'Kelley, and people call in to reserve their cobblers and slices of Ginger Peach Pound Cake ($4). The pound cake had no taste of ginger (fresh or dried), but it was soaked in a warm syrup that enhanced its texture and buttery richness.

From picnic to potluck, from seasonal to signature, the new kids on the regional cooking block are making many customers feel at home, Southern style.