Estadio: Charleston's Most Underrated Restaurant

Every once in a while, I walk into a restaurant and my first reaction has nothing to do with the food. It's disappointment: not because of what arrives on the plate, but because there aren't enough people there to appreciate it. That was my reaction the first time I visited Estadio.

Chef Jeremy Gozlan has quietly built one of Charleston's most exciting restaurants, yet I looked around the dining room and wondered, "Where is everyone????"

I left determined to find out whether my first visit had simply been lightning in a bottle. So, I did what any foodie with a law degree would do. I assembled a jury. A large table of young lawyers: some adventurous eaters, some decidedly not, some who order vegetables voluntarily, some who regard vegetables as little more than decorative garnish. We would order everything on the menu, add both nightly specials, work our way through the cocktail and mocktail lists, and let the cornerstone of our civil society (the jury system) decide.

The verdict was unanimous. Charleston is overlooking one of its finest restaurants and one of its best chefs.

Estadio isn't trying to recreate your vacation in Barcelona. It isn't trying to be the next trendy small-plates restaurant with Spanish words sprinkled over an otherwise forgettable menu. Jeremy Gozlan cooks with remarkable confidence and restraint. Again and again throughout the evening, the dishes demonstrated the same philosophy: start with beautiful ingredients, know exactly what flavors belong with them, then stop before you overcomplicate them.

Before we even discuss the food, though, let's talk about hospitality. Jeremy is one of those chefs who genuinely seems to take pleasure in seeing people enjoy his food. Max, his sommelier, somehow manages to make wine approachable whether you're ordering your first interesting bottle or your fiftieth. The bartender and service team are warm, knowledgeable, and welcoming without a trace of pretension. We were never made to feel like customers. We were guests. That matters to me.

The cocktail program deserves attention all by itself. Creative without becoming gimmicky, balanced without being predictable, and just as importantly, the mocktails receive the same care and imagination. Too many restaurants still treat non-drinkers as an afterthought. Estadio doesn't.

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Then the parade of food began.

The pan con tomate was exactly what Jeremy does so well. Beautiful Johns Island tomatoes with just enough intervention to let the tomatoes remain the star. Had I eaten it almost anywhere else, I probably would have raved about it. Unfortunately for the tomatoes, they had the misfortune of sharing a table with some truly extraordinary dishes.

The beef belly toast was one of those extraordinary dishes. It was absolutely unbelievable being one of the best bites I've had anywhere this year. Even our pickiest eaters abandoned all pretense of civility and fought over the last pieces. Rich, perfectly balanced, deeply flavorful without becoming heavy, it disappeared almost as soon as it hit the table.

Then Jeremy reminded me that he possesses an almost supernatural ability to make vegetables exciting. The delicate patty pan squash paired with Spanish ham in a dish so outrageously delicious that I immediately forgave him for not serving the pole beans I had fallen in love with on my previous visit. Few chefs can make squash compete with beef belly. Jeremy can.

The calcots were another revelation. Long sweet onions, lightly fried and served with romesco and peanuts, intended to be picked up by hand and enthusiastically devoured in one glorious bite. They were ridiculously fun and ridiculously delicious. Our lone Latina lawyer was the only member of the jury courageous enough to eat them exactly as tradition intended, so after appropriate deliberation we grudgingly awarded her the final one.

The ensalada somehow convinced even the committed vegetable skeptics at the table to request seconds. Bright, crisp, fresh, and vibrant, it demonstrated once again that vegetables deserve every bit as much attention as meat when handled by the right chef.

The tortilla Española divided the jury. The egg lovers adored it, describing it as rich, comforting, and beautifully executed. I, on the other hand, have never been much of an egg person and found it a bit heavy and saltier than I preferred. My objections were immediately overruled by the remaining jurors, who happily confiscated my portion before I could continue my dissent.

Then came the patatas bravas: perfectly crisp on the outside, cloud-like inside, wonderfully seasoned. Exactly what they should be.

By now a pattern had emerged. Jeremy isn't interested in showing you how clever he is. He wants to show you how delicious simple things can become when every decision is exactly right.

The pulpo may have been the finest example of that philosophy. Most restaurants overcook octopus into rubber. Jeremy apparently has a genetic predisposition for cooking octopus correctly. Perfect char. Remarkably tender. And then there was the sweet corn with saffron underneath ... good grief! It was one of those dishes where conversation simply stopped while everyone processed what had just happened.

The almejas arrived swimming in a garlic sauce so outrageously good that I abandoned all dignity, and found myself licking the shells. The jury briefly considered objecting before apparently deciding I looked unrepentent enough to let the matter go uncontested.

The gildas became perhaps the evening's funniest split verdict. Half the table looked at the whole anchovies and immediately surrendered their portions. The rest of us happily accepted the additional bites of salty, briny perfection and thanked them for their lack of courage. Their loss.

The shrimp pintxos were just as wonderful as I remembered from my previous visit, but Jeremy had quietly improved the experience. Remembering that I loved the spicy sauce, he simply brought extra to the table. It's such a small gesture, but it perfectly illustrates the thoughtfulness that runs through this restaurant.

The wreckfish skewers may have been one of the evening's quiet triumphs. On paper, skewered wreckfish over rutabaga purée doesn't exactly scream "must order." In Jeremy's hands, however, it became something unexpectedly magical. The fish was perfectly seasoned, beautifully cooked, and paired with a silky rutabaga purée that grounded the dish without stealing attention from the delicate sweetness of the fish. Elegant, restrained, and quietly brilliant, it perfectly reflected Jeremy's style.

The seafood special, a whole roasted redfish, was the night's lone disappointment. The fish itself leaned a bit fishy and the texture was softer than we would have liked. The accompanying herbaceous sauce was wonderful, bright, and full of life, but even it couldn't quite elevate the fish to the standard Jeremy had established everywhere else that evening. It was the only dish our jury agreed simply wasn't at the same level as the rest of an otherwise remarkable meal. (Side note, the pureed okra dotting the plate was wonderful all by itself).

The lamb picanha special, however, reminded us exactly why Jeremy is one of Charleston's most talented chefs. It was magnificent: perfectly cooked, beautifully charred, layered with fresh herbs that enhanced the meat instead of hiding it. This is Jeremy at his absolute best. If he can source this cut consistently enough to add it permanently, I sincerely hope he does because it deserves to become one of Estadio's signature dishes.

The lamb moruno was equally outstanding, cooked with the same confidence and precision. Once again, forks began wandering across the table toward neighboring plates as everyone attempted to secure just one more bite.

The beef heart may have been the meal's biggest surprise. Rich. Unctuous. Deeply beefy.

Our only mistake was not ordering more of it.

Finally came the Basque cheesecake. Creamy, luscious, and topped with olive oil and flaky salt rather than overwhelming sweetness. A few members of the jury simply couldn't get past their expectation that cheesecake should taste like American cheesecake. The rest of us happily accepted their leftovers.

By the end of the evening, our table looked less like a group of lawyers and more like survivors of a particularly delicious food fight. Plates had been passed. Forks had crossed jurisdictional boundaries. Arguments had broken out over the final bite of more than one dish.

That, more than anything I can write, tells you how successful this meal was.

Estadio isn't perfect. The whole fish special missed the mark, and honesty requires saying so. But perfection isn't what makes a restaurant memorable. Vision does.

Jeremy Gozlan cooks with remarkable confidence, uncommon restraint, and an obvious affection for the ingredients in front of him. He somehow makes vegetables compete with meat. He coaxes extraordinary flavor out of dishes that sound deceptively simple. He trusts his guests enough not to bury everything beneath butter, cream, or unnecessary theatrics. The hospitality is genuine. The beverage program is first-rate. The cooking has a point of view. Most importantly, it has heart.

Charleston has no shortage of very good restaurants. Estadio is something rarer. It is the work of a chef who knows exactly who he is. And if the empty seats I saw on my first visit are any indication, too many people still haven't discovered it. I hope that changes. Because after an evening of spirited cross-examination by a jury of skeptical young lawyers, the verdict was unanimous: Estadio deserves a full dining room.