One-dish pasta meals are a great vehicle for fresh summer vegetables. Making them is a snap for the chef, and cleanup is easy. To assemble these dishes, forgo the grocery and make a trip to your favorite roadside stand or farmers market.

I love green beans, and I’m always trying to get my children to eat them. They actually do in my recipe for spinach rotini with chicken, a simple dish that bursts with the taste of fresh sweet basil. Grilling summer squash and peppers to include with the trofie (short, squiggly twists of pasta) is easy; pulling them together with fresh pesto takes them to another level. Spaghetti and tomatoes is a classic pairing. Adding feta, crunchy bread crumbs, and thyme reinvents the dish. For a more sophisticated option, try the radicchio with shrimp, artichokes and capers—a guaranteed crowd-pleaser for any special occasion.

Don’t let the simplicity of these dishes fool you—ripe, well-sourced vegetables perfectly capture the bright, clean flavors of a summer garden. Enjoy!

Recipes:

• Trofie with Grilled Summer Vegetables and Pesto
• Spaghetti with Feta, Cherry Tomatoes, and Thyme
• Orecchiette Pasta with Shrimp, Radicchio, and Lemon
• Spinach Rotini with Chicken, Basil, and Green Beans

Andrew Evans is the chef at Easton’s Thai Ki.

In Thomas Eakins’ painting, “Max Schmitt in a Single Scull,” the rower’s craft is slim and light, skimming the surface of the water as lightly as a dragonfly. When the Baltimore architectural firm of Ziger/Snead was asked to create a home for a pair of avid water enthusiasts and rowers, it took this image of a historic rowing scull as inspiration. Like the quiet pastime of rowing, the new home on the Rappahannock River was to be a peaceful weekend retreat, a place to reflect on the convergence of water and land, horizon and sea.

“The water was the most important reason for being there,” says Douglas Bothner, the project architect. “There was something really compelling to the owners about where the water met the land and they wanted to be able to experience that from everywhere in the house.”

To maximize the connection between the structure and the landscape, the house was placed as close to the water as possible, with simplicity underscoring every aspect of its design and construction. In addition to the view of the Rappahannock, it also encompasses vistas of a wetland and a forest.

Historically, rowing sculls consisted of a straightforward frame construction covered in a light skin. Like a scull, the home is a long, slim frame wrapped in glass. The result is that the house becomes a border and the landscape around it a work of art. “If you take a snapshot and put it in a frame on the coffee table, people engage with it differently, as if it has more value,” says Bothner. “This is a way of representing the landscape and the river in that way.”

Though some private spaces in the home are opaque, due to the use of concrete fiberboard siding, interruptions in the transparent frame are kept to a minimum by using floor-to-ceiling glass in the public areas. Even the master bathroom presents an open face to the river, requiring no solid walls for privacy in this rural setting. Sliding doors allow the entire house to be opened to cross breezes, giving the feeling that the structure is one large, pleasant screened porch and blurring the line between house and nature.

The ideal of simplicity carried into the home’s interior finishes, where the owners challenged the architects to use basic materials in creative ways. Inside the 3,500-square-foot home, galvanized steel structural columns are left bare, the fireplace and hearth are concrete block and poured concrete, and the light fixtures (from Home Depot) are cast metal. Ziger/Snead developed the custom stainless-steel kitchen and minimalist lacquered cabinetry in keeping with the home’s restrained palette. Because the structure is essentially a glass box, there is little need for artificial light during daylight hours; a glass floor along the south-facing wall of the building allows sunlight to filter into the lower-level multipurpose and storage spaces while giving a lightweight feel to the home’s main floor.

Despite the home’s minimalism, the owners are colorful people who are active in the Baltimore area art community when not at their river retreat. Their personalities can be seen in splashes of color throughout, such as the red Ligne Roset “Togo” sofa (which offers a soft counterpoint to the rigor of the architecture), and the vibrant array of Arne Jacobsen “Series 7” chairs and bar stools scattered throughout the home.

“The success [of the home] is its simplicity,” says Bothner. “It’s so lightweight when you are inside. I think, in part, it is a very rigorous thing and yet it allows the life of the river to dominate. It slips away and becomes a wonderful frame for being in the landscape.”

Christianna McCausland writes from Northern Virginia.

The Wedge
17 Goldsborough St.
Easton, Md.
410-770-3737
Open Tues. -Thurs., 11 a.m-9:30 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 11 a.m.-10:30 p.m.

ATMOSPHERE: Classy Zen
SERVICE: Casual but professional
DON’T MISS: “Van Gogh” pasta, Tuna Martini
TARIFF: Small plates, salads, and cheese plates, $3.50-$12; entrees, $8.50-$25

At the Wedge, easton’s new wine bar/restaurant, three smooth decorative stones rest in a dish on our table. “Namaste,” a Hindu salutation, reads one stone. “Ecstatic” is inscribed on another. So is “ngon,” a Vietnamese word loosely translated as “rich in taste.” The stones, with their quirky messages chosen by staff members, are just one example of the restaurant’s unofficial mantra, “Keep it small, keep it real, keep it funky.”

Opened by restaurateurs Patty Brown and Monika Takala (Brown owned the Queen Bean in both Claymont, Del., and Rehoboth Beach; Takala and her mother had Sunflowers in Stevensville) in December 2008, The Wedge is a celebration of eclecticism. This is evident in the menu, which lists everything from tiny nibbles of olives to an ahi tuna martini to meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Her servers also wear their own clothes in lieu of a uniform and are encouraged to show off tattoos while maintaining a respectful professionalism.

If this sounds a little disparate, it is, but The Wedge manages to hold it all together by providing pleasant service and a variety of dining options in a Zen-like setting. And while small plates have probably outlived their 15 minutes of fame, there’s something to be said for a place that allows you to linger over a cheese plate and a bottle of wine or dig into something more substantial, like a crab cake and a microbrew. At least The Wedge’s customers think so. Takala already reports patrons taken to calling themselves “wedgies.”

We got the most pleasure from the fresher-than-fresh seared tuna special, served mock-sushi style over wasabi mashed potatoes with a pickled ginger garnish (though the sriracha-spiked cream cheese sauce on the side was an anomaly) and the “Van Gogh” pasta, a sweet mix of ear-shaped orecchiette pasta, green peas, and cream sauce, which managed to remind us why we thought sundried tomatoes were fab the first time we tasted them so long ago. Small potatoes with gorgonzola, walnuts, and bacon nestled in their hollowed-out middles made us wish there were a few more on the small plate. But both the crab cakes studded with roasted corn and the “amazing crab dip” failed to wow.

Unlike some restaurants that offer several cheese selections on one plate, The Wedge features only one 31/2-ounce portion of usually raw milk cheese, so choose carefully. Our plate boasted a generous (dare we say) wedge of Cabra Romero, a firm, tangy goat cheese from Spain, as well as a small tower of crusty homemade bread, an array of fresh fruit, and even a few sea salt-covered chocolates, something I’d skip if
I planned to order anything beyond the plate.

Desserts at The Wedge are more sweet than substantial, like the kitchen sink concoction of pound cake, ice cream, whipped cream and caramelized pecans or the burn-your-tongue hot rice pudding with more sweet nuts. French press coffee in full and half pots, however, is eminently civilized.

The Wedge offers a small storefront stage where local performers can literally sing for their supper.

This happens mostly on Friday and Saturday nights, but Takala is open to musicians showing up any time. “C’mon, bring it on,” she says with a wry laugh. “[Spontaneity is] part of the spirit of the place.”

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

Confessions of a Beach Tag Inspector

By Jessica Bizik

At first glance, when the Chevy van’s door slid open, you might have thought we were a bunch of neon-vested juvenile delinquents coming to pick up trash. (Or teen cult members sent to lure new recruits from the boardwalk). We were, in fact, Bethany Beach beach tag checkers coming to ruin your day.

The year was 1989 and two of my buds and I had taken the job to pay for our summer expenses before heading off to college. We expected sun, fun, and the opportunity to flirt with Chad Allen—“the hottest lifeguard, like, ever”—on our daily trek down the shore.

I had already planned, in great detail, the circumstances under which he’d save my life. These involved a tsunami, my efforts to rescue a lost puppy from the jetty, and a strong wind blowing me gracefully into the ocean.

But on our first day at work, the Beach Inspector General divided us into teams of two. My friends got to work together and I was paired with the last remaining female: a cranky, 300-pound North Jersey gal who could’ve made Tony Soprano cry Uncle Junior. Her name was Bertha. (Seriously, Bertha.) And she scared the living daylights out of me.

Descending on the beach, we surveyed our prey: a sea of seemingly narcoleptic people who fell asleep the moment we approached. The ones who managed to remain conscious popped their widening, Looney Toons-style eyeballs back into their heads, nudged their partners in (beach) crime, and ran directly into the water.

“Beach wenches, 3 o’clock!” they’d yell, leaping from their Ocean Pacific towels, leaving us in a wake of sand and disdain.

I, the ever-so-polite suburban prepster, had no rap whatsoever. “Excuse me, sir. Did you, by any chance, happen to purchase beach tags for your lovely family today?”

Some people were simply obstinate: “Do you seriously expect me to pay you to use nature? I mean, you aren’t GOD, are you?”

Others pulled out their wallets with a huff—forking over the cash as if I had somehow just offended them or something.

One woman asked me to watch her kid for 15 minutes. She came back five hours later!

And the older folks? Well, they simply enjoyed the company.

Bertha uttered two simple words: “BEACH TAGS” and you could practically hear the “Jaws” theme in the background. Everyone paid. Period.

“Why are you so nice?” I remember Bertha asking on about our fifth outing together. And I got the sense there was a lot behind that question.

I just stared at her blankly, shrugged, and we spent the rest of the summer thick as thieves.

Sometimes, she was even sweet to me. But not as sweet as vanilla soft-serve with chocolate jimmies—or practicing mouth-to-mouth with Chad Allen in the lifeguard stand a week before the season ended.

The Summer of My First Real Kiss

By Mary Ann Treger

The summer before turning 16, my biggest fear (and embarrassment) was that I had not been kissed. I spent many sultry nights at a pity party on the front steps of my New Jersey home contemplating the possibility of missing out on this momentous marker in my young life. 

My prospects for meeting Prince Charming were grim.

A shy, quiet kid, I longed to be one of the pretty, perky, popular girls. But my crooked teeth (now crowned) and oversized nose (now reduced) kept me off that much-envied list. Who-kissed-who was the topic du jour of every girlie conversation. I would keep mum about never graduating from the Spin-the-Bottle variety. The only real kiss contender I had in sight was Bob, the best friend of my sister’s boyfriend.   

The horror of turning Sweet 16 kissless superseded thoughts of kissing Bob’s grotesquely mismatched lips. His lower lip was, to be polite, oversized. This unappealing trough hung open all the time, exposing more moist, pink flesh than I cared to observe outside of a butcher shop. His upper lip was a cartoon line. I realize that this sounds superficial, even cruel to those born with less than ideal smackers. Bob was a great guy. If only I had focused on his wit—he was pretty funny—or his brains I might have seen beyond “the lip.” But cut me some slack. Fifteen-year-olds are not known for wisdom. Character was not my concern. My objective was a kiss. Ideally, equal to the one Burt Lancaster gave Deborah Kerr on the wave-swept beach in “From Here to Eternity.”

Bob asked me out a few times during that hot, sticky 1960s summer. Since my biological clock was ticking and there was nothing more palatable on the social horizon, I succumbed.

I can’t remember where we went—the movies or bowling or miniature golf. It doesn’t matter. All I remember was the wet smooch he planted on me at the end of the evening in the front seat of his overheated Chevy. Bob’s lips were like a big suction cup, covering the real estate from my nose to my chin. I imagined a teenage squid or octopus would have felt the same after a first smooch. When it was over, half of my face was wet. All I wanted was a towel. Just like Deborah Kerr.

The Summer I Stopped Tanning

By Kessler Burnett

I was a teenager in the early ’80s, when women were expected to bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and maintain a savage tan at all times. Next to a kickin’ pair of Candies and skin-tight Calvin Klein jeans, bronze skin was the most sought-after accessory—and I worked hard to get it.

At boarding school, as soon as spring’s thermometer topped 65, I would find a spot by the pool amid rows of girls slathered in oil dense enough to use in the filter of a Ford F-350. To amplify the grease’s effect, we’d use homemade UV reflectors engineered from tinfoil-wrapped Duran Duran and Go-Go’s albums. Every so often, girls would lift their heads to compare the progress of their melanin production. Even back then I understood that among women, tanning is a seriously competitive sport. Yet, try as I might, I just couldn’t keep up with my olive-skinned opponents. 

Truth is, I’ve never come by a tan easily. My mother has the tawny tone of a Choctaw squaw, my father the soapy pallor of a Scotsman. The genetic combo earns me a spot on the color wheel somewhere between ochre and bile, which yields skin with a tendency to burn. But I never let heredity stop my quest to look like the Bain de Soleil lady.

Then came my wakeup call. On one particular visit to the spa for a facial, the esthetician asked to look at my face under blue light. In the mirror before me emerged a beast’s face covered with a constellation of small black dots and big, misshapen brown blobs. As the esthetician pointed out the areas that revealed the most severe damage, the icy breath of regret brushed against my consciousness. Before me was the handy work of my ego: deep sun damage that threatened to define my future appearance and possibly health. That night, I broke off my relationship with Apollo and opted out of the tanning game. 

Now when I (twice annually) go to the beach, I more resemble a pile of laundry deposited under an umbrella. Instead of Brazilian bikinis, I wear a long-sleeve tunic, floor-length sarong, wide-brimmed floppy hat, and large sunglasses. I’ve donned this Sigmund and the Sea Monsters-esque costume on some of the world’s most exclusive beaches, from St. Barth’s to Mustique, without shame. While I may look like something out of Central Casting, my face, which I obsessively treat with microdermabrasion, Retin-A, and copious amounts of sunscreen, looks pretty darn good, and I sleep better knowing that I’ll have a few less wrinkles and age spots than my contemporaries, who continue to sear under the direct sun. So perhaps, when it comes to midlife female competition, I just might finally have a (pale) leg up. 

The Summer I Went Blond(ish)

By Jayne Blanchard

With its knee-high waves and pasty-skinned beachcombers, Ocean City was a far cry from the West Coast. But in the early ’70s, everyone was California dreamin’ and you wore pukka shells woven on leather strings around your ankles and Hawaiian print bathing suits whether you were from Hermosa Beach or Hampden.

Part of this California look was blond hair. The year I turned 14 I thought I was doomed to go through life a brown-haired Midge to the flaxen perfection of Malibu Barbie until a miraculous new product came out, Sun-In, which promised streaks as sun-kissed as Cheryl Tiegs on the cover of Teen magazine. All you had to do was spritz it on, wait 10 minutes, and then wash it out. Voila, instant surfer girl.

I ran down to Bailey’s Pharmacy for my bottle of Sun-In (a scene I imagined repeated across the country, as mousy-tressed teens stormed unsuspecting store owners, demanding their inalienable right to the pursuit of blondness) and squirted it on my head, as per the directions. True to teenage logic, I thought “Why wait 10 minutes when 15 would be even better?” By the time I washed it out, my crowning glory did not evoke images of Peggy Lipton or Michelle Phillips, but Archie Andrews of comic book fame.

All I needed was cross-hatches on the sides of my head and I could have been the king of Riverdale High with Betty and Veronica on either arm. But follicle faux pas love company, and as it turned out most of the beach that summer was dotted with girls and guys who tried Sun-In, so much so that by August the sand looked like fields of orange chrysanthemums in bloom. 

All season long I assiduously avoided the sun until 4:30 p.m., when I ventured out onto the beach, my carroty hair ablaze and my flounder-white flesh on display, sitting alone in a canvas chair reading “A Season in Hell” or furiously stabbing at my summer art project—a needlepoint rendition of Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.” Come to think of it, I had few dates that summer. Wonder why.

Summer Friends, Self-Doubt, and Raquel Welch

By Stephanie Shapiro

I loved the beach and I loved my best friend, Jo Ellen.

The beach was freedom, possibility, salt and sensuality.

Jo Ellen was fun, true blue, and always up for adventure.

But when Jo Ellen, a precocious beauty, came down to the beach and unpacked her astonishing bikini, the emotional metrics went haywire. Imagine lying next to a teenage Raquel Welch while you’re draped in a loud beach towel that does little to disguise an ill-fitting swimsuit and the chubby body contained within.

Jo Ellen flirted easily with the lifeguards while I toed the sand. I coveted her effortless banter and feared it at the same time. If I were in her flip-flops, I’d be petrified that it could lead to something more, like a date, and then I’d have to worry about other possibilities besides making small talk. 

So it went those circa-1960s summers: Jo Ellen tanned, I burned. Jo Ellen’s hair miraculously turned from dark brown to blond. My hair stayed tangled in a hippie-wannabe mess.

That Jo Ellen wrestled with her own self-doubts didn’t occur to me. Nor did it allay a simmering resentment that flared at times into full-blown jealousy. I downplayed Jo Ellen’s admiration for my jokes and dilettantish store of knowledge and craved a more tangible sign of superiority, as clear to a lifeguard as to Jo Ellen.

The triumph came one cloudy day at a faded amusement park. We slid into a weathered seat for two on the Tilt-A-Whirl. Rising, dipping and rotating, our panoramic view shifted nonstop between shining sea and boardwalk hokum. For about eight revolutions, nothing mattered.

Then, I glanced at Jo Ellen. She wasn’t having nearly as much fun. Her perfect tan had faded to pale green. I signaled the operator and the ride glided to a halt. Jo Ellen excused herself and became sick. For once, I had bested my best friend, who apparently couldn’t take the physical rigors of summer’s idle pleasures. “Wimp,” I crowed silently.

The next day, we probably returned to the beach. There was little no room for smugness there, save a giggle or two at Jo Ellen’s expense, as I lay shrouded in terry cloth next to my beloved, curvaceous friend. Jo Ellen and I probably pattered about boys and bands and hilarious teachers. And as we continue to do today, quietly forgave one another for the wounds that jealousy, self-doubt, and the nauseating ride between the two can exact on a friendship.

Hotel Rehoboth
247 Rehoboth Ave.
Rehoboth Beach, Del.
302-227-4300
hotelrehoboth.com

After getting caught in bay bridge traffic, my husband and I rushed into the lobby of the Hotel Rehoboth, late for a friend’s wedding in Lewes. “May we please check in so we can change clothes for the wedding?” I blurted to the woman behind the desk. Retaining every modicum of calm, she checked us in quickly, reassured that we had plenty of time to get there, and even complimented our quick change as we made our return rush through the lobby.

It was only when we returned to the hotel that we noticed the lobby’s little details: the buttery gold chairs and sofa arranged around the marble fireplace as if it were someone’s living room; the faux grand piano that doubles as a sound system; the sweeping staircase leading to the second floor; the fresh flowers, and the Oriental rugs (even in the elevator!). With its striking bright yellow facade and attached restaurant and upscale boutiques, it almost looks like something out of Naples, Fla. It’s definitely a different sort of accommodation for Rehoboth Beach, polished and predictable, but still family run. Best of all is the hotel’s location, right on the main drag, five blocks from the beach.

THE INNKEEPERS The hotel, which opened in March 2008, is a collaboration between former restaurateurs Bill and Peggy Martin (who owned Rehoboth’s The Homestead and Café on the Green, among others), their son, Keith Martin, and his wife, Sherri. “Our aim was to create more of a [full-service] hotel feel, not just a front desk,” says Keith. Hotel staff will schedule spa appointments or make dinner reservations for guests, services typically found at hotels with concierges. In addition, the hotel hosts a nightly wine and cheese reception for guests in the lobby.

THE ROOMS Although each of the Hotel Rehoboth’s 52 rooms (and five suites) is slightly different in size and shape, all have a standard, corporate hotel layout, but are decorated in the colors of sand, sky, and surf, a color scheme that runs throughout the hotel. Our king-size pillow top bed is dressed in shades of pewter blue, the walls are a creamy yellow, and the overstuffed couches and chairs in the sitting area are upholstered in muted nubby tweeds. Some rooms boast gas-powered fireplaces; 11 have private balconies, several with primo views overlooking the hullabaloo on Rehoboth Avenue.

SPECIAL TOUCHES/DIVERSIONS The hotel offers many extras including free parking, an open-air free shuttle back and forth to the beach, beach chairs and towels, an outdoor heated pool, and a lobby lending library known as the Book Nook. The hotel shares space with the charming Italian restaurant, Lupo di Mare (which provides limited hotel room service), as well as two swanky shops, Mod Cottage and Cleo’s Boutique.

WHAT’S FOR BREAKFAST The ample compli-mentary breakfast buffet isn’t going to improve your swimsuit figure. We grazed among plates of hardboiled eggs, bagels, oatmeal with dried cranberries and raisins, pastries, and an obviously homemade quiche.

ROMANCE FACTOR You’re at the beach. Live it up!

COST Rates in-season range from $179 to $399 per night.

O.C. for Free

Ocean City is bringing out the freebies for summer ’09. Here are some ideas on how to spend next to nothing at the beach.

O.C. Festivals You don’t have to be Polish or Greek to enjoy these two free festivals (but a love of kielbasa and/or spanakopita would certainly help). Ocean City’s Polish Festival Night takes place on July 28 and its big, fat Greek Festival gets swinging on Aug. 25. Both feature live music and traditional foods, from 5-9 p.m. at Sunset Park on the bay at S. Division Street.

Family Beach Olympics OK, so maybe sand castle building isn’t an official Olympic sport—but it is here. And so are relay games, tug of war, and a host of other family fun sports. Events take place Tuesday evenings, June 30-Aug 11, 6:30 to 8:30 on the 27th Street beach.

Family Movie Night There’s just something special about being able to watch a movie—and listen to the ocean at the same time. O.C.’s popular movie nights run every Mon. and Fri., June 29- Aug. 14 on the beach at 27th Street. This year, they’ll be a variety of kids activities—arts and crafts and games—starting at 7:30 p.m. Movie begins at 8:45 p.m.

Concerts on the Beach Bring your beach chairs or beach blankets and tap your toes to summer’s worth of musical acts who take to the stage on the sand at N. Division Street and the Boardwalk. Every Wed., July 15-Sept. 2, 8 p.m.-9:30 p.m.

Fire and Ice (Cream) Two free O.C. traditions—Bonfires on the Beach and Sundaes in the Park—continue this summer. The bonfire is lit every Thursday, from July 9-Aug. 27, on the beach at N. Division Street, and ice cream sundaes (served for a small fee) accompany the free concerts, Sundays, July 12-Aug. 27 at Northside Park, 127th Street on the bay.
—Joe Sugarman          

Ahoy, Matey

Finally, a reason to bring that saber, wooden peg leg, and eye patch out of the closet. The second annual Rock Hall Pirates and Wenches Fantasy Weekend, Aug. 8-9, is an invitation to channel your inner Blackbeard, with a cruise aboard a 16th-century pirate ship or by dressing up for the Grand Buccaneer’s Costume Ball. Hardcore swashbucklers can raft up the harbor on homemade “pirate dinghies,” and pirates-in-training can stay busy at the Kid’s Cove, where games, crafts, treasure hunts, and mock tattoos are available. Artisans, crafters, and pirate tale-tellers will be invading the town. Expect hearty grub and grog, too. Arrr. Throughout Rock Hall, Md. 410-639-7611, rockhallpirates.com.
—Kessler Burnett                          

The Art of Driving

Got a thing for gallery hopping? Then check out the new book, Art Drives on Delmarva, by writer (and CL contributor) Fran Severn, who outlines five drives, from Sussex County, Del., to Cape Charles, Va., covering 250 galleries and 100 events on the peninsula. The book contains maps, restaurant tips, and recommendations when traveling with pets. “People interested in the arts now have a guidebook to help them plan a day trip or entire vacation around,” says Severn. Available at Amazon.com, local gift shops, or delmarvadrives.com.
—J.S.

If asked to describe Latin American cooking several years ago, I would have cluelessly replied something about giant blobs of sour cream, guacamole, and dripping cheese sauce—the familiar American take on the cuisine.  
Don’t get me wrong, I’m the first to dive into a plate of nachos the size of a Thanksgiving turkey, but the authentic cuisines of Mexico, Peru, Chile, and other South American countries are much healthier and far less heavy. Sorry, sour cream and puddles of melted Velveeta do not exist south of the border.

I have had the good fortune to become friends with the Peruvian owner of a South American grocery store here in Easton, and I began my quest for authentic Latin cuisine with him. I also contacted a Mexican friend of mine, and I was not disappointed in what they told me. The recipes that follow are easy to prepare with ingredients readily available online, from Latin American markets, or from the international aisle of large supermarkets.

The steak a lo pobre is classic hearty food from Chile that is easy to make and filling. The chicken dish or aji de gallina is Peruvian, tasty and different, and you can adjust the spice to your liking. The refreshing Mexican beet and apple salad is a family recipe from my friend. Various empanada recipes can be found all over South America, but I find this version, made with seafood, to be particularly delicious.

Give these dishes a try and see if they don’t forever change your perception of Latin American food. You may never dump sour cream on a burrito again!

Recipes

• Aji de Gallina or Chicken with Yellow Pepper Sauce
• Grilled Steak a lo Pobre
• Pickled Beets, Apples, Oranges and Pecans
• Mixed Seafood Empanadas

Andrew Evans is the chef at Easton’s Thai Ki.

Old Gratitude House
5944 Lawton Ave.
Rock Hall, MD 21661
410-639-7448
www.oldgratitudehouse.com

It’s all about the water. Anyone who’s familiar with Rock Hall, Md., will tell you it’s true. This old fishing village has almost as many boat slips (about 2,000) as it has people (about 2,400). Its dozen or so marinas are spread along the village’s winding shoreline, which also boasts several waterfront restaurants.

A particularly scenic slice of this shore is occupied by the Old Gratitude House, which might best be described as a large waterfront deck with an attached house. The house is a frame structure dating to the nineteenth century and has the narrow foyer and low ceilings of an old house. But the modest foyer leads to a large, comfortable sitting room that in turn opens onto the inn’s best amenity, a rustic 1,000-square-foot deck overlooking the Chesapeake. The partially covered deck is where breakfast is usually served, and where cushioned settees invite you to spend the afternoon with a book in your lap as you watch boats transit a channel 100 yards away. It’s also a great place to open your own bottle of wine at sunset. On our recent visit, a rain shower spoiled the show, but we did find a decent shiraz at the nearby grocery store and retreated to our room to listen to the rain.

THE INNKEEPERS Sandy and Hank Mayer came to the bed-and-breakfast business about ten years ago, starting with a B&B in Annapolis, and are now beginning their fifth season in Rock Hall. “We used to stay in a lot of bed-and-breakfasts,” Hank says. “So we knew what we liked. And Sandy was looking for something else to do.” Helping to welcome guests are two West Highland Terriers and two cats. 

THE ROOMS Four rooms have private waterfront decks. A small fifth room—the Navy Blue and Gold—overlooks the street. The largest and most expensive room, the Orient Escape, is decorated in an Asian theme, with a queen-size platform bed and an in-room jetted bathtub. The Tuscany, which my wife and I stayed in, is a generous-size room with two armchairs and an electric fireplace. Furnishings inside and out are warm, traditional, and comfortable, with lots of dark woods, plush upholstery, and rich-looking wallpapers.

SPECIAL TOUCHES/DIVERSIONS Check local listings for the time of sunset; you’ll want to be on either the large communal deck or the one off your room. The time between breakfast and sunset can be spent using one of the inn’s eight kayaks. The inn also has one tandem and eight cruiser-type bicycles that some guests use to visit the Eastern Neck National Wildlife Refuge, about six miles south of town. “What we find,” Sandy says, “is that on the first visit here, people kayak and bike and explore the area. On the second visit, they do it less. And on the third, they just sit and watch the boats go past.” One outing that almost all guests make, she says, is to Waterman’s Crab House where a large deck draws crowds in summer to hardshells.

WHAT’S FOR BREAKFAST Coffee is available as early as 7:30 a.m., but breakfast is at 9. It might start with juice, banana-nut bread, and baked pineapple, followed by crab quiche and croissants
or perhaps bacon and pancakes. It’s a good bit of food but not the over-the-top fare that some inns serve. 

ROMANCE FACTOR Rock Hall is hardly a big honeymoon destination, but the Old Gratitude, its private decks and the cinematic sunsets are the right ingredients for a romantic weekend getaway. 

COST Rooms range from $150 to $250 per night. There’s a two-night minimum on weekends.

For more information on St. Mary’s County, visit maryland375.com.

See Some Planes: In Flight—and at Rest

Patuxent River Naval Air Station is the county’s largest employer, but if you lack the proper security clearance, you can always visit the Patuxent River Naval Air Museum instead. The museum is home to several dozen aircraft, all of which were tested by Navy pilots, including a Joint Strike Fighter prototype, a Cobra attack helicopter, and the not-to-be-missed rubber “Inflatoplane” made by Goodyear in 1959. Inside the museum’s warehouse-like building lie dozens of scale models, exhibits on engines and unmanned aircraft, and an entire display devoted to … helmets. To see the real birds in flight, visit on May 23 for the air station’s annual air show. 22156 Three Notch Road, 301-863-7418, paxmuseum.com

Watch the sun set

Romantic weekend escapes tend to involve buzz-words like “winery,” “waterfront,” and/or “Jacuzzi hot tub.” You’ll find them all—plus gourmet breakfasts, lovely gardens, and stunning sunsets—at Woodlawn Farm. The 180-acre estate and its regal manor house date to circa 1798; you can bunk in the main house or at several private cottages overlooking Calvert Bay. This summer Woodlawn offers its first vintage of five wines, made with French and Italian grapes grown on fifteen acres at a farm down the road. Attend a tasting in the garden or historic house, and let the romance begin. Rooms start at $140 a night. 16040 Woodlawn Lane, Ridge, 301-872-0555, woodlawn-farm.com

Check Out a New Museum

It wasn’t until 1962 that archaeologists discovered the remains of a seventeenth-century house along the St. Mary’s River. In fall of 2008 the St. John’s Site Museum opened, showcasing the discovery and the home’s evolution from a private house to tavern to finally being plowed over for a farm. The house, originally built in 1638 by John Lewyer, Maryland’s first secretary of state, went through several owners (including Maryland governor Charles Calvert) before being demolished and buried in 1715. The museum contains a fascinating look at early life in St. Mary’s City, and visitors can see remnants of the original structure, including the cellar’s stone walls, brick chimney, and other archaeological finds. Located on St. Mary’s College campus, 240-895-4990, stmaryscity.org

Visit a Historic island

Maryland’s first settlers arrived on The Ark and The Dove and held the first Catholic Mass in the New World on St. Clement’s Island in 1634. Since 1851 the island was home to the Blackistone Lighthouse, until vandals burned the building in the 1950s. Last year, the lighthouse was finally reconstructed, and visitors can tour the structure on weekends during warm weather. Also on the 65-acre island are hiking trails, picnic tables, and a towering, forty-seven-foot-tall cross made of fifty-gallon oil drums covered in cement, which was dedicated in the 1930s. Stop by the St. Clement’s Island Museum to get your historical bearings before taking the water taxi over to the island. Route 242, Colton’s Point, 301-769-2222, co.saint-marys.md.us

Visit a Plantation

Visit Maryland’s Only Tidewater plantation open to the public Sotterley Plantation pre-dates Mount Vernon and Monticello, but doesn’t receive as much attention as those Virginian homes because, well, no presidents called Sotterley home. The land’s original owner, James Bowles, was simply the son of a wealthy London tobacco merchant and member of Maryland’s Lower House of the Assembly. He purchased 2,000 acres and built a two-room house in 1703. But it was in the mid-eighteenth century that the house came into its own under the Plater family. (George Plater III was Maryland’s sixth governor.) The Platers converted the simple house into an English mansion, and named it Sotterley Hall after their Suffolk ancestral home. Today, visitors can tour the mansion house and gawk at its famed Chinese Chippendale stairway. Then explore the ground’s slave cabin, customs warehouse, and lush gardens. 44300 Sotterley Lane, Hollywood, 301-373-2280, sotterly.org

Listen to Beautiful Music

The place to be on a Friday night in summer in Southern Maryland is under the stars at St. Mary’s College’s River Concert Series. Maestro, impresario, and all-around ham Jeffrey Silberschlag leads the Chesapeake Symphony Orchestra in a free, family friendly program of musical styles ranging from Celtic to jazz to Beethoven. The season kicks off June 19 with the world premiere of “In Terra Maryland” by Maryland composer Nathan Lincoln-DeCusatis, with spoken texts culled from early writings on Maryland’s founding. The season continues through July 31. 240-895-4107, riverconcertseries.com

Eat the Local Delicacy

Visiting St. Mary’s County without eating stuffed ham is like going to Philadelphia without trying a cheese-steak. The local delicacy, a mixture of spiced greens stuffed in a brined ham, is available at church suppers, county fairs, and mom-and-pop restaurants throughout the county. At St. Mary’s Landing, it’s available in various forms for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. The setting—complete with Keno video screens—is typical roadhouse, but, hey, you can’t get a good cheesesteak at Ruth’s Chris, if you know what we mean. 29935 Three Notch Road, Charlotte Hall, 301-884-3287

Stay in a Historic House

In 1840, Dr. John Mackall Brome, looking to impress his new bride, built her a plantation house on 1,700 acres along the St. Mary’s River. Thanks to Dr. Brome, if you’re looking to impress a special someone, all you have to do is bring him or her to the Brome-Howard Inn for a night’s stay. Choose among four guestrooms, outfitted in period furnishings. Then take a stroll by the river or explore nearby Historic St. Mary’s City. Lisa and Michael Kelley are your affable hosts; Michael does the cooking and makes a mean mini crab cake appetizer and a roast breast of duck topped with an orange sauce. Mrs. Brome never ate so well. Rates from $125 per night. 18281 Rosecroft Road, St. Mary’s City, 301-866-0656, bromehowardinn.com

Eat Some (Very) Fresh Seafood

If you’re looking for the classic Chesapeake seafood dive of your dreams, just pull up your pickup truck to Courtney’s. Tommy Courtney, a local waterman, goes out fishing daily and his wife, Julie, cooks up whatever her husband brings back. For $15.95 you get a fresh fish platter, plus an extra helping of authentic Southern Maryland charm. 48290 Wynne Road, Ridge, 301-872-4403

Drive to the End of the Road

You’ll know when you reach Point Lookout State Park. You can’t travel any farther. This end-of-the-road park boasts scenery and history in ample amounts. During the Civil War, the park served as a prison camp for nearly 53,000 Confederate soldiers, and supposedly, many of the approximately 4,000 who died here still haunt its grounds. You can tour the park’s Civil War museum (and lighthouse during scheduled programs), or just relax by the water, rent a boat, hike, or camp for the night. Ghost stories around the campfire never seemed so real. 11175 Point Lookout Road, Scotland, 301-872-5688, dnr.state.md.us

You know all those offbeat places along Route 50 you’ve always been curious about but never stopped to visit? Well, we did. What follows are fourteen funky finds from the Bay Bridge to Ocean City.

1 A.H. Herb ’n Craft Farm

Spot It: Look for the handmade signs advertising fresh herbs and eggs, and, during election
season, political candidates.

What’s Inside: Who knew you could find the “World’s Best Bathroom Cleaner” on a Talbot County herb and chicken farm along Route 50? At A. H. Herb ’n Craft, you’ll also score dozens of other all-natural household cleaning products, dietary supplements, vitamins, handmade soaps, and organic eggs. Best of all, you’ll get an education in all-natural living from its loquacious owner, Fran Kisser, a Greek immigrant who practices what she preaches. Kisser grows many of the ingredients in the products she sells, from the roses in her rose-scented soaps to the lavender in her furniture polish. “Everything here is 100 percent natural, not 99 and a third,” she says.
Kisser, who once used the property to house her 4,000 show rabbits, now raises a flock of South American Araucana chickens, which lay
a blue-green egg. And according to Kisser, who also sells her wares at Easton’s Amish Market, business is booming. “There’s no recession for people who want to buy natural,” she says.—J.S.

13433 Ocean Gateway, Wye Mills, Md.
410-364-5068, http://www.ahherbncraft.com

2 Tuckahoe Steam & Gas Association

Spot It: Look for the small sign on the west side of the road—and old engines belching steam during special events.

What’s Inside: “Is this Tuckahoe State Park?” That’s what Tuckahoe Steam & Gas (TSG) caretaker Dave “Bullet” Wooters hears all too often from confused motorists who turn into the TSG complex. Hopefully, some of them stick around because there’s a lot to see here. TSG gets big crowds for its annual gas and tractor show, held the weekend after the Fourth of July every summer (July 9-12 this year). But you can pull in anytime to check out the impressive collection of vintage steam- and gas-powered engines, as well as numerous John Deere, International, and Farmall tractors at rest. The grounds are also home to the Rural Life Museum, filled with myriad Eastern Shore memorabilia, including farm tools, a re-created general store, and farmhouse kitchen. A new Machine Shop Museum houses huge early-twentieth-century, belt-driven boring machines, grinders, power hack saws, and more, all smelling of lubricating oil and hard work. No, this is definitely not Tuckahoe State Park, but it’s definitely worth a stop.—J.S.

11472 Ocean Gateway, Easton, Md. http://www.tuckahoesteam.org

3 Rabbit Hill Music

Spot It: Look for the ukulele mounted to the sign out front.

What’s Inside: Is it open? Is it closed? We’re never quite sure of the status of this eclectic music shop along a lonely stretch of Talbot County highway. And even when that recently installed “Open” sign is burning brightly, we’ve found the store locked. If you do manage to get inside, you’ll find a truly funky mix of music ephemera, from cheap guitar strings to stacks of 1980s cassette tapes to the odd ukulele hanging on the wall.—J.S.

10687 Ocean Gateway, Easton, Md.

4 Ruin of Old White Marsh Episcopal Church

Spot It: Brick wall that looks like a Mack truck drove through its center.

What’s Inside: This is one spooky place with some seriously deep roots. Built prior to 1690, White Marsh is one of the oldest churches on the Eastern Shore. Today, all that remains is a stumpy brick wall with a huge hole in the center. One of its most intriguing features is the restored tomb of Robert Morris Sr., father of the financier of the American Revolution, who settled in nearby Oxford. And White Marsh is not without lore: Legend has it that a few hours after the wife of the first rector, Rev. Daniel Maynadier, died, grave robbers dug up her body and cut a heirloom ring off her finger. The robbers were shocked to learn that Mrs. Maynadier was only sleeping. Roused by the pain, she sat up, and walked home to reunite with her likely equally surprised husband.—K.B. 

Located south of Easton, just before Trappe

5 Unicorn Bookstore

Spot It: The white, roadside sign emblazoned with a strutting unicorn.

What’s Inside: Hush-quiet, appropriately musty, and totally organized in its overwhelming collection of 30,000 used books, Unicorn Bookstore is a truly funky find along Route 50. Throughout the narrow aisles of the shop’s seven rooms, shelves made from old barn wood are crammed with books covering topics from trees to travel, crafts to Civil War, science to stamps. We spotted (and purchased) a rare copy of The Annotated Walden, a detailed chronology that includes sidebar notes, maps, drawings, and photographs of Henry D. Thoreau. But what makes this place a real treasure is its collection of roughly 3,000 books on Maryland history. “When I opened the shop in 1975,” says owner and Maryland native Jim Dawson, “no other bookstore had Eastern Shore history. James Michener used to come in here to do research for Chesapeake and so did Maryland historian Donald G. Shomette.” One of the coolest finds in the shop? John Ogilby’s 1671 tome, America, with a chapter on Maryland.—K.B.

3935 Ocean Gateway, Trappe, Md.
410-476-3838, http://www.unicornbookshop.com

6 Pop’s Market

Spot It: You can’t miss the Amish buggy on the roof.

What’s Inside: Yes, the Amish wagon on the roof should clue you in as to what you’ll find inside: hundreds of pieces of Amish-made furniture, from bookcases to miniature lighthouses. The goods come from approximately fifty different craftsmen in Pennsylvania and furniture can be custom-ordered. Pop’s was started in 1978 as a seafood and produce market, by J. Melvin “Pops” Schwaninger and his two sons, and it remains a family affair. Wander the grounds and you’ll be struck by the sheer variety of items here. Where else on Route 50 can you buy a six-passenger golf cart, a backyard shed, a gazebo, and a pre-World War II tractor? “We try to be different than everybody else,” says John Schwaninger. Speaking of which, as the sign out front says, you can get your ducks cleaned here, too.—J.S.

4093 Ocean Gateway, Trappe, Md.
410-476-3900, http://www.popsmarketinc.com

7 Vintage Toy Store

Spot It: It’s a dilapidated blue building completely covered with colorful cartoon characters.

What’s Inside: Well, nothing, as far as we know. The “No Trespassing” sign that’s been on the door the last few years has kept us out. But at one time, the inside of this distinctive building held a treasure trove of vintage toys and memorabilia, from Brady Bunch lunch- boxes to Star Wars figures. The only sign of life recently has been the wooden board on the lawn advertising duck and goose hunting services. Still, the fact that the store closed doesn’t stop passers-by from noticing the building, making it one of the most recognizable sights on this list.—J.S

Across from the Hyatt Regency Chesapeake Bay Golf Resort, Spa & Marina

8 Lake Lou

Spot It: Water-skiers whizzing through the air at supersonic speeds

What’s Inside: Sure, you expect to spot waterfowl and even the occasional nutria while passing over the Nanticoke River Bridge. But water-skiers cruising at speeds of up to 35 mph across an 880-foot slalom course? Welcome to Lake Lou, a man-made body of water, where the members of the Vienna Ski Club congregate on most summer weekends. Founded by water-ski enthusiast Louis “Lou” Alcamo, the club consists of twenty hardcore skiers from ages twelve and up. A bevy of campers and charcoal grills dot the grounds around the lake while tanned tricksters heat up the water, flipping, turning, and twisting the summer days away. You’ll swear you’ve stepped into an ad for Juicy Fruit gum. Spectators are invited to watch-skiers practice anytime during summer.—K.B. 

9 Wright’s Market

Spot It: A herd of miniature goats underneath a giant windmill.

What’s Inside: What word other than funky could best describe a place where you can find ice cream and Adirondack chairs, produce and pygmy goats, homemade sauces and the saucy Miss Watermelon? (Get her autograph at Wright’s 7th annual Watermelon Festival on August 2.) Operated by the Wright family for the past sixty years, the market is a box-store-size enterprise, silly with homemade pies and cakes (made in the in-house bakery), fresh-from-the-soil fruits and veggies, and even a homemade ice cream stand. Kids can wile away the time feeding the goats or taking a hayride through the farm’s sixty-five acres in the fall.—K.B. 

9300 Old Railroad Road, Mardela Springs, Md.
410-742-8845, http://www.wrightsmarket.com

10 Goose on the Roof Antiques

Spot It: Look for the giant Canada goose in flight atop the roof and wire chickens in the yard.

What’s Inside: From the highway, Goose on the Roof Antiques looks deceptively diminutive, but inside are 10,000 square-feet of cool finds. Housing booths from thirty-two, mostly local vendors, the store is a magnet for collectors cruising Route 50 in search of, well, old stuff. “It surprises me how many kids come in here who are collectors,” says Gwen Marshall, who owns the shop with her husband, Gary. “They make a beeline for things like baseball and football cards and coins.” But what ups the funkiness factor here (besides that goose on the roof) is an adjacent field crowded with garden art: Giant chickens made from scrap metal mingle with near life-size metal bulls with “Keep Out” carved into their bucking forms. Birdbaths, benches, and chimineas add to the offbeat ambience.—K.B.

26510 Ocean Gateway, Hebron, Md.
410-742-0010

11 Gateway Books

Spot It: The plain white building just south of Goose on the Roof Antiques (see above).

What’s Inside: Don’t let the name fool you. Gateway is so much more than a bookstore. Yes, there is a decent selection of used books here, as well as a good collection of local Native American artifacts and antique bottles, but the shop’s owner, Bob Mooers has made a name for himself in the vintage newspaper business.

Back in the early 1980s, Bob started buying up newspaper collections from libraries and reselling them for a profit. “Within a year and a half I made a half million more than in my entire Naval career,” he says. These days, his collection has dwindled considerably, but Gateway still sells reproduction newspapers with the biggest headlines of the twentieth century. So if you’re looking for that “War Declared!” headline from a 1914 issue of The New York Times, this is the place.—J.S.

26550 Ocean Gateway, Hebron, Md.
410-860-9750

12 The Chicken Man

Spot It: It’s hard to miss the bright orange “Chicken Man” sign.

What’s Inside: You don’t expect fried chicken to taste so good when it’s served at a place with gas pumps out front. Or maybe you do. The house specialty, lightly fried and served with potato wedges and coleslaw, is the tastiest chicken you’ll find for miles around. But The Chicken Man also serves up smoked brisket, chicken wings, slices of Smith Island cake, and undoubtedly the best chicken pasta Florentine you’ll find at a shop that also sells road maps, lottery tickets, Slim Jims, and six-packs of cold Bud. “We get regulars who go to the beach and wait to eat until here,” says owner Kirk Vaughan, whose parents opened the business in 1986. “It’s a mom-and-pop place and people like it that way.”

People also like it when Vaughan suits up in his Chicken Man costume and waves to passing motorists on Route 50. Now, that’s something you don’t see everyday on a busy highway.—J.S.

27000 Ocean Gateway, Hebron, Md. 410-749-6608

13 Eastern Shore Pet Cemetery

Spot It: Tombstones, iron gate. Yep, it’s a cemetery.

What’s Inside: Born in 1961, “Smoothy” Soloway apparently lived a good long life when she finally died in 1977. So did little Half Pint, whose thirteen years on this earth made someone so happy that he or she decided to inter their pet in the Eastern Shore Pet Cemetery. The funeral gardens, which shares its grounds with a cemetery for humans, serves as the final resting place for hundreds of dogs and cats. Many sites are decorated with flowers, American flags, and illuminated crosses. The tombstones make for a fascinating read, revealing as much about pet owners as they do about pets. So, Little Tinker Bell, may you do as your headstone says and “run with Mr. Ball forever.”—J.S.

Route 50 W, Mile Marker 106, Hebron, Md. 410-749-1411.

14 Maryland Biodiesel Station

Spot It: Looks like a clean, well-lit gas station.

What’s Inside: On the surface, there’s nothing too funky about a gas station (unless they sell delicious fried chicken inside, of course. See “Chicken Man,” above). But what merits a mention of this pumpatorium is the fact that it’s only gas station in Maryland that sells several grades of biodiesel at the pump. The fuel, sourced from local Perdue factories, is made from soybean oil or rendered chicken fat by Berlin’s Cropper Oil Company. It’ll only work in your diesel-powered car or truck, so you gassers will have to make due with the regular stuff, which is also available. Diesel drivers will find their car’s exhaust smells decidedly like french fries, and cruisin’ down Route 50 doesn’t get much more funky than that.—J.S.

10535 Ocean Gateway, Berlin, Md.
410-641-3383, http://www.mdbiodiesel.com

Popular Paddles

We asked environmental writer Tom Horton, a guy who knows his way around the Bay in a boat, to suggest some of his favorite kayaking trips.

Susquehanna Flats. “The grasses in the Bay in general are disappearing, but they’re coming back on the Susquehanna Flats,” says Horton. “Go out in the middle of summer and you’ll see grasses like you haven’t seen in maybe fifty or sixty years. Some of them even have blooming flowers. It’s like kayaking as a botanical expedition.” Put in: Havre de Grace, then paddle around Turkey Point. For rentals, try Starrk Moon Kayaks, 717-456-7720

Smith Island. “There are seven separate water trails here, ranging from a mile or two to seven miles. Smith is not easy to get to, but once you do, the trails are well marked.” Put in: Rentals are available from the Chesapeake Sunrise B&B, 410-425-4220, paddlesmith-island.com
Blackwater Wildlife Refuge. “This is about as close to a wilderness experience as you can get in a major metropolitan area. You can paddle for a mile or you could spend an entire weekend.” 
Put in: See friendsofblackwater.org for a map and rentals.

Wicomico River. “The river is big, both upstream and down, but there are some very inviting creeks you can explore. It’s all pretty unspoiled.” Put in: End of Clara Road past the Red Roost or upriver by the White-haven ferry crossing. The White-haven Hotel has kayaks for guests, whitehaven.tripod.com
Pocomoke River. “This is a beautiful spring paddle among big bald cypress. In May, you’ll see azaleas and prothonotary warblers. Pocomoke River Canoe Company rents kayaks and will shuttle you up. It’s a two- to three-hour paddle—and one of the best for spring in Maryland.” Put in: At Porter’s Crossing above Snow Hill. Pocomoke River Canoe Company, 410-632-3971. 
—Joe Sugarman      

Free Wheelin

Two-wheelers take note: There’s two new bike maps to follow this season. Bike Talbot County, featuring six trails from twenty-six to thirty-two miles, take riders past one-room schoolhouses, farmlands, and historic cemeteries. To launch the guide, one of the nation’s pro cycling teams will christen the trails from May 19-22. Also check out the new Dorchester County Cycling Guide, which outlines nine scenic bike routes ranging from five to eighty miles. Hardcore riders can opt for the fifty-seven-mile Eagleman Ironman Triathlon loop that takes riders past the likes of Great Marsh Park, Old Trinity Church, and Taylors Island Wildlife Management Area. Casual bikers can take the five-mile route along the Choptank River from the Hyatt Regency to the visitors’ center. Tourdorchester.org; tourtalbot.org.
—Kessler Burnett

Eye on the Sky

More than twenty species of shorebirds stop off on Assateague Island during the annual spring migration to sleep and eat. Here’s your chance to spy on a few at the 15th Annual International Migratory Bird Celebration on May 9. Walk the island in search of rare species, catch a lecture on migratory patterns, and take a guided tour of the 1833 Assateague Lighthouse. Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge, Assateague Island, Va. 9 a.m.-4 p.m. 757-336-6122, chincoteague-chamber.com.
—K.B.

Above the early-nineteenth- century mantel in Fred Comer and Mark Manoff’s living room hangs a portrait of the ninth Duke of Northumberland, elegantly adorned in the khaki battle dress of the Grenadier Guards. With its nod to the Colonial aesthetic that typified British gentlemen’s clubs, the living area is undoubtedly a place where the duke himself would happily hang his slouch hat.

Here, a civilized blend of rugged and gentile décor reigns: a zebra-skin rug pops against a coral Kinsey Marable reading chair, an arc of Black Forest roebuck antlers crowns the wall space above a Queen Anne sideboard, a grouping of Chinese jars perch atop a bookcase across from an imposing Cape buffalo trophy. “The buffalo trophy was the first thing in here,” explains Comer. “So it, along with the duke’s portrait, which is five and a half feet tall, lends that clubby look and masculine scale that we were after.”

Residents of Washington, D.C., Comer and Manoff, who both work in publishing, first discovered the Northern Neck in 1994 after buying an eighteenth-century farmhouse near Urbana, located on the bordering Middle Peninsula, as a weekend retreat. It wasn’t long before they relocated to Irvington, lured by the potential of the home perched on the tall banks of sleepy Carter’s Creek. Despite its waterfront appeal, the house, a dilapidated, two-bedroom rancher built by a local waterman in 1953, needed lots of work and a hefty dose of creative vision. “It was one of those sad little unimaginative ranchers that, unfortunately, there are far too many of in this country,” says Comer. “But we were sold on the location, which had amazing, long views of the creek.”

With the help of Kilmarnock architect George Thomasson, the pair set about transforming the mediocre into the magical. They brought charm to the façade by parging and painting the brick, which lent an aged appearance, while the addition of a cedar shake roof brought dimension and character. Inside, the floor plan was enlarged to include five bedrooms and five and a half bathrooms.

Throughout the three-year renovation, Comer took the lead as interior designer. “My opinions are heard,” Manoff says with a chuckle, “but I know that Fred’s the tastemaker. When we lived in an apartment in Washington, one night I came home from work, and he had thrown all my furniture in the dumpster and redecorated the entire place.”

“He said, ‘I like it!’” recalls Comer. “And I thought, ‘This is going to work.’”

The kitchen, which shares an open floor plan with the living room, is Manoff’s domain. Cabinets are cleverly fronted with grillwork, which prevents guests from having to hunt for what they need. The custom-made island was distressed to appear antique, while two dishwashers make for easy cleanup during weekends, when the four guestrooms are typically full of visiting friends. Vintage cookbooks, from Some Favorite Southern Recipes of The Dutchess of Windsor to Trader Vic’s Helluva Man’s Cookbook, sit over the porcelain farmhouse sink. “When I didn’t want to study in college, I would cook,” jokes Manoff.

Daffodil season marks the official opening of the porch, which adjoins the living room. Here, plush couches and a small dining table overlook life on the creek, where the pair docks their three boats: a Chris-Craft, a Cape Dory Typhoon, and a Boston Whaler.

Understated glamour is the theme of the master bedroom. An eighteenth-century Chinese bench fronts the bed, while white and tan linens pop against buff and bone appointments. The French doors incorporate the tranquility of the creek and open-air pool house into the space. “We live out there all summer long,” says Comer. “We come in to cook a meal and then run right back out. There’s very little reason to go inside in the summer. It’s all you need.”

Summer days are dedicated to lounging by the black slate pool, while summer nights mean gourmet dinners in the pool house, complete with working fireplace. Above the dining room table, accessorized with 1950s Chinese Chippendale faux-bamboo chairs, hangs an iron lantern rigged with a pulley system that makes it simple to light the candles inside.

“The space really became our dining room, which is what the house was lacking,” explains Comer. “When the boats are on the water and the pool is open, why would you want to be anywhere else?”

Brooks Tavern
870 High St.
Chestertown, Md.
410-810-0012
brookstavern.com
Open Tues. -Sat., lunch, 11:30 a.m.–2 p.m.; dinner from 5 p.m. 

ATMOSPHERE: Rustic chic
SERVICE: Inexperienced but well meaning
DON’T MISS: Oyster fritter; chicken sautéed with spinach, mushrooms, garlic, and cream over pasta
TARIFF: Small plates, $6-$12; large plates, $22-$30

Entering brooks tavern, some folks notice the rough hewn walls and wide plank floors, remnants of the building’s former life as Radcliffe Mill. Some eyes are drawn to the neon beer signs behind the bar; others might notice the sheep’s wool blanket and set of animal horns in the dining room. But the reader in me spies a small collection of food magazines, including the little known but very fine Art of Eating just inside the restaurant’s entrance. Without having tasted a bite of food, I’m convinced that someone here loves food, pays it close attention, and I’m going to get a good meal.

That someone is Kevin McKinney, former chef/owner of the Kennedyville Inn, who opened Brooks Tavern with his wife and business partner, Barbara Silcox, in 2007. The menu at the tavern is a nod to the seasons, to local products, and to McKinney’s own culinary whims. “Kevin likes to cook what he likes to cook,” says Silcox wryly. “He’s very spontaneous.”

The tavern’s menu, divided into “small plates” and “large plates,” “changes subtly all the time,” Silcox adds, explaining that “six months from now, it will be 50 percent different.”

Some of that change is due to the availability of seasonal produce (“no strawberries in January” reads the restaurant’s Web site) and locally sourced products. The restaurant has begun to serve St. Brigid’s beef raised in Kennedyville, and during the summer, chicken comes from Elkton’s Locust Point Farm, which only pasture raises its chickens during the warmer months. There are a few menu items diners can count on, however. Silcox promises they will always offer the Carolina crepe, a barbecue-filled crepe that was a favorite at the Kennedyville Inn, as well as crab cakes in the summer and oyster fritters during the winter.

I’m very glad our visit coincided with the end of oyster season because the fritter is spectacular for something so simple. Billed as a small plate (but certainly ample enough to share as an appetizer), the fritter is classic Eastern Shore—a light, filmy batter holding together a generous handful of oysters that become plump, juicy pillows after cooking. They’re bathed in a lemon butter sauce that makes a rich dish even richer. At the time of our visit, other small plates included several salads, fried calamari, and the Carolina Crepe, which I’m looking forward to trying on my next visit.

Large plate offerings included a roasted half duck, pork medallions with cheese and capers, and a handful of daily specials, most of them featuring seafood. My favorite was rockfish and locally raised Marvesta shrimp stir fried with red cabbage, watercress, and ginger, and served over rice noodles, which wowed with its harmony of Asian-inspired flavors. Chicken sautéed with garlic, spinach, and mushrooms, napped in cream, and served over noodles was equally balanced, homey, and satisfying. I was less enamored of the braised lamb served on a bed of polenta. The shredded meat had become dry, and while I’m never one to say no to carbs, mashed potatoes seemed an odd accompaniment.

The restaurant offers a small selection of wine and beer (all in bottle, which is disappointing for a tavern, but makes less work for the owners), and the excellent bread and large selection of desserts are made in house. If all are as good as the bread pudding with caramel sauce save room.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

The thing about driving to the beach is that you usually don’t want to stop anywhere until your toes touch the sand.  But one warm day last fall, just as the leaves were beginning to turn, Senior Editor Kessler Burnett, photographer Kirsten Beckerman, and I decided to make Route 50 itself the destination. We stopped at all those offbeat places we had always wondered about, those stops and shops that we simply breezed by before, too eager for that first bucket of Thrashers fries. In “Funky 50” we include fourteen of the most unique—from an herb farm that sells blue eggs to the haunted remains of an old church to a cemetery for pets. Who knows? Maybe some of them are regular detours on your own journeys to the beach.

Also, in this issue, we take another road trip through St. Mary’s County in honor of that county’s role in Maryland’s founding 375 years ago. Then we head to Rock Hall and check out the Old Gratitude House Bed and Breakfast. In Traveling Gourmet, our food critic visits Brooks Tavern in Chestertown, and Andrew Evans contributes four authentic Latin American recipes in Andrew’s Kitchen. This issue’s home design story tells the tale of a a rundown mid-century ranch house transformed into a sophisticated gentlemen’s retreat.

In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve added four new blogs. Contributor Mary Ann Treger writes about new restaurants, shops, and the social scene in The Annapolis Insider. Our recipe guru, Andrew Evans, brings us a confidential look at the life of a professional cook in The Fat Chef. Kessler Burnett gives us a feminine take on Eastern Shore living in the Girls’ Guide to the Eastern Shore, and I ramble on about new restaurants, ideas for more offbeat road trips, and all things Chesapeake in Cup o’ Joe. Please use those comment boxes on each of our blogs to let us know how we’re doing.

Oh, and you should know that we working on an issue devoted to pets for September. If you have an irresistible dog or cat, hamster or snake—or whatever—please submit your photos and any cute tales about your pet to our Web site. We’ll publish them online, and the cutest pet will win its picture on a mocked-up cover of Chesapeake Life!

Joe Sugarman
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FORGET THE FERRARI, THE VILLA IN TUSCANY, THE THREE-CARAT SOLITAIRE. When I fantasize about pursuing my bliss, I envision a lush, arboreal expanse with a sculpture collection that puts Versailles to shame.

This pie-in-the-sky notion took hold years ago, when I lived near the Baltimore Museum of Art. The Rodins, Calders, and Henry Moores in the museum’s outdoor Wurtzburger garden were my favorite neighbors—so graceful, so reliable, welcoming in every season. But, like me, they resided in a concrete world. I liked to think they deserved a true garden: an all-natural backdrop of trees, flowers, and shaded pathways to frame their beauty.

I began to daydream, mentally centering my favorite pieces on this emerald lawn, in that circle of evergreens. Still, barring the big lottery win, I knew my reverie required a generous bequest of real estate and an arts magnate who’d offer my pick of masterpieces. To date, that hasn’t happened.

But that’s just the scenario that occurred in Calvert County. In 1994, longtime residents and philanthropists Francis and Ann Marie Koenig donated thirty acres of waterside property in Solomons to create a spot “for the appreciation of contemporary sculpture.” Since then, Annmarie Garden has blossomed into a park and arts center that soothes the spirits of locals and visitors.

Last fall, after hearing that the garden had unveiled a new arts building, I made a visit. Just outside of Solomons, I found my destination: a drive marked by a pair of ceramic, Art Nouveau gates swirling with images of trees and water. I took that as an encouraging sign—a promise that both art and nature were honored within.

Inside, Annmarie Garden is anything but formal. More public park than manicured landscape, its walkways perk with visitors: parents pushing strollers, couples toting cameras, solo visitors and their pets (leashed, of course). Behind the shiny new arts center, which opened in May of 2008, visitors relax under umbrellas on the patio.

At the entrance circle stands the garden’s oldest installation, the bronze and granite “A Tribute to the Oyster Tonger,” by Tobias Mendez, gazing somberly beyond his shallow fountain. As I discovered, he’s in the minority here; most of Annmarie’s collection of more than thirty pieces is rough-hewn, modern, and abstract. Many works are on loan from the Smithsonian’s Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, acquired through an affiliate program that Annmarie joined in 2003. 

That partnership, initiated by a trustee, is one of several that have helped Annmarie Garden to blossom. “Sculpture is expensive, so borrowing it is a great idea,” explains director Stacey Hann-Ruff.

Each of the artworks has its own niche along the paved paths, sheltered by a forest of hollies, pines, and maples. Some invite participation: I follow the elevated wood-and-steel platforms of A Surveyor’s Map into the woods, and rest on the stone benches of The Council Ring, which recalls the spirit of an ancient amphitheater.

Farther on, I discover The Women’s Walk, a themed grouping of six female bronzes. By turns innocent, exhausted, watchful and wise, the figures add a poignancy that their sterner neighbors lacked.

Help from the state, Calvert County, and two nonprofits, Ann’s Circle and the Koenig Foundation, has helped the garden to grow over the last six years. With their combined backing, Annmarie marshaled the resources to design and build its 15,000-square-foot, $3.5 million arts building. (If your bliss includes buying naming rights for new museums, here’s your chance.) The two-story gray structure provides space for rotating indoor shows and pieces by private artists, a cafŽ, and gift shop. Last year’s exhibitions ranged from “Olga Hirshhorn Recollects,” an exhibit of works by Picasso, Miro, and Matisse, whom created works specifically for Olga and Joseph Hirshhorn to “Sailor Made: The Art of the Woolie,” an offbeat collection of nautical needleworks. An art glass exhibit at year’s end coincided with the Garden in Lights display, an annual holiday tradition.

In the spring, Annmarie is a palette of pinks, as the garden’s extensive collection of Glenn Dale azaleas comes into flower. Scores of hybrid varieties bred for their profuse blooms line the walkways and dapple the woods, thanks to young volunteers who have planted 500 shrubs in the last decade. “It’s the prettiest time of year,” says Hann-Ruff—and a boon for photographers, too. They’re constant visitors through the peak season, which usually runs from April through June.

The garden’s former administration buildings now house the Studio School, which offers art classes for children and adults—a large part of Annmarie’s community presence, according to program and education coordinator Jaimie Jeffrey. She oversees more than fifty classes for adults and children, from preschool art experiences to three-day painting seminars.

“We’re quite proud that we’re now a little economic engine in the county,” says Hann-Ruff. “We employ artists to teach, buy their works to sell in our gift shop, and host a number of events like the fall Arts Fest, which brings many visitors each year. We didn’t set out to do it, but we’re creating jobs and attracting people to Solomons.”

I make a second circuit around the garden, enjoying an unexpected sense of homecoming. Annmarie’s sculptures, I decide, are all the better in their natural setting. They command the attention of human visitors with cool serenity, oblivious to the squeals of scampering youngsters and the sniffs of curious terriers. It’s just as I’d thought, all these years: We humans need the splendor of huge, artistic creations. All they need is the splendor of the grass.

Carol Denny writes from Arnold, Md.

Annmarie Garden. 13480 Dowell Road, Solomons, Md. 410-326-4640, annmarie-garden.org

After two excruciating days holed up in an Eastern Shore hotel, struggling to resuscitate the ailing draft of a new novel, author James McBride gave it up for dead, pointed his 1991 Volvo toward Bucks County, Pennsylvania, and headed home.

But a few missed turns sent him wandering the back roads of Dorchester County on that cool October morning five years ago. In a field a few miles outside of Cambridge, he happened upon a small sign noting that Harriet Tubman, the Moses of the Underground Railroad, was born somewhere in the general vicinity. 

“I was a little surprised at the marker for Mrs. Tubman,” he remembers thinking. “It was kind of humble. Is that all there is?”

But the marker got McBride wondering about the institution of slavery, how it’s viewed today, and the complexity of relationships among free blacks, slaves, and their owners.

He found in the Eastern Shore a complexity that was just as intriguing.

“It has a certain sadness and a certain magic to it,” he says. “The place reeks of history, and I was also impressed by the resilience of the folks I met there.”
Rural Dorchester County was two hundred miles and a world away from the all-black housing projects in Brooklyn, New York, where McBride grew up, the son of a black preacher and a white Jewish mother, who passed for black. She even hid the truth from her twelve children until most of them had
finished college, a story famously told in McBride’s 1996 best-selling memoir, The Color of Water.

That day on the Shore—and the demise of the novel he couldn’t save—was all it took for McBride to begin work on what would become Song Yet Sung, the story of a beautiful, young, escaped slave woman whose futuristic visions of freedom throw the county into turmoil in the tense years before the Civil War. The book was released in 2008 and will be reprinted in paperback this spring.

Recently, McBride, fifty-one, returned to Dorchester County, and we met over eggs and grits at the Cambridge Grill to talk about his newest book, and how its setting on the Shore delineated the novel’s characters. 

“In my research I didn’t talk much to local folks. I knew what I wanted,” he says, methodically buttering his toast. “My best source was the land and its defining elements and from them the characters took shape and controlled the story.”

Some of those characters are based on life, such as the notorious slave catcher Patty Cannon. Others, including the protagonist, runaway slave Liz Spocott, developed from McBride’s year-and-a-half of research.

“Time stops past Annapolis,” McBride says with a trace of New York accent. “I must have come down here twenty to thirty times and rode around Dorchester County looking for characters, geography, and bits of information to build characters.”

He kept a low profile, dressed down, drove his aging Volvo, and absorbed the area’s history, customs, and vernacular. He spent hours in the history room of the county library, more hours following the trail of the Underground Railroad, and more with a couple traditional boat builders. He went to the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in St. Michaels and read the works of local authors, including Frederick Tilp, who wrote the classic This Was Potomac River in 1978. He walked the shoreline and through cemeteries. He searched slave and manumission records, discovering that many local slaves were freed in the years just prior to the war.

“I’m interested in slavery, but more interested in people,” McBride says. “There’s a residual grapple in white people with slavery—it’s in the air, you can smell it.”

The black abolitionist Frederick Douglass was born in the neighboring Talbot County, and the Underground Railroad was active across Maryland. The Chesapeake Bay, and the rivers leading to it, was a main conduit to the north for escaped slaves.

Beginning around 1850, Tubman led dozens of other slaves along the Eastern Shore and into Delaware on their way to freedom. Appropriately, the small café we’re eating in sits across from the Harriet Tubman Coalition’s headquarters and museum on Race Street, the street where some of the city’s most violent civil rights confrontations occurred little more than forty years ago.

Jane Turner, manager of the grill, goes table to table, chatting up her customers until she reaches ours.

“You aren’t from around here, are you?” she pauses to ask McBride, whose jeans,  sport jacket, and scarf flung around his neck stand out among the after-church crowd dressed in their Sunday best. “You look like a movie star.”

“Look me up on the Internet and let me know if I am,” McBride teases back, then introduces himself as an author, not an actor. The closest he’s come to the big screen is his recent screenwriter gig for the Spike Lee film production of Miracle at St. Anna, which debuted before Christmas.

“Spike’s wife read my book,” he says, remembering that he thought Lee’s call was a friend’s prank until the director reassured him that it was no joke.

In Song Yet Sung McBride’s Spocott has visions—like Tubman—and suffers from what today might be called narcolepsy, falling into a deep sleep quickly and unexpectedly. Her visions of the future—of young black men wearing chains of gold instead of iron, mysterious boxes that blare music and pictures, and self-propelled carriages—leave her confused and distraught but earn her a guarded respect from other slaves who call her “The Dreamer.” 

There were no secrets in the Eastern Shore slave community. When Spocott’s owner hires a waterman/retired slave catcher to find her, the hunt embroils other slaves, free blacks, slave owners, and other slave catchers, eventually involving the entire community.

Watermen, of course, play a large role in Song Yet Sung as the majority of the Underground Railroad in Maryland traversed open water or marshy creeks. It was a risky business. Whites could be jailed for helping runaways, and blacks were sold South, but the watermen, McBride says, were beyond governing. “The watermen, mostly black and some white, were the soldiers of the Underground Railroad,” he says. “Watermen were like cowboys, only more rugged, physically stronger, and tougher and wouldn’t hesitate to pull a pistol if they needed to.”

Throughout the novel there is a sense that the watermen, black, white, and ever watchful, are aware of everything that happens on land as well as on the water. A few help Spocott, including one old black waterman who hides her in his workboat as she flees Cambridge. 

The character of Denwood Long, the white waterman and former slave catcher from Hooper’s Island, embodies the watermen’s courage, strength, and savvy as he’s lured out of retirement to find Spocott. Until he visited Dorchester County, McBride says he knew nothing about watermen but his admiration grew as he learned about them—“working in ten- to fifteen-foot boats, handling oyster tongs, and watching the horizon constantly for whatever was blowing up behind them.”

Ironically, McBride has a deep fear of the water, so he never set foot in a boat. But he walked rugged Hooper’s Island—and he read. 

“There are plenty of local writers whose descriptions and accounts of watermen were enough to work with, including Frederick Douglass, who to the very end of his life, was proud to be an Eastern Shore waterman,” he says.

In Song Yet Sung, McBride’s characters use codes—the angle of a quilt hung on a line or the rhythm of a blacksmith’s hammer on the anvil—to alert each other of danger. “There may not have been a national system, but I’m sure the signals were understood in a regional sense and included black songs and phrases like ÔGospel Train,’ which referred to the Underground Railroad,” he says. “Music had a tremendous amount to do with the codes—a system of signs to warn slaves throughout Dorchester County and understood by slaves and slave catchers as well.”

Codes of different types play a central role in his novel, as well: The quilts that Clementine, the colored woman over at the Gables farm, aired out on the porch each day were screaming, “Hold tight.” The black watermen who tacked up the Chesapeake ran their sails to leeward, wrapping them from right to left instead of left to right. That meant “Hold. Trouble was about.”

After breakfast we head a few miles outside of Cambridge to a restored tenant house, home of a former slave, Adeline Wheatley, near the Spocott Windmill, a reconstruction of an eighteenth-century, post-type Dutch windmill used to grind grain. The windmill, circa-1800 cabin, and other buildings are maintained by the Spocott Foundation, headed by George Radcliffe, descendent of the Spocott plantation master who freed his slaves in 1855. Now the property is open to visitors. McBride borrowed the name for his heroine, as well as the book’s fictitious plantation and slave owner. “This is the real thing, bare wood walls with holes open to outside,” McBride says as we enter the small cabin. 

He spent hours here, he says, “dumping myself into the fictional world.”

McBride plops into a weathered, straight wooden chair and surveys the downstairs room of the rough but tidy cabin. Sparsely furnished, the room, perhaps twelve feet-by-twelve feet, seems almost spacious. A colorful rag rug warms the bare board floor and a narrow, worn corner staircase leads to a sloped ceiling room upstairs. “It put me back in the time,” he says. “And helped set up the framework of the book.”
In the second-floor bedroom, there’s an old scrapbook, filled with yellowed birthday cards from “Harry,” “Sadie,” “Mildred,” and others, friends or maybe family, of whomever saved them, along with faded early twentieth-century news clippings of local events. McBride’s as excited as I’ve seen him as he pages through the mementos, wondering if they may have been Wheatley’s. “This is a gold mine, like walking into a person’s soul,” he says, marveling that the anonymous, ragtag collection is still intact. 

As we walk toward the windmill, McBride surveys the creeks bordering the property. “It was rough living with not a lot of hope in the area,” McBride says of the land, which provided inspiration for the “Neck District,” a setting in his book. “If you didn’t get your oysters, you had to eat whatever vegetables you grew during the rest of the year.

“The elements are fierce, and you sense how trapped even the normal white person was,” he says. “And you can understand the complications of people trapped by the times.”

The watermen, white and black, survived at the whim of the elements. Even the most knowledgeable and careful could fall victim to weather as well as hot-tempered rivals. McBride portrays the risks in the book’s Sullivan family, watermen and small farmers who kept four slaves: Each day, Kathleen Sullivan, a short, dark-haired, bright slip of a woman, stood at the edge of the creek near her modest cabin at Blackwater Creek, nine miles west of Cambridge at the end of Joya’s Neck, staring out over the water. Her husband, Boyd, had been on the bay oystering for six months. He had been given up for lost yet each day she found herself standing at the bank’s edge staring at the wide expanse of bay beyond Blackwater Creek looking in vain for the sail of his dory boat, hoping it would appear, knowing it would not.”

McBride intended the novel to capture the fabric of pre-war Maryland. He created the slave Liz Spocott as an ambivalent character, who, like many of the other characters, questions her destiny. Should she run? Should she hide? Where should she go?

The waterman’s wife, Kathleen Sullivan, is equally conflicted. Although certain that slavery is wrong, she cannot imagine survival without her slaves.

McBride’s vision of the future of the Eastern Shore is also complex. “The Eastern Shore is the forgotten America, a hard place to be with a large divide between the haves and have-nots” he says, adding that as more wealthy vacationers come to play golf, fish, and eat crab cakes, more local color and history is lost.

“But I love the area, it’s a great American secret,” he says. “Few people seem to appreciate the essence of it.”

It’s an easy place to transport oneself back into history, he says, and it remains a land of treasures in that regard.

Although his next book isn’t set on the Eastern Shore, that’s where he plans to flee, he says, to settle anonymously in a room without a view at a hotel he’d rather not mention. And write.

Phyllis Speidell freelances from her home in Hampton Roads, Va.

Regal Rags
This store looks more like a smart boutique than a shop offering recycled women’s clothes, shoes, handbags, and jewelry, with designer labels. Three visits reveal a brand-new Vera Wang cocktail dress ($275), several new Lilly Pulitzer sundresses ($55 each), and a like-new Escada evening jacket ($150). While the place is packed with pricey labels—Burberry, Kate Spade, Ferragamo, and Tiffany & Co.—there are plenty of Talbots, Dana Buchman, and Chico’s, too. “Between 30 to 40 percent of the merchandise still has the original tags dangling from the sleeves,” says owner Dawn Henderson, who gets her gently used merchandise from well-heeled customers with vast wardrobes and new goods from a not-to-be-named boutique. “We are fussy. We want Louis Vuitton, Chanel, and Dior, the kind of designers you can’t easily find in Annapolis.” This is the sort of place you hesitate sharing with a girlfriend, certainly any girlfriend who wears the same size you do.

Best Bargain: On a recent visit, we spotted a very gently used St. John black knit jacket with gold embroidered collar and jeweled buttons for $300. Sounds rich, but it would cost you $1,200 in a department store. 626B Admiral Drive, Annapolis, 410-224-3434, http://regalragsannapolis.com/ —M.T.

Consign & Design
It’s hard to decide what to look at first when you enter Consign & Design—the snazzy new and consigned furniture in a small room off to the left or the sophisticated women’s consigned clothes and accessories in two rooms to the right. The shop looks expensive but the prices say otherwise. That $275 tag on a gorgeous antique Chinese chair is a real deal. Two palm tree lamps with beveled glass shades are sure to be snapped up at $125 each. “The woman who brought them here paid $500 apiece,” says shop owner Wilma Howett. Clothes look like new and are displayed as if they were in a fine designer salon—there’s no crowding. “A lot of women are glad to have a place to take their better clothes; they don’t want to give them to Goodwill,” says Howett.
Best Bargain: We loved that no-name white-beaded evening dress, a clear deal for $30. 2 Annapolis St., Annapolis, 443-458-5941—M.T.

Return to Oz
This consignment shop is not for the claustrophobic. The first floor is jam-packed with kids’ clothes, shoes, and boots, many with Gap, Baby Gap, Gymboree, Patagonia, and Lands’ End labels. Prices for kids’ clothes range from $3 to around $50 for a darling, fur-trimmed girls dress-up dress. Upstairs, two small rooms are loaded with women’s clothes (up to size 16), maternity, men’s clothes, and housewares. “We get some high-end women’s boutique stuff, some European brands but mostly Abercrombie & Fitch, Juicy Couture, Ann Taylor, Gap, and Citizens of Humanity jeans,” says co-owner Chloe Griffis, who transformed this 100-year-old house into a consignment shop with her business partner, Virginia Shea, about 1½ years ago. “Sometimes we get Pottery Barn furniture and linens or fabulously expensive shoes—Ferragamo or Michael Kors—that sell for $50 or $75, a quarter of the original price.”

Best Bargain: On our last visit, we spotted a darling, new white bassinet propped on the porch. For $40 it’s a steal. 2011 West St., Annapolis, 410-266-9390—M.T.

Affordable Furniture
Whenever there’s an estate sale on the Eastern Shore, you’ll find Lord Scott hunting for cool furnishings to bring back to his shop. Affordable Furniture consists of six rooms stocked with an eclectic blend of contemporary, antique, and downright funky furniture. “I get furniture from million-dollar houses in Talbot County,” says Scott. “Lawyers who handle the sales call me and tell me what’s happening and when.” The funkiest, most expensive item Affordable Furniture’s ever sold? A $5,500, six-foot-tall Turkish bath studded with angels from a local estate.

Best Bargain: Recent deals include a reproduction Victorian sofa ($175), a walnut chest of drawers ($300), and a 1950s RCA radio cabinet ($50). 123 S. Washington St., Easton, Md. 410-822-1475—K.B. 

New to You
The distinguished gent clad in a starched white shirt, elegant tie, and meticulously coiffed hair looks like he should be shopping in Nordstrom’s instead of cruising the aisles of New to You, but Bill Parker, a criminal defense attorney from Upper Marlboro, is a regular. “I became hooked years ago. My best find was a $400 Lladro figurine for $125. And my cheapest bargain was a dozen new Titleist golf balls still in the original box for $3.”
This place is chock-full of housewares, linens, women’s clothes, handbags, even ski goggles and a few Timex watches. Labels such as Abercrombie & Fitch, Talbots, and Ann Taylor are tucked between scores of lesser-known brands. Owner Madeleine Powers, who runs the store with her daughter, Susan Hummer, keeps a request list. “One customer is a party coordinator. She needs serving pieces,” says Hummer. “If a woman wants a fur coat, we call her when one comes in.” Shopping tip: There’s a lot to look at. Allow plenty of time to roam.

Best Bargain: There’s lots of jewelry but one item stands out—a David Yurman blue topaz and diamond ring ($800). It would probably retail for twice as much.
1916 Forest Drive, Annapolis,
410-263-2211—M.T.

Little Rascals
Those who love the thrill of the hunt will love Little Rascals. Housed in a cottage-style shop on Route 50, the store is full of racks crammed with modern women’s and children’s used clothes. Recent finds include a pair of women’s Italian leather gloves ($5), toddler-size, squeaky-clean Tretorn sneakers ($5), and a baby’s hand-woven Hannah Anderson sweater ($16.50). But owner Kari Kullman says that her biggest market is rapidly becoming teenagers. “More and more teenagers are becoming consigners,” says Kullman, “trading in their Abercrombie & Fitch stuff for something else instead of going to the mall to get something new. At first, a lot of those kids pooh-poohed the idea of buying something used, but once they found out that they can buy things like Lucky Jeans for $25 instead of $125 here, they began to change their minds.”

Best Bargains: We scored several excellent condition designer duds, including a multi-colored, woven Bottega Veneta purse ($85), Gucci shades ($75), and Coach loafers ($70). 7924 Ocean Gateway, Easton, Md. 410-822-6806—K.B.

Second Look
It’s hard to decide what’s better at Second Look—the bargains on homewares and clothing for kids, women, and men or the friendly customer service. Co-owners Marcel Ross and Barbara Segraves work the shop like a couple of Energizer bunnies, constantly helping customers or tidying up. This place isn’t fancy. The long narrow shop is basic but packed with buys. A rack of once pricey greeting cards (each in a plastic sleeve) is tucked in a corner ($1 each). Bargain hunting revealed a Banana Republic black cashmere sweater ($14) and Tahari beige silk suit ($35.) Many kids’ outfits still have the original tags attached. Just a few doors down from Giant, this shop is a must-stop before hitting the supermarket aisles.

Best Bargain: Two brand-new adorably dressed, stuffed bears would make any kid (and his parents) happy for $5 each.
942 Bay Ridge Road, Annapolis, 410-263-3111—M.T.

The Clothes Box
Who says going for your mammogram can’t be fun? A short stroll down from the radiology department in Anne Arundel Medical Center’s Sajak Building lies the well-organized Clothes Box and its great deals for everyone in the family, plus housewares and linens. While you’ll spot an occasional St. John or Prada label, most of the well-known brands include Chico’s, Gap, Ellen Tracy, and Dana Buchman. Smart shoppers stop by before or after visiting the doctor when the Clothes Box has a weekly sale on Wednesdays—and what a sale it is! Thanks to a team of terrific hospital volunteers led by manager Debbie Ganz, there’s always someone nearby to help.

Best Bargain: We spotted a like-new Liz Claiborne running suit for $15 last time we detoured after an appointment with the doc. Sajak Pavilion, Anne Arundel Medical Center, 2002 Medical Parkway, Ste. 160, Annapolis, 443-481-5070—M.T.

The Bazaar
This is one place where hand-me-downs are hip. The consignment shop, operated by Easton Memorial Hospital’s Auxiliary, contains a combination of retro, vintage, and altogether classic finds likely owned by some of Talbot County’s most fashionable frauleins. The shop is organized like a small 1950s department store, complete with window displays and tidy rows of clothing, shoes, and even a home goods section for linens, lamps, and knickknacks. “[Recently,] a lady came in just before closing to look for a gown for a party that night,” says saleswoman Diane Bisanar. “She found a great gown that fit like a glove. She came back in the next day to say that she was the belle of the ball and that she told everyone where she got it.”

Best Bargain: For $9, we snatched up a 100-percent pure camelhair swing coat with three-quarter length sleeves made by Thalhimers, a now-defunct Richmond-based department store chain. Throw on a wide black belt with it, and you’ve got an updated classic. 121 Federal St., Easton, Md., 410-822-2031—K.B.

Echoes & Accents
Just inside the front door at Echoes & Accents, three handsome twisted iron bar stools with upholstered seats are reduced to $75 each. Nearby, four large heavy wooden, Spanish-style chairs are priced at $100, and a stunning Bernhardt painted country French china cabinet is marked $650. “This is recycling at its best,” says Leah Deane, who owns the store with her partner and sister, Barbara Rasin Price.
It’s just about impossible to separate new furniture from consigned goods. Even if you’re not in the market for furniture, stop by to steal a decorating idea or two or to check out the jewelry cases. Furniture is organized in color-coordinated vignettes. Accessories range from two fabulous Chinese porcelain dogs ($277 for the pair) to a handsomely carved duck ($39). “Sixty percent of the merchandise is consigned, 40 percent is new,” says Deane as she proudly shows off a Baccarat crystal vase for $165. “So there are a few chips on top. Are you really going to see them when a dozen roses are in it?”

Best Bargain: A glass-topped dining table with handsome iron base, plus six iron dining chairs with upholstered beige striped seats reduced to $325—for the set!
224 Chinquapin Round Road, Annapolis, 410-280-8800, http://echoesandaccents.com/ —M.T

Great Estates
About 50 percent of the mostly contemporary merchandise offered at Great Estates is new and much of it comes from area model homes. The remaining furniture and accessories are consigned goods that look like they’ve barely been touched. Several big name furniture makers are represented—Bernhardt, Hooker, Bassett. Lots of interesting (and inexpensive) accessories are dotted about—a large white ceramic “O” priced at $21 would jazz up any ho-hum space. The place is packed with bargains. A painted five-drawer Stanley dresser for $159 is a great buy for a kid’s room. That’s cheap (or cheaper) than what you’d find at a big box store. The only downside is that the place isn’t very large so selection is limited.

Best Bargain: A massive Bassett triple dresser and matching hutch in chocolate cherry for $616. 8258 Veterans Hwy., Millersville, 410-987-2490, http://www.greatestatesfurniture.com/ —M.T.

Oysters, scallops, clams, and mussels are the complete package—all their briny goodness is conveniently contained right in their own shells. You don’t have to do anything fancy or complicated to prepare any of them. Take an oyster or a clam—douse with a squeeze of lime or lemon and enjoy.

I designed these four dishes to bring out each bivalve’s best attributes—without compromising the essence of their flavors. Shucked oysters with lime granite are a perfect party pleaser and so easy to make, while the little neck clams, cannelloni beans, chorizo, and grilled chicken makes for a hearty spring entrée. I’ve added a Thai twist to the concept of steamed mussels by serving them with chili, lemon grass, and fish sauce. And sautéed sea scallops are dressed up for dinner with the addition of French lentils and smoked ham hock. Enjoy!

Recipes

• Mussels with Lemon Grass and Chili
• Little Neck Clams, Cannelloni Beans, Chorizo, and Grilled Chicken
• Sautéed Sea Scallop with Smoked Ham Hock and French Lentils
• Shucked Oysters with Lime Granite

Andrew Evans is the chef at Easton’s Thai Ki.

If you’ve ever dreamed of owning a waterfront home along the Chesapeake Bay, now might be the time to go bargain hunting. Just ask Bill and Brenda Egge.

The Egges retired, sold a home in Anne Arundel County in 2006, and bought a motor home. Two years later, after several laps around the country, they wanted to settle down again and began looking for a home in Southern Maryland.

They fell in love with a sprawling five-bedroom Cape Cod-style home in Piney Point, near the far-flung tip of St. Mary’s County. With a spiral staircase and a pristine view of St. Jerome’s Creek near the Potomac River and the Bay, the home was originally priced at nearly $900,000 in the twilight of the housing boom. It sat empty after the prior owners had passed away. Their heirs, eager to sell, slashed the price again and again, finally down to $550,000.

Along came the Egges last summer. Feeling confident in a cash-strapped market, they low-balled the sellers with an offer of $450,000. “I figured, ‘Let’s see how far we can push them’” Bill Egge says.

A few weeks later, the couple signed a contract on the home for $465,000—almost half its original price.

“Five years ago, I don’t think we could have afforded it,” Egge says.

Today’s market for waterfront real estate is a bargain hunter’s paradise. Just a few years ago, waterfront properties on and around the Chesapeake Bay were doubling in price every few years. Frantic buyers often bid beyond the asking price. They came in droves, some from New Jersey seeking retirement homes, others from the Washington area looking for weekend getaways. And of course there were wide-eyed investors lured in by the run-up.

For many, it seemed, that dream home was slipping out of reach.

But today? Things have changed. The housing market has soured. There’s simply not that many buyers out there—real estate agents say even traffic on their Web sites is way down. The number of homes on the market—the “inventory” as the pros say—is six or eight times what it was just a few years ago. Any sense of urgency has completely shifted from buyers to sellers.

“It’s the bottom feeders out there right now,” says Jean Atkins, an Annapolis real estate agent for nearly twenty years. “We’re scraping the bottom of the market right now, and they’re out there fishing to see how low we can go.”

Take a look at the raw numbers: The average price of a Chesapeake Bay-front home sold in Maryland rose from about $500,000 in 2002 to more than $1 million in 2006, according to the statewide Multiple Listings Service, a database used by real estate professionals. But those days are over. For 2008, the average waterfront home went for about $788,000. And this year could be worse.

“Are we at the bottom with the waterfronts? Probably not—they’re probably still going to come down,” says Rick McNabb, a realtor in St. Mary’s County. The number of houses on the market has ballooned. St. Mary’s and Calvert counties, for example, had about 250 total houses for sale in 2004. At the end of 2008, there was a total of nearly 1,900 with nearly 200 on the water.

“There’s nobody out there looking,” McNabb says. “And we’ve got a lot of owners who just got in over their heads. It all sounded good when everything was going good, but now they just have to get out. They’re saying, ‘I don’t care that I’m not making any money,’ or ‘I don’t care if I put 200K down and I’m walking away with only 20K—I want out.’”

To be sure, not all of the Chesapeake’s local markets have tanked. Bargain hunting still demands research, patience, and trade-offs. Historic homes, deepwater access for boats, and proximity to big cities and nice towns all drive up the price. For about $300,000, you might find a 1970s rancher with a great water view ten miles down a farm road on the Eastern Shore. But a century-old colonial revival with a boat dock near Annapolis will still likely run more than $1 million.

Indeed, the Annapolis area is holding steady. Overall, the market is just 10 or 15 percent off its peak in 2006. Most homes there are primary residences. A daily commute into the Baltimore-Washington corridor is doable. But there are still some remarkable deals out there. One waterfront home in Bay Ridge sold for $1.9 million in 2005. It later went into foreclosure and is now under contract for $1.2 million.

Don’t expect to find any deals in Talbot County. Far from it. A wealthy region for years and more recently a second-home sanctuary for well-off Republicans such as Dick Cheney and Don Rumsfeld, Talbot is the only bay-front county to see prices continue to rise. Buyers with deep pockets are drawn by the trendy shops and great restaurants in towns of Easton, St. Michaels, and Oxford as well as the short drive to the Bay Bridge. Agents there say you’d have to drive all the way out to the remote tip of Tilghman Island to find waterfront homes under $750,000.

Yet those places have always had pricey real estate. The housing bust’s biggest impact has been on those places that were historically more affordable. “The lower end of the waterfront market has been more impacted than the higher end. There is more inventory at the lower end—less than a million—than I’ve ever seen before,” says Carolina Barksdale, a real estate agent in Easton.

Barksdale says she sends her more cost-conscious home shoppers down to the lower Eastern Shore, to Dorchester County or even Somerset. There’s plenty of options as low as $300,000 down there. But you get what you pay for, she warns. There you’ll find no-frills, unremarkable homes in remote villages. Not much to do there except enjoy your water view.

The best bargains might be in Somerset County, around Crisfield, a sleepy town of shuttered seafood packing-houses and stunning sunset views over the Tangier Sound. A large marina makes it ideal for serious boaters. And a poorly timed condo-building binge a few years ago has left a glut on the market. Condo units that initially sold for more than $600,000 in 2006 are sitting unsold now for less than $300,000.

Another budget waterfront spot near the Bay is Virginia’s Northern Neck, a four-county stretch along the Potomac reaching down into the Tidewater region. Real estate agent Lon Crow saw interest in the region spike during the housing boom, and business is resuming now that prices are once again reaching the “magic $399 range.” Drive about two hours south of Washington along Route 301, and that price will get you a newly built three-bedroom home with a great water view, private pier, and deepwater slip for a boat. But, Crow cautions, it’s rural out there. “We don’t have the shopping malls and other metropolitan amenities.” Recently, a new Wal-Mart opened up down in Northumberland County, so “it’s not a total backwater.”

There’s no crystal ball to say where the bottom of the market is. Some agents say savvy buyers are getting the best bargains right now. But there’s not much hard evidence that the slide in prices will reverse anytime soon.

The bottom line: If you’re in the market for a bargain home on the water, there’s no rush.
“I tell people, ‘It’s not like we’re going back through the roof anytime soon,’” McNabb says. “And I’m talking like fifteen or twenty years.”

My father always loved a bargain. From buy-one-get-one-free sales on orange juice to scoring a cheap used car, he could never pass up a good deal.

As a kid, I recall spending many hours with him at flea markets and garage sales, watching him do his thing. He’d wander from table to table, seemingly uninterested in anything, but then he’d spot the object of his desire: a box of scratched-up records. A ceramic pitcher for my mother. A “gently used” blender. Next, he’d deliver his usual lowball offer. “This case of cassette tapes marked $5,” he’d ask as if he weren’t really interested, “would you take 75 cents?” Somehow, more often than not, the answer would be, “Yes.”

He didn’t always use everything he bargained for, however. Many times that box of records would end up unplayed in our increasingly crowded garage. Sometimes, I think he was just in it for the thrill of the hunt.

But his biggest bargaining exploit of them all—the story he’d tell repeatedly at family functions or cocktail parties—was the time he purchased my parents’ first home. It was a little white Cape Cod on a quiet street in West Allenhurst, N.J. The sellers, a middle-aged couple who recently divorced, wanted more than $25,000 for it, a lot of money in the mid-‘50s for a young couple expecting their second child.

But my dad wasn’t fazed. He offered $19,000—almost 25 percent below their already reasonable asking price. My mother was stunned by his chutzpah.

But, son of a gun, Dad knew exactly what he was doing. The couple, desperate to sell, accepted his offer, and my parents went on to expand their family in that house.

Over the years, the moral behind the tale still reverberates, ingrained in our familial folklore like George Washington and the cherry tree: “Don’t be afraid to ask for a lower price,” my father would say, “because, well, you never know”

Dad would have appreciated the story of Bill and Brenda Egge, who purchased their waterfront home in St. Mary’s County for a whopping 50 percent of its initial listing. As writer Andrew Tilghman reveals in his article, “Let’s Make a Deal,” now is the best time in years to snare a buy on waterfront real estate—as long as you know where to look. In our pursuit of bargains on the Bay, we also visit the area’s best
consignment shops in search of great deals on designer duds and furniture.

Also in this issue, we catch up with James McBride, the best-selling author of The Color of Water, who returned to Dorchester County to talk about the inspiration behind his latest novel, set on the Eastern Shore.

Have you ever visited Annmarie Garden in Solomons? Its lush sculpture garden, full of blooming azaleas and works of art, satisfied writer Carol Denny’s desire for her own little Versailles. And in Traveling Gourmet, food critic Mary Zajac finds a taste of Italy in Annapolis—at a reasonable price. 

Dad passed away last summer at the age of eighty-three, but I think he would have enjoyed this issue full of bargains. And if he were buying a house in this market, you can bet he would’ve pitched another lowball beauty. Because, well, you never know ...

Until next issue,

Joe Sugarman
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Carpaccio Tuscan Kitchen & Wine Bar
275 West St., Annapolis, Md.
410-268-6569, http://www.carpacciotuscankitchen.com/
Open: Daily for lunch and dinner and Sunday brunch

ATMOSPHERE: Corporate modern
SERVICE: Friendly casual
DON’T MISS: carpaccio di manzo toscano, pappardelle bocelli
TARIFF: Appetizers, $3.99-$15.99; pasta and entrees, $13.99-$35.99

Helen! You’re a member of the clean plate club!” announced the man at the next table to his wife’s neatly turned-out grandmother.

To be fair, everyone at that table had eaten every last crumb of Carpaccio’s decadent chocolate ganache cake, but the lady in question had also made good work of her spaghetti and meatballs, no small feat for someone who had been in the hospital a few days earlier, her grandson-in-law explained to me. Carpaccio’s hearty offerings—and a night out with her family—was likely even better medicine than what her doctor had prescribed.

And there’s a lot at Carpaccio to make a body feel good, from the comfy, two-toned leather chairs in the autumnal-shaded dining room to the voluminous menu. Picky kids and less adventuresome eaters can munch on brick-oven pizza or classic standbys like Caesar salad and eggplant parmesan. Those with a broad range of tastes can revel in the restaurant’s namesake carpaccio (traditionally, thinly sliced raw beef, though the restaurant offers other options, like sushi-grade tuna and even sliced eggplant). Carpaccio prepares everything to order, and offers most antipasti in mezze (small) or grande (large) portions, further adding to the flexible dining experience.
The small order of belezza del mare, a plate of chilled, steamed seafood drizzled with lemon vinaigrette, overflowed with tender bites of octopus, calamari, and mussels. It could have easily served three rather than one, and a generous portion was packed up to take home.

Carpaccio is supposed to melt in your mouth, and the tenderloin prepared di Manzo Toscano did. I suppose it could be argued that white truffle oil and Parmesan cheese could make anything taste good, but these garnishes only enhanced, rather than hid, the high quality of the tissue- thin slices of beef.

Entrees were similarly rich and generous. Pappardelle bocelli was a silky amalgam of wide pasta ribbons and slow-cooked lamb ragu garnished with a sprinkle of tangy goat cheese, a slightly untraditional but nonetheless wise foil to the richness of the lamb. It, too, could have easily served two people. We couldn’t decide between the pesce spade, grilled swordfish atop crispy polenta, and branzino mediterraneo, grilled branzino “drizzled” with lemon-infused olive oil and served with escarole sautéed with walnuts and olives. The compromise turned out to be the branzino, plus a side order of polenta, the latter of which was a good match for the delicious bitter edge of the escarole. The branzino, on the other hand, would have benefited from the menu-described drizzle of oil rather than the full dousing it received.

People either love or hate the Italian cheesecake, our server told us. If you enjoy the slightly grainy texture of ricotta cheese (as I do) and the penetrating flavor of orange peel, you will love it, too. And judging from the reaction at the next table, the chocolate ganache cake is also a winner.

At the end of our evening, we left our table sated and with a shopping bag full of leftovers. We did not qualify for the clean plate club, but we had enough food to try again tomorrow.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

Celebrity Chefs & Winemakers gather to share their passion for food and wine. Enjoy tastings, demonstrations, seminars, entertainment and exhibitors in a celebration of all things culinary. Held on the beautiful campus of the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum.

Casual fine dining at its finest. Set in a historic building in quaint St. Michaels, 208 features fresh and seasonal ingredients from the shore's abundance. Nationally recognized for its fine dining, 208 also offers a great light fare menu in the Wine Bar and Eatery, featuring an award-winning wine list, vast beer list and full bar. Join us this winter for great specials including $20.80 entrees!

Enter for your chance to win a dinner for two at 208 Talbot.

Casual fine dining at its finest. Set in a historic building in quaint St. Michaels, 208 features fresh and seasonal ingredients from the shore’s abundance. Nationally recognized for its fine dining, 208 also offers a great light fare menu in the Wine Bar and Eatery, featuring an award-winning wine list, vast beer list and full bar. Join us this winter for great specials including $20.80 entrees!

410-745-3838
208 N. Talbot St.
St. Michaels, MD
http://www.208talbot.com

Enter for your chance to win an overnight stay in St. Michaels, lunch for two and complimentary tickets to the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum.

St. Michaels, MD
Historic charm, nautical adventure, romantic spaces

Enter for your chance to win four weekend tickets to the 7th annual St. Michaels Food & Wine Festival, April 24-26, 2009.

Celebrity Chefs & Winemakers gather to share their passion for food and wine. Enjoy tastings, demonstrations, seminars, entertainment and exhibitors in a celebration of all things culinary. Held on the beautiful campus of the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum.

THERE’S A SAYING THAT there’s no such thing as bad pizza. I believe that. Order a mediocre slice from your corner convenience store, and I’ll bet you’ll still eat it. Whether you prefer Chicago’s signature deep-dish pizza or New York’s famous thin style, the greatest thing about pizza is the endless variety of crusts, cheeses, and toppings you can combine.

A fun way to approach pizza-making is to reinvent some of your favorite dishes in pizza form. I combined some of the components of my favorite stromboli to create a spinach, ricotta, and smoky bacon pizza. While perusing the aisles of the Mexican grocery in my neighborhood, I was motivated to create a pizza using chorizo sausage, queso fresco, and chili peppers. Some chicken left over from a dinner earlier in the week and a few tomatoes were the inspiration behind a grilled chicken and tomato white pizza. Finally, try the dessert pizza, with bananas, caramel sauce, and vanilla ice cream, and see if you don’t agree that pizza is one of the only dishes that can be served as both dinner and dessert in the same meal. Enjoy!

South American Pizza with Chorizo and Chili Peppers

Spinach and Ricotta Pizza with Smoky Bacon

Grilled Chicken and Tomato White Pizza

Banana Pizza with Caramel Sauce and Vanilla Ice Cream

Recently, a friend from out-of-town e-mailed me to inquire about good restaurants to visit while she and her husband were traveling around the Eastern Shore.

I replied with a short list of my favorites, including a Thai restaurant in Easton, a cozy tavern in Oxford, and an Italian charmer in Stevensville.
“What? No crab houses?” my friend wrote back. “I thought the only places to eat on the Eastern Shore were crab houses.”

Not too long ago, that may have been true. Twenty years ago—heck, even ten years ago—who would have thought that you could find authentic pad Thai in Easton? Or lobster-stuffed ravioli on Kent Island? Or score some of the most delicious coq au vin you’ve ever had at a French bistro in Cambridge? Yes, Cambridge!

And that’s just the Eastern Shore. In this issue we’ve compiled a list of excellent eateries from across the region, from Annapolis to Southern Maryland to Virginia’s Northern Neck. This is not a “Best Of” list by any means, just twenty tasty restaurants—some new, some familiar—that possess that priceless intangible called “buzz.” We’ll post the list on our website, chesapeakelife.com, where you’ll be able to add your own opinions about it—and recommend some of your own buzz-worthy dining destinations as well.

Also in this issue, you’ll find a fun essay, “It’s a Crab Cake World,” by freelancer Andrew Tilghman, a Salisbury native, who has lived and traveled throughout the world (including a stint as an embedded reporter in Iraq). In that time, he’s sampled his fair share of crab cakes away from the Bay, and in his
essay, he bemoans the corruption of this beloved dish by chefs from out of our region.

And be sure to page through the photos of Laird Wise, a photographer who uniquely captured everyday life on the Eastern Shore during the mid-twentieth century. His beautiful black-and-white photography has recently been given fresh exposure on the walls of Mitchum’s, which happens to be an exceedingly sophisticated steakhouse in the sleepy village of Trappe. Yes, Trappe!

Until next issue, happy eating!

Joe Sugarman
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One year after the cast and crew of ‘Extreme Makeover: Home Edition’ visited Cecil County, homeowner Renee Luther shares how the lives of her and her family will never be the same.

Rock Run Road follows the gentle contours of rural Cecil County, past frame houses, farms, and woods to the ranch where for twenty-six years Renee Luther has run Freedom Hills, a nonprofit therapeutic riding program for students with mental and physical disabilities.

It has been one year since Ty Pennington, the cool and compassionate host of the ABC-TV hit series “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition,” knocked on the riding instructor’s Port Deposit door and uttered the trademark greeting she had prayed for: “Good morning, Luther family!”

The “Makeover” team transformed the ramshackle Rolling Hills Ranch into a state-of-the-art riding center. Still, on this day, the ranch’s rhythms and rituals suggest a way of life lived for its own sakeÑnot in the pursuit of anything grandiose.

Luther’s eighteen-year-old daughter, Ellie, grooms a paint mare named Mesa in preparation for an advanced riding lesson. Through translucent roofing panels, sun streams into the remodeled barn, stacked to the rafters with hay bales. Bill Cady, a recently hired maintenance man, repairs fencing with the help of an AmeriCorps volunteer. Assistant Vickie Hucker pores over the mail while her grown daughter, Abigail, a riding regular since she was a toddler, keeps her company.

Suddenly, Renee Luther appears, charging the ranch’s easygoing ambience with frenetic energy to the delight of her dogs, Kiara and Mayleen. Luther is a tall, forthright figure in dark-gray riding britches, blue polo shirt, and jodhpur ankle boots. She wears her hair in a restrained shag style and no makeup masks her open face.

A multi-tasking whirlwind, Luther seems able to answer her mooing phone, consult with Hucker, and quote Scripture from Philippians while surveying her peaceable kingdom.

Luther leads a visitor to her sprawling, stone-veneer home, built on a rise that overlooks Rolling Hills Ranch, with its barn, indoor riding ring, and horses happily basking in the October sun. “I asked for a small rancher and He gave me a castle,” says Luther, forty-eight. “What an awesome God we serve.”

Until Pennington came knocking, it had been a dispiriting year for Luther, Ellie, and her son, Alex. The previous spring, her husband, Carl, had died of liver cancer. The Luthers’ home across the street from the ranch was falling apart.

Most worrisome, both Freedom Hills and the for-profit Rolling Hills Ranch riding program for able-bodied students faced an uncertain future. The ranch’s finances were shaky. The decrepit barn begged for restoration. Luther faced competition from nearby riding schools that could afford to build indoor rings and operate year-round.

True to the hit series’ heart-tugging formula, Pennington and a jolly cast of landscapers, designers, and builders came to Luther’s rescue just in time.

Whisked away to Italy, in keeping with the program’s fairy tale format, Luther and her children toured Rome, Venice, and Florence while 1,500 subcontractors, vendors, and volunteers labored around the clock on “Extreme Makeover’s” largest build to date.

Under the supervision of Belcamp, Md., developer Clark Turner Signature Homes, one team toiled on the barn and the indoor ring while another constructed the home. Within 104 hours, the project, supported by donations of food and materials from dozens of sponsors, was complete.

Instead of the modest, ranch-style house Luther had requested, though, she returned from Italy to a 4,600-square-foot mansion worth nearly $1 million. The empathetic Pennington had known all along what she had not dared to ask for. “Ty figured it out,” she says.

Since “Extreme Makeover” aired in January, Luther’s clientele have grown, including residents of a local nursing home and the Perry Point VA Medical Center. A local alcohol and drug treatment program also has expressed interest.

The immaculate riding facility is ready for everyone. Across the hall from Luther’s new office, a room equipped with donated weights and exercise balls allows clients to work with physical therapists. The “Extreme” crew also expanded the riding center’s kitchen and updated the accessible bathroom.

It is now much easier to move around in the refurbished barn, where twenty-six horses board, including ten belonging to Luther and her daughter. In the gleaming tack room, well-buffed saddles for each horse hang from designated pegs. Next door, the enclosed 7,000-square-foot riding ring, surfaced with a blend of sand, felt, and ground-up tires, guarantees that Luther’s enterprise is weatherproof.

Rolling Hills’ acclaim has spread far beyond Cecil County. Curiosity seekers often arrive unannounced at the ranch, eager to meet Luther and tour her new home and riding complex. Churches and civic groups around the country have invited her to give speeches. Program volunteers, always sorely needed, have multiplied.

When the “Extreme Makeover” episode featuring Luther aired recently in Sweden, several viewers sent well wishes and one asked for work. (She couldn’t afford to hire him.) Another rider came from Pittsburgh to volunteer and a Virginia family spent a weekend helping Luther and taking lessons. The obliging host puts visitors up in a luxurious guestroom.

It has become routine for reality programs to confer celebrity upon folks not otherwise destined for fame. Luther, for one, has adapted comfortably to the attention, taking advantage of her public status to keep both riding programs afloat.

Luther does not regard international recognition “so much as a personal victory as one for the program and the riders,” says Suzette Jackson, a
good friend and frequent Freedom Hills volunteer. “For years, people didn’t even know the program was there.”

To a large degree, Luther’s life has not really changed. The accomplished dressage rider still rises at 6 a.m. She still mucks out stalls. She still worries about paying the bills, particularly because of her new home’s soaring property taxes and propane costs. Last winter, Luther’s efforts to keep the thermostat at sixty degrees failed when Ellie’s friends claimed the home was too cold.

The “Extreme Makeover” experience didn’t change Luther so much as it “helped to reinforce her basic beliefs,” Jackson says. “She has always been a very strong, religious person, and the makeover made her realize, ‘Hey I’ve been doing the right thing, and God has rewarded me,’” Jackson says.

Nor has Luther, who moved to Rolling Hills Ranch when she was two, taken her good fortune for granted, says Jackson, who lives in Havre de Grace. “She has risen to the occasion. You read some stories about ‘Makeover’ homes that a year later are in foreclosure. She’s pretty smart about what her expenses are.”

Around the country, other “Extreme Makeover” fairy tales have taken a sad turn. Last year, a Georgia family selected for an “Extreme Makeover” nearly lost their home in a foreclosure after using it as collateral for a $450,000 loan. In October, a Florida woman made news when she could not afford to pay fines for various code violations cited at another home created by the television series.

Clark Turner will not allow Rolling Hills Ranch to suffer the same fate. The builder has stepped in with significant contributions to offset her expenses, Luther says.

“We’ve been giving her money every year that helps her with her taxes, insurance, and utilities,” Clark Turner says. “The idea was for her to spend her time taking care of all those kids and teaching them riding and not have those worries.” Turner declines to give a figure for the expenses he covers for Luther.

To make ends meet, though, the entrepreneurial Luther continues to run a summer riding and Bible day camp, plans to open a bed and breakfast, and to lease her lofty living room for “princess parties” and other events tailored to little girls. Future fundraisers for Freedom Hills include an open house and an annual auction.

While Rolling Hills riding students pay for lessons, Luther requests an optional donation from her Freedom Hills clients. Luther never turns therapeutic students away if they cannot afford to contribute.

Around the country, other “Extreme Makeover” fairy tales have taken a sad turn. Earlier this year, a Georgia family selected for an “Extreme Makeover” nearly lost their home in a foreclosure after using it as collateral for a $450,000 loan.

Look up,” Luther says, pointing to the yellow, blue, and green stained-glass skylight illuminating the front hall. Beyond, an open floor plan and vaulted ceilings create an aura of palatial grandeur. “When I first came in the house, I felt like such a princess,” she says. Luther delights in the kitchen’s recessed lighting, the dog baths, the Jacuzzi, and the thousands of dollars’ worth of furnishings donated by the series’ sponsors. Luther lacks the heart to toss the lush flower arrangements that greeted her family upon entering her new home. Clusters of dead roses remain on the rim of her fancy bathtub and on a dresser in the master bedroom, the sanctuary that Luther calls “Ty’s secret room.”

Portraits of Luther’s favorite horses, photographed by Pennington, himself, ring her bedroom walls. Among them is a fetching shot of her beloved Giver. “I pulled him out of his mommy’s behind,” Luther declares.

Upstairs, a collection of “pretty metal” guitars embellish Ellie’s room, in tribute to her love of heavy metal Christian bands. Underwear, snowboard boots, and other debris mark the turf of sixteen-year-old Alex. Courtesy of the “Makeover” team, the aspiring aviator’s bedroom boasts a mini replica of a vintage bomber across from his bed, large enough to curl up in.

Outside, Luther’s cats, Bubbles and Gray Fang, prowl the premises, as Luther strides across a rear patio equipped with a gleaming gas grill donated by Sears. Beyond, in the backyard, the “Extreme” team built a gazebo and garden in memory of Luther’s husband.

Luther returns to the barn, where Ashley Harris soon arrives for her weekly therapeutic riding lesson. The seven-year-old has cerebral palsy and does not walk or speak. On a ledge built for this purpose, Stephanie Harris hoists her daughter from a wheelchair up to Luther, who sits astride a patient horse named Ziggy.

Ashley leans against Luther, who corrects the girl’s posture as another instructor leads them around the indoor ring in serpentine loops. The ride stretches out Ashley’s legs, improves her balance, and simulates the motion of walking. As she rides Ziggy around the ring, her mother by her side, Ashley’s eyes dance with pleasure.

When the little girl leaves, Luther turns to the group riding class she will instruct in the outdoor ring. There will be no time for dinner in her extravagant kitchen as into the evening Luther leaps from one task to another. Her cheeseburger lunch with Ellie and Alex will see her through.

It will be 9 p.m. before Luther can claim personal time. Then, she will saddle Carousel and put the gray thoroughbred mare through her paces. Finally, Luther will be able to sink into the mare’s cadence and briefly leave her whirlwind life behind for an hour of therapeutic riding in the ring beside her new home.

Stephanie Shapiro writes from Baltimore.

Mason’s

Why It’s Hot: Judging from the crowds at Mason’s, you’d never know the world was in an economic slump. Chef Daniel Pochron is gifted at creating a consistently delicious and clever menu highlighted by decadent French sauces and fresh ingredients. A main-stay on the Shore since 1966, Mason’s offers al fresco dining on its wrap-around porch and adjacent patio, while cool temperatures draw crowds to tables near the fireplace in the red dining room.

What to Eat: Hearty and elegant, the beef short rib bourguignon with cipollini onions, button mushrooms, and buttered noodles is a favorite wintertime option, while the schnitzel served with braised red cabbage, spaetzle, and lemon sauce is a welcome, updated version of an old-school classic. Smith Island cake regularly makes an appearance on the dessert list, as does a carrot cake with a cream cheese icing that shames all others. 22 S. Harrison St., Easton, Md., 410-822-3204, masonsgourmet.com—K.B.

Bistro Poplar

Why It’s Hot: Until chef/owner Ian Campbell opened Bistro Poplar last year, the idea of good French food in Cambridge sounded like an anomaly. And although Campbell’s light-filled storefront is miles from the real City of Lights, his epicurean sense is firmly planted on the other side of the Atlantic—whether he’s accommodating couples at the restaurant’s authentic zinc bar or families in for a cozy Sunday supper.

What to Eat: Campbell’s menu changes with the season, but you can always count on bistro standards like pan-roasted chicken, made richer with the addition of lardons (crispy chunks of smoked bacon) and classic steak frites. The gloriously creamy ham-and-egg crepe is available on both the dinner and late-night menus, a delicious reason to drop by after hours. 535 Poplar St., Cambridge, Md., 410-228-4884, bistropoplar.com—M.Z.

Out of the Fire

Why It’s Hot: Green is in…and the environment is everything to owner Amy Haines, literally and figuratively. Sure, soft lighting and earthy colors make the ambience at Out of the Fire fit for romance, but it’s the use of hormone- and antibiotic-free meats, stevia and agave nectar instead of sugar, organic vegetables, and biodynamic and organic wines that sets this place apart from any restaurant on the Eastern—or western—Shore.

What to Eat: It’s almost tradition for groups of two or more to order the meze platter, with hummus, olive tapenade, goat cheese, and grilled nan for dipping. More adventurous souls can opt for the braised lamb ribs, served with caramelized red onion relish and a curry yogurt sauce. And where else can you find a pizza topped with roasted mushrooms, brie, arugula, and a cherry- balsamic reduction? Yes, cherry. 22 Goldsboro St., Easton, Md., 410-770-4777, outofthefire.com—K.B.

Solstice

Why It’s Hot: Two years after
purchasing Berlin’s Atlantic Hotel, chef/owner Nino Mancari offers some of the most consistently pleasing comfort food on the Shore. And diners have their choice of where they want to enjoy it: in Solstice’s rustic bar while listening to live music on a weekend night, in the cozy brick-walled sunroom overlooking Berlin’s Main Street, or in the airy main dining room, with its inviting cocoa leather chairs and large table set for dining family style.

What to Eat: Mancari’s menu runs the gamut, from lunches of updated favorites like the ‘Wichcraft, a grilled ham and cheese with creamy Mornay sauce topped with a fried ‘dippy’ egg, or a grilled cheese made grown up with the addition of fresh figs and bacon. Local day boat scallops are so fresh they still taste of the sea.
2 N. Main St., Berlin, Md., 410-641-3589, solsticegrill.com—M.Z.

Imperial Hotel

Why It’s Hot: Not only does the Imperial Hotel offer a prime spot to take in Chestertown’s High Street, the restaurant also allows diners flexibility when enjoying chef Tom Pizzica’s innovative takes on Eastern Shore cuisine. Want a traditional three-course meal? No problem. Share an entrée? Sure. Can’t make
a decision and want to sample small plates? The best choice of all, in our opinion.

What to Eat: In Pizzica’s able hands scallops find their way into tacos and oysters into risotto, but lovers of fowl should try the juicy quail however it’s prepared that evening. 208 High St., Chestertown, Md., 410-778-5000, imperialchestertown.com—M.Z.

The Charlotte Hotel & Restaurant

Why It’s Hot: Romance blooms in the dining rooms of small inns in tiny towns (good wine lists help, too). The Charlotte Hotel & Restaurant is no exception. There are several good restaurants in Onancock, Virginia—and a couple of nice bed and breakfasts—but the Charlotte’s unbeatable combination of quality gourmet food and lovely rooms stands out.

What to Eat: The menu is short—maybe a half-dozen appetizers and entrees—and changes with the season. Chef Ted Cathey serves up American cuisine with a French twist (and occasionally shows his Japanese heritage). Sample from roasted seafood sausage, stuffed with flounder, lobster, shrimp, and sea bass, or a hefty rib eye, seasoned with Cathey’s dry rub and bathed in a cherry-balsamic vinegar reduction and gorgonzola cheese. The good news is, after a filling dinner, it’s just a short walk upstairs to your room. 7 North St., Onancock, Va., 757-787-7400, thecharlottehotel.com—J.S.

Pope’s Tavern at the Oxford Inn

Why It’s Hot: Pope’s Tavern is the kind of ‘local’ every neighborhood wished they had, and just sitting in the cozy burgundy-and-gold dining room alone warms a body on a cool night. Add a mix of bistro classics and modern interpretations of the local catch of the day, and you’ve got one heck of a hangout.

What to Eat: Chef Lisa MacDougal’s take on the bistro favorite, moules frites, mussels steamed in garlic and white wine, impresses even if the plate weren’t piled high with fries. Locally caught tuna melts in the mouth until the wasabi garnish kicks in. 504 S. Morris St., Oxford, Md., 410-226-5220, oxfordinn.net—M.Z.


 

Corbels

Why It’s Hot: It isn’t very often that Southern Maryland gets a new white-linen restaurant. Corbels, located on Leonardtown’s main drag, opened in 2008 in the Sterling House, an 1850s landmark that accommodated the Sterling family—and their seventeen children. The house was completely redone over the last two years, but the experience is still reminiscent of eating in someone’s living room. Happy hour at the handsome granite-topped wooden bar is a must-do, or stop by for lunch or Sunday brunch when those linen tablecloths get swapped for far more casual place mats.

What to Eat: Order anything you want, but be sure to start your lunch or dinner with the Portuguese chowder, chock-full of chorizo, potatoes, and spinach. Moving onto the Gulf shrimp and grits, served with a helping of Southern greens, would be a wise second move. 22770 Washington St., Leonardtown, Md., 301-997-0008, corbelsrestaurant.com—J.S. 

Thai Ki

Why It’s Hot: After moving on from the Inn at Easton, chef Andrew Evans found a new home in Thai Ki’s open kitchen, where diners can watch the massive wok in action. Having traveled extensively throughout Thailand, Evans has a deft hand at concocting the perfect balance of sweet and spicy, warm and cool that defines the cuisine. Open until 11 p.m. on weekends, Thai Ki has become the after-hours hot spot, where ample portions are ideal for sharing either at the contemporary, recycled teak bar or on the outdoor patio in warmer months.   

What to Eat: Finger foods have never been hotter. For starters, opt for the corn fritters with a sweet chili dipping sauce or the chicken satay. Persuade someone in your party to order the red duck curry or green fish curry, served with heaping bowls of jasmine rice, and let everyone dig in. 216 E. Dover St., Easton, Md., 410-690-3641, thaiki.com—K.B.

Brooks Tavern

Why It’s Hot: We were big fans of Kent County’s Kennedyville Inn, so it’s good to see the restaurant’s former owners, Kevin McKinney and Barbara Silcox, in a new setting. This casual eatery is the centerpiece of the beautifully refurbished Radcliffe Mill, an old feed mill just south of Chestertown’s historic district.

What to Eat: The emphasis here is on fresh, local ingredients, from the spinach in the salad made with goat cheese polenta to the chicken sautéed with mushrooms, spinach, garlic, and cream over linguine. One consistent, for lunch at least, is a holdover from the Kennedyville Inn—the barbecued Carolina crepe, cornmeal pancakes filled with barbecue pork. We also appreciate the short but sweet wine list, with nary a bottle more than $26. 870 High St., Chestertown, Md., 410-810-0012, brookstavern.com—J.S.

Pad Thai

Why It’s Hot: Pad Thai offers high-quality takes on standards like its namesake or panang curry in a setting that might look more at home in Times Square rather than Annapolis’s West Street. It’s that edgy black-and-red décor, the clean flavors of the food, and the genuinely helpful staff that elevates Lex Tsamasangvarn’s restaurant above others and makes us want to hustle to Annapolis a little early to have time for a meal before a concert at Rams Head across the street. 

What to Eat: Pad Thai’s crispy string beans are light as popcorn and just as addictive. A whisper of lime in the coconut milk-based tom kha gai makes this soup smell as good as it tastes, and Tsamasangvarn’s deft hand with spices makes us gain a new appreciation for classics like drunken noodles. 38 West St., Annapolis, 410-280-6636—M.Z.

The Cultured Pearl Restaurant & Sushi Bar

Why It’s Hot: This Rehoboth Beach standout has been rollicking along since 1993, but it wasn’t until it moved to its new digs atop a mini-mall up the street that it really
came into its own. How many restaurants have you been to that feature outdoor tables and gazebos suspended above a 15,000-gallon koi pond? Inside, the spectacle continues, with live bamboo trees and flowing waterfalls. Covet the tables at the end of the deck—you’ll be rewarded with great views of the summer scene along Rehoboth Avenue.

What to Eat: Sushi is the name
of the game here, but we also like the small plates of steamed shrimp dumplings, mango wings bathed in a green curry lime sauce, or the spicy but addictive karai edamame for snacking while watching the tan, beautiful people walk by. 301 Rehoboth Ave., Rehoboth Beach, Del., 302-227-8493, culturedpearl.us—J.S.

Carpaccio Tuscan Kitchen

Why It’s Hot: Carpaccio has been generating more buzz than a speeding Ferrari since it opened in the Park Place development on Annapolis’s West Street. And why not? This is a handsome space, done up in multiple shades of brown, a bubbling wine bar, and outdoor seating when the weather turns Tuscan. Besides, any Italian restaurant that names a pasta dish after Sophia Loren (linguine topped with Manila clams, sautéed garlic, and a light white wine sauce) is OK in our book. 

What to Eat: It’s the only place in A-Town where you’ll find this big a selection of carpacci, thinly sliced meats and veggies coupled with fresh herbs, cheeses, and other Mediterranean goodies. The brick-oven pizza (also available for take-out) is great for sharing as are the platters of antipasti, perfect when paired with a glass of dry Italian vino. 1 Park Place, Suite 10, Annapolis, 410-268-6569, carpacciotuscankitchen.com—J.S.

208 Talbot

Why It’s Hot: Whether you choose to eat in the classic dining room or in the warm brick wine bar, 208 Talbot proves that sophisticated dining doesn’t have to be pretentious, and that a restaurant wine list can be broad and adventurous. Folks who were skeptical when brothers-in-law Brendan Keegan and Brian Fox took over the venerable St. Michaels spot in 2006 needn’t have worried.

What to Eat: Chef Keegan has a way with oysters, whether they’re swimming in a modern version of oyster stew or fried crisply. And what other wine bar offers
sardines with mustard or fried garbanzo beans? 208 N. Talbot St.,
St. Michaels, Md., 410-745-3838, 208talbot.com—M.Z.

Mitchum’s Steakhouse

Why It’s Hot: In an era when ‘steakhouse’ has become synonymous with ‘chain,’ Mitchum’s is a breath of well-grilled air. Like an oasis in the desert, this handsome storefront in tiny Trappe draws folks from all over for dinner and a movie (a flat-screen TV over the bar continuously plays Robert Mitchum movies—unless it’s Sunday and football is on).

What to Eat: Not to belabor the obvious, but meat is the real draw here. Chef Chris DeLaurentiis brings out the best in beef from the silky richness of filet mignon to the almost spicy quality of the Delmonico. That being said, don’t overlook the sautéed shrimp from nearby Marvesta Farms paired with heavenly grits, cheddar, and andouille sausage. 4021 Main St., Trappe, Md., 410-476-3902, mitchumsteakhouse.com—M.Z.

Joss Café & Sushi Bar

Why It’s Hot: This Annapolis hot spot is another stalwart on this list that hasn’t lost its new restaurant shine since it opened in 1991. Take a seat in the always buzzing dining room, or better yet, grab a stool at the sushi bar and watch the masters do their thing.

What to Eat: The sushi is impeccable, but you’re pretty much safe with most things on the menu here, from the rockfish soup to the beef teriyaki. Don’t overlook the creative salads—raw tuna stuffed in a fresh avocado is a marriage made in heaven. 195 Main St., Annapolis, 410-263-4688, josscafe-sushibar.com—J.S.

Rustico

Why It’s Hot: How many places in Stevensville can you order a pizza with fresh buffalo milk mozzarella? Find delicious Aglianico offered by the glass on the wine list? Dine solo in a wine bar without feeling conspicuous? Enjoy happy hour all day on Sunday in a sophisticated setting? This is most definitely the place.

What to Eat: Chef Ivano Scotto’s fritura di pomodori verdi offers a Neopolitan twist on local fried green tomatoes. Ravioli con astice, ravioli stuffed with lobster and sautéed with crabmeat, showcases Rustico’s elegant side, while seafood fra diavola, shows us that a ‘rustic’ dish can be just as powerfully pleasing. 401 Love Point Road, Stevensville, Md., 410-643-9444, rusticoonline.com—M.Z.

Scossa Restaurant & Lounge

Why It’s Hot: Those craving a hit of Manhattan sophistication can slip into Scossa’s buttery leather banquettes that frame tables dressed in white linens and edgy contemporary flatware for an authentic northern Italian meal. Oh, and did we mention the crowds of beautiful people who gather for drinks at the marble-topped, mahogany bar? 

What to Eat: All pastas here are homemade by chef Giancarlo Tondin, and risotto can be prepared with any combination of ingredients desired. Fare here is light, gently portioned, and fresh, from the sautéed Atlantic salmon with mustard and olives to the bay shrimp studded with fresh peas. 8 N. Washington St., Easton, Md., 410-822-2201, scossarestaurant.com—K.B. 

Swanks on main

Why It’s Hot: Southern cuisine with a Chesapeake accent is the name of the game at Swanks on Main, located on Virginia’s Northern Neck. Kilmarnock’s grand dame is the brainchild of John and Wilma Tripodi, who moved to the area in 2003 and couldn’t find a cozy, upscale restaurant, so they opened one themselves. 

What to Eat: Sate your inner Southerner with chef Matt Turner’s shrimp and grits or baked local flounder with smoked sausage. If your hoop skirt isn’t too tight after the main meal, opt for a sweet ending of éclair fritters with espresso-cream filling and blueberry confit. Can’t decide what to order? Then reserve a seat for one of Chef Turner’s seven-course tasting menus, or come Sunday night when meals are served family-style. 36 N. Main St., Kilmarnock, Va. 804-436-1010, swanksonmain.com—J.S.

Evans Seafood Restaurant

Why It’s Hot: Evans was a Southern Maryland mainstay since 1962 when Robert ‘Bugs’ Evans started selling seafood out of his oyster-shucking shack on St. George Island. It enjoyed a long run as the island’s go-to eatery for locals and tourists alike, but its rep suffered in recent years as it fell into disrepair. Enter Chuck and Julie Kimball, who demolished the old building and resurrected the restaurant anew as a prototypical Chesapeake seafood house, with gleaming wood floors, a handsome bar, and boat slips along the Potomac River.

What to Eat: Seafood, in all its permutations, is the way to go here, but the steaks won’t disappoint many landlubbers. Definitely try Miss Connie’s oyster pie, a homey family recipe passed along by Connie Goddard, who used to cook the dish for her waterman husband and crew aboard his skipjack. 16680 Piney Point Road, Piney Point, Md., 301-994-9944—J.S.

I love crab cakes.

When my wife and I got married last year in her hometown outside Philadelphia, I insisted we have a crab cake on the dinner menu, a tip of the hat to my family and my roots as a native of Maryland’s Eastern Shore.

For the most part, I let my wife plan for our wedding. She’s a very good planner. Sitting down with the caterer was no exception.

Raspberry vinaigrette dressing?

Sure. Butternut squash soup? Fine.

But when it came to the crab cake, I wanted to ask a few questions.

What kind of crab would he use? 

One hundred percent lump, I was told.

No peppers or celery or anything like that, right?

The caterer shook his head.

And no funny breading?

Of course not, he said.

OK. This guy gets it, I thought.

And kind of light on the mayonnaise, right?

No, he said, we don’t use mayonnaise. We’re going to use a scallop mousse.

What? Was he serious? I turned and looked at my wife, obviously agitated. It seemed like the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard.

Scallop mousse? I’m not even sure I knew what it was. Scallops in a blender and mixed in with the crab? This seemed to come out of left field.

“No mayonnaise?” I said to my wife.

She looked from me to the caterer.

I turned to him and said, again: “No mayonnaise?”

“Honey” she said, putting her hand on my knee.

For the next few days, my wife and I talked about the virtues of mayonnaise versus scallop mousse in a crab cake. In the end, I opted not to insist that my wedding-night crab cake be made to my exact specifications. Scallop mousse it was. Marriage is a funny thing. But I’m not interested in talking about marriage right now. I’m talking about crab cakes.

I grew up Eastern Shore, but I’ve lived in exile for nearly twenty years, and I’m always dismayed at how hard it is to find a proper crab cake. The boorish outlanders beyond the Chesapeake Bay watershed are constantly botching a very basic recipe.

First of all, crab cakes are made with crab. But that’s a tough concept for some. I know a health-food place down in Houston that serves a “meatless crab cake,” substituting shredded zucchini for the crab. I once saw a recipe for a “mock Maryland crab cake”—calling for a base of tofu and some shards of green seaweed (the latter supposedly “lends that little bit of ocean taste and that is what gives it the authenticity”).

That’s great, if you like that kind of food. But it’s not a crab cake.

What kind of crab? Years ago, nobody on the East Coast would ever have thought of anything except blue crab. But globalization has washed over us and eroded our traditions. King crab from Alaska. Stone crab from the Texas Gulf coast. Dungeness crab from California. Am I the only one who noticed that all those Phillips’ crab items in the grocery store are packed with crab from Thailand? 

The breading is another pitfall. To me, it should be bread. And it goes on the outside. Yet so many crab cakes are swirled throughout with bread crumbs or crushed crackers or mashed potatoes or bits of corn. A chi-chi restaurant in New York stirs in some couscous. One restaurateur in Los Angeles covers his with something called kataifi, the Middle Eastern pastry that resembles shredded wheat.

On the matter of stuffing, there is room for legitimate debate. According to Wikipedia, crab cakes with stuffing are called “Boardwalk crab cakes” as opposed to “restaurant crab cakes,” which is more crab intensive. Maybe the breaded variant has its place. But I think it’s a slippery slope.

Then there are the unnatural additives. Peppers are a common problem—green peppers, hot peppers, sweet peppers. Others add scallions or parsley. The new-fangled ones sometimes have traces of dill or cilantro or shards of shiitake mushrooms. I’ve seen people add olives or avocado and even bits of basil and cherry tomato. I love garlic, but it has no place in a crab cake.

Then there are the total and complete overhauls. I remember a Caribbean-style restaurant in Key West that served a crab cake mixed with dark rum and jerk seasoning, and was breaded with toasted coconut shavings.

And there are even some egregious examples closer to home. At the Crack Pot Seafood Restaurant in Towson, they offer “Italian” crab cakes with tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese and a “Hawaiian” version with ham and pineapple.

I’m open-minded about many things. But not crab cakes. My fundamentalist crab-cake sensibilities were largely shaped by my grandmother. She was a wise and warm-hearted woman who grew up in the 1930s, when the term “crab cake” came into popular use. She chain-smoked Merits and cooked with hand-scooped dollops of Crisco measured with the width of her fingers. And she made the best crab cakes on the planet.

In a small rancher near a mill dam on Wicomico Creek south of Salisbury, she would pull steamed crabs from a bushel basket and pick them clean—never so much as a single shard of shell. She’d let the freshly formed cakes chill in the refrigerator before cooking them, then drop them in cast-iron pans that crackled and spewed bits of hot oil that’d burn your skin if you stood too close. Barely held together, with just a little bit of mayonnaise, they were seasoned generously with salt and pepper and Worcestershire sauce, stained yellow with just a bit of mustard.

She never served them with any mango-citrus aioli. She never encrusted them with almonds, topped them with capers, or dusted them with crushed wasabi peas. And I know she never used any scallop mousse.

Andrew Tilghman writes from D.C.

Lures Bar & Grille
1397 Generals Highway
Crownsville, Md.
410-923-1606, luresbarandgrille.com
Open: Daily, 11 a.m.-midnight

ATMOSPHERE: Beach cottage casual
SERVICE: Super efficient
DON’T MISS: Rockfish bites; sausage, sauerkraut, and pirogies
TARIFF: Appetizers, $8-$13; sandwiches and entrees, $10-$30

When a restaurant is called Lures Bar and Grille, it’s not a surprise to find seafood on the menu, beer on tap, and a burger or two listed among the sandwiches. But what you probably don’t expect is that the seafood is never frozen, the variety of beers on tap numbers fourteen, and the burger in question is made from Kobe beef. Not only that, but among the menu’s crab cakes and blackened tuna steaks are Polish pirogies, a nod to owner Chuck Soja’s Polish grandmother. It’s these quirky and unmistakably personal choices that elevate Lures above your local neighborhood bar and grill.

Soja, who co-owns the restaurant with his wife, Jill, spent fourteen years working for the T.G.I. Friday’s chain, and his determination to put his own stamp on casual dining is obvious. Nothing about Lures bears a resemblance to Friday’s—from the ever-changing beer list featuring local and national microbrews to the nautical memorabilia scattered throughout. (The only possible exceptions to this are the two televisions in the bar and the low din created by a hungry crowd.)

“We wanted to take the angle where we would cook fresh food, local food,” explains Soja. And although he had fully intended to buy a freezer for the restaurant, he couldn’t find one he liked, so the restaurant opened without one. After that, he says, “We realized we didn’t need one. We could keep it fresh and people really liked that.” With its soaring ceiling and hazy blue-green walls, Lures feels more like a beach cottage where everyone is welcome, rather than a bar hangout.

Lures’ menu is similarly casual and familiar. Aside from the plump potato-and-cheese-filled pirogies (which can be ordered with or without sausage and sauerkraut), the menu focuses on bar-friendly starters (nachos, cream cheese-and-jalape—o-filled wontons, fried mushrooms), sandwiches, salads, and a handful of mostly seafood-based entrees. Though made elsewhere, the pirogies taste like the ones a busia (grandmother) might make—savory, filling, but not heavy. Rockfish bites reveal that the kitchen has a deft hand with the deep fryer, as the beer-battered nuggets of rockfish emerge crispy, fresh-tasting, and bear little trace of grease. They’re as addictive as popcorn.

We try the Kobe burger “Lures style”—with melted havarti, grilled onions, and sautéed mushrooms—and would order it again in a heartbeat for its velvety texture and depth of flavor. Yep, you can tell the difference (though I’m not giving up on Angus beef, which is also available on the menu). The only minor disappointment of the evening is the grilled mahi-mahi, which, despite its mango salsa garnish, ends up underwhelming. And although the menu description promises a topping of jumbo lump crabmeat, the end result is merely a few white flakes of crab.

If you plan to visit Lures, keep in mind that happy hour runs from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. Monday through Friday, and even if you don’t imbibe, this is a busy time for the restaurant. Our server, while more than polite and never pushy, was almost too efficient in returning to our table to take orders, clear plates, and box up food to take home. These good intentions can make you feel a bit rushed as you dine, but are happy proof that the lure of Lures is strong. Crownsville, welcome to your new local.

It came in a small brown paper bag. In my mind’s eye, there was a red ribbon tied around its wiry handles, maybe a tuft of white tissue paper sticking out.

There was a certain heft to it, like someone had given me a can of Campbell’s Soup. And when I parted the tissue paper, it did reveal a can—but this was no Manhattan Clam Chowder. Instead, it was small and yellow with a cheery green illustration, and I had to read its label twice. Someone had given me a can of tuna-stuffed jalapenos.

I had never heard of such a concoction before—let alone received a can of them for Christmas—but that fact didn’t really bother me. (Its giver knew I enjoyed spicy foods.) But as I inspected this culinary oddity a little closer, I could see in a scratchy blue ink inscribed on the side of the can: To Jack. Enjoy!

My name is not Jack.

I was a victim of regifting, and in this case, the perpetrator was sitting directly in front of me.

I didn’t let on to Jack that I had seen the inscription. I couldn’t. I simply feigned excitement at having received such an unusual gift and went about opening other presents, specifically purchased for me.

Years later I still wonder about that little yellow can. What had Jack been thinking? Did he ever notice its inscription? Or did he simply not care? And frankly, who gives cans of tuna-stuffed jalapeños as holiday presents anyway?

I’m not opposed to the idea of regifting—some would even say it’s a form of recyclingÑbut if you’re gonna do it, you have to do it right.

Jack undoubtedly would have benefited from Sarah Achenbach’s essay, “The Art of Regifting” in this month’s CL. He would have realized that passing along inscribed presents is definitely a “regifting don’t,” and violates her second tenet, “Take the effort to make it look new.”

In this issue, we’ve also got a story about gifts that have made lasting, favorable impressions, “Gifts that Kept on Giving,” as well as an article about Davidsonville’s over-the-top holiday shopping playground, Homestead Gardens. Also, be sure to check out historian Mike Dixon’s retelling of Elkton, Md.’s own Iranian crisis from 1935. It’s a funny, fascinating tale.

So whatever happened to that can of tuna-stuffed jalapeños? It still sits in my kitchen cupboard, awaiting the Apocalypse or the day when my pregnant wife turns to me and utters, “I have the most unusual craving.” But I also keep it because it really was a one-of-a-kind gift, and besides, it makes for a wonderful conversation piece.

Gee, maybe it wasn’t such a thoughtless gift after all. Thank you, Jack.

Join us next month for more conversations about food, as we visit some of the Bay’s hottest restaurants and talk about crab cakes from around the country.

Until then, happy holidays!

Joe Sugarman
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Curries are the meat and potatoes of many Asian cuisines, the go-to, one-pot meal for millions of people from Thailand to India to Singapore. In this country, curries are often misunderstood as being either too spicy or too difficult to cook with. But, in fact, curries can be made with subtle flavors just as readily as bold ones, and good, authentic curry dishes can be whipped up within minutes. An entire meal can be made from buying just a few fresh ingredients and relying on basic items, like coconut milk, curry pastes, and dried rice noodles. In fact, I purposely did not shop in a specialty grocery store to prepare these dishes. You can find their ingredients in any large supermarket.

I’ve also included a broad variety of curries to appeal to different taste buds. The traditional Indian curry, made with braised lamb leg, is a classic. Thai curries can be quite thin but still boast huge flavors, like the red duck curry, which I serve regularly at my own Thai restaurant. For a not-so-hot curry, try the Singaporean chicken Laksa, in which the primary flavoring components are turmeric and lime juice. And for a closer-to-home spin on the curry theme, try the curried crab—you may not reach for the Old Bay ever again. Enjoy! 

Thai Red Duck Curry

Chicken and Coconut Milk Laksa

Mild Indian Lamb Curry

Curried Crab

Andrew Evans is the owner/chef of Easton’s Thai Ki.

Wearing a tailored charcoal suit and silk rep tie, Thad Bench looks out of place against the barren, wintertime fields surrounding his Kent County house. Coming home for lunch, he greets his wife, Renee, in the kitchen and then stares out the window.

“I think I’m going to go climb into the blind and hunt for the rest of the day,” he announces with a sly grin. “You know, go hide.” While originally an Indiana farm boy, such a statement proves that his transformation into a true Eastern Shoreman is nearly complete.
The Benches had lived in Annapolis for fourteen years before finding their ideal dwelling on the Shore, an eighteenth-century farmhouse cum dairy farm called Worth’s Folly. But it was in such a sad state of disrepair that they almost let it go. “We knew it would be a huge undertaking, but we kept coming back to it,” says Thad, who, with his wife, bought the house in 2003. “We must have driven past it a dozen times, visiting it at sunset and early in the morning. I thought it was as right as rain.” 
Built circa 1780 in Flemish bond brick, Worth’s Folly was patented to a John Worth in 1687 and originally included 1,036 acres. The oldest part of the house contains the living room, dining room, and den, all true to the authentic Colonial vernacular, with low ceilings and diminutive square footage. The architectural highlight of the space, decorated in neutral-toned silk and crushed velvet fabrics, is the paneled fireplace wall, which embeds an enclosed stairway and two closets.
The view from the living room stretches into the adjoining dining room, made elegant with a working fireplace, nineteenth-century French landscape paintings, a mahogany table, and smatterings of family silver. For the Benches, rabid entertainers, this room, which contains four original, exposed ceiling beams, is custom-made for winter dinner parties. “I personally enjoy entertaining when you can actually have a conversation and spend the time getting to know someone,” says Thad. “And that’s easier to do at a dinner table. It’s an intimate space, and the scale of the room brings sincerity to it.”
The kitchen wing, incorporated into the footprint in 1970 by previous owners, represents the newest part of the house. The Benches refurbished it in 2007, gutting the old space and adding wide-planked pine flooring and new cabinetry and appliances—all requirements of Renee, an avid cook. The wall of windows looks out over the two-acre pond and bordering soybean, winter wheat, and corn fields. The honking of the resident Canada geese provides gentle background noise, often drowned out by the sound of Duke, the male yellow Labrador, snoring in his favorite corner of the kitchen.
With two kids, three dogs, two horses, three cats, three peacocks, twenty-five rare-breed chickens, and a duck named Chuck, there’s always plenty of action on the farm. In fact, until relocating to Chestertown last year, Thad’s marketing company, Benchworks, was housed in the barn across from the main house.
For a break from the chaos, the couple decided to create a family retreat in the 100-year-old granary. The first step in the renovation process was to clean out the hay, evict the colony of pigeons, and power wash the all-wood interior. “On the weekends, we cleaned it out, piece by piece,” recalls Thad. “It was a massive undertaking.”
They transformed the roomy grain bins into three seating areas, adding a white sofa banquette in the center space, a piano in the other, and Thad and Thad Jr.‘s hunting gear everywhere in between. A wood stove heats the space in the winter, while the sweet-smelling smoke from Thad’s pipe perfects the hunting-lodge ambience. “We spend Christmas morning out here,” says Renee. “We started the tradition the year we moved in. Some winters we’re out here in our coats and gloves, but it’s worth it.”
“It’s a great place to retreat,” adds Thad, “to think or take a nap or read. We’ve had some epic dove hunts on the farm, and afterward we come back here to drink wine and listen to music loudly while not bothering anybody. There’s been a lot of dancing, a lot of laughter in here.”
For the Benches, adjusting to country life has been easy since both were raised on farms. “I’m a big space person,” says Renee, who grew up in rural Pennsylvania. “I love having elbowroom. Having the space is wonderful, and being in the country with all the animals is fabulous. But I did have to train myself to think that anything under an hour was close.”
“Renee adjusted much more easily than I,” admits Thad. “I am very social, and I miss my friends from Annapolis. But they come to visit and now we also have some good new friends. To live in a place this rural, you have to be really comfortable in your own skin.”

While the holiday season is a time of joy, unfortunately, it can also be a time of stress. Searching for the perfect gift for a long list of family, friends and co-workers is enough to send even the most seasoned of shoppers into a retail spin.

This year the Alter Communications editors at STYLE, PaperDoll and Chesapeake Life have embarked on our first collaborative effort, the sole purpose being the alleviation of pre-holiday shopping angst. Pooling our fashion and design savvy, we’ve compiled a holiday gift wish list of all the objects that make our hearts go aflutter. Wish List is sure to give you loads of fantastic gift ideas and inspirations for your holiday shopping and, you might even find something to put on your own holiday wish list!

Click images for larger view. Or, download the entire section (13MB).

Tom Weaver, owner, Eastport Yacht Co., Annapolis
We were living in Tanzania when I was four and went to visit my grandparents in Nairobi. Despite these exotic locales, my favorite gift was very American: a cowboy hat, little vest, chaps, holster, and lots of tassels. The gun, of course, was the best part of the outfit. My first target was my sister. Then I went after the imaginary Indians hiding in the bushes. I think the gift lasted two weeks before I destroyed it. The funny thing is, a few years later, I received a real air gun rifle and then a .22 and later a big boy’s gun, a .303. But after all these years, it’s the little toy gun that I remember with such joy.

Cynthia McBride, owner, McBride Gallery, Annapolis
I grew up on a farm in northern Minnesota. We were very poor. Every Christmas we received two gifts, a toy and a piece of clothing. My best memory is falling asleep to the sound of my mother’s treadle sewing machine, knowing she was making something for us to wear. When I was eight, she made me a pale blue dress with puffy sleeves and a gathered skirt. I wanted to show it off when we went to church the following Sunday. Usually, we kept our coats on throughout the service, because it was freezing. But on that Sunday, I took off my coat and showed off my beautiful dress—and my goose bumps.

Woodlief Oliver, musician, Easton, Md.
I got my favorite Christmas present in 1955 when I was five years old. I raced down the stairs, and there, next to the tree, was a X-1, silver and red spaceship. It was a two-seater made of cardboard that had a cheesy printed control panel with Tinkertoy-like levers. But I could get inside and fly through outer space. I still remember the absolute joy of commanding my X-1 across the universe. I would never know that joy again: It was the last Christmas that my younger brother was still in his cradle and not able to mess up my presents. I hadn’t even heard that horrible word share yet.

Ron Bowman, retired NASA project manager, Annapolis
My wife recently gave me the best Christmas gift, something I had wanted for a long time. Ten years ago, I did my first Ironman [race], in Hawaii. I wanted something to commemorate this accomplishment. I saw this beautiful gold ring with the Ironman emblem on it, but it was too expensive. Instead, I bought a tie tack. I retired this year and don’t wear ties anymore. Then, this past July, I completed my second Ironman, in Lake Placid, shaving 1.5 hours off my previous time. My wife took the tie tack to a jeweler, had him turn it into a ring, and gave it to me for Christmas.
Ann Coates, owner, Bishop’s Stock Fine Art and Craft, Snow Hill, Md.
The best Christmas gift I can remember had nothing to do with presents. Three years ago, my husband, son, and I decided we didn’t need anything. Our son, Bryan, was graduating from college, and we wanted to spend time together while we could. So we went on a family trip to New York for three days. The highlight was going to see Jersey Boys on Broadway. We had third-row seats right in front of Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban. Bryan even got to talk to them. He was thrilled. It was such a special night. We all realized having time with family is the best gift possible.

Lari Caldwell, social worker, East New Market, Md.
I desperately wanted a Tiny Tears doll when I was seven, because my mother refused to have another baby. My friend had a Tiny Tears; it drank from a bottle, cried, and even wet itself. It was the most wonderful doll in the world. But we were poor, and every time I asked for it, my mother would only say, “Maybe Santa will bring it to you.” Christmas morning, I opened my gifts. No doll. I thought maybe Santa had to give it to some other girl. Then my parents pulled out a huge box from behind the tree. I tore off the wrapping paper, and there she was. She even had a layette. All these years later, it is still my favorite gift. 
                   
Stewart Dobson, publisher, Ocean City Today, Ocean City, Md.
The year of the BB gun, the first bike, and the stocking full of bubble gum—which my capitalist, robber baron brother promptly sold by the piece—somehow seem fused into a single yuletide blur. But the one gift that stands out is a box of spaghetti by Chef Boyardee stuffed in my stocking, the great chef being a step up in the Italian cuisine of the pedestrian Franco-American. This gift stemmed from an early obsession with spaghetti, a small part of which involved disgusting my older sister by holding one end of a strand, swallowing the other and then pulling it back up. It was the gift that kept giving to a six-year-old.

Jeff Schaub, owner, Annapolis Marine Arts Gallery, Annapolis
When I was a kid, I loved anything that flew. I would often go on trips to Newark Airport with my family or with my Cub Scout troop. When I was seven, my parents got me my very own airplane that was made in post-war Japan. It was unbelievably intricate: hand-welded wires formed the wings and body and both were completely covered in brilliant blue silk thread. It was about twenty inches long and two feet wide. It didn’t fly very well, but I didn’t care. It was so beautiful and ephemeral. As I got older, I got into building balsa wood planes and then planes with engines that could really fly. But none of them meant more to me than that beautiful blue airplane. 
Marc Apter, associate vice president, marketing and public relations, St. Mary’s College of Maryland, St. Mary’s City, Md.
From the time I was born, my grandfather took me out on the water. When I was six, he blessed me with the most wonderful Christmas gift ever. I was sent to the garage and opened the door. There was my very own eight-foot Chris-Craft dingy. It was a total surprise. It was the Porsche of dinghies. It started me on my avocation of acquiring
little boats: Today I like to say I have 103 feet of yachts, seven in total, including a Hobie Cat, Zodiac, and a Laser.

Butch Arbin, captain, Ocean City Beach Patrol, Ocean City, Md.
Even as a child it was never about getting gifts for me; it was about giving. I am blessed that my children feel the same way. Nine years ago, when they were eleven and fifteen, we had a family meeting. We decided to take the money we would have used to buy gifts for ourselves and bought gifts for families living in a women’s shelter. My kids picked out the gifts themselves, wrapped them, and had their best Christmas handing them out. Watching the delight on their faces was the best gift I could have received.

Judy McDonald, Choptank Animal Hospital, Cambridge, Md.
It was the week before Christmas when our cat, Wolfie, went missing. My husband and I scoured the neighborhood and finally found someone who had seen some dogs attacking a cat three days earlier. We went to where the attack happened and found Wolfie hiding under the porch. We rushed him to the vet and brought him home four days later. One of the girls in my husband’s office made a Christmas ornament to commemorate his return: a big silver ball with paw prints, his name, and the year. Sadly, Wolfie died four years ago, but we still hang the ornament on the tree and think about our best Christmas gift ever, his miraculous return.

Jennie Merrill, teacher, Severna Park Elementary School, Severna Park, Md.
I would get one gift from my mother every Christmas, and it was always great. The most memorable one was when I was nine. It was a Person Power Vehicle (PPV). It literally looked like a paddleboat on wheels. I would pick up my best friend who’d sit upfront with me and pedal (it took two), and we’d put two more friends in the back. We’d pretend it was a car and feel, oh-so cool. We’d ‘drive’ all around town, pretty much stopping traffic when people saw it. The PPV lasted four years until it finally wore out and was too expensive to fix.

Samantha McCall, freelance writer, Easton, Md.
My boyfriend, Tom, and I were traveling around the world and were about a third of the way through our trip when we stopped in Bali. It was a week before Christmas in 1994, and Tom asked me where I saw our relationship going. Did I think I wanted to get married and have kids? I was very excited, but he dropped the whole conversation. Then on Christmas morning, while we were still snuggled in bed, he proposed. When I said, ‘Yes,’ he gave me a pair of beautiful amethyst and silver earrings [he wanted us to pick out the ring together]. That’s a hard gift to top.

Cheryl McCready, secretary, Advanced Projects Office, NASA, Wallops Island, Va.
Holidays are a time for family, especially Christmas. But as our sons have grown up and moved away, it gets harder to coordinate everyone’s schedule. Eight years ago, my boys and daughter-in-law made it home right before an ice storm hit and knocked out the electricity for three days. We all huddled around the wood-burning stove with our boys, taking turns chopping wood. I made chili on top of the wood stove for our Christmas dinner. We had a real old-fashioned Christmas with lots of laughter and conversation—all made possible by our secondary heating system. Who knew it would turn out to be the best gift we had ever given ourselves?

Stacie May, captain, Trader Joe’s, Annapolis
After nearly forty years, I still have a picture of my favorite gift: a two-foot-long Fisher Price plastic Noah’s ark. When you opened it up, it had lots of little compartments filled with pairs of animals. I’d play with them for hours. Years later, I was looking through my husband’s photo album and saw that he had the same toy. Five years ago, I bought a similar ark in a toy store, and put it away. We’re going to give it to our three-year-old and eighteen-month-old for Christmas. Hopefully, it will become a second-generation favorite gift.

It’s the morning after your holiday celebration (or birthday party, bridal shower, retirement party, whatever). Among the boxes and bows are some gems. But there are also duplicates and duds—and nary a gift receipt to be found.

Sooner or later, this pile of un-wanted loot is going to raise a serious question: To regift or not to regift? Not me, you say. I’d never. Not so fast. If you’ve ever given someone a bottle of wine that was given to you, congratulations, you’ve regifted. In a recent American Express survey, 31 percent admit to regifting at least once.

Chances are that Ben Parker wasn’t thinking about regifting when he told his young nephew (and soon-to-be-Spider-Man) Peter that, “with great power comes great responsibility.” But the sentiment certainly applies. With gift-giving, it’s the thought that counts. With regifting, the same motto applies, though your thinking needs to be more strategic. Here are the basic rules of engagement.

Don’t ask, don’t tell. It’s official: Judith Martin, aka Miss Manners, has deemed the practice of regifting acceptable. She writes in the latest edition of Miss Manners’ Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior that if you receive a present that isn’t quite right, “the present does not have to be used or displayed…This leaves room for returning, donating to charity and regifting, none of which is rude if the rule is strictly observed about protecting the donor from knowing.”

When you unwrap the crime novel from your brother-in-law, follow the standard rules of etiquette (and basic kindness): say thank you and don’t let on that the gift isn’t everything you’ve ever wanted. Then start thinking about people you know who love James Patterson’s work. On the flip side, your brother-in-law shouldn’t comment when he doesn’t see the book on your shelves a few weeks later. If he does, you could feign surprise—”Oh, isn’t it? I saw it there the other day.” Or tell a little white lie that your friend is borrowing the book. Whatever you do, avoid a conversation about plot development.

Take the effort to make it look new. Let’s be honest: Regifting successfully boils down to not getting caught. Be sure to remove every scrap of the original wrapping paper and tape. Nothing says, “Here, I didn’t want this, so I’m giving it to you,” like a crumpled gift bag and used tissue paper. If the packaging shows signs of obviously having been wrapped once before, consider finding another use for the gift. And by all means, heed the true tale of the bridal couple who didn’t look inside the Crock-Pot box after unwrapping it. Instead, they rewrapped it and gave it to another couple—who discovered a note of congratulations inside the box, written to the first couple.

Keep good records. It can be as simple as jotting notes in a spiral notebook or as elaborate as a spreadsheet, but keeping track of the gifts you plan to regift will minimize embarrassing mistakes and protect the feelings of all interested parties. Just jot down what you received from whom and when and to whom you gave it. Giving your mother the chocolate fountain your sister gave you—or, God forbid, your mother herself gave you a few years before—is unwise. 

Keep your distance. If you received the original gift from a family member, don’t regift within the family (or to a family friend). Keep species separate. Regift the platter your running buddy gave you to your college friend who lives across the country. The idea is to put some distance between the item’s point of origin and its final resting place.

Give it away—but not as a gift. If you’d rather not regift, fine, but you don’t need to hang onto something you don’t want. If the green V-neck sweater you received is neither your size, color, nor cut, give it to someone you think would like it. Tell the person you received it as a gift, and ask if she’d like it—no long preamble necessary.

Or donate it to charity with tags attached. Goodwill has new stuff on the racks all the time. Since it was a gift in the first place, you could return the favor to a charity that collects new items such as Toys for Tots. Most charities put new items like clothing and household appliances to good use year-round, too.

Cash out at your own risk. Holiday gift-giving (or any other time of the year) is not about profiteering. Sure, eBay has lots of things that were gifts in their first life, so auction if you must. But remember that you never know who is scanning the auction sites. Ditto for Internet regifting sites, such as regift.com, which allows you to swap (for a fee), buy or sell unwanted gifts and swapagift.com for unwanted gift cards.

As for consignment shops and yard sales, don’t do it anywhere near the donor. I sold a few wedding gifts at a yard sale, but it was years after the gift was given and the donor lived two time zones away. The idea was to get it out of the house, and I think I netted enough to buy a latte. 

Make it a party. Kristin Hoffman of Baltimore County throws an annual regifting party during the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Guests bring their unwanted gifts rewrapped as fancily as possible. People pick numbers and select a wrapped gift, opening it as they go. Those with higher numbers can “steal” an already unwrapped gift. “This party is the perfect example of one man’s trash being someone else’s treasure,” says Hoffman. “One year, someone brought a bird clock that makes different bird calls on the hour. One lady loved it. You can’t come expecting to get something great, but it’s a lot of fun.”

Give good karma. This holiday season, show your loved ones you really care: include a gift receipt (or gift invoice if you shopped online) with every gift you give. That way, they can easily return the coffee-maker, cut-glass picture frame, or Cosby-esque cardigan. Do you really want to see the talking moose slippers you bought your father on his neighbor when he could have returned them to get what he really wanted: talking cow slippers?

401 Love Point Road, Stevensville, Md.
410-643-9444, http://www.rusticoonline.com
Hours: Dining Room, Lunch 11 a.m.-4 p.m.; Dinner 4 p.m.-10 p.m.; Wine Bar, Mon.-Sat. 11 a.m.-midnight, Sun. noon-10 p.m.

Atmosphere: Comfortably sophisticated
Service: All pro
Don’t Miss: Tortellini alla Romana; seafood fra diavola
Tariff: Appetizers, $6-$11; entrees,
$14-$26; four-course prix fixe, $35/person

In Italy, roosters symbolize good luck and good fortune. It’s the result, tradition tells us, of an instance in which a cock crowing foiled an assassination attempt made upon the de Medici family in Renaissance Florence. So when my husband and I twice heard a rooster crow as we walked from Rustico’s pebbled parking lot to its front entrance, we took this as an auspicious sign. And the rooster didn’t let us down.

From restaurant partner Gino Romano’s front-door greeting to the pumpkin-orange and butternut-squash-yellow that appear on tablecloths, walls, and china, Rustico exudes warmth and easy comfort. We overheard one diner exclaim “understated elegance!” as she brushed past taffeta drapes into the smaller of Rustico’s two dining rooms. The presence of casually dressed families in the larger dining room and solo diners in the wine bar, suggest that Rustico can be what you want it to be—be it fine or family dining or simply your favorite watering hole.

The menu has everything to do with this, of course. Diners who frequent Annapolis’s Luna Blu (owned by Rustico’s other two partners, Ivano and Michelina Scotto) will recognize Rustico’s menu as nearly identical. As Romano says, “It worked there [in Annapolis]. Why not here?”

Why not, indeed. Like at Luna Blu, the voluminous menu lists ten appetizers, roughly a half- dozen salads, eleven pastas, and eleven entrees featuring seafood, chicken, or veal. And you can sample much of the above (or at least an appetizer, salad, main course, and dessert) in the four- course prix fixe ($35).

Normally, I preach quality over quantity, but in this case, you have both. Just make sure to bring an appetite, and even then, count on taking home leftovers. Nearly everyone does, admits Romano, and we were no exception. (I do wonder, however, if the restaurant might consider a three-course special with the option of either an appetizer or a salad and trim the price accordingly.)

Though I was tempted by frittura di pomodori verdi (fried green tomatoes with buffalo mozzarella), my meal began with vegetali misti, a generous serving of grilled and marinated vegetables. (I did have three more courses to consume.) While this dish might be dull in other hands, the vegetables shone in their simplicity. The marinade clinging to the artichoke hearts flashed a bit of heat, and thin slices of grilled zucchini and eggplant were a hearty foil to silky strips of red pepper. Tomatoes in the mozzarella and eggplant Napoleon could have been riper, but the almost marshmallow-like creaminess of the mozzarella di bufula created the equivalent of a savory s’more. After those dishes, salads, as respectable as they were, seemed unnecessary.

Entrees reward diners who pace themselves. Tortellini alla Romana, tri-color tortellini with sausage and mushrooms in a cream sauce, is like the best sausage gravy you’ve ever had. And, yes, I mean that as a compliment. Neither unctuous nor greasy (but yes, rich), the spicy sausage marries with the cream in a balanced amalgam, and on a cool evening, it was hearty, not heavy. Seafood fra diavola appears regularly on the menus of Italian restaurants, but its execution is often something of a mixed bag. Not at Rustico. The mix of seafood imbued the red sauce with layers of flavor, so that the whole dish tasted fresh, a little briny, and spicy, and calamari, scallops, clams, and mussels yielded tenderly to fork and jaws.

After all that, the idea of dessert seems preferable to the thing itself, but Rustico offers a number of house-made desserts worth trying. Some are more traditionally Italian than others, and we skipped chocolate mousse and cheesecake in favor of a frothy zabaglione and the warm strudel de mele, apples in crisp puff pastry dressed in caramel sauce and ice cream, generous enough for two.

Tables at Rustico aren’t uncomfortably close together, but throughout the evening I overheard praise for service coming from various corners of the room (“He was great,” said a woman whose family celebrated a birthday, of the server taking care of them. “He was there when you needed him.”) I couldn’t agree more. Our server graciously let us set our own pace during dinner, explaining that it’s the restaurant’s policy not to bring out the next course until a diner has finished with the current one. She also inquired when we wanted our bottle of wine brought to the table, and kept our leftovers in the restaurant’s kitchen until we finished our meal. This was service that was deft and polished but without pretension.

If you’re eating in the dining room, it’s easy to forget that Rustico is a wine bar until you see the breadth and depth of the wine list, particularly where Italy is concerned. (There aren’t too many places where you’ll see Falanghina, a white from Campania, offered by the glass). On Mondays and Wednesdays, all wines over $30 a bottle are half price, but there are plenty of bottle choices in the under-$30 range as well, and Maryland law allows you to take home what you don’t consume at the restaurant. If you order a bottle and the prix fixe, you may not have to worry about tomorrow’s wining and dining either. Cock-a-doodle-doo.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

I’ve recently returned from a trip to Smith and Tangier islands and I’ve been trying to imagine a time when the rest of the Bay more closely resembled those two isolated bits of real estate.

I’ve been trying to picture what life was like when so many more people depended on the water or the land to sustain their livelihoods. I’ve also been wondering what the Chesapeake would be like if all of those watermen, farmers, boat builders, and others, who stubbornly still pursue their traditional trades, suddenly disappeared. How would our unique Chesapeake culture change? What would we lose?

Elizabeth Watson, who helped organize last spring’s first-ever Historic Preservation Summit for Maryland’s Eastern Shore, spends her days asking those very same questions. Watson, executive director of Eastern Shore Heritage, Inc., says her job involves a constant conundrum: While we know what it takes to preserve the land from development (at least in theory), we’re fairly clueless when it comes to assisting the “tradition bearers,” as she calls them, or those who make their living from it. “You can put aside all the land you want for Open Space, but will you save the culture that produced it?” she asks. “In other words, you can save the farmland, but can you save the farmer?”

In this issue, we meet eleven young men and women who continue to practice traditional Chesapeake occupations. They are the next generation of farmers and watermen and decoy carvers, who have—at least for now—figured out a way to make centuries-old occupations work in contemporary times.

Editing a magazine may not be as down-and-dirty a job as pulling in crab traps or skinning a muskrat (although, sometimes it sure feels that way). However, I do hope Chesapeake Life is an accurate reflection of our region’s history and culture. This issue marks my first as editor in chief, and I hope we can create a dialog about what makes this region special to us all. 

The Chesapeake area is a big one, and we can’t learn about everything from our little office in Baltimore, however hard we may try. So if you know of an interesting person still practicing an old-fashioned trade, a cozy B&B, a fantastic new restaurant, or beloved little shop that merits coverage in these pages, please drop me a line. Also, let us know what you think of a particular feature story or department (whether you liked it or not). This is a two-way relationship, and I hope we can learn from one another.

Lastly, I’d like to recognize former editor Kessler Burnett for guiding this publication so passionately for the past ten years. She will continue on as senior editor, and her unique voice will still be heard regularly in these pages.

We’ll be back in December with stories on Annapolis’s Christmas supply superstore, Homestead Gardens, an old-fashioned train ride through Virginia’s Eastern Shore, and a sublime new restaurant in Stevensville.

Until then,
Joe Sugarman
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Fish Whistle
98 Cannon St.
Chestertown, Md. 410-778-3566
Open daily: Sun. noon-7 p.m.; Lunch, Mon.-Sat. 11 a.m.-4 p.m.; Dinner, 5 p.m.-9 p.m.; Bar menu available until midnight.

Atmosphere: Bright walls and blonde wood

Service: Erratic

Don’t Miss: Chocolate-chip ice cream sandwich; rice pudding

Tariff: Appetizers, $6.95-$8.95; entrees, $12-$26

If you give them waterside dining, they will come. And come they do to the busy, brightly painted Fish Whistle, which opened in Chestertown in May in the former space of the Old Wharf. There’s nothing subtle about the restaurant, from its mango-walled dining room and lime-green bar to its trying-to-be-everything-to-everyone menu. But Fish Whistle’s crowning glory is its location at the end of Cannon Street on the banks of the Chester River, where guests in the bar and dining room (or on the deck, in season) can take in this lovely stretch of water.

Fish Whistle, named for co-owner and chef Jeffrey Carroll’s friend’s boat, is decidedly a family joint. Young parents order milk for sippy cups while their toddlers point wildly at the families of ducks that paddle by—which is not to say you have to bring the kids, but if you do, they will be welcome. As will boaters, who can dock for free at the Chestertown Marina, if they call the restaurant ahead to make arrangements.

But if the view of ducks and the river is captivating, the food at Fish Whistle falls a bit short of that. Co-owner Jennifer Donisi explains that everything except the chicken fingers (on the children’s menu) and french fries are made from scratch. In theory, homemade is a good thing, but it means little if the food isn’t tasty. And some of it isn’t.

Several dishes suffered from lack of salt (something easily remedied); others simply failed to live up to their promise. The roasted jumbo shrimp appetizer made a particularly pretty presentation laid out on a square, white plate and drizzled with an almost creamy lemon vinaigrette. But its flavor fell flat, something that could have been improved with a perhaps just a touch of salt. Vegetable crab soup had a fresh tomato base and ample string beans, corn, and even squash, but it, too, needed a flavor boost.

Fish Whistle’s dinner entrees range from pan-seared duck breast with mango, lime, and chili jus ($22) to herb-crusted rack of lamb ($25) to a pulled-pork barbecue platter ($12), because, as Donisi explains, the restaurant “want[s] to offer a variety and a price point for everyone.” Crab cakes and pork barbecue are the restaurant’s biggest sellers so far, she adds, and I wonder if, at some point, the restaurant might just concentrate on that kind of casual fare. While it doesn’t feel incongruous to eat more formal food in this informal setting, trying to do everything stretches even the best of kitchens.

Take the elegant flounder special stuffed with crab Rockefeller. “Sort of like imperial,” explained the server, though it wasn’t as rich and had the addition of spinach. This, too, suffered from what was becoming a predictable blandness. (A diner near us registered the same judgment on the fish.) What made the dish even more frustrating were the unpleasant sides: rice flavored with what tasted like spices out of a foil packet, overcooked zucchini and yellow squash in a tomato base, and undercooked green beans tossed with fresh corn.

Beef brisket, which Carroll smokes on the premises, was a better choice. The platter comes with respectable coleslaw and potato salad, and you can add fries for a dollar more.
But if dinner underwhelms, desserts delight and are proof that sometimes simpler is better. Made in-house, the chocolate-chip ice cream sandwich is a sophisticated take on a childhood favorite, and the warm, buttery cookies (spiked with a hint of ginger, maybe?) embrace good quality vanilla ice cream. Old-fashioned, creamy rice pudding boasts a generous amount of nutmeg and comes in a soda fountain-style sundae glass. Save room.

Service at Fish Whistle is a bit hit or miss. There were good things happening around us to be sure—the aforementioned sippy cup service, the gracious treat of an extra (and unordered) appetizer to a table of thirteen near us. And the folks on the phone are warm and professional. Our server forgot bread and didn’t seem to have a firm grasp on the menu, but she may have been an anomaly or just very new.

Fish Whistle offers food with a view nearly twelve hours a day, every day of the week (with live music in the bar on Thursday nights). That’s ample time for you to whet your whistle should you want to take the plunge.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

Waterfowl Caller

Hunter Phillips, 14
There is a certain lyrical musicianship to calling waterfowl—a combination of blowing and speaking actual words to lure birds in, says champion caller Hunter Phillips. “You just have to learn the language,” says Phillips, fourteen, who explains it took him “many years of practice” to perfect it. “The duck call, the basic quack, is ‘Quit.’”

Demonstrating, Phillips rattles off a machine gun volley of quacks. “That’s ‘Quit, quit, quit.’ And for the basic honk, you want, ‘To wit.’”

At the age of seven, Phillips placed seventh in the World Goose Calling Competition in Easton. Since then, he has won thirteen first-place awards in either goose or duck calling.

“I grew up around ducks,” says Phillips, a freshman at Stephen Decatur High School, who lives in Ocean City. “I had ducks in my backyard, raised ducks. So I know what they sound like.”

“That’s how we both got into it, actually,” says Phillips’ father, Glen, also a champion caller. “When I was his age, I had ducks. I raised waterfowl—swans, ducks, geese.”

In 1999 the father and son formed Little Quackers, an outdoor youth club that hosts an annual calling competition at the Maryland Watermen’s Association trade expo in Ocean City. Phillips and his father also conduct calling seminars once a month at Gander Mountain outdoors store in Salisbury, and sell a line of game calls designed by Glen—the Little Quacker for youths and Bottoms Up for adults.

Hunter Phillips doesn’t consider the art of calling old-fashioned, but he’s very much aware of its traditional roots on the Eastern Shore. In 2004, Phillips and his father were invited to represent Maryland in “Water Ways,” an exhibit celebrating maritime communities from Long Island to North Carolina, part of the 38th Annual Smithsonian Folklife Festival, held on The Mall in Washington, D.C. That same year, Phillips’ calling talents were tapped for From Bridge to Boardwalk, an audio CD that explores Maryland’s Eastern Shore culture. 

Phillips hopes to pass his skills on to future generations of waterfowl callers, and looks forward to the day when he can take his own children into the marshes. He also says that he’d like to make the outdoors his career, possibly as a hunting guide or game warden. But whatever the job, he’s adamant: “I want to be outside.”—J.T.

Decoy Carver

Colin McNair, 21
Colin McNair sold his first hand-carved decoy for five dollars to his handwriting teacher in kindergarten when he was six years old. It was then that he realized he could do something he loved, and make money doing it. Even at that young age, McNair had a passion for turning a block of wood into something majestic.

Now twenty-one, it’s not surprising that McNair exercised his artistic proclivity so early. His father, Mark McNair, is a carver. So is his older brother, Ian. Since Colin was home- schooled through fourth grade, it was easy for him and his older brother to slip into their father’s workshop. Now it’s the father who learns from his sons. “At this point in our relationship, they’ve long since passed the point of asking my opinion—they’ve been working from their own ideas for years,” says Mark McNair. “That’s such a great feeling to see what’s coming out of them. We really learn from each other.”

Colin McNair’s objects are carved by hand and given an aged patina using a technique that remains a family secret. “As soon as I could hold a tool, I was doing something with altering wood or painting,” recalls McNair. “It was a natural thing to do. My father did it and was always encouraging. And I’ve had a lot of financial success with it ridiculously early.”

These days, McNair’s decoys average $1,200.

The monetary rewards are only a fraction of what McNair loves about his work. (Though, he says, “We try not to call it work.”) He enjoys drawing inspiration from the family’s waterfront home in Craddockville, Virginia, working with his brother and father, and getting plugged into the interesting people who inhabit the “decoy subculture.” Though he often works eight- to ten-hour days, preferably working into the night, the freedom of self-employment is also nice. “If the tide is right, and it looks like the fish might be biting, I’m gonna be out in the boat,” he says.

McNair, who spent one year in art school before attending the College of Charleston to study biology with a studio art minor, finds it easier to call himself a sculptor when explaining what he does for a living. “I enjoy taking trees that have just been cut down and refining them until you end up with this object that will either be hunted over—which is a pretty sweet feeling—or you have a piece of art that people will appreciate. I love the process of creating.”—C.M.

The Farmers

Kristen Nickerson, 34, Jennifer Debnam, 39, and Bill Langenfelder, 38
After graduating from college, Kristen Nickerson, (then Langenfelder) actually toiled as a certified CPA. “I worked for about a year and decided I didn’t like sitting behind a desk,” Nickerson recalls. “But it wasn’t automatic that I could come back to the farm—the operation needs to be big enough and there needs to be enough money to support someone—so when the opportunity came about, I jumped on it immediately.”

Nickerson, along with her siblings, Bill Langenfelder, thirty-eight, and Jennifer Debnam, thirty-nine, are the sixth generation of Langen-felders to work the family farm. (In an unusual twist, none of their spouses work on the farm with them.) All three were lured into the family business by a mutual affection for open space, watching things grow and give birth, and the importance of the family legacy.

“I really missed the attitude of a family business where you’re all pulling together, all working together for the same cause,” says Debnam, who studied agriculture in college and worked briefly for Farm Credit Bank before returning to the familial vocation.

The farm has advanced well beyond the scope of previous generations. The family oversees 2,600 acres of cropland and operates a 700 sow-swine operation in Kennedyville. The cropland is managed using advances such as GPS mapping to determine crop yields. In the sow barn, even feeding is fully automated; a computer controls how much each pig eats based on information delivered to a monitor from its radio frequency ear tag.

It was a different story when the siblings were young, learning the farming business working side-by-side with their parents, in Howard County. (Development forced the family to move the business to Kent County twenty years ago.) The advances in the industry are also what make it such a tough business to break into. All three say they are fortunate because it’s hard for a young person to get access to capital and land unless they take over a family farm.

The siblings hope to preserve a way of life for their children, should they choose to join the business. “Any time they’re building houses anywhere there’s less farmland, and it’s not like they are making any more,” says Langenfelder. “I think we have a viable business here, and I don’t want to see it all go away. I’d hate to see the Delmarva Peninsula turn into a metropolis.”—C.M.

Crab Processor

Clay Brooks, 29
It’s 3 p.m., the busiest time of day for the J.M. Clayton Company, when watermen arrive with their blue crab catch. Clay Brooks stands at the company’s dock in Cambridge ready to buy the crabs, then weigh and sort them by size into batches to be steamed and picked, or sold live.

“I’ve always been down here,” says Brooks, the first of the family’s fifth generation to enter the business, founded by Captain John Morgan Clayton in 1890. “I can remember following my dad, [Jack], around, stapling up seafood boxes and packing up crab meat in Super Giant label cups.”

After attending community college, Brooks joined Clayton ten years ago.

“I’ve always been a hands-on person. This is a hands-on job,” he explains. “I could never sit at a desk long enough. My brother sells insurance. I just couldn’t do it.”

In season, Brooks fills the workday with the chores that take blue crabs by the bushels from watermen’s traps to dining tables around the world. He loads frozen crab picked by American and guest workers onto company trucks, oversees factory repairs, and checks containers of lump and backfin meat for cartilage.

Because his childhood memory of annual crab harvests is hazy, Brooks can’t compare the Chesapeake Bay’s former bounty with its current yield. Other changes, though, are hard to miss. “You don’t find too many young watermen these days,” he says.

Day to day, Brooks frets more about the legal quotas for crabs and guest workers that imperil his family’s livelihood. With new bushel limits on commercial harvests of female crabs, there may be “no product to pack,” he muses. And the national cap on guest workers allowed into the United States could lead to a shortage of pickers, Brooks adds.

He didn’t come to Clayton to witness its demise, though. Not with his baby son, John Clayton Brooks IV, waiting to follow in the family business. “It would be cool to give him the opportunity to join the company,” Brooks says.

And whether or not little John follows his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grand-father to the Cambridge dock, it will be important “to show him that, ‘This is where your family has been,’” Brooks says. “There are not too many companies that have been around for over one hundred years, not to mention family-owned companies.”—S.S.

Muskrat Skinner

Trish Hayden, 16
Sixteen-year-old Trish Hayden may “dress girly” but is quick to point out that anything the boys can do, she can do, too—and that includes skinning a muskrat in about thirty seconds. A senior at South Dorchester High School, Hayden began skinning at age eight, learning the skill from her father, Joe, a Hooper’s Island waterman.

Since beginning to skin competitively, Hayden has won six first-place trophies in the junior division of the World Champion-ship Muskrat Skinning Contest, held at Dorchester County’s annual National Outdoor Show. The 2009 show in February will be her final junior contest before moving on to the adult division when she turns eighteen later that year.

The custom may be revolting to some, but trapping and skinning have been a fabric of Dorchester culture for generations. “In the twenties and thirties, it was an important part of the food chain,” says Rhonda Aaron, Hayden’s mentor and current women’s champion. “Besides the money paid for the hide, it also helped put food on the table. When you’re feeding eight to twelve children, you rely on what is available.”

There aren’t many girls Hayden’s age that skin, and she acknowledges that her friends are a bit grossed-out by the whole affair. “They just think it’s disgusting that I would skin a rat inside out and get blood all over me,” she says. “I love it and they’re like, ‘Oooh. How can a girl love it?’”

“It’s so unique and special. When a younger kid asks to learn how to skin, we try and take them under our wing and help them,” says Aaron, who estimates she’s mentored six or seven kids over the years—both girls and boys. “We don’t want to see it vanish.”

Hayden doesn’t want to see the custom vanish either, and realizes that a new generation of skinners will be the life blood, not only of the craft, but of the Outdoor Show itself. “You feel like you’re keeping the tradition going,” she says of the annual event, which celebrates its 64th anniversary this February. “I think it’s amazing when you can keep something going for so long.”—J.T.

The Watermen

Brian Hambleton, 21, Brooks Hambleton, 13, and P.T. Hambleton, 20
Brian Hambleton and his cousin P.T. Hambleton were probably destined to be watermen. Both their fathers are watermen. Their grandfather still owns P.T. Hambleton Seafood in Bozman, Maryland. The boys were just kids when their fathers bought them their commercial fishing licenses to ensure their future spot on the water. “It was the best job for me to work at, and for now it still is,” says Brian. “It’s good money compared to any land job I could get right now, but the future ain’t lookin’ too bright.”

Despite the dire condition of the Bay, both Brian, twenty-one, and P.T., twenty, say they enjoy the work. “It’s good scenery, you’re alone, it’s good money for the time you’re working,” says Brian. “It’s a real laid-back life. You stand there with a dip net in one hand and steer with the other. You can eat, drink, and smoke a cigarette while you’re doing it.”

“I never encouraged him, I just told him, ‘While you’re still in school, it’s a good way to make some summertime money,’” says Brian’s father, Todd, who starting taking his son out with him at age fourteen. “Once he got out of school, I urged him to go get some higher education because he could always come back to do this. But if they’re willing to work hard, I think this is a good life.”

P.T. says he was eight or ten when he started to work on a boat. “When I was a kid, it was good money to go out and work during the summer,” says P.T., whose thirteen-year-old brother, Brooks, works with him when he isn’t in school. “And it’s a family tradition.” Now he enjoys being his own boss and running his own boat. “The worst part is all the ups,” P.T. quips. “Baitin’ up and gettin’ up.”

Both Hambletons speculate about whether they can stay in the field forever, but they’re fairly certain the family tradition will end in their generation. “For fun, it would be fine [for my kids], but not for a job,” says P.T. “You have no paid vacation or benefits. I guess college is the way to go.”

When Todd Hambleton was still on the water, he says oysters and crabs were abundant, and the standard of living was more manageable in Eastern Shore communities. But he’s proud that another generation is trying to keep the old tradition alive. “It’s good to see, because if a lot of these fishermen weren’t here, the whole industry would collapse, and a whole way of life would be lost­­—and its people, too.”—C.M.

Smith Island Cake Baker

Dana Evans, 41
Growing up on Smith Island, Dana Evans passed countless hours in the kitchen, stacking thin layers of cake and icing into moist, sweet edible towers under her mother’s supervision. Whether intended for a weekend treat, a Methodist Church benefit, or a get-well gesture for an ailing island neighbor, the cake was an extravagant but unexceptional part of Smith Island life.

Evans couldn’t know the weekly baking ritual would serve as an apprenticeship in a traditional art form that years later would capture worldwide attention as Maryland’s official dessert.

Evans had an inkling of the confection’s appeal when she opened Classic Cakes (classicsmithislandcakes.com, 410-860-5300) in Salisbury five years ago—with her mother, Doris Bradshaw, once again by her side. From the first day, customers have queued outside the bakery, which specializes in nine-layer Smith Island cakes made in a profusion of flavors, from chocolate and banana to Butterfinger and red velvet. “I would have never thought that someday I would be selling hundreds and hundreds of cakes every week,” says Evans, forty-one.

In April, the Maryland legislature designated the Smith Island cake as the official state dessert. “I think I’m still in shock that I’m a part of something that has been put out there in the world, something that we took for granted growing up,” Evans says, who has shipped her cakes as far as Iraq. “It means so much to me and my family.”

To remain vibrant, traditions must evolve, and that applies to Evans’ popular innovation: Smith Island wedding cakes, disguised by her pastry chef in fondant or icing. “You don’t know it’s a Smith Island cake until you cut it,” Evans says.

Evans’ mother was a bit of a Smith Island cake pioneer herself. As a child, Evans loved chocolate, and her brother preferred vanilla. Bradshaw would accommodate both children by icing a half circle of each flavor on every cake layer. That’s one twist too many on tradition. “I won’t do that at the shop,” says Evans, who can ice as many as 1,500 cake layers on a busy day.

Since it opened, Classic Cakes has tripled its cake sales and space. The staff has multiplied to twelve, including Dana’s daughter, Stephanie Evans, twenty-three, a partner in her mother’s business. The younger Evans didn’t bake as a child. But now, her proud mother says, “She can put a cake together quicker than I can.”—S.S.

When the cold sets in, there’s one particular ingredient that is a real pleasure to prepare and eat: squash. Winter squash, such as acorn, butternut and pumpkin, require longer cooking times than summer squash, and are perfect for roasting and caramelizing. They also boast a longer shelf life.

When picking out squash, look for vegetables with unblemished skin, deep color, and those that are heavy for their size. They can be kept either in the refrigerator or in a cool dark place for at least a month, depending on variety.

My recipe for roasted butternut squash, onion, tomato, and feta tart has a slight sweetness that’s a great foil to the saltiness of the cheese. It’s really delicious when served with a side salad or soup for lunch or a light dinner. The risotto, a cool-weather favorite, is a great vehicle to carry the caramelized acorn squash, while the spaghetti squash is scented with thyme, which goes well with goat cheese. The pecans in this dish are a great accent, while the balsamic vinaigrette ties it all together. For an interesting dessert, try the pumpkin mascarpone-filled cake with spiced syrup—my twist on tiramisu. Making use of store-bought pumpkin puree and traditional winter flavors like nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves, this light dessert is easy to prepare.

Roasted Butternut Squash, Onion, Tomato and Feta Tart

Caramelized Acorn Squash Risotto with Brown Sage Butter and Pancetta

Thyme-scented Spaghetti Squash with Goat Cheese and Arugula

Pumpkin Mascarpone Cake with Spiced Syrup

Andrew Evans is the owner/chef of Easton’s Thai Ki.

Like the family that once spent long, golden summers in its embrace, the Barnhart home on Anne Arundel County’s Cypress Creek has matured. The former “little house with a big porch,” as owner Ellen Barnhart describes it, has been replaced by a contemporary hideaway that’s both a retreat for her and a gathering place for her three children and seven grandchildren—a “Zen cottage,” in the words of her architect, Chip Bohl.

The home, built in 2001, supplanted a beloved but unheated bungalow that Barnhart and her husband purchased thirty years ago. In this incarnation, the screened porch rises to fifteen feet at its gabled peak. A wood-burning fireplace at one corner stands ready to chase the dawn’s chill. “In the morning, I’m always out on the porch or the dock with my coffee,” Barnhart says. “If it’s really cold, I’ll put on an extra robe.”

Four full-length, custom-glass panels on tracks separate the porch from the interior, sliding into a hidden pocket during pleasant weather. Their sleekness enhances the Scandinavian mood in the great room, with its white walls, maple floors, and streamlined furniture. The minimalism is much to Barnhart’s taste. “I love white, and I love spare,” she says with a smile. “I’m a big believer in the KISS (Keep It Simple, Stupid) principle.” To that end, she found a willing partner in architect Bohl, who kept the inner spaces serene but added unexpected geometry that keeps the views interesting. “When Ellen showed me the magazine clips she liked, they were very architectural and abstract—lots of Manhattan lofts,” says Bohl. “But she had also told me that she wanted something that felt like a summer home, relaxed and comfortable, to accommodate her children and grandchildren. I said, ‘Ellen, these images are beautiful, but I’m not seeing summer house here.’ We had a good laugh about that. She understood the contradiction. That’s where we started.”

Bohl angled walls and created unconventional openings to maximize the water views from the narrow lot. “Almost nobody walks in without saying, ‘Oh!’” says Barnhart of the home’s entryway, which opens on to the main room and the panorama beyond.

Along the floating stairway that rises at the left, a curtain of fixed steel rods drops from the ceiling to anchor each tread. The same motif repeats on the gallery banister on the second floor, where a pair of baths and a trio of bedrooms (one, a six-bunk dormitory) accommodate visiting family and friends. Clearly, it’s a house made for gathering. “I can entertain thirty or forty people here,” Barnhart says. “Every New Year’s Eve, I have a group of friends down for four or five days.” When she hosts her grandchildren, they romp through the same bayside adventures that their parents once enjoyed. (Judging from the number of kayaks, fishing poles, and tubes on the waterside deck, it’s quite a party.) “The sandy beach was one of the features that sold us on the original property,” remarks Barnhart. Another was the view of Gibson Island from the end of the pier, its misty contours like a mirage on the horizon.

From the pier, the house seems to flow toward the water, fanning out like the prow of a large ship. But from the street side, it presents a different aspect. Bohl sliced-and-diced the traditional exterior elements, setting the front porch askew and adding three idiosyncratic, second-story dormer windows. “They’re the visual clues to the house,” Barnhart says. “You can tell something different is going on inside.”

The roof is a curved plane with a sloping ridge—a design that yields extra reflected light and acoustic dampening inside, according to Bohl. “I don’t know how they managed to build that,” Barnhart laughs. Yet, with its neutral wood siding and warm red accents, the house nestles easily into the surrounding neighborhood.

Furnishings are purposely simple to highlight the contemporary look. “I wanted warm, modern, and comfortable,” says Barnhart, pointing out the armless couches flanking a red leather ottoman. Above the teak dining table, an Ingo Maurer chandelier of Japanese paper casts a glow. The decor gets even simpler in summer, with white slipcovers over the seating and the silk Tibetan rugs sent on vacation.

Despite the home’s austerity, there’s a place for the Wii and Xbox generation, too. The lower level is a full-sized game room, where ten-foot ceilings and a Ping-Pong table provide plenty of romping space.

Surveying the house contentedly, Barnhart approves of the mix: Bohl’s “fractured” vision, the splendid views over the water, and the passing parade of grandchildren. “What I like best is that there’s always something to look at,” she says.

Carol Denny writes from Arnold, Md.

38th Annual WaterFowl Festival
November 14,15,16 10-6pm

Savor Classic Eastern Shore Seafood
Take in retriever and fly fishing demos and the DockDogs® event
Don’t miss the kids’ activities, family fun & live animals
Shop for handcrafted holiday gifts
Enjoy and purchase world-class wildlife paintings, sculpture, carvings and photos

Those fall Sundays in the country were magic.

The crunch of the dried potpourri of oak leaves, thistles, and pine needles marked our progress as we made our way farther into the forest behind our house. Leaping over felled trunks blocking our path, sloshing through soupy mud puddles left over from the morning rain, there was nowhere else we wanted to be other than with each other under the gracefully dying canopy. We were an odd, Disney-esque bunch: me, my grey cat, and my yellow lab. With me in the lead and my four-legged friends trailing behind me, we’d cover hours of hilly ground. Forced every twenty minutes or so to stop and wait for the cat to catch up, we’d stand in silence, my dog’s ears pricked by the sound of deer crashing over the floor of crispy limbs, my eyes fixed on the 3-D sculpture of bent and twisted lines surrounding us. Although out there, we were vulnerable, wonderfully insulated from civilization, it was exciting to feel our way through the foreign stillness. As the sky sprinkled us with leafy notes of reds and yellows, our Sunday fall adventures deepened our history. We’d turn for home after two hours or so, tired, cold, and ready for dinner. That night, huddled by the wood stove, I’d recount aloud what we saw and where we went. And while they were half listening and half sleeping with tails wrapped around cold noses, all was right with the world.

In this issue, make your own fall memories with a hike through Easton’s Pickering Creek Audubon Center, a 400-acre Eden of still waters and turning leaves (“Pick of the Season,” pg. 62). Or take a tour of the Bay’s wineries, which stretch from Sudlersville, Md., to Machipongo, Va., in “Winery Road,” pg. 86. Also, meet five regional law men who share their tales of crime and passion in “Badges of Honor,” pg. 76. Spend a quiet night at Cambridge’s Lodgecliffe on the Choptank B&B (Checking Inn, pg. 55) or a glamorous weekend cruising aboard La Bella Vita (Weekender, pg. 49). And be sure to try your hand with
Chef Andrew Evans fig recipes. 

This fall also brings CL a new editor, Joe Sugarman, who has, for the past seven years, served as senior editor. Starting with the November issue, it’ll be Joe’s face and words greeting you on this page, while I’ll work behind the scenes as his right-hand “man.” Thank you so much for being open and responsive to my letters over the years. And I know Joe is just as excited to share his thoughts with you each issue.

Take care,   
Kessler Burnett
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Fresh figs ripen from June to October in Maryland and are plentiful on the Eastern Shore, but they were originally brought to North America by the Spanish Franciscan missionaries, who settled in southern California. (This is where the California black mission fig originated.) 

There are literally hundreds of varieties, ranging in color from almost white to midnight black in color. Unfortunately, one of the few drawbacks to using figs in the kitchen is that they’re extremely perishable and last only two to three days in the refrigerator.

Over the years, I have developed some fun fig recipes that are quick and easy to make. One of my favorites is prepared on the grill and can be used either as an appetizer or as a garnish for a salad. The addition of charred, crispy pancetta in this dish plays well against figs’ natural sweetness. I’ve also created a salad of balsamic vinegar dressing, goat cheese, and figs, which makes for a heavenly threesome atop semi-bitter arugula. For complete indulgence, try the recipe for fried bread, seared foie gras, and an Italian, fig-flavored syrup called vincotto. Probably my favorite fig concoction is a dessert known as a tarte tatin, in which figs are cooked upside down in caramel sauce while the pastry browns on top. Enjoy! 

Grilled Fresh Figs and Pancetta with Honey Glaze

Caramelized Figs with Seared Foie Gras and Fig Vincotto

Fresh Figs, Arugula, and Goat Cheese Salad

Fig Tarte Tatin with Vanilla Bean Ice Cream

Andrew Evans is the owner/chef of Easton’s Thai Ki.

Inconsistency can be a downer in love and in food.

But while a fickle sweetheart can still be attractive despite (or perhaps because of) his unpredictability, the same behavior is less charming in a restaurant. With each culinary date, a diner wants to know that she is the object of the restaurant’s focus. She wants to be wooed with thoughtful, well-prepared meals. She wants her host to treat her as a welcome guest. Bobby’s Restaurant and Bar is a big, handsome space with a terrific view and some admittedly fine dishes, but with just enough glitches in service and food to encourage one to proceed cautiously in this relationship.

There’s no doubt that the newly renovated space is striking. Part of the Clearview at Horn’s Point golf club, Bobby’s two dining rooms—one dark and moody with a black ceiling, leather chairs, and contemporary square-shaped lamps, the other all brightness and light—are joined by a bar with five (five!) televisions. Each area looks out onto an outside dining deck and beyond that the wide, lovely expanse of the Choptank River. But just because a table is by the window doesn’t mean it’s a good table, especially if it’s in between a door to the outdoors and a busy side of the bar where waitstaff collect their drink orders. When, after being shown to said table, I asked if we might sit somewhere else, the hostess simply looked at us, silently considered while we waited awkwardly, and finally led us over to a table near a bamboo screen (which turned out to hide the men’s room) in the darker large dining room, all without saying a word. A diner shouldn’t be made to feel that asking for a different table in such a large (and not busy) restaurant is an inconvenience. Nor should she be made to wait fifteen minutes for her drink order when the dining room is far from full. A restaurant should not play hard to get.

The evening picked up with the arrival of drinks (Horton Viognier is a welcome choice from the compact wine list) and two deliciously simple appetizers. But first, a little backstory: Bobby Jones, one of seven partners at Clearview and the “Bobby” of Bobby’s, always wanted a restaurant, having been in the restaurant business since he was fourteen. When his dream became reality, he called his friend chef Paul Shiley, with whom Jones worked at The Narrows. Shiley, also a partner, must have brought the cream of crab soup recipe with him from The Narrows, because it, like theirs, is all that cream of crab should be: simple, based on cream (and not flour), rich (but not unctuous), and full of lump crab pieces bigger than my thumb. And the cruet of sherry served alongside the bowl is a thoughtful touch.

Other appetizers—such as crab gazpacho, fried green tomatoes (with lump crab meat!), and the starter-that-sounds-like-a-meal, imperial-stuffed jumbo shrimp wrapped in bacon and served with fresh corn fritters—beckoned, but a chopped salad of pastrami-spice encrusted smoked salmon served over creamy dill won the rose. The dill gave a crisp freshness to the tart dressing, and if the pastrami spice seemed superfluous, it didn’t take away from the delicacy of the salmon.

Entrees at Bobby’s come with a choice of Caesar or house salad, a welcome addition, especially when most entrée prices are in the mid- to high-twenties. I only wish more care had been give to the salads at our table: The Caesar arrived with little to no dressing, while the greens in the house salad were limp with too much vinaigrette.

The entrees themselves were both good and could-be-better. The innovative pairing of juicy barbequed quail and skewered beef tenderloin exceeded expectations, especially when the meat arrived at the table medium-rare as requested. It takes a careful hand to tend to small portions of meat like kabobs. And the spicy peach barbeque sauce and tangy Asian slaw pulled the whole dish together in a delightfully spicy way. The more straightforward of the entrees—a duo of crabcake and fried oysters—wasn’t as successful. The crab cake was moist verging on wet in the middle, a result of too much mayonnaise, perhaps. And local Virginia oysters were plump but tasteless. It’s great that local oysters are available, but there’s no point in serving them if their flavor is waning.

Desserts reignited the flirtation that began with appetizers when our server uttered the magic words “chocolate bread pudding,” followed by “house-made raspberry sorbet.” Propriety lost out and dessert lust won, and, at the end of the encounter, I was glad to have given in. The bread pudding was deliciously damp with chocolate—no dry, chewy bread cubes here—and the sorbet reflected an intensity of raspberry fruit cut with just a bit of citrus to avoid being cloying. Unfortunately, weak coffee nearly doused the flames of desire.

Bobby Jones still fields phone calls to confirm that Bobby’s is a public, not private, restaurant and points out that only twenty percent of customers are club members. Still, the relaxed dress code and discussions of golf scores remind diners that the restaurant is part of a larger operation. (As does the inappropriately early set-up for the next day’s brunch; diners lingering over dinner at 9 p.m. on a Saturday night should not have to compete with that noise and distraction.)

An evening at Bobby’s raises the usual first date questions. Is there more beyond a pretty face? Should there be a goodnight kiss? Another date? I’ll powder my nose and think about it.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

In 1994, furniture designer Dan Hale built a house in Severna Park that calls to mind a host of adjectives—but “ordinary” isn’t one of them.

Constructing his residence from scratch in the style of a Danish farmhouse, the nationally famed craftsman imbued it with so many signature touches that current owner Linda Cameron says that, ten years after moving in, she’s still discovering the details. Cameron delights in pointing out the “magical treasures” that Hale created: ceramic faces on drawer pulls, ceiling lights made from drinking glasses, plump birds perched atop bookcases with chicken-wire doors. Just as beguiling are his architectural surprises, such as the porthole built into the stairwell wall. “Every child and animal that comes into the house finds that spot,” she says with a laugh.

Outside, a rounded two-story tower adds a fairytale touch, while a bluestone porch provides water views of the Severn River. Inside, Hale’s handcrafted furniture, clocks, and fixtures suffuse the rooms with obvious charm.

Cameron and her husband, Glenn Gilmor, weren’t planning to buy a new home until mutual friends introduced them to Hale in 1998. The artist, who’d spent four years in the house, was looking for just the right successors for his property and invited them to take a look. “It was July, the windows were open, and the kids were running back and forth from the house to the beach,” Cameron recalls. “We literally spent about ten minutes inside before we decided to buy it.”

Reflecting on their previous address—a traditional colonial in a modern development—she grins. “We didn’t have a creative bone in our bodies,” she says. “This place helped us break out of our mold.”

Hale’s house offered an aesthetic that wowed the new owners. The designer used simple materials throughout, principally wood, tile, plaster, and cast concrete, which conjured an atmosphere that is part European cottage, part American folk art. Custom French doors, casement windows, and ten-foot ceilings provide for an abundance of natural light. “I like things that are less polished, and I’m always finding new materials,” explains Hale, who has since relocated to northern California. “But the big thing on this house was the porch and the connection to the outdoors. I wanted to blur that inside/outside line as much as I could.”

Re-using materials was important, too. For one banister leading to the entertainment area, Hale used a sailboat mast; for another, a hand-carved length of fallen poplar. He continued the botanical theme in the study on the first floor of the turret, sculpting a plaster relief of leaves and branches over the walls.

One room in particular won Cameron’s heart: the kitchen. A wide wooden farm table with stools spans the center, and slate counters and stainless appliances flank the alcove that holds the range. Large, hand-painted drawers with inlaid faces offer “amazing storage,” amplified by tall, glass-front cabinets. Overstuffed armchairs next to the table invite repose. “It’s organic and ultra-simple—special without being expensive,” Cameron says.

The challenge the couple faced was making Hale’s unique residence their own. “For the first few years, it still was Dan’s house,” Cameron notes. Eventually, she and Gilmor, with the help of Annapolis’s Belinda McClure of Belinda McClure Interiors, undertook renovations, removing a wall between the kitchen and family room, and adding a second bathroom to the master suite. To gain space, they raised the roof of the turret by crane, making sure to keep Hale’s hand-painted ceiling intact.

Still, Hale’s spirit emerges in droll touches throughout the house. A gondolier poles his lamp-boat over the dining table; tree trunks stand in for columns on the guesthouse porch; rounded doorways recall the arches of a Moorish palace. Living among such whimsy, Cameron says, has been a gift in itself. “We’ve learned that a house can add fun to your life, and remind you not to take things so seriously.”

Carol Denny writes from Arnold, Md.

The Eastern Shores of Maryland and Virginia have long been home to crops like tomatoes, corn, and soybeans, but if you’ve traveled off the main routes lately, you may have noticed a new harvest: grapes. The last eight years have seen three new wineries open in each state (with several more in the works). The majority of these wineries use locally grown grapes and prove that there is good local wine to be had on the Eastern Shore. Stop by the following wineries—one at a time or several on a single trip—and see and taste for yourself.

Tilmon’s Island Winery
Don Tilmon didn’t intend to open a winery. The University of Delaware professor of agricultural economics characterizes his winery as a hobby that “kind of got out of hand.” “This is something that I did for fun,” says Tilmon, who started making wine in 1999, but expanded his hobby into a winery after friends who tasted his wine “hint[ed] about wanting more.”

Tilmon opened his winery in 2004 with a tasting room in the very clean cellar of his cream Cape Cod home, next to the room where he does his woodworking. Prettier is the backyard garden, with a small gazebo and compact vineyard of Concord grapes used to make Dame Judith’s Red Hat Red, a slightly sweet red wine named in honor of his wife, Judy, and her membership in the Red Hat Society. Grapes for the Chambourcin, Merlot, Pinot Grigio, and other wines Tilmon makes are grown locally in Queen Anne’s, Talbot, and Caroline counties.

Be aware, however, that Tilmon’s Island Winery is in Sudlersville in Queen Anne’s County, and not on Tilghman Island. Don Tilmon’s ancestors migrated from Virginia’s Eastern Shore to Yell County, Arkansas in the 1870s, changing the spelling of their name along the way. “I thought I was being so clever calling [the winery] Tilmon’s Island, but people come up to me at festivals and say there’s no winery on Tilghman Island.”

Recommended Sip: 2006 Chester River Merlot, a pretty, easy-drinking Merlot with soft edges and a hint of dusky cocoa. $12.

755 Millington Rd., Sudlersville, Md., 443-480-5021
http://www.tilmonswine.com Hours: Saturdays, noon-5 p.m. Tasting fee: None

Little Ashby Vineyards
As you drive down Ashby Drive to Little Ashby Vineyards, you’re greeted first by healthy rows of Merlot and Cabernet Franc, and then by two enthusiastic canines, Chester and Lola, whose portraits are captured on all of the winery’s labels. Warren Rich, a lean, ruddy-skinned man who radiates intensity, comes last, ambling out of his winery with a seriousness of purpose. “I think this is one of the prettiest vineyards near the water,” he says as the Miles River sparkles behind a collection of mature oaks, pines, and magnolias. Rich and his wife, Lynne, live on the property, and it’s Lynne who will often serve wine at the picnic tables set up next to the vineyard and at intervals close to the river’s banks.

In addition to being a winemaker, Warren Rich is also an environmental lawyer; yet he manages to produce around 400 cases of wine a year from the fruit produced by two vineyards he owns and from another vineyard owned by a friend. His wines are classic in style; his Super Talbot is a nod to wines known as Super Tuscans, high-quality blends of grapes like Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, and Merlot. Rich also has shown his taste for a challenge in growing Pinot Noir, a notoriously fickle and difficult varietal to grow because of its thin skin and susceptibility to rot. His 2007 Pinot Noir is light, he admits, but it’s also fragrant and filled with the delicate spiciness and fresh cherry fruit that characterizes classic Pinot Noir, evidence that Rich is more than up to the challenge of winemaking.

Recommended Sips: 2007 Pinot Noir (see above). $33. 2006 Super Talbot, a rich blend of Cabernet Franc, Merlot, Sangiovese, and Cabernet Sauvignon that’s beefy yet elegant. $30.

27549 Ashby Dr., Easton, Md., 410-819-8850, http://www.littleashbyvineyards.com Hours: By appointment only.  Tasting fee: None

St. Michaels Winery
St. Michaels Winery is hopping. Even on a Monday afternoon, the tasting room is filled with couples (including a pair from Annapolis on a makeshift honeymoon) sipping wine at round tables made from wine barrels or at the winery’s handsome copper-topped bar. Bookshelves boast titles from local authors, a framed flour sack recalls the building’s past life as a mill, and sails from locally made historic log canoes hang from the ceiling. And there are lots of wines to choose from.

The winery made six wines in 2006, its inaugural year. Today they make nineteen different varieties (some from local grapes; others from grapes flown in from California) to produce a total of 10,000 cases per year. The winery’s tasting flights reflect this diversity, as well as acknowledging the preferences of different wine drinkers for dry and sweet wines. (Each flight offers between six and seven one-ounce tastes of wine, plus a souvenir glass; for our favorites, see below.) All of this keeps owner and winemaker Mark Emon busy—and not just making wine. “A lot of people have this romantic idea of what a winery is,” he says with a laugh, “I just finished using a forklift [to move boxes around].”

Still, Emon understands the connection between wine and pleasure. Each year he ages portions of Merlot in a variety of oak barrels that yield different flavors, and when the wine is ready, he invites friends to try the different batches in an event he calls “A Barrel of Fun.” No forklifting is required.

Recommended Sips: 2007 Long Splice White, a juicy blend of Chardonnay and Seyval from a local, twenty-five-year-old Wye Mills vineyard. $14. 2007 Martha Chambourcin, named after the skipjack that delivered these Havre de Grace-grown grapes to the winery. It’s bright and lively with fresh flavors of pie cherries. $34.50.

605 S. Talbot St., St. Michaels, Md. 410-745-0808, http://www.st-michaelswinery.com
Hours: Mon.-Fri.noon-6 p.m.; Sat. noon-7 p.m.; Sun noon-4 p.m.

Open every day year-round. Tasting fee: $6-$7 for 6-7 one-ounce pours, including souvenir glass; crackers and locally made Chapel’s Creamery cheese available.

VIRGINIA

Bloxom Winery
In his past life in New York City, Robert Giardina remodeled kitchens and baths, played in rock bands, and fermented homemade wine made from grapes bought at the Brooklyn Terminal Market. Today, making wine is all Giardina has time for. But now the Casablanca-native is on the northern end of Virginia’s Eastern Shore, and the grapes he uses are all the fruit of his own labor and vineyards.

Of course, wine is the main attraction at Bloxom, but it’s hard to find a prettier place to be drinking it than the winery’s tasting room and outdoor covered patio (both built by Giardina himself). Trailing trumpet vines and hanging pots of geraniums decorate the patio, which also features Giardina’s handmade picnic tables and a wood-burning oven where his wife, Francesca, a pastry chef, bakes her homemade ciabatta bread. (She also makes homemade truffles, available for sale in the tasting room.)

Inside, burnt-orange-colored walls and a warm, wood-planked floor and ceiling invite lingering over a sweet blush or a lightly oaked Chardonnay. If you feel like you’ve been transported to a Mediterranean villa, well, that’s exactly what Giardina hopes.

Recommended Sips: Bloxom’s biggest seller, the 2007 Red Kiss, a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, offers what Giardina characterizes as “a little kiss of sweetness.” Yes, it’s sweet, but not cloying, and served chilled, as Giardina recommends, it’s quite refreshing on a warm day. $12.85.

26130 Mason Rd., Bloxom, Va., 757-665-5670, http://www.bloxomwinery.com 
Hours: June-December, Fri.-Sun. noon-5 p.m. Tasting fee: $1 for two samples; cheese, crackers, bread, and truffles available for purchase.

Holly Grove Vineyards
Jonathan Bess may make only three wines, but already those wines have won a combined nine medals in state and national competitions. Not bad for a winery that’s been in business for two years.

Bess developed a love for wine while traveling the world as a naval officer. Now retired after twenty-five years of service, he’s devoted his time to growing grapes and making his own high-quality wine. Approximately 2,100 vines of Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon, Viognier, and Petite Verdot grow on his property that abuts the lovely Holly Grove Cove leading out to the Bay. (Views from the cove adorn the wines’ labels.) Chardonnay and Merlot come from leased vineyards nearby.

Visitors can sample Bess’s wines in his brand new (and self-built) tasting room. Cedar planks line the small room’s walls, and the top of the bar is made from Brazilian hardwood leftover from Bess’s home on the property. Ever looking forward, Bess is planning a second-story sitting room that will overlook the vineyard.

“I don’t think of [winemaking] as an industry,” muses the lanky Bess, as he examines his vines, his Jack Russell terrier, Bullseye, at his heels. “I think of it as a super hobby.” Looking around his property, he’s all smiles and graciousness: “It’s our little piece of nature.”

Recommended Sip: 2006 Chardonnay. Aged on the lees, this rich, barrel-fermented Chardonnay is bursting with baked apple and ripe pear flavors. $17.

6404 Holly Bluff Dr., Franktown, Va., 757-442-2844, http://www.hollygrovevineyards.com
Hours: By appointment. Tasting fee: None

Chatham Vineyards
Anyone who thinks the making of fine wine is confined to the West Coast needs to try Jon Wehner’s wines at Chatham, the seventeenth-century estate and farm owned by his family in Machipongo, Va. Wehner has been making wine full time for ten years but has been around winemaking all his life; his parents grew grapes and made wine in Fairfax County in 1970, when Wehner was born.

At Chatham, Wehner grows 32,000 vines on just over twenty acres of sandy loam soil. Some of the grapes are sold to other winemakers, but approximately thirty-five tons are used at Chatham to make the 2,200 cases the winery produces per year. Visitors can sample Merlot, Cabernet Franc, two styles of Chardonnay, and a dry rosé at the small bar in the winery’s fermentation building or on the vineyard-facing patio. (Plans to move an old house on the property and connect it with the fermentation building are underway.)

Wehner wants his wines to be “expressive of the site” on which they’re grown, hoping wine lovers will taste “the pure flavors of the vineyard” in his wine. He “dry farms,” which means that he doesn’t irrigate and uses cover crops to lure insects away from the grapes rather than insecticides. And if he is forced to use fungicides, they are green ones that are not harmful to the environment. “You can be a good steward of the land,” says Wehner. “I think we are.”

Although Wehner takes winemaking very seriously, it’s clear that he also finds delight in the process. “Every year is different and Mother Nature rules,” he says, adding that ultimately, everything that goes into a bottle of wine happens in the vineyard. The proof is in the bottle.

Recommended Sips: 2007 Church Creek Chardonnay, Steel. Clean and intense with crisp apple and a little orange rind. $15. 2005 Church Creek Merlot. Dark cherry fruit with good structure and soft finish. $17.

9232 Chatham Rd., Machipongo, Va. 757-678-5588, http://www.chathamvineyards.net.

Hours:Thurs.-Mon. 10 a.m.-5 p.m., Sun. noon-5 p.m.Tasting fee: None

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

There are certain sights you expect to see while traveling along Maryland’s Route 50: geese flying overhead, colorful vegetable stands packed with produce, state troopers stealthily parked by the side of the highway. The sight of people whizzing along on water skis on a manmade lake just north of the Nanticoke River bridge in Dorchester County is not one of them. But there they are, nonetheless, skimming across the water at up to 50 mph while you sit stuck in traffic.

So who are these people and what are they doing here?

They are members of the Vienna Ski Club, a group of competitive water-skiers, who apparently have found the perfect—albeit unique—spot to whip themselves into shape.

Of the several ski clubs in Maryland, this is one of the few with its very own private lake and 880-foot slalom course. The ski club is the love child of Louis “Lou” Alcamo, fifty-four. Today he’s ranked eighth nationally among 800 skiers, age fifty-two to sixty, by USA Water Ski, Inc., the largest governing body in the ski world with 23,000 members. Alcamo came to skiing late in life at twenty-eight, but he still exhibits the passion of a teenager.

To pay for his sport, Alcamo swapped boat rides with his roommate in lieu of rent. It was the early ’80s, and Alcamo was an insurance adjuster, but he didn’t let that interfere with skiing. Often, during lunchtime, he would put on a dry suit (a waterproof coverall that seals at the neck, wrists and ankles) over his business suit and ski. Soon this ski junkie had to have a boat of his own, so he opened Annapolis Master Craft, a boat dealership, so he could buy a boat on the cheap. Then he had to have a lake of his own.

In 1996, Alcamo bought the eighty-six-acre parcel of land for $135,000 and dubbed its centerpiece, the thirty-six-acre body of water, “Lake Lou.” He found ten skiers to pony up $1,000 each for the down payment, picking up the last check on the way to sign the contracts. The Vienna Ski Club was born.

Currently, the club maintains a tight- knit membership of seventeen, only accepting new members when old ones leave. A mere $1,200 a year, plus $650 for boat maintenance and gas, gives each member keys to the gate and the boat. Parking places for their RVs run around $280 for the season.

Not only is this a place for skiers to test their stamina and prowess, but it’s also a gathering place for their families to while away the sultry days of summer. RV’s are parked near one of the lake’s two docks, and lawn and beach chairs are strategically placed so people can plop into them and watch the day’s skiing on weekends. Chefs also cast an eye to their barbecues as they fire them up throughout the day, producing platters of chicken, shrimp, burgers, and the ubiquitous hot dog. (During the week skiers come and go, practicing and competing from April until the first frost of autumn.)

“The skiing lifestyle is all about family,” says Mike Sturdevant, forty-six, a road construction manager who lives in Trappe, who took over the helm from Alcamo last year. Now he’s the one responsible for making sure the grounds are maintained and the boats are in top condition. “It just shows you can be serious about a sport and not exclude your family.”

Sturdevant began skiing with his father at the age of six. He, in turn, introduced his kids to the sport. His wife, Beth, and their sons, Skylar, fifteen, and Brandon, twenty-one, both ski competitively and join dad on the slalom course.

While the Vienna Ski Club is loosely organized, the rules they ski by are strictly adhered to. Different age groups generally ski at speeds ranging from 22 to 36 mph. A skier races until he misses a buoy. After each successful pass of six buoys, the skier shortens the tow rope to make the course more challenging.

At the 2007 Goode Water Ski Championship, Sam Ingram, forty-six, arguably the top skier in Maryland, took first place in the Nationals held in Bakersfield, Calif., clearing 106 buoys using a rope shortened from 75 feet to 39.5 feet. “Everything becomes more intense when the rope is shorter,” says Ingram, a structural design engineer for precision-guided munitions, who lives in Deep Creek, Md. “I lean into the turns so aggressively that my knees actually scrape the water when I go around a buoy. The spray off my skis hits me in the eyes. I’ve had to learn when to close them.”

Rachel McNealey can only dream of becoming a master skier. At age twelve, she is the club’s youngest skier and one of its most promising. She has consistently moved up in the rankings. Now fifth in the Eastern Region and 33rd out of 137 nationally, she made it to the Nationals for the first time in 2007.

“I was so young when my parents took me in the boat that I rode around in a car seat,” said McNealey. “By four, I was double skiing, and began competing in slalom at ten. Someday I’d love to be a semi-pro and maybe teach.”

Her youthful enthusiasm is mirrored by each member of the Vienna Ski Club. Water-skiing is the rope that binds these divergent people together. Plus, they have one other thing in common: really great legs.

The Vienna Ski Club hosts two sanctioned events this year: the Maryland State Championship on July 12 and the Delmarva Crab Fest on September 6. Spectators are invited to watch both competitions. For more information, call Mike Sturdevant at 410-476-4885.

Gail Buchalter writes from Dorchester County. A former New Yorker, she’s not much of a water baby.

I’ve been on beaches from the Caribbean to Cape Town, and I’ve never seen two people who worked harder on their tans than the couple who basically lived on the sands of Bethany.

Every weekend, they’d recline in beach chairs just a few yards from the surf. She was a petite, pony-tailed brunette with a curvy figure; he was a handsome, hulking fellow, with an enormous beer belly, which stretched wider and more taught than that of a woman carrying triplets. They’d gravitate to the same area on the beach that my mother, my Aunt Daphne, and I frequented, tucked against the jetty where noisy families never camped, knowing that their kids climbing on the rocks would attract the lifeguard’s scolding whistle. 

Arriving to find them in their usual spot aroused the same anxious thrill in us as discovering Jaws on the late-night movie. We’d watch them like curious seagulls, not in a mocking manner but rather as a trio of sociologists studying their fellow (obsessively tanned) man. Around us were a host of other regulars whom we also enjoyed studying: the super-fit sixty-something who wore her white socks and tennis shoes, the white-haired gent who always sat alone and smoked cigars, the pasty family of seven who arrived at 4 p.m., unpacked their tons of gear, slathered themselves with sunscreen, and left an hour later. But none were as intriguing as the couple. 
Constantly reading (and rarely talking), they’d soak up the rays from mid-morning to the late hours of the afternoon, rotating from supine to prone position like chickens impaled on a rotisserie. Glistening in the brutal summer sun, they resembled pieces of seventeenth-century furniture buffed with a thick coating of Old English. He, a bulky burr walnut wardrobe; she, a delicate mahogany Queen Anne side chair. They’d infrequently stir, either to eat or swim. And occasionally, one would move in such a way to reveal a section of white skin typically protected by a strap or waist band. The shocking pop of pale against the seared suit of brown would incite gasps among us typically reserved for road kill.
As I’m now fully retired from sunbathing and visit the beach infrequently, I no longer see the terribly tanned twosome. But it’s that time of year when I remember them and often wonder if they’re still there every weekend, if they ever married, and if they ever awakened to the revelation of sunscreen and shade. But that’s what the beach is for: people watching. And, like an airport, there’s no better entertainment than what plays out before you in your beach chair — umbrella covered, of course. 
In this, our annual beach issue, we take you to Bethany, Rehoboth, and Dewey beaches to find out what’s new at the seashore, from pizza eateries to posh interior design stores (pg. 60). We also introduce you to the talented water-skiing fanatics of the Vienna Ski Club, who spend their summers slaloming around “Lake Lou,” just off Route 50 (“Skimming the Surface,” pg. 80). Be sure to book a room at Hotel Rodney, Lewes’s new hip hotel (Checking Inn, pg. 55). And find out if Kindle, Milton’s new restaurant, ignited a fire in our restaurant reviewer’s heart (Traveling Gourmet, pg. 91). We also introduce you to our new columnist, Jim Duffy, a recent resident of the Shore, who writes each issue about small-town life on the eastern side of the Bay (Come Here, pg. 114).   

See you in the fall.
Kessler Burnett
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Kindle

Paynter’s Mill, off of Route 1, Milton, Del. 302-645-7887, http://www.kindlerestaurant.com
Open Mon.-Sat. 5 p.m. to close
ATMOSPHERE: Contemporary but warm
SERVICE: Distracted when busy
DON’T MISS: Roasted tomato sage soup, campanelle pasta
TARIFF: Appetizers, $7-$14; entrees, $13-$30

Kindle restaurant has personality. Several, in fact. On weeknights during off-season, Kindle poses as a quiet Milton, Del., restaurant whose dining room, chockful of chocolate-leather banquettes, wrought-iron candle fixtures, and tanned year-rounders of all ages, could double as a feature in a Pottery Barn catalog. Weekends create a different scene. The noise level shoots up considerably, while folks cram the restaurant’s handsome bar/ lounge area, dominated by the impressive circular fireplace, to wait long minutes (say, forty-five or so) for tables that may turn out to be in the decidedly less-desirable mezzanine level. Why do restaurants even consider putting tables just outside of busy office and restroom doors?

Over three visits in roughly six months, I experienced the gamut at Kindle. Midweek dinners yielded immediate and courteous service, while Saturday night’s long wait for a table in the mezzanine was not made any more palatable by lukewarm food and neglectful service. (Our server forgot several orders, even asking me twice if I would like a glass of wine when I had already ordered one from her.) All this would seem less petty if the food were fabulous. Some of it is. (The Gruyere mac-and-cheese spiked with seasonal vegetables offers just the right contrast of cream and crunch.) But much of the menu—including the availability of certain items—is maddeningly inconsistent. On a busy Saturday night, the kitchen was out of several appetizers and the carrot cake—not so unusual on a weekend, maybe. But after I had placed my order for a hamburger early on a Monday evening, our server came back apologetic. The restaurant was out of hamburgers, he told us, because the other table had ordered four. This sort of thing is a mild annoyance once but inexcusable after.

Kindle does best with some of the simple, homey dishes that pepper its menu. Roasted tomato soup is creamy without being cloyingly rich and cleverly garnished with a Morbier cheese and brioche crouton. (On one visit, the garnish was tiny grilled cheese sandwiches.) Likewise, what elevates the baby beet salad above the ordinary is the generous slice of warm brie that graces the plate. Although the yellowfin tuna Niçoise salad included Niçoise olives, capers, and a sliced egg, it suffered from ice-cold potatoes and squishy grape tomatoes whose skin, for some odd reason, had been removed. A heavy hand on the pepper-crusted tuna completely covered up the fish’s rich, fresh flavor. Better was the smoked trout salad, which appears on the menu periodically.

Winning entrees included roast chicken spiced with smoked paprika and served with a side of the mac-and-cheese, a generous and expertly cooked New York strip steak sandwich, and the simple but very fresh campanelle pasta with wild mushrooms, caramelized fennel, and asparagus in a light cream sauce. I would order any of these entrees again.

But sometime dishes that suggested simplicity were either too simple or not simple enough. The braised pork toro appetizer was just too much of only a slightly good thing. Fatty pork belly is certainly gaining popularity in certain restaurants, but even the three-inch square slab was too rich and too heavy as an appetizer, and the addition of homemade cashew butter just felt like overload. The black-and-white pizza tasted more of roasted garlic than the black truffle ricotta or white truffle oil that gives the dish its name, whereas the Hawaiian marlin lacked any distinctive flavor, and serving it over limp haricots verts made the whole dish reminiscent of wedding reception food. We were also disappointed with the grilled rockfish whose basmati-quinoa pilaf turned out to be rice with a sprinkling of tiny black quinoa that looked like poppy seeds.

Desserts were similarly hit or miss. Homemade lemon buttermilk ice cream was nicely tart and served in a house-made brioche with a small pitcher of blackberry sauce on the side. But, though the crème brulee had the requisite molten crisp sugar layer, the crème was entirely too cold in contrast. On two occasions, apple crumble could have used more spice, and the milky strawberry cream filling the strawberry and rose meringue looked like the icy surface of a skating pond but tasted like sweet soup, an unsettling contrast.

According to chef/owner Ian Crandall, Kindle doesn’t take reservations to ensure that the restaurant will run more efficiently by seating more people. This also ensures a crowded lounge, which, in the end, might not be a bad thing. Snuggle into a corner near the fireplace, sip a $4 taste or a full glass of wine from the restaurant’s refreshingly well-chosen wine list, and make sure you order the mac-and-cheese. In these circumstances, Kindle may light your fire.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

In every neighborhood, there’s one house in particular where all the kids want to hang out. And in Bay Ridge, that house belongs to Dale and Melissa Overmyer. Children are everywhere: running around the yard, lazing on the porch, zooming up and down the driveway on bikes. “We allow our kids to run—literally run—around,” says Melissa Overmyer, a graphic designer and mother of four. “We didn’t want to make the house so precious that they and their friends couldn’t have a good time. It’s a really fun atmosphere.”

And with one step inside the Victorian cottage, the attraction is obvious. The Overmyers have created a campy retreat doused in Hawaiiana, where statuettes of hula girls shimmy next to grinning tiki glasses, neon pink fishing lures serve as lamp pulls, and vintage tropical fabrics enliven the laid-back scene. “Everything’s sentimental in here but nothing’s irreplaceable,” says Melissa.

In 2000, when the Overmyers bought the late-nineteenth-century house, it was in near-condemned condition, abandoned for nearly twenty years and taken over by raccoons and encroaching weeds. Perched atop cliffs overlooking the Chesapeake Bay, the home’s location sealed the deal for the couple, who bought the property just hours after their first walk-through. “It was so far gone,” recalls Dale, who runs an architectural firm in Washington, D.C., where the family lives year-round. “It was a delicate, fragile old house, but we knew with just a little extra tenderness, we could bring it back.”

What made it even more intriguing was that the house had an interesting past. In the late 1800s, Bay Ridge was a flourishing family resort, attracting visitors who arrived via steamship and rail from as far away as New York. According to Bay Ridge on the Chesapeake: An Illustrated History, it was known as the “Queen Resort of the Chesapeake,” 387-acres of rolling terrain that featured a 1,600-seat restaurant pavilion, four-story hotel, bandstand, amusement park, horse/bicycle racetrack, riding stables, lawn tennis courts—even a small zoo. The summertime highlight was the five toboggan slides that took guests from the terrain’s towering cliffs into the Bay, where lifeguards watched from lifeboats. In 1915, the resort was destroyed by fire, leaving few buildings intact, including the Overmyers’ house, built in 1893 by British-born George Buffham, a one-time resort manager and photographer.

Now considered one of the area’s most exclusive communities, Bay Ridge is a safe haven where the Overmyer children and their pals can roam free on the quiet, tree-lined streets or on the roughly three miles of beach, just two blocks from their front door. “I really like that the neighborhood is nice and that all the kids can skateboard and swim and jump off the dock,” says thirteen-year-old Lily Overmyer. “We even have a tree fort in the back yard.”

“From our bruised legs and tangled hair, you can tell that we’re outdoor kids,” adds fifteen-year-old Emma. “We like being able to play outside. It’s one of our favorite things.”

It took a year for the Overmyers to complete the restoration, which involved gutting both floors while preserving original architectural details, such as the gingerbread moldings, windows, and wooden flooring.

Throughout, the walls were given a fresh coat of white paint while the floors were painted black and topped with neutral-tone sisal rugs, allowing the accent colors of the boldly patterned floral fabrics to add visual punch. The result is a hybrid style, best defined as shabby-chic Polynesian. “I wanted it to look like your grandmother had gone to Hawaii and gone crazy,” says Melissa, who vacationed with her family regularly in Hawaii as a child. “A true getaway.”

The screen porch is the spot for summertime gatherings. Amid the tangle of bikes and scooters and flip-flops is a vintage glider, hemmed by tin side tables, and a roomy hammock, a house-warming present from a neighbor that’s capable of holding up to six passengers—more if they’re pint-sized. The far corner holds a dining room table, where the family enjoys most of their summertime meals. “In D.C., people take their work very seriously,” says Dale, an avid surfer, who brings the family on his yearly pilgrimages to Oahu’s North Shore. “But here, people take their playtime very seriously. There’s a beach happy hour almost every night. And that turns into a bonfire and that turns into dinner and that turns into s’mores. It’s very laid back.”

But there’s nothing low-key about the tiki parties at the Overmyers’. Melissa explains that guests, sporting leis and Hawaiian shirts and sipping fruity drinks with paper umbrellas, tend to congregate in the living room, an open space filled with natural light that pours through skylights added during the restoration. Here, the focal point is the bark cloth fabric, a vintage swirl of cranes and palm leaves, which covers the bamboo and rattan furniture, bought at the Georgetown Flea Market. And who says paint-by-numbers art is passé? Framed garage sale-found pieces of the 1970s fad hang throughout the house alongside 1940s airbrush art of birds and flowers. Echoing the Hawaiian theme are the scads of tropical-print throw pillows that dramatically cushion the wall-length window seat in the adjoining room. When the sun goes down, the blender gets whirring and the disco ball, Melissa’s whimsical answer to a chandelier, is called into action. “We love to dance,” she says. “Life is always more fun with a disco ball above your head. You never know when you’ll want to boogie.”

Extending the playful Polynesian theme into the bedrooms, Melissa dressed up the Pink Room with a canopy of grass skirts and paper lanterns. Each petite space, outfitted with texture-inducing bead board walls and chenille bed spreads, is defined by its own unique collection: The Green Room displays circa-1940s touristy straw luggage, while the Blue Bird Room is filled with antique blue birds. “If it looks tropical, I love it,” says Melissa. “And if it has bamboo on it, I’m a complete sucker.”

The collectible theme continues in the dining room, where tin trays perch below ’40s and ’50s wedding cake toppers and Frosty the Snowman mugs sit on a sill alongside an array of salt and pepper shakers. Melissa’s all-time favorite item? A surfer girl shaker set found in Hawaii: The brown-skinned beauty is the pepper and her long board, the salt.

The adjoining kitchen is a rudimentary space made functional with recycled materials, from the stainless-steel countertops, red-and-white dishware, and utensils bought for less than $500 from a Chinese restaurant’s going-out-of-business sale. The stove was rescued from one of Dale’s job sites, while the porcelain farmhouse-style sink was discovered in the home’s basement. But the crown jewel is the milkshake maker, a rewired hand-me-down from Melissa’s grandmother, who owned a soda shop in Texas. “Everything’s left over from somewhere,” says Dale.

“Our contractors laughed at us because we kept putting in old things,” adds Melissa.

After the beach bonfires have burned down and the kids have been tucked in, the Overmyers like to kick back and enjoy their beach-house blessings, knowing that next weekend will bring more fun at the beach—and at the Saturday morning flea markets. “Dale says we’re done,” says Melissa. “But I say we’re never done.”

For most people, coconuts inspire images of swaying palm trees and blue water. But even if you can’t visit the Tropics, you can still find coconuts in most local supermarkets.

When ripe, the inner coconut flesh turns from a jelly-like consistency to hard, white flesh, which can then be grated or peeled. Coconut milk is created by grating the flesh, mixing it with water, heating it until foamy, and then straining it through cheesecloth. (Using readily available canned coconut milk saves you the trouble, of course.)

I chose the following four recipes in order to show off the coconut’s versatility. For breakfast, you can whip up the coconut pancakes and pair them with bananas and passionfruit for a tropical punch. Then move onto lunch with a refreshing shaved coconut and crab salad with mint and lime. Coconut cream
adds the richness to sweet soy pork over jasmine rice for dinner. And for dessert, try the refreshing and light coconut tart with crème fraiche. After eating these coconut-infused dishes, you just might be able to fool yourself into believing that you’re on the Caribbean instead of the Chesapeake. 

Crab, Mint, Chili, and Coconut Salad

Sweet Soy Pork over Jasmine Rice

Coconut Pancakes with Bananas & Passionfruit Syrup

Coconut Tart with Pineapple & Crème Fraiche

Andrew Evans is the owner/chef of Easton’s Thai Ki.

Bistro Poplar

535 Poplar St.
Cambridge, Md.
410-228-4884, http://www.bistropoplar.com
Open Thurs.-Mon., noon-11 p.m.

Atmosphere: Classic French bistro
Service: Friendly and accommodating
Don’t miss: Ham and egg crepe; roasted leg of lamb with duck fat fried potatoes
Tariff: Appetizers, $6-$12; entrees, $15-$24

What did you order?” asked the well-coiffed blonde sitting near me.

“The pasta,” I volunteered. “And the lamb and steak frites,” I continued, pointing to my two companions’ plates. “Are you celebrating something special?” I asked, nosy and wondering about her very well dressed group of fifteen or so.

“It’s my father-in-law’s eightieth birthday,” she told me.

“We’ve been celebrating his birthday for a month,” added another daughter-in-law at the far end of the table, as the dapper octogenarian nodded his head and gave a little wave. The fifteen hailed from Baltimore, Massachusetts, and California, we found out, and throughout dinner, they checked in periodically to see what we were ordering and how our entrees were, and by the time their dinners arrived, I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if the blonde seated closest to me had offered to share a taste of her salad or scallops.

Authentic bistros can inspire this sort of conviviality, and Bistro Poplar has succeeded in bringing its warm, French sensibility—from its gorgeous red-and-green tiled floor to its modest, well-chosen wine list—to downtown Cambridge. With its classic décor and menu, this homey storefront feels special enough for a birthday, yet comfortable enough to be your Friday night local.

Bistros appeal because they’re a place for everyone, and even on a Sunday night, Bistro Poplar reflected this. A family with three well-behaved, tow-haired youngsters sat on the long bench against a butter-yellow wall, while two retirement-age couples dined at a table in the middle of the restaurant’s gorgeous tiled floor. And later in the evening, a young and obviously-in-love couple shared wine and plates under vintage painted tin advertising signs at the zinc bar.

But, of course, the focus of any restaurant should be its food, and Bistro Poplar doesn’t disappoint there, either, perhaps because chef/owner and Cambridge native Ian Campbell says that bistro style is his “favorite way to cook and eat.”

“I get a kick out of cooking simple things,” says Campbell, who trained at the Culinary Institute of America and worked at Charleston and Petit Louis restaurants in Baltimore and the esteemed Bouchon in Napa Valley before opening Bistro Poplar on New Year’s Eve 2007. “I see a lot of chefs shaving truffles and sprinkling truffle oil on everything. I tell them I’m still trying to figure out the potato.” (Note: This may be true, but he’s learning quickly. See below.)

Along with trying to guess which sandy-haired gent at the birthday table was the oldest son, my companions debated among several classic bistro starters, including duck confit with lentils and sautéed sweetbreads, before making their selections. The lightest of our choices, poached lobster salad—sweet, pillowy pieces of lobster meat nestled atop fresh, garlic-laced frisee—was simplicity at its best. Escargots arrived at the table sizzling in a cast-iron dish with six indentations that allowed each escargot to wallow in garlic butter under an individual pastry hat; the effect was both charming and delicious. But the ham-and-egg crepe won hands down as our favorite dish of the evening. Campbell fills a crepe with smoked ham and a creamy gruyere mornay sauce (basically béchamel sauce with addition of the cheese) and tops it with a quivering fried egg. The interplay of smoky, salty, and creamy is irresistible, and while the whole dish becomes a bit of a visual mess, it’s more than easy to clean up. Although we didn’t get to taste it, the award for prettiest dish went to the bibb salad with tarragon vinaigrette that the birthday party ordered. The small head of lettuce could have doubled as a blossoming green prom corsage. It was lovely to look at, though it disappeared quickly.

Demonstrating our love for the simple spud, we felt compelled to order both the steak frites and the roasted leg of lamb that came with duck fat fried fingerling potatoes. The steak eater requested her meat done medium-well, but it still emerged from the kitchen tender and with a tiny bit of pink, and though the frites initially disappointed in their winter paleness, they were crispy nonetheless, though slightly less salt would have made it easier to finish the generous serving. The lamb, however, was simply fabulous. Campbell marinates entire legs of Iowa lamb in garlic confit and thyme, slow roasts them, and slices them thin. Pairing the meat with the nearly caramelized potatoes and spicy arugula works beautifully. (Arugula is a favorite ingredient of Campbell, who says you’ll always find it on the menu.)

Our final entrée was house-made pasta brimming with earthy mushrooms and broccoli rabe. This was my entrée, and it arrived at the table less than warm. When I pointed this out to the server, she whisked it back to the kitchen to be remade, apologized for the error, and thanked me for pointing it out. She also took the entrée off of our bill, an unnecessary but generous gesture.

Chef Campbell’s favorite entrée is the braised pork shank, and while we did not order it, I can report that one of the gentlemen at the birthday table did and polished it off in the time it took for me to walk to and from the ladies room. (And I didn’t linger.)

Desserts are the weak spot in Bistro Poplar’s menu. (Phone manners when taking reservations are where service could use some improvement, too. During one call, a staff member was so disengaged, she hung up while I was still asking a question.) But dessert will likely be improved with the forthcoming hiring of a pastry chef. For now, you might want to skip the crepe scattered with dried fruit and walnuts or the apple slices baked in puff pastry in lieu of the well-chosen cheese plate. (Though at $12, it’s not surprising that, according to Campbell, the restaurant has a hard time selling it.)

Bistro Poplar has already begun serving lunch, and Campbell hopes to open in the mornings during the summer months for coffee and pastries. He also reports that the menu will change five times a year (twice in summer). That, not unlike a milestone birthday, is worth celebrating.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

With warm weather here again, it’s time to take advantage of all summer has to offer.

We’ve devised a handful of wholesome ways to milk the season for all it’s worth.

If you can’t afford to buy a Talbot County mansion, rent one for the week—or longer, if you like. Check out our nine palatial picks in “Laps of Luxury” (pg. 74), where sprawling grounds, sparkling pools, and tennis-court size great rooms abound. Remember, the yacht and live-in chef are extra. Your garden groaning for a makeover? In “Do as the Natives Do” (pg. 64), regional landscape design experts suggest twelve gorgeous native plants that give a green conscience to any outdoor space. Get back to nature along the wooded trails at Delaware’s Bombay Hook and Prime Hook wildlife refuges in “Nature’s Hook” (pg. 52). And for the ultimate romantic evening, grab a blanket, fully loaded picnic basket, and settle on the St. Mary’s College green for the annual River Concert Series in “Rollin’ on the River” (pg. 60). In “Out and About” (pg. 43), discover some of the region’s best camping grounds, from Assateague Island to Gunpowder State Park. Also, be sure to try the regions newest restaurants, Cambridge’s Bistro Poplar (“Traveling Gourmet,” pg. 81) and Easton’s Thai Ki (“Shorelines,” pg. 28), where the green curry is as delicious as a starry summer night.   

See you in July!

Kessler Burnett
(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)

Buttonbush(Cephalanthus occidentalis)

How to Use: The best application for this plant is in some sort of wet site (i.e., areas of poor drainage). It’s a very adaptable plant that does well in both full shade and full sun. Course in texture, it has fragrant white flowers and typically grows 5 to 6 feet tall.

Why We dig It: It’s an easy-growing, hardy wetland shrub that provides food for waterfowl and hummingbirds.

Expert Advice: “The best place to use this plant is on the fringes of the landscape, where it transitions to a less manicured section,” says landscape architect Miles Barnard, owner of Chestertown-based South Fork Studio Landscape Architecture.

Looks Great with: Gray dogwood, winterberry, cardinal flower, Eastern red cedar

Blooms: July & August

Little Bluestem Grass(Schizachyrium scoparium)

How to Use: A 3-foot-tall grass, it works well in meadow settings. This plant loves full sun and needs no watering once established.

Why We dig It: Self-seeding but not invasive, it provides food for song and upland birds. Green in summer, it turns straw color with an orange cast in winter.

Expert Advice: “Situate little bluestem where the rays of the setting sun will shine from behind and make the fluffy seeds sparkle,” says Sara Tangren, president of Chesapeake Natives, a nursery for native plants in Takoma Park, Md.

Looks Great with: black-eyed Susan, obedient plant

Blooms: July-October

Trumpet Honeysuckle(Lonicera sempervirens)

How to Use: An excellent climber, its tendrils wind around trees, plants—even trellises—without smothering them. This large vine loves sunshine and moisture and, under the proper circumstances, can grow to 30 feet tall.

Why We dig It: Talk about color: This species of honeysuckle is known for its brilliant red tubular flower with a yellow mouth. And its nectar is a magnet for hummingbirds.

Expert Advice: “It’s fast-growing so it’s perfect for areas that need to be filled,” says Jay Graham of Graham Landscape Architecture. “But it requires great care to keep it from taking over.”

Looks Good With: Switchgrass

Blooms: June

Switchgrass(Panicum virgatum)

How to Use: This plant is likely best used in a perennial border for a textural effect. This is a sun-loving, hardy perennial bunch grass (grows in clumps) found in fields, dunes, and the upland edges of marshes. While it can grow to 6 feet tall, it generally reaches 3 to 4 feet tall.

Why We dig It: Like other grasses, it’s beautiful in the fall and winter thanks to its height and straw-like color. Its seeds attract a multitude of birds and waterfowl.

Expert Advice: “I love this plant,” says Barnard. “The best thing about it is that it’s adaptable to poor drainage and wet conditions, and it can take a little bit of shade, which most ornamental grasses can’t do. It’s a great substitute for maiden grass, which can be invasive. And we can make ethanol from it to power our cars.”

Looks Good With: Little bluestem, orange coneflower, ink berry holly, bay berry

Blooms: July-September

River Oats(Chasmanthium latifolium)

How to Use: Also known as wood oats, Northern sea oats, and spangle grass, it adds interest to fall and winter borders, as well as indoor floral arrangements. It’s a clumping grass that can grow to 2.5 feet tall in partial shade.

Why We dig It: Since it’s a grass that doesn’t require full sun, it looks good in a shady location, like under an oak tree. It’s also a nice foil for heavier textured shade-
loving plants, such as wild ginger and tiarella.

Expert Advice: “It’s a great plant with one caveat: It has a tendency to seed itself madly when planted in full sun and moist, rich soil,” says landscape designer Jan Kirsh, owner of Jan Kirsh Landscapes Ltd. in St. Michaels, Md.

Looks Great with: Black-eyed Susan, woodland sunflowers

Blooms: July-September

Coastal Joe Pye Weed(Eupatorium dubium)

How to Use: Since this plant grows up to 5 feet tall, its height generally keeps it relegated to the back of a border. It produces a pink, dome-shaped flower head, prefers average to wet moisture, and thrives in full sun.

Why We dig It: It has a bold texture, and, like other Joe Pye weed varieties, it’s tremendously attractive to butterflies.

Expert Advice: “I recommend that my landscapers cut it back in late May or early June,” says Kirsh, “which makes the plant a little shorter, bushier, and has less of a tendency to fall over at maturity.”

Looks Great With: New York iron weed, switchgrass, goldenrod

Blooms: July-September

Bottlebrush Grass(Elymus hystrix)

How To Use: A nice ornamental grass to use anywhere, it’s one of the few grasses that does well in full or part shade and likes dry to moist soil. Its blades remain green throughout the winter.

Why We dig It: It’s very easy to plant from seeds. It grows to about 3 feet tall and is an important host for the wood nymph butterfly.

Expert Advice: “Most people forget when planting butterfly gardens to include grasses,” says Tangren. “This rectifies that problem.”

Looks Good With: Orange coneflowers and cardinal flowers

When it Blooms: June-September

Orange Coneflower (Rudbeckia fulgida)

How to Use: The orange coneflower is similar to the black-eyed Susan but has more numerous blooms on its stems. They grow best in partial shade and enjoy average rain conditions. “You want to use a lot of these, big sweeps of them rather than spotty use,” says landscape architect Gay Crowther, owner of Annapolis-based Crowther
& Associates.

Why We dig It: In addition to the benefits of low maintenance, it has a long-lasting blooming period that begins in early July and lasts well into November. Once its petals have fallen, the black seed head is exposed, which is particularly attractive to finches.
Expert Advice: “They look great with contemporary architecture or in a naturalist landscape that is less formal,” recommends Crowther.

Looks Good With: Christmas ferns or shade-loving grasses, like bottlebrush

Blooms: July-first frost

Butterfly Milkwee (Asclepias tuberosa)

How to Use: This flower is best used in a perennial flower garden or, if you want to get rid of a little bit of lawn, in a meadow. A fairly short plant (typically 2 feet tall), it does well in light shade to full sun and is an excellent choice for those drought-filled days of summer.

Why We dig It: It boasts a vivid spray of clusters of orange flowers, an unusual color for native blooms. Monarch butterflies love milkweed nectar and lay their eggs on the flowers.

Expert Advice: “This plant is a critical component of a butterfly garden,” says Tangren. “I planted butterfly milkweed in our garden in Takoma Park, and now we have Monarch butterflies most of the summer.”

Looks Good With: Narrow leaf mountain mint, sweet goldenrods, whorled coreopsis

Blooms: May-September

Mistflower(Eupatorium coelestinum)

How to Use: Rain gardens and ditches are perfect homes for this aggressive plant that’s in the daisy family. Ranging in size from 1 to 3 feet tall, it grows well in average soil.
Sun intensifies the beauty of the bloom.

Why We dig It: It’s a butterfly magnet.

Expert Advice: “You want to use this where you want a mass because it will spread,” says Tangren. “Its blooms are a beautiful carpet of pastel cobalt blue.”

Looks Good With: Cardinal flowers in a meadow setting

When It Blooms: July-September

Black-Eyed Susan(Rudbeckia hirta)

How to Use: This plant works well in part shade to sunny conditions, in an average to dry garden. It looks great in either a formal garden or a wild meadow. 

Why We dig It: The Maryland state flower, it’s very easy to grow and very drought tolerant. While the cultivars are short lived, the wild black-eyed Susan are perennials and come back for at least three years. They attract pollenators and seed-eating birds.

Expert Advice: “I haven’t found this plant to be weedy or aggressive,” says Tangren. “I recommend that you harvest some of the seeds and sprinkle them on the surface of the soil where you want them to grow the following year.”

Looks Good With: Butterfly milkweed

When It Blooms: June-August

Gray Goldenrod(Solidago nemoralis)

How to Use: Standing at only 2 feet tall, this smaller version of its taller cousin, goldenrod, is best used in the foreground of planting beds or shrub borders. 

Why We dig It: It grows easily because it tolerates summer heat. The small yellow flowers perched at the end of the stems add color anywhere it’s planted.

Expert Advice: “I keep this plant in mind when landscaping the riverside of a home so the water view won’t be blocked,” says Kirsh.

Looks Great With: Late-blooming asters, gayfeather, little bluestem

Blooms: August-October

Where to Buy:
For a complete list of native plant retailers and regional native plant sales, contact the Maryland Native Plant Society, 410-286-2928, http://www.mdflora.org.