Five great summer trips:

1. New shops and restaurants at the beach
2. Funky Route 50
3. Nine palatial rental houses
4. A scenic winery tour—by kayak
5. Play waterman for a day

> Party Time
“People have been calling us ‘Starboard North,’” says Conch Island Key West Bar and Grill general manager John Wallden, referring to the classic Dewey Beach bar. Indeed, since its springtime opening, Conch Island has become party central in Rehoboth Beach, with its three full bars, a small stage for bands and a dance floor as crowded as any Dewey dive on Saturday night. On Sunday afternoons, the party spills out onto the avenue with more live music and an all-day happy hour.

Partiers need sustenance, of course, and Conch Island provides ample support via crab cakes, Cuban sandwiches and a raw bar featuring four kinds of oysters and three varieties of shrimp. You also can find conch in the form of fritters, in chowder and served tempura-style with orange horseradish marmalade. Party on! 207 Rehoboth Ave., Rehoboth Beach, 302-226-9378

> Who Dat?
Speed by too quickly on Milton’s Route 16 and you might just miss Po’ Boys Creole & Fresh Catch, but this tiny eatery, decorated with Mardi Gras beads aplenty, is worth a stop. What’s more, the cozy mom-and-pop is the area’s only Cajun restaurant. “These days you have to do something different,” says Amy Stewart, who runs the restaurant with her chef/husband, Lee. “You have to corner the market or you won’t be around.”

Lee honed his Cajun culinary chops working in several restaurants on the Florida Panhandle and knows his way around a roux. Definitely try his blackened scallops with spinach and lemon-caper butter and the shrimp creole with grits. “I turn people who don’t like grits into people who love ’em,” he says. Route 16, Milton, 302-684-0890, http://www.poboyscreole.com

> Fill ’er up!
You won’t be able to miss the shockingly bright yellow exterior of Lewes’ JD’s Filling Station, former home to Blue Plate restaurant and, long before that, a filling station. The restaurant’s interior is just as flashy, painted in bright blues, reds and yellows and studded with old license plates, a gas pump, framed road maps and a couple of old automobile grills. Even the waitresses sport Goodyear service shirts.

The J and the D in the name are for Joe Zuber and Darryl Ciarlante, who also run Rehoboth’s Dos Locos. There’s a smattering of quesadillas and tacos on this menu, but the real draw is JD’s big breakfasts— six varieties of eggs Benedict, a dozen different omelettes and a heart-stopping Frosted Flakes-encrusted French toast stuffed with cream cheese and fruit. (Yeah, it tastes “Grrrreat.”) 

Lunch and dinner means fat burgers, wraps, po’ boys and fresh fish and steaks. The bar menu lists drinks with names like Anti-Freeze, Windshield Washer and Transmission Fluid, but we appreciate the plain ol’ cans of Natty Boh, which you can add to any sandwich order for just a buck. 329 Savannah Road, Lewes, 302-644-8400

> Simple Things
The inspiration for the menu at Betty’s Pure and Simple is “everything that owner Matt Haley grew up with,” says general manager Joseph Ralph of his boss, an Eastern Shore native. “[The ingredients] are everything you can buy at a roadside farmer’s stand.”

Haley, whose burgeoning restaurant empire also includes Fish On, Bluecoast and three other area restaurants, decided to concentrate on something completely different this time: upscale comfort food. Here, you’ll find fried chicken topped with ham gravy and served on a savory waffle doctored up with garlic and fresh herbs, and even a modern take on an old-fashioned tuna noodle casserole with Ritz cracker crumbles. Bright, graphic paintings of women from the “Mad Men” era brighten the muted beige interior. So who is Betty, anyway? “Everybody’s Betty,” says Ralph. “It’s just someone you knew as a kid or an aunt. But she was loved.” 18585 Coastal Highway, Rehoboth Beach, 302-645-6160, http://www.bettyspureandsimple.com

> Rolling Out a Sequel
It only took 39 years but Rehoboth Beach’s legendary Nicola Pizza has finally opened a second location. The much larger space on Rehoboth’s main drag is really two different Nicolas in one: Its first floor looks like a casual Italian restaurant with faux Tiffany lamps and handsome blond wood tables; upstairs is The Upper Deck, a sports-themed loft with— count ’em— 20 televisions mounted throughout. Both floors boast full bars and similar menus, which include the pizzas and signature Nic-o-bolis, rolled dough stuffed with ground beef, cheese and pizza sauce. 71 Rehoboth Ave., Rehoboth Beach, 302-226-2654, http://www.nicolapizza.com

> On the Half Shell
Even before it opened at the end of May, the locals were buzzing about Rehoboth Beach’s Henlopen City Oyster House. Owned by veteran restaurateurs Chris Bisahi and Joe Baker, the restaurant, located in the space formerly occupied by longtime favorite Celsius, promises six to eight varieties of oysters from around the country and a long list of fresh seafood on its menu. Done up in oyster-y grays and whites and featuring huge windows overlooking Wilmington Avenue, Henlopen City accommodates 85, with four seats reserved for hard-core bivalve lovers at the sprawling, ice-covered oyster bar. “People just love to sit and watch the oysters get shucked,” notes Bisahi, who plans to split the shucking duties with his partner. Fresh fish and local produce dominates the rest of the menu. “We’ll probably try some different stuff, too, like skate and cockles,” says Bisahi. Wines from small, boutique wineries and eight craft beers on tap help diners quench their thirsts. 50 Wilmington Ave., Rehoboth Beach, 302-260-9193, http://www.hcoysterhouse.com

> Mixx it Up
Here’s one unique way to be immortalized: Suggest a martini recipe at Mixx and you might just get the concoction named after you. So far, the menu includes the Rachel (pear vodka, mango puree, triple sec) and the Alice (vodka, sour apple, triple sec, splash of pineapple) and 23 others. Martini flights also are available for those who can’t decide between, say, the Joey or the Chase. 

Most items on the menu of “upscale American fusion” cuisine can be had in large or small plate versions, and “there’s something for everyone’s palate,” says co-owner Ginger Breneman. Indeed, diners can choose from lobster and shrimp curry to a short rib burger with mushrooms and sautéed onions served with truffle oil fries. Come on a Wednesday and all burgers are 50 percent off. Keyboard virtuoso Matthew Kenworthy brightens up the basement space on weekend nights with his repertoire of show tunes to rock ’n’ roll. 26 Baltimore Ave., Rehoboth Beach, 302-226-8700

> Spahr-ing Partner
We’ve always liked the original clothing designs of Rehoboth Beach’s Scott Spahr. His colorful hand-stitched shirts and shorts for men and women feature the perfect patterns for summer. (And where else can you get a truly unique handmade shirt for around 75 bucks?) This season, Spahr has relocated to a bright, cheery space along Baltimore Avenue that better shows off his work. New this summer are graphic tees embroidered with funky patterns or Japanese characters and must-have women’s belts in pinks and greens. There’s also locally made jewelry by Susie Terry. 43 Baltimore Ave., Rehoboth Beach, 302-226-3804, http://www.scottspahr.com

> Dressing Up
Lewes’ Aquamarine may have occupied a basement space on Market Street, but that didn’t stop local fashionistas from finding it. The women’s boutique has grown quite a following since it opened four years ago. Now passers-by on busy 2nd Street can discover the relocated store’s funky mix of women’s fashions from strappy dresses to shoes to locally made jewelry, too. “I’ve got clothes in here for the super preppy to bohemian arty-types,” says owner Maureen Botti of her expanded offerings, “and you’ll never run into someone else wearing the same thing. I’m trying to bring the big city back to Lewes.”

Now known as Aquamarine at 114, the shop stocks designs by Cut Loose, Finley, Trina Turk and Yuvita, among many others. So what’s the must-have item for summer? “The perfect white blouse or that sundress you can wear out for cocktails or to the grocery store,” says Botti. “I love versatile beach wear.” 114 2nd St., Lewes, 302-644-4550

On the tee box of the 16th, I mutter something unprintable. Before me is a golf hole requiring the kind of precision I normally reserve for threading a needle. Peril lurks everywhere. Water is along the right and the fairway has more intimidating interruptions—massive marshlands, nerve-racking bunkers, menacing trees—than I care to count. While I love golf courses that make me think, right now I feel like a Ph.D. in this sport would come in handy.

My husband, Terry, and I are winding (battling?) our way around War Admiral, a state-of-the-art course at GlenRiddle Golf Club in Berlin, Md. It is part of a snazzy development of homes and townhomes that includes a stunning Ruth’s Chris Steak House and two championship golf courses—the private, parkland-style War Admiral and a daily-fee links course, Man O’ War. The courses are owned and developed by Thomas Ruark, owner of several award-winning courses in Ocean City including Rum Pointe, ranked one of Maryland’s top five by Golf Week magazine and The Links at Lighthouse Sound, often referred to as “The Pebble Beach of the East.”

GlenRiddle is as historic as it is beautiful. Built on what was once Riddle Farm, the famous horse farm that bred and raised two of the most famous thoroughbred racehorses in the world—“Horse of the Century” Man O’War and his son War Admiral—the land is so gorgeous that it is hard for me to concentrate on my game. At least that’s my excuse. Mature woods, sharp doglegs, narrow fairways, and plenty of wind complicate my every shot. Greens are tricky, too. I often feel like I’m putt-ing on top of one massive inverted bowl. From the extremely long first hole to the spine-tingling approach shot across water on the 18th, this course is filled with drama. And deceptions. Many shots look easier than they are because we think we can carry the preservation areas to safety but instead our balls wind up in the hazard.

Transforming a historic horse farm into two modern golf courses with two distinct personalities was the job of course architect Joel Weiman of McDonald Design Group in Jessup, Md., who consulted with U.S. Open champion Jim Furyk. “We wanted War Admiral to look more traditional and older, so we sculpted earth in a way that made the features appear to be excavated into the surrounding terrain, similar to how courses were created 80 years ago by the game’s greatest golf course designers,” says Weiman.

During course development, Furyk was on-site several times. Weiman says Furyk’s objective was to design a course that would challenge him and still be a course his mother would enjoy playing. Considering the difficult time I’m having, his mother must be a pretty good golfer. “You need strategy to get around this course,” adds Weiman. “If you get a little lazy and complacent, it will grab you and you’ll have a big number. You have to concentrate.”

The original stable where the famous horses were kept has been transformed into a sophisticated clubhouse and Ruth’s Chris restaurant. The main dining room is actually a series of several intimate rooms, each one with the feel of a classy, private club thanks to dark woods, earth-toned fabrics, leather chairs, mustard-colored walls, and dim lighting. Handsome paintings commissioned by a local artist that depict the famous racehorses and scenes from the farm as it would have looked during its heyday are dotted about.

The loft above the dining room—ideal for a private party—uses the stable’s original beam and timber framework. All stall doors and hardware were preserved. Some are placed in a “stable wall,” depicting the look of the original stable, and others are used as tabletops in the bar where large murals of farm life embellish the walls. The menu is hearty Ruth’s Chris fare—steaks, chops, and seafood.

After dinner we gravitate to the museum-like hallway filled with fascinating memorabilia that not only reflects equestrian history but is a snapshot of American life in the ’30s and ’40s. Photos of Man O’ War at various stages along with articles from the famous Seabiscuit/War Admiral match held at Pimlico Race Course in 1938 are everywhere. 

After a perfect day of great golf and a fine meal, we spend the night at the very Victorian, very charming Atlantic Hotel, a five-minute drive from GlenRiddle.

Count us among those who don’t expect to find extraordinary golf so close to our Annapolis home. We enjoy traveling the country to test our mettle on famous courses—Bandon Dunes in Oregon, The Blue Monster in Miami and Pebble Beach in California are notches on our drivers. We never thought our evening would be spent comparing a course in Berlin, Md., to our famous favorites, but we are doing just that as we turn out the lights. “Didn’t the 16th remind you of the ocean course at Kiawah?” Terry asks.

And such is the pillow talk of golf lovers.

PLAY
GlenRiddle Golf Club
11501 Maid at Arms Way, Berlin, Md.
410-213-2325, http://www.glenriddlegolf.com

STAY
The Atlantic Hotel
2 N. Main St., Berlin, Md.
410-641-3589, http://www.atlantichotel.com

Mary Ann Treger blogs ‘The Annapolis Insider’ on http://www.chesapeakelifemag.com.

It’s still dark at 5:45 a.m. as George Pigge, walking with a cane, makes his way up a sloping sidewalk and up a flight of steps to the drawbridge tender’s house at Knapps Narrows. At the top of the stairs, he throws open the door and shouts “Wake up!” at Jim Rhine, whose 6 p.m.-to-6 a.m. shift is ending. Rhine, who was wide awake, gets out of a lounge chair and starts collecting his things. The movie “Erin Brockovich” is on satellite TV.

It had been a “pretty quiet” night, Rhine says, meaning he didn’t have to raise the bridge very many times. In a minute or two, he’s heading up Route 33 to his home in Claiborne. Pigge puts down the books and containers of food that will keep him going for his 12-hour shift and surveys the room from which the drawbridge, the busiest in the country, is operated. In 2009, it was raised 10,276 times, nearly double the number of No. 2, Seattle’s Freemont Bridge. When the moveable span is down, the bridge is a 71-foot-8-inch link between Tilghman Island and the southern tip of the Bay Hundred Peninsula in Talbot County. When it’s up, there’s a navigable channel about 42 feet wide for sailboats and other craft.

The room is about 200 square feet. Its windows on three walls overlook the road, the bridge, and both east and west on Knapps Narrows. The bridge control panel, full of buttons, switches and lights, is beneath the north-facing windows. There are a large television, a microwave, a toaster oven, two coffeemakers, a sofa, a table, a reclining lounge chair, and a couple of other chairs. It feels like a really, really nice treehouse.  Unlike the tender’s house at the Miles River Bridge on Unionville Road, this one has an indoor toilet. All this and $8.81 an hour, too.

“I enjoy the job here, I really do,” Pigge says, “but you couldn’t live off it unless you were retired.”

Pigge, 69, was a dispatcher for a large construction company in Northern Virginia before he retired and moved to Hurlock on the Eastern Shore. He began his bridge-tending career on April Fools’ Day 2008, at the Miles River Bridge. Since September 2009, he has been commuting 38 miles each way on the two or three days he works at Knapps Narrows every week.

At 6:28 a.m., a voice on the radio asks for a lift. Pigge first presses a button that changes the bridge’s traffic lights to red and sets off clanging bells. Another button lowers the wooden gates, and another lowers the metal barrier on the side where the gap will be when the bridge is up. A fourth button raises the bridge itself. The boat, High Hopes II, makes its way through, going toward the Bay.

The eastern sky starts brightening, but on this overcast day there is no brilliant sunrise over the broad waters where Harris Creek meets the Choptank River. Pigge settles into the lounge chair, rising with each boat that wants the bridge raised. The Terrapin, which carries workers as well as the visiting public between the Poplar Island restoration project and the project’s land base on Tilghman, goes out and back a couple of times during the morning and may very well spur more lifts than any other single boat.

By 11:15 a.m., the TV has changed to the Fox News Channel—“Thank God for television and air conditioning,” Pigge says of the job—and the bridge already has been raised 18 times, but only once for a sailboat.“We have some weather coming in,” Pigge says. A day with fewer dark clouds would see more sailboats. “Rag haulers, I call them.”

The bridge tender keeps a log of all the boats that ask for a lift as well as the direction each is traveling. The tender also has to keep a count of the cars that wait on each side every time the bridge is up. “It’s not a lot of work,” says Carole V. Wood, the lone woman working at the Tilghman bridge. “I saw the job advertised in the Star Democrat and told my husband,” she says. “He got the job and came home and says, ‘It’s so easy, you can do it,’ so after a few months I applied.”

She did work two days a week, but lately she works only one. Her husband, Sam, a former vice president of a bank in New York, works three overnight shifts.

The job may be simple and low paying, but it holds an attraction for the half-dozen retirees who cover the 14 shifts each week. “We don’t live on the water,” she says, “so we get our water views here. I really enjoy it in the winter.”

“It’s home,” says her husband, Sam, “a great waterfront location. I’ve gotten to know many of the boaters in terms of recognizing the boat names or their voices.”

Sam points out that a big diesel generator, which is beneath the tender’s house and keeps the bridge operating during power failures, means that “it’s sometimes the only place you can watch TV.”

“What’s your clearance?” a boater asks at 11:33 a.m., his voice loud over the radio. “Looks like 11 foot,” Pigge replies after looking across the Narrows to the gauge on the other side.

“Don’t think I can make it,” the boater comes back. “Can I have an opening, please?” The boat, a sport fishing boat from Leesburg, Va., called We Did It Again, passes through toward the Choptank.

“I’m a 40-foot sailboat westbound, approaching the Narrows,” another boater radios. It’s a Hinckley with a blue hull. “Pretty,” Pigge says. 

Clouds on the western horizon are getting darker and the wind is picking up, but the boats still come. The trawler Kismet from Kent Island also goes through toward the Chesapeake.

During a quiet spell, Pigge turns away from the TV to tell a story. “All the monkeys ain’t in the zoo,” he says.  “One day I was closing the bridge, had it almost down, and a dirt biker from the north ran the gate and—the bridge was still up about a foot—jumped it, somehow got the bike up and over the barricade and then slid it under the gate, all without getting off the bike. He was gone down the island. As soon as the gates were up, a state trooper raced through, trying to catch him. He hid somewhere,” Pigge says. “Everybody down here knew who it was.”

Pigge’s second story is simpler: “Had one boat coming through; had a guy and three girls. They stopped near the bridge and waved. I waved back and the girls all raised their tops. I waved back again. What could I do?”

The bridge—called a bascule bridge, meaning that a counterweight is used to balance the weight of the bridge itself—opened in 1998 and replaced a smaller and lower 1934 bascule bridge that was just to the west of the current one. That earlier bridge, which now marks the entrance to the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in St. Michaels, had replaced a different type of operable bridge. One bridge or another has spanned Knapps Narrows since the 1840s.

The current bridge is one of 18 state-maintained drawbridges in Maryland; all are operated by contractors hired by the state. The three bridges in Talbot County—Tilghman, the Miles River Bridge, and the Dover Road Bridge over the Choptank that connects Talbot and Caroline Counties— are all operated by M and R Manage-ment in Kennedyville. Mike Lesniowski, a co-owner of M and R, says that when the company recently advertised an opening for a bridge tender, applications were sent out to only the first 50 of more than 100 callers.

Glenn Beck is on TV, but Pigge isn’t paying much attention as his day winds down. He says that 40 lifts and 58 boats make it a fairly active day, especially considering the wet weather. In fact, it’s coming down pretty hard when Sam Wood, wearing a rain poncho, shows up at 5:45 p.m. for his overnight shift.  Pigge gathers his stuff, which doesn’t include an umbrella, and is preparing to leave when Wood offers him his rain poncho. The loan won’t be for long; Pigge will bring it back in 12 hours when Wood ends his shift and Pigge starts another.

Steve Bailey, a former editor with The New York Times, lives on Tilghman Island.

He came to Washington with a canoe, looking for a lake. What he found instead was the Chesapeake Bay.

During the next 25 years, J. Charles “Chuck” Fox would upgrade to a kayak, and eventually a sailboat. And the Bay would become not just his playground but his career focus.

As the Chicago native moved from small nonprofits to big head-of-agency jobs, Fox never took his eyes off the Bay. How could a waterway that practically flowed past the federal government’s doorstep be allowed to suffer? Why, despite billions of dollars, significant laws and the best of intentions, was the Bay still struggling?

Fox has been in a good position to answer these questions over the years: as a high-level staffer with the Environmental Protection Agency under President Bill Clinton, an administrator with the Maryland Department of the Environment, and secretary of the state’s Department of Natural Resources.

But he has never had a more influential perch than the one he has now. Last May, EPA Administrator Lisa Jackson selected Fox to become her senior adviser on the Chesapeake Bay and the Anacostia River. Jackson created the position, Fox said, because she wanted greater accountability in the effort to clean up the Bay.

Fox’s promotion came on the heels of President Obama’s executive order, which declared the Bay a national treasure and assigned the federal government with devising a plan to clean it up. Fox along with representatives from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, the U.S. Department of Agriculture and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service are devising the cleanup strategy.

Fox works out of the EPA’s Chesapeake Bay Program, the multi-agency effort based in Annapolis charged with implementing the past Bay agreements. He sat down in December to talk with Chesapeake Life about what’s different this time around.

Q: You came here in 1984, just as the first Chesapeake Bay cleanup agreement was signed. Did you ever think that 25 years later we would still be talking about cleaning up the Bay?

A: I remember in 1984 working on the Hughes Laws. [Named for Gov. Harry Hughes, it included Maryland’s landmark Critical Areas legislation and the phosphate ban.] It was a very huge deal. All of us, at the time, really thought it would greatly improve the quality of the Chesapeake Bay. There was this sense of ego; you were working on these big important things to save the Bay, and it was going to work! But we didn’t appreciate at the time how complicated the Chesapeake Bay was. We’ve come to learn that the Chesapeake is a bay, not an aquarium.

Q: If you had to point to one thing that has slowed or stopped the Chesapeake’s cleanup, what would it be?

A: First and foremost, the accountability to pollution control in our watershed. Our progress in controlling pollution has been woefully inadequate. There has always been regulation. It is a little bit of a misnomer that the Bay Program has been a voluntary program. The cleanup agreements were voluntary agreements, but the Clean Water Act has been around since 1972. The challenge today is using a lot of the science that we know and the voluntary spirit we had in the past and moving forward in a much more accountable way.

Q: One of your major initiatives is dealing with climate change, which is a big national issue but not one we hear a lot about when it comes to the Chesapeake. Why is that now a priority?

A: Imagine you spend all this time restoring wetlands, only to find them submerged. Climate change affects storms, the dead zone, the kinds of algae we have, the crabs. We really came to the conclusion that, as a federal family, we needed to assume a leadership role to adapt to the reality of climate change.

Q: We’ve had 25 years of agreements and promises to clean up the Bay. How is the Obama Executive Order different?

A: We’re seeing ideas and actions by the federal government that we haven’t seen—ever. EPA is trying to improve pollution control programs. NOAA is dealing with climate change. Fish and Wildlife is expanding land conservation programs like never before.

Q: A year ago, there was a debate about whether or not the Bay needed a regulatory limit placed on the pollution that a river or stream could accept (known as Total Maximum Daily Load or TMDL). Now that the TMDL is coming, how do you think it will change Bay cleanup?

A: The TMDL is the primary means of increasing accountability, increasing specificity. It is how we will achieve progress. The power of the TMDL is that it will quantify limits for all point sources of pollution, from urban stormwater to concentrated animal feeding operations. Now, we have to make sure that this TMDL yields a different result for the future than the agreements of the past.

Rona Kobell, a former Baltimore Sun reporter, is now a staff writer for the Bay Journal.

I love amusement parks. I don’t like amusement rides. Never did. I just don’t see the point of purposely making myself nauseated or dizzy. I don’t enjoy the sensation of my stomach migrating north. I prefer it where it is, thank you very much.

But I do love the colors, the smells, the excitement of amusement parks and county fairs. I can spend hours wandering the midway, eating funnel cake and futilely tossing darts at balloons. When I do go on a ride, it’s usually the bumper cars or merry-go-round. I can also stomach the kiddie rides. Most of them.

All this leads me to our article by Mary K. Zajac about historic amusement parks on the Chesapeake Bay. Now these were the kinds of parks I could appreciate! They were civilized resorts with grand hotels, dance halls, roller skating rinks, bowling alleys, and movie theaters. They had live alligators at Mago Vista in Anne Arundel County. At Tolchester Beach, ladies could have afternoon tea—in the carpeted carcass of a whale! If you got hot, you went for a swim in the Bay. Who needs
a nauseating log flume? 

Traveling to a park on the Eastern Shore was an adventure in itself. Forget about dealing with traffic—you took a steamer across the Bay. To reach Chesapeake Beach in Calvert County, you boarded a special train. How cool is that?

Oh, sure, they had rides: Ferris wheels, beautiful merry-go-rounds, rickety wooden roller coasters. (The one at Mago Vista even traveled 120 feet over the Magothy River.) There were “thrill” rides with names like The Whip or Racer Dip, miniature steam trains, and carts led by ponies or goats.

Tens of thousands visited these parks every summer weekend, which makes it so incredible that virtually nothing remains of any of them. Throughout the years, all were done in by a host of misfortunes from the construction of the Bay Bridge and failure of the steamship lines to natural or man-made disasters to the rise of Ocean City. You’d think at least one bayside amusement park could make a comeback today. Doesn’t anybody appreciate a good ride on goat-drawn cart anymore?

You’ll notice the water theme runs throughout this issue. From bayside amusements, we travel to Calvert County’s beautiful waterside nature parks to a lighthouse tour with Tilghman Island boat captain Mike Richards. In “Ups & Downs” writer Steve Bailey shadows a tender at Knapps Narrows, home of the busiest drawbridge in the United States. Who knew? 

I hope you enjoy this issue. And if I see you at an amusement park this summer, I’ll be happy to join you on the bumper cars.

Until September,
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Inn at Huntingfield Creek
4928 Eastern Neck Road
Rock Hall, Md.
410-639-7779
http://www.huntingfield.com

When Joanne Rich was in third grade, her teacher showed the class a geode. Rich was amazed that such an ordinary-looking rock could contain such surprising sparkle within. Years later, she uses the geode analogy to describe the design philosophy behind her inn. “I like the idea of using the element of surprise, the idea of revealing something within you might not otherwise expect,” says Rich, who runs the property with her husband, Jim.

Rich isn’t kidding. She has populated her inn with serendipitous “little environments,” as she calls them—lush vegetable and flower gardens, a wooded trail that leads to a scenic inlet, and a peaceful pond whose shoreline has seen its share of weddings.

Personally, I love the “birdhouse tree,” a collection of 20 birdhouses mounted onto an old tree stump, but my favorite “little environment” may be our accommodation itself—a contemporary cottage that, like a geode, is somewhat ordinary on the outside but positively radiant within. Even more surprising is that at this B&B, my wife and I are able to bring along our 3-year-old toddler and 6-month-old infant—a nicety since we didn’t have to bother with a babysitter. But still, we’re at a romantic B&B with, um, kids.

Innkeepers
Jim, an executive with Mobil Oil for 23 years, and Joanne, a caterer, had stayed in their share of inns before purchasing Huntingfield Creek and its 70 rural acres in 2004. They knew what sort of laid-back accommodation they wanted for their peace-seeking guests. “We see an awful lot of crabby people arriving on Friday,” says Joanne. “Our way of dealing with that is to give them a glass of wine and point them toward the sunset [over the inlet]. By Monday, they’re completely different people.” 

Rooms
The telescoping main house, which was rebuilt in 2003 after a fire, contains four guest rooms done up in antiques and contemporary furniture, refreshingly bereft of clutter. My recommendation, however, is to book one of the four private cottages. Our three-room Zen Cottage sports a clean, West Elm look, with a kitchenette, gas fireplace, and whirlpool tub—a favorite of the 3-year-old. “Why don’t we have bath gels at home, Daddy?” she asks repeatedly.

Diversions
The inn is located about two miles from downtown Rock Hall, but there’s plenty to do on-site. We spend our day swimming in the saltwater pool (no chlorine!), sampling blackberries from the garden, and lounging on a hammock. Java, the inn’s energetic chocolate lab, accompanies us on the short walk past the soybean and sunflower fields through the woods to Huntingfield Inlet, where two Adirondack chairs await at the end of a wooden dock. The view of the inlet and Chesapeake beyond is both peaceful and stunningly beautiful, and we could have sat there for hours. But not with a toddler and an infant.
What’s for breakfast
Breakfasts, served in the main dining room at a 12-seat, glass-topped table, “are always a big deal,” Jim tells us, and indeed, we are not disappointed in Joanne’s cheesy scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and an unusual peach cobbler, made with basil, lemon, and almonds.

Romance Factor
A private cottage with a whirlpool tub and fireplace is just the thing to spark a little romance. Note to self: Next time, just get a babysitter.

Cost
$175 to $279 per night.

The last time I boarded a boat, it was a windy summer day. It was a sailboat, and I was joining its crew for what was to be a spectacular race from the Severn River to the Bay Bridge.

But a few minutes in, the waves looked ominous. A weather advisory crackled over the radio. I reached for my Dramamine. Just trust me when I say things did not end well.

So, when the opportunity arose to spend 10 hours touring 10 historic lighthouses deep in the Chesapeake Bay, I was torn. On the one hand, these beautiful beacons are in the midst of a major restoration project, and the only way to see them is from a boat. On the other hand, some experiences don’t need to be repeated.

But Capt. Mike Richards set me at ease. A former naval officer and proprietor of Tilghman Island’s Lazyjack Inn, the 71-year-old has sailed the Chesapeake for three decades. The M/V Sharps Island, a 36-foot former naval vessel, is the same kind of boat used in both the Somali pirate and U.S.S. Cole rescue efforts. And though he concedes that the journey can get a bit rough—“they don’t put lighthouses in safe places,” he deadpans—he thinks the worst that will happen is that we’ll get a bit wet.

As we set out from Knapps Narrows at 8:30 a.m., I study the 11 other passengers’ faces for a fellow traveler, so to speak. Not in this crowd.  Most of them are members of the IMF/World Bank’s photography club, which means they travel the world taking pictures when they’re not traveling the world trying to straighten out the economies of war-torn nations. Another passenger, John Anderson, had his leg amputated a few years ago and swung onto the boat with the help of his wife and his crutches. Then there’s Keith Edwards, a semi-professional photographer who has visited lighthouses all over the world. Lighthouse people, Richards explains, are not fair-weather fans. In seven years, he’s canceled only one tour, and that was because of a tropical storm.

Our first stop is the boat’s namesake, the Sharps Island Light—the Bay’s very own Leaning Tower. Since 1976, when an ice storm battered its crimson caisson, the solar-powered light has listed, resembling a giant buoy. It’s one of the few lights on the tour that is no longer used for navigation, according to Richards’ daughter, Kate, the vessel’s first mate, guide and Jill-of-all-trades.

The Coast Guard once owned and maintained all of the nation’s lighthouses, but after Sept. 11, when the agency’s mission shifted to homeland security, it had neither the funds nor the inclination to keep up these weather-beaten structures. So it began selling them. Most of the lighthouses on Richards’ tour are privately owned, though Coast Guard officers can stop by any time. Sharps Island, bought just a year ago, hasn’t gotten its facelift yet.

But the next one, Thomas Point, is ready for its close-up. Restored a few years ago through a partnership with the city of Annapolis, the Annapolis Maritime Museum, and the local chapter of the U.S. Lighthouse Society, the Bay’s most photographed symbol pops against the blue sky and lapping waves. As Kate tells the group that Thomas Point is the only screwpile light left in its original location, the World Bankers attach their telephoto lenses and focus. I zoom in with my Canon PowerShot and hope for the best.

We glide under the Bay Bridge. On the bow, I get soaked. It feels good, but I soon realize my fleece is around my waist. There go my dry clothes. Fortunately, Capt. Mike lends me his “foul-weather gear,” a comfy orange parka.

We head for the Baltimore Light, near the Magothy’s mouth (nearly all the lights sit where the Bay meets its rivers). The aptly named tower resembles a Federal Hill rowhouse, with its wrought-iron accents and painted brick. (Formstone would have been a nice touch, but probably couldn’t withstand the elements.) Kate tells us four families bought the light; most summer weekends, somebody is out there working on the restoration project.

After lunch at Tolchester Marina, we head north to the Pooles Island Light, Maryland’s oldest lighthouse that is still standing. At 38 feet, this one is not the grandest, but, Kate says, its beauty is in its simplicity: just a whitewashed cone tower made with Port Deposit granite and topped with a cupcake-like cupola. Oh, and it plays hard to get, as it is surrounded by unexploded bombs and stands completely inaccessible to the public as part of the Aberdeen Proving Ground complex. Though some of the privately owned lighthouses will open for tours, Kate jokes that she’ll never get inside Pooles Light unless, somehow, she gets in good with the Army.

Before long, we’re at Sparrows Point, looking at the towers that make up the Craighill family of lighthouses. These four towers lead the way from the Patapsco River into Baltimore’s harbor. They are not as impressive as the earlier lights, but there is still plenty to see here as the rusty remnants of Baltimore’s past meet the gleaming shoreline homes that portend its future.

As I step off the boat into the sunset, I take a brochure and ponder a return trip. I’m not a lighthouse buff—maybe lighthouse-lite?—but I’ve had a lovely day. And, thanks to Capt. Mike, I’ve got my sea legs back.

Lighthouse Tours
Lighthouse tours depart from Tilghman Island from May through September. Cost is $145 for 10-light tour, $70 for five-light tour, and $60 for tri-light sunset tour. The two-day tour is $250. The Lazyjack Inn offers a 10 percent discount on lodging for tour-goers. 800-690-5080, http://www.chesapeakelights.com, http://www.lazyjackinn.com

Baltimore writer Rona Kobell looks forward to more adventures at sea.

Are those sweet potatoes?” I half-jokingly ask my husband, as I point to the hundreds of vaguely hairy, tuber-like knobs jutting up under the trees in Calvert County’s Battle Creek Cypress Swamp Sanctuary.

I know the knobs aren’t really tubers, of course. They’re actually the roots of the bald cypress trees that populate the swamp, one of the northernmost stands of bald cypress trees on the East Coast. Properly called “knees,” the roots contribute to the otherworldliness of this arrestingly beautiful park, creating an atmosphere that’s surreal and just a bit spooky.

Slashes of sunlight sneak in through the trees punctuating the dim, green atmosphere. Vines encased in brownish fuzz grow up from the floor, and there’s a bewitching quiet and stillness. It’s so quiet it makes me want to tiptoe and whisper as we meander along the boardwalk through the shade.

We take our time, listening to birds we can’t see, spying small rivulets of water—portions of Battle Creek that ebb and flow according to the season—that run over the ground. Placards tell us that “swamps are wetlands with trees” and that “bald cypress are conifers [trees with cones and needles] related to redwoods.” Most of the trees on this trail are 75 to 100 years old, but cypress trees have been documented at 1,000 years old. Their presence helps control runoff and protects the Bay. They also keep the swamp smelling fresh and piney, not rank or rotting, like I expected.

I scan the trees for evidence of birds’ nests—like the sack-like structure of the Baltimore Oriole or the woven home of the tiny chipping sparrow—which I saw on display in the sanctuary’s nature center (definitely worth a stop). Turtles, snakes, frogs, muskrats, deer, and barred owls also call the swamp home, as did a rogue bobcat, which was last spotted in 1945. If there’s a chance of seeing another, I’m primed.

Acquired by the Nature Conservancy in 1957 and located just off of Route 4, near Prince Frederick, Battle Creek Cypress Swamp Sanctuary is the smallest of Calvert County’s three nature parks. Measuring in at a tidy 100 acres, it’s not even half the size of the 260-acre King’s Landing Park to the north or the generous 545 acres of Flag Ponds Nature Park to the south. Each park has its own personality, however, and I’m taking an afternoon or two to discover the charms of each.

From Battle Creek, we drive north to King’s Landing Park, which borders the Patuxent River. If Battle Creek lives up to its name as a sanctuary, King’s Landing Park speaks to its history as a former farm and YMCA camp. It’s full of activity. There’s a riding ring for budding equestrians and a swimming pool with tubular slides that my inner kid is itching to try, a fishing pier, and even an orienteering course. We decide to park by a cluster of picnic tables under evergreens and set out to explore the several miles of footpaths that run through the park.

In the middle of one tree-lined path, I see my husband stop dead in his tracks ahead of me and look curiously at an oak leaf that seems to be hanging in midair. I catch up and we move closer for inspection. The leaf is in front of our noses before we see the thin filament of a spider web holding it in place. We walk a little farther along the Marsh Trail, skirting the Cocktown Creek, and stand silently to hear the white noise: the buzz of insects, a snort or two made by something we can’t identify, squirrels braying, the caw of a crow.

We circle back and take another path that drops us down to a small shoreline at the river’s edge. The Patuxent is wide here, and we see groves of trees, the towers of Chalk Point Power Plant on the horizon, and a great blue heron keeping its distance. A woman tosses a stick to her Chesapeake Bay Retriever, who ignores it in favor of what turns out to be a sizeable deer bone. The dog, who we learn is named Chessie, lopes on the narrow strip of sand (no swimming here) before running into the water to bark at a group of canoeists approaching from around a bend. “It’s so beautiful,” says the woman. “I just like to hear the birds in the trees and the quiet and the leaves and the trees and the branches talking to each other.” We nod our heads in agreement before walking back up the trail, past a meadow dotted with bluebird boxes, to our car.

Although you could visit all three nature parks in one day—they are less than 20 miles apart—we decide to visit Flag Ponds Nature Park another afternoon. This park hugs the Chesapeake Bay shoreline 10 miles south of Prince Frederick and feels like many parks in one. It has a swimming beach, wooded trails, a fishing pier, and a historic fishermen’s shanty, aka, “The Buoy Hotel,” a reminder of when a pound net fishery occupied the land between 1900 and 1955. But most folks know Flag Ponds best for the fossils that draw intrepid hunters to scour a stretch of rocky beach.

On a warm afternoon, my husband and I walk down a wooded path toward the beach and fishing pier with several families toting beach chairs and small children. While my husband walks the beach,  I ditch my shorts and shoes and wade up to my thighs in my bathing suit, sand squishing between my toes with each step.

Nearby, a little girl scoops wet sand into a pink plastic bucket as a small terrier loops around her. I catch up with my husband again and wrestle shoes onto my wet, sandy feet because the next portion of beach— blindingly white with stones and shells (and maybe sharks’ teeth?) in the rich afternoon sun—is not so easy on the feet. We scour the beach, scooping up handfuls of sand and stones (while simultaneously counting herons), but we don’t find a fossil. Still, we think, a day spent in nature is a reward in itself. And as we turn to leave along the wooded path, we find ourselves taking the leisurely route back to the car.

http://www.calvertparks.org

When asparagus starts pushing its way up through the ground, spring has definitely arrived. Depending on the weather, asparagus reaches its peak sweetness and tenderness between late April and early May. When choosing asparagus, look for smooth, purple-hued spears with tight heads. My best advice is to pass on supermarket asparagus and shop your local farmers market. You will be amazed at the difference.

One of my favorite dishes to cook—and which is largely overlooked—is asparagus puree. I highlight the soup, which can be served either warm or cold, with whipped crème fraîche and chanterelle powder. Grilled asparagus served with olive oil and tarragon aioli is oh so simple but incredibly delicious and perfect with warm crusty bread. Easily prepared at home, the egg yolk ravioli and steamed asparagus is a three- or four-star dish that will dazzle your family or guests. Finally, who would have thought white asparagus paired with Pinot Noir risotto and truffle oil could look so elegant and be so easy to make? Enjoy!

Recipes:

• Steamed Asparagus with Egg Yolk Ravioli, Parmesan, and Lemon Oil
• Asparagus Puree with Whipped Crème Fraîche and Chanterelle Powder
• White Asparagus with Pinot Noir Risotto, Truffle Oil, and Fresh Thyme
• Grilled Asparagus with Tarragon Aioli

Andrew Evans is the chef at Easton’s The BBQ Joint.

From the moment you enter Level, John Hogan and John Miller’s chic new West Street eatery, and spot the large chalkboard listing more than a dozen local farms that provide the restaurant with everything from cheese to beef, you begin to realize you’re in the hands of an establishment that takes buzzwords like “local” and “farm-to-table” seriously. And if the list of purveyors doesn’t convince you, look closely at the right side of that board; it includes an equally long list of cocktails made with ingredients like house-made tonic, ginger beer, and sour mix.

Level, dear readers, is on the level.

If the restaurant’s raison d’etre—small plates and drinks made from products from local farmers—is a familiar one these days, the execution of the mission shows that it’s more than mere lip service.

All of these could be just gimmicks if the food and drink weren’t very fine. But luckily, it is. Level’s small plates include dips and soups, “leafy plates” and flatbreads, and clever takes on classic bar food. And with the exception of a plate of stuffed grape leaves filled with rice two shades too firm, each dish we sampled bore evidence of a creative hand and clear flavors.

Grilled bison satay (from Monkton’s Gunpowder Bison and Trading) melted in the mouth, and was such a table favorite that we bartered over the last skewer. But the loser (or maybe winner) of the deal got the last of the Cuban pork spring rolls: crispy outside, rich inside and served with an addictive sweet habanero sauce. Pork made another appearance in the crumbly nuggets of chorizo that dotted a heaping bowl of clams steamed in Pernod, white wine, and butter. The only thing that would have made the dish better was a hunk of bread to scoop up the crumbles of feta that floated in the unctuous broth. (Oddly, the restaurant doesn’t serve bread, and instead, our server suggested we order a flatbread, which topped with cheese and other pizza-like toppings, would not have served the same purpose.)

Not every dish at Level is meat-centric. Rockfish nuggets, dipped in cornmeal and flash-fried, were surprisingly light, and seared scallops wowed with their sweet-savory garnish of honey and garlic-infused olive oil. Vegetables, too, shone in their simplicity: an eggplant pancake that was actually just slices of the vegetable, grilled and topped with the same terrific feta, and crunchy steamed Brussels sprouts, vibrantly green and served “edamame style” with an earthy house-made tamari.

Our final two dishes fell on opposite sides of the cleverness line. A grilled cheese on house-made challah and tomato soup brought back cozy kitchen lunch memories, though Mom sure didn’t include grilled lamb in her sandwich.

(You don’t have to either; the lamb is optional.) And although the milk and cookies dessert also sounded comforting, it fell short of expectations with uninspiring chocolate-chunk cookies (heating them might have helped) and a tasteless cup of chocolate soy milk complete with “cookie dough foam.” It’s healthy, for sure, but wouldn’t real hot chocolate be a little more tempting?

Still, with its polished staff, warm space, and inventive dishes, Level is drawing in dines, even midweek. And it should. The restaurant is a fine example of the eat local theory put into practice.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

For city dwellers in the early half of the last century, urban amusement parks offered cheap escapism. For a small fee and a streetcar ride across town, you could test your luck on the midway, kiss your sweetheart in the Tunnel of Love, or scream away your troubles as you rode the Racer Dip. Shore parks, however, did one better. Clustered along the eastern and western beaches of the Chesapeake Bay and along Maryland’s rivers, these parks boasted the same amusements as their urban brethren, plus the lure of surf and sand. From Mago Vista and Chesapeake Beach on the western shore to Tolchester in Kent County, parks and resorts offered a day (or week) of blissful respite from urban life.

Tolchester Beach Amusement Park, Kent County
Tolchester opened in 1877, and like other parks of the Victorian era, saw most of its visitors in the first 40 years of its existence. Getting there was half the fun. “Bring your lunch and forget your troubles out on the deep blue sea. Wonderful tonic and salt air for the babies,” read the slogan for the Tolchester Steamboat Co.

Up through the early 1950s, it remained a popular excursion for families and church groups. A 1948 Sun article, for example, heralded the opening of the new park season with the arrival of 1,800 Catholic schoolchildren from Baltimore in “rented swimsuits … eating hot dogs and soda.”

The park offered a plethora of amusements from goat-drawn carts to Shoot the Chute, on which patrons whooshed down a steep track in a boat-shaped car. Rides cost anywhere between 10 and 20 cents, and the entrance fee in the 1950s was a quarter. A sign, now on display in the Tolchester Revisited Museum, requests patrons to “Pay as you leave,” a remnant, says museum curator Bill Betts, of “an era when people trusted each other,” and offered small tokens of kindness—like the engineer of the Little Jumbo train who, as a service to young mothers, heated baby bottles on the train’s engine.

Betts’ museum is full of memorabilia that captures the spirit of Tolchester. Most interesting might be the advertisement urging folks to “Go see the whale at Tolchester,” which was an enormous carcass of a whale whose mouth cavity was carpeted and used for ladies’ teas and men’s oyster dinners, according to Betts.

Although it received state subsidies, Tolchester was “always in debt,” says Betts, and the park often failed to turn a profit. It was finally purchased for development in 1962.

Mago Vista, Anne Arundel County
Mago Vista (its name meant “large view”) was one of several parks on Anne Arundel County’s waterways. But unlike Kurtz’s Beach on the Patapsco or Crystal Beach on the Magothy, Mago Vista disallowed alcohol and gambling, making it a valued spot for families and church groups. “A small Disneyland on the Magothy,” one publication called it.

“We always went to Mago Vista,” remembers Harry Greenwell, a member of the Ann Arrundell County Historical Society’s board of trustees. “Every year St. Alban’s had a picnic there.”

Founded by builder Robert Benson, Mago Vista began offering amusements, in addition to the beach, picnic, and dance pavilion, in 1938. There was a carousel, pint-sized burros for children to ride, kiddie jeeps, the Toonerville Trolley, and the loping Little Dipper roller coaster, whose U-shaped track extended 120 feet over the water.

One of the park’s oddest attractions was its alligator pond, a concrete pool surrounded by an 8-foot fence, that held the live alligators that Robert Benson’s son, Harold, bought from the Baltimore Zoo.

In an article in The Capital, Harold Benson’s son, Robert, recalls: “When his pair of gators reached 7 feet long, becoming more difficult to manage, Dad would go up there [to Baltimore] and trade them in for a smaller set.” While the alligators were an exciting attraction for children who would catch fish and toss them to the gators, the reptiles took on a more sinister role during the ’60s when Harold Benson would leash a pair to intimidate groups who protested Mago Vista’s “Gentiles Only. No Negroes” policy. The park eventually became known as the Mago Vista Beach Club Association and sold park passes only to those who passed inspection by the clerk at the front gate.
In 1964, Harold Benson sold the park’s 14 acres to developers for $300,000.

Brown’s Grove, Anne Arundel County
Brown’s Grove, near Rock Creek, was one of the earliest waterfront amusement parks run by and for African-Americans. Founded by Capt. George Brown, who would become the first African-American member of the Master Mates and Pilots Association, the park billed itself as “the black community’s first, last, and only seaside resort with its own to-and-from excursion boat,” according to
a Sun article.

Folks would take Brown’s boat, the Starlight, from the pier at the foot of Broadway in Fells Point to the park where they could ride the merry-go-round, brave the Racer Dip, try their luck on the midway, or enjoy a simple picnic. Brown’s Grove flourished during the ’20s, but was consumed by fire in 1938.

Betterton Beach, Kent County
By the time it was incorporated in 1906, Betterton was already a bustling resort complete with hotels, restaurants and saloons, and amusements. Its location, just above the confluence of the Sassafras, Elk, and Susquehanna rivers, made it easy to reach by steamers, like the Bay Belle. Folks of means came from Philadelphia, as well as day trippers from Baltimore and Annapolis, to spend time away from the city.

There was plenty to occupy them. A postcard of the beach shows the long amusement pier that held a bowling alley and a room of pocket billiards stretching over the water. In the foreground, men in suits with hats and women in white dresses and parasols or thigh-length bathing suits rest on the beach. Other amusements included a skating rink, bumper cars, and a movie house.

Dot Wright, now a volunteer at the Historical Society of Kent County, worked as a waitress at the Betterton Restaurant in the mid-1940s when she was 13. She recalls Saturday night dance parties held in an open-air dance hall above the bowling alley and the three colorful cooks at the restaurant who whipped up everything from fried chicken to “the most marvelous dinner rolls and pies.” She says that someone at the restaurant would call daily to find out how many people were on the excursion line from Baltimore. “Somehow they always knew how many dinners to prepare.” 

By the 1950s, the beach resort had begun to fade due to the opening of the Bay Bridge, which took visitors farther afield to Ocean City. Today, it’s a public beach.

Chesapeake Beach, Calvert County
Chesapeake Beach embodied the classic “if you build it, they will come” philosophy of development. Otto Mears, a Russian immigrant and railroad tycoon living in Colorado, moved east in 1895 specifically with the idea of opening a resort on the shores of the Chesapeake and a railroad connecting it to Washington, D.C.
The first train arrived at the new resort on June 9, 1900, and by the 1920s, more than 10,000 people would make the trip on busy weekends.

The resort’s 1,600-foot boardwalk was built over the water and boasted a crab house, casino, dance hall, bowling alley, band shell, and the Great Derby, an enormous roller coaster that ran over the water.

Many day trippers took the 50-cent, 60-minute express train from D.C., but overnight guests could stay at the luxurious Belvedere Hotel, which was destroyed by fire in 1923. “It was a terrible fire,” recalls resident Elizabeth Stinnett in one of the Chesapeake Beach Railway Museum’s oral history interviews, “and we didn’t have no fire engines—no equipment at all. So they had a bucket brigade and everybody in Chesapeake Beach had a bucket and carried water, trying to put that fire out.” 

The hotel was never rebuilt, and the park was relaunched as Seaside Park in 1930. By 1935, facing competition from the automobile and the continuing Great Depression, the railroad stopped operating. The park, under new management, was reinvented again in the 1940s as the Chesapeake Beach Amusement Park, which finally closed in 1972. Eventually the land was developed into what is now Chesapeake Station, a residential community. The only vestiges of Otto Mears’ dream can be found at the railway museum, located, fittingly, at 4155 Mears Ave.             

Carr’s and Sparrow’s Beaches, Anne Arundel County
Opened in 1927 by two African-American sisters, Elizabeth Carr Smith and Florence Carr Sparrow, Carr’s and Sparrow’s Beaches, just south of Annapolis, were the destination spots for African-Americans from Baltimore and Washington, D.C., looking for sun, surf, music, and amusements.

The beaches drew huge crowds for church outings, bay swimming, beauty contests, rides, and music concerts featuring popular entertainers, from Billy “Mr. B” Eckstine and Dizzy Gillespie to James Brown and Chuck Berry. (Similar concerts were held at Henry’s Beach in Somerset County.) During the late 1950s, it was not unusual for up to 50,000 people to drive to Carr’s and Sparrow’s and pay $1.50 before noon and $2 after for a 3 o’clock Sunday performance.

“Carr’s was kind of groovy, be-boppy,” says National Public Radio commentator, writer, and social activist Daphne Muse. “Beaches were a real novel concept for us [urban African-Americans]. You saw them [beaches] in magazines. You saw them in National Geographic.” But to actually go to a beach, she explains, was a tremendous coup.

Life in the city could be tough, but the beach, says Muse, “was a place you could go and be relieved of the burdens and everyday droning of black life.” Frank Zappa played the final concert at Carr’s Beach in 1974. The property was sold in the 1980s and today is the site of Chesapeake Harbour Condominiums.

Public Landing, Worcester County
A merry-go-round and a bowling alley. A movie theater and a penny arcade. Billiards, food concessions, and a whopper of a waterslide, taller than any other buildings around it. This was Public Landing, a resort community just 6 miles east of Snow Hill. Located on Chincoteague Bay, Public Landing was an amusement hub from the late 19th century through the 1930s. But unlike other parks that were built along water, Public Landing was built on a series of piers and boardwalks that extended out over the water. One can imagine that the combination of sea spray and bay breezes acted as natural air conditioning on the walks, making the boast, “where it’s always cool,” in a 1929 advertisement for the park, a truthful claim. The park was destroyed by hurricane in 1933.

Colonial Beach, Va.
Colonial Beach on Virginia’s Northern Neck has a long history of luring tourists by steamer to its shores, earning the nickname of the “Playground on the Potomac” not long after its inception, in the late 19th century. Initially, the attractions were bathing beaches, fishing, and boating. Later, in the 1950s, Washingtonians and Baltimoreans flocked to the town’s casinos which were located on a pier that extended into the Maryland waters of the Potomac where gambling was legal. But throughout the years, there were always amusements. “Back in ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s, there was a skating rink,” remembers Jackie Shinn of her hometown, “and dance parlors like the Joyland and Palm Gardens where, in earlier years, folks would dress up to hear the big bands play.”

But if 20th-century Colonial Beach had its charms, it also had its fair share of challenges. Its location—on a flood plain surrounded on three sides by water—made it a ripe target for hurricanes (one in 1933 wiped out the Ferris wheel), and a tremendous fire in the 1960s destroyed the town’s casinos. Still, some of its Victorian buildings—like the Alexander Graham Bell House—remain. And the town has since reinvented itself by offering off-track riverboat gambling as well as the beach and easy access to historical sites, like the birthplace of James Monroe. It’s also adopted golf carts as a legal means of transportation throughout its streets.

Still, says Shinn, the town’s amusement park holds the most memories. “There was a beautiful merry-go-round, a whip, a bullet [which] looked like a capsule on top and bottom. It rotated and made you very sick.” She adds that she knows this from experience.

Freelance writer Mary K. Zajac loves a good amusement park.

Five ideas for spring road trips:

1. Eastern Shore Winery Tour
2. Adventures along Va. Route 13
3. Play in St. Mary’s County
4. Queen Anne’s County Outdoors
5. James River Plantations

You’ve likely heard of Patricia Schultz’s best-selling book, “1,000 Places to See Before You Die.” It’s a “traveler’s life list” of monuments, must-see events, and natural and manmade wonders from the Taj Mahal to Niagara Falls. One of those thousand places just happens to be the Chesapeake Bay, to which she devotes a couple paragraphs on crabs and oy-sters, and mentions a few Eastern Shore towns, including St. Michaels. (We’ll just ignore the fact that she misspells the town’s name with an apostrophe, as in St. Michael’s.)

Here, at Chesapeake Life, we decided to get a little more specific. So we created our own list of “25 (Chesapeake) Things to Do Before You Die.” From visiting Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge to reciting the “Pledge of Allegiance” at Chick and Ruth’s Delly, it’s a fun and varied compilation of must-dos for any area resident. We’ve also included a separate sidebar of must-see events. (Believe me, you haven’t lived until you’ve witnessed pumpkins catapulted the length of five football fields during Delaware’s annual World Championship Punkin Chunkin.)

One of the places we include in our list is the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum. This depository for all things Chesapeake boasts a stash of more than 10,000 objects but, as curator Pete Lesher told me on a behind-the-scenes tour, the vast majority aren’t on display at any given time. So we asked Lesher to pick some of the museum’s more interesting pieces hidden from view and to tell us the stories behind them.

See the results of Lesher’s diggings in “Mining the Museum.”

Another place worth exploring is the African American Schoolhouse Museum, originally a one-room school for Kent County students between 1890 and the 1950s. What’s fascinating is that many of its former pupils remain in the area, and a half dozen were generous enough to share their experiences with us in “School Days.”

And now for some housekeeping: As I mentioned in my previous editor’s letter, we’ve decided to cut back on the frequency of Chesapeake Life in 2010. After this issue, you can expect magazines in May, September, and November. If you’re a subscriber, you’ll receive the same number of issues you signed on for, but they’ll be stretched out over a longer period of time. So if your seven-issue subscription started with this issue, you’ll get four issues this year and the first three next year.

While we’ve reduced the quantity of issues to save costs during this difficult time, we will not compromise on the magazine’s quality. You still can count on the same incredible photography and interesting stories from around the Bay.

Until next issue,
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I Love fish. I love fish fried, baked, grilled, even raw.

I love watching fish jumping next to boats and swimming in aquariums. But normally, I don’t love to fish, and there’s a reason why. I’m a terrible fisherman. As a child, I would fidget while my father tried to show me how to place bait on a hook. As an adult, the last time I tried to actually cast a line, I hooked myself. The most successful fishing trip I’ve ever taken was avoiding injury while dangling a line over the side of a sailboat on the Bay, settling back with a beer or three…and catching nothing. So the idea of this rod-and-reel novice trying to actually fish from a kayak seemed a bit, well, dangerous.

But when Capt. Chris Dollar pulled his trailer full of kayaks up to the boat launch at Janes Island State Park, he instantly put me at ease. A longtime guide and outfitter, Dollar specializes in kayak fishing, but he has been sharing his knowledge of the Chesapeake for many years. A former field educator for the Chesapeake Bay Foundation, he started his kayak guiding business, CD Outdoors, a few years ago and he’s never looked back.

“Every day is different, and that’s one of the challenges,” he says as he shows me some of his specialized gear. Dollar’s kayaks have special holes for fishing rods, boxes for tackle, and clips to keep you from losing your paddle in the heat of the moment when the fish bite. It’s not too much more complex than the average sit-on-top, but I’m fervently hoping that my lack of fishing talent won’t be one of his challenges.

Dollar also guides fly-fishing and light tackle trips up and down the Eastern Shore on his own larger boat, but he prefers the purer experience of kayak fishing. “A lot of folks like to get as close as they can to the water,” he explains as we lower two long green sea kayaks onto the floating dock. “In a kayak, there’s nothing there except for a piece of plastic. It’s you and the fish.”

As we launch our kayaks into the inlets surrounding Janes Island, I can see what he means. In the stable sea kayak, I have room to stretch out, and a comfortable seat, but my legs are hidden under a spray skirt in the bottom of the boat just beneath the waterline, my eyeline just below the top of the marsh grasses. I feel like a bobbling cork, ready to go where the current takes me, and at Janes Island, that could be any number of places.

The park is the perfect base for exploring the Chesapeake’s watery world. With 2,900 acres of marsh, beach, and highland, half of the area is only accessible by boat through a maze of waterways that lead out to the open bay. The park has created a 30-mile-long network of six paddle trails, complete with downloadable GPS waypoints to help plan trips. It would be easy to spend days here, and it’s even possible to spend the night on a camping platform out in the marsh, or in waterfront cabins on shore.

But it doesn’t take hours of paddling to sample the island’s beauty. Within five minutes of leaving the launch on Daugherty Creek, it feels like we’ve already left civilization behind. We’re the only ones paddling up the yellow trail, the only sounds the slap of water against the side of the kayaks, the soft plop of jumping fish, and the distant croaks of a startled heron. It would be easy to drift, just letting the current take the kayaks out toward open water, but Dollar has other ideas. These smaller inlets are great places to find hidden fish.

We paddle over to a quiet area of water near the edge of the marsh grasses, and another advantage of kayak fishing becomes clear—shallow water access—which starts to come in handy after trying my first cast. 

“Hold on, I’ll get it for you.” Dollar has to fish my first lure out of the weeds. At first, juggling the paddle and a rod (not to mention my nemesis, the sharp, barbed hook) is a little tricky. It takes a few minutes of patient instruction, but before long, I’m able to aim and cast smoothly, and enjoy being close to the creatures I’m attempting to catch—not only the Bay’s famous striped bass— but sea trout, croaker, crappie, or bluefish. But here the fish seem to be hard to find, so we decide to press farther on into the marsh.

We quickly settle into a quiet rhythm of paddling, pausing, and casting. Dollar has a sixth sense about when to jump in and help or explain something, and when to hang back and just let me float along and absorb our surroundings. “As a guide, you’re sort of like a bartender,” he explains. “You talk when you’re spoken to, and you know when not to open your mouth.”

After an hour paddling through the tall marsh grass, we emerge into a wide area of open water called Flatcap Basin, where five of the six water trails meet.

By now I can tell that Dollar really knows his fish. He points out areas where they like to hide or rest—under a nearby pier, in the quiet bends out through the marsh. Though I still haven’t caught anything, he’s achieving one of his other goals for his clients: an outdoor education.

“I try to do more than put fish in the boat,” he says “I’m helping people to understand more about why the fish are there at certain times of the year, what kind of tackle to use…It’s like problem solving.”

Unfortunately, however, I haven’t even come close to putting fish in my own boat. An unlucky cold snap the night before has driven them out into deeper water. I stop for one last cast, and then it happens. I become a fishing guide’s nightmare client—I drop my rod overboard. I lunge for it and miss and stare aghast as it sinks away toward the invisible bottom.

Despite all the new skills I’ve just learned, my fishing curse has struck again. Judging from Dollar’s patient reaction, I may not be the first client to make this kind of mistake.

For this trip, I guess that will be the one that got away.

CD Outdoors
Offers guided fishing trips on the Chesapeake and Atlantic coast as well as kayak rentals and sales. Fly- fishing and light tackle are available. Prices start at $150 for a half day, $400 for a full day of angling. 410-991-8468, http://www.cdollaroutdoors.com

Sara Edelson, a writer and television producer, lives in Washington, D.C.

make a date
These annual events are Chesapeake musts, too.

National Outdoor Show Feb. 26-27, Golden Hill, Md., 410-397-8535, http://www.nationaloutdoorshow.org

Chesapeake Bay Blues Festival May 22-23, Annapolis, 410-257-7413, http://www.bayblues.org

Blue Angels Fly-Over May 28, Annapolis, 410-293-1000, http://www.blueangels.navy.mil

Fair Hill Races, May 29, Elkton, Md., 410-398-6565, http://www.fairhillraces.org

Delmarva Chicken Festival June 18-19, Dover, Del., 302-856-9037, http://www.dpichicken.com

Chincoteague Pony Swim and Auction July 28-30, Chincoteague, Va., 757-336-6161, http://www.chincoteaguechamber.com

Renaissance Festival weekends, Aug. 28 through Oct. 24, Crownsville, Md., 410-266-7304, http://www.rennfest.com

Crisfield Hard Crab Derby Sept. 3-5, Crisfield, Md., 410-968-2500, http://www.crisfieldchamber.com

Maryland Seafood Festival Sept. 10-12, Annapolis, 410-268-1437, http://www.mdseafoodfestival.com

U.S. Sailboat Show Oct. 7-11, Annapolis, 410-268-8828, http://www.usboat.com

Sea Gull Century Bike Ride Oct. 9, Salisbury, Md., 410-548-2772, http://www.seagullcentury.org

U.S. Powerboat Show Oct. 14-17, Annapolis, 410-268-8828, http://www.usboat.com

St. Mary’s County Oyster Festival Oct. 16-17, Leonardtown, Md., 800-327-9023, http://www.usoysterfest.com

Downrigging Weekend Oct. 28-31, Chestertown, Md., 410-778-5954, http://www.sultanaprojects.org

Punkin Chunkin Nov. 5-7, Bridgeville, Del., http://www.punkinchunkin.com

Maritime Republic of Eastport Tug of War November, Eastport, Md., http://www.themre.org

Annapolis Christmas Lights Boat Parade Dec. 11, Annapolis, 410-267-9549, http://www.eastportyc.org

As landscape architect Barbara Paca read the two-page, handwritten letter from Bob Simmons, she crumbled. The letter explained that Simmons’ wife, Marcia, had terminal cancer and wanted to make a garden on their Maryland farm to leave for her daughters. “He said it might be the last thing she’d be able to do and that she wanted to do it with me,” recalls the Manhattan-based Paca. “I immediately canceled all of my appointments and went to the Eastern Shore the next day.”

When the Simmonses purchased Centreville’s Reed Creek Farm in 1996, their idea was to turn the main house, a brick Georgian mansion built in 1775, into a B&B. But when Marcia’s illness, which had been in remission, returned two years later, the couple decided to focus their energies on a more meaningful project: creating a formal Anglo-style garden that would honor both the house’s architectural vernacular and Marcia.

“I sent Barbara that letter without Marcia knowing,” confesses Bob, who knew his wife had admired Paca’s work in gardening magazines. “That way, she wouldn’t be disappointed if Barbara told us ‘no.’ Or it would be a happy surprise if she told us ‘yes.’”

Marcia, a master gardener and voracious reader of British gardening magazines, and Paca immediately formulated a plan for the entire 175-acre estate. Marcia sought Paca for her sophisticated approach to land planning and discussed with excitement the concept of a property possessing a heart (the flower garden) and a soul (the spiral mount, a feature south of the garden). 

Marcia knew precisely what she wanted: a garden with a saturated French Provencal color scheme of orange, burgundy, and denim blue. “I remember thinking, ‘Wow!’” says Paca. “It was so forward thinking. People wanted only white or pastel cottage gardens back then. And it was a bonus that she could write the script with me. She was a participant in what she was leaving behind.”

Paca’s ultimate challenge was combining appropriate horticultural symbolism with Marcia’s request for specific colors. “In my mind, I envisioned a garden of pale-blue lavender—an ancient cure for melancholia—and orange poppies, icons of peace and rest,” says Paca, whose Princeton doctoral dissertation was on the iconography of gardens. 

Before implementing the design, the Simmonses visited a dozen landscape parks and gardens in England handpicked by Paca, who suggested they take note of details they might want to incorporate into their private Eden.

It was in the gardens of Hadspen, a 17th-century Somerset estate, where Marcia found the muse for the project’s centerpiece: a meandering brick wall with an exedra-like recess that would create a theatrical backdrop along the rear of the garden, and, at the same time, provide a graceful barrier against the harsh prevailing winds that gust off the farm’s bordering creeks.

“That wall is the most exquisite souvenir that any client has ever brought back from their ‘grand tour’ of gardens,” says Paca, whose husband, architect Philip Logan, structured the wall and gates and detailed its design. “When it was being built, it looked like we were creating the Great Wall of China, but it fit the space perfectly. Things tend to shrink when they’re out of doors, and plantings scale down architectural features even more. Furthermore, it wasn’t precious—it was as honest and muscular as the land that it was built upon.”

For an unexpected, contemporary twist, Paca sited the garden at the south side of the house and not along the property’s rear acreage, as is custom in classical English designs. To give the space depth, she created a goose-foot shaped series of paths, which stretch from the main horizontal axis like three elegantly tapered fingers. A stroll toward the top of the garden is a lesson in the art of composition, as stocky English lavender gives way to taller emberglow montbretia and even lengthier Lord Baltimore hibiscus. The secondary paths merge with a curved path following the gentle arc of the garden wall.

While the wooden gate at the end of the center path opens to the multi-dimensional view of the encroaching cornfields and creeks beyond, the gate at the end of the horizontal axis leads to the garden’s folly, Bob’s boldest contribution to the project. “I decided to turn the 15-foot-tall mound of leftover soil and rock that we were going to pay someone to haul off into a viewing mount,” he says. “It was just my style to recycle a pile of junk instead of acquiring an obelisk or something like that.”

Paca loved this idea and dressed the spiral mount, nicknamed “Bob’s Folly,” with English lavender, orange potentilla, Oriental poppies, and miniature orange petunias and installed a winding brick walkway that leads to a bench at the top.

When the design was completed in 2002, Paca turned over the helm to Marcia, who devoted the last years of her life to planting, pruning, staking, and meditating in this, her living memorial.

Since Marcia passed away in 2006, it has continued its life under the guidance of Paca, who is instructing Bob and Marcia’s daughters, Catherine and Barrett, in the fine art of continuing Marcia’s vision. “Each time we are in the garden working, with Marcia’s funeral urn situated in the wall overlooking the beautiful setting,” says Bob, “I give thanks that we encouraged her to create this garden that means so much to all of us.”

You may think this odd, but I never really liked Italian food other than pizza. It was always just OK in my book. But I must not have eaten it in the right places. That all changed last year when I started cooking the take-home meals for the Piazza Italian Market in Easton. I began studying authentic Italian food cookbooks and using quality ingredients and—wow, what a difference! Suddenly, Italian food was delicious and bursting with flavor.

What I found so remarkable was how simple the food was to prepare. Just using the right ingredients made the ubiquitous meatball something extraordinary and the typical stuffed shell a melt-in-your-mouth treat. I made a minestrone soup full of vegetables and orzo that was good enough to be gobbled up by my kids, who came back for seconds. And my lasagna, layered with Bolognese sauce and ricotta will have your company asking for more.

Everyone has most likely tasted these dishes before—they are part of the standard canon of Italian-American food—but I entreat you to get back to the basics with these recipes and redefine how good they can taste.

Recipes:

• Lasagna with Bolognese Sauce and Fresh Ricotta
• Minestrone Soup
• Meatballs with Sweet Basil Tomato Sauce
• Stuffed Shells with Ricotta and Italian Herbs

Andrew Evans is the chef at Easton’s The BBQ Joint.

Old Brick Inn
401 S. Talbot St.
St. Michael’s, Md.
410.745-3323
http://www.oldbrickinn.com

I’ve been married more than 15 years, but when my husband and I checked into the Old Brick Inn’s sprawling Chesapeake Suite, we felt like someone must have thought it was our wedding night. A fire roared in the room’s gas fireplace, silk flowers bloomed in the sleeping area and in the bath, and a wine bucket and cut crystal glasses awaited bottles of vino that could be ordered from the front desk. Between the creamy, oversized French Regency-style king bed piled high with pillows and turned down for the night to the enormous whirlpool bath built for two, an evening of romance seemed more than just a suggestion.

The next morning innkeeper Melissa Godfrey told me that not only is the Chesapeake the largest of the inn’s 20 rooms, spread across three separate buildings, it’s the one most often used for honeymoons. (And, in our case, unplanned second honeymoons.)

Innkeepers Although the faces of the inn belong to innkeepers Godfrey, Barbara Focht, and Linda Prince, who do everything from book rooms and cook breakfasts to make restaurant recommendations, the inn is owned by business partners George Wilson and Barbara Svenson.

Wilson, who lives in Charles County, is a hands-on owner, however, and makes regular visits to the inn to meet with his staff, and encourages them to periodically stay in one of the inn’s rooms to make sure they know what the guest experience is like and how it could be improved. “I want the Old Brick Inn to offer in-town elegance,” says Wilson of his centrally located inn. “My mission
is to provide people with an experience, not just a night’s lodging.”

The Rooms With so many different rooms to choose from, the Old Brick Inn offers a little something for everyone. Fans of the Renaissance Festival will appreciate the Lady Guinevere Room with its full-size suit of armor (and no, you can’t try it on) in the modern Carriage House, while folks who treasure the old-fashioned coziness of dormer windows and sloping ceilings will find comfort in the pretty, pale green Elizabeth’s Rose Garden Room in the Main House. But my favorite rooms are in the historic Kemp House, built in 1807 and a few blocks from the Main House. The elegant Silk Blossom Room boasts an original brick floor, and the tropical Bird of Paradise Cottage has its own private patio. The textiles and linens in each room are changed seasonally, so the rooms may look different over multiple visits.

Special Touches/diversions Located right on Talbot Street, St. Michaels’ main drag, the inn’s location is perfect for taking in the town’s shops and restaurants. Many rooms have fireplaces and whirlpool tubs (often built for two), and the Talbot Room in the Carriage House includes a front and back balcony, as well as a kitchenette. Free wi-fi is available throughout the inn, even in the pool area. And if pampering is your thing, the inn will also schedule in-room massages for guests.
What’s for breakfast Along with a choice of cereals and sweet breads, breakfasts may include ample plates of lemon ricotta soufflé with fruit sauce, bacon, and roasted sweet potatoes, served in the inn’s Victorian-styled dining room   of small tables set with lace cloths and small flower centerpieces.

Romance Factor A Jacuzzi or massage for two is always better than for just one.

Cost $99-$300, depending on room and season.

Mary K. Zajac was married in Baltimore.

As I climb the stairs to the Bartlett Pear Inn’s front porch, the door opens even before I can knock. Coats are smoothly whisked away to a cloakroom. Cocktails are proffered as I wait for the rest of my dining companions in the lounge, where a rousing fire burns in the marble fireplace. Greetings are warm, genuine; smiles are wide.

“Your comfort and enjoyment are our greatest pleasure,” reads the restaurant’s menu, and even before I’m seated in a pillow-strewn banquette in the inn’s snug dining room, I’m ready to believe this.

It’s no secret that the restaurant had large shoes to fill when it opened in the former Inn at Easton space in September 2009, but judging from only one visit, the staff here is doing its utmost and gracious best to fill them. And perhaps they do so well because natives Jordan and Alice Lloyd, chef and innkeeper, respectively, know Easton and know what locals and visitors want in a restaurant.

Jordan’s bistro-influenced menu is compact and reflects an emphasis on local ingredients and house-made components that feels nearly mandatory in new restaurants. The whole roasted shrimp in the saffron-pistachio risotto are from Marvesta Shrimp Farms in Dorchester County. The lavash cracker in the tuna tartare appetizer, the server tells us, is made in-house, as are the brandied cherries that garnish cocktails.

Obviously, the Maine lobster in my lobster bisque is from elsewhere, but that doesn’t prevent me from inhaling the sweet, tarragon-infused soup, which is rich and unctuous without being over the top. The small lobster cake that floats like an island in a sea of creamy broth is a welcome treat. In another appetizer, a subtle, savory cream sauce, made golden with saffron and Dijon mustard, complements fat and briny mussels. 

Entrees are slightly less satisfying. The seared duck magret breast is plump and well-prepared, but the small portion and modest sides of roasted fingerlings and haricots verts do little to justify its $34 price tag. A cooked-to-order flatiron steak ordered a la carte looks like more of a bargain at $19 until you add $6 steakhouse sides of addictive french fries and creamed spinach. And while short ribs braised in red wine are presented prettily on the plate with a sprinkle of pearl onions and small teardrop-shaped cuts of golden rutabaga and pale turnip, the meat errs on the side of fatty.

If you love chocolate, however, make sure to order the chocolate soufflé for dessert. It arrives piping hot with a side of brilliant green basil infused crème anglaise our server spooned into the warm, melting center. Our table was split about the aesthetic effect, but agreed that the sauce added more color than nuance.

As a new restaurant, the Bartlett Pear Inn could use a few small tweaks. The food shows promise, but menu prices could be lowered slightly, and tables in the dining room could be rearranged to be less claustrophobic (or maybe they could just remove a few pillows from the banquettes). But service is right where it should be. I have no doubt the rest will follow.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

For more than 50 years, African-Americans attended Kent County’s one-room Worton Point Colored School No. 2. Now a museum, its former students share memories of attending a segregated school without indoor plumbing or running water. Despite these shortcomings, many say it was the best education they ever received.

They sit around the long table in the old Worton Point Colored School No. 2, seven African-American men and women in their 60s and 70s, all but one former students of the school, sharing memories of their days here in the 1940s and ’50s. They mention teachers: Miss Taylor, Miss Turner, Miss Gibbs. They remember games of dodgeball and Annie-over, collecting ferns in the woods, a pot of soup set to simmer for lunch on the potbelly stove at the front of the room.

The green-shuttered, whitewashed building, built in 1890, looks much the same on the inside as it did when they were students, they say, except for the wood paneling that covers the walls, the drop ceiling, and the thick gold carpet on the floor. The old red water pump and green enamel sink where students washed out their cups are still in the same corner. The Lord’s Prayer is written across the blackboard in the front of the room, and you can still catch a glimpse of the coal house from the side window.

The large cross studded with small light bulbs hanging above the blackboard is a remnant of when the schoolhouse was used as a church in the 1980s while the current church, St. George Methodist, was being rebuilt nearby, they explain.

“I wasn’t fortunate enough to go to a one-room school,” says Kay Somerville, the one adult in the group who was not a student here. “But I’ve been in this community for 50-some years, and this building is very important to me because we have used it so spiritually.

“Every community needs a church,” she continues, “’cause when you go past it, even if you don’t attend, you know it’s there. The school is the same way.

All those precious memories.”

Under the guiding hand of Somerville’s daughter, the gospel and jazz singer Karen Somerville, the precious memories of the individuals who attended this more-than-a-century-old Kent County school are being preserved. Renamed the African American Schoolhouse Museum, the small building has become a repository for the Eastern Shore’s largest collection of 19th-century photographs of African-American life, according to Karen Somerville. It also contains pictures and memorabilia from the community, whose 70 members are direct descendants of freed slaves from the nearby Gale plantation, now known as Andelot Farm.

Somerville didn’t intend to establish a museum when in 1994 she put out a call for community photographs and artifacts to display at the former schoolhouse. Her effort was part of a fundraiser for the completion of St. George Methodist Church next door. She intended to dismantle the schoolhouse exhibit after the fundraiser, “but there was such a great following, I ended up having to leave the exhibit up,” she explains. “I never thought it would be long term, but once I realized what I really had, then I just decided that’s exactly what we need to do is turn this into a museum.”

Somerville has since added to the schoolhouse’s historical collection, and recently received a grant that will allow her to compile a CD of stories and songs gathered from people who attended school or church here.

Visiting the museum is a view into a community both typical and yet utterly particular of the African-American experience on the Eastern Shore. Inside, church pews and school desks speak to the building’s varied uses over the years. (After the school closed in 1958, the church purchased the building from the Kent County Department of Education and used it variously as a meeting hall, community center, and church.) On side displays, an old wooden ironing board and iron, a soup ladle, and a handsaw sit side by side with school report cards and diplomas. There are photos everywhere—of a female student, dated 1956, in a neat white blouse, her hair pulled back; of the Heavenly Echoes, a gospel group who performed in the five-county region. A hand-lettered sign sitting atop a glass case filled with undocumented photos, reads “Who are they?” and Karen Somerville admits that “occasionally people come in and recognize photos of their families.”

But it’s the stories of the former students who lived and learned in Worton Point that create a true portrait of life in this small community north of Chestertown. Says Somerville, matter-of-factly: “Before Hillary Clinton went to Africa and learned it takes a village, we lived that way.”

One-room schoolhouses were an integral part of the African-American educational experience on the Eastern Shore in the late-19th through the mid-20th century, and although exact numbers are tricky to pin down, records show that in 1927, there were 16 “colored public schools” in Kent County in historically African-American communities like Morgnec and Melitota. Although they eventually became part of the Kent County school system, schools like the one at Worton Point were established by the community, not by the local government. “The establishment did not really see a need to see us educated, but our ancestors did,” says Airlee Johnson, a retired real estate professional who attended Worton Point in the 1950s. “And I’m sure they worked very hard to have the schools in their own community. [It was] a grass-roots movement.”       

The Worton Point school served grades 1-6, after which students attended the all-black Garnett High School in Chestertown.

Karen Somerville’s father, Alton Somerville, was a student at Worton Point in the 1940s. A tall man with an engaging grin, he recalls how hearing the ringing of the morning bell on his way to school was his cue to start running. He’d fly down the wooded path dressed in knickerbockers and long stockings, passing through the old cemetery, past the boys and girls outhouses behind the school, to be in his seat at 9 o’clock in time to join the teacher and 30 or so students in singing “My Country ’tis of Thee” or another devotional song.

If you were late, remembers Joan Freeman, another former student, the teacher would recite a rhyme—“Dollar, dollar, 10 o’clock scholar/You used to come at 9 o’clock, but now you come at noon”—and you wouldn’t be allowed to come to school until noon the next day, a shameful situation you wouldn’t want to have to explain to your parents.

Absences from school were a matter of course; young men were needed to work the fields during harvest, and young women, like Irene Moore, the museum’s chief docent, whose mother kept her home every Monday to help with laundry, had household chores to attend to. But lateness was never tolerated, as an old report card in the museum suggests. Alice Phillips may have missed 51½ days in 1925, but she was never late, and her grades were more than acceptable.

School days, the former students remember, had a comfortable routine. The recitation of the Lord’s Prayer and the “Pledge of Allegiance,” the latter said outside while one of the boys raised the flag to the top of the flagpole if the weather was good, followed devotions. Roll call came next, and then the teacher opened the windows for some fresh air to accompany morning calisthenics before lessons began.

The students in each grade sat together, explains Alton Somerville, and while the teacher worked with the handful of students who made up each grade (there were eight in his class), students in other grades would read their lessons or study. Basic subjects like reading, arithmetic, and spelling were taught by grade, but sciences and social studies were taught to the whole school. This arrangement “worked well,” says Airlee Johnson, “because we could learn from each other.”

Interspersed with lessons were music and art appreciation. Emma Lively, a classmate of Alton Somerville, remembers a song the class learned to help them identify ferns in the woods.

Johnson, who attended the school a decade after Lively, recalls the teachers the county sent in for weekly art lessons. “They were the only white teachers we had,” she says. “We did finger painting and clay, but we used real clay. None of that Play-Doh. And that was fun because we had a chance to play in real dirt.”

Discipline was ingrained from the start. “There was none of that speaking out, you know,” says Alton Somerville. “You had to ask. You had to raise your hand to say something.”

Punishments ranged from being hit with a switch that students would fetch themselves to standing in the corner to a ruler’s smack across the palm of the hand. Irene Moore recalls having to write “I must be quiet in class” over and over on the chalkboard—but only once. “I learned my lesson,” she says. Greater transgressions might result in a letter home to parents or the ultimate shaming, a public dressing down in church on Sunday by your teacher.

“There was an awful lot of order in class,” says Johnson. “Teachers didn’t lose control. Because then your parents would hear about it and that was the worst thing.”

School discipline involved physical work as well. Students were assigned chores, from cleaning the outhouses to bringing in coal from the coal house to keep the potbelly stove burning to patrolling the cloakroom to make sure all the coats and hats were hung up tidily. “We had to sweep the floors every day,” recalls Rudolph Black, a student at the school in the 1950s.

“The only thing we didn’t do was cut the grass.”

Local students often went home for lunch, but during the winter months, explains Lively, each child could bring their own bowl to have a hot lunch that the teacher had simmering on the coal stove at the front of the room. It was beans or soup, often thick with hominy, and its smell filled the classroom. When the coal stove was replaced with gas heat, Rudolph Black remembers, the teacher would go to Irene Moore’s family home next door to cook the soup.

The school day ended at 3 o’clock when students heard the bus rumbling over the hill and lined up orderly for dismissal. “You’d go home, and you couldn’t wait until the next day to go back,” says Alton Somerville. “School was fun to me [then].”

What is most clear in conversations with former students is that in the era of segregation, this closed, intimate community of the classroom was a boon, rather than a burden. “A lot of children now, they don’t like to go to school, but it was like family here,” says Moore. “We sang together, we learned together, we prayed together. And I just loved it.”

School was less engaging, the former students say, when they moved on to Garnett High School. Despite the fact that it was a treat to go to a school with running water and indoor bathrooms, larger classes and less attention from teachers made students treasure their one-room schoolhouse experience even more. “I learned more out here than I learned at other schools,” says Alton Somerville, echoing what other former students express. “When [the teacher] taught you something here, you knew it.”

“When I see other classmates that were here, it’s like [seeing] an old family member,” says Airlee Johnson with a smile. “It’s like our own little private school—with a lot of love.”

Freelance writer Mary K. Zajac wrote about historic Chesapeake cookbooks in our last issue.

Paul Reed Smith has come a long way from tinkering on guitars and amplifiers as a teenager in his Bowie, Md., home. His eponymous company, now in its 25th year, employs 230 people at a Stevensville, Md., factory, and his instruments are played by guitar virtuosos from Al Di Meola to Carlos Santana. Guitar World magazine credits Smith’s high-quality instruments with spawning “a full-blown American guitar renaissance.” CL interviewed Smith in January and learned that his passion for making guitars is rivaled only by his passion for playing them—and also for fishing in the Chesapeake Bay.

> My father wanted me to be what he was, a mathematician. That’s what my son wants to be. It must skip a generation.

> [When I was starting out] I’d say, ‘Here, play my guitar. What do you think?’ I didn’t have anything to lose.

> I always thought I had a lot to offer. Initially, no one really thought so. There are other people in the world who think they have a lot to offer and everybody says, ‘You do. You do.’ I was on the other side. I thought I had a lot to offer and people were saying, ‘No you don’t. No you don’t. No you don’t.’ It’s courage. It’s not confidence. Confidence is something that’s earned.

> I wasn’t going to survive in a one- or three-person shop anymore. [When we started the company], the goal was survival. There was no way I was going to be able to raise a family or send kids to college or anything like that on the income I was making. We wanted to do well while we did well, if you know what I mean. To take care of our employees while they took care of us. A symbiotic relationship. I think it’s gone pretty well.

> There are really good people here. Salt-of-the-earth people in this area. And I mean that in a very positive way.

> You just don’t hear people say the word ‘terrific’ anymore.

> Getting older sucks. What you get is a much better view of the world, and you gain confidence in the heat of battle. But your body just doesn’t continue to work the same way.

> I like snooping around in estuaries.

> I grew up fishing on the Patuxent River five days a week as a kid. My father owned a boat and we were always out on the Chesapeake Bay.

> I’ll tell you one thing that’s disturbing. I went fishing off the Bay Bridge last year and I got my quota of rockfish quickly and they were all sick. There’s something really wrong. When I was a kid they weren’t that sick.

> It’s been a very, very difficult economy. I’m not sure if we’ve had our best year or the worst year. It would be the best year if we should have gone out of business and we didn’t. And it would be the worst year because we’re just breaking even.

> Two-hundred and thirty people work here. That’s a lot of responsibility. You know what it feels like to have a fire at the door. Got to protect what’s inside.

> M. Scott Peck, who wrote “The Road Less Traveled,” said that life is difficult, and when you finally accept that life is difficult, then it becomes way less difficult. I’m trying to absorb that one.

> I don’t like making a defining moment on a journey.

> Is my journey a success? I don’t know. I’m not done yet.

> I get a rush out of good performances—whether they’re playing my guitars or not. I get a rush out of wonderful instruments. I still get goose bumps.

> What’s it like to have Carlos Santana play an instrument with my name on it? Awesome.

> The industry is split into three sections. The people who are working hard to [produce] the best they can. The people who are just [coasting] along. And the people who believe you can buy something for a tenth the cost of something old and it sounds just as good.

> I walk down to the factory constantly. I was down there this morning. I was down there this past weekend carving necks. I like making guitars.

> I get more of a rush from playing guitars than making them. But it would probably be the other way around if I spent more time playing them than making them. I really enjoy playing guitar. Really enjoy it. You can’t get the smile off my face.

> Do I feel like a success? The only way I can answer that question is that on my 40th birthday and my 50th birthday, I felt like celebrating.

> It’s the American dream come true.

Five ideas for winter getaways:

1. Take a Latin food tour
2. Visit Europe (on the Bay)
3. Visit an art gallery
4. Stay at a booklover’s B&B
5. Go (discount) shopping!

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 and Chesapeake Life have once again embarked on our 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 (5MB).

Chef David Clark
Julia’s, Centreville, Md.
“I like Joss Café & Sushi Bar in Annapolis. I pretty much let the chef decide what to prepare for me. And I’ll pretty much eat anything there—the sushi, rolls, sashimi; there’s nothing that I don’t like. One of my favorites is the Stop Light Roll, with red, yellow, and green caviar. It’s kind of loud and kind of a crowded place, but I like the electricity of the restaurant itself. I get energized when I’m there.” Joss, 195 Main St., Annapolis. 410-263-4688, http://www.josscafe-sushibar.com


Chef Kevin McKinney
Brooks Tavern, Chestertown, Md.
“If I go out during the weekend, I like Procolino Pizzeria in Chestertown. This is pizza heaven for me. It’s owned and run by two brothers, Sal and Vinny, who have been doing it for 28 years. I usually get the Roll Up—it’s like a calzone—and either a slice of the margarita or garden pizza, with tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, and spinach. They don’t use fancy ingredients, but it’s done right with quality ingredients. The atmosphere is modern and clean, with paintings by Chestertown artist Jimmy Reynolds on the walls and some scenes from Italy. I went around the country for a year and couldn’t wait to get back home to eat their food. I think it’s some of the best pizza going. If I could bring one food with me to a desert island, it might be this pizza.Procolino Pizzeria, 711 Washington Ave., Chestertown, Md. 410-778-5900.


Chef Ian Campbell
Bistro Poplar, Cambridge, Md.
“I like going to Ocean Odyssey Seafood Deli [in Cambridge]. It’s a great place to drink a beer at the bar and get some appetizers. I always get the crab tater tots. They pick all their own crabmeat, and they also sell steamed crabs. I also really like the burger—it’s big and juicy. It’s like going over to my friend’s house, welcoming and not pretentious at all. My wife and I also like to go to Thai Ki in Easton. I get the spicy turmeric beef; she likes to get the red duck curry. I know how well chef Andrew Evans knows Thai food, and I like the flavors he creates.” Ocean Odyssey, 2829 Gypsy Hill Road, Cambridge, Md. 410-228-8633; Thai Ki, 216 Dover St., Easton, Md., 410-690-3641, http://www.thai-ki.com


Chef David McCallum
Tilghman Island Inn, Tilghman, Md.
“What’s so great about [Annapolis’] Jalapenos is that the food is very, very different from the food I do at my inn. I like ethnic food in general, and Spanish food is something that lends itself to conviviality. I really like the chili rellenos, but I eat all over the menu, which is nice because if you’re with a group of friends, you can order lots of things and share. My favorite way to eat is to get as many tastes into the meal as you possibly can. It’s not brightly lit, but you also don’t feel like you have to get out a flashlight to read the menu. You also don’t feel like it’s too formal or that you have to be quiet while you’re there.” Jalapenos, 85 Forest Plaza, Annapolis. 410-266-7580, http://www.jalapenosonline.com


Chef Giancarlo Tondin
Scossa, Easton, Md. 
“One of my favorites is Bistro Poplar. It has a very nice wine list, and the food is appealing. I like the high ceilings, and the bar is a very comfortable place for cocktails before dining. Each table has its own privacy, so it’s a good place for conversation. I like chef Ian Campbell’s duck and gnocchi. He has some good experience having worked at French Laundry in California. And I definitely like Mason’s for lunch. They have a good selection of dishes. I love the crab cakes and the mussels. The atmosphere is so relaxing—it makes you feel like you are on
vacation. Being a restaurant owner myself, I look up to the Mason family for what they’ve been able to deliver for such a long time.” Bistro Poplar, 535 Poplar St., Cambridge, Md. 410-228-4884, bistropoplar. com; Mason’s, 22 S. Harrison St., Easton, Md. 410-822-3204, http://www.masonsgourmet.com


Chef Keith McCord
O’Leary’s Restaurant, Annapolis
“I work all the time, but when I go out, I go to Tsunami. The ambience of eating outside is nice. I usually go with the fresh fish special. I also like the sashimi, the toro or the spider roll. I like the quality of the ingredients and the consistent, good quality of the food. The flavors are not too heavy, and everything’s clean and precise. There’s always something new and inventive on the menu that I haven’t seen before, and as chefs, we’re always looking for something new.” Tsunami, 51 West St., Annapolis. 410-990-9868


Chef Chris Fazio
Ava’s Pizzeria & Wine Bar, St. Michaels, Md.
“I’m one of those guys who likes to belly up to the bar and drink a couple of beers. That’s why I like Legal Spirits. The cream of crab soup is amazing. If I could have that hooked up intravenously, I would. It’s nice and quiet there, dimly lit, and just very comfortable. It’s a great place to unwind. I also like the Washington Street Pub. I always order the Chuck Mangold sandwich [roast beef and onions on sourdough with melted provolone]. It’s greasy and absorbs all the alcohol. There’s just something about sitting at a bar that makes it happen for me.” Legal Spirits, 42 E. Dover St., Easton, Md. 410-820-0765; Washington Street Pub, 20 N. Washington St., Easton, Md. 410-822-9011  


Chef Michael Hollywood
Paul’s Homewood Café, Annapolis
“After I’m through with 12 hours of cooking, I don’t feel like getting dressed up and going to a formal restaurant, so quick and easy food is the theme. With the economy the way it is, I end up getting pizza a lot. On occasion, I go to Rocco’s Pizzeria. I usually get a pie with pepperoni, onions, and mushrooms. I also like the gyros at Chris’ Charcoal Pit. It’s convenient, and they have the traditional Greek gyro with the meat cooked on a stick. It’s a little down-home restaurant with good food.” Rocco’s Pizzeria, 954 Bay Ridge Road, Annapolis. 410-263-9444; Chris’ Charcoal Pit, 1946 West St., Annapolis. 410-266-5200, http://www.chrischarcoalpit.com


Chef Chris DeLaurentiis
Mitchum’s Steakhouse, Trappe, Md.
“I really like Marlin Moon Grille in Ocean City. I like chef Gary Beach’s style—seafood with an eclectic flair. I always order Freddy’s seafood pasta, which has great shrimp, scallops, and crabmeat in a pesto cream sauce. They also have a really good appetizer called Matt’s buffalo shrimp; it’s a spinoff on chicken wings but not heavy on the batter and pretty spicy. You can eat in the fine dining section, but I like to sit at the bar where it’s more casual. It takes an hour to get there from where I live, but it’s worth it. My girlfriend and I make a day of it. We hit the beach and then stop at the restaurant on the way home.” Marlin Moon Grille, 12806 Ocean Gateway, Ocean City, Md. 410-213-1618, http://www.marlinmoongrille.com


Chef Daniel Pochron
Mason’s, Easton, Md.
“I’m only off on Sunday and Monday, which are the two days when most restaurants on the Shore are closed, so it’s hard to eat out. But if I’m going to spend the money, I eat at Bistro St. Michaels. I trust chef David Stein, and I think he’s talented. I like his entree cote steak and spicy wine and garlic broth mussels. And the service is great. When I’m there, I know I’m going to get a good meal, have a good time, and have a great experience. It’s a western shore-caliber restaurant on the Eastern Shore. It’s an intimate place, but when you’re there, you can fly under the radar.” Bistro St. Michaels, 403 S. Talbot St. St Michaels, Md. 410-745-9111, http://www.bistrostmichaels.com

Chocolate is easy to love but can be tricky to work with. Chefs study and work with it for years and still do not get it right. Luckily, these recipes bypass some of the more complicated techniques to minimize your frustration and time.

Before you start, there are some basics you should know: Store chocolate in an airtight container at 60 to 70 degrees. (If you store it in a place that’s too warm, the cocoa butter rises to the surface and gives the chocolate a gray haze; too damp, and the chocolate forms gray sugar crystals on the surface.) If, when melting chocolate, it gets lumpy and hardens, add some vegetable oil and stir the chocolate until smooth.

Bittersweet, semisweet, sweet, milk, and white all refer to chocolate’s makeup. The higher the percentage of cocoa mass, the more intense the chocolate flavor and the least amount of added sugar.

Let’s start with a good old standby recipe that anyone can tackle—chocolate truffles, an after-dinner treat that will even impress the mother-in-law. The little white chocolate tarts with candied lemon rinds are super easy and elegant. The layered mousse cake can be made large or as individual servings for dinner parties. The self-saucing puddings are great because the batter can be made in advance then simply baked for 15 minutes.

So gather up all the bowl- and spoon-licking volunteers you can find. It’ll make cleanup that much easier.

Recipes:

• Self-Saucing Chocolate Pudding with Double Devon Cream
• Layered Chocolate Mousse Cake with Chocolate Sauce and Crème Chantilly
• Chocolate Truffles
• White Chocolate and Lemon Cheese Cake with Candied Lemon Rind

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

It’s not easy for a Manhattanite to trade the rapid pulse of the city for the gentle rhythm of the Eastern Shore. But that’s exactly what veteran interior designer Don Wooters did. After being away from his native Easton for 20 years, he returned for an extended visit. While home, former clients began requesting his services, and Wooters soon realized that the Shore potentially held just as much for him as the Big Apple.

Now all that was left was to select a homestead, which he and his partner, Clay Railey, dean of a college in Pennsylvania, found in a cozy, 2,200-square-foot contemporary house in Oxford, filled with light and plenty of room. The pair spent the next four years transforming it into their ideal residence, a space that integrates sophisticated aesthetics with the Shore’s natural beauty. “Our imaginations sold us on the place,” says Railey. “The floor plan wasn’t anything like it is now, but we could imagine how to make it happen.”

Out went the pine-paneled walls, built-in china hutches, and clunky woodstove; in went ebonized floors, a fireplace with black granite surround, and linen-white walls. “When I was in New York, I had
a tiny apartment that was painted in lacquered aubergine,” recalls Wooters, co-owner of Dwelling & Design, an Easton-based interior design boutique. “It was a night time place. But here I have so much light and space that I wanted everything to be white.”

The couple’s art collection was also a driving factor behind Wooters’ choice of wall color. “Clay and I are both enthusiastic about abstract artists, so we created a clean palette for our collection,” says Wooters. “We also put in a lot of key lighting above the paintings, which makes the art come alive. Most winter evenings, the only lights we use in the house are the ones above the paintings and the fireplace.”

Balancing the bold art in the living room are graceful, white Lee Jofa sofas that border the fireplace, which, come Christmastime, is draped with a simple strand of fresh greens. To break up the rectangular shapes that dominate the room, Wooters chose a circular, silver-leaf mirror from McLain Wiesand Custom Built Furniture in Baltimore to occupy the place of honor above the fireplace. The mirror permanently holds the reflection of the ponds and weeping willow trees that sweep over the surrounding grounds.

“Wherever you sit in the living room, you can see outside,” says Railey. “It’s just like you’re sitting in the middle of it all—like living in a glass house.”

To combat clutter in the diminutive kitchen, Wooters designed a wall of well-camouflaged white storage cabinets. He also created an island with a façade of faux, pear wood cabinets and false top, which hides the sink and appliances. To accommodate a dinner party for up to 10 friends, Wooters found a round, glass-top Peter Dudley table. “Seating at round tables is the best way to have conversation,” he says, “that way, everybody’s included.”

“I like the whole open space of the living room, dining room, and kitchen,” adds Railey. “It’s all very fluid and easy, and you’re never away from your guests.”

The living room and kitchen double as a hallway, dividing the guest bedroom wing from the master bedroom wing. It’s in the guestroom where Wooters introduced the whimsy of color to the house. Here apple-green walls, inspired by the Lee Jofa English linen print drapery, bring to life crisp, white linens and artwork ablaze in pastel colors. “I wanted a room where people could see an intense color that they wouldn’t have chosen in their home,” says Wooters. “I wanted to make it an experience.”

In the study, neutral tones once again gently dominate. The room’s icy hues and luxe textures were inspired by a floor-to-ceiling abstract landscape painting that covers the west wall. A Swedish day bed dressed in linen velvet graces the center of the space, where the pair relax for evening cocktails and Clay’s daily exercise of completing The New York Times crossword puzzle. Says Railey: “We can look out on the pond and across to the neighboring fields and pine forests. It’s such a beautiful view of the natural landscape. Between the artwork and the visual space outside, we have all the color in the world.”

Don’t look down—look into my eyes,” says Mark Landers of Segway of Hampton Roads, hovering his Segway PT in front of mine. “You’ll need your horizon.”

Photographer John Sheally and I have never set foot on Segways before, but we’re game to tour Freemason, one of Norfolk’s oldest and most charming neighborhoods, via the battery-powered rolling platforms.

Tucked along the busy Elizabeth River, Freemason was the city’s first suburb, home to some of Norfolk’s most prominent and prosperous citizens dating back into the 18th century.

A Segway tour—a fun experience anytime of the year in usually balmy Norfolk—is a great way to get an up-close look at today’s Freemason, a vibrant neighborhood with new townhouses and condos blending into the vintage architecture along the working waterfront. Museums, restaurants, and bars, many within walking distance of the restored Victorian Freemason Inn, an elegant British-flavored bed and breakfast, make it a uniquely walkable weekend getaway.

Landers wants to assure we survive our turtle-paced (6 mph) trek so he drills us on safety. Hands on the handlebars, lean forward to go, backward to stop, and steer left and right with your body. Seems simple enough. My gaze locks onto Landers’ eyes, and I make a few turns around the parking lot while his assistant, David Sinclair, coaches John through the same basics. And we’re off.

In 10 minutes we’re feeling at one with our rides, gliding along cobblestone streets and brick sidewalks, past 19th-century townhouses overlooking the Elizabeth River, and down quaint side streets of manicured mini-lawns and wrought-iron fences.

We’re following the Cannonball Trail, a heritage walking tour highlighting Norfolk’s history. Since the mid-17th century the city has survived marauding pirates, Revolutionary War bombardments, yellow fever, Civil War occupations, and a persistent reputation as a rowdy sailor hangout.

We ease up our Segways to our first stop, a large Chinese pagoda, a gift from the Taiwan provincial governor in 1989, set amid year-round gardens on the riverfront. The pagoda houses an art gallery and a tearoom serving Pacific Rim cuisine.

On the river we watch the tall-masted American Rover sail on one of its harbor cruises and see the sleek Spirit of Norfolk that combines dining and dancing with river tours of the city and the Navy’s Atlantic Fleet. Pleasure boats mix with tugs, barges, Navy vessels, and an occasional ocean-going cruise ship.

We’re next to one of the riverfront’s largest landmarks, the battleship USS Wisconsin, veteran of World War II and the Korean and Persian Gulf wars. Part of the Navy’s inactive fleet, the ship is open for free tours.

The Wisconsin, connected to the Hampton Roads Naval Museum, is one of a dozen U.S. Navy-operated museums, and features 233 years of naval history. The free museum, displaying uniforms, weaponry, underwater artifacts, and ship models, is on the second floor of Nauticus, the National Maritime Center. Nauticus is a find for families, an interactive museum showcasing all things nautical from shipbuilding to environmental issues as well as a “petting lagoon” and simulated submarine and aircraft carrier experiences.

One of our favorites among Norfolk’s historic sites is the nearby MacArthur Square, a quartet of buildings honoring the legendary Gen. Douglas MacArthur. The admission-free museum, housed in the former city hall, holds thousands of World War II artifacts and MacArthur memorabilia including his corncob pipe and his staff car, a 1950 Chrysler Crown Imperial in mint condition. The general and his wife, Jean, are buried in the museum’s rotunda.

Off our Segways, we thank Landers and head for the Chrysler Museum on the Hague inlet of the Elizabeth, just outside the Freemason section but worth the longer walk. Renowned for its expansive glass collection, the Chrysler is named for automotive heir Walter P. Chrysler, whose art collection is the foundation of the museum’s inventory of 30,000 artworks. Recently, generous benefactors enabled the museum to remove admission fees to its general collection. Special exhibits, such as one on ancient Egyptian art and artifacts, running through early January, will still carry a charge.

Time to shop? In the Freemason area the MacArthur Center, a 1-million-square-foot, three-story mall, boasts shops, theaters, and restaurants. But for a real treat, walk the couple blocks to the D’Art Center in the splendidly restored 1930s Selden Arcade. Dozens of resident artists have studios here—with works for sale—and are happy to chat as they create.

If museums and shopping stir up an appetite, we suggest you try one of Freemason’s numerous restaurants. Options range from casual French (Voila) to Spanish paella (Todd Jurich’s Bistro) to T-bone steaks (Byrd and Baldwin Bros. Steakhouse). Freemason Abbey offers a unique dining experience, mezzanine seating in an 1873 brownstone Victorian church building.

Wherever you end up in Freemason, remember to wear comfy shoes. The charming cobblestone streets, constructed from ballast rocks from colonial sailing ships, can be challenging to walk on in the wrong footwear. Segways, however, glide right over them. 

Phyllis Speidell wrote about Annapolis’ kit homes in our November issue.

Gary Jobson has made a living as sailing’s most dedicated advocate. He won an America’s Cup alongside skipper Ted Turner in 1977, bagged two Emmys for coverage of sailing at the 1988 Olympic Games and the 2006 Volvo Ocean Race, and was honored with US Sailing’s most prestigious award, the Nathanael G. Herreshoff Trophy, for outstanding lifetime contribution to the sport. More recently, he won his toughest competition yet: a two-year battle with lymphoma. In October, CL caught up with Jobson on a rare morning in his Annapolis office to talk about his first sailboat race, a lesson from Ted, and overcoming cancer.

> Sailors have a unique ability to get along with each other. On a boat, those are your brothers and sisters; you’re close.

> Sailors can also be cliquish and often über-competitive —on the water, on land, and in everything they do. As I get older, I am slowly learning that winning at all costs isn’t everything and that what you learn is more important than how you do.

> I’ve been in more than 5,200 races, sailed 62,000 miles, written 16 books, produced 720 television shows, written 900 articles, had 2,350 speaking engagements, and visited 370 out of 1,000 yacht clubs [throughout the world]. 

> My first sailboat race was when I was 6. I crewed on a sneakbox, a 15-foot wooden, gaff-rigged catboat, on Barnegat Bay. I was given three jobs: keep the boat dry with a bucket and sponge, hold the course chart, and don’t ask dumb questions. So it was the first race, and all the boats were behind us. I hadn’t said a peep, the boat was bone dry, and the skipper asked me to point out our next mark, but I didn’t know because the course chart had fallen out of my pocket. We went to the wrong buoy and lost the race. I learned a lesson from that, and for the rest of my life, I’ve always known what the course was and had a goal. 

> It was 2004, and I was lying in the hospital in Baltimore after my stem cell transplant. I was 145 pounds. (I’m now 210.) I was really feeling bad for myself. I started thinking about the sneakbox race and how bad it was to lose the chart. I thought that if I could get out of that jam, maybe I could get out of this jam, too. I then realized I needed a goal. I said to myself, ‘I’m going to get up, and get out of this bed.’ I resolved that if I got out of the jam of being sick, I was going to help people and be more service-oriented. Since then, I’ve helped raise more than $32 million for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.

> I’ve lived in Annapolis for 32 years. Annapolis is a town that’s very accepting to newcomers. You don’t have to be born here to be accepted.

> Besides my parents, the person who has most influenced me is Ted Turner. He’s got this incredible work ethic, but what really sets him apart is that he’s a visionary. The biggest lesson I’ve learned from him is that the most successful people are those who do something that hasn’t been done before.

> My scariest moment sailing was in 1964. I was sailing an 111/2-foot Penguin on Barnegat Bay, and this unbelievable storm welled up. This thing was racing across the water—thick, black clouds—and the wind started to build. I was going really fast, and suddenly I lost control and the boat just exploded and capsized. I landed in the water under the sail. Thank goodness I had my life jacket on. The whole thing was over in 10 minutes. As a result, over the years I have erred on the side of caution.

> The first time I did a show for ESPN I had an on-camera with 30 seconds of copy to read. It took 30 takes to get it right. I suddenly realized this wasn’t so easy…

> I never pushed my daughters to sail. All of them were in sailing programs when they were young, but they suffered from the opinion of others that said, ‘You have a famous father, you should be winning.’ It was hard for them to excel because of that. They’ll go cruising anytime, but none of them race.

> The very best sailors are calm in the heat of battle, and I’m sure that translates to their personal lives. It’s the second-tier sailors who scream and yell. I wonder about their character. Great sailors—Dennis Conner,
Ted Hood, Buddy Melges—none of them yell.

> It was 1969, and I wanted to go to a concert with a friend of mine, but the 420 Nationals [a dinghy regatta] was in town. I couldn’t decide what to do, so I asked my dad. He said to go to the regatta, that I could go to a concert anytime. I still can’t believe I chose the 420 Nationals over Woodstock.

When the former owners of piccola Roma, Annapolis’ beloved Main Street Italian restaurant, declared bankruptcy last December, Maureen Lucas, the building’s owner, was in a quandary. Finding someone to reopen the restaurant in this economy was becoming a challenge, yet she needed the income and didn’t want the storefront to sit empty. Lucas’ solution was to reopen Piccola Roma herself, and in August, she became the third owner of this classic restaurant.

Under Lucas’ hand, Piccola Roma has become an example of how the more things change, the more they stay the same. Chefs (and brothers) Jose and Ulices Ayala remain in charge of the kitchen, as they have been for nearly 20 years. The Giolitti family, the restaurant’s original owners, now own a deli in town and provide the restaurant with bread.

Lucas has added a few dishes and lowered prices and freshened up the dining room, which now boasts punchy persimmon upholstery and creamier yellow walls than before. But, all in all, it’s the same cozy, slightly old-fashioned dining room, featuring the equivalent of Italian comfort food: bruschetta and grilled calamari, penne a la Bolognese, and spaghetti carbonara (the latter by request), and lots of seafood-spiked pastas, albeit with a revamped, all-Italian wine list.

Lucas also has added carpaccio, sautéed mussels, and crabmeat-stuffed mushrooms to the antipasti menu, and while the mushrooms aren’t particularly Italian, they are particularly tasty. Stuffed with decent lumps of crab, little crumb, and a touch of garlic, they are reminiscent of something you’d find on the appetizer plate at a gourmet hostess’ party. Another appetizer, grilled radicchio, looked a little tired (grilling it chars the limp leaves), but its flavor was nicely bitter and a fine match for the salty, lumpy gorgonzola sauce that accompanied it. 

We passed on Piccola Roma’s pasta choices and instead debated among the grilled beef fillet stuffed with prosciutto, spinach, and goat cheese, the veal scaloppine, and a sautéed chicken with prosciutto and mozzarella before deciding on the pesce di giorno al cartoccio, the catch of the day. In this case, the fish was halibut, cooked in parchment with mussels, scallops, tomatoes, olives, and herbs. It’s a simple dish, fresh tasting and uncomplicated but perhaps slightly overpriced at $32, given its modest size. Lobster ravioli stuffed with the shellfish and mascarpone cheese, on the other hand, was rich and unctuous in its vodka cream sauce.

The night we dined, desserts included cheesecake and apple tart, but when I asked if it was possible to order just one or two of the biscotti that decorated the dessert tray to go with my espresso, I was warmly assured it was no problem. This was representative of the restaurant’s service—courtly and professional. When I asked about an unfamiliar wine, our server insisted on bringing a sample to the table. And although this same server seemed to be taking care of the entire dining room, we never felt rushed or neglected.

Piccola Roma is not going to impress with innovation or modern takes on traditional food. It still borders on being expensive, and nothing will bowl you over with originality, but it’s comfortable and old school in the best sense, and there’s not a thing wrong with that. Welcome back to Main Street.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

Cookbooks are much more than simply collections of recipes. They are a cultural archive of the times, a reflection of tastes and trends. Here are 10 regional cookbooks, published between the 1930s and the present day. Their authors include a former first lady of Maryland, the vice president of a defunct piano company, a couple of restaurateurs, members of a local junior league, and a guy who tests his recipes in something called a ‘crab lab.’ All reflect the time and place in which they were written and include recipes inspired by the bounty of the Bay.

Eat, Drink and Be Merry in Maryland

Compiled by Frederick Philip Stieff, 1932

THE SKINNY: “Eat, Drink and Be Merry in Maryland” is Frederick Philip Stieff’s love letter to Maryland’s gastronomic traditions. Compiled in 1932 when Stieff was vice president of the piano company that bore his family’s name, Stieff mines the state’s culinarians, including home cooks, restaurant managers, and many African-American domestics, for their local specialties.

QUOTABLE: In order to capture the spirit of both the cook and the recipe, instructions are written in conversational and often frank language without a separate list of ingredients. A recipe for frogs legs from W.T. Emory, manager of the Log Inn on the Chesapeake in Annapolis, advises that, “Frogs should be served right after they are killed.” Stieff’s headnotes for the recipes reflect his devotion to the state’s local bounty: “Maryland seafood properly cooked is all that the most exacting palate can demand. The pleasure it gives can be augmented only by indulgence within the sight of its famous origin—the great Chesapeake Bay.”

RECIPES HIGHLIGHTS: Oysters have their own chapter, as does a section devoted to “The Cooking and Stuffing of Hams and the Curing of Meats,” but it’s the “Jellies, Preserves, and Pickles” chapter that offers such long-forgotten comestibles as calves’ foot or isinglass jellies and cucumber catsup.

A Cook’s Tour of the Eastern Shore

Prepared by the Junior Auxiliary of Memorial Hospital of Easton, Md., 1948 (first printing)

THE SKINNY: This quintessential community cookbook captures an era when hostesses served punch and women used their husband’s first and last names prefaced by “Mrs.” as their own. The charm of the cookbook lies in trying to identify how many hands transcribed the book’s handwritten recipes and numbered pages, or the artist behind the sweet pen-and-ink drawings like a rabbit relaxing in a frying pan.

QUOTABLE: The game section fascinates with recipes for rabbit, dove, muskrat “tred avon,” and a short discourse on the difference between wild ducks you eat and so-called “trash ducks.” (The text admits, “you eat trash ducks too, but there is some difference in the cooking process,” namely, a soaking in salted water “to remove the strong-
tasting blood.”)

RECIPE HIGHLIGHTS: Mrs. Kenneth B. Millett offers an easy refrigerator cake that through the magic of gelatine [sic] and separated, thickly beaten egg whites and yolks, requires no baking. Just as unusual—but perhaps more appealing—is Mrs. William T. Hammond’s white potato pie spiced with brandy and nutmeg.

My Favorite Maryland Recipes

Mrs. J Millard Tawes, 1964

THE SKINNY: Written during her tenure as Maryland’s first lady (1959-1967), Helen Avalynne Tawes’ “My Favorite Maryland Recipes” simultaneously invokes the traditional food of her Crisfield upbringing and the days of formal dinner parties—like the one she and the governor hosted in honor of then Sen. John F. Kennedy in 1960—that began with a fresh fruit cup and ended with mints. The cookbook was no mere side project for a governor’s wife; Tawes loved cooking. In her introduction, she calls it her “avocation.” She was committed to preserving old Maryland recipes she learned from her mother and mother-in-law and spoke to her readers as fellow cooks.

QUOTABLE: The most endearing quality of this cookbook is Tawes’ voice, which reveals itself in homespun language, like, “A girl just wasn’t worth her cooking salt unless she knew how to make terrapin soup” or “Crab cannot be enhanced, only complemented” and the small descriptive asides she adds to her recipes (kidney bean salad is described as “sounds very plebian but really delicious!”).

RECIPE HIGHLIGHTS: Although Mrs. Tawes includes detailed instructions for Maryland-cooked muskrat, most of her recipes reflect a less rustic, though thoroughly Eastern Shore sensibility (see pink rhubarb sherbet, sweet pickled watermelon, fried cucumbers).

Maryland Seafood Cookbook volumes I-III

From the Maryland Department of Seafood and Aquaculture (formerly the Office of Seafood Marketing), 1980s

THE SKINNY: You don’t necessarily associate the Maryland state government with culinary prowess, but in the early 1980s, the state’s Office of Seafood Marketing published three paperback volumes of seafood recipes that became popular enough to be reissued in the mid-’90s. (All three volumes are available for sale at marylandseafood.org/cookbooks.) Volume I covered “traditional tidewater recipes,” featuring Maryland favorites like crabs and oysters. Volume II tapped into the restaurant community with 93 recipes from Maryland chefs, while Volume III ventured into 1980s “contemporary cooking techniques,” offering microwave-friendly seafood preparations.

QUOTABLE: Volume II, in particular, is a snapshot of Maryland seafood restaurant history with recipe contributions from venerable spots like Oxford’s Robert Morris Inn (oysters a la Gino) and now closed favorites like Busch’s Chesapeake Inn in Annapolis or the Quarterdeck Restaurant in Ocean City, accompanied by pen and ink sketches of the old buildings.

RECIPE HIGHLIGHTS: Volume I’s six recipes for crab imperial invite a week of recipe tasting with one day off for rest!

Mrs. Kitching’s Smith Island Cookbook

Frances Kitching and Susan Stiles Dowell, 1981

THE SKINNY: An intimate glimpse into the rhythm of Smith Islanders’ daily lives that’s part social history, part cookbook. Arranged by season, the book offers the basics on cleaning bluefish and shucking oysters to the difference between clams and manos or soft-shell clams. It is less about Mrs. Kitching herself than of the community in which her (now-closed) restaurant flourished, but it is through her homey recipes and Susan Stiles Dowell’s lyrical prose that we come to know Mrs. Kitching and Smith Island itself.

QUOTABLE: The book is peppered with local tales like “Eddie’s famous shark story,” in which Eddie Evans caught a huge shark when the fishermen from Crisfield told him what he’d been seeing in the water was really a stingray.

RECIPES HIGHLIGHTS: While the recipe for Mrs. Kitching’s 10-Layer Smith Island cake (possibly the original recipe made without the now-common Duncan Hines cake mix) is not in the cookbook (it can be found on the Smith Island website, smithisland.org), you can find recipes for Eastern Shore comfort food like stewed crabmeat and dumplings and homemade scrapple made from pork liver and lean salt pork. Mrs. Kitching’s fig cake makes use of homemade fig preserves, a result of the island’s bounty of fresh fruit in the summer.

From a Lighthouse Window: Recipes and Recollections

From the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in St. Michaels, Maryland, 1989

THE SKINNY: The use of “recollections” in the subtitle is apt, as this volume is as much a history lesson as it is a cookbook. Divided roughly into two halves, the first part is a compendium of historic photos, stories, and recipes like the (non-edible) mast glop, a combination of varnish, boiled linseed oil, and turpentine used to coat boat masts. The second half of the book reflects the culinary evolution of the Eastern Shore, with mostly contemporary recipes that include ingredients like tamari soy sauce and capers interspersed with regional recipes, such as Southern Maryland stuffed ham or ones featuring local ingredients like silver queen corn in a corn souffle.

QUOTABLE: The book relates the famous story of when little Mary Jane Haddaway spilled peas down Harry S. Truman’s back at a lodge on Jefferson (Poplar) Island, and the president quipped: “Aw, hell, honey, don’t worry about it. You’ll have a story to tell your grandchildren.”

RECIPE HIGHLIGHTS: Some of the historic recipes are associated with families who have lived on the Eastern Shore since the 19th century, like Mildred Kemp’s secret ingredient crab soup (the secret ingredient is a pinch of sugar), created at Wade’s Point Farm, today known as Wade’s Point Inn.

Chesapeake Bay Cooking

John Shields, 1990

THE SKINNY: With his boyish good looks and easy charm, it’s no wonder chef John Shields garnered an audience for his Chesapeake Bay Cooking television show on PBS. But it was his “Chesapeake Bay Cooking,” the show’s inspiration, that launched regional Eastern Shore cooking into a national spotlight in the early ’90s.

QUOTABLE: Narrated with folksy good humor, Shields takes readers on a tour of maritime Maryland, introducing them to local cooks like St. Mary’s native Joanne Pritchett, who admits that when she’s preparing to make authentic beaten biscuits, she gets herself “good and mad” by thinking about her sister-in-law who ran off with her husband after her grandmother’s funeral, a thought that “galls [her] into making some of the tenderest biscuits around.”

RECIPE HIGHLIGHTS: Shields ranges all over the region for his recipes, including instructions for peppery South of the Mason Dixon greens and a mace cake whose flavor is so addictive, Shields concludes, that mace must be a drug. Alva Crockett, the three-term former mayor of Tangier Island, dictates a recipe for Tangier Island clam chowder that calls for 50—count ’em—clams.

Queen Anne Goes to the Kitchen

The Episcopal Church Women of St. Paul’s Parish, 1993, 3rd edition

THE SKINNY: The original 1962 edition of “Queen Anne Goes to the Kitchen,” bound in cardboard covers and held together with metal rings, was created as a fundraiser and contained recipes contributed by families in this historic parish, originally founded in the 17th century as Chester Church, just outside of Centreville. The 1993 edition celebrates the parish’s 300th anniversary of its official establishment by the Vestry Act of 1692. It’s a thoughtful volume, divided into sensible chapters like Seafood, Bread, Pickles and Jams, Poultry, and Game, and the pages are interspersed with snippets of prayer, information about the church, and drawn renderings of parish architecture or church symbols.

QUOTABLE: In a recipe for Maryland beaten biscuits from the first edition, a line instructs: “beat batter hard for 20 minutes with the back end of an axe.”

RECIPE HIGHLIGHTS: As would be expected, the third edition reflects a more contemporary cooking sensibility, listing taco pie and golden nuggets, aka, chicken fingers, as well as more formal recipes, like the one for “real paté,” and the very old-fashioned and traditional Truitt family recipe for sweet pone. You can even find recipes for the date bars and peanut blossoms from the annual St. Paul’s Cookie Exchange.

The Chesapeake Bay Crabbiest Cookbook

Whitey Schmidt, 2000

THE SKINNY: When you’re a self-proclaimed “blue crab guru” and “crustacean sage,” one of your 10 Chesapeake Bay-based cookbooks has to be dedicated to crabs, right? Whitey Schmidt’s “The Chesapeake Bay Crabbiest Cookbook” is just that and more. Schmidt includes traditional preparations like Eastern Shore crab fritters and 19(!) recipes for the crispy soft shells whose photo graces the book’s dust jacket.

QUOTABLE: Schmidt peppers his book with crab-related photos (check out the shot of his son’s crab tattoo) and colorful tidbits and opinions about Chesapeake crab culture, including this nugget of crustacean logic:?“If Maryland is for crabs and Virginia is for lovers, then the Chesapeake Bay must be for crab lovers.”?

RECIPE HIGHLIGHTS: Schmidt tests all of his recipes in his Crisfield kitchen “crab lab,” so you can trust his instructions from avocado soup with lump crab to crab-stuffed zucchini bowlers wharf. Bohemia River crab stew calls for leeks, crab roe, crab meat, sherry, cream, and egg yolks. Tile Bridge crab casserole includes cooked lobster and artichoke hearts as well as crab. What’s not to like?

A Thyme to Entertain: Menus and Traditions of Annapolis

The Junior League of Annapolis, 2007

THE SKINNY: Compiled by members of Annapolis’ Junior League, the book’s menus are designed around entertaining, from a steeplechase picnic to a graduation celebration to a football tailgate.

QUOTABLE: Hostess tips for various events appear throughout. “When entertaining for a racing event make sure your table decor is upscale. Use your best linens, china, and silver…Ladies, don’t forget your finest hats. Men should wear seersucker suits and leave their socks at home.”

RECIPE HIGHLIGHTS: The recipes themselves aren’t entirely regional, though, you will find Eastern Shore chicken salad and some locally named recipes, like Kent Island Dessert Cheese Ball and St. Michaels Fruit Delight. Many recipes are quick and use shortcuts. The ever-popular whiskey cake, for example, calls for vanilla instant pudding mix and a generous amount of whiskey to doctor up a yellow cake mix base—a reflection, perhaps, of the busy life of today’s hostesses.

Mary K. Zajac treasures her small library of regional cookbooks.
All cookbooks are still available through local libraries or online retailers.

Tucked away on a winding country road midway between Chestertown and Rock Hall on Maryland’s Eastern Shore lies St. Paul’s Episcopal Parish, more than 300 years old, with its picture-perfect, cozy brick church and surrounding 19-acre graveyard. One late afternoon when I visited, the serenity of the place was broken only by the chorus of ducks and geese enjoying the adjacent millpond. I was wandering the graveyard and having trouble finding a particular tombstone—the final resting spot of the turbulent, talented, and scandalous Tallulah Bankhead, star of stage, film, radio, and television from the 1920s until her death in 1968.

That the denizen of the Stork Club and other Manhattan watering holes who boasted “I’m the foe of moderation, the champion of excess” should end up in a quiet country churchyard in Kent County seems ironic; but her sister, Eugenia, who lived on a nearby farm, insisted. The pair, who had a contentious love/hate relationship during their lives, now lie side by side in the graveyard.

I was not the first person to look for Tallulah’s grave. Far from it. Sue Reep, the church secretary at St. Paul’s, laughed as she told me, “If I had a nickel for everyone who asked me where she was I’d be rich. You wouldn’t believe how many come.” According to Reep there’s a steady stream of visitors to the churchyard who venerate the once-great actress as a kind of cult figure and often leave bottles of bourbon (her favorite drink) or flowers atop her flat stone.

The celebrity’s grave is at the very edge of the churchyard, next to a stretch of woods and beneath a spreading tulip poplar—and about as far as you can
get from the church itself. Small wonder: The occupant of the grave supposedly never set foot in the church during her lifetime. 

And what a lifetime it was. The whole world knew her by her first name—“Tallulah”—a celebrity of the brightest magnitude and the highest paid actress of her day. She had a deep, smoky voice immediately recognizable to millions—a voice, in the words of a fellow actor, “steeped as deep in sex as the human voice can go without drowning.” She talked nonstop. One stunned listener said memorably: “I’ve just spent an hour talking to Tallulah for a few minutes.”

The actress famously doffed her clothes at parties, swore like a longshoreman, and was rarely seen without a cigarette in one hand, a drink in the other. And then there were the drugs. “Cocaine isn’t habit-forming,” she once said. “I should know. I’ve been using it for years.” She laughed with abandon but was heartbreakingly lonesome, despite the entourage she surrounded herself with—as the years went on, mainly handsome, young gay men (she referred to them as her “caddies”), who fetishized her campy, over-the-top style.

Family life drew her to the Eastern Shore. Her nephew Billy, now in his late 60s, still runs a sheep farm in Rock Hall with his wife, Cindy. Both are regulars at Chestertown’s farmers market on Saturday mornings and I’ve enjoyed their delicious lamb chops and lamb sausage.

Billy has long since given up talking publicly about his famous aunt, but Cindy still speaks fondly of Tallulah. Though “diva-ish,” Cindy says, “she was very sweet and kind. Quirky. And demanding. I remember when she was trying to quit smoking, she insisted that someone sit next to her and blow smoke in her face.” (She never was able to break the habit.)

Cindy told me that blue-eyed Tallulah gave her permission to name her newborn daughter after the actress, with one proviso: “If her eyes turn brown, I have to rename her.” She was, of course, immediately smitten with the baby and referred to her thereafter as “my darling namesake Tallulah.”

Locals still recall the celebrity with affection. When Jim Messersmith and Barry Barr used to visit Rock Hall by boat, they’d hear stories of Tallulah’s exploits from the owner of the local marina. They were instantly hooked—so much so that when they established a hotel in 1999, they named it in her honor, Tallulah’s on Main. Its “Bankhead Suite,” appropriately enough, sports a queen-sized brass bed. (They didn’t come any brassier than Tallulah.) And a reproduction of Augustus John’s well-known painting of the actress (the original is at the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery) hangs in the hotel’s parlor. Dressed in pale pink and pearls, her arms demurely folded, her heavy-lidded blue eyes looking downward, the young Tallulah appears both beautiful and sad.

Messersmith regaled me with stories about the actress in Rock Hall. She was known to do her food shopping at Myers Brothers, a small grocery store long since closed, that was next to the hotel.The grocers happily catered to Tallulah’s needs. If she placed an order by 9 a.m., they promised that she’d get whatever specialty item she needed from Manhattan by 5 p.m.—the bus driver would hand-deliver it.Stories about her continue to make the rounds: Tallulah in a duck blind dressed in mink and pearls (no camo for her), and flying with Kent County’s Louisa Carpenter, a DuPont heiress and early aviatrix.

Cindy Bankhead is not entirely convinced by some of the tales, remembering instead how Tallulah “liked to be inside” where she’d play cards with her sister, Eugenia, and entertain friends. The biggest chunk of time Tallulah spent in Kent County was during the last summer of her life. She stayed for several months after the ceiling of her New York apartment collapsed in July 1968. Cindy recalls that the siblings spent much of the time arguing over childhood grievances, continuing a life-long rivalry over their father’s affections. (William Bankhead, a powerful U.S. congressman from Alabama and Speaker of the House from 1936-40, supposedly preferred Eugenia to Tallulah, and the latter never forgot it—nor forgave her sister.)

Not long after her return to New York, Tallulah contracted Asian flu; that combined with the emphysema that she suffered from proved fatal. She died in December at age 66, her sister at her side. Leaving the world in melodramatic style, Tallulah’s last words were “Codeine ... bourbon.” Wrapped in a favorite dressing gown, her coffin lined in baby blue silk, Tallulah was buried at St. Paul’s; Eugenia threw herself on her sister’s casket during the service. Tallulah wanted her favorite motto, “Press On!” inscribed on her tombstone, but her sister won that final battle: The flat stone simply states the star’s name and the dates of her life span.

Even in death Tallulah continues to mesmerize. At least seven biographies have been written about her since 1968, and she’s been portrayed onstage by both Kathleen Turner in “Tallulah,” and Valerie Harper in “Looped,” the latter earning accolades this past summer at Washington’s Arena Stage. The play may yet end up on Broadway this fall. Tallulah, no doubt, would be thrilled.

Donna M. Lucey is the author of “Archie and Amélie: Love and Madness in the Gilded Age.”

Really, who doesn’t like cheese? Silly question—everyone seems to in one form or another. Chefs often joke that if we want to sell a dish, just add cheese!

In my quest to come up with cheese-oriented dishes for this column, I decided to develop recipes in which cheese becomes the main focus of the dish, from appetizer to dessert, with proper accompaniments and flavor pairings.
 
The first recipe is a salad of greens, sliced pears, and crostini topped with a melted, Italian goat cheese called Nocetto di Capra. It’s a perfect example of a soft, ripened cheese, slightly sweet, with a velvety texture. Next is the sautéed gnocchi with a cheese sauce made from Fontina, a semi-soft, cow’s milk cheese that becomes more pungent as it ages. It’s an Italian favorite for its melting abilities. The cheese course is a little nontraditional, served with stewed fruit and oatmeal and hazelnut crisps—both perfect accompaniments to the Australian Roaring Forties Blue Cheese, which has honey notes, and is super creamy from being aged in wax.

Lastly, I picked a trifle of pound cake, caramelized peaches, and mascarpone cheese for dessert. Mascarpone is a cultured cheese, produced without aging or introducing bacteria. Sweet but tangy, it’s a great substitute for traditional pastry cream. So there you have it—four very different dishes but all with a chef’s best secret in common.

Recipes:

• Mixed Greens, Pears, Radishes, and Warm Goat Cheese Crostini
• Vanilla Poached Dried Fruits, Hazelnut Oatmeal Crisps, and Roaring Forties Blue Cheese
• Sautéed Gnocchi, Poached Egg, and Fontina Cheese Sauce
• Caramelized Peach Trifle with Crema di Mascarpone

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

I honestly remember being a better shot than this. In my mind’s eye, the last time I fired a gun, I picked off clay pigeons like a modern-day Daniel Boone. But now I feel as if I couldn’t hit the back end of a brontosaurus at 20 paces.

“Which is your dominant eye?” asks Ken Schrader, owner of Schrader’s Bridgetown Manor and my trapper, or “clay caddie,” for the afternoon.

“My left,” I reply, “but I’m right-handed.”

“There’s your problem,” he says. “You should be shooting lefty.”

The sensation of shouldering the Bereta .391 shotgun left-handed feels as awkward as following someone else’s lead on the dance floor, but I consent to give it a try.

“Pull,” I order feebly.

And wouldn’t you know it? I blast that clay—and the next three—to smithereens.

“Well, there you go,” says Schrader. “You’re a lefty.”

I have to give Schrader credit for his suggestion, but then, this is a guy who’s been guiding hunters and instructing greenhorns like me in marksmanship for 30 years. Now a boyish 45, at 16 years old he was already leading executives from McCormick Spice Co., Hardees, and other corporations on Eastern Shore hunting trips.

In 2004, he opened his own sportsmen’s retreat on 80 acres in Henderson in Caroline County. The massive 11-bedroom building itself, vaguely modeled after Mount Vernon, was built in 1989 as a private hunting club and literally appears to have been dropped among the cornfields. Schrader has been fixing up the exterior since he bought it but so far has left the decidedly motel-like guestrooms pretty much the same.

Of course, you don’t visit a hunting lodge to hang out inside, and Schrader provides guests with ample opportunity to get outdoors. He leases more than 25,000 acres on the Eastern Shore for hunting and offers guide services for a zoo of animals from upland birds (pheasant, chukar, quail, partridge) to waterfowl and whitetail deer. (The conservation-minded Schrader requires that hunters shoot only mature bucks with at least eight-point racks and no does.) He can also arrange fishing trips on the Bay and bass fishing in several nearby ponds. Also on the property is a 3-D archery course, in which archers shoot at foam, life-size targets of deer, wild boar, turkey, and other critters from varying distances and heights. It’s a unique experience, and at $12 per round of 30 targets, a very fun bargain. 

And then there’s the mile-long sporting clays course. “It’s like golf with a gun,” Schrader says as we make our way through the course’s 16 stations on a golf cart.
I continue my good luck on “Too Tall,” in which clays are triggered remotely from a 100-foot-tall tower and shooters must aim up at a 60-degree angle. But I return to my earlier futile ways at the next station where the clays fly low and quick from one edge of a wooded clearing to another. Throughout it all, the always upbeat Schrader offers his encouragement: “It’s a mind game. Don’t think about it. Follow the target, not the end of your gun. Follow through.” And finally, after another miss: “Hmm,
there must not have been any shot in that shell.”

It’s clear he’s instructed newbies before. “We take people who have never picked up a gun before to master shooters—some of the very best in the U.S. shoot here,” he says, noting that nearly a fifth of his clients are women. He also gets a lot of D.C. politicos, including a visit several years ago from the Joint Chiefs of Staff who went duck hunting. (No, there haven’t been any hunting incidents involving Dick Cheney.) Then there was the time one of his guides took Shaquille O’Neal goose hunting and the basketball star was too tall to keep his head from poking above the blind.

But everyone, Schrader says, no matter who they are, tends to leave with an appreciation for an Eastern Shore tradition. “They could be sitting out in a field and can’t believe they have all this [beauty] around them,” he says. “They love the atmosphere and love to live the Eastern Shore way.”

Schrader’s Bridgetown Manor offers a variety of packages involving sporting clays, hunting, and/or fishing. Most include accommodations and dinner at the manor house. See schradershunting.com or call 410-758-1824 for complete information.

The early november morning has turned from cold to downright bitter. The north wind whistles ominously, and boulders of gray clouds glower above us. But the hail pounding the deck of the Martha Lewis isn’t ice—it’s a torrent of native Chesapeake oysters, pouring from the jaws of a rusty dredge to the scuffed floorboards in front of us. My fellow sailors and I, new hands on an old skipjack, have a single task: to tear through the muddy load, locate the biggest shells, and earn some profit for our passage.

A half-century ago, this icy excursion would have been an average day on the Martha Lewis. Since her launch in 1955, the 82-foot-long skipjack has navigated the oyster beds of the Chesapeake, probing reefs increasingly ravaged by overfishing, parasites, and disease. Now one of Maryland’s few remaining working skipjacks, she survives as a living museum operated by the Chesapeake Heritage Conservancy, as a classroom for estuarine studies and environmental exploration.

Each autumn, the conservancy offers a rare window on the gritty reality of the waterman’s existence: half a dozen day trips for adventurers eager to experience a working skipjack. Unique among other Martha Lewis excursions, which also include educational tours for kids, Mother’s Day tea cruises, and “Margaritaville” sunset tours, the Discovery Dredge sails give participants a real-life lesson on how oysters are harvested from the Bay. The daunting list of passenger instructions—“Bring boots, brimmed and cold-weather hats, heavy-duty rain gear, gloves, and a change of clothes” —is our first hint that our day on the water might be more blue collar than bucolic.

We board the Martha lewis at Markel’s Boat Yard in South Baltimore (her permanent berth is in Havre de Grace) and find a knot of staffers prodding the motor that would pull the dredges from the water. With coaxing from Capt. Greg Shinn, volunteer crewman Gary High and executive director Cindi Beane, the engine eventually sputters and manages a phlegmy roar. Shinn slams the cover, bounds toward the ship’s wheel, and gives the order to cast off. Our destination is Seven Foot Knoll, a licensed oyster bed just a few miles east of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor.

Beane, now in her 10th year with the Chesapeake Heritage Conservancy, remarks that Martha Lewis passengers always praise the flavor of the fresh-from-the-Bay catch. “You can’t get a better tasting oyster,” she affirms, and announces to applause that there will be hot oyster stew for all hands at lunch—and two dozen oysters for each of us to take home at the end of the day.

When we reach the Patapsco River, the crew hoists Martha’s mighty 65-foot-tall sail. As regulations stipulate, we will be taking our oyster catch under wind power alone, without any on-board propulsion. The expanse of canvas looks several centuries out of place against the industrial bulk of Sparrows Point, which looms darkly on the horizon.

Shinn directs our group of six below deck, where bins overflow with waterproof overalls, rubberized work gloves, and kneepads. Kneepads? “You’ll want those when you’re kneeling,” he advises. “Those oyster shells are sharp.”

The Martha Lewis takes in nine or 10 bushels during an average Discovery Dredge trip. Some go to restaurants in Havre de Grace for $70 each, to support the work of the conservancy. But catches are puny compared to those of experienced watermen, says High. “We worked all day once next to another skipjack,” he relates. “The day after, the captain asked me, ‘How’d you do yesterday?’ ‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘Nine bushels.’ ‘Well, you tried,’ he replied. Turned out they’d gotten 150.”

In the cabin, I yank on well-worn rain pants and gloves and waddle back to the main deck, where Shinn is explaining the operation of the two large rakes, or dredges, that would soon be lowered to the Bay bottom.

The 5-foot-wide dredges, one on each side of the boat, drag the bottom as the skipjack moves across the reef, pushing the oysters into an attached rope basket. After a brief pass, the motorized winch raises the rake and basket, which opens, dumping the contents on the deck. That’s our cue. With our culling tools—rusty iron pokers with prongs at the 3-inch mark, the minimum size at which oysters can be harvested—we are to attack the heap, quickly sorting the largest oysters into bushel baskets and piling discards to be pushed back into the Bay.

“Remember—keep away from the ropes!” Shinn calls as the first haul emerges from the water. The jaws open, disgorging gallons of icy water and a load of blackened bivalves, which hit the deck like a fusillade.

The grimy pile is a far cry from restaurant oysters. These are rough hunks the size of bowling balls, studded with mussels, mud crabs, blennies, and other residents of the reef. We kneel down and dig in, hacking the clumps into single oysters. “Just scrape off the big stuff,” High urges. I quickly discover that most of the catch falls far short of the 3-inch minimum, and toss the rejects in the direction of Liz and Joelle, fellow watermen wannabes, who shovel them overboard. On the starboard side, another team is doing the same.

Within minutes, we’ve culled a dozen keepers from that first mountain of shell. They fill barely a quarter of a bushel basket. The rakes swing out and disappear into the waves for the next haul. Panting, we brush the muck from our gloves, wipe our dripping noses, and smile at each other with a shared realization: This is one tough way to make a living.

Writer Carol Denny will never swallow another oyster without an appreciation for the hard, cold effort it took to bring it to her plate.

It’s hard to be the second sibling. Parenting ismore casual, less neurotic. Folks are always comparing you to the older child. And you get the second choice of bedrooms. It’s been a little like that for Hell Point Seafood, Washington, D.C., restaurateur Bob Kinkead’s new restaurant in Annapolis. Expectations have run high and reaction—from local media to foodie chat boards—has been mixed since its opening in June. So it’s not Kinkead’s. Neither was Bobby, John, or Teddy, Bobby.

Hell Point occupies the former Phillips at the end of Dock Street, and while the menu is certainly more innovative, the interior still has a somewhat corporate feel. With its cocoa and sage walls and abundant glossy white trim, the upstairs dining room feels ready for a Pottery Barn photo shoot. Tables aside the long row of windows overlook a parking lot (and a bit of water, if you’re facing westward) where a parade of skateboarders, dog walkers, and tourists cross by. Several times someone looking familiar would enter the dining room, only for us to realize we had glimpsed them in the parking lot just minutes before.

Hell Point’s menu is full of familiar dishes (and a few new faces), too. Grilled salmon rubs fins with fresh Maine lobster roll, and the obligatory jumbo lump crab cake shares mention with spice-rubbed rare tuna. Unintentionally, almost everything we ordered turned out to be fried, though a more careful look at the menu could have avoided that. We could have chosen curried mussels instead of a rice flour-dusted Thai squid with lime-chile dipping sauce or grilled swordfish instead of soft-shell crabs. But we couldn’t pass up the prospect of fried clams and cornmeal-crusted flounder.

The fat clam bellies were juicy good and served nestled with thin slices of fried lemons in a linen napkin turned out like a blossom. I wish, however, they hadn’t been burdened with so much batter which sloughed off like a shell. And their $16 price tag towers over the other appetizers on the menu.

The flounder turned out to be more crunch than fish; it too got lost in its batter. But the last of the season’s softcrabs, crusted in masa, were as sweet and as good as they should be, and the dish’s accompaniments—a brightly flavored corn puree and a gorgeously light scallion spoon bread—made me want to reach across the table and eat from my companion’s plate.

Though we were tempted by several desserts—peach tarte tatin with pistachio ice cream, chocolate pot de crème—we chose a disappointingly dry hazelnut tart, more crust than filling, whose promised chocolate praline sauce, turned out to be three small dots of soft chocolate at the edge of the plate.

Hell Point has a young staff, but our server was eager to please, going out of her way to track down a specific bottle of beer the bartender thought was out of stock and graciously mixing a half decaf coffee on request. Behind us, another server treated older clients with care and very young ones with humor, offering high-fives as the preschoolers left with their parents. An Annapolis restaurant is going to need this kind of balance in order to make the wide range of guests the city hosts—from tourists to politicians to Naval Academy faculty—feel welcome and eat comfortably. And unlike its more refined older sibling, I think Hell Point has a chance to do that.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

Great Oak Manor
10568 Cliff Road
Chestertown, Md.
410-778-5943
GreatOak.com

Standing in front of the great oak manor, I feel downright Lilliputian next to the grand Georgian manor house, a celebration of symmetry and all things highbrow. Turning the slick brass handle of the massive front door, I find myself in the main parlor, where a delicious dose of quiet and Charlie, a golden retriever puppy, welcome me. Not far behind him is my hostess, Cassandra Fedas, who owns the inn with her husband, John. “This is a place where people come to rejuvenate,” she says. “You can be as busy as you want to be—you can get into all kinds of sports or you can vegetate on the hammock by the water. It’s also a romantic place. Lots of people come for anniversaries. We used to give out champagne for every guest’s birthday, but we stopped when we realized we were handing out eight bottles every night.”

It’s neither my birthday nor an anniversary, but the idea of sipping a little bubbly in front of a fireplace makes me think the Great Oak Manor will suit me just fine.

THE INNKEEPERS After 17 years as a TWA flight attendant, Cassandra decided to turn in her wings for nerves of steel and open an inn. “About 20 years ago, John and I became really interested in the B&B lifestyle,” says Cassandra. “It was a natural for us. I was used to taking care of 300 people on a 747 going across the ocean, and John’s family worked in the restaurant
industry. But this was more interesting.” 

In 2002, they purchased Great Oak Manor, a 1938 Georgian-style, 15,000-square-foot house that had been open as a B&B since the late ‘40s. “I deal with the guests and the employees,” says Cassandra, a native of Catonsville. “John handles the accounting, weddings, corporate guests—and the landscaping. Like most B&B owners, we do everything ourselves.”

THE ROOMS Of the inn’s 12 rooms (most named for former owners of the house), there are two roomy suites (the Roese and the Sterling suites), seven have water views, and five boast working fireplaces. Each is decorated in a period theme, dressed with Williamsburg paint colors, replica antiques, and private baths. The couple’s private collection of oil paintings hangs throughout the inn.

SPECIAL TOUCHES/DIVERSIONS Cassandra and John keep a fleet of bikes and kayaks at the inn, where a petite indoor pool is open year-round. Sports fans can play 18 holes at the nearby Chester River Golf Club, sail on the Bay, or kayak on the Chester River. During fall, guests need not go any farther than the fields surrounding the inn to see thousands of migratory birds en route southward. (Don’t miss the bald eagle that makes a daily appearance in the sky above the inn’s back lawn.) Shoppers can kill a few hours in downtown Chestertown, just 10 minutes away, where restaurants, clothing boutiques, art galleries, and the Prince Theatre dot High and Cross streets. 

WHAT’S FOR BREAKFAST Cassandra serves as the inn’s head chef. Her morning menu includes fruit, homemade breads and pastries, yogurt, cereal, waffles, sausage, and crab quiche, her signature dish. “It’s a huge meal,” says Cassandra. “Most people don’t have room for lunch.”

ROMANCE FACTOR This is a sprawling country inn where kids aren’t allowed and cell phone reception is spotty, so use your imagination. 

COST $185 to $310. Throughout winter and early spring, guests can enjoy live jazz performances by Centreville musician Stefan Scaggiari, followed by a five-course dinner. Call for dates and rates.

In the early 20th century, do-it-yourself kit homes helped fuel the spread of suburbia. Now, with appreciation for the simple and sturdy houses on the rise, an expert tours Annapolis, searching for kit homes among the town’s Georgian- and Federal-style jewels.

Imagine building a home of your own, at half the market price, using top- quality materials and the latest architectural designs—and all from a kit engineered to be so simple that an amateur carpenter could assemble it in a few months.

Too good to believe? Not for the urban dwellers of the early 20th century who, by the thousands, ordered catalog homes from more than a dozen companies, including Sears Roebuck, Montgomery Ward, and Aladdin. The catalogs, written in often flowery prose, informed customers that they, too, could live the American dream by following a thick manual of step-by-step directions and build a house on their own land, often within a streetcar ride of the crowded downtowns.

It was the birth of suburbia, shipped in 30,000-piece kits, each packed in one or two railroad boxcars and delivered by train or even barge. Sears estimated that the average man could, in good weather, build a kit house in about 90 days. Prices ranged from $500 or so up to $5,000, while styles varied from simple cottages to grand, two-story Victorian mansions.

No one knows for sure how many of the kit houses were sold, but Rosemary Thornton, author and national expert on the kit home phenomenon, says that Sears Roebuck alone sold 75,000 in 370 different designs between 1908 and 1940 across the country, including the Chesapeake Bay area.

Annapolis may boast one of the greatest concentrations of Georgian-style buildings in the country, but it also has a little-known collection of kit houses tucked among its stately homes and brick townhouses. “Annapolis has a dazzling collection,” Thornton says. “And it’s unusual because so many of the homes were the finer kit homes with nice amenities, lots of space, and with prices over $2,000.” 

Last fall, photographer John Sheally and I tagged along with Thornton and Patricia Blick, chief of Annapolis’ Historic Planning Commission, on a “windshield survey,” an informal inventory of the city’s kit houses. We’ve toured with Thornton before so we weren’t surprised when she loaded Blick’s lime-green Volkswagen Beetle with cartons of well-thumbed vintage kit home catalogs, copies of the books she’s written, and binders of notes.

A decade of tracking kit houses and memorizing catalogs has evolved into a personal, almost mystic relationship between the 50-year-old author and the houses she loves. “The houses call out to me,” says Thornton, aka, “The House Whisperer.”

Kit homes have undergone sometimes massive renovations, making many of them nearly unrecognizable so Thornton ranks her finds on an authenticity scale of 1 to 10, a measure we’ve nicknamed the Rose Rating. Her evaluations are frank, sometimes melodramatically so. “Architectural train wreck” translates as a kit home that’s been neglected or “modernized” almost beyond recognition. We hear “Poor baby, this is a sin, I feel your pain,” and we know she’s commiserating with a kit house victimized by insensitive remodeling.

To authenticate a possible kit home, Thornton needs to get inside, exploring attics and basements, brushing cobwebs out of her dark hair to search for rafter markings. Wedging her tall frame behind commodes and bathtubs, she checks for manufacturer’s marks. She crawls under breakfast nook tables and scrutinizes doorknobs and hinges. She asks for any surviving original documents.
Often this all occurs while the bemused homeowners, who may never have heard of kit homes, nor suspected they were living in one, get an impromptu Thornton history lesson.

In 1906, two brothers, a lawyer and a newspaper reporter in Bay City, Mich., inherited a lumber company from their father. To boost sales they developed boat kits with pre-cut, numbered pieces for easy assembly and then moved up to offering kits for houses.

Ten years later their company, Aladdin, was offering a full-color catalog of kits for small bungalows up to large Foursquare and Colonial Revival styles.

Sears Roebuck had been selling building supplies in its catalogs since 1895, but not very profitably. In 1908, the company introduced its “Book of Modern Homes and Building Plans,” which featured new kits in seven revisions in just one year. The final version offered 44 home models (and one school). Houses ranged from $695 to $4,115. The school, priced at $11,500 for plans and materials, was the only commercial structure Sears ever offered, according to Thornton.

As other competing firms—Montgomery Ward, Harris, Gordon Van Tine—entered the kit house market, Sears bought up lumber and millwork firms to supply the kits. It sold furniture and accessories to duplicate the catalog illustrations of the home interiors. The company also offered mortgages to individual kit home buyers—one-stop shopping, catalog style.

But soon the Depression soured the housing industry—and kit house sales. In April 1933, Thornton says, Fortune magazine reported that the sales of Sears kit houses had decreased 40 percent from the previous year. As sales continued to fall, Sears followed the example of other struggling kit home manufacturers and published its last “Book of Modern Homes” catalog in 1940.

In the early 1990s, the vintage houses resurged in popularity as preservationists and home restorers rediscovered their nostalgic charm and solid durability. Thornton and a handful of other experts have identified hundreds of kit houses across the country, hoping to save them from inaccurate restoration or demolition.

And now she’s visiting Annapolis.

We’re following the green Beetle as Blick leads us through early 20th-century neighborhoods where she suspects kit houses might be found. Thornton’s radar must be working—we see the brake lights flash and Blick neatly swerves to the right curb of Bay Ridge Avenue in Eastport.

We’ve made a sighting.

The Wild Orchid Café, a well-known restaurant, bears a strong resemblance to Sears Model 126. As we step onto the wide, columned front porch, Thornton nods in approval; kit house vibes are in the air.

The earliest Sears homes were numbered rather than named. The 1909 catalog describes No. 126 as a “five-room bungalow in 20th-century Queen Anne style, light and airy with perfect ventilation.” The kit sold for $657.

Thornton explains that the catalog text was often more quixotic than architecturally accurate and she sees No. 126 as a prairie-style bungalow.

“No. 126 was a common plan used by several companies and appeared in plan books,” Thornton says, glancing around the open dining areas. “This does appear to be a kit house, but it could be from another company than Sears.”

The owners, Jim Wilder, an Annapolis native, and his wife, Karen, aren’t around, but I call them later and learn that they’d heard of the kit house connection before.

“I thought that meant it was something cheap,” Jim Wilder says, laughing when he realizes that the building is a rarity, offered only from 1909 to 1913. “I feel a lot better now then when I first heard about it.”

Leaving the Wild Orchid, we crisscross the city, randomly following Blick’s map and Thornton’s intuition. Together they find more than a dozen likely kit houses—some in pristine condition, a few sadly neglected. Since, Thornton estimates, 30 to 50 percent of the kit homes were modified or customized when they were built—and many more were modified over the years—identification takes an educated eye.

She looks for clues such as the curved dentil moulding over the door of a two-story Sears Newcastle on Chase Street in Murray Hill. The porch supports on a nearby bungalow on Smith Avenue indicate that it’s a Sears Osborne model. We notice a rounded door in an arch-shaped entryway on Archwood Avenue. “Got to be a Montgomery Ward Kenwood from the late 1920s,” she says.

Still in Murray Hill, the Beetle comes to a semi-screeching halt on Lafayette Avenue. Thornton jumps from the front seat and points to a sprawling stucco home with a casual Mediterranean charm.
“Looks like a Sears Osborne,” she says. 
We knock on the door and owner Angela Nikiforou takes a break from making baklava with her granddaughter to talk with us. She tells us that she immigrated to the United States in 1964, sailing from London on the Queen Mary to Ellis Island. When she and her husband bought the house it was painted pink and known in the neighborhood as the Pink Palace. The Nikiforous repainted and expanded it
as their family grew, never suspecting they were living in a kit house.

Looking around the house and basement, Thornton searches beyond the renovations and finds clues—original arched openings between rooms, an original column in what was once the dining room.

“It’s such a classic house and you don’t see this in other catalogs or plan books,” she says. “The unique arrangement of the oversize columns on the front porch and the unusual porch off the dining room—it’s all there.”

Taking everything into account, Thornton announces a 10 on the Rose Rating—this is a classic Sears Osborne.

Still layering the baklava, Nikiforou takes the news calmly. “How about that?” she says. “Nice to know.”

Back in the cars, we spot a Sears Lynnhaven, a two-story house with a steep gable over a recessed front door, on McKendree Street in Homewood-Germantown. Then, another possible Lynnhaven, supersized and customized, on Sixth Street in Eastport. And also in Eastport, a small bungalow with a balcony like second-floor dormer—a Sears Carlin.

But nowhere is Thornton more touched than when we walk along Bay Ridge Avenue in Eastport and find a 1916 Gordon Van Tine No. 575, empty and for sale. The small bungalow with the steeply pitched roof and wide front porch is, according to the original Gordon Van Tine catalog, “the biggest little house you can buy.”

This is a real find because even though it needs work, Thornton says “nobody has hurt this house.“She walks around the bungalow, peers in the window and, with her hand on the door frame, murmurs “I love you, little house.”

In two days we’ve covered much of Annapolis—and identified about 40 kit houses—but, Thornton says, this is only the beginning. Blick seems as excited as Thornton to discover kit houses in almost all wards of the city. She hopes to find additional funds for an official, in-depth survey and, she says, to work with the Maryland Historical Trust to evaluate the collection in the larger Maryland context of kit homes.

“The kit homes aren’t grandiose castles by the sea, but these were the workers’ homes and the middle-class homes, and they’re an important part of the city’s history, too,” Thornton says. “And sadly, it’s this niche in a community’s history that is most likely to get lost and forgotten through the decades.”

Phyllis Speidell writes from Hampton Roads, Va.

In the name of responsible journalism, I’d like to fully disclose something about this issue of Chesapeake Life: I attended first grade with the artist profiled in our Art Gallery department, Stephen J. Griffin. In fact, I grew up with the guy and graduated from high school with him. And wouldn’t you know it, he was voted ‘Most Artistic’ by our high school class. (Coincidentally, I was voted ‘Most Likely to Edit a Regional Lifestyle Magazine About An Estuary.’)

Growing up, there was never any doubt that Steve would become an artist. I remember the little submarines and battleships we used to draw in elementary school. Mine looked like the work of a kid who ate too much sugar; his looked like schematics from the operator’s manual. Decades later, whenever I try to draw something, it still looks like the work of a 6-year-old, and, well, Steve’s work is being featured in this magazine.

I’m not sure where talent comes from. Is it genes? God? Vitamin supplements? In Steve’s case, it was obvious he was born with it. And I give him credit for refining his gift to the point that he can make a living off of it. It’s not easy to work as a full-time artist these days, but somehow, I don’t think he could have been anything else.

It took a little while longer for another personality featured in this issue, photographer Anne Nielsen, to realize her talent. She worked for years as a photography stylist, but didn’t get behind a camera until her late 30s. Then, she says, something clicked. ‘I definitely took to it,’ she says. ‘It was a feeling of pure enjoyment. It just felt logical.’

I think you’ll find her photographs of Eastern Shore American Indians, which she captures with a 20-pound wooden camera and a lens from 1864, both beautiful and haunting.

Another talented personality, the early 20th-century starlet Tallulah Bankhead, receives some ink in this issue as well. Perhaps you know that the original bawdy Hollywood bad girl lies buried in a quiet Kent County churchyard. The actress, who called everyone ‘Dahling’ and gave us pithy quotes like ‘I’m the foe of moderation, the champion of excess’ and ‘If I had to live my life again, I’d make the same mistakes, only sooner,’ often stayed with her sister, Eugenia, at her Eastern Shore home. Writer Donna M. Lucey visited Bankhead’s gravesite and interviewed locals, including Cindy Bankhead, Tallulah’s niece through marriage, who still lives in the area.

I hope you enjoy reading about the talented people we’ve featured in this issue. Oh, and remember
to take your vitamins.

Until next issue,
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Eggplant has a way of dividing people— either you love it or hate it. From a chef’s vantage point, eggplant offers up some real challenges. It can be dreadfully bland with a mushy texture if not handled correctly, but with some skill and effort it can be elevated to haute cuisine.

Eggplants come in several shapes and colors— white and round or long and skinny, as in the Asian variety. All share the characteristic that once cut, the soft spongy flesh discolors quickly. When buying eggplants, look for ones heavy for their size, with smooth unblemished skin and no brown spots.

In this column, I have included four very different eggplant preparations, but all burst with flavor. My passion for Asian flavors comes out in the sautéed Szechuan eggplant, with its minced ginger and rice wine. The roasted eggplant dip makes a great party dish that will be talked about— and you know it won’t be repeated at the same party. For a more elegant preparation, the caramelized eggplant Napoleon with tomato chili jam elevates eggplant into the sphere of fine dining. The eggplant burger is a change of pace for a trendy picnic or luncheon with friends— and you don’t have to be a vegetarian to like it.

Recipes:

• Szechuan Eggplant
• Aromatic Eggplant Burger with Mango Chutney Yogurt and Mint
• Roasted Eggplant Dip
• Caramelized Eggplant Napoleon

Andrew Evans is owner/chef of Thai Ki in Easton.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t flinch at the prospect of a 30-mile bike ride. Yet, considering I haven’t been on my bike in, oh, nine months, I’m a little hesitant—and a little out of shape. But sore muscles, be damned: My itch to ride from Oxford to St. Michaels, one of six trails outlined in the new Talbot County Bicycle Map, wins out. So, after stuffing myself into my padded shorts, I free my road bike off its hook on the laundry room wall and toss it and a backpack filled with toilet paper, sunscreen, and a banana into my Jeep.

The map, which came out late last spring, outlines a half-dozen routes, including a 28-mile “School Days” trail that takes bikers past a circa-1890 Little Red Schoolhouse; the 28-mile “Cemetery Quest” trail, which leads to nine historical cemeteries; and a longer Chesapeake Views trail that highlights sweeping waterfront vistas. The map outlines the road routes of each trail and includes places of interest (scenic places to take photos, restrooms, and parking) along the way.

The map suggests starting the Oxford/St. Michaels circuit in St. Mikes, so my biking buddy, photographer Kirsten Beckerman, and I meet at 7:30 a.m. at the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum’s parking lot. The town is still sleepy and quaint and downright charming in the cool morning air.
We only pedal two blocks along Talbot Street when my nose is assaulted by the sweet, buttery aroma wafting out of Sugar Buns Bake Shop, purveyor of coffee, pastries (including 23 types of Smith Island cakes), and gourmet lunch offerings. I signal for Kirsten to pull over, and we ditch our bikes in the shop’s garden. We’re greeted by owner Susan Leonard, who hooks us up with two cappuccinos, a bagel (shipped in weekly from New York), and a sugar bun, her signature pastry (think sticky bun coated with a gooey, vanilla glaze). “A lot of bikers stop here,” Leonard mentions. “I started carrying Propel Fitness Water and Vitaminwater at their request. And they tend to like the healthier grains, which is why I also make sandwiches out of high-protein breads.”

After fueling up in the garden, we hop back on our bikes and pedal north. Although the map directs us toward Easton, we decide to detour to Royal Oak. After a short trip along tree-lined Bellevue Road, we arrive in the tiny village, home to Bella Luna restaurant and Oak Creek Sales Antiques. It’s too early for a roasted fig and cheese panini at Bella Luna—but never for shopping. We dismount to inspect Oak Creek Sales’ voluminous inventory, which spills into the parking lot and into the barn across the street. I consider a ceramic flowerpot in the form of a large sea turtle, while Kirsten studies a metal mermaid sculpture. Since neither item has a chance of fitting in my backpack, we wrap up our browsing and set our sights on the map’s next destin- ation: the even tinier watermen’s village of Bellevue.

I take the lead along this southern stretch of Bellevue Road, its curves long and subtle and its surroundings composed of forests and cornfields. This is primo biking territory. While there isn’t a shoulder on this leg of the trip, the road is smooth and well kempt, ideal for traveling at maximum speed.

Rolling into Bellevue, we stop to check out the art at The Gallery by the River, owned by Ulrika Leander, who we catch preparing for the next week’s exhibit. We persuade the Swedish-born textile artist to demonstrate how she works her 14-foot-long wooden loom. As her fingers deftly manipulate the yarn, I ask her if she gets any business from bicyclers passing through. “You bet I do!” she says. “They stop in for an initial visit and then come back after the trip to take a better look.”

We refill our water bottles and hustle down to the dock to catch the Oxford/Bellevue ferry. Capt. Tom Bixler waves us onboard and invites us up to the wheelhouse for a bird’s-eye view of the Tred Avon River and the mega mansions that dot its shoreline. We chug along at 6 knots, passing crabbers hard at work while Bixler explains that he welcomes hundreds of bikers each year. “This is such a great place to ride,” says Bixler. “What makes it one of the more unique spots to ride is that in the middle of the trail, there’s a ferryboat to hack around on. That’s a nice extra for people.”

One of the best parts about embarking on a nearly 30-mile bike trip is the countless calories burned that need to be replaced. Once in Oxford, we follow our stomachs’ cues and high-tail it to the Scottish Highland Creamery for a scoop of owner Victor Barlow’s homemade ice cream.

Before gearing up for the final 20-mile push back to St. Michaels (you can backtrack and take the ferry home for a shorter trip or continue along Oxford Road via Easton), we visit the incomparable Cutts &?Case Shipyard and have a picnic lunch in Oxford’s waterfront park with provisions purchased from the Oxford Convenience Market.

The ride home is slow but steady, with the wind to our backs and the sun soft in the mid-afternoon sky. Even though I’ve driven this same route hundreds of times, I’ve never noticed the countless hidden lanes that lead to historic homes, the way the land dips and rises, and the powerful wind that blows off the water and across the angular cornfields. I’m grateful for this insider’s view of Talbot County, best seen on two wheels, not four.

Find the bicycle map at the Talbot County Office of Tourism, 11 S. Harrison St., Easton, Md., 410-770-8000, or visit tourtalbot.org/PDFs/talbot_county_bicycle_map.pdf.

From pet psychics to mobile dog washes to acupuncture for cats, here are the area’s latest, greatest, and just plain unusual services for furry friends.

Sit, Stay, Smile

It’s not easy to photograph a pet. More often than not, most people end up with a blur of fur, a whisker, or the edge of one wing. But Stephen Bobb, 33, has put a new, unique face on pet photography.

Two years ago, Bobb, based in Takoma Park, Md., decided to branch out from wedding photography to something a bit ... furrier. Already using a more candid, documentary-style method in his wedding shots, Bobb was inspired to apply that same technique to pet photography and dubbed his business FidoJournalism.

Instead of posing bored little dogs on fluffy cushions, Bobb uses a photojournalistic approach to document pets in their own environment. “Photojournalists observe, watch, capture things that are happening,” says Bobb. “So I do the same with pets. I use more of a storytelling kind of approach.”

Shoots, done mainly at clients’ homes, are often eventful, with Bobb running or sprawling on the ground, looking for a unique angle. Somehow, despite the proximity of expensive equipment to claws and slobbery tongues, the photographer usually comes away with nothing worse than a few nose prints on his lenses. And the results are worth the risk. “I just enjoy the creativity that goes with it,” he says. “And I’m giving people some nice memories with their pets.” 202-329-1670, http://www.fidojournalism.com —L.S.

Good Sports

When a portuguese water dog fell 35 feet over a retaining wall onto a highway, its owner flew all the way from Greece to Maryland for treatment at the Veterinary Orthopedic Sports Medicine Group (VOSM). Then there was the dog flown in from South Korea, brought all the way to VOSM for stem cell therapy.

Hunting dogs, police canines, search and rescue dogs, bomb squad dogs— even Secret Service dogs—VOSM treats them all.

VOSM was founded in 2005 by Drs. Sherman and Debra Canapp to give pets a standard of care equal to that given to humans. “That was our vision,” says Sherman Canapp, who modeled the facility after the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. “They do [these treatments] on the human side, so why not on the vet side? People want as good medical care for their dog as for their kids.”

The sleek, modern interior—with floors covered in rubber so the dogs don’t slip—includes everything from a canine gym to a rehabilitation pool to a state-of-the-art Gait Analysis System, which uses sensors to determine whether a dog is healing correctly.

Specialists also build custom braces, prosthetics, and can outfit paralyzed animals with custom-fitted carts to help them get around. And all equipment is human grade. “We do a lot of crazy things that no one else does,” says Canapp. 10975 Guilford Rd., Annapolis Junction, Md., 410-418-8446, http://www.vetsportsmedicine.com —L.S.

Creature Clairvoyant

Gena Wilson is not your ordinary psychic. Yes, she can sense desires and fears and decipher hidden pasts. So what makes her so unusual? Well, her clients aren’t exactly human.

Wilson, 56, has worked as an animal psychic in the Baltimore-D.C. area for the past 13 years. While she also sees human clients, “some people just know me as the pet psychic,”?she says with a laugh. “I have a lot of repeat customers.”?

Clients come to her for a plethora of reasons: to solve the mystery of their pet’s strange behavior, to discover health problems, to learn the creature’s likes and dislikes, or to understand an animal’s past.

According to Wilson, everything is made of energy that she can channel, including animals. “They’ll give me images, like on a screen, and I have to decipher what that means,” she explains.

So what sorts of things do they have to say? Plenty. For instance, she says, “They might tell me about their relationships with other pets in the house. This one dog was in love with a cat. It was a scream!”

Although Wilson works mainly with cats, dogs, and horses, she’s also dealt with fish, rats, monkeys, sheep, snakes, dolphins, and ducks. “Ducks might say, ‘Oh my god, the fox is coming every night, you need to make sure the fox doesn’t get me!’” she says. “Or, ‘I want to be in this cage with that chicken, not this one!’”

So far, Wilson, who charges $55 per half-hour for her services, says she has never met an animal she couldn’t channel. She currently sees approximately five human and five animal clients per week, and several local vets have even developed a habit of calling her for help.

Sometimes, however, Wilson will find an animal that doesn’t have a whole lot going on upstairs. “Maybe this horse doesn’t have a lot of ambition or a lot going on in there, and you just have to admit, this animal is dumb as mud.” 301-441-4526, http://www.inspiredbyangels.com —L.S.

Prayers for Pets

Since 1996, Annapolis’ St. Anne’s Episcopal Church has hosted a Blessings of the Animals service, when up to as many as 40 pets receive a personal touch from heaven. In recent years, the Rev. Gid Montjoy has conducted the service, which was begun to celebrate St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals and the environment. This year’s service takes place on Sept. 26 at 10 a.m. “It’s typically held the first Saturday in October,” says Montjoy, “but that’s the day of the Navy-Air Force game, so we had to back it up. We felt we couldn’t compete with football.”

1. Who comes to get blessed?
We get everything: dogs, cats, guinea pigs, goats, white mice, parakeets, hedgehogs, gerbils, chinchillas, hermit crabs, turtles—even snakes. I bless the snakes from afar. One year, we tried to get Homestead Gardens to bring in one of its llamas, but it was too complicated.

2. What happens in the service?
The service centers on the creation story told in the book of Genesis. It’s held on the front lawn of the church. I lay my hands on each animal and explain to the congregation that they’re part of God’s creation; we also ask God to bless everyone else who lives in the pet’s household. We have music, and we add a twist by asking folks to remember the environment since humans were given authority over Earth.

3. Any special, pet-friendly accommodations for the service?
We have treats for everybody and poop bags, and obviously, all dogs are on leashes and cats are in carriers. Most of the time, the cats stay in their carriers, but some people will take them out and hold them. I always ask if it’s OK to put my finger in the cat carrier before I bless them.

4. What do you enjoy about the service?
I love seeing all the animals together, their charm, and their relationships with their owners.

5. Do people look forward to this service?
If we said we weren’t going to do it, there would be a revolt. People really look forward to it. It’s a hoot.
—Kessler Burnett

spotlight

Critical Care

By Carol Denny

It’s Sunday afternoon, and Emmie, the wobbly feline in Anne Arundel Veterinary Emergency Clinic’s exam room 9, looks like she’s been on the losing end of a fight. And, in fact, the long-haired calico has. Several days ago, a nasty run-in with a neighborhood dog left her with a large tear in her abdomen. Her owner, Diane Wogaman, rushed her battered pet from their home in Greenbelt to the Annapolis center for surgery.

Now Emmie is feverish, and Wogaman has returned to ask veterinarian Tasha Fleury to take a second look. “I’m a little concerned by the fever and the fluid around her lymph node,” Fleury notes. “I want to have a look at that under the scope.” As she lifts Emmie, the feline manages a weak meow. “She’s complaining, [but] not in pain,” the women agree.

As Fleury departs, Wogaman praises the care she and Emmie have received at AAVEC. “The clinic staff couldn’t have been nicer,” she says. “Last week, while we were waiting, they brought a CD player into the exam room to play music for her, and when the tech arrived with food, she brought a whole armful of different bowls, just to try to get her to eat.”

Started in 1991, AAVEC has treated an ark-full of ailments. All told, the clinic treats more than 10,000 patients a year (nearly all four-legged), including dogs, cats, rabbits, ferrets, pocket pets (hamsters and guinea pigs) and other animals in crisis. With its muted dŽcor, comfortable sofas, and magazines, the tiled space isn’t all that different from a human ER, except for the extra-large floor scale and the complimentaryÊleashes at the front desk.

Patient care is administered in a large, high-ceilinged treatment room, where scrub-suited vets and technicians circulate among kennels stacked two high. As they check fluid pumps, insert IVs, and administer medicines via Pill Pockets, a hound bays mournfully, ignoring the “Quiet Please!” sign in the adjacent cat ward. A tiny hedgehog sleeps in a cylindrical container on a nearby counter, oblivious to the bustle. Stopping to peer at the fist-sized patient, named Sparky, veterinarian Julie Wentzel, admits, “I’ve put catheters in a lot of things, but never a hedgehog.”

Access to a range of specialists like Wentzel is a hallmark of the clinic, which is affiliated with the Chesapeake Veterinary Referral Center. A team of cardiologists, ophthalmologists, dermatologists, internists, surgeons, and dentists comprise the center’s staff. “We’ve got more than two dozen docs,” says Dr. Tom Kozek, who founded AAVEC with a partner and still works several night shifts a week. “The practices are separate, but we all work together to provide overnight care andÊICU services.”

Patients are referred to the clinic by other vets or come through the emergency room for all sorts of ailments. Fleury rattles off a menu of possible maladies—immune system disorders, broken bones, gastric emergencies, heatstroke, seizures, paralysis, urinary blockage, lacerations. Foreign bodies run the gamut, ranging from Ping-Pong balls to entire sweaters. Sometimes, Fleury says, it’s not so much about stupid pets; it’s about stupid owners. As in: Keep that pack ofÊsugarless gum away from your pooch. “It’s got Xylitol in it,” she explains. “People don’t realize that it can be toxic.”

Appliances can be deadly, too. Fleury recalls a case where a dog licked a paper shredder, with dreadful consequences. She was on duty when the victim, still attached to the shredder, arrived. (She sedated the pet then hit the reverse button.)

Wentzel offers more common-sense prohibitions, the result of years of experience. “Don’t tie your dog in the back of your pickup truck,” she says. “And don’t let your dog off-leash outside—because that’s when bad things happen.”

Not all patients recover, of course, and some clinic visitors face the decision to euthanize their animals. At one end of the treatment room, Lorraine Caufield sits on a folding chair beside the kennel holding Susie, her elderly Australian shepherd-German shepherd mix. “Two weeks ago, she was jogging with my grandson,” Caufield says of her listless pet, patting the dog’s head and murmuring endearments. “But then she began to fade and wouldn’t touch food or water, so the vet told me to bring her here,” a lengthy journey from her home in Georgetown, Del. “She was such a good watchdog.” An hour later, Susie was gone.

“We deal with death daily,” Wentzel acknowledges. It can be traumatic for families, she says—even more so, Kozek adds, when owners must make a choice concerning intensive, high-tech care. “It can be very expensive, especially given this economy, and there’s usually no insurance,” he notes, “so we need to go over the costs and tailor the treatment to what’s best for everyone.”

“There’s a lot we can do in veterinary medicine these days,” says Fleury. “But there are tough questions about what owners can afford and what’s right for their animal.”

Emmie’s fluid sample revealed she didn’t have an infection, and Fleury sent pet and owner home to recuperate. A relieved Wogaman, whose invoice for Emmie’s first visit was more than the price of a new Apple laptop, admits that she’ll have to cancel her upcoming vacation to cover the bill. “But she’s such a wonderful cat,” she declares.
“I didn’t want her final memory to be in the jaws of an angry dog.” Or, heaven forbid, a paper shredder.

Carol Denny has owned several pet rabbits. None have needed emergency care.

Tony, Come Home!

Or why an increasing number of pets sport human names.
By Mary K. Zajac

When I named the pretty gray cat that showed up on my front porch one March evening seven years ago, Sylvie, I had no idea that I was part of a growing trend to give pets human names. After all, every family pet, beginning with Cleo, a cat, and Patrick, a dog, had had human, rather than descriptive, names. It just seemed natural to me to avoid Fluffy or Smokey in favor of a “real” name, one that captured my interest in all things French. Besides, the name suited her silvery gray color.

Turns out a lot of people prefer Sam to Spot. In June, The Associated Press reported that “almost half of American pet owners gave an animal a human-like name, such as Jack or Sophie.”

And according to a database of names kept by Veterinary Pet Insurance, the nation’s largest pet insurance company, Max is the most popular name for both cats and dogs, followed by Chloe, Lucy, Tigger, and Tiger, for cats, and Molly, Buddy, Bella, and Lucy for dogs.

Brian Iannessa, spokesman for VPI, reports that there’s not much difference in the naming of cats and dogs with the slight exception of cats more often being given names “representative of the species.”

“Tigger and Tiger are two of the most common cat names,” Iannessa points out, also mentioning the prevalence of cats called Smokey.

“On the dog side,” he says, “you see a lot more human names.”

Maybe this reflects pet owners’ strong bonds with their dogs, he wonders aloud. Or that dogs are “more integral family members. It’s dangerous to speculate though,” he adds hastily. “I don’t want to offend any
cat owners.”
In an era of gourmet dog biscuits, pet spas, and pet Halloween costumes, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that we name our pets like we name our children.
“We give our pets human characteristics,” says Dr. Wayne Eldridge, DVM, author of The Best Pet Name Book Ever!, now in its third edition. In a telephone interview from his San Antonio veterinary practice, he says it’s only natural that we give them human names.

“The pets that are named after humans are often closer to us,” he continues, “and we have closer relationships with them. If you name your dog Bob, chances are he’s not an outdoor dog.”

Eldridge began compiling lists of names after stumped pet owners asked him for suggestions in naming their pets, and his book offers name categories like “Appearance” and “Personality” (think Blondie, Slinky,
or Flash) as well as “Literature and Art” (Banshee, for example) and “Liquors and Drinks” (Chardonnay, anyone?). Currently at work on a fourth edition, Eldridge is constantly updating the “Sports” and “Screen
and Television” categories.

Still, Eldridge admits, “It throws me for a loop sometimes that people need to buy a book to name a pet.

“This subject is not complicated at all,” he says with the weariness of someone who’s been asked about pet names innumerable times. “I think you could summarize it as people name their pets after areas of interest to the pet owner. If they name their pet Ferrari or Martini that says more about the owner than the pet.”

So what does naming my pet Sylvie say about me? I don’t know that one, he says gently, spelling it back to me in confirmation, but it sounds nice.

Mary Zajac and her cat, Sylvie, live in Baltimore near a dog named Vincent.

Doggie Paddle

When Lynne and Maury Chaput’s black Lab, Shadow, tore her ACL, her surgeon recommended swim therapy to help her heal. But the only water facility for animals was located at an Aberdeen horse farm, more than an hour from their Millersville home. So the couple decided to build their own therapy center. “Here we were, two professionals—a CPA and an architect—and we’re looking at building dog pools,” says Lynne, the accountant.

Today, the Canine Fitness Center has more than 2,300 dogs who come to frolic in the center’s twin, ph-balanced, 11,000-gallon pools as well as exercise on the underwater treadmill or receive massage or acupuncture from doggie therapists. For the dogs, it’s not just about healing but fun and fitness, says Lynne. “Fit dogs live longer. Plus, it improves the bonds between owner and dog. It’s like taking your kid to soccer practice. It isn’t just the physical benefit. It’s like play day.”

Shadow died in 2005, but through the Canine Fitness Center, the Chaputs say her memory lives on. As a sign by the entrance reads: “Shadow: The $600,000 dog and worth every penny.” 1353 Generals Hwy., Crownsville, Md. 410-923-7946, http://www.caninefitnesscenter.com —J.S

Pets & Perks

The Bark ‘n’ Bean might be the only place in America where you could be asked: Would you like a double espresso with that flea dip?

That’s because it’s “likely the only dog wash and espresso bar in the U.S.,” says Theresa Mutlu, who opened the business, formerly known as Muddy Paw Dog Wash and Coffee Bar, with her husband, John, in 2005. The concept has proven to be both unique and successful, as the business boasts more than 6,000 clients and a new location in Severna Park.

Bark ‘n’ Bean offers self-serve and full-service washes, which include shampoo, conditioner, blow dry, and brush. Clients can choose after-bath sprays—in scents ranging from pina colada to lavender breeze—to keep their pooches smelling pleasant.

The coffee bar side (the two are separated by a glass wall and a small revolving door to pass beverages through) serves up traditional coffee drinks and has several racks of pet-themed greeting cards. Customers are encouraged to hang out, check their e-mail, browse the shop’s retail section, or chat with other dog lovers. Spend some time at Bark ‘n’ Bean, and you can see why dog owners find it a whole lot more fun than Starbucks. Mutlu certainly would agree. “I used to work in public relations for a science organization,” she says, “but now I get to hug all of my clients.”

130 Hillsmere Dr., Annapolis. 410-268-7387 and 543 Benfield Road, Severna Park, Md. 410-647-7646, http://www.barknbean.com —J.S.

Westminster Backstage

Irma Tillman and her husband, Donald, of Severna Park, Md., spent many years on the dog show circuit with her Staffordshire bull terriers racking up awards at regional and national shows. In the early 1990s, her dogs, Jim and Lizzie, competed in the granddaddy of them all, the Westminster Dog Show in New York.

1. So what was it like the first time?
It was exciting because it was the first time we had gone. The dogs all have to be champions. They only take so many. The second and third year, Jim won his breed. Lizzie got a medal.

2. We’ve heard the show can get political, is that true?
I think it’s very political, especially when you get to the groups and best of show. The judges know the professional handlers. We used to have a handler who’d show our dogs, and he said a judge told him once that he could walk in there with a donkey, and he’d win. When you hear that, it’s sad. Judges do play favorites. I guess it’s hard not to. The judges see the same handlers all the time.

3. Do you get any money for winning?
You get no money, just a cup or ribbon. But you can get a good stud fee afterward. Jim’s stud fees were $400 or $500. Our last litter in 1995 from Jim and Lizzie—both champions—were $1,000 apiece.

4. How would you primp the dogs before a show?
Actually, our dogs didn’t need any grooming. Just a bath before the show, and we’d have to make sure their eyes didn’t have any coating. We took Jim to so many shows he knew the routine. Whenever he heard the bath water, he’d come running.
—J.S.

Pet Art with Pop

Every pet has its own “color,” according to Annapolis pop artist Erin Simmons, who likes to scope out an animal’s personality first before rendering its portrait in acrylic paint. Based on the vibe she gets from the pet, she’ll choose a bold color scheme—blues and pinks, reds and oranges— to bring the creature to life on canvas.
1. Why pets?
I’ve done some people portrait work, but I find you have a lot more creativity with dogs. With people, you have to be spot-on with details; with dogs, you have a little more room to be creative and wild.
2.What’s your style?
My paintings are huge! The smallest I did was 30 by 30 [inches]. They’re large-scale, sort of like Andy Warhol. They’re funky and a little alternative: big, bright colors and broad strokes.
3. What types of animals do you paint?
I’ve done a cat, a bird, but mostly dogs. I’ve done probably 40 to 50 dogs. But I can do any animal. Right now, I’m working on a koi fish.
4.What message are you trying to get across?
When people remember their pets, they don’t always remember what they look like—they remember how they were, how they interacted with them and what kind of spirit they had. So I wanted to be able to capture both in a painting.
5.Anything weird about this job?
Every dog has their quirks, but the owners are funky, too. Actually, for every dog I’ve painted, the owner has been just like the dog!

443-534-0172, http://www.hotdogsandcatschup.com —L.S.

For the Birds

If you’re a bird person, you might already know about M & D Bird Farm Exotic Birds and Supplies. It’s one of the largest bird supply stores in the Mid-Atlantic, according to its owner, Terri Martin, 47. If you’re not, the store is still worth a stop on your way to the Delaware beaches just to gawk at Martin’s moluccan cockatoo, Princess, who performs her shtick for customers. “Yes, she’s a rock star,”?says Martin of the bird who talks, spins on a bar, and generally does whatever Martin commands.

Martin, who bought her first bird at 18, opened the shop in 2002. “I had 17 birds in my bedroom at home already,”?she says. “Nobody else in the area was doing this, so I figured I would.”?

The colorful, 4,000-square-foot store boasts every bird toy imaginable, plus full grooming and boarding services, not to mention a “bird room,” which contains 75 to 100 exotic birds. But beware, as the half-joking sign on the door reads:?“Enter at your own risk. We sometimes snack on fingers and small children.—The Birds.”
26754 Lewes Georgetown Hwy., Harbeson, Del. 302-684-4101 —J.S.

Pet P.I.

Remember that lost whippet fiasco in New York City back in 2006? The one in which the famous show dog, Vivi, took off at JFK Airport, resulting in city-wide upheaval? Laura Totis, certified Missing Animal Relief (MAR) technician, was one of the first “pet detectives” on the scene.

When Totis started her unusual career seven years ago, only four other certified MAR technicians existed in the country. “Initially it was a running joke about the whole Ace Ventura thing,” she says with a laugh.
“But a lot of info has gotten out there and people do take it a lot more seriously now.” Any pet qualifies for the chase (Totis has pursued llamas, tortoises, and skunks), though dogs and cats
are the most common.

Totis, based in Clarksburg, Md., started out conducting human search-and-rescue on a volunteer basis but subsequently branched out to pet detection. She uses two trained dogs to locate missing pets throughout the Mid-Atlantic region, asking only that clients cover her time with “whatever they feel is reasonable and can afford.” Her bag of tricks run the gamut from behavior profiling to mounting wildlife cameras to listening devices to setting humane traps.

Approximately 80 to 90 percent of her clients are recovered. Much of her success is due to her website, which people can use to post lost pet notifications and track sightings as well as consult with Totis (for a fee of $20). So where is the most common place to find a lost pet? “The last place you look,” she says. 410-239-4746, http://www.ljtpettracking.com —L.S. 

To the Point

When Mac, a 100-pound chocolate lab, collapsed as a result from his diabetes, his owners were told he wouldn’t last more than a few months. But Annapolis animal acupuncturist Lydia Wainwright had other ideas. “They carried him in, and he walked out. It was amazing,” she says. “I saw that dog for three years.”

Wainwright is constantly sur-prising herself and her clients with the effectiveness of acupuncture, a method of ancient Chinese medicine that uses needles to correct imbalances in life force energy or Qi. “If you were a toaster, the electricity that runs through you to make you work is your Qi,” explains Wainwright. “I’m the toaster repairman.”

Wainwright works with both animals and people to improve maladies ranging from arthritis to kidney failure. The result? “Ninety percent of the time there’s some kind of change,” she claims. “This is especially true of animals, because they tend not to hold on to baggage the way people do.”

Wainwright, who is certified by the Maryland Acupuncture Board and sees 15 to 40 patients a week, attends to cats and dogs but is also qualified to help rabbits, ferrets, and birds. Each animal responds differently to the treatment, she says. Some get worse before they get better, some need continued treatment (especially for chronic ailments such as arthritis),
and others are cured after just one treatment. The only common side effect, she says, is that “all animals seem to really enjoy it.“443-474-3631, http://www.acuanimal.com —E.B.

In the Raw

If you’ve ever been to Crunchies Natural Pet Foods in Crofton, you’ve likely met Charlie. The 10-year-old
beagle is not only the store’s mascot
but also something of a poster dog for the benefits of the all-natural foods Crunchies sells.

When store owner Julia Cahill adopted him in 2008, he was suffering from a list of ailments ranging from upper respiratory problems to conjunctivitis. “He was absolutely a mess,” recalls Cahill. “We adopted him on a Friday, and the vet wasn’t sure he’d make it over the weekend. We brought him back two weeks later, and the vet couldn’t believe it was the same dog.”

All Cahill did was switch Charlie’s diet to one rich in raw foods, and “it changed everything about him,” she says.

Raw food is the buzzword in dog parks and kitty condos these days. The tainted pet food scare of 2007 helped give legs to the movement, which emphasizes serving foods made only from raw meats and vegetables—no grain fillers. Cahill and other advocates claim “commercial pet foods,” loaded with chemicals and filler, are the equivalent of fast food. “If you ate fast food every meal, every day for a year, how would you look and feel?”

Cahill asks. “People don’t realize it’s like milkshakes and french fries. You’re not going to have a healthy, well-behaved dog. And people are just starting to realize this.”
Cahill admits that her food lines may sport higher price tags than those found at the big box pet stores, but she says dog owners can feed their pets less because raw foods are nutrient dense.

“Besides,” she says, “you’ll have a healthier dog with less allergies, less ear problems, less skin problems. And you know how vet bills can add up very fast…” 2421 Crofton Lane, Crofton, Md. 410-721-5432, http://www.crunchies.com —J.S.

When Pigs Fly… Literally

Say goodbye to the cargo hold, Rover, and welcome to first class. Pet Airways, the first airline to carry animals as “pawsengers” instead of cargo, started service out of several airports (including BWI Marshall) on July 14. With one-way airfares starting at $149, Pet Airways offers flights out of Baltimore, New York, Chicago, Denver, and Los Angeles.

Beechcraft 1900 turbo-prop planes, filled with pet carriers instead of seats, are used to transport the animals. For now, Pet Airways plans to work solely with cats and dogs, but pigs, birds, and reptiles may soon have their chance to fly the friendly skies, too. 888-PET-AIRWAYS, http://www.petairways.com —L.S.

Laps of Luxury

The kennel, as it used to be known, is a dying breed. Dogs and cats now have “pet resorts” with spas and luxury suites to enjoy while their owners are away. “It wasn’t that kennels were horrible,” says Elizabeth Chaney, owner of Perfect Pet Resort in Lothian (410-741-0000, perfectpetresort.com), “but there’s a demand for dogs and cats to have a great experience while their parents are away, with more benefits than just accommodations.” At Chaney’s resort, both dogs and cats get luxury suites with couches or beds and dogs get TVs playing animal-related shows.

The new Maryland Shore Pet Resort in Vienna (410-376-2107, mdshorepetresort.com) boasts a spa offering blueberry facials and paw cream. Pets can unwind during “Yappy Hour” and “Meowy Hour” with complimentary “happy-tizers” made at the in-house Pure Bred Bakery.

And at Dogwood Acres Pet Retreat in Davidsonville (410-798-4776, dogwoodacres.com) dogs can get “cuddle time”?at the end of the day. “Dogs walk out the door with [richer] experiences than when they came in,” says Chaney. “It’s just like camp. A kid goes in shy and comes out strong. People are not just paying for space anymore. It’s the experience.” —J.S.

Natural Healing

Dr. Francine K. Rattner of South Arundel Veterinary Hospital is not your typical vet. She treats everything from dogs, cats, and birds to rabbits and iguanas, but as one of only 53 vets in the United States certified by the Academy of Veterinary Homeopathy, she does so in a very different way.

Through homeopathic treatments, a formal system of “natural medicine” developed in the 18th century, Rattner addresses all aspects of the animal’s health—from its diet to the amount of exercise it gets to its exposure to toxins.
Symptoms of illness, which vets normally attempt to suppress with drugs, are viewed by Rattner as the body’s attempt to heal itself. She prescribes remedies derived from natural substances that would normally cause the symptoms the animal is already showing, in order to encourage self-healing. For instance, for runny eyes or a bad cold, she might prescribe diluted allium, derived from onions.

Rattner, who also practices conventional medicine, admits that homeopathic medicine for pets has its skeptics, but she believes that her treatments work best with the cooperation of owners who are careful and observant, willing to note subtle changes in their animals. “My favorite cases are patients diagnosed with cancer that have been given a very poor prognosis, who instead choose a holistic approach and live a longer and happier life than was predicted,” she says. 410-956-2932, http://www.southarundelvet.com —L.S.

Clean Machine

For anyone who has ever tried to bathe a dog, doing so in a van may sound like a daunting task. But it’s just another day at the office for Jeff Bawkins, who, as owner of Arnold, Md.‘s U Dirty Dog Mobile Pet Grooming, makes his living grooming dogs out of the back of his white Ford E-350.

1. How did you decide on this mobile pet grooming?
It’s actually been around for quite some time. I like it because it’s quiet and comfortable. It’s also more convenient for the customer.
2. How does it work?
I go to each customer’s house and groom the dogs right
in their driveway in the back of the van.
I groom about 10 to 15 dogs a day. On
a given year, I’ll have a list of 1,800 to 2,200 clients.
3. What’s the van like?
The setup is basically like any other groomer’s: We’ve got special grooming equipment, high-velocity dryer, stainless steel bathtub, hydraulic table, air conditioning—just about everything you could ask for.
4. What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened with a dog?
A bite—that’s the worst. Of course, it depends on the dog and what kind of mood they’re in. If it’s a playful bite, it’s not so bad as if it’s an angry one, but a bite never feels good!
5. Has a dog ever escaped?
No, I’m really careful. Most of them are very cooperative and have never tried. Even if they did, I’m a pretty fast runner. 410-349-3647, http://www.udirtydogmobile.com —E.B.

A drive through Southern Maryland’s Amish Community reveals a shopping adventure chock-full of culture and scenery, not to mention handmade furniture and quilts—even a fresh guinea hen or two.

At the end of a rutted buggy lane in St. Mary’s County, amid an enclave of clapboard farmhouses and weathered barns, a barefoot, 8-year-old Amish girl wearing a white bonnet and blue muslin dress cautiously approaches my car and asks what I want.

“Are there guinea hens for sale?” I ask, as advertised on the handmade sign posted back on the main road. I’m in luck. The price: $6 each.

But as I take out my wallet the kid tosses a glitch. On weekdays, there is no caldron of boiling water at the ready, no way to begin the plucking and dressing process. (This was not the time, I thought, to teach myself a handy farm skill back in my condo in D.C.)

“You come back Saturday,” she says. And sure enough, when I return a few days later, she personally chooses a plump hen, and in short order it’s ready to pop into the iced cooler in my trunk. That night, a delicious, roasted guinea
hen is the centerpiece of a terrific farm-to-table meal.

At Amish-owned farms, along the winding roads that snake through gorgeous fields of corn and tobacco near Charlotte Hall, I always find great shopping adventure. There’s no point in planning a menu. I can’t call ahead. The more than 350, low-profile farming families, who moved to the area in the early 1940s from Pennsylvania, enjoy a simple way of life without iPhones or land lines. They sell a variety of goods they grow or make by hand, but there is no guarantee that what they publicize is available.

The quest requires a slow drive down Route 236 (between Route 5 and Route 234) and a sharp eye for the dozens of signs, often scrawled on a piece of cardboard or wood, signaling that “butter,” “eggs,” “bedding plants,” “quilts,” and more are for sale. You take your chances. The family may have hitched up the buggy and gone to town. The last duck of the day may have been sold. But after five or six farm stops, I’m never disappointed by the bounty available, and at every farm and store, I learn a bit more about the Amish way of life.

The best place to kick off a shopping tour is at the North St. Mary’s County Farmers Market (daily, except Sunday, April through December), where a dozen Amish farmers sell seasonal produce and baked goods. They set up shop in a series of white tents beneath a glade of tall pines that together provide both shelter and a serene setting.

“The gingerbread is phenomenal,” a shopper tells me as I browse the long tables filled with appealing pies, breads, and cookies made by the “plain” people who sit in silence nearby. They appear aloof, but ask a question, and they are ready with information about their own goods and their neighbors.

The flour-dusted dinner rolls are a certain purchase, and something called “hummingbird bread” (made with bananas, pineapple, and walnuts) sounds intriguing. But I first grab a favorite, a bag of fresh-baked, nutty, crunchy, and not-too-sweet oatmeal cookies. Into the car they go, along with jars of pickled beets, rhubarb preserves, elderberry jam, and sweet relish.

On another early morning, there are plenty of Asian eggplants, greenhouse-raised tomatoes, wax beans, onions, potatoes, and mustard greens at prices far below farmers markets closer to the city. The best discovery is tiny jars filled with soft, fresh, golden bee pollen that has the flavor of orange blossom. “Sprinkle it on your cereal,” the farmer tells me.

Minutes later, I’m happily munching cookies and heading down 6-mile-long Route 236, spying signs for “birdhouses,” “rabbits,” and “pigeons,” passing fields where farmers work with teams of horses and windmills provide power. At a farm down Dixie Lyon Road, I buy an enormous bouquet of zinnia, cock’s comb, and lisianthus and then double back to check out a farm that offers “barbecued pork.” (No one is home.) For the most part, farms selling dairy products—eggs, cheese, and butter—are easy to locate.

Free-range chickens, like guinea hens, are best found on Saturdays. (Poultry and rabbit are exempt from the Federal Meat Inspection Act for on-farm sales.) A favorite stop is Locust Grove Dry Goods, a charming, old-fashioned variety store that stocks the basic necessities of a self-reliant life. With no electric lights, it’s dim inside Locust. Neatly arranged on shelves are kerosene lanterns, dark-colored fabrics in deep blue and marsh green, and art supplies—ink blocks, papers, and colored pencils—for making greeting cards, a favorite Amish pastime. Here’s where to find pumice soap.Last summer, the owner (a woman of few words who prefers not to give her name) enlarged the housewares department, adding tabletop china, which is displayed alongside a nice selection of apple peelers, food mills, and strainers. When she noticed my interest in the American-made Rada cutlery she says, unexpectedly: “A lot of your people like them, too.”

Those in the market for hand-crafted dining chairs, tables, and bedroom sets will find opportunities at Yoder’s Furniture Shop, where adorable rocking horses and good-looking cutting boards are also made and sold at reasonable prices. The shop sells eggs, if they have them, for $1.50 a dozen. Best of all is the display of wooden trucks of every sort—fire engines and cement mixers—beautifully constructed from oak, maple, walnut, birch, poplar, and cherry wood. Part of a family collection, unfortunately, they are not for sale.

The Amish enjoy making hand-stitched, patchwork quilts, and two dozen or more can be found at The Quilt Shop, a tiny store that also sells quilted potholders and placemats. “The women and girls, they can make a quilt a week,” says the owner, an elderly gentleman who explains that each pattern has a name, such as “moon glow,” “double wedding ring,” and “tumbling blocks.” His exceptional, family-made quilts, in modern, traditional, and folk art styles, range from $700 to $900.

For quilters in these parts, the most exciting day of the year is the annual Amish Quilt Auction, held each year on an Amish farm on the Saturday before Thanksgiving. “For quilts, you can’t beat that, you’ll see everything,” says The Quilt Shop owner. “People come from all over.”

And well, they should. The St. Mary’s County Amish community has much to offer. I know of no other place in the region where you can find everything from yummy bee pollen to handmade quilts to a succulent guinea hen or even delicately flavored pigeon, fresh from the barnyard.

Walter Nicholls is a former reporter for The Washington Post.

Most Amish businesses are open in daylight hours but many do not have set hours of operation. All are closed Sundays. It’s wise to have a cooler with ice packs in the trunk for perishables.

North St. Mary’s County Farmers Market

Seasonal fruit, vegetables, baked goods, honey, and jams. 37600 New Market Turner Road, Charlotte Hall, 301-475-4200, ext. 1402. Open: Mondays through Saturdays, 8:30 a.m.-5:30 p.m.

Locust Valley Dry GoodsM

Poplin fabrics, art supplies, kitchenware, eggs, butter, and jams. 9830 N. Ryceville Road,Mechanicsville Open: Mondays through Thursdays, 8 a.m.-4 p.m.

The Quilt Shop

Handmade quilts, placemats, and pot holders. 28635 Thompson Corner Road, Mechanicsville

Stolzfus Flowers

Field-grown cut flowers. 36723 Dixie Lyon Road, Mechanicsville

Yoder’s Furniture

Dining and bedroom furniture, children’s toys, and cutting boards. 9439 N. Ryceville Road, Mechanicsville

Amish Quilt Auction

The annual event is held the Saturday before Thanksgiving. 301-475-4200, ext. 1404

Information: St. Mary’s County Welcome Center, 37575 Charlotte Hall Road, Charlotte Hall, 301-327-9023, stmarysmd.com/tourism

Bella luna owner barbara helish holdsstrong food opinions. She doesn’t use low-calorie ingredients, is virulently opposed to chain restaurants, and tries to buy exclusively local and organic products for her kitchens. “I want people to know when they come to my restaurants that we’re focused on the highest quality and good karma,” Helish says. “Food is very important to me.”

This is abundantly clear during dinner at the new Bella Luna location in downtown Cambridge (there is another more casual Bella Luna in Royal Oak). Everything, from gnocchi to salad dressings to a warm chocolate pudding cake served in a china cup, are house made.

“Anyone can open a can of something at home,” says Helish matter-of-factly. “Why come to a restaurant if it will be more of the same?”

Why, indeed?

For all the strong talk, however, both Bella Luna’s menu and dining room exude comfort. Familiar favorites like caprese salad and lasagna rub elbows with pasta primavera and ever-changing risottos. You’ll recognize most of the vintage Italian poster advertisements for spirits, and probably recognize the music, too, which mixes indie rock and classic R&B. Coupled with a staff that seems genuinely pleased to serve diners, Bella Luna could easily be your neighborhood go-to.

The only dish I sampled that fell short of expectations was the first that came to the table, homemade ravioli of the day; its mild, tarragon-scented whitefish and scallop filling was enclosed in a round of chewy and somewhat tough pasta. Other than that, the rest of the food shone.

I don’t expect much from a green salad other than freshness and a well-made dressing, but Bella Luna’s greens—served with roasted almonds and pine nuts, a generous wedge of tangy Shropshire blue cheese, and balanced balsamic dressing—was better than fine. If you order gnocchi “made Barb’s favorite way,” you’ll learn that she loves simplicity and why the plump, charmingly misshapen potato dumplings dressed in butter and cream and flecked with bits of prosciutto, basil, and tomato could be anyone’s favorite.

The made-in-house desserts at Bella Luna were some of the best I’ve had. A bread pudding made with panettone benefited from the bread’s chunks of dried fruit and chocolate, and I loved that the chocolate hazelnut pudding cake topped with a dollop of orange-spiked whipped cream was edgily bittersweet.

Bella Luna does have its quirks. On the night of our visit, the restaurant was out of chicken, one of the consequences of relying on local sources where supplies can be limited. And then there is the matter of size.

Unprompted, Helish told me that she’s heard criticism that her portions “don’t seem like enough,” and she counters this by pointing out that she gives diners “what [they] need” on their plate. I’ll admit that I was skeptical when each course appeared, and one of my dining companions even wondered aloud at what seemed to be a modest amount of food. But after three courses, each of us left the restaurant feeling sated but not uncomfortable.

Still, the quality of food and service make Bella Luna a real addition to Cambridge’s downtown. Coupled with Bistro Poplar, Bella Luna’s French neighbor, Cambridge is fast developing a dining scene that’s worth the trip.

Mary K. Zajac writes from Baltimore.

Ruffled Duck Inn
110 N. Morris St.
Oxford, Md.
410-226-5496
ruffledduckinn.com

Inspector gadget, I’m told, is staying in the next room. Not actually the bumbling cartoon character with gadgets built into his anatomy, but the man who created him. The cartoon creator and veteran Hollywood producer is in town with his wife to pitch a new show about kids and money, starring an animated Warren Buffett(!), to execs at PBS in Washington. That, and he also recently purchased Walter Cronkite’s old yacht, Wyntje, which is undergoing restoration at an Oxford marina. (The boat was rechristened Gadget.)

I quickly learn that the Ruffled Duck Inn is a destination B&B for sailors of every stripe, even those with Hollywood pedigrees. “We wanted to create a synergy with the boating crowd,” says innkeeper and boat captain Danny Cole, who notes that many guests are acquaintances he and his wife, Libby, met at sea. “Oxford is such a salty town, we get a lot of cruisers that fit right in.”

I admit to Danny that I’m not much of a sailor, but when I notice in the living room a replica of the “leg lamp,” that famous fishnet-stocking-clad light from “A Christmas Story,” I know the Ruffled Duck and I will get along just fine.

THE INNKEEPERS The Coles run the inn along with Libby’s parents, Joyce and Dennis Buttner. All hail from Chicago and picked Oxford to open the B&B five years ago because “it was halfway between New England and Florida,” says Danny, who, along with his wife, crews an 80-foot yacht along the Intracoastal Waterway for a client during winter and spring.

THE ROOMS In keeping with the inn’s boating theme, Libby refers to each of the four guestrooms as cabins and each is decorated to reflect favorite ports of call. My bunk is the Savannah Room, with its eggplant-colored walls, framed photos of crape myrtles, and gauzy canopy above the bed. Other rooms visit the West Indies (palm tree motifs and bamboo chairs) and Cape Cod (beachy shells, light blue walls, and white furniture). The three-bedroom Suite Oxford, with a separate entrance and full kitchen, boasts a nautical theme, contemporary leather furniture, and a fun second-floor loft.

SPECIAL TOUCHES/DIVERSIONS Using his local sailing connections, Danny can arrange tours of nearby Cutts & Case or Hinckley boatyards or sails along the Tred Avon River. The inn also has several bicycles and a two-person kayak for use. Sailors—or sailor wannabes—can peruse the inn’s sailing library and its impressive collection of artifacts, including a 1860 spyglass from a Union frigate, a unique sword made from the bill of a swordfish, and a section of anchor chain from the legendary Spanish treasure galleon, Atocha.

WHAT’S FOR BREAKFAST I finally meet Inspector Gadget (he’s hard to miss in a brown velvet suit and dark sunglasses) and his wife at breakfast, which is served in the inn’s red-walled dining room or on the garden-side sun porch, weather permitting. I.G. passes on breakfast (naturally) and instead downs a handful of vitamins with a half piece of toast. I, on the other hand, have no qualms about pigging out on Joyce’s excellent eggs Benedict.

ROMANCE FACTOR The West Indies, Cape Cod, or Savannah all qualify as romantic locales, right?

COST $135 and $145

We never wanted a cat.

Fargo just showed up one day and wouldn’t leave. We posted signs around the neighborhood, called friends and family to find her a home, but as days turned into weeks it became clear that the skinny black stray had adopted us.

During the course of the next six months, Fargo introduced us first-time pet owners to a number of things: unconditional love, yes, but also fleas, hairballs, and—gasp!—more than $2,000 in vet bills.
My wife and I were complete newbies when it came to the increasingly pricey world of pet ownership. We had a 2-year-old daughter—and another child on the way—but we quickly learned it was far easier to spend more money on a sick cat than a healthy child.

Pet owners forked over about $11 billion on vet bills last year, a figure that’s increasing by about 9 percent a year, or three times the rate of inflation. All told, Americans spent about $43.4 billion on their pets in 2008 (triple the sum expended 15 years ago), on everything from kitty litter for their calico to $2,000 Burberry jackets for their beagle. Even in this economic downtown, the pet business has proven to be recession proof, as spending on pets is expected to actually increase in 2009.

Our parents’ generation—and their pets—would likely be stunned at the products and services we’ve written about in this issue of CL, our first devoted to the pet world. Pet psychics, beer for dogs, kitty acupuncture, doggie orthopedics, holistic medicine, organic cat treats, pet resorts with spas offering blueberry facials. (Can you imagine Grandpa ordering up a blueberry facial for his Chesapeake Bay retriever?) The trend here, of course, is that pets are now offered the same luxuries as their human masters, er, parents. Heck, we even give pets human names these days. As writer
Mary Zajac points out in “Tony, Come Home!” page 44, almost half of American pets sport names like Max, Elliot, or Ashley.

So what’s this phenomenon all about?

“The way we treat our pets has always reflected the changes in the way humans live,” says Michael Schaffer, author of One Nation Under Dog: Adventures in the New World of Prozac-Popping Puppies, Dog-Park Politics, and Organic Pet Food. “In the last couple generations, there have been some pretty dramatic social changes that at first blush would seem to have nothing to do with pets.” He cites, among other factors, the rise of two-career couples, suburbanization, increases in divorce, growth in the number of empty nesters, and our new focus on nutrition. Plus, he continues, “with more fractured human social networks, we rely on pets for a bigger emotional role in our lives—we’ve promoted them, in essence, to full-fledged family members.”

No, we don’t allow Fargo to sit with us at the dinner table (yet), but I must admit that after a year with our accident-prone cat, we’ve grown quite fond of her. She’s extremely affectionate, plays fetch like a dog, and the kids love her. So why not spoil her once in a while? Besides, I just noticed something online called “kitty caviar.” At beverlyhillscaviar.com, it’s only $40 for a 4-ounce jar ...

Until next issue,
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It’s late morning, mid-July, and a blazing sun beats down on a field of watermelons at Hales Farms on the south side of Salisbury. A group of seasonal workers, sweat pouring down their foreheads from beneath worn ball caps, stoops among the rows of melons, hacking at vines with long knives. Some of them form fire bucket lines, and pass the watermelons along, one by one, loading them into three school buses—roofs cut away and seats gutted to make room for their ripe cargo.

When each bus is loaded with approximately 800 watermelons they rumble down the road in convoy formation and pull into Hales Farms’ “packing shed,” an 8,000-square-foot, open-air warehouse. There, the buses idle as the watermelons are removed, placed onto a conveyor belt, and packed by hand into white bins proudly advertising, “Grown in Maryland & Delaware.” Forklifts zip here and there, stacking pallets three bins high, as tractor-trailers back into the loading dock. 

Inside the office, Will Hales, a third-generation grower, 34, sits at his desk juggling a cell phone, land-line, and fax machine, all of which seem to go off at the same time—nonstop. He politely apologizes. “It’s kinda busy around here,” he says, offering a cold bottle of water. Will’s father, Donald, sits in an easy chair, shaking his head. “Man, I wanna get out of here when all the phones is a-ringing. It’s pretty hectic.” Looking over at his son, Donald says, “He does a good job of keeping it straight. I can’t do it.” He excuses himself and heads into the warehouse, getting behind the wheel of a forklift.

Donald started Hales Farms in 1955, and today the operation annually harvests between 18 million and 20 million pounds of watermelon from 350 acres of a 3,000-acre farm, which also produces corn, soybeans, wheat, and tomatoes. On a busy day, as many as 17 tractor-trailers visit Hales’ packing shed, hauling away up to 40,000 pounds of watermelon each.

Perhaps surprisingly, Delaware and Maryland are major players in the watermelon industry. In 2008, of the 44 states that produce watermelon, Delaware and Maryland ranked in the top 10 based on product value, generating a combined $26.4 million, while producing more than 11 million watermelons. Impressive, considering that the bulk of regional watermelons are yielded from just a few thousand acres in Dorchester, Caroline, and Wicomico counties on Maryland’s Eastern Shore and Sussex County, Del.

In Laurel, Del., Travis Hastings, age 30, grows 120 acres of watermelon on his family’s farm. Like Will Hales, Travis is a third-generation grower. Seated in a GMC pickup, Travis surveys one of his fields and reflects on being part of an agricultural fabric that goes deeper than simply tilling the land. “The watermelon industry and growing watermelons—it’s more important to people around here than just making money. It’s definitely a certain kind of culture. It’s a tight-knit group. Pretty much everyone who is doing it, their father was doing it, their grandfather was doing it, and it’s been passed on from generation to generation.” 

In the 1950s, Maryland and Delaware farmers, recognizing the economic importance of watermelons, formed the Maryland-Delaware (Mar-Del) Watermelon Association, bringing growers, buyers, and vendors together to better promote this specialty crop. Donald Hales and Travis Hastings’ late father, John, were founders of the organization, which today tops 138 members. 
With the support of the Maryland and Delaware Departments of Agriculture, the Mar-Del Watermelon Association started a branding campaign in 2007. Growers began labeling their watermelons with stickers, clearly identifying where they were grown, and shipping them in bins with the Mar-Del logo and slogan: “Mar-Delicious Watermelons: The original summertime treat.”  “The Eastern Shore is known for poultry and seafood. There’s been a lot of ignorance over the years with watermelon,” says Will Hales. “As far as your average consumer, they might live in Annapolis or Baltimore and not even know that the watermelon was grown an hour and a half away.”

The campaign has been successful, thus far, particularly with national supermarket chains in the area. Safeway, Food Lion, and Whole Foods, to name a few, all carry the Mar-Delicious brand when in season (mid-July to mid-Sept-ember) and prominently display the white bins in their produce sections.

Each year, the Mar-Del Watermelon Association crowns a watermelon queen who serves as an ambassador and travels to other state watermelon conventions throughout the United States, as well as making appearances at local parades, grocery stores, and schools.

On a breezy afternoon last August, the 2008 Mar-Del Watermelon Queen, 21-year-old Christina Gallant, a Hartly, Del., native, along with the National, Alabama and Florida queens, were all on hand at a promotional event at the Annapolis City Dock. The queens, dressed in princess-like dresses with crowns and white sashes, attracted a crowd by giving out free slices of watermelon and presiding over a seed-spitting contest. Gallant even gave out a few kisses to admiring girls and boys while spreading the gospel of sweet and healthy homegrown produce. “Besides the safety and security of consuming local food—knowing where it comes from—you’re helping out your neighbor ... and really, it’s going to taste better,” she says.

Seed-spitting contests may be an endangered event, however, as seedless melons account for the vast majority of melons grown these days.
Donald Hales was one of the first farmers on the East Coast to plant seedless watermelons 30 years ago. “I really thought in the early ‘80s it was the way to go. I’d grown watermelons all my life. We grew a lot of them old kind, like Jubilee and Charleston Grey. There were seeds in all of them. I thought it was wonderful when the seedless came along.”

“Seedless watermelon is all anybody wants nowadays,” says Will, who notes his farm’s melon crop is almost 95 percent seedless.

Seeded watermelons or non-edible, grapefruit-sized “pollenizer” melons are still necessary to grow seedless melons, however, because the female watermelon (seedless) needs the pollen from the male’s flowers. The whole business of sexing watermelons is a complicated venture involving thousands of shipped-in honey or bumble bees that work to pollinate the watermelon blooms every spring. From planting, which begins in late April, to harvest, it takes a watermelon anywhere from 75 to 90 days to mature. 

With so many variables at play, watermelon can be a risky crop to invest in. “It seems like from the day you plant them you are fighting something,” says Denny Reid, 34, who grows 350 acres of watermelon, in addition to a variety of other crops, in Rhodesdale, Md. “Disease, bugs, rain—two years ago we had major floods that wiped out probably half our crop.”

Travis Hastings agrees. “Not everyone wants to do it. It’s labor intensive; it’s risky.”

Risky or not, for Mar-Del growers, watermelons are a way of life—sometimes in more ways than one. If it weren’t for watermelons, Will Hales may have never met his wife, Candice, the 2005 Alabama and 2006 National Watermelon Queen. They celebrated their second wedding anniversary this April.

For Donald Hales, who turned 70 this year, the proudest part of all of this watermelon business is that his son is following his footprints through the fields. “If it wasn’t for him I’d quit, because I’m getting old and tired.”

After all these years, does Donald still enjoy watermelon?

“Do I? I love ‘em to death. I get tired, but I still love my watermelon. Ain’t nothing like it, especially to cut that thing on a morning after you had dew and dampness on it all night long. There’s nothing better than to sit down and eat a half one of ‘em.” nCL

Freelancer Jason Tinney also loves a good melon.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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?”

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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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.

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.

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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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.”

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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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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.

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.

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

Annapolis Royal Folly­
65 College Ave.
Annapolis
410-263-3999,
royalfolly.com

Samson, a toy poodle, announces my arrival at Annapolis Royal Folly, a Dutch colonial home across from the sleepy St. John’s College campus. Next comes Pat Mullen, who still speaks with the accent that belies her Boston roots despite living in Annapolis with husband and co-owner Ed for more than sixteen years. It’s a homey welcome that doesn’t detract from the elegance that immediately greets visitors when they step into Royal Folly’s entrance, which features gleaming wood floors, a wide staircase, and intricate moulding. I am looking forward to a quiet night of reading next to the fireplace and a welcome reprieve from my busy urban life.

THE INNKEEPERS
The couple developed an affinity for B&Bs after they were married at the luxurious Captain Lord Mansion in Kennebunkport, Maine, more than twenty years ago. Five years ago, they ditched their traditional jobs in sales, bought Royal Folly, and completed a massive renovation of the circa-1870 home, repainting the rooms in rich colors, like the tomato-toned dining room or the deep purple Queen’s Chamber. “It’s kind of whimsical, thus the ‘folly,’” says Pat. “We wanted to get people away from the norm. The bright colors are not what people would put in their own homes. But it gives the place a special feeling.”

THE ROOMS
Each of the five spacious rooms includes a fireplace and is named for one of the Mullens’ children (except for the “Queen’s Chamber” honeymoon suite). I choose “Lady Jennifer’s Suite” because it faces onto quiet backyards and has access to a semi-private deck and exterior hot tub. I like the sunny, blue-and-yellow color scheme, and there’s an inviting sleigh bed and several plush reading chairs to choose from. I immediately suss out the little creature comforts, sampling the chocolates in the candy dish, setting my iPod on the docking station, and channel flipping on the flat-screen television.

DIVERSIONS/SPECIAL TOUCHES
After Ed maps out the fastest walking route, I amble toward Eastport to meet a friend for dinner. Annapolis is a walkable town, of course, and Royal Folly is well-positioned near the heart of downtown attractions. The Mullens pride themselves on being in tune with their guests’ needs. If visitors arrive harried from traffic jams on a Friday night, bottles of wine appear in the living room, and those celebrating special anniversaries have been surprised by bottles of champagne in their room.

WHAT’S FOR BREAKFAST
Breakfast is a multi-course event, and, as Ed says with a laugh, the portions reflect Pat’s generous Italian heritage. Understanding that guests come to Royal Folly as an escape—i.e., to sleep in—breakfast is served at the leisurely hour of 9 a.m., and there’s a champagne brunch on Sunday. My meal starts with kiwi and cantaloupe served with a ginger glaze, followed by what Pat simply calls her “Mexican breakfast,” peppers, onions, and cheese wrapped in a tortilla soaked in egg and baked into a golden casserole served with thick cut bacon. Not surprisingly, Samson keeps close by in case I’m a sloppy eater.

ROMANCE FACTOR
The laid-back breakfast schedule, opulent room décor, fireplaces and in-room Jacuzzis give the inn a romantic coziness. The exterior hot tub is particularly popular. “People have been engaged in that hot tub,” says Ed. 

WHAT’S IT GONNA COST $225 to $395

Christianna McCausland writes from Virginia.

Dinner in the diner, nothin’ could be finer…” runs through my mind as Bay Creek Railway No. 316 chugs toward us. And, sure enough, as we board the vintage car turned restaurant, “Chattanooga Choo Choo” is playing from the coach’s gilded speakers.

While the railway’s president, Jeff Foster, calls the two-hour dinner excursion,
running exactly one hour north of Cape Charles and exactly one hour back, a trip
to nowhere, we call it a journey back in time.

My companion, John, and I remember the long train trips of our childhoods
when dinner in the dining car came with linen-covered tables and uniformed stewards. But even if you’ve only heard about traveling on trains in style—or seen a late-night movie where love blooms over martinis in the club car—the Bay Creek Rail-way will give you a taste of the romance of the rails. 

Our motorman for the night is Monte Grissom, a retired banker, and one of four local retirees who eagerly volunteered to train as operators. Grissom is originally from Dallas, Texas, where the railcar was first in service almost a century ago. “But we didn’t meet until she came here to Cape Charles,” Grissom says. 

That was two years ago, after she was rescued from her role as a Texas farm cabin—an inglorious retirement from her years carrying passengers on the Texas Electric interurban line.  From her 1913 debut, No. 316, then powered electrically, carried passengers, ensconced in comfy lounge chairs, city to city, until 1948 when the interurban lines were discontinued.

Foster and his father, Dickie Foster, both real estate developers, have painstakingly restored the coach that’s now diesel powered. Her paint color, a pre-World War II Pullman green, is an olive-brown-black blend so unique, Foster says, it stumped even Home Depot’s guaranteed paint matchers. A few nicks in her gilt trim make No. 316 seem that much more authentic.

The restoration was a labor of love—and frustration—for Jeff Foster, who started with
zero knowledge of rail cars. Now, well versed in No. 316’s idiosyncrasies, he recalls how a single bearing problem posed a two-month delay and the challenges of installing heat and air conditioning.

The coach was built old school, Foster says, when cold weather meant “put on a coat,” and summer’s heat meant “open a window.”

The problems pale, however, in the glow of the coach’s lamp-lit mahogany interior. Red velvet drapes the entryways, stained glass tops the sliding windows and even the tiny water closet (powder room) is vintage style.

The car is equipped to carry thirty people at tables for two or four. On this Friday night, we have a dozen passengers traveling with us, mostly middle-aged couples on vacation or celebrating birthdays and anniversaries. The shorter, day runs apparently draw more of a family crowd.

Duke Ellington’s “Take the A Train” accompanies our departure, rhythmically in time with No. 316’s jouncing over the rails. Although the coach is geared to run fourteen miles per hour, it rarely tops eight. As our drinks arrive, sloshing in their glasses, we understand why.

“We originally had soup on the menu,” Foster had told us earlier. “What were we thinking?”

Passengers may take a few minutes to adjust to the roll and sway of the car but our server, Begonia Moyano, deftly balances a tray of appetizers. We discover that the “Cajun-seasoned angels on horseback” listed on the menu are perfectly poached scallops wrapped in bacon, on a bed of corn and smoked tomato sautÉ. (Meals are catered by Aqua Restaurant in the new Bay Creek Resort Club and Club Marina outside the historic district of Cape Charles.)

Farm fields and backyards slip by as our coach rolls through the dusk. An occasional light flashing red in the windows signals highway crossings, where, during the day runs, train chasers wait to jump out of their vehicles, snapping photos as No. 316 goes by.

The golden arches of a highway McDonald’s shine through the night just as we’re served a poached pear and blue cheese salad with candied walnuts and port-soaked raisins. No burgers and fries on this menu.

Glenn Miller’s “Pennsylvania 6-5000” introduces our entrée of crab-stuffed flounder, and draws us further into the mood of sixty years ago. By the time Moyano serves the desert course, a trio of profiteroles, we’re humming along with the chorus of “My Blue Heaven.”

And we aren’t the first. Foster fondly remembers the ninety-plus-year-old woman who was so taken by the ambience that she burst into song and serenaded the other passengers.

“How many waiters or waitresses get to experience this?” Moyano asks.
“I feel like I’m becoming part of history.”

And there’s plenty of railroad history on Virginia’s Eastern Shore. Bay Creek Railway follows the original line first developed by railroad executive Alexander Cassatt, brother of impressionist artist Mary Cassatt, and William Scott, a Pennsylvania millionaire, in 1882, linking New York City and Norfolk. The new line created an Eastern Shore building boom as towns sprung up along the line. But business fizzled with the Depression and the development of the automobile. Rail passenger service disappeared in the 1950s, but at least one freight train a day still travels the Eastern Shore, crossing the Bay on a barge to Norfolk.

As No. 316 clatters back to Cape Charles, with the passengers chatting over coffee, we wonder if the Fosters’ dining excursions might help bring passenger
service back to the Eastern Shore. The father-son duo are currently restoring another historic rail car and see the Bay Creek Railway as one more step to rejuvenating the Cape Charles historic district. 

Like the song says, we’ll always remember the trip on No. 316 as one of our favorite “sentimental journeys.”

Exploring the Eastern Shore Railway Museum

Opened twenty years ago in the center of the small Victorian town of Parksley, Virginia, the Eastern Shore Railway Museum is a vivid capsule lesson in the history of the Shore and its railroads.

Parksley was developed in 1885 as a planned community centered on the railroad. As the rail line prospered, so did the town. Now numerous vintage rail cars and a 1906 passenger station filled with Delmarva Peninsula railroad artifacts from the mid-1800s are a nostalgic tribute to that history.
Wandering by old Pullman and dining cars, we found two men laboring on a 1927 observation car—Wayne Parsley, president of the museum’s board and chief tour guide, and volunteer Johnny Bates, an ardent train buff who has restored several cars. Who better to show us around?

Parsley led us through the Pullman car that ran on the Wabash Cannonball in the 1950s and was later converted to an eighteen-berth crew car to house railroad workers on train wreck duty.

He showed off a caboose that a local teen had reclaimed as an Eagle Scout project, a stainless-steel dining car that had run along the Shore from 1947 to 1986, and a 1950 sleeping car, originally part of the Richmond, Fredericksburg, and Potomac Railroad. And there was still more to see. Plan to spend a few hours here. The trains—and Parsley’s enthusiasm—are irresistible. —P.S.

Open 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., Mon. through Sat. and 1 p.m. to 4 p.m. Sun. Adults, $2; kids under twelve, free. 757-665-RAIL

When not riding the rails, free-lancer Phyllis Speidell writes from Hampton Roads, Va.

Bay Creek Railway dinner excursions run Friday and Saturday nights, $65 per person plus tax and gratuity.  A one-hour pizza run, Saturdays at noon, focuses on families. Adults, $18; children, two to twelve, $14. Advance reservations required. 757-331-8770, http://www.baycreekrailway.com

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.

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.

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, i