Locals Warn Tourists Never to Tell Anyone About This South Carolina Shrimp Buffet

I’d heard whispers before I ever set foot in Myrtle Beach. “There’s a buffet here that locals don’t like to talk about,” someone told me, half joking, half serious. The place, of course, is The Original Benjamin’s Calabash Seafood Buffet, a restaurant so famous for shrimp that even its regulars pretend they wish it stayed a secret. I came to see if the lore holds up, and I left with notes, stories, and a plan to return soon.

A buffet built on a boatload of shrimp

The first thing that hits you is scale. Benjamin’s seats hundreds and runs a spread that seems endless, with steaming trays of fried, boiled, and grilled shrimp, crab legs, hushpuppies, and Southern sides that never quite stop arriving. The line moves fast, and the buzz makes you feel like you’re boarding something bigger than dinner.

I walk past carving stations and a steam table that looks like it could power a small ferry. Staff keep the rotation tight, swapping pans before anything sags. That keeps the batter crisp and the shells snappy, which matters more than any secret spice. The Original Benjamin’s has served crowds since the eighties, and the system shows polish.

Myrtle Beach regulars know the drill, so the room hums without chaos. I pace myself and build small plates instead of a mountain. South Carolina pride shows in the details, from the stone-ground grits to the buttered corn. I leave space for the shrimp I came for, then circle back for one more bite.

“Calabash” isn’t just a style, it’s a coastal signature

Locals explained that Calabash means light batter, quick fry, and no heavy breading. It started across the border in Calabash, North Carolina, and drifted down the Grand Strand with fishermen and family recipes. At Benjamin’s, cooks dust shrimp lightly and fry hot, so the seafood tastes clean and bright. I taste salt air rather than oil, which is the point.

The method fits the pace of a busy service and keeps texture lively when plates cool. Servers check pans often and retire anything that lingers. That rhythm protects quality when crowds swell. South Carolina menus adopted the style decades back, and Myrtle Beach made it a staple.

You still see the technique in small roadside fry shacks from Little River to Murrells Inlet. I ask where the seasoning comes from and get a smile. The answer is always the same: timing and heat. It’s simple, but it takes care to get right when you cook for so many people.

A secret locals love and guard

Talk to long-time residents and they smile politely but rarely gush. They learned that too much praise turns Myrtle Beach spots into summer gridlock. Most of them visit off-season or at off hours, and they tend to bring family rather than huge groups. I followed their advice and had a relaxed meal with no rush. Staff talked freely about daily flow and how they keep lines moving.

They suggested weekday evenings for the calmest pace. South Carolina beach towns live by seasons, and the buffet does too. When the crowds thin, the dining room feels like a neighborhood hangout. I noticed locals greeting hosts by name and asking for favorite sections.

That familiarity tells me this place stays woven into routines. The buffet earns the quiet loyalty by being consistent. Regulars care about predictability more than flash. They want the shrimp hot and the sides steady. They get both, and they keep the secret as best they can.

Beyond the shrimp

It isn’t only about shrimp, though that’s what many people remember. I found flounder with a gentle crust, deviled crab that leans savory, and baked salmon that stays tender. Hushpuppies arrive crisp outside and almost airy inside. The salad bar looks old-school, but the greens sit fresh and cold.

I walked the room to see the nautical displays and paused at model ships that the in-house shop built over the years. The collection turns the dining room into a museum with a kitchen. Families wander between plates to point out cannons, rigging, and a hulking wheel. Kids seem to love the scale and the glow of warm wood.

South Carolina coastal history shows up everywhere you look, and not just as props. It reads like a scrapbook of fishing culture that shaped the Grand Strand. I leave full but still walk through the gallery again, which feels like part of the meal.

The rhythm of a local institution

Since opening in 1986, Benjamin’s became part of Myrtle Beach travel tradition. I met people who plan their beach week around one meal here. The restaurant’s woodworking shop made many of the ship details by hand, and staff take pride in that craft. You can see tiny carvings tucked along beams and railings.

That handmade feel sets it apart from copycat buffets that arrived later. Service runs like a practiced crew, with clear stations and friendly pacing. I asked a manager about changes and heard that recipes hold steady while equipment gets upgrades. That balance keeps regulars happy and helps newcomers understand the fuss.

South Carolina families pass the habit down, and you can feel that continuity at the tables. The place works hard to keep the experience familiar. I appreciate that they focus on flow and quality rather than gimmicks. It shows in how the room stays calm even when it fills.

What the “never tell anyone” really means

When locals warn tourists not to tell, it’s a wink rather than a hard rule. They know the secret sailed long ago, but they want to keep visits respectful. That means arriving with patience, listening to staff, and taking what you can finish. I notice the best meals here move at an easy clip.

People pace plates, talk, and enjoy the show of fresh pans arriving. It feels better than rushing. There’s also context beyond one buffet. Recent news in South Carolina spotlighted shrimp sourcing and labeling, with lawsuits stirring debate about transparency. Diners now ask more questions and read menus closely.

I think that’s healthy and fair to local shrimpers. The point of keeping quiet isn’t to exclude anyone. It’s to protect a place that treats guests well and tries to do things right at scale. Share the tip with care and leave room for those who call this coast home.

How to visit right

Come early in the evening or after the dinner rush. I aim for that calm window when the line settles and the kitchen hits its stride. Start with a small tasting plate and return for favorites instead of stacking too high. The shrimp keeps coming, so there’s no need to sprint.

I drink water, take short breaks, and check the stations that bound back fastest. Carving teams and fry cooks work in tight cycles, so timing helps. Save room for soft-serve at the end, since everyone says they won’t get it and then does. Wear something comfortable and bring a light layer, because dining rooms can run cool.

Ask about any specials or seasonal items. Staff will point you to what just came up. South Carolina evenings can stretch late, and parking tends to open up as families finish. Leave a little extra time to walk the display room before you go.

Why it matters now

In an age of fast trends, The Original Benjamin’s feels steady and rooted. It shows how a large dining room can keep standards when systems stay tight and people care. The menu honors coastal habits without fuss, and the room tells a story you can read between courses. I follow the sourcing conversation closely, because it affects trust on the plate.

This year brought fresh attention to shrimp origin and marketing in South Carolina, with advocacy groups and restaurateurs trading statements. Some businesses deny wrongdoing and highlight mixed sourcing along the East Coast plus responsible imports. That debate reminds me to ask calm questions and support clear labeling.

I enjoy the buffet more when I know what I’m eating and why it tastes like this coast. Myrtle Beach keeps evolving, but a place like this anchors the scene. It gives visitors a reliable first chapter and locals a familiar table.

The part you’ll tell anyway

Locals joke that tourists should never tell anyone about this buffet, but the truth is it’s too good to stay secret. If you make it to South Carolina’s coast, follow the smell of butter and the sound of quick fryers. Take your time and treat the meal like a small ritual. Start with shrimp, then sample sides, and finish with a cone.

Ask a server what’s fresh and they’ll steer you well. Walk the gallery and learn the names of the ships. You’ll leave with more than a full stomach. You’ll carry a snapshot of coastal foodways that built this area long before social posts. I tell friends to go with a light plan and flexible appetite.

The surprise lands in the pacing and the craft, not flashy tricks. Share the tip, but share it gently, and let the room keep its everyday rhythm.