Saturday morning, we returned to the site of Finley’s mass hysteria for our first trip of the year to the Farmers Market. Charleston’s version is a good archetype to emulate if you are looking to create an experience that exudes the homegrown feel indicative of a community-based initiative. The diverse collection of vendors includes carpenters, painters, photographers, sculptors, flowers from Nelly’s Farm, home trade and, of course, a large contingent of local farmers offering anything from sweet potatoes to okra to thai basil plants. There are also plethora of food vendors where you can sample a nice cross-section of Lowcountry cuisine. I went for the shrimp creole at 9:45 in the morning (after 9:30, it’s basically my lunchtime. Get your omelet out of here). Our favorite new tent is the appropriately named Meat House, who served a multiple variations of sausage, braised beef, and bacon. We’ll have to return to purchase another thai basil plant, as we recently murdered our first one with excessive shade, on the porch, with Colonel Mustard as an accomplice.
Afterwards, indecisive about lunch, we walked over to Broad Street to grab a sandwich at Brent’s, which eliminates any chance of post-order regret by allowing you to make your own sandwich from dozens of ingredients. We concluded our day by watching the Charleston Regatta from afar (really far. As in, 3 miles away far) and a trip to Salty Mike’s at City Marina for a Paws for the Cause event, an effort sponsored by the American Cancer Society to help combat skin cancer in dogs. There we learned two indomitable truths: an Icepick (sweet tea/vodka) is some sort of misguided, terrible substitute for a John Daly (Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka/lemonade) and Finley has quite an affinity for Australian Shepherds. Our friends‘ dog Aspen now has some competition.