Finch & Fifth

    As I may or may not have pointed out at some point in this blog, it's no secret that Augusta is suffering from a tragically unhip shortage of modern, creative restaurants that, to recent immigrants, is shocking considering the size of the metro area.  And don't get me started on multi-cultural cuisine, which the locals seem hell-bent on choking to extinction by single-mindedly splatter-blasting their custom at restaurants with 30 year old menus (complete with stuck-on sauce stains) and legions of faded Polaroid Masters photos plastered to the walls of the entrances. Unless it's Hibachi, that is; in that case, wheelbarrow the white sauce on out! The pervasive small-town mindset seems to fear change, to mistrust the unfamiliar, much to the lament of the ever-growing and progressively more diverse population of "outsiders" continuing to find work here.

    Well, fortunately for all of us trapped in this disgruntled minority sect, I've found one of these rare gems nestled in the back of Surrey Center. I often feel it's a confetti-worthy occasion when I'm dining in the CSRA (Central Savannah River Area) and I don't feel like I've travelled back in time to the '80s, but without the really cool music and ludicrous hairstyles. Well, I'm adding Finch & Fifth to my list of hopefuls in the Augusta area. Let me be clear up front, while I personally have no beef with the joint, my party did observe some shortcomings, and I will address them, but for the most part, the food was excellent, the drinks classy and well-selected, and the overall experience was very enjoyable.

    So, let's get to it. Walking in, the place is very trendy. It's a sharp presentation of rustic accents; dark hardwoods, gentle light, shelves displaying the various selections of wine, liquor and beer, as well as a deli-style case displaying the current selection of charcuterie and cheeses. To someone like me, I was instantly excited, as the feel was very unique and it was clear that the entire motif was considered and executed with great attention to detail. Everything from the burled, stained wooden benches and tables to the wooden slat menu helped assure me of the qualityand uniqueness of the establishment. Which is good, because there's nothing I hate more than spending hard-earned dough on half-assed food and crap ambience.

    The place is basically set up to feature charcuterie (fine slices of various meats) and a somewhat small but diverse selection of cheeses, to be paired with a wine, beer or original cocktail of your choosing. All in all, that side of the house presents itself much like a tapas bar. These selections come on a platter accompanied by an array of fruits, crackers, and other such edible acoutrement. I chose the Lomo, which was shaved, smoked pork loin, and for the cheese, I went with Red Dragon, a mustard and ale cheese. I also sampled some of the beer on tap, the names of which sadly elude me now, but they were very nice, provided you can tolerate unearthly amounts of hoppy goodness.

    In addition to the small plates, they also offer a nice selection of salads, as well as a list of entrees ranging from Shrimp and Grits (Low Country-style, HEAVY on the butter) to Flat Iron Steak. I'm not sure if the menu is seasonally rotated, but it wouldn't surprise me either way. I appreciate that the offerings are varied while being kept to a manageable number. I always get nervous when I see a restaurant that tries to offer everything all in one menu; one undeniable constant in restaurants is that the quality of individual dishes decreases as the number of said dishes increases. The Midwest is particularly bad about this; I still remember finding Sweet & Sour Chicken at an Italian buffet (thanks, Valentino's...barf). The old adage of "quality over quantity" is crucial for restaurants wishing to give customers the utmost value for their money.

    So, I promised my wife that I would deal with the bad as well as the good, as her experience varied slightly from my own. It's amazing how six feet of table can cause individual experiences to be altered. Perspective is everything, I suppose. My wife (and I quite honestly agree with her) felt that the wait between drinks, appetizers and mains was far too long; at the time, I rationalized this by assuming that the environment was relaxed to match the more European style of dining. Much like the tapas feel of the menu, the service played out much like that you would receive in a continental European bistro. I personally did not notice anything amiss as I sipped my drinks and nibbled my meat and cheese whilst talking to one of my best friends in the world, so as far as I was concerned, things were perfectly normal. Some part of my brain was aware that time was passing, but again, I attributed it to the style of the restaurant and not to negligence.

    But here's the underlying thing: none of that sh*t will fly with a very pregnant woman at the table, not to mention others who have just come off of a long shift of work. So to be fair to them, I would caution readers to approach this experience with these things in mind and expect a very relaxed style of service. Don't get me wrong. If you ask, you shall receive. It just might take longer than Applebee's.

    She and I also felt that whoever was running FOH was a bit aloof and was not ensuring that waiters were checking on their tables often enough, especially if the large gaps in delivery of courses are indeed stylistic. It's one thing to let customers know up front that dishes will come out as they are completed, as is the case in many tapas-style restaurants and bistros, but large pauses between courses with no contact from the staff of any kind can be pretty irritating, I must admit.  For my part, I felt that our waiter was friendly, casual and approachable, albeit very young. That said, he knew the menu very well, knew a lot of good food and drink pairings and seemed generally knowledgeable.

    Bottom line, the food is great, the atmosphere is comfortable and stylish and the staff is very friendly, but if you're about to gnaw off a limb out of desperation, or have a very tight schedule, perhaps take a rain check and come back when you have some time to enjoy wine, women (or men, or whatever) and song.

***FREE ADVICE SECTION*** Pregnant Women: stay away; you can't drink and you're easily angered by pretty much everything. Delay dining here until after the baby is on the outside of you.
   

Augusta Vs. Georgia: Cage Match

    On the back of one of the most amazing weekends of my life, during which I discovered a wealth of cultural gems within my own state, I now write to you all in a most reflective state of mind. In light of these past few days, I find myself comparing various cities in Georgia to my current hometown of Augusta and its outlying suburbs. 

    Before we get started, let's get this straight: I'm a Georgia native. Apart from my military service, which relocated me to California, Texas and Nebraska, I have always lived here. I was born in Atlanta, raised in her outskirts, and educated to strive for a more universally contemporary South that embraces the wealth of cultures that compose it, which was a mindset that often came at the expense of my popularity during my high school years, which were spent in a more backwards, rural, cultural dead end in Jefferson, GA, well outside of the Atlanta area.

    ***Somewhat Amusing Digression Approaching*** In retrospect, I figure my high school harassment could most readily be attributed to the fact that my accent was a more neutral American accent as opposed to the local drawl, dripping with sister-loving Southern syrup; apparently, my vocabulary was too coherent and grounded in the actual English language for the liking of the locals. Well, that, and I didn't smell like them, probably. Regardless, I was a bizarre and pretentious affront to the local second grade vocabulary cap and I was a particularly peculiar species of misfit in my new surroundings. But I somewhat smugly digress.
***Somewhat Amusing Digression Concluded***

     From this perspective, as a non-native resident of Augusta, I want to explore the contrasts between this city and other Georgian population centers. Let's examine the facts. Fact: Augusta is the second-largest metro area (by population) in Georgia next to the Atlanta area. However, many of my other, more well-travelled colleagues and I find this little slice of "Georgia-Lina" somewhat lacking in style and contemporary appeal, whereas  many other, much smaller areas of the state have had the social awareness of the necessity of evolving to embrace a more modern outlook and adapting to accommodate a wider audience. 

     Augusta's economy survives largely on three things: 1) Medical students or anyone who really needs a medical job; my Dad is a pharmacist, and recently made a remark about how the only available jobs in the state tend to pop up in Augusta. 2) Soldiers/defense industry personnel, most of whom are stationed here and/or have no immediate choice to relocate. 3) Masters Tournament tourists, who regrettably cannot attend the Masters Tournament elsewhere.  

    My point is that a very significant portion of the people entering and supporting the local economy have very little choice in where they live. Like a big, wet blanket soaked with shameful tears, the blame for first establishing, and now perpetuating this social stagnation falls squarely on the native Augustans. Obviously, we (i.e., myself and my family), now live here too; it is now also upon us to add our sensibilities to the community, so here we are. 

    This blog is my contribution, my proverbial two cents, given in the form of tough love in order to raise awareness of the simple fact that Augusta needs a serious social reboot.

    The evidences of a forward or backward-thinking city can be observed in the presence or lack of many things, including, but certainly not limited to, accessible roads and sensible traffic direction, traffic bypasses, the promotion of cultural celebrations, local craft/farming events, community events, etc. However, the focus of this entry, obviously, will be upon the culinary side of things. And yet, as limited in scope as this may seem, the lack of modern, innovative restaurants representing a wide variety of cultures can be so indicative of cultural decay or xenophobic isolationist leanings on a fundamental level.

      First, let's examine Augusta from an outside perspective. To non-Augusta residents, it is immediately apparent that Augusta floats its own boat on the pride of the Masters Tournament. If I go out to dinner, I literally cannot swing a dead fucking cat without hitting at least one person with a stupid, yellow Masters flag somewhere on their clothing ensemble, and I estimate that greater than half of them didn't even attend the tournament; in fact, my Spidey Sense purports that they had someone who actually had tickets buy said apparel for them. 

    They reality is that I have, on several occasions, overheard out-of-towners lamenting the fact that they have to come to a "congested, backwards swamp" just to see a golf match. They regret that all Augusta offers are dilapidated 80's-style novelties such as Hibachi restaurants and places with dusty wax fruit on display or lobster tanks in the foyer (yes, I just pretentiously pronounced that "foy-YAY). They hate the fact that modern, trendy restaurants can't survive long because they are choked out by locally-enabled, substandard cuisine vomited out by outdated, mediocre and wildly overpriced restaurants like French Market Grille (btw, they literally and unashamedly gouge their menu prices during the Masters Tournament; once, they refused to give us the "local discount" because they didn't believe we were really locals). The guests are also annoyed that local businesses shamelessly tout their patronage from past and present stars of the PGA Tour, as if it's some milestone that one time, some guy who can juggle golf balls on his club came in to their restaurant to eat...as if he had a lot of choice. They resent the fact that Augusta has neglected to update its woefully outmoded traffic infrastructure to accommodate its rapidly swelling population, to say nothing of the yearly tourist influx. They wish they could be anywhere but Augusta. Anywhere. Like Mogadishu. Yeah, it's that bad.

     Now, brace thyself for the gospel of comparison; prepare for a veritable enema of truth, as I proceed to give some undeniable examples of cities in Georgia, to include even smaller, relatively low-traffic areas, that have not missed the bus and have already upped their games to the next level; I want to let them stand in comparison to Augusta. 

     Atlanta (or pretty much anywhere in the Metro Area): I don't need to say much about this one; Atlanta is currently redefining itself as the next big American powerhouse city. Cultural diversity, a lively arts and music scene, the recent swelling of the film industry, a business friendly environment, as well as a scattering of trendy districts offering varying atmospheres are all contributing to make Atlanta and its outlying areas the next big thing on the national map. I could (and I figuratively have done this) throw a freaking dart at a map and find an amazing dining experience, even a good 15-30 miles OTP (Outside the Perimeter, for the benefit of the tragically unhip). 

    Atlanta's surrounding area has benefited from exponential growth over the past decade or two. We're talking around 10 entire cities that all offer their own unique downtown scenes and microcosms. The entire area is such a cultural gold mine that it pretty much justifies the ridiculous traffic. We'll leave that debate for another time, though. I won't go too much farther with this, as there is literally just too much to cover in one post.

    Blue Ridge: This little gem, while arguably a tourist trap, is literally a tiny little railway town snuggled up in the foothills of the Appalachians. But what you see on a regular basis, even in the off-seasons, is a buzz about town; people coming and going, foot traffic, a miriad of shops and modern bistros, bier gartens, and breweries. It's a tiny community that has a lot to offer in a tiny package, and some of the restaurants are worthy of cities much larger than Augusta. Despite its remote location, this place has managed to keep up with the times and adapt to ever-changing trends. Add the splendor of fall to the mix and you can just forget about ever leaving. You will want to live under a bridge. But be warned: the locals will be laughing if you fork out the dolla-dolla bills for the choo choo ride; apparently it's not all it's cracked up to be. They will literally tape a "Kick Me" sign to your back as you ride off on a journey to the Land of Wasted Money.

   

    Athens: Granted, I have very few fond memories of this birthplace of bands such as REM and the B-52s, with most of them linked to smokey bar gigs in any number of the town's trendy little nooks. On second thought, it could just be that I hate both of those bands. I'm not sure. 

    Regardless, Athens, while sporting a shamelessly hippie-esque vibe, still offers a cornucopia of cultural appreciation, and thereby, a lot of good food. From Indian restaurants to kabob shops to vegetarian specialties, Athens has many unique restaurants, bars and hidey holes to discover. Healthy foot traffic can be observed on any day, and the nights are always alive until the sun says otherwise. The healthy music scene is fueled by a heavy focus on liberal arts and offers a lot of variety in the local acts. There's always something entertaining going on in Athens, provided you can stomach the congested, one-way streets and limited parking. Failing everything else, you can always grab some tickets to a UGA game and have a laugh at the expense of the absurdity of some of the more...enthusiastic fans. Just keep it to yourself or you'll probably end up dead in a piss-soaked alley or having an "Ugga" statue surgically removed from thy backside barndoor. Love it or hate it, Athens can be a happening place.

    Dahlonega: Once upon a time, there was not a lot to look at in this small, semi-mountainous town. Today, thanks largely to the exponential growth of a local military college, this city offers some serious charm, with a quaint town square at the center of a good number of stylish and clever restaurants and shops. The atmosphere is open, inviting and liberating. Beautiful buildings, both new and historic, add a satisfying aesthetic to the already beautiful rolling landscape. Quirky music shops and occasional street performers perfume the environment with curious charm. You never know what you'll find around the next corner. A scattering of local vineyards in the area add incentive to explore the beautiful. surrounding hills and imbibe its locally grown fruits. Dahlonega, the one-time capitol of Bumpkinistan, has now adapted to culture to become WAYYYYYYY cooler than Augusta, the second-largest metro area in the state. 

    Savannah: I'm only listing Savannah because of its cool downtown area and all of its offerings, to include the River Walk and the beautiful squares and building plazas. There are plenty of awesome restaurants and bars lining the avenues of the downtown area, and even a few really good ones outside the area. And hey, if you want to get REALLY fat on mediocre food for a LOT of money, you can eat at Paula Deen's stupid restaurant just so you can say you ate at a restaurant dreamed up by some fat, white lady with Chicklettes for teeth during a butter overdose-induced fever. Ghost tours, horse-drawn carriage (or "buggy," to Southerners) rides, open container allowances and beautiful cemeteries make Savannah's downtown district something to enjoy. But be warned: if you venture outside of the downtown area, prepare for a legendary bollocking of congestion and traffic along its infamous "Highway to Hell" known as Abercorn St. You will probably die, whether from boredom, traffic-induced injuries, or drive-by shooting (literally happened to a friend of mine), so don't even attempt this. Just enjoy the downtown and GTFO before a giant roach eats you.

     So there you have it. Every single one of those places pretty much puts Augusta to shame in almost every way. Obviously, I realize that absolutely no city is perfect, and that every area has its drawbacks. I'm not hating on Augusta for fun (mostly); I really want to see it improve. As I said before, it's up to us to raise awareness and work together as a community to heal these issues and make Augusta a more hip, enjoyable, commutable and culturally integrated environment. Augusta was recently described to me by an Atlanta-resident as, "It's so 'Old South,' but without the 'Old South' charm." And he's right. Augusta largely possesses that stagnant, dusty, old Southern mindset with the absence of many of the rustic aesthetics and amenities found in other, more contemporary Southern towns. Thus, the only remedy is to finally move this city forward into the new millenium and make Augusta into a place worthy of its size, worthy of the thousands of great people who populate it. I invite you to join me in this quest for a better Augusta. Thanks for reading!

-Matt Hartsock

   

    

The Garlic Clove: Augusta Deserves Better Standards

     So ingrained into American culture was the delectable phenom of Italian food, that when we moved back to the Southeast, the first question we asked was "where is a good place to find Italian food?" We had grown up in Metro-Atlanta, eating wonderful, family-style Italian cuisine from men who could barely speak English, their first languages being Italian and Greek. We had a waiter who knew our whole family, and even asked after us in our Military absence to the point that he even looked forward to us coming home to dine at our favorite spot. The food was rich, full of love, full of flavor, full of tradition, and everything that is representative of that wonderful, passionate boot sticking out of the bottom of Europe. And yes, we have been to Italy, known its people and its food. Marchello's was all about Italian food. All about family. All about flavor.

     Therefore, you can imagine my anticipation when the answer I was given from multiple locals was, "Garlic Clove." If truth be told, I had mixed reviews from the place, but I was desperate coming off of four years in the Midwest, where Italian food is bland and watered down to the point of unsalted tears. I just wanted some place where we could hang our hats and enjoy family-style Italian cuisine. The real deal. What we got was something...else.

     Now, to be fair, I have never paid a bill to this establishment. We have tasted the food of this place three times; once, treated by our neighbors, once, treated by our church, and once via their catering at an event. I want it said that I am grateful for the generosity of our good friends and community. The first experience was my best; I had their salad bar. To be truthful, though, Ruby Tuesday has them beat. Let that sink in and take it for what it is.

     My second experience was with a group. I understand that in a small business, the quality of what you provide, especially in a time-sensitive scenario, decreases as volume of distribution increases. It's just the nature of the beast. However, I would not have expected the standards to dip as low as I witnessed. I very simply ordered this: Ceasar Salad with Salmon Fillet. A standard offering at any restaurant that ever wrote a menu in English since the invention of the Caesar Salad. Here's what I got: A Caesar Salad. Oh, and my salmon? It came out separately. On a cheesy silver platter, like it was John the Baptist's severed head. Problem was; it was puddled in a pool of cool water. First clue of a microwaved or inadequately seared piece of fish. I cut into it. Raw. Raw, raw, raw.

    I cook salmon all the time. Truth be told, it's not hard; that's why I ordered it. It cooks quickly. It cooks predictably. It cooks well when well-seasoned, seared at an appropriate temperature, and finished in an oven or gently on a pan hob. And it's very easy to avoid overcooking or undercooking it in the hands of a somewhat-skilled cook. What I received was a seared fillet of Salmon meat with an ice-cold core. I mean frigid. It was colder than raw salmon I had eaten next door at Toki. I'm not even kidding. Hot, seared on the outside, frozen in the middle. This says one thing to me: "NOT FRESH." Well, it actually says two things: "Not fresh," and "our fish is frozen solid until you eat it, and our staff isn't trained adequately."

    I sent it back to the kitchen, with the server making absolutely no secret of being quite annoyed, thankyouverymuch. It quickly came back out on the same platter, clearly microwaved until done, still soaked in a pool of its own microwave juice. It was the worst salmon I have ever had in my life; it was rubbery, flavorless and tasted of freezer burn. This happened in front of twenty or so of my friends. So while said friends cautiously chowed down on their entrees, I went to the bathroom, which was littered with the Beowulf-style worship of the restaurant's "Executive Chef" via clips of various local (and I stress local) newspaper articles featuring him as some sort of hero. Fair enough. A chef deserves his accolades....as long as his proverbial walk matches his equally proverbial talk.

     Obviously intrigued in the most skeptical way imaginable, I decided to inspect this chef's culinary domain, as I had noticed the open kitchen on my way to the restroom. What I saw was something out of the Beavis and Butthead textbook. No less than four people, three of which could not have even graduated high-school, stood slapping each other on the asses with wet towels as though service had been finished for two and a half hours and the patrons had long gone home. The only problem is that it was 7:30PM and the restaurant was full! And I swear to the nine (sorry...eight) planets of this solar system, that in a restaurant with over fifty (and yes, I counted) guests, not a single member of the kitchen staff was standing at a hob. Not a single ass was in front of a stove or a prep station. The lead "chef," (not the aforementioned 'Executive Chef,') was dressed in red, and he was the one I observed smacking his staff on the bums with his apron towel. It's simple math: no fresh cooking happening = no fresh food. This means Garlic Glove kitchen = fake food. Microwaved food. No chopping. No stirring. No tossing. Lots of horseplay. Raw salmon. It all makes sense now. And we haven't even gotten to the worst bit.

     My third experience was of a catering nature, where my church catered in Garlic Clove's services for a Valentine's Dinner. I tried many things, but let me get straight to the OMG portion: Chicken Marsala. I was unfortunate enough to cut into an entire cutlet of unbelievably raw chicken breast. Completely raw. And this, again, was in the presence of an entire table of onlookers, all of whom had to examine their own bites to ensure that their slices of chicken weren't undercooked.

    Obviously, I know that one experience does not damn an establishment. As I always maintain, everyone gets a mulligan. But three times. Three consecutive experiences ranging from mediocrity to outright dangerous culinary negligence, two of which were consecutive, leads me to believe that the standards of this restaurant are highly suspect.

     I don't want to see a local business fail; I want to see a local business improve. I would encourage everyone reading this to reexamine their experience at this establishment, for the good of everyone who could potentially fall victim to their obviously inconsistent standards. Think critically, Augusta.