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.
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.
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.”
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.
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Spring Cove Marina 21035 Spring Cove Road Rock Hall, MD 410-639-2110 www.rockhallmd.com/springcove Shoppes at Oyster Court 5761 Main Street Rock Hall, MD 410-639-4045 An eclectic mix of art & gifts Village Bakery & Cafe 849 Washington Avenue Chestertown, MD 21620 410-810-1081 www.villagebakeryandcafe.com Robert Ortiz Studios 207 South Cross Street Chestertown, MD 410-810-1400 www.ortizstudios.com Brooks Tavern in the Radcliffe Mill 870 High Street Chestertown, MD 410-810-0012 www.brookstavern.com Antiques on Cannon 306 Cannon Street Chestertown, MD 21620 410-778-1138 www.antiquesoncannon.com Historic Chestertown, 1706 www.chestertown.com Pride & Joy, Inc. 321 High Street Chestertown, MD 21620 410-778-2233 www.prideandjoy.net Smilin' Jake's Casual Apparel 5754 Main Street Rock Hall, MD 21661 410-639-7280 Shore To Be Fun www.shoretobefun.com Harbor Shack 20895 Bayside Avenue Rock Hall, MD 21661 410-639-9996 www.harborshack.net |
Kent County Lodging Association www.chesapeakebaybb.com Great Oak Manor 1-800-504-3098 www.greatoak.com White Swan Tavern 231 High Street Chesterstown, MD 21620 410-778-2300 www.whiteswantavern.com Old Gratitude House Bed & Breakfast 5944 Lawton Avenue Rock Hall, MD 21661 410-639-7448 866-846-0724 www.oldgratitudehouse.com The Imperial Hotel 208 High Street Chestertown, MD 410-778-5000 www.imperialchestertown.com Inn at Huntingfield Creek 410-639-7779 www.huntingfield.com The Brampton Inn 25227 Chestertown Road Chestertown, MD 21620 410-778-1860 866-305-1860 www.bramptoninn.com Pirates & Wenches Fantasy Weekend August 9-10, 2008 Rock Hall, MD www.rockhallpirates.com Osprey Point 20786 Rock Hall Avenue Rock Hall, MD 21661 410-639-2194 www.ospreypoint.com Spring Cove Manor Rock Hall, MD 410-639-2061 www.springcovemanor.com Chester River Kayak Adventures Rock Hall, MD 410-639-2001 www.crkayakadventures.com |
Sandwiches are a chef’s favorite meal, since we’re often short on time and are rarely able to stop to eat once the day gets going. The perfect sandwich is a regular topic of conversation among chefs during mindless kitchen chit-chat. I think the best are those that combine texture, flavor, and seasoning to create something really special. And that’s exactly what happens in my beer-battered rockfish sandwich. The beer batter crunch against the soft potato roll, along with creamy tartar sauce, lettuce, and tomato, is just plain delicious. In my po’ boy, I substitute soft-shell crabs for oysters for a delicious Chesapeake Bay version of a Bayou favorite. In my version of the classic club, I combine textures and flavors by using hearty sourdough bread, sweet corn relish, crunchy coleslaw, and salty bacon. The last sandwich is a vegetarian option, using hollowed-out round bread and layering grilled vegetables, herbs, and fresh mozzarella. It makes for a dramatic presentation—ideal for a picnic or garden party. Simply look in your pantry or local farmers’ market for fresh ideas. You never know when your next favorite will be born.
Eastern Shore Grilled Chicken Club
Grilled Vegetable Bread Loaf with Fresh Mozzarella & Pesto
Beer-Battered Rockfish Mini Sandwiches
Andrew Evans is the owner/chef at The Inn at Easton.
The sighs coming from the bedroom can be heard all the way down the hall. Several of us gather outside the open bedroom door and strain to see inside. With a loud, breathy “Ahhhhhhh!,” a sixty-something woman in a pink sweatshirt caresses a hand-woven coverlet on the rope bed. Then, she sighs again when she spies the hand-hewn beams in the ceiling. Nudging her way through the ten or so people in the hallway, she cries to all of us and to no one in particular, “Oh, I just love this house!” She presses her palms together as if in prayer. “I didn’t think I’d like it at all when I saw it in the paper, but this is one of the finest houses I’ve been in,” she squeals.
Apparently, some people take the houses they visit on the Maryland House & Garden Pilgrimage a little more seriously than others.
But Lucy and Don Arthur, hosts of this house on the Anne Arundel County leg of the 2007 pilgrimage, take it all in stride, from the woman who crouches down to inspect the reverse side of Lucy’s handmade painted floor cloths to the lady who insists on being shown just where the TV is hidden (in a small cupboard in the living room).
“We’re proud of the house and enjoy it very much,” says Don of the 1862 Greek Revival home. And with the warmth of a couple hosting a few friends for lunch—and not a throng of strangers that will top six hundred by the end of the day—he and Lucy politely and happily field questions about decorative choices, their antique pewter collection, and Lucy’s watercolor paintings hanging throughout the house.
Opening up their home to a few hundred visitors is nothing new for the Arthurs. After all, they’d already shown off the house’s historic chops to millions of Americans in March 2003 on Restore America, a show on HGTV, the house and garden cable channel.
Known as the Thomas O. Welch House, what was originally a tenant house was first owned by Henry C. Welch, who deeded the land to his son Thomas in 1863. Lucy’s great-great grandfather bought the land and house in 1873. The tenant house passed through various Shepherd family members until Lucy, who spent childhood summer vacations down the lane at her grandmother’s house, bought it—and its 108 scenic acres—in 1995.
The tour brochure notes that when the Arthurs acquired the house, “it was in very poor condition.” Try no indoor plumbing (ever), a crumbling kitchen, circa-1940s electrical service, four deteriorating fireplaces that heated the house, and the matter of four tons of trash left in the house by the last tenants. It took four years for the Arthurs to complete the renovation.
But by 1999, it had been transformed, and in 2006, Suzanne Smith, a friend and former co-chair of the Anne Arundel County tour, invited the Arthurs to be part of the following year’s tour. “Lucy just looked at me at first and said, ‘Oh, my,’” Smith says with a laugh. “I told her that they’d have a lot of fun, and they have. Their house is perfect for the tour. It’s a gorgeous home and a great spot, and there’s
a lot of parking.”
When Lucy greets me at the front door a little before 9 a.m., the house is impeccably clean. No one’s running a vacuum, frantically cleaning windows, or quickly tidying up. The only hint I have that the Arthurs might be expecting hoards of company is the load of recently used white towels in Lucy’s arms. (Fresh towels have been carefully rolled and placed in baskets in the bathrooms.)
“I’m pretty together today,” she laughs. “I have some quick dusting to do, and I need to put out the flowers, but other than checking the corners for cobwebs, we’re ready.” She admits that the house is the cleanest that it’s ever been. (For the record, no professional cleaning crew has swept in the day before. The Arthurs do all their own cleaning inside and out, handle all lawn care duties, and maintain the formal cutting garden near the kitchen.) With most of the surfaces in the house being wood, Don quips that “dusting is not a casual thing for us.” Vacuuming, polishing some brass (“We have patina, not shine,” Lucy explains), and dead-heading irises in the garden beside the house are the extent of any last-minute chores. Lucy’s cousin Mariann Shepherd, who is on hand to help during the day, assures me that the state of cleanliness is not just for tour day.
“It looks like this all the time,” she says. “Nothing is out of place, but
it’s a very comfortable home.”
I walk with Lucy to the laundry room, where she deposits the towels and offers me coffee and muffins. This nook is “command central” for the fifteen or so family and friends who have volunteered as room guides, ticket takers, and parking attendants. The guides are equipped with a cheat-sheet that Don and Lucy put together to help them point out significant facts about the house, its furnishings
and restoration. It’s a charming list, complete with amusing typos. The kitchen section lists a “wooden bowel [sic] and dough bowel [sic].” “My mother-in-law caught that one,” Don deadpans.
While the hosts may be relaxed and easy-going, the plan of how to move 600 or so visitors through the house isn’t. At 10 a.m. exactly, guests begin to arrive by car (there are no tour buses for the pilgrimage). Volunteers direct guests to park along the third-of-a-mile winding lane and to enter via the side porch, where the Arthurs’ daughter, Beth, handles tickets. Then it’s through to the kitchen to begin the self-guided tour. Volunteer guides are stationed in several rooms upstairs and downstairs to answer questions from Don’s sheet and to help keep the flow of traffic moving.
Some people walk through slowly, taking it all in. Others, like one woman on a cell phone motors through, glancing at the rooms while chatting away. Many pepper the Arthurs and their volunteers with questions, which they answer repeatedly and patiently: Yes, the kitchen wing is new. No, that small table in the kitchen isn’t an antique but a warming drawer designed by Lucy. She’s the artist of most of the paintings and designed and made all the floor cloths. Yes, the windows are original, but during the painstaking restoration of the house from 1995 to 1999, each window had its glass replaced with new thermal panes.
There is no formal presentation during the tour, though Lucy pretty much holds court in the kitchen, occasionally being called in to the adjacent dining room to answer a question about the pewter. The kitchen is where their design vision and skill came into full bloom. Prior to the renovation, Don, a retired computer industry executive, had never done any carpentry work, but the kitchen table is his design and craftsmanship. Lucy designed the cabinets, and it was her idea to raise the fridge off the floor and hide it behind more cabinetry. Most visitors have the same reaction that I did when I first entered the kitchen, murmuring a low “wow” as they scan the room and take off their sunglasses. It’s the kind of kitchen I figure most of us touring the Arthur home wish we had: beautifully appointed, well-designed, inviting, comfortable, and clean. Actually, I’d settle for just clean.
By the time the day ends and Don gets ready to head to the nearby St. James’ Parish Church Annual Spring Dinner to fetch a carry-out supper of crab cakes, country ham, slaw, and potatoes for his hungry volunteers, there’s not a room that hasn’t been tromped through. Nobody peeked in closets, perhaps only because there aren’t too many in the house. When the house was built, the original residents would have used armoires for storage, so the Arthurs do, too.
Lucy marvels at the reaction to their home and handiwork. She was nervous at first about pebbles from the driveway finding their way into the house en masse—she went as far as placing a small sign on the ticket table reading “please check your shoe treads for pebbles”—but she notes that “the house was as clean when we finished as when we started.” They both deem the experience as a lot of fun and one that they’d consider doing again—but not anytime soon. After dinner they plan to keep things pretty simple: get a good night’s sleep and take it easy the next day. And leave the dust mop in the closet.
Sarah Achenbach writes from Baltimore.
Making a Pilgrimage
From a humble start in 1930 as a committee of the Federated Garden Clubs of Maryland, the nonprofit Maryland House & Garden Pilgrimage has grown into a statewide program to raise funds for the preservation and restoration of Maryland’s architecturally and historically significant properties. Maryland counties sponsor pilgrimage tours in alternating years, with participating counties receiving their
own Saturday tour date in April or May. Each county has a volunteer pilgrimage committee, which selects tour homes, old or new, that they feel will be interesting for visitors. Each county’s committee also chooses a historic preservation project to receive funds raised through ticket sales. (For 2008, $30 per day covers admission to all houses in a given county.) Statewide in 2007, the pilgrimage raised nearly $85,000 and close to 5,000 people toured the homes. In Anne Arundel County, the Arthurs’ house tour helped raise more than $22,000 for Edgewater’s Historic London Town & Gardens. For ticket information, call 410-821-6933 or visit http://www.mhgp.org.
Schedule for the 2008 Maryland House & Garden Pilgrimage:
April 26: Talbot County
May 3: Kent County
May 4: Baltimore City
May 10: Calvert County
May 17: Washington County
May 18: Baltimore County
The Cop
Lt. Pat Maxwell, oxford police dept.
f you’ve ever cruised through the historic waterfront village of Oxford, Md., there’s a good chance you’ve seen police officer Lt. Pat Maxwell. And make no mistake about it—he’s definitely seen you.
This is one diligent lawman, dedicated to making sure that his hometown stays crime-free by making your business his business. “We know where every car belongs in town, even at the part-time residences,” says Maxwell, who’s been a police officer for twenty-six years. “As the late-police chief Wally Jones once said, ‘We have three officers and 850 deputies.’ This town is all eyes and ears when it comes to monitoring crime.”
When not patrolling through the residential areas, you’ll likely find him hunkered down in his squad car not far from where the speed limit plummets from 40 to 25 miles per hour. In fact, Maxwell and his coworkers’ take-no-prisoners approach to traffic enforcement has become so legendary that it’s just as common to overhear folks bemoaning the speed traps as it is their near-empty crab traps.
“The majority of the violators tend to be from out of state or the western shore,” explains Maxwell, who estimates that of the town’s 1,500 annual traffic violations, 70 percent are speeding infractions. “One guy came sailing in here doing 80 in a 25. He was less than cordial. I gave him a $500 fine and a ticket for reckless driving. He told me, ‘I’m going to have your job!’ Another woman I pulled over continued to talk on her cell phone after I made numerous requests that she hang up. I took the phone and told the person on the other line that she’d have to call them back…”
But not all speeders are confrontational. “We also have very nice people who apologize for speeding and then thank us for doing our job,” says Maxwell. “I always say that we’re fair, but we’re firm. So let ’em talk.”—K.B.
The Lobbyist
Mike Canning, Annapolis
Until the Maryland Public Ethics Law was passed in 1979, placing restrictions on types and values of gifts lobbyists could give legislators, the state had a reputation for the two getting a little too cozy. According to Mike Canning, who’s been in the business since 1984, “the problem is that, from time to time, like in any profession, somebody violates the law, gets in trouble and it’s given great coverage by the media. I don’t think that the incident rate is high, it’s just that the visibility from the media makes it a greater public interest story.” Canning is the co-founder of Annapolis-based Manis, Canning & Associates, which represents more than forty clients, from the Motion Picture Association of America to the Baltimore Ravens. “But it does a considerable bit of damage to the whole institution, to the whole legislative process. You build personal relationships built on trust and integrity and when someone violates that, it has a very negative effect.”
But what about that pushy demeanor that lobbyists are often portrayed as having? “I think that description is a little out of character for most of us,” says Canning. “You can’t get in people’s faces and get them angry if you’re going to be in this business. You’re in this because you respect people and the process. And it’s a rare case where you see that kind of interchange taking place.”
So does he think that the business has evolved for the better? “My experience is that it’s a mature and gentlemanly activity where people are advocating on behalf of a business interest,” says Canning. “If the issue is that people think we’re all-powerful and controlling government, that’s flat wrong. If the perception is that we’re all crooked, we’re not. That’s just not the reality of Annapolis. We spend an enormous amount of time checking and double-checking to make sure things are permissible rather than take a chance.”—K.B.
The Parking Enforcement Officer
Veronica Parker, Annapolis
Annapolis is famous for being a parking-challenged town. You can cruise from the harbor to St. John’s College for hours, all the while wondering if anyone would notice if you slipped into a sticker-required residential spot—just for a sec. Veronica Parker would.
Parker, an Annapolis city parking enforcement officer, has been walking the beat for eighteen years. She cruises up and down Residential District 1, which includes Prince George, King George, and Randall streets, monitoring parking time limits. It’s the busiest residential area in the city with its fair share of repeat offenders—and she knows who you are. In the early mornings, she watches people park where they shouldn’t, as they keep one eye on their car while running into the CVS. “If they run up to me before I’ve printed their ticket, I’ll say, ‘I’ll stop this time, but not next time.’ I’m not going to play games!”
But it’s not always such a civil exchange of words, explains Parker, who people say has a trademark “look” that she wields. “People say I look mean, so I don’t get the drama-drama,” she muses. “They’ll say things like, ‘I’ll see you in court,’ but they don’t go off crazy. One coworker had a guy kick a trash can over in front of her, and another was almost run over by an angry driver. I just get cussed at daily.”
But it’s still a stressful job. “It’s hard to compose yourself sometimes,” she says. “When people come at you, I just remind them that I’m just doing my job. A lot of time, people have something to say even when I’m not writing a ticket for their car. Dealing with the people who make the rude comments, especially when people come out of
the bars at night on my late shift, it’s crazy.”
So has she ever gotten a parking ticket? “No,” she responds without a blink. “When I come downtown, I park where I’m supposed to.”—E.B.W.
The Developer
Jack Burbage,Berlin, Md.
Next to dwindling blue crab populations and Bay Bridge traffic, Eastern Shore folks love to debate the topic of development. And it’s developers like Jack Burbage who get the brunt of their angst.
Burbage, co-owner of Berlin-based Blue Water Development, which he runs with his sons, John and Todd, has been in the business for twenty-three years. His list of projects has included hundreds of developments, from shopping centers in West Ocean City to $400,000 condos in Chincoteague, which hasn’t always made him the most popular guy. “Whenever we have opposition to a project,” he explains, “we call the community together and work it out. We listen to their concerns and try to find solutions before we move forward with a building permit. It seems to work a lot better than taking the approach of ‘us against them.’”
So does he think that developers get a bad rap? “I think it depends on the developer,” says Burbage. “We try to do things right. But some try to put a quart in the pint jar and are chastised for it. And I think rightfully so. We just did a development in Ocean City called Ocean Reef, and we could have gotten 104 lots in there but we only did 87 because we made it a more “green” development. Sure, we could have sold it for more money if we had crammed more lots in, but, in the end, we had a better development.”
Burbage believes that oftentimes the real villains in the industry are the amateurs who jump in just to get a slice of the financial pie. “Too many people, like realtors and doctors, try to be developers, but they don’t know what they’re doing. They all came into the market in this last economic push and built small projects because they saw the money being made. And now they have no wherewithal to withstand the slowdown. They’ve created a lot of problems—and now they’re taking a bath in it.”—K.B.
The Repo Man
Dwayne Jennings*, Eastern shore
Dwayne Jennings never saw it coming. He was down on one knee, hooking up his tow truck to a car in Southeast Washington, D.C., when he felt the blow to the back of his head. Seeing stars, he looked up at a woman, about eight months pregnant, hovering over him with a two-by-four. “I got up and grabbed her and held her arms, but she bit the hell out of my thumbs,” says Jennings. “The police eventually came, but if she had swung just a little bit harder, I would have been done.”
You think your job is tough? Try repossessing other people’s cars for a living. In his thirty-eight years working as a professional repo man, Jennings has been shot at, cussed out, and taken a few punches, but he says he couldn’t see himself doing anything else. “It’s the excitement. There is nothing typical about each job; every situation is different.”
These days, Jennings runs a repossession business on the Eastern Shore and mostly lets his seven employees do the “field work.” He’s been driving a tow truck since the age of fifteen (for “an old drinker” who used to chase accidents) and repossessing cars in the Washington metro area for banks and credit lenders since age seventeen. He says the key to surviving in his business is to use simple common sense and to defuse any potentially dangerous situation before it gets out of hand. “You have to know when to back out and when to go forward,” he says. “I’ll talk to the person, treat him as a decent human being. I’ve found that you get a whole lot more with the honey than with the bees.”
Still, Jennings says most repo men are misunderstood. “People think that we’re no good, rotten slimy S.O.B.’s and that nobody has any control over us. They don’t realize that we’re licensed professionals. And we’re just doing a job like everybody else.”—J.S.
*Not his real name.
After years of collecting rare and wonderful art from Papua New Guinea to Bhutan, Marilyn Lyons had dreams of designing a home on the Chesapeake Bay that would showcase her treasures—ceramics, textiles, paintings, and antiques that she’d acquired during her travels as a museum professional. She and her husband, Dr. Clark “Corky” Graham, hired Annapolis architect Wayne Good to draw up the plans while they were still living in Pascagoula, Miss. But Mother Nature intervened. Lyons’ artworks, and every other possession, vanished in September 2005, when Hurricane Katrina swept away their Gulf of Mexico residence. “There wasn’t a house in the area still standing,” recalls Lyons. “Not a brick was left.”
With nothing left of their art collection or their household goods, Lyons and Graham carried on with their plans to move to an Annapolis property they’d purchased in 1995 but hadn’t inhabited for more than a decade. “When we bought it,” Lyons explains, “we were absolutely compelled by the view, the wildlife, and the park nearby”—now a daily destination with their soft-coated Wheaten terrier, Madigan. “But it was pathetically built. When we were interviewing architects, they all said the same thing: ‘We can have it in the dumpster in two hours.’”
With the help of Good, their dream took shape as a 4,000-square-foot, three-story contemporary house that makes the most of its South River setting. Good explains that his inspiration for the project came from the nineteenth-century “shucker shanties” that were once common in the Bay region. “A simple cottage with vertical board-and-batten siding—that was the vernacular,” he explains, pointing out the clean lines and high-pitched gable roof of the design. “You wouldn’t find this house in Cape Cod or Charleston.”
His version adds a few modern notes: a wealth of custom glass, ten-foot-tall ceilings, and stark, white walls. Random-width oak floors provide warmth while the board-and-batten motif, repeated throughout the interior, softens any hint of austerity.
The front of the house, almost entirely glass, offers floor-to-ceiling water views animated by tundra swans in winter and leafy oaks in summer. Its crowning feature is a three-level folly, a glass tower of twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot rooms. Accessed by a bridge from the master suite, the second and third stories of the soaring cube connect to each other via a handcrafted ship’s ladder. Underneath them, an open porch invites casual repose. Triple-hung windows set into the folly’s walls can be opened to take advantage of river breezes. “This is Corky’s favorite spot in the house,” says Lyons, waving a hand around the middle room. “And it’s a great place to have a glass of wine.”
Views are equally expansive from the living room, where glass walls on two sides surround the beige brick fireplace. Lyons has begun to rebuild her art collection; on the mantel, Mississippi painter Jamie Tate’s vivid landscape recalls the aftermath of Katrina; pots by Talle Johnson, a Chattanooga-based master potter, are interspersed among Oriental rugs and choice antiques (including a marble-topped nineteenth-century dental cabinet). A bold block print by Walter Anderson of Mississippi crowns the family room. Beyond is the open kitchen, appointed with stainless-steel appliances and a farmhouse table. The space includes a separate pantry, laundry area, and plenty of counter space for prep work—a must when Lyons’ son, a chef, comes home to cook.
“At the beginning of the project, Wayne asked each of us to write a letter explaining what we wanted from the house,” Lyons recalls. “We both said, separately, that lots of air and light passing through were most important to us.” Later, after Good returned their memos, the two were struck by how perfectly the house matched their requests. The tempest-tossed prelude has led them to a new port—one that both agree is “a great space to live in.”
Mitchum’s Steak House
4021 Main St.
Trappe, Md.
410-476-3902
Open Tues.-Sat. 5 p.m.–10 p.m.;
Sun. 5 p.m.-9 p.m.
Atmosphere: Warm and clubby
Service: Unsophisticated, but
well-intentioned
Don’t miss: Marvesta sautéed shrimp and grits, sixteen-ounce Delmonico
Tariff: Appetizers, $8-$13; entrees, $22-$45
A restaurant named for actor Robert Mitchum couldn’t be anything but a steakhouse, could it? No dainty tea room with small plates for him. No, sir. Beefcake needs meat, and Mitchum’s Steak House offers lots of it, plus some appetizers that make dinner seem nearly redundant.
Sensing the need for a steakhouse on the Eastern Shore, Brenda Tighe (who also owns the gourmet deli, Mitchum’s Market, next door) and her business partner, Douglas Halliday opened the restaurant last October. Tighe lives at Belmont, Mitchum’s former thirty-acre farm in Trappe. (The actor spent eleven years there raising his family.) And each time she passed the former general store on the corner of Main and Maple in the town’s center, she’d fantasize about its potential as a restaurant. When the building went up for sale, Tighe and her husband bought it, not realizing that because of the building’s condition, they would have to tear it down and rebuild—which they did. The new structure has the exact same footprint as the old building, Tighe reassures.
And a handsome footprint it is. The nearly floor-to-ceiling storefront windows remind diners of the site’s history as a general store and creates an airy space, yet the restaurant still feels warm. Movie posters and a striking series of black-and-white historic photos of life in Trappe by the late Trappe-born photographer Laird Wise Sr. decorate the red and khaki walls.
A stunning Tiffany chandelier dominates the entrance; a dark mahogany bar runs the length of one side of the room. When we arrived at 7 p.m., most of the action was at the bar, but by nine o’clock, the restaurant was filled with carnivores. Two blonde-streaked gals in cashmere shared a table in the corner, while permed ladies in holiday-theme sweaters shared a table with their blue-blazered companions. We saw jeans and gray flannel, neckties, and gold chains.
We also saw the Robert Mitchum-Marilyn Monroe Western, River of No Return. Twice. Yes, there’s a television, a thirty-inch flat-screen, at the bar which plays Mitchum movies (and the occasional sporting event) continuously, if silently (with closed captions). My group found this a huge distraction, but Tighe says customers love the films and that one couple even calls ahead to see what’s playing so they can reserve a table with a good view of the screen. This gives “dinner and a movie” a new twist, to be sure, but why would you want to be distracted from your dining companion—or even more, your dinner? At any rate, I advise getting a table with your back to the television so you can enjoy both.
We began our meal with five generous appetizers. Our favorite, Marvesta sautéed shrimp (from a local producer) and grits was the perfect balance of flavors and textures, boasting perfectly cooked shrimp, spicy cubed andouille sausage, and creamy, chewy cheddar grits. Another standout was the house cold plate, a generous serving of delicately house-smoked pork tenderloin, sopressata salami, goat cheese, marinated artichokes and red peppers, cornichons, and stone-ground mustard. The tenderloin was so good that I scanned the menu in vain for a chance to order a larger portion. Three baked oysters were sweetly rich with lump crabmeat, spinach, and a sherry-spiked cream sauce; while I highly enjoyed one of them, I can’t imagine eating all three and having room for dinner. Less rich was the single crab cake, moist and lumpy with crab and garnished with braised fennel pattypan squash, an unusual, but delicious combination. The arugula and pear salad was a lovely plate of the tiniest, tender baby leaves and slivers of pear and onion dressed with a mild cinnamon vinaigrette, which sounded odder than it was.
We sampled all manner of beef and one fish dish for our entrees. (The menu also offers scallops, crab cakes, and chicken breast.) And the beef was the clear winner. Tasting four cuts of beef at one sitting reminded me that we often get used to eating one cut of meat and forget that different cuts should taste distinct from each other; Mitchum’s does a great job of making these nuances obvious. Filet mignon was sweet and soft, while the flat iron steak embodied chewy bistro rusticity, and osso bucco tenderly fell off the bone into its rich sauce. The Delmonico, however, took my breath away with its intoxicating combination of smoky, spicy flavors reminiscent of sweet tobacco. The dry rockfish fillet just couldn’t compete.
Sides at Mitchum’s, as per steakhouse custom, must be ordered extra and are generous enough to share. Brilliant, billiard-green sautéed spinach was a favorite for its obvious freshness. Sautéed mushrooms satisfied, too, again because of its simple preparation, something that could have benefited the crispy French fries, whose seasoning made them taste like fast food instead of homemade.
There wasn’t much room left, but as we watched Mitchum tackle a wildcat (again) on the television screen, we attempted to tackle dessert. Unless they improve, next time I wouldn’t bother. (“Wasted calories,” is how one diner at my table put it.) Vanilla crème brulee was simply sweet. The cheesecake tasted too strongly of lemon extract. Apple crisp was weighed down by heavy clumps of oatmeal topping, and while the molten lava chocolate cake oozed liquid chocolate, it was strangely lacking flavor. Tighe says that she’s not a dessert person, so she hasn’t paid enough attention to the desserts to know whether or not they are good. They’re not, but it wouldn’t be too difficult to make them better.
Like a saloon in the middle of a barren Western town, Mitchum’s is drawing diners to tiny Trappe. Sure, our server that night was a bit unsure of herself and the names of some of the dishes, though always well-intentioned, and the wine list has room to grow, but the hearty food overshadows all of these smaller issues. Tighe reports that Robert Mitchum’s daughter visited the restaurant and said her father would have loved it. “I feel like he’s watching over us,” Tighe says. Cheers, Bob.
Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.
When asparagus starts pushing its way up through the ground, spring has definitely arrived. From late April through early May, asparagus is at its peak of sweetness and tenderness. One of my favorite dishes to cook is a soup made with asparagus puree, which I accent with whipped cream, lemon, and tarragon. It can be served warm or cold, but remember, its finished flavor is only as good as the asparagus itself. Chargrilled asparagus wrapped in prosciutto and topped with grilled artichokes is a simple but sophisticated side dish to any late spring barbecue. Like most children, mine will gobble up anything fried, hence the recipe for asparagus tempura with a ginger-flavored aioli. And finally, you can’t go wrong with a pasta that plays the asparagus’ sweetness against the saltiness of pancetta—just add a simple salad for a perfect lunch or dinner.
Asparagus Puree with Lemon Cream and Tarragon
Chargrilled Asparagus with Prosciutto and Artichokes
Tempura of Asparagus with Ginger Aioli
Bowtie Pasta with Pancetta, Anchovies and Asparagus
Andrew Evans is the owner/chef at The Inn at Easton.
I love those moments when you realize that you’re not the only nutty person walking this planet.
A friend recently told me that the way he keeps his home neat enough for company is to play a week-long game of self-inflicted torture: He pretends that a dignified family friend, who he feels great pressure to impress, is coming over in a few hours. And the fear incited by this fantasy spurs a blitz of dusting, vacuuming, and polishing brass door knobs. This is precisely the same delusional motivational tool that I use to make my house guest-ready.
While I can display borderline obsessive-compulsive behavior in my cleaning and organizational habits (which range from making a list of all my spices and taping it inside the spice cupboard door to using a squeegee on my tiled—not glass—shower walls after every use), I can also go through jags of total tidiness abandonment. Dishes pile up, clothes pile up, piles pile up. And sometimes the only thing that shakes me out of my rut is to imagine one of two scenarios: 1) I’ve died, and the people who have to clean out my house are forever left with the impression that I was a slob and emotional wreck, or 2) my ex’s mother, whom I always chastised for being the grand poobah of pack rats, sneaks into my house while I’m at work and is thrilled to learn just how similar we really are.
And it works. These aren’t just silly what-ifs, they’re powerful machinations that sometime grip me at the front door and force me to march back upstairs to fold, hang, straighten, sort my sock drawer—whatever it takes to regain order and save face among all my imaginary critics. Scoff, mock, or judge me if you will, but the result is an orderly existence that allows me to welcome company once again.
In the story “Open House” (pg. 48), we uncover the massive extent of cleaning, gardening, and primping a Lothian couple endured in order to ready their home for the 600 strangers who toured their property during the 2007 Maryland House & Garden Pilgrimage. (Another great motivator for cleaning your house.) Also, be sure to check out the resurrected Bay images of Annapolis photographer Charles E. Emery in “Old Bay,” pg. 62. Food lovers can rejoice in Trappe’s new steakhouse, Mitchum’s, this month’s Traveling Gourmet destination (pg. 75), or try their hand at springtime asparagus recipes in Andrew’s Kitchen (pg. 83). Folk art lovers will thrill over the work of Eastern Shore of Virginia artist Danny Doughty (Art Gallery, pg. 37) and those in need of a little R&R will want to book a quiet and cozy room at Lands End Manor on the Bay (Checking Inn, pg. 43).
See you in May!
Kessler Burnett
Enter for your chance to win a $100 gift certificate for the purchase of native plants grown at Environmental Concern’s native plant nursery in St. Michaels, MD.A special appointment will be scheduled for the winner to visit the nation’s first native wetland plant nursery and learn about the benefits of planting natives.
Resident plants of the Mid-Atlantic offer low maintenance, tolerate sun and shade, add year round interest and provide wildlife habitats.With over 110 species to choose from, Environmental Concern’s nursery offers many native plant choices for your property.
http://www.wetland.org
Adkins Arboretum's Spring Native Plant Sale- Saturday, May 10, 9 a.m.-1 p.m.
Plants for sale will include a broad selection of flowering trees and shrubs, perennials, ferns, and grasses for spring planting. Native flowers and trees provide food and habitat for wildlife and make colorful additions to home landscapes, whether in a perennial border, a woodland garden, or a restoration project. Adkins Arboretum is a 400-acre native garden and preserve at the headwaters of the Tuckahoe Creek in Caroline County. Open year round, the Arboretum offers educational programs for all ages about nature and gardening.Through its Campaign to Build a Green Legacy, the Arboretum will build a new LEEDcertified Arboretum Center and entranceway to broaden educational offerings and research initiatives promoting best practices in conservation and land stewardship.
http://www.adkinsarboretum.org
