Fern - Midwood

It was just a couple days before Christmas and my friend, who I affectionately call “Mr. Brown Eyes”, was driving in from Virginia after having had to work most of the morning. I was recovering from a hectic few days at work and a later-than-usual evening out the night before. We were trying to squeeze in a late dinner before I had to fly out super-duper (duper, duper) early the next morning. Needless to say, we were tired, quite punchy and in the mood for a little playful food mischief. This was bound to be a slightly nutty, off the wall evening and I felt sorry for the eating establishment that we were about to happen-upon. 

It was nearing nine p.m. when he finally knocked on my door and when I opened it, I swear both our tummies growled. We performed our familiar and playful greeting of me letting him in without giving him a hug and him rolling his eyes and snatching me up into a warm (and pleasantly smelling) embrace anyway. We laughed at our predictable selves as he served up his usual inappropriate suggestive comment while I continued on with my part, rolling my eyes, feigning offense and dancing out of his embrace.

Mr. Brown Eyes is an adventurous and very happy-go-lucky man and so I felt little fear at announcing that I wanted to try Fern, a new vegetarian restaurant in Midwood. He didn’t vocally protest but I paused just in case he hit me with the, I’ve-been-sitting-in-the-car-for-hours-and-I’m-effing-starving facial expression but notta—he was good with the all-veggie choice. It was clear that he wasn’t in it for the food; he was in it for me (awe!). 

I grabbed my coat and we headed for his uber-manly--yet sleek--black jeep sitting like a giant box-o-cool in the apartment complex parking lot. Again, we continued on with the usual--a slight argument about which way is quickest to the restaurant, followed up by his attempt to create atmosphere with music to drown out whatever I happen to be babbling about at the moment.

 It wasn’t long before we pulled into the very modest parking lot.  From the outside, the restaurant looked more like a tiny garden center or a place that you would find potted plants as opposed to cooked plants. When we walked in, I was a bit surprised at how small it really was. It almost reminded me of stepping into someone’s house, despite the fact that the walls were sprouting ferns and were painted a lush vibrant green color. The windowed doorway of the former store front was draped in free flowing taupe material that danced slightly as the door closed behind us. It appeared that the major purpose of the drapes was to serve as a barrier between those waiting to be seated and those already seated a scant few feet away.  For a second, I wondered why someone would have even considered opening a restaurant in such a limited amount of room. 

Despite the place being busy, we were seated almost immediately. We were lead to a center table, just a foot away from two women who eyed us wearily and looked less than thrilled to have me and Brown eyes as intimate dining neighbors. It was obvious that private conversation in such a small place with tables so close together was not an option. 

After we were seated, we both gazed up at the should-be-ugly but was absolutely not, light fixture created out of mason jars. It hung suspended from a weathered window shutter that was attached to the ceiling. It was weird but somehow still stunning. We stared at it and made comments while our dining neighbors paused dramatically in their conversation giving off an air of annoyance. I apologized if we were too loud and with barely an acknowledgement, the woman went back to chatting and Brown Eyes and I giggled. I knew it - we were going to be that couple tonight, the ones who might be mildly annoying to a few stuffy diners but vastly entertaining to the staff and fellow good-hearted co-eaters. 

 Almost immediately, we were given glasses of cucumber water – which I took as a promising sign because my favorite restaurant (ironically, situated just up the street from Fern), also offers up veggie laced water. I exclaimed somewhat over-excitedly, “They care about the water; this is good, Brown Eyes. This is real good.” I gave him my best over-exaggerated optimistic stare as I slowly lifted the aromatic water to my lips while the woman seated closest to me rolled her eyes. Brown Eyes and I giggled some more. 

After ordering a Highland Gaelic Ale (hailing from Asheville, North Carolina) to split, it was time to get down to business. We took in the menu. It was small but everything on it sounded interesting. You could sense no absence left by meat and we both had trouble limiting ourselves to just a couple of small plates to start with. The server informed us that they were out of the squash blossom hush puppies (which apparently are popular) and so instead we were offered sweet potato croquettes with a green chili sauce as a replacement option. After torturing our server with our indecisiveness we decided on the Fern Brushetta, which was described as a warm vegetable ragu over charred garlic bread, and the Three Sisters Cakes, promising corn and black bean cakes with a red chili sauce and smoked tomatoes.

Brown Eyes and I have a way of confusing each other and innocent bystanders (like our server) get sucked into our vortex of miscommunication so I wasn’t surprised when a few minutes later we were presented with sweet potato croquettes that we had considered ordering but didn’t. Brown Eyes was famished at this point and had actually started to enjoy the beer that he didn’t really like so he wanted to keep the accidental appetizer. I shrugged my shoulders and asked him to hold up a croquette so that I could get a picture. The next three minutes were filled with picture review and conversation about how he didn’t like the way his middle finger looked in the photo. I had to re-take - he is such a fussy model.

 We dug into the croquettes and they were delicious; crisp on the outside and creamy in the center.  I thought that the server said the dipping sauce was chili laced but it tasted and looked more like an arugula pesto. There was a hint of heat which did not taste like a chili sauce to either of us but regardless it was good. 

Next up was the Three Sisters Cakes. I took an exploratory bite and was surprised that they were a bit bland. I could taste the corn and black beans but they kind of fell flat, even with the addition of the red chili sauce, which tasted more like standard roasted red peppers than like chilies. I cringed as I realized that I was going to have to add salt. It was at that point that I saw the tiny portion of smoked tomatoes sitting in the pool of red sauce, partially hidden behind the generous portion of cakes. I tried one and was blown away--they were amazing. Brown Eyes didn’t like the cakes at all and had to be coerced into trying a smoked tomato. His reaction was like mine – he loved them. The smoked tomatoes were the only real winner on the plate and I wondered if maybe they had ever considered blending the tomatoes into the sauce.

The Fern Brushetta was a no-show. I decided that it was our fault because of that whole miscommunication vortex thing we tend to do. (I did make a dramatic promise that I was coming back for those warm veggies bedded down on charred garlic bread.)

Onto the entrees! Brown Eyes ordered the Om Burger, a monster veggie paddy showcasing pickled fennel, smoked tomato chow-chow, jalapeno aioli and choice of cheese (vegan cheese was also an option). I had a bit more trouble with my entrée decision as my heart sunk a tad bit at the realization that two of the best sounding options included soy---which I am allergic to. I settled on the Sweet Potato Gnocchi with a spicy tomato curry sauce, roasted veggies and cashew nuts.

We were both taken by surprise when the Om burger entered the room—server in tow. It was a monster clearly intending on taking over the table. This meatless, white bean, hemp seed and tofu burger promised to satisfy any man and was clearly going to leave a mark across the large appetite of my bomb technician dinner companion. One bite confirmed this assumption as truth. His eyes lit up and I could hear a faint groan of satisfaction coming from the back of his throat. The Om burger had succeeded---eclipsing me as his favorite thing at the table. I sat there for a second, sipping my beer and feeling ignored but just as I was about to voice my jealously, my sweet potato Gnocchi arrived. I had hardly seen a more beautiful sight. Little orange pillows rested atop tiny cubed veggies and there was a scattering of micro greens (or what I like to refer to as food-bling) dancing over it all. I dug into the pretty gnocchi. They were bathed in a slightly spicy tomato sauce that was more brothy than saucy. I didn’t remember that there were cashews in the dish until I came across one towards the end. As with the smoked tomatoes from earlier, I wished there were more of the cashews. Overall, the flavors were pleasant and subtle—not what I expected. I was impressed that the chef had managed to keep a pasta and curry paring so light but as with the earlier appetizer, it seemed to need a bit of “umph “– so I reached for the salt shaker for the second time in one meal. I was kind of disheartened that I needed to add salt to food that seemed to be carefully paired, creative and presented so beautifully.

 Despite my soy allergy, which is more annoying than life-threatening, I could not resist a tiny taste of the flavors in the Om burger and I too, was blown away—I especially enjoyed and was inspired by, the addition of pickled fennel.

I wish that I could say that we decided to stay for dessert but it was late and the Om Burger had taken every inch of available real estate in the tummy of Brown Eyes and I had that super-duper (duper, duper) early flight to make. 

As we waited for the bill, we discussed our food experience. We were both in agreement that the sauce descriptions for the appetizers seemed a bit inaccurate and that a couple of the dishes lacked a definitive spark of life but that their uniqueness somewhat made up for it. 

The staff was friendly and willing to humor us despite our extreme indecisiveness, food allergies and generally playful mood. Before we exited the restaurant, the hostess who had been watching us and appeared to be amused with our slightly louder than called for banter came over to joke with Brown Eyes about not finishing his beer and she even giggled when we cited that the monster Om Burger was to blame. 

I made one plea before I left and that was for the chef to work on an OM Burger without soy. They seemed to be open to the suggestion and said that they were still playing around with the menu. I hope that one day soon, I can have a go at the Om Burger. 

Fern reminds me of the type of place that you would find in Asheville, where the philosophy of farm to table fresh and in-season ingredients prepared creatively and presented beautifully is prevalent. Although, we felt like the meal was a little on the pricey side, I am glad that Fern has arrived. I expect that Fern will get better over time and foresee it becoming a popular place amongst Charlotte’s foodies—not just Charlotte’s vegetarians. As for where all those foodies are going to sit, I’m not sure…..

Give a Damn - Lunch at Crepe Cellar in NoDa

We stood at the bookstore and thumbed through the Charlotte magazine until we came to the article that promised to tell us the best 25 restaurants in town.  I skimmed over the article; all the usual suspects were present but they were all screaming cocktails and dinner. Seth looked on over my shoulder, the expression on his face echoing my own thoughts. It was Sunday, about 12:30 pm and we wanted something good, not too heavy but not too light. He is a meat-eater and I like my veggies the best. I suggested Fern, a new veggie-only eatery in Midwood and he said simply, “That’s not for me,” We stood there going back and forth about meat vs. veggies. I pointed out that in my own personal opinion; it takes a lot of talent to prepare veggies in an interesting and creative way when you don’t have the meat to “lean on”. He shrugged and called me picky and I informed him that I wasn’t picky but that I liked my food to be like art, lovingly created by someone who gives a damn.  

We put the magazine back down and turned away, slightly discouraged. My face held a squinty expression as I tried my hardest to remember the bazillion restaurants in Charlotte that I wanted to try but I was getting nothing. I was tempted to just go to one of my usual haunts, Soul Gastrolounge or Crisp. My stomach growled loudly and just as I was about to give in, Seth said, “What about Crepe Cellar in NoDa?” My face lit up and I hopped a little with excitement. Mr. Handsome Pants had remembered that I had once mentioned wanting to go there. Crepes; light or heavy, stuffed with meat or veggies--freaking brilliant! He smiled down at me, slightly amused by my reaction as we made our way out of the bookstore and to the car with renewed purpose. 

We drove slowly down the main drag (or the only drag) of NoDa and looked for parking. We ended up on a side street, two blocks away from the Crepe Cellar. We walked past the colorful buildings that housed everything from bars and art galleries to yoga studios and modern condos. We arrived at the door, not knowing what to expect---it just seems you’re never sure what is going on in NoDa’s colorful and varied structures. Always the southern gentleman, Seth opened the door for me and we were greeted with a small dining area that was mostly full. The inside of the restaurant was a mix of pub and diner. The tables were small but made from heavy dark wood with a mix of chairs and booths. There was also pub style bar with barstools along one of the establishment walls. It was cozy and comfortable and I could almost see the relief on Seth’s face that it wasn’t all dainty and French. 

We waited quite a while, taking note that there seemed to be one chick serving the whole room and the hostess was MIA. I figured that they must be short staffed and the server confirmed my suspicions as she seated us fifteen minutes later. 

We focused our attention on the menu and I ventured a peek up at Seth, who apparently was pleasantly surprised with what he found. The menu wasn’t “fu-fu” at all like he was expecting—there were some good meats represented here--ham, chicken and since this was the brunch menu, sausage. He looked up at me with a smile. It was apparent he had pictured the menu offerings would be like some fancy anorexic pancakes dusted with powdered sugar and he even told me openly later, that he figured that he was going to have to get “real food” before heading off to watch football with the guys later this afternoon.  I smiled up at him briefly before turning my eyes back to the menu to take it all in. The dish descriptions screamed “yummy” and I suddenly wished that my nasty habit of being health-conscious would just go away.

Seth and I discussed our appetizer options and one quick check of yelp.com later, we decided on the apparently famous pesto-brie fries. The server confirmed the yelp reviews that the fries were very popular. We looked around the room and could see at least three other tables happily sporting a mound of green pesto laced fries. We felt satisfied that we had made the right choice. 

When the fries arrived, they smelled wonderful and neither of us wasted a moment before digging in. The pesto was good and not overpowering as most pesto tends to be—meaning that, I am happy to report that I didn’t taste raw garlic the whole rest of the day. There was a scattering of diced tomatoes that paired lovely with the basil in the pesto and I found that to be where the real flavor and charm were hidden. The brie was minimal and the taste was a bit obscured by the pesto. I couldn’t see where the brie added much to the dish. The fries themselves were a bit on the soggy side and lacked a real texture. Without the pesto and tomato topping, the fries would have been a failure. 

 The server returned to take our lunch order. I ordered the buckwheat crêpe stuffed with mushrooms, spinach, shallots and goat cheese and Mr. Handsome pants ordered the sausage and egg breakfast crepe. We continued to munch on the ample serving of fries (I confess, I went a little beyond my limit of five) and about ten minutes later we were greeted with our not-too heavy lunch. Seth was surprised as he gazed down upon his plate. There were two crepes, one on either side of the small bowl of grits (resting comfortably center plate) and they were pleasantly full of eggs, peppers, shallots, cheddar and his most sought after item, sausage. My plate also held two crepes snuggled up against the bowl of grits. One peek down allowed me to see a beautiful little brown blanket stuffed with plentiful spinach, shallots and mushrooms. Seeing isn’t necessarily believing when it comes to food so we dug-in to confirm the yummy-ness that our plates suggested was waiting there. 

It was good, really good. Goat cheese can also be overpowering, both in flavor and texture but the chef at Crepe Cellar wasn’t having it-- they used the perfect amount of goat cheese. I noticed that I didn’t taste much oil or butter at all – which kept the dish feeling light. The shallots, which, by the way, are one of my favorite things on the planet, were sweet and added a bit of texture against the softness of the spinach and creaminess of the cheese. It seemed that there were a little less of the mushrooms but their flavor was distinctly there just the same. 

 Overall, I had a pleasant experience and can’t wait for round two. Mr. Handsome Pants is also game to give it another go. It was apparent that the meat-eater in him was satisfied and that I had found a place where the food was prepared by someone who did indeed, give a damn.

Passionate Urges

I love food and I love writing. I think this duo can lead to something so I am going to try combining them in my own unique little way and see what happens. My theory is that these two passions should get along well because my writing is kind of like my cooking; I get an urge, a passion is ignited and then I create--whether it be in the kitchen with a beautifully ripened tomato or at my desk with my own little word-play. Most of time, I don't know what I am going to end up with when I "create" (with words or food). I just never quite know what my passionate urges will lead to but I do know that I love skipping along the path, wustof knife or ballpoint pen in hand.

My love of food isn't limited to my ability to create in my own kitchen. I enjoy sampling the results of other peoples kitchen endeavors as well. It's nice every once in a while to find a unique place (AKA an awesome restaurant) and see what treasure their menu might hold or what creation a chef's passionate urges might have lead to. 

I foresee this blog being a combination of me fumbling around in my kitchen (sometimes with one hand stirring the pot and the other snapping uber-bad photos with my camera), looking like a hipster taking a bite whilst writing away at a local foodie hangout and last but not least, my ability to accurately convey the experience of my tastbuds to anyone reading this blog. 

This is just the beginning of what will hopefully be a fun, creative and taste-full adventure but for now, it's time for breakfast.

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