A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of finally dining at Edmund's Oast. I know, I'm probably the last person in town to try it. While all of the dishes our table tasted were excellent, one was particularly exciting to me on a philosophical level. "Gotta be their heritage chicken and Carolina Gold rice porridge?" you may be saying to yourself. "Or the lamb meatballs? Definitely the lamb meatballs." Nope.

The dish I tried, which incidentally was also the best thing I have tasted all year and this is counting all of my meals in New York City and elsewhere was the Oast's heirloom radishes and turnips. Served raw, the root veggies were split into gorgeously seductive cross-sections with their greens still attached and accompanied by an decadently smooth and sweet roasted carrot butter and a tiny finger-bowl of coarse salt. I know, I can hear you already "Radishes? Raw radishes? Are you kidding me?"

I am not.

A vegetable dish this sophisticated and subtle suddenly called to mind other innovative and artistic vegetable dishes that I have tasted in other cities in recent months. Amanda Cohen's smoked-and-fried cauliflower and waffles at her New York City all-vegetable restaurant Dirt Candy, where the menu boldly announces "anyone can cook a hamburger, leave the vegetables to the professionals." NYC East Village dynamo Narcissa's Carrots Wellington, which swaddles salt-cured, then cocoa-and-coffee-roasted heirloom carrots in a mole sauce and flaky puff pastry (and don't even get me started on their spit-roasted crispy beets in horseradish creme). And a riotously savory wild mushroom and sherry bisque at Geronimo in Santa Fe, N.M., which achieved new heights of tongue-coating richness without resorting to the admittedly effective crutch of animal lipids.

That I could get a vegetable dish equally minimalist, focused, and creative in Charleston made me think. With the growing vegetarian trend and the move of diners to follow author Michael Pollan's advice: "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants," the more it seems to me that Charleston's next big food thing has to be an updated approach to high-end vegetarian and vegan fare.

For the discriminating omnivore, Charleston is a paradise of flesh. The chefs and restaurateurs of this city have built a well-deserved reputation on spinning even the humblest animals parts into transcendent mouthfuls of pure, fatty pleasure. But afloat upon this unctuous ocean of shrimp, ham hocks, and marbled beefsteak is an increasingly crowded raft of those who eschew meat and animal products. They are Charleston's vegetarians and vegans, and they are hungry.

What is it like to dine as a vegan in Charleston? There is, of course, no shortage of casual breakfast and lunch locales providing creative options for the meat-free, with Butcher and Bee, Dell'z Uptown, Sprout Caf, and numerous others standing out among them. Dinner time is another story. While most fine-dining establishments will make concessions to those who have eliminated animal products from their diets, the options available are often much more limited than for those who delight in more carnivorous exploits.

In many cases, the go-to option for vegetarians and vegans is what I will summarily dub the seasonal vegetable plate (SVP). It is almost always manifested as an assemblage of all of the restaurant's vegetarian sides and garnishes, arranged, like a kaleidoscope on a large circular dish. Sometimes the dish is square this does not matter. Even the plated concept of the SVP itself is tricky for the subconscious. When poorly executed it can feel like vegetable enthusiasts are made to eat from a grab bag into which can be conveniently dumped anything that passes for "vegetarian" on a given night some barley risotto here, a few spears of asparagus, and sure, throw in some of that steamed broccoli. While the voluntary accommodation on the part of the restaurant is surely appreciated, it's a little frustrating to those who eschew meat but still appreciate the artistry and sophistication of a composed, balanced, and thoughtful entre.

However, there are standouts amongst the crowd. And talking to some of Charleston's culinary leaders seemed to be the best way to shed light onto the varied methodologies of the SVP. While a few chefs positively bristled at the mention of this dish, most were not only willing but eager to discuss their approach to cooking for Charleston's cruelty-free denizens.

Indaco's Chef de Cuisine Andy McLeod, for instance, says that offering the seasonal vegetable plate is a decision based on emphasizing locality, seasonality, and freshness. "Sourcing is our primary focus," McLeod says. "Having a seasonal vegetable plate has been our approach to rotating through the best and freshest vegetables as they become available."

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Vegetarian fare takes center stage, but you have to ask for it