"I assume this is your first time here, since we just opened yesterday," says the bartender as I score the last seat at Remedy's marble-topped bar. Good guess. I tell her I'm in the mood for dessert, and she gives me a quick run-down of the menu. "We make all of our ice cream in-house," she explains, but she can stop now. She had me at "Felicia."
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Yes, it's an ice cream sundae with a human's name, which is a bit awkward, so maybe just point when ordering. A few bites in, you'll be okay with it. In a magical world where cake transforms into ice cream, the specialty sundae consists of a giant scoop of carrot cake ice cream topped with a cream cheese ice cream (see what they did there?), drizzled with a lush rum raisin caramel and flecked with generous chunks of toasted walnut brittle. It's worth ordering for the brittle alone.
I eat it like a glutton, digging the cooler-than-your-grandma's-malt-shop vibe while the thumping 90's hip-hop music confuses my senses. I chit-chat with the couple next to me, and life feels easy, like the owners have realized their vision of creating a place where camaraderie builds effortlessly over great food. The first-date couple just finishes their enviable-looking appetizer of jalapeno-chive hushpuppies when a server swings by and asks if they're ready for dessert, but they pull back the reigns and order their main course of fried chicken. You can tell they're proud of their ice cream and pies around here, and they should be. I didn't stick around to see, but my bet is the first-daters ordered the Felicia too, even if they were too full to finish it.
Me, I play it smart. I like to dive head-first into dessert, and this is the right place to do it. Decadent dessert with a little company to boot -- it feels like a remedy, indeed.
Remedy, 2010 Greenville Ave.