Have Cake, Eat it Too.

The last time I went to Charleston, South Carolina, was about three years ago. I don't remember many specifics about that trip, but one thing that stuck with me was a visit to this dessert place downtown. Mom and I walked from Barret's apartment, stumbled upon it and ordered alcoholic coffee and a brownie sundae so big that we had to call in reinforcements to eat it all. It was like Woman vs. Food, except we didn't get free T-shirts. Just a lot of chocolate.

The Charleston Museum is America's oldest.

During my recent trip Labor Day weekend, I had Sunday pretty much to myself. I had two things on the books that day - visiting the Charleston Museum, and eating at Kaminsky's again.

It's kind of funny. My geography of downtown Charleston is not very good. I knew the main streets were Market, King and Meeting, but that was about it. So I rolled into the visitor's center, got a map and took the tacky tourist route of figuring out my bearings. The map was one of those that had advertisements all around the border. But I didn't see one for Kaminsky's. I vaguely remembered it being on one of those three streets, and I was on no particular schedule, so I decided to walk aimlessly until I found it ... like we did three years ago.

The only problems with this plan were that it began to rain, my feet hurt after three hours of walking in really old tennis shoes that didn't have an inside sole and by 2 p.m. I was starving and wanted a destination, not a meander. I sucked it up and asked a shop owner, who gave me directions.

If a dessert cafe can be likened to a speakeasy (or, rather, what this 26-year-old imagines when she thinks of a speakeasy), Kaminsky's is one. It's dim inside - the brightest lights shine on the dessert case - and the furniture and walls are all made of deep-stained wood. It is exactly the type of place where you feel clandestine coming off the street and stepping in for an illicit chocolate beverage and sinful piece of cake without anyone noticing.

There are three types of things you can order at Kaminsky's: coffee, coffee with booze and dessert.
(Well. That is a bit of an exaggeration. A tiny bit.)

After scouring the menu for a solid 15 minutes (my poor waiter ... sorry!) I settled on the Thin Mint martini. Clearly it is impossible to go wrong if you have enough trust in your drink to name it after a Girl Scout cookie.

The Thin Mint lives up to its moniker. It's heavy on the chocolate, light on the mint. Strong on the liquor, but not overpowering. It's a little thinner than chocolate milk in terms of viscosity, so it makes a great accompaniment to the food you're getting. By "food," I most definitely mean "cake."

I took a gander at the dessert counter and after much thought and weighing of pros and cons, what arrived to my table was a giant slice of caramel pecan cake. The term "slice" is used vaguely. As you can see in the picture ... well. It's a hunka-hunka burnin', whole lotta lovin' on the plate.

Thin Mint martini + caramel pecan cake. What a lunch!

Texture-wise it was dense, yet still light in flavor. The buttercream icing (I am a major fan of icing and I will judge you if you choose whipped cream over frosting) was decadent and melted in my mouth. And in between the two layers of white cake - soft, salty-sweet caramel and chopped pecans. Had I not already promised Barret some of whatever I ordered, that thing would've been in my belly, crumbs and all. But since I swore I'd share, I did the classy lady thing and slowly savored each mouthful. The only thing that could have been added to it to make it better would be crumbled bacon.

One nifty thing I noticed about the layer cakes (and you can see it in the picture) is that instead of using a knife to slice the top off each layer and make them flat, the bakers at Kaminsky's invert the two domes on top of one another. This means 1) you save time baking cakes and 2) there are guaranteed two bites of basically just frosting in each slice. What a novel idea! I'm so using that.

There's a veritable smorgasbord of dessert choices, hot toddies and more to be had in this place. Kaminsky's is not for the faint of heart or the gluten intolerant. But for me? It was a sweet way to enjoy my cake, and eat it too.

More Photos!

Robert Lange Studios - my favorite place to spend an hour

Curiosity shop - best little hidden gem in Chucktown

Bay Street Biergarten - thanks for welcoming this
Georgia girl, even though y'all wanted to watch the
Clemson game

Pie for Breakfast

Have you ever had the intense pleasure of eating pie for breakfast? This decadent way to start off a day generally begins for me at Waffle House with my friend Laura, but over Labor Day weekend I got quite the treat in Charleston, South Carolina.

I spent the weekend visiting my brother, and we started off Sunday morning with a delicious brunch (we went so early it was breakfast, actually, but served off the brunch menu) at Bluerose Cafe. You wouldn't know it from the name, but I got the hint from the menu items and decor that the restaurant had Irish roots. According to its website, owner Denis O'Doherty came to the US in the 1980s, spent some time in Boston and then moved south to Chucktown. I salute you for that decision, sir!

The founding story behind the restaurant is on the homepage, and it's great. O'Doherty mentions that he mastered some of his mother's recipes for pastries and scones. I can attest to that, because when we arrived at Bluerose a plate of dense scones and airy cakes was placed in front of us. That was a perk of the full Irish brunch we were in for.

Really, the whole brunch was a perk. Barret (little brother) ordered the quiche and was presented with a huge hunk of eggy pie, which he proclaimed delicious. I wouldn't know, because he wouldn't share.

I may have taken a bite before taking a photo. Don't judge.

My brunch was crepes. Blueberry and cranberry crepes! Two of my three favorite berries, slightly crushed and stewed down with sugar until they delivered a sweet, syrupy filling spooned on top of a thin flour pancake. If you're not familiar with a crepe, the best way to describe it is a French taco (unsure why there was a French item at an Irish place, but I am not arguing; it was good). Instead of a tortilla, the crepe batter is poured on top of a big flat circular surface and thinned out with a fancy little squee-gee like tool (I'm sure there are industry standard names for these things). A good crepe like these turns out uniformly thin and flexible, able to be wrapped around that berry filling and then topped with a dusting of powdered sugar, and a drizzle of sumptious honey cream. I now understand why people talk about berries and cream like it deserves to be its own dish.

It was like eating pie for breakfast.

Each forkful was dripping with syrup. The juicy berries burst in my mouth, enrobing my tongue in a sweet and tart flavor sensation. There were two crepes and I could've eaten double that.

Thankfully my brunch came with a side of (you guessed it!) potatoes to tide me over! With a name like The Meatetarian, it's no shocker that my favorite food groups are meat, cheese, bread and potatoes. I am a huge fan of potatoes, because of their versatility and their ability to impart a salty flavor and starchy texture to balance out any meal. These home fries were bite-sized chunks of potato - official Meatetarian definition = took up two to three tines on the fork - and had crispy skin that hit my teeth with a satisfying crunch. Perfectly seasoned, lightly greasy (it is a diner!) and tender on the inside of each golden brown spud. I let Barret get a taste of the crepe, but man ... I hoarded those potatoes!

Bluerose's sign proclaims "Cead Mile Failte," which is Gaelic for "A hundred thousand welcomes." Whether you go in for a full Irish breakfast and fill up on scones or hold out for some shepherds pie at lunch, you'll feel right at home in this diner with a touch of Dublin, even all the way in the lowcountry.

Fish Taco Friday

Here is a first for Meatetarian Eats: A post without a photo of the food. This, y'all, is why 99 percent of the time I have a camera with me.

Friday just happened to be one of those 1 percent days when I didn't, and oh, does it pain me now!

I was en route to Charleston, South Carolina, to visit my "baby" brother, Barret. He's about to graduate from the Medical University of South Carolina as a pharmacist, and will make approximately WAY MORE money than his older, wiser, shorter sister ever will. I had planned out exactly where I wanted to eat and to a certain extent, what I'd order when I got there.

But those plans went the route of epic fail as soon as I got on the road Friday. In case you live in a rock (or just don't live in Georgia), Labor Day weekend 2015 was the weekend that a million extra people decided to come into our state capital for Dragon Con, Georgia Tech football, Atlanta Falcons football, Georgia State football, Atlanta Black Pride Weekend, Vice President Joe Biden ... and that's just the ones I can remember. It was a shitshow and getting out of Atlanta was just as bad as getting in. After spending an extra hour on the road to Evans, I decided to take an evening pit stop and spend the night there instead of go another three hours.

Photo from BirdDog Grille

Long story short, this pit stop brought Aunt Robbie (you'll remember her from our visit to De Novo) and I to a relatively new place in town, BirdDog Grille. I'd heard mixed reviews about it, but it was someplace neither of us had been. We figured what the heck, at least we'll get a good beer out of it if nothing else. This was the point where I decided to leave my camera at her house. Such a bad decision.

I don't know what on Earth these people ate who didn't like it, but we had experiences 180 degrees separate from each other. This place is a great little gem for Columbia County!

After much laboring over the extensive menu (there are wraps, burgers, dogs, paninis, sandwiches), I narrowed it down to the Peanutbutter Bacon Burger and the Dirty Bird wrap. Then when the waiter arrived to take our order, I did the natural thing and absconded the regular menu for the fish taco special.

I wasn't expecting much. Fish tacos from affordable restaurants are notorious for being the smaller tortillas with three bites (or a tee-tiny fillet) of fried fish with like, three dashes of cheese, a massive handful of iceberg lettuce and a generally amazing salsa of some sort. So when it came to the table, BirdDog's fish tacos exceeded all expectations.

First off, I got not one ... but TWO massive tacos. These were the big kahuna eight-inch flour tortillas, crisped nice and folded over grilled fish fillets. I'm not sure what kind of fish it was, but there appeared to be a lot of mahi mahi on the menu, so I'll assume it was that (still working on eating enough fish to be able to tell the difference between them).

They had lettuce, yes, but not enough to overpower your bites. They had fresh tomatoes, sliced in half so you could clearly see how bright red and sweet they were. And oddly enough, shredded cheddar cheese that was melting on top of the grilled fish. I don't like cheddar - it tends to have almost a mealy quality when it's not melty enough - but the cooks fixed this one up right.

The best part about these fish tacos, aside from the sheer size of them, was the sauce. It was white, creamy and spicy, almost a riff on a tarter sauce. I know from other items on the menu that there's a special BirdDog Sauce, but I'm not sure that this was it. Clearly I should have called the restaurant to address these questions before writing. Hindsight, guys.

Anyway, the sauce was so good. It was the perfect amount, too: just enough to add flavor to every bite and still seep out of the back of the taco all over my fingers. Not to steal the thunder from a certain fast-food chain, but that was finger-lickin' good. Sauce remnants that I didn't lick off my phalanges landed on the plate, so I got to dip my homemade chips in there, too. The chips were great texture-wise, though I did have to add a sprinkle of salt on top. Aunt Robbie had the BLT with avocado added, which was good (although not quite up to par with the one I ate at Folk Art).

I was so surprised when I dashed inside that though the patio (did I mention that we have a place in Evans with a patio now?!) was full, there was hardly anyone inside. On a Friday night! I'm not entirely sure what's wrong with my home county that there's a 45-minute wait at the two Applebee's, but not even the hint of a line at this place that has good food, a freakin' patio and is owned by a guy who graduated from Lakeside High School. We don't get that opportunity very often to support a local kid (term used loosely) opening a good restaurant that's not part of a chain.

Did I mention the patio yet? Having a patio also means that there's a chance to hear great music by Augusta-area talent. On Friday it was Bethany & the Southside Boys. I must say, there are few better ways to enjoy a fish taco than on a patio during a warm late summer night, drinking a cold beer and hearing the raspy, soulful sound of this crooning band reminiscent of Joss Stone and Janis Joplin.

Worth the pit stop.

Which Came First, the Duck or the Egg?

A good question, food eaters. In the case of my recent supper at Miller Union, it was the egg that first graced our table.

Normally I would scoff at the idea of paying $9 for an egg ... even given the rise in prices related to highly pathogenic avian influenza (don't worry; eating eggs or poultry will not give you bird flu). However, the farm egg appetizer at Miller Union is the one exception.

Photo from Miller Union's dinner menu page

According to our server, this delicacy is prepared by cracking a fresh egg in a bowl of house-made celery cream, which includes some garlic, some herbs, some other tasty things that make it incredibly aromatic and rustic. It's baked for a short period, then flashed again so the egg gets a satisfying golden coat. The appetizer is presented to the table with a platter of crispy grilled bread and a massive ceremonial silver spoon, which you use to break the yolk, stir up the creamy sauce and then scoop it onto bread. It's so good that despite the fancy price tag and my dry-clean only dress I went finger-first into the starter and did not look like the most ladylike customer as I put bite after bite in my mouth.

This was undoubtedly the coolest presentation of eggs to grace my table. Texture-wise what you spoon on each slice of bread is a combination of heavy sauce and lightly cooked egg whites. By mixing the yolk into the already thick cream, you get a velvety, buttery quality. It's equally simple in construction and elegant in execution, and it alone is worth the trip.

Then they bring you the duck.

Well. I ordered the duck, anyway; there's a whole host of regularly changing entrees you can choose from. But if it's there when you go, I promise it is all it is quacked up to be. (Get it? Quacked up? OK, you're right, review of fancy restaurant is probably not the best place for a lame pun. Moving on.)

Tender, rare duck breast at Miller Union

The seared duck breast is the most well-seasoned piece of meat I've ever eaten. Oh my heavenly days, y'all, it was all I could do to cut each tender slice into a bite-size portion so as to savor every morsel.

Rare duck breast is reminiscent of beef tenderloin in texture. The tenderness is unparalleled. It has a salty, herbed, flavorful crust and then a slight metallic tang of iron, in case you didn't already know you were eating incredible meat. It cut like a stick of butter.

The duck was served on top of polenta (it's kind of like a thicker version of grits) with pieces of onion,slightly sweet sliced figs and bitter, peppery arugula. I don't want to entice Chef Steven Satterfield (also a co-owner) to raise his prices, but I felt that $32 was a bargain for the quality of this meal.

We didn't save room for dessert (I'm telling you, that farm egg app is rich), but there is a dessert menu, and it includes such things as balsamic ice cream and what looks suspiciously like an edible version of a whiskey mule. So keep your sweet tooth in mind when making reservations.