Before moving to Baltimore, Brian Plante was living the New York chef’s life and dining out in The Big Apple. While in culinary school in New York, he recalls, “we’d eat out every night, truly authentic cuisines or food from the best chefs in the world and they were right in my backyard,” says Plante who did stints at Babbo and Esca. “Every chef should experience that for a little while.”

Plante is now happily living in Baltimore as the chef/partner at Rye Street Tavern in South Baltimore. “I enjoy living in Locust Point,” he says. “It doesn’t feel like I’m living in a city. After three years of living in Baltimore and when I walk into Rye Street, I feel like I know everyone eating here.”

When did you know you wanted to be a chef?

I was very young, maybe 6 or 7, when I thought about becoming a chef. But as I grew older, I was afraid of the hours. I came to it late—I’m 34 now, I became a chef at 24.

Chef Brian Plante. —Noah Fecks

What other jobs did you work prior to becoming a chef?

I worked in a warehouse. . . . When I told my father that I wasn’t going to finish college, he said he’d get me a warehouse job. I worked the 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift and was the only one who spoke English. He told me that my high-school education was no better than anyone else’s. I hated the job more than anything, but I stuck it out because I was stubborn. I made three-ring binders. I’d take the three rings and put them on the machine. I did that for eight hours straight. It was mind-numbing.

Wow, that sounds awful. Any other jobs?
I worked at Costco selling electronics. My boss was two years older and he was at the ceiling of how far he could go. I realized that I wanted a job that never had a ceiling. That’s what being a chef is all about. However hard you work is how high you can go.

So when did you start working in restaurants?

I worked in a restaurant called Food 101 in South Hadley, Massachusetts, where I’m from. I loved it. I loved the pace of the kitchen. It was stressful, but exciting. When you’re a chef, every day is completely different than the last and it gives you instant gratification.

Did you get formal training after that?
In 2010, I moved to New York to attend the French Culinary Institute. I’d never even been to New York City before. My first day there, I got a pizza and a beer and ran back to my apartment. I was so overwhelmed.

What did you learn in culinary school that you still use today?
I was blessed to have Jacques Pépin and André Soltner as my professors. André Soltner told me, “Relax, its just food.” We were making bouillabaisse at the time.

What has it been like for you to cook with the ingredients from the Chesapeake Bay watershed?
It has been incredible. The proximity to everything from the city is second to none. Within 20 minutes, I can have easy access to one of the best pig farms in the country and within an hour I can be slurping oysters with the Choptank guys. The quality of the ingredients is amazing and is very similar to New England.

What’s on the menu right now that you’re excited about?
I’m super excited about our pork dishes. We don’t waste one part of the pig. On a 300-pound pig, there’s probably two pounds we don’t use. We do our play on an old-fashioned barbecue sauce with ribs. We’re doing a house-made bacon jam for sweet and sour collards, and we have pulled pork specials, beautiful pork chops, and house-made sausages. We’re also doing more to explore the dishes of Appalachia like rabbit stew with the rabbit legs braised in mustard and crème fraiche and the loin rubbed with an herb garlic spice and grilled.

What would you like to do in the future?
We’re starting to make our own vinegars in the old whiskey barrels from Sagamore. We’d also like to get into pickling and fermenting. Dishes that you tried a year ago are going to taste different when you come back.

Where do you like to go in Baltimore when you eat out?

I like Thames Street Oyster House—it’s a little taste of home for me.

Before moving here three years ago, did you know anything about Maryland Blue crabs?
A soft-shell clam sandwich and steamers are my favorite things to eat. When I went to L.P. Steamers for the first time, I thought that I was going to get clams, then I realized that steamers in Baltimore means crabs. They were delicious and awesome, but they weren’t clams.

So have you mastered eating them?
At L.P. Steamers, I was with a bunch of chefs from New York at the time. We were picking out the meat and making piles of the meat and cracking the entire crab before we ate the meat, and then we were dunking the meat in butter. The people at the next table told us, ‘That’s not how you do it.’

Ashish Alfred’s scars—at least the ones that are visible to the naked eye—are mostly healed over. “I used to cut myself,” he says, as he searches his arm to show off a scar. “You can’t see it much anymore, because I have it all covered up in tattoos—but it’s still there.”

After a moment of scanning, he finds what he’s looking for. There’s the scar tissue on his left forearm masked by a skull tattoo. In many ways, the scar—and others like it—is a metaphor for his life, as the once weeping wounds, made with a razor blade during a darker chapter of his life, have formed a patch of thickened keloid tissue. At that time in his life, he says, “I was very much trying to die, whether I was flat out trying to kill myself or just having no regard for my own health and safety whatsoever. It was really only by some miracle that I didn’t die.”

To the outside observer, with his good looks and three successful restaurants, including Duck Duck Goose in Fells Point and Bethesda, Alfred appears to be the picture of success. And he is a success story, though it’s been a long time coming.

Way back when he was being bullied on the playground—for being Indian, for being slight, for just being—the Silver Spring-born chef had to learn to stand up for himself.

“I had switched schools in the fourth grade because I was getting picked on and was starting to come undone,” he says. By middle school, the bullying started up again. “I was like ‘Fuck it,’” says the 33-year-old chef, whose friends call him Al. “If I’m going to get picked on, I’m going to fight back. I was very, very insecure, so any little thing would set me off.”

Alfred did not have it any easier at home. As a toddler, he playfully pounced on the chest of his alcoholic father, Rajesh, and was thrown to the ground, shattering his femur. In the aftermath, Alfred wore a body cast for months. His mother, Veena, did her best, but, as the primary breadwinner and owner a string of assisted living homes, she spent a fair amount of time away from home. Alfred recalls that “her moods revolved around whatever his mood was.”

“I remember my father being a nasty drunk as a child,” says Alfred. “I also remember him being nasty sober, too. When he wasn’t drinking, he was doing the white-knuckle thing. He was sitting there thinking about when he could drink again, so you could never be quiet enough or not move enough. My mom will say that I was a very good boy when I was little. She has said, ‘It’s almost like you knew to behave.’”

By contrast, in school, Alfred acted out. “I bought pot and starting drinking for the first time in eighth grade,” he says. “Being at home was misery and being at school was an escape from that.”

Alfred also carried a secret, which he’s just starting to grapple with and acknowledge now. “I was molested by a few different people growing up,” he says. “They weren’t family members. When it happened to me, I felt like it was my fault. I felt like I was doing something dirty that I wasn’t supposed to talk about, something wrong, so how dare I speak about it because I was part of it, too. But truth be told, I was 5, 6, 7 years old. What would I have known to say? If you carry around a bag of bricks on your right shoulder, your right shoulder is going to hurt after a while.”

The downward spiral continued into his adolescent years. To protect himself, Alfred projected a disaffected, don’t-mess-with-me persona. He’d get high and drunk and sneak out of class to smoke cigarettes. “I just didn’t want to do my homework or go to school,” he says. His surrogate family of friends was a bunch of other like-minded, self-destructive types. “All I had to do to stay with them was drink and party,” he says. “That’s where I learned to be violent—and then it didn’t matter that I was smaller. I figured out pretty quickly that that was a little bit of a family for me.”

After graduating from Magruder High School in Rockville 2005, he worked odd kitchen jobs between Washington, D.C., and Bethesda—bar back, bouncer, and barista—but was always focused on his next fix. He pawned his father’s Rolex to get drug money. Cocaine was his substance of choice. “Imagine going out and having four or five drinks and feeling buzzed,” he says. “Cocaine set me back to zero. Cocaine provided a sense of euphoria. It made it easier to consume more alcohol and take more Percocet—it was a numbing mission for me.”

His one source of solace and seemingly only diversion—beyond getting blitzed—was watching the Food Network. “I knew that my life was going to be in the service industry one way or the other,” he says. “That’s where I was happiest. I liked the hours. I liked the drinking. I liked the partying—I liked all of it.”

So, in 2008, after promising Veena that he would clean up his act, Alfred attended The French Culinary Institute in New York City. At the time, neither he, nor his family, understood the extent of his addiction.

“Cocaine provided a sense of euphoria. It made it easier to consume alcohol. It was a numbing mission.”

In his contemporary Canton townhome, Alfred engages in a game of fetch with Marco, his energetic Belgian Malinois pup, named for his idol, famed British chef Marco Pierre White. Sitting on a stylish cream linen chair at the dining room table, he’s surrounded by calming, neutral colors and inspirational artwork. (“Give thanks,” reads one that’s propped against the wall.) In hopes of helping others, Alfred is disarmingly open and honest as he talks about the havoc that drugs and alcohol wreaked on his life until he finally got sober on April 12, 2014.

On one particular binge while still a culinary student, he traveled to Ocean City and, in his words, got “yacked” out of his mind. “I finally pull up to my mother’s house at midnight, and she takes one look at me and is like, ‘You have to be at school in the morning.’” He stops for emphasis, just to be clear that what she’s asking of him seemed Sisyphean at the time. “It’s midnight,” he continues. “I’m at my mother’s house in Rockville, and my school is in Manhattan. She puts me in a taxi because if I wasn’t at school the next day, I would have failed. I’m doing blow in the taxi on the way to Union Station. I get to the train station, and I’m paranoid because I’m high and there’s Amtrak police all around—I dump the blow, so I’m coming down, which is miserable.”

The next day, Alfred actually made it to class, but his teacher allowed him to sleep it off in a nearby locker room so that he didn’t miss yet another class and get kicked out of school.

Alfred tells his tale with complete clarity, as if it happened just yesterday. The cocaine, he says, keeps you from blacking out, so you tend to remember everything. Whether purposely or not, he draws out his stories, recounts every detail, which allows time for the horror of what he’s saying to sink in. Every story is a well-told cautionary tale that leads the listener to the same inarguable conclusion: Don’t do drugs.

Despite his addiction, Alfred excelled in cooking school. He learned the classic techniques of Gallic gastronomy: how to clean a sauce and that when you make stock, 20 percent of the weight of your bones should be vegetables. “I was known as the guy who came in hungover or who missed a few too many days of classes,” he says, “but I was also known as the guy who could get shit done.”

After culinary school, he stayed in New York and worked at a range of restaurants, from the French-focused Daniel to the Italian-inspired Lupa. Still, his demons plagued him and he continued to use. By 2012, he was back in Bethesda, where he opened his first restaurant, 4935 Bar and Kitchen. Quickly, the place tanked because its chef’s addiction. A “nightmare” is how he describes himself at that time in his life.

Things hit rock bottom when, one night in April 2014, he shot up heroin with a prostitute. The evening ended with him falling on his face, breaking four teeth, robbing the safe of his own restaurant of $4,000 to buy more heroin, and then waking up the next morning to find that the woman—and his money—had vanished.

A week later, Veena, who had financed his restaurant, bought him a pack of cigarettes and drove him to Caron, a rehabilitation program in Pennsylvania. As he was being admitted, he dumped the bag of blow that was in his wallet, swallowed some random pills from his pocket, and then spent the next two days withdrawing in the detox room. “The feeling is indescribable,” he says of detoxing, “but I knew that I never wanted to feel like that again.”

It has been a little more than five years now, and Alfred is still sober.

As he stands at the pass in the kitchen at Duck Duck Goose, this work gives him a different kind of high.

In 2016, drawing upon his knowledge of French technique honed at cooking school, Alfred opened his first Duck Duck Goose brasserie in Bethesda. He also rebranded 4935 as George’s Chophouse (named after his late half-brother) in Bethesda. On the heels of its success, he opened a second Duck Duck Goose location in 2018 in Fells Point. With its innovative interpretations of French bistro fare and craft cocktails, it has quickly become a great alternative to a neighborhood known for its pubs and pizza joints. “I remember coming here when I was a kid and walking around the harbor with my family and then, as I got older, hanging out around Fells Point,” he says. “The bar business has always been very appealing to me—and nowhere is it more appealing than in Fells Point.”

Staying clean has helped him be a better chef. “Maybe it’s the gift of sobriety. I never feel like I have to put my ego on the plate,” he says. “There are a lot of young chefs who spend a lot of money and take a lot of time because they want to show the world that they can do this or that. It’s great for the guys who work really hard and they have their James Beards and their Michelin stars. But I want to be the guy whose restaurant you go to and you ate until you couldn’t eat anymore—I want the restaurants to be synonymous with a good time.”

His sobriety has had other upsides, too. “When I look at my food pictures, I can see the difference from the time I got sober,” he says as he scrolls through his Instagram account. “It’s been cool to see myself evolve as a cook. I feel like my food and my flavors got cleaner. My presentations got cleaner. I had a clear head—I could really think.”

Some days, he admits the cravings can still kick in. “Are there days when I want to go out and get [messed] up—absolutely,” he says. “Running a restaurant is hell. You go four, five, six days in a row where you’re struggling for plates and glassware and people are quitting right and left because the turnover is so high. You think you don’t want to have a drink after that? Yeah, you do.”

But regular check-ins with his appointed sponsor from Alcoholics Anonymous, a therapist to deal with ongoing dark thoughts and suicidal ideation, plus exercise and proper meals have helped. “I don’t allow myself to be angry or lonely, and I get as much rest as I need to get,” he says. “Sobriety is not that difficult. It really is a matter of doing the next right thing, sometimes minute to minute, hour to hour,” he says, speaking the language of AA.

His father, who was divorced from his mother in 2001, is now sober, too—and continues to rebuild his relationship with his son. “I’m not making excuses for him or trying to downplay it,” says Alfred, “but if I’ve ever known a man to make a turnaround, he has. I owe my sobriety to him. Every time I see him, he will say, ‘Look, I’m sorry.’ We have a beautiful relationship now.”

Last December, Alfred cooked at the prestigious James Beard House in New York City, with Veena by his side. The nine-course meal included halibut with scallop mousseline in puff pastry and Russian caviar and a duck terrine of foie gras with cherry gelée. “On my first day of culinary school they told us about the opportunities to volunteer at the James Beard House with well-known chefs, so to be cooking my own dinner there was humbling,” he says. In March, Alfred was nominated Best Chef by the Restaurant Association of Maryland.

Back in his own Duck Duck Goose kitchen in Fells during dinner service one late winter’s night, Alfred is in the zone as he inspects every plate that goes out with the seriousness of a TSA agent. He rearranges the agnolotti with pea purée into a star pattern, changes the crinkled bun on a rib-eye burger with foie gras (“This bread looks like shit,” he says to one of his line cooks), instructs his sous chef to remake a chocolate soufflé that has fallen, and tells the kitchen to soak the bone marrow in more milk. (“No one wants to eat blood,” he says, as he dabs at the blood on the bone.) He alternates between swearing at his kitchen staff and calling various members of his crew “sweetheart.” He’s also ever-aware that, although he’s had his struggles, he comes from a place of privilege, too. “What am I going to do, be an asshole because my staff didn’t go to culinary school?” he says. “You’ve got to show a little love.”

As he stands at the pass in the kitchen at Duck Duck Goose and receives a compliment from a customer who has stopped by to tell him that “everything was excellent,” this work gives him a different kind of high. “There’s nothing sexier to me than looking out into the dining room and the music is up and there’s a table of people doing their happy dance over the food. That’s what you get in the business for—that’s what 14-hour days are for.”

Telling his story has also been a part of his recovery. Alfred has lately learned to share his story publicly. In February, The Washington Post wrote a wrenching story on his past. He also revealed his story on The Today Show. The notoriety is new, and the media attention has set off an outpouring of strangers and people in the community emailing him to ask advice, share their struggles, or congratulate him on staying clean. “It’s almost strange being put on a pedestal,” says Alfred. “Some part of me wishes that I was getting all this attention for being a good chef, and a small part of me hates that I’m getting attention for the fact that I was a royal fuck-up.”

Back in the kitchen, a new, show-stopping soufflé appears about 30 minutes after the fallen one was sent back. This one rises inches high above the ramekin. It’s a crowning achievement, the true test of any French kitchen. As he spoons crème Anglaise over the top, it’s clear that all eyes are about to be on him. “See,” he says, looking at the soufflé. “Good things come to those who wait.”

When it comes to knife skills, it’s easy to tell the pros from the neophytes. And that’s because, whether your knife is made of Japanese carbon steel or German stainless, there’s a lot to know—from chopping herbs without bruising them to mastering the art of the julienne to knowing how to hasselback potatoes.

But it doesn’t take a diploma from the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) in Hyde Park, New York to learn how to cut with surgical precision. The experts say that it all begins with buying the right knife. Gunther & Co. executive chef-owner Jerry Trice says to “forget the brand and buy what feels comfortable in your hand—the best knife is the one you’re comfortable sharpening and holding.”

Chef David Bruno, who teaches basic knife skills at the CIA, echoes that sentiment: “I’m often asked, ‘What’s the best knife?’” he says. “The best knife is a sharp knife. It’s not the knife that does the job. It’s the person holding it.”

Learning proper technique is a critical component of cooking and can actually impact taste. “The food is consumed first with the eyes,” says Trice, a graduate of the CIA. “And you will have irregular cooking times because the potatoes or your carrots or leeks will be overcooked or al dente if they’re not evenly cut.”

Think of a knife as an extension of your hand, and remember that respect for this kitchen tool is key. Says Cunningham’s executive chef Jay Rohling: “There’s an old saying in Japan that when you pick up your knife, part of your soul goes into it.”

Knife Tips

A knife can be the ultimate taskmaster, but only if you’re using it properly. Remember, a knife can go from work-horse to weapon in an instant. “We have a lot of Band-Aids in class,” says Bruno. Here are some tips on using the right knife for the right job.

CHEF’S KNIFE
This versatile knife has a more pronounced curve at the tip. A chef’s knife is good for slicing meat and chopping vegetables.

PARING KNIFE
This knife has a short blade that’s great for detail work like peeling small fruits or vegetables and creating garnishes.

SERRATED KNIFE
The serrated blade is about eight to 10 inches long. It cuts cleanly through fruits and vegetables and slices items like bagels and loaves of bread without tearing them.

BONING KNIFE
A boning knife’s flexibility is designed to reach into small spaces to help detach meat from the bone and is used for beef, chicken, and fish.

CLEAVER
The cleaver, though often featured in slash-and-gash horror films, is nothing more than a rectangular knife with a thick, ultra-sharp, heavy blade that narrows to a sharp edge.

Columbia-born chef Andrew Fontaine comes to The Alexander Brown Restaurant after stints in the Napa Valley, and, more recently Antrim 1844 in Taneytown. He couldn’t be happier about the way in which the food scene has evolved here. “Baltimore has always teetered on the edge of being an unbelievable food city,” he says. “It’s really close to that tipping point where it can be taken just as seriously as other big cities. The food is not far off from being as good as D.C., Chicago, and Charleston. It just needs a little push and a tug and some exposure.”

I know you grew up in Columbia, but had you ever heard the name Alexander Brown?
Growing up around here, everyone has heard of Alexander Brown, the person or the bank—the firm or the building has that presence rooted in a deep history of Baltimore. But I wasn’t familiar with his impact on Baltimore until I started this project.

What part of the bank was where the kitchen is located now?
The kitchen is in the basement where the vault is that was original to the bank. We now use it for dry storage, which is very unique. The door to the vault is an antique and, apparently, they’re are not many of these left. We have the one that has a serial number of one on it, so it’s the first one like it. Of course, having a 4,000-pound door right by the pass to the kitchen creates its own challenges.

Did you grow up dreaming of becoming a chef?
My original plan was to go to law school, but I spent a summer working in my dad’s law office here in the city and realized that I didn’t want to do that. I had restaurant experience. In college, I managed a restaurant and my grandparents owned a few pubs. As a kid, I always worked in restaurants—I just didn’t think I’d do it forever.

What appealed to you about working in a kitchen?
In the beginning, it really was a comfort zone of where I felt at home in terms of the camaraderie with my coworkers. I loved that everyone had a common goal and I love the instant gratification of finishing a dish and putting it up. That really appealed to me. It also appealed to me because you’re part scientist, part artist, and part craftsman.

What did you want to accomplish with your menu?
I took inspiration from the Alexander Brown investment firm, family, and their merchant trade and tried to use that. They spent a long time importing the finest linen from all over the world and bringing back here to Baltimore. I’ve worked hard to find the greatest ingredients from all over the world and bring influences from North Africa, Korean, Spain, and Mexico. The wagyu beef comes from Japan, the morels come from the Pacific Northwest, the Ora Salmon comes from a sustainable farm in New Zealand, and the grits come from Anson Mill in South Carolina. Things will change as there’s a natural evolution of the restaurant, but we’ll never fully lose track of that.

What are some of the signatures on your menu?
The crab beignets are not going anywhere. We wanted to incorporate the feeling of Baltimore and Maryland and crabs are a huge part of that, but we wanted to do it in a little bit of a different way. Everyone has a different feeling about what makes the best crab cake and there’s no right or wrong. I wanted to showcase crab in a very different, refined, and elevated way and came up with the beignets. The inside is al like a crab salad with very little filler and herbs and crème fraiche.

The chicken for two is also turning into a wildly popular dish. We wanted to find a way to have a good whole roasted chicken but make it different. We debone it and then reform it. It’s steamed and roasted and arrives at the table as a cleaner package that’s easier to serve.

I imagine it’s fun to work in a new kitchen.
It’s nice to start in a brand new place and get all the toys and goodies that you want. We have sous vide machine and four circulators—more than most kitchens, which have one. We have sausage stuffers, smoking guns, and we are getting a centrifuge. We really try to bring contemporary aspects to what we do and use a fair amount of modern and contemporary cooking techniques.

In recent years, chef Catina Smith has built up a resume that includes private events and catering gigs, as well as stints at Guy Fieri’s Kitchen and Bar inside Horseshoe Casino, Magdalena inside Mt. Vernon’s posh Ivy Hotel, and her current position at the new Alexander Brown Restaurant downtown. But one of her greatest achievements is founding Just Call Me Chef—a movement that empowers female chefs of color through mentorship, networking, and education. We sat down with Smith to chat about what inspired the initiative, its evolution, and how it fits into Baltimore’s booming culinary landscape.

You started Just Call Me Chef to support female chefs of color through networking, education, and mentorship. What inspired the movement?

It started with the idea to create a calendar showcasing black female chefs. A local photographer, Daniel McGarrity, reached out and said, “Man, I would really love to help you on this project and I would love to do it pro bono.” So, I put it out there on Facebook, rounded up a few of chefs, and we started with the photoshoot. But it got me thinking that this could be so much bigger. I thought it was important to build a network for us to help each other out, so I went deeper and said, we need mentorship, scholarships, and internships for chefs of color so that we can get into these fine-dining restaurants that we normally aren’t.

Why do you think there’s a lack of black female chefs employed in fine-dining spaces?
I’ve asked some of my male chef friends, “Hey do you have any black women who work in your kitchens?” And they’re like, “No.” And I’m like, “Wow this is a problem.” I’m sure a lot of black women think that we only belong in a soul food type of place or that we can only learn certain levels of cooking, because that’s what we see. But we have the talent. Or if we don’t have the talent, we’re willing to learn. It’s about having the opportunity. If we’re not given the opportunity, how can we grow?

What inspired the name?
Daniel is actually the one who came up with the name. I added the tagline “Acknowledging our skill without differentiation.” You don’t need to say, “A black woman cooked this.” I hold the title of chef, so that’s all you need to call me.

Since last year, you’ve organized a number of chef meet-ups, culinary classes, and shadowing opportunities for young entrepreneurs. How have these events fostered connections within the community?
It’s definitely become a sisterhood, and that’s exactly what I was hoping for. It’s always been important to me to bring people together. Now we all meet up and support each other’s events. And when I feel overwhelmed with a catering event I know a friend is just a phone call away to help me. What really makes me happy is to see the relationships that have grown outside of me. I see some of the people who I met within Just Call Me Chef who are now doing collaborative projects together.

What future initiatives are you looking forward to?
Right now I’m really focused on the tour. We’re hoping to go to one city per quarter for three days, and I’ve done my research for our trip to Philadelphia in May. In each city, we’ll have a passport with food establishments owned by black women for people to visit. We’ll also host intimate chat-and-chew events and panel discussions with the owners.

You previously worked as a line chef at Magdalena and recently started at the Alexander Brown Restaurant. How has working in these kitchens affected your career?
Magdalena definitely escalated my confidence. It gave me the street cred that I needed, because there are people who have called me a “social media chef.” And I was like, wait a minute, I am a real chef. Yes, I do a lot in the community, but my roots are cooking. That’s kind of gotten lost for people.

How does Just Call Me Chef fit into the city’s culinary landscape?
I don’t know what’s going on in Baltimore, but there’s something in the air. We’re welcoming change. We want our city to be known as a food city. So many exciting food things have been going on, so I think to have a cool movement like this happening simultaneously is just shining more light on us.

Starving artists? Not so fast. For many chefs, cooking is already an art form—after all, it has been said that the first taste is with the eyes. But while their Insta-ready plates are something to behold, some area chefs take their artistry a step further. When they’re not working in their commercial kitchens, many chefs dabble in other forms of art (from woodworking to sketching). See for yourself—their talents make us wish we could frame them.

ENRIQUE LIMARDO
EXECUTIVE CHEF, ALMA COCINA LATINA

Enrique Limardo comes by his artistic skills honestly. His mother is a fashion designer back in Caracas, and his grandfather was a painter and sculptor. Growing up in Caracas, he says, “I was very restless, so my father put me in art classes, including painting.” Limardo studied architecture, and though cooking became his calling, he never lost his passion for painting. “I paint every day,” says Limardo, “but it takes a lot of time to do nice-sized canvases, so I started doing sketches with charcoal and pencil. I sketch people I admire, like Einstein, Dalí, and Carlos Santana.” Often working well past midnight, Limardo produces a finished piece every day. “I’ve discovered that this gives me more creativity to bring to the kitchen,” he says. “I always keep design in mind when I’m thinking about plating. I think about colors and textures and, most importantly, flavor, but if I can create it in my mind, I can put it on the plate. The plate is a canvas.”

CARLOS RABA
CHEF/CO-OWNER, CLAVEL

For as long as he can remember, Carlos Raba has been a doodler. “The doodles started because I’m a visual guy,” says Raba. “The doodling helps me focus on one element—and that element is the plate.” In fact, Raba often doodles dishes when coming up with new menu concepts for the Remington taqueria. “Drawing is different than writing,” says Raba, who draws mini-masterpieces with his finger on his iPhone. “If I write down the words ‘spice’ and ‘salt,’ it’s not the same as putting black sparkles on the plate. Drawing helps me envision what will go on the plate and how I will decorate it. Do I need some green color with cilantro? Do I need a slice of something or a drizzle? A painter sees it with paint—I see it with food. Anything you present and have a passion for is art, because you are creating your idea, your vision, and your passion.”

ANDY GAYNOR
EXECUTIVE CHEF, AZUMI

With a mother who was a landscape architect and a grandfather who built boats on the Eastern Shore, Andy Gaynor was steeped in the arts at an early age. “As a kid, I was always tinkering with things, and I made knives out of scissors,” says Gaynor, who studied business at Salisbury State. These days, the chef works in multiple mediums—from metalworking to woodworking to painting. He has made the family dining-room farm table, a coffee table in the living room, and even contributed to the design for the logo of the Harbor East sushi hotspot. A recent project was crafting a saya, or knife sheath, for the sword he brought back from a recent trip to Japan that will go on display in the open kitchen at Azumi. “I like using my hands and having a finished product,” explains Gaynor. “Once you get marinated in it, so to speak, you kind of lose yourself in it and lose track of time. I love that art allows you to use the other half of your brain.”

JOSH HERSHKOVITZ

CHEF/CO-OWNER, HERSH’S

Long before going into the food industry, Josh Hershkovitz majored in fine art and philosophy in his undergraduate years at the University of Chicago. While in school, Hershkovitz particularly enjoyed sculpting with construction materials. “I felt the weight of those objects made it seem more real,” he says. “You see a Brancusi sculpture, and it’s polished brass and silver, but it’s behind a rope and you can’t interact with it. I enjoyed working with concrete, metal, and wood and something as proletarian as concrete.” After moving to Baltimore, Hershkovitz did decorative painting and gilding for high-end furniture finishers such as McLain Weisand, as well as cabinetmaking for Artisan Interiors. By 2011, he and his sister, Stephanie, opened Hersh’s. And while he no longer works as an artist, he still tinkers at home, where he has built a library and an entertainment center. And at Hersh’s, where he built the bar—he makes pizza with his hands. “If you’re not working with your hands, you’re not doing it right,” he says.

Miss Shirley’s Cafe corporate executive chef Brigitte Bledsoe had a serious health scare over the summer. Now, she’s “back in action,” she says, with a new lease on life and some new dishes on the menu. 

I know you had a big health scare this year, can you tell us a bit about what happened?
It was a life-threatening ordeal. I got married in July at a local beach in Maui—and almost died in the same month.

You were in the hospital for a long time. Did you dream up new recipes while you were there?
While I was in the hospital, I must have been thinking about work pretty much all of the time. Apparently, I was sprinkling parsley on things and barking orders at at my produce company—I don’t remember a lot of my hospital experience, but while I was there, I was still thinking that I was working.

Wow. So what was it like when you actually came back to work about a month ago?
I was nervous to come back after being away for three months. I had to use a standup desk. There were flowers and chocolates and balloons, and the team decorated my desk. 

My first day I felt like I was spinning around in a circle—it was very overwhelming. I went home and slept six hours after working for six hours. I’ve now been cleared to visit all three of Miss Shirley’s locations. It makes me want to continue to get stronger—I want to be here 10 more years, not 10 more days. 

Did your time away inspire new ideas for Miss Shirley’s menu?
I was inspired to bring back some menu ideas from Hawaii that I wanted on the new menu. I wanted to do a loco moco, which is a very traditional Hawaiian dish–they serve it everywhere. It’s white rice with a hamburger patty with gravy on top and served with an egg. Our version is served with grits, Roseda beef, and some mushrooms in the gravy. But because I got sick, my culinary team had to pull together our fall/winter menu without me. I was so impressed.    

Did your trip inspire other dishes, as well?
We did a walking tour through Chinatown, and it was fantastic I had the best banh mi sandwich and I knew I wanted to do that on the menu, too. Ours has pulled pork on our ciabatta bread with pickled radishes and carrots and fresh jalapeños.

How did you come to work at Miss Shirley’s—I know you started here at the beginning when it opened 13 years ago.
I started in 2004 with Miss Shirley’s founder Eddie Dopkin (father of current owner David Dopkin). Ironically, I had had foot surgery and was on crutches at the time. He said to me, ‘How do I know you can cook?’ And I said, ‘Come to my house.’ I made 10 to 15 different dishes, including the coconut cream stuffed French toast, and the crabcake and fried green tomatoes eggs Benedict that are still on the menu today. I don’t think Eddie knew what direction he wanted to go in, but I’ve always loved Southern food from fried chicken to collard greens. I made him grits and fried green tomatoes and things just took off from there.  

How did you learn to cook?
At a young age, I remember pulling out my mom’s cookbooks saying, ‘Can we make this?’  And she would say, ‘Yes,’ and we would cook side by side. My mom (former Baltimore magazine food editor and Sun restaurant critic Suzanne Loudermilk) has a love of food and is quite the foodie.

So how did working in restaurants become a career?
My parents’ thought that I was going to the community college, but I was working full-time at Ocean Pride—I didn’t even go to school. I think I got busted when my mom came in and saw me. I was a handful back then. She’s so proud of me now.

Celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay, who was raised in Stratford-upon-Avon—the birthplace of Shakespeare—is known to be a total drama king in the kitchen with his fiery temper and profanity-laced language. But in person, he’s as affable as they come. Ramsay, who has 32 restaurants all over the world (and TV shows all over Fox including Hell’s Kitchen, MasterChef, and The F Word with Gordon Ramsay) has been in Baltimore getting ready to open Gordon Ramsay Steak at the Horseshoe Casino. This is his first steakhouse on the East Coast, and a sister spot to his Las Vegas eatery. We caught up with the multi-Michelin starred chef to talk about steak, Baltimore, and The Bard. 

Have you visited Baltimore before?
I’ve been four times. It’s a lot like London, hardworking, not over-glamorized. It’s just one of those vibrant cities that has a real passion to it. You sense that just walking to the stadium. I didn’t go to the game, but I watched it on TV and visited the stadium this morning. 

I know you worked in an American steakhouse early in your career. What did you learn?
It was just this feeling of warmth and generosity, and it was that kind of hustle and bustle of the place that I loved. It was absolutely jam-packed. Everyone was snug in the booth, and the food was exceptional. The standard of the meat was the most important thing to me, just the quality of the beef, whether it was grass-fed or dry-aged, the quality was second to none.

You’ve said that you know whether a restaurant is going to be good or bad in seconds. What are you looking for when you dine out?
I send my wife to the bathroom. I want to make sure that the bathrooms are immaculate before I sit down. If the hygiene isn’t right, I leave immediately—that sets the tone. And then there’s the lighting. Lighting needs to be an enhancer. The lighting needs to make you feel welcome and not frigid. And then that first welcome is critical, whether there’s someone in the reception area, a maître d’ or even a server, you need to be made to feel welcome.

To what do you owe your success?
I owe it to my mum. She taught me manners and hard work. Mum had two jobs. She was a nurse at night and a cook during the day. We got to eat the food that didn’t sell. I got that determination and hunger from watching her.

Did you cook with her at home?
She’d never let me cook. I did prep. I’d peel the parsnips. Peel the carrots. The only thing I was allowed to do then was bake. I did a couple of cooking courses at school, but my main interest then was sports. I would go fishing on the river Avon and play soccer. After soccer, I’d go back and help my mum clean and cook. 

Growing up in Stratford-upon-Avon, what was your relationship with Shakespeare?
I used to live next to Mary Arden’s house [Shakespeare’s mother]. Throughout the summer and fall, I was in and out of theater. I was super shy about expressing myself in drama. But I understood that boisterousness and that passion from watching the plays and studying the literature. I wasn’t interested in it, but we had to do it. It gave me insight for theatricality. 

You’re this nice guy. Is what we see on TV for show or is that really a part of who you are?
I don’t parlay bullshit. We’re having a chat because I’m not even in service. But when we step into that arena where you’re paying $60 or $100 for a meal, it’s important to me. I’m not two-faced, I’m not hypocritical—I just call it as I see it. 

What do you think of food critics?
It’s something you have to live with. I’m 51, I’ve been cooking since I was 19. I’ve been judged by individuals who know less about food than I do. I call it rhino skin, because of the beat-ups and the jump-ons and the negativity—you have to skin like a rhino that stretches. And every time [one of my cooks] is upset because someone didn’t like something, I say “rhino.” You have to build that character. I respect the critics when they know what they’re talking about, but I don’t respect the critics when they haven’t got a clue. I had a Russian critic in the U.K. who got so drunk at one of my restaurants once, he phoned me the next day to find out what he had eaten. 

Other than the Union Jack on the ceiling of the dining room, what other British touches have you brought to your steakhouse?
This meat trolley is my Rolls Royce. I wanted to bring a little touch of British-ness to the dining room. Pushing one of these carts is like pushing a Rolls Royce through the dining room. This gets rolled to every table. We spaced the tables and booths purposely far apart. The grade and the marbling of the meat are apparent in the reflective surfaces of the cart. Twenty years ago it used to be a soufflé that would pass through the dining room—now it’s this baby. We have a GPS on it in case it goes missing. It’s good enough to cart the crown jewels. 

Speaking of the crown jewels, are you excited about the upcoming royal wedding?

I’m very excited. We know Prince Harry very well. I’ve seen him at events and had the pleasure of cooking for him. What an amazing match—and what a fantastic time to do it. America and Great Britain are becoming even closer. How cool is that? 

The Milton Inn has been a restaurant for 70 years. What’s the secret to its longevity?
This building—even though it’s almost 300 years old and has its challenges—is charming. It has charm you really can’t replicate in a new restaurant. You also have to be a little crazy to be in the restaurant business. This is not a normal life. This really is a lifestyle. I live and breathe the restaurant, and everything else is secondary. It really does take that much dedication. If you see a restaurant that’s been in business for 20 years, someone is working their butt off. It doesn’t happen by itself. 

Did you ever see yourself working here that long?
I came to eat here in probably 1980-something. I sat in that dining room with the hearth and I said to myself, “I’d love to own this restaurant one day.” And not even trying, it kind of fell into my lap. It’s weird, right?  

How do you keep up with Baltimore’s growing food scene?
Consistency is a huge part of the ingredients that make this place successful. But we also try to make gradual changes. You have to slowly evolve. If you don’t, you will go out of business.    

How do you decide what changes to make?
That’s always the hard part. What do we get rid of and what do we keep? I basically just look at the numbers. Okay, what’s selling and what’s not selling? Because of that, we’re a pretty traditional restaurant. My food is straightforward. It’s not smoke and mirrors. I don’t like trendy at all. Trendy doesn’t last.

You’ve made a big shift toward small plates at the restaurant. 
The small-plate menu has become a really important piece of our business. One of the things we saw was that people weren’t eating the same way they used to. You have to take your cues from your customers. Fridays and Saturdays are the busiest times, when people are going out on date nights, and it doesn’t cost them an arm and a leg. The moment you say “Milton Inn,” most people think “expensive and far away,” but I’m on a quest of changing people’s opinions of what we are. 

Leading up to the 70th anniversary, you spent $600,000 in renovations last year, which included your circa 1740 lounge. 
Doing things like renovations are necessary to keep you healthy. People are willing to spend money in a restaurant, but they’re not willing to spend $50 and look around and see everything looking shabby. That’s not going to cut it. We’ve always been willing to put money into this business. What used to be an empty lounge is now full. 

What changes have you noticed over the years in the local food scene? 
Dress codes are just completely gone. I got rid of ours years ago now—I’m a realist. I was probably one of the first fine-dining restaurants to say, “We’re not winning this battle.” Sometimes you just have to say, “How many people am I going to turn away before I change how I do something?” 

What’s one of your personal favorites on the menu?
The Filet of Chesapeake—it’s delicious. Filet mignon and a crab cake with béarnaise sauce, Jack Tarr potatoes, and fresh vegetables. It is a really simple dish, but it’s our best seller, and has been for the past 20 years. 

What’s next for you and the Inn?
I’m slated to be here until 2040.  

That’s a long time. 
It’s not really that far away, believe it or not. It all happens so quickly. Twenty years goes by in no time. I picked that date because I wanted to be here for the anniversary of the 300th year of the building, so that’s only 23 more years. Hopefully I can survive that long. [Laughs.] But that’s the plan.

Chef Andrew Carmellini has restaurants all over New York City (Locanda Verde, The Dutch, Bar Primi, to name a few), but has quickly familiarized himself with the Mid-Atlantic culinary scene, too. We catch up with the James Beard Award-winning chef and talk about the recent debut of Rye Street Tavern. 

How did you come to be involved with both of Kevin Plank’s restaurants, Rec Pier Chop House and Rye Street Tavern?
Initially, the Sagamore people recruited me for Rye Street Tavern first. They brought me down to this empty industrial field where there was a defunct Walmart. They caught me at a vulnerable time. I had just gotten back from a two-week trip to Scotland where I did a lot of hiking and drinking of Scotch.  They said, ‘We want to do this restaurant next to the distillery.’ My interest was piqued. Once we got into it, it became more apparent that the thing to do there wasn’t English—it needed to be an American restaurant.

Tell me about your signature fried chicken on Rye Street’s menu?
When I was the chef for Daniel Boulud from 1998 to 2006, we did a to-go fried chicken dinner. Bill Goldman, the screenwriter, who did The Princess Bride and was a good customer of ours, and [journalist] Diane Sawyer and her husband, [filmmaker] Mike Nichols, came for Sunday fried chicken dinners. More or less, this is the same one I’ve always made. 

I went on a fried chicken road trip in the ’90s. I went to a lot of fried chicken places in Nashville and Memphis and through the South to understand the best things I liked about fried chicken. I love a real crispy crust that’s not too greasy. I like for the chicken to be tender and flavorful and not too dried out. And I like to deep fry. 

What did you want the tavern to feel like?
Aside from a great bar, the number-one quality I want in a tavern is for it to feel like a return to home. 

Does Kevin Plank have a favorite dish at the tavern?
He likes the shrimp and rockfish. We thought about putting a Plank salmon on the menu, but decided not to do it. 

What is it about chefs and tattoos? For these top toques, getting ink—and we’re not talking squid—is up there with learning the five basic sauces. Historically, tattoos have always factored into kitchen culture, says former Top Chef contestant Jesse Sandlin. “Before the day and age of celebrity chefs, kitchens used to have this ragtag pirate ship-type of mentality,” she says. “You didn’t have to look a certain way, because you weren’t in the public eye. Just as we express ourselves through the food that we serve, it’s another avenue of self-expression.”

For some chefs, body art is the ultimate fashion statement. “I wanted something that was well done and visually beautiful, an artistic piece created for me to have indefinitely and exclusively,” says La Cakerie’s Jason Hisley, whose sprawling chest piece features cupcakes, cinnamon sticks, wheat sheaths, and a slice of rainbow cake. “My chest piece is literally like my favorite shirt.”

We checked in with Sandlin and Hisley and other area chefs who don’t mind flashing a little flesh in the name of art.

Jesse Sandlin

Director of culinary operations, Mama’s Group

Tat Total: I have too many to count. (She guesstimates about 30.) Tale of the Tat: I’m really into pirate culture. In the olden days, when sailors went on ships, they would take pigs and chickens and livestock and pack them onboard in a wooden crate. That way, if they ever ran aground, the crate would keep them afloat, and they could have food if they were ever shipwrecked. In the Flesh: I got [the pig and rooster] tattoos in Las Vegas after I was kicked off Top Chef. I felt very underwater at the time. It was very cathartic.

Josh Hershkovitz

Co-owner/executive chef, Hersh’s Pizza

Tat Total: 4 Tale of the Tat: I was looking to do something food-related not long after getting engaged to my wife. I like the old sailor tattoos with the flaming heart that says “Mom.” I put Lena’s name on it with the pizza, because pizza and my wife are two of my favorite things. In the Flesh: Before I had it done, I called Lena from Little Vinnie’s Tattoos in Finksburg and said, “I’m calling to check. When I asked you to marry me, you said, ‘yes,’ right?”

Jason Hisley

Owner/executive chef, La Cakerie

Tat Total: 20-plus Tale of the Tat: Ever since I was a little kid, my life has revolved around pastries and baking. My grandmother was a baker from Czechoslovakia. Baking has always been in my life, and I knew I wanted to pursue it as a career. I wanted to do a tattoo that related to my career. Having ‘Life is Sweet’ across my chest sums up my view on life as a whole. Yes, it’s about sugar and baked goods, but it’s also my attitude toward life. In the Flesh: I knew I wanted a crossed chef’s knife and whisk, because those are my daily tools—they are like my hands in the kitchen. Then I wanted things that were visually striking and fun, from ingredients to baked goods. I wanted cupcakes because my whole career as a pastry chef spiraled out of control when I won first place on the Food Network’s Cupcake Wars. I wanted the slice of rainbow cake, because I’m gay and it’s a nod to who I am as a person and also very Baltimore. I thought that I was only going to get the knife and the whisk, but then it became an addiction.

Travis Marley

Executive pastry chef, Pazo, Petit Louis Bistro, Johnny’s

Tat Total: 9 Tale of the Tat: I got my first tattoo at Vodou Tattoos in Pasadena. I was 17 and it was a graduation gift from Kent Island High School. I’m from the Eastern Shore and have always wanted to have nautical stars, which are also a symbol that sailors used to identify points on a map. My parents are super important to me and have always been my guiding source. In the Flesh: Getting tattooed is painful, but it’s also spiritual for me. Finding a way to channel the pain is a form of meditation.

Olivia Lewis

Line cook, Linwoods

Tat Total: 11 Tale of the Tat: My father’s side is Russian and Irish, so I have this beautiful matryoshka nesting doll; and my mother’s side is Thai, so I have an elephant, which is considered sacred in Thailand. It was important to me that these tats be meaningful. In the Flesh: I had these done in North Hollywood, CA. I knew I wanted something related to my heritage. The tattoo artist threw out a few ideas, and these were the ones I loved the most.

Karin Fuller Tiffany

Co-owner/executive chef, Peter’s Inn

Tat Total: 10 Tale of the Tat: I got my first tattoo—a pig; yes, a pig—when I was 19 in Bangor, ME, when I was in the Coast Guard. All my CG friends were getting them, and it sounded cool. Then I got my first food-related tattoo when I was 27 at Little Vinnie’s —a sacred heart with a whisk. At the time, I thought I was a true original, but not for long. In the Flesh: My only advice on getting tattooed is to remember that they are permanent, and other people either love or despise them. Being a chef somehow exempts me from too much judgment. I’m B.O.H. [back of the house], and it’s a gnarly job.

Ted Stelzenmuller

Co-owner/executive chef, Jack’s Bistro

Tat Total: 18 Tale of the Tat: My tattoos are all related to my profession and travels across the world. I got my first tattoo from Seth Ciferri, former owner of Baltimore’s Read Street Tattoo Parlour, who now lives in Portland and is a world-recognized tattoo machine builder. This tattoo represents the time my wife and I spent in Madrid. It’s done in the style of a watercolor painting. The bull next to the matador is from the flag of the Azores islands to represent Portugal. In the Flesh: Go see Matt Rinks at Ghost Town tattoo shop in Ellicott City. He is a wonderful person and a great artist with a keen eye for composition whom I trust entirely with forever altering my skin.

Dylan Salmon

Owner/shucker, Dylan’s Oyster Cellar

Tat Total: 1 Tale of the Tat: I’m an artist and had drawn a bunch of different tattoo ideas over the years. Then about three years ago—I was 27, 28—I just got up one morning and did it. I was feeling a little down that day and needed a pick-me-up. But it was right around the same time I started really getting into oysters, so I thought what better way to remind myself every day about why I’m doing this. It’s a drawing of my favorite kind of oyster knife and a California oyster, similar to a Kumamoto. At that point, I had just discovered that there were all these other kinds of exotic oysters beyond local bay oysters and I was stoked. In the Flesh: Just make sure you really want to keep it on you forever. At this point, I rarely notice mine, but when I hold my knife in my left hand, I’m literally wearing my oyster badge on my sleeve.

Melanie Molinaro

Former executive chef, Encantada

Tat Total: 5 Tale of the Tat: When I was younger, I always thought tattoos were so cool, so I couldn’t wait ’til I was old enough to start getting tattoos. I got my first tattoo when I was 18. It was a rose with the word forza under it, which means pride. I’m Italian, so I wanted something that I was going to be proud of. Since then, most of my kitchen tattoos are to commemorate the restaurants I’ve worked at. The pig is for Birroteca, since their mascot is a wild boar. I plan on getting a radish for Encantada. In the Flesh: Start small and build your collection. I think of tattoos as a body of artwork. It’s cool that you can see the transitions in my life because they are on my skin.

Q&A: Needle Man

Tattoo artist Hunter Spanks talks tats—and heirloom veggies.

Hunter Spanks’s first tattoo was a cobra he tattooed on his own thigh at age 15. These days, he practices his art form at Hampden’s Have Fun Be Lucky Tattoo, where he tattoos everyone from chefs (including Jason Hisley’s tats) to corporate types. While he was tattooing Technicolor hamsas, lotus flowers, and an elephant on a client, we sat down with Spanks to get insider info on his ink work. “Why do people get tattooed?” he mused. “I have no idea. It’s just fun and silly. Some people give it way too much thought. It’s an art form being put on a dying canvas.”

How many people have you tattooed through the years?
The business has really changed a lot. The first five years, I averaged 120 to 150 tattoos a month. But these days, things have changed. Everything is customized. Now I do anywhere between two to four a day.

Why do so many chefs, in particular, get tattooed?
Generally, you’re not seen by the public, so no one cares. Tattoos are becoming more commonplace for chefs. It started because the boss didn’t care whether the [kitchen staff] got tattooed or not.

What kinds of things have you tattooed on chefs?
I’ve tattooed everything from a pig to hot dogs and hamburgers. I’ve also done a lot of fruit like apples and oranges and vegetables. I just tattooed a chef the other week who wanted heirloom vegetables.

Are there any do’s and don’ts?
If you’re so drunk that you can’t stand up, you’re not going to sit still for a tattoo, so that’s not going to work for me. But if a couple of drinks is going to relax you, I encourage it.

What about getting the name of a current love interest. Is that a no-no?
After tattooing for 25 years, I’m not your parents. That girl whose name you want tattooed on you might be with you in the future or she might not be. I’m going to tattoo you because, hell, when you got it, you had a good time, and when she breaks up with you, you’re going to spend a shitload of money getting it covered up.

Look closely at the crowd at The Valley Inn, and you’ll see there’s been a subtle shift. Yes, you’re still likely to see preppy moms, nattily dressed businessmen, and genteel ladies of a certain age. But there’s something else: a new generation of young adults in the bar and dining room, curious about this venerable old Baltimore County restaurant. Though we’d been once or twice in the past decade, we, too, wondered if its new owner, Ted Bauer—who also owns The Oregon Grille—would retain a semblance of the historic building’s storied past (dog races, swing bands, wicked mint juleps) or strive for something completely different.

It took almost three years to find out. The last owners of the one-time 1800s roadhouse were two generations of the Hatfield family, who operated the place from the 1920s, with the eccentric Bud Hatfield presiding over the place until Bauer took possession of the aging restaurant in 2011.

Then, last December, the renovated restaurant—officially in Lutherville but often cited as being in Brooklandville—re-opened in a carefully orchestrated evolution. First, drinks and a limited menu were served in the bar on weekends only; then, they were offered on a daily basis; and now, they’re also available in a handsome dining room with the list of appetizers, sandwiches, and entrees continuing to expand.

The décor reflects the restaurant’s previous reputation as a gathering place for Greenspring Valley’s horse folk. The subdued dining room has a thoroughbred-racing motif with artwork, jockey lamps, and accoutrements dispersed throughout a space that has two working gas fireplaces. The lively bar captures sporting interests, from golfing and fishing to horses and dogs. They are manly rooms in luxe woods that remind us of a hunt club.

Under the helm of chef Roger Shugars, the restaurant’s fare is much more adventurous than its ambiance, though there is a nod to the cuisine of a bygone era with a wonderful crab imperial—a Maryland specialty featuring a lush mound of jumbo lump bathed in a rich white sauce and served in a scallop dish.

The chef has devised a New American menu to suit a variety of palates and portion demands: There are “plates” for heartier appetites like a crab-cake platter, an 18-ounce grilled T-bone steak, and ragù Bolognese, as well as light-fare offerings that include a 10-ounce Valley burger, cheese-steak sliders, and house-made shrimp salad—a popular dish at The Oregon Grille.

In fact, there are several crossover offerings, though in slightly different preparations, between the two restaurants, including a French dip, grilled oysters, and the chopped seafood Cobb salad—a gorgeous mound of chilled romaine with jumbo shrimp, lump crab, avocado, bacon, tomato, egg, and Gorgonzola. We dare you to try and finish it.

A variety of chilled oysters on the half shell are also available including Blue Point, Misty Point, and Hog Island on one evening. But one of our favorite appetizers was the braised Asiago meatballs in a Cabernet sauce. Our Italian dining companion was quite impressed—as were we. We also really liked Hawk’s crab soup, named after the person who created this veggie-laden version.

The poached lobster is another decadent (and delicious) presentation—a round of creamy saffron risotto is cloaked in wilted spinach and then crowned with two succulent lobster tails intertwined like ballet dancers in a pas de deux.

Another night, we had a roasted free-range chicken, moist and tender, with buttermilk mashed potatoes and sautéed mushrooms. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen an orchid dolling up a plate. But the old-fashioned, exotic garnish appealed to our nostalgia.

Desserts are homey and clever. The waffle ice-cream sandwich with a hint of almond flavor embraces Graeter’s chocolate-chip ice cream. Baltimoreans may not have heard of this brand, but it’s a big seller in the Midwest with its vibrant, creamy texture. It’s also available by itself or in a hot-fudge sundae at the restaurant.

The chocolate-dipped strawberries and pretzel sticks are also a fun, satisfying finish, as is the house-made bread pudding with whiskey sauce.

The food is worth a visit. But kudos to Bauer for saving an important landmark and taking pains to stay true to The Valley Inn’s ethos.

Under his care, the updated restaurant along leafy Falls Road is ready to create its own memories for the next century of diners.

We refused to be deterred by the dismantled lobby obviously going through a makeover. Persevering to the right and heading up a short flight of stairs, we soon entered a two-story-high dining room that left us gasping at its opulence. With its dreamy cornflower-blue walls, gilded trim, chandeliers dripping crystals, tropical palm plumage, and elegant candelabra-topped tables, we felt like we’d stepped into Versailles. The luxe space is decidedly anachronistic amid today’s no-nonsense industrial, brick-walled eating spaces. But the fancy décor works at The French Kitchen at Lord Baltimore Hotel. The dining room is inside the stately hotel, which opened in 1928 and was the largest hotel in Maryland at one time. Myriad years and owners later, the French renaissance landmark is once again reliving its glory days with a massive renovation from top to bottom. The French Kitchen is one of its centerpieces.

It even impressed its executive chef, Jordan Miller, who opened The Chesapeake in the Station North Arts and Entertainment District last year and has cooked at restaurants across the nation. “When I was looking for a new place to land, the dining room was a selling point for me,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to work here.”

The restaurant isn’t just about appearances. The thoughtful menu, with a dozen entrees, reflects the culture of its location with classical and updated French fare. You’ll find bistro staples like a croque-madame sandwich (that’s the one with the fried egg), an omelet, and a quiche of the day, as well as heartier plates like steak frites, duck, and fish (monkfish, the night we visited).

Miller creates deconstructed-style dishes that are layered, shaped, and stacked into artistic wonders. While the boeuf bourguignon may not be Julia Child’s excellent stew-like version, Miller’s showcases a succulent short rib atop a pool of rich burgundy sauce surrounded by colorful root vegetables as pretty as a Cézanne still life.

“I’m taking classic preparations and flavors and then cleaning them up a bit,” Miller says. “We’re also doing old school like coq au vin and pot-au-feu.”
But before we got to our main meals, an aromatic bread basket with house-made baguette slices and boules (there’s a baker and pastry chef in the kitchen) was delivered to our table with condiments like in-house cured olives and a tangy orange marmalade—a welcome rustic offering in the cavernous room dotted with banquettes, bare wood tables, and plush seating.

Even though our waitress was new to the restaurant that very
night—struggling to remember specials and having to go to the kitchen to
talk to the chef—we were well cared for. It undoubtedly helped that we
were the only patrons in the dining room until the end of our dinner
when a few stragglers arrived. Given the deliciousness of our meal, we
hope more people will be attracted to the restaurant’s charms. Hotel
management even offers discounted valet parking to entice guests.

For
starters, we sampled a traditional onion soup that had depth and scored
points for cleverness. The Comté cheese was melted on top of a toasted
baguette slice to avoid the annoying strings of cheese that often make
eating the broth a challenge. We also enjoyed a stunningly beautiful
beet salad featuring several preparations, including roasted, pickled,
puréed, and raw with pecans and fresh cheese.

We really liked
the salmon appetizer, too. The fish was cured with fennel and dressed
with dill, crème fraîche, potatoes, and an everything-bagel tuile, all
assembled in a carefully composed tableau.

There is also
charcuterie and beef tartare to kick off your meal and salads like
roasted vegetable, frisée with bacon, and a niçoise with tuna, olives,
egg, tomato, and beans.

Our lamb entree was another
picture-perfect dish. The medium-rare chops were adorned with carrots,
rutabaga, and greens. And shades of molecular gastronomy. Was that foam
on the plate? Very avant-garde for Baltimore. Our scallops were fat,
glazed spheres dressed with frisée, potatoes, beets, and apples in a
successful combination.

The wines, as you might expect, are
French—from a lovely Domaine de Orgnes Côtes du Rhône to a crisp Mont
Gravet Côtes de Gascogne Blanc—with bottles priced from $20-76 and by
the glass from $7-12.

We wrapped up our meal with
profiteroles and a chocolate mousse. Both were fine, but the one we’re
still talking about is the popcorn ice cream. Its silky, buttery texture
and flavor captured the snack in a wonderfully unexpected way.
For a
less formal setting, Lord Baltimore Hotel also has LB Tavern in the
lobby with LB Bakery opening soon. This venerable property has
transformed itself into a delightful food destination, even if you’re
not staying in one of the 440 rooms.

It was love at first bite at Bottega as we swooned over the freshest pea shoots, creamiest farm cheese, ooziest marrow, and sweetest caramel. But, really, the charming BYOB captured our hearts as soon as we walked in the door. The storefront trattoria, along a forlorn slice of the Station North Arts District, impressed us immediately with its appealing cooking aromas from the open kitchen, intimate room (only 25 seats), and a gracious, welcoming host, who opened our wine as soon as he spotted it on our table. The brick walls, romantic candles, and shelves of worn cookbooks made us feel like we were eating dinner at a favorite foodie friend’s house.

The downside at Bottega is snagging a reservation at a typical dinnertime. The tables go quickly, and there is no place to wait if the place is packed. It can take six weeks to score a weekend seat, owner Adrien Aeschliman told us. But if 10 p.m. works for you, you’ll be in luck—or plan ahead.

We managed to reserve a spot on a weeknight but had to be there at 5:30 p.m. and were asked ahead of time if we could leave by 7 because a large party was expected. Normally, we would have been miffed at the time limit, but when we arrived, we realized the constraints of the place. And, honestly, we never felt rushed by our pleasant server during our meal, even when we ordered dessert.

The food is unpretentious and seriously good. Aeschliman wanted to re-create the dishes he grew up with in Tuscany, Italy, where his family lived part-time when they weren’t in residence in Switzerland. The Swiss-American landed in Baltimore four years ago when his wife attended nursing school here. There was nothing else like Bottega in town, says Aeschliman, who has a background in the front and back of restaurants. He opened his cozy eatery in October to immediate praise, placing his friend, Frederick “Sandy” Smith, in the kitchen as the chef.

The menu, written in chalk on a blackboard, changes often, so there’s always a reason to return—though we’re hoping, whining, and praying the marrow bones and oxtail stew with brioche toast and slabs of cheese shows up again. It was one of the best dishes we’ve had in a long time.

The other plates were contenders, too. Beet salads are ubiquitous these days, but Bottega’s is impressive with a mountain of tender pea shoots bolstering boulders of beets and dollops of chèvre. We also became quick fans of the crostini piled with creamy Winnimere cheese from a Vermont farm, sliced apples, and walnuts.

The spinach-and-ricotta malfatti were gnocchi-like morsels set in a seductive, fragrant butter-and-sage sauce and then showered in Grana Padano.

That night, we also opted for a hunk of mouthwatering hanger steak, prepared medium-rare as requested and thickly sliced to show its tawny beauty. It was served with a generous mound of peppery cress.

It’s the type of menu where you also might find beef cheeks, beef-heart tartare, or smoked lamb neck at the chef’s whim. On our visit, other items included chicken with rutabaga mash and duck breast with faro and carrots.

Desserts can range from flavored panna cottas to a pignoli cookie plate. We couldn’t bear to leave Bottega without trying one of the sweets, even if our time was running out. There were only two desserts offered—rice-pudding brûlée and a salted-caramel-and-chocolate pie. Repeat after us: Order the pie. This is one of most luscious interpretations of the salty-sweet flavors you’ll find.

We weren’t surprised that we adored our last bite as much as our first taste of the appetizers. Bottega woos its diners with a deft hand and deceptive simplicity. Be prepared to fall in love.

ROBBIN HAAS

Chef/owner, Birroteca, The Nickel Taphouse

The Brewer’s Art: The Baltimore Spring Water, its version of a gin and tonic.

The Food Market: Its lobster mac and cheese.

Tapas Teatro: The baby octopus and potatoes.

Pho Dat Thanh, Towson: Pho.

Zorba’s Bar & Grill: The lamb chops.

BINDA SINGH

Co-owner, Ambassador Dining Room

The Food Market: The scallops are amazing.

French Kitchen at Lord Baltimore Hotel: The vibrant beet salad.

Atwater’s: I’m guaranteed to find something I like.

Stone Mill Bakery: The delicious tuna salad.

Cinghiale: The best hand-made pasta in town.

SERGIO VITALE

Chef/co-owner, Chazz: A Bronx Original, Aldo’s Ristorante Italiano

The Food Market: Buffalo pickles—and everything else.

The Capital Grille: Marconi’s salad.

Shoo-Fly Diner: The “adult” slushies. (The apple-cider is dangerously good.)

Broadway Diner: The patty melts.

Andy Nelson’s Southern Pit Barbecue: The pulled pork.

BRIGITTE BLEDSOE

Corporate executive chef, Miss Shirley’s Cafe

Hamilton Tavern: Best burger, hands down.

Thames Street Oyster House: The raw bar, lobster roll.

Fusion: A great, unknown sushi spot in Cockeysville.

Christopher Daniel: The appetizers and EJ, the best bartender/server.

Pappas Restaurant: The crab cake, Old Bay wings.

CHRIS BECKER

Chief operations officer/executive chef, Bagby Restaurant group

Linwoods: Chef Jay Rohlfing’s cooking.

Maggie’s Farm: Fried-oyster steam buns, whiskey lemonades.

Joung Kak: Kimchee soup.

Thames Street Oyster House: The lobster roll.

W.C. Harlan: Late-night drinks.

KARIN AND BUD TIFFANY

Co-owners, Peter’s Inn

Cinghiale: For its consistency.

Poncabird Pub: Old-school, banging, crazy view.

The Food Market: Great brunch, luscious libations.

Hersh’s Pizza & Drinks: Its clever menu.

Tortilleria Sinaloa: Huevos con carne.

Sometimes, local chefs connect in unusual ways. Last fall, en route
to Hampden’s The Food Market, chef/co-owner Chad Gauss was driving his
Mercedes-Benz when a Honda Pilot pulled past a stop sign on Keswick
Road, nearly careening into his car. The Honda stopped in the knick of
time, but Gauss was pretty angry, launching a few “F-bombs.” Then, he
realized that the car’s driver was none other than fellow culinary
colleague Chris Becker, chief operations officer for the Bagby
Restaurant Group. “I called him on my phone,” Gauss says, “And all in
one sentence, I’m like, ‘You almost hit my car, and do you have any
cauliflower I can use?’”

The car caper is an apt example of what
happens when two of the area’s up-and-coming toques come head to head—or
in this case hood to hood—in what could have escalated into a tense
situation. But never mind flipping the bird or honking the horn in an
act of road rage, Gauss turned the situation into a quest for sourcing a
vegetable. (To no avail, unfortunately, Becker didn’t have any.)

Unlike
other cities (or at least TV cooking shows) where celebrated chefs may
put a proverbial sharpened cooking knife into each other’s backs, a new
posse of Baltimore chefs has made a conscious effort to become comrades,
not competitors, in the kitchen. They include, in addition to Becker
and Gauss, Jonah Kim of Pabu, Cyrus Keefer of Fork & Wrench, and
Chris Amendola of Fleet Street Kitchen, which is run by the Bagby Group.

“We
definitely have a camaraderie together,” says Becker, whose résumé
includes stints at Wine Market Bistro and The Brass Elephant. “It’s the
first time since I’ve been in Baltimore that we all help each other out.
There’s obviously a competitive spirit since we’re all competing for
the same market, but the food scene is growing, and I think the
partnerships and the friendships have helped it grow.”

One of the
major ways in which the chefs have shown their solidarity is through
participation in promotional events such as restaurant anniversaries and
charity functions. Last summer’s first birthday celebration for The
Food Market was particularly memorable. During the evening, Keefer, Kim,
Becker, Patrick “Opie” Crooks (then of Roy’s, now the chef de cuisine
at Shoo-Fly Diner), Tim Dyson of Bluegrass Tavern, and others worked
together in the restaurant’s open kitchen to prepare hors d’oeuvres and
desserts for the party guests.

“That night never ended as a chef,”
says Keefer, excitement still evident in his voice many months later.
“It was awesome. Chris Becker did pork-belly steam buns. Tim did rabbit
fingers. I made bone-marrow croquettes. We were all on the line and
tasting each other’s food, realizing it was all great.”

Since
then, the various members of the group have joined forces at other
get-togethers, including Wit & Wisdom’s second anniversary and a
fried-chicken “smackdown” at Pabu in December. “The community of chefs
here is tight and growing at the same time,” Pabu’s Kim says. “These
events have helped it evolve. We’re the trailblazers for Baltimore.”

The
chefs also show up for meals at each other’s restaurants. “Chad [Gauss]
came in to eat at Shoo-Fly the other day,” Crooks says. “I sent him out
a plate of some of my favorite appetizers, including hush doggies [mini
corndogs with honey mustard], chili-mac, and chicken nuggets made from
scratch that I knew he would order anyway.
“When the food came out,
he looked at me and said, ‘How did you know I wanted all of these
things, and couldn’t decide what I was going to order?’”

This
informal band of brothers comes from a variety of backgrounds. Some are
Charm City native sons (Gauss and Becker). Others have been around the
(chopping) block—Amendola worked at the prestigious Blue Hill at Stone
Barns in Pocantico Hills, NY, as well as kitchens in Orlando, FL,
Massachusetts, and Washington, D.C.; Keefer has worked in kitchens from
Tampa, FL, to the Delaware beaches; Kim’s résumé includes stops in Las
Vegas, New York, and Austin, TX.

It’s not unusual for chefs to
move from state to state or even within a city as they gain more skills
or seek other cooking goals and responsibilities. Their peripatetic
lifestyles probably explain their connection and loyalty to each other.

The
collaborative spirit makes sense to Dave Seel, the director of
marketing and public relations for the Bagby Group. “In the food
industry in the last 10 years, we’ve seen a focus on chef-driven
cuisine,” he says. “You have more people following chefs, and social
media is a big part of that. That shift . . . has allowed them to be in
the spotlight and have a shared sense of being there and being the
spokespeople for the culinary scene.”

It’s an informal mission the
chefs seem to embrace, allowing them to share a passion for
participating in Baltimore’s culinary renaissance.

Case in
point: In May 2013, both Keefer (who was then a chef at Birroteca) and
Gauss were invited to participate in a dinner highlighting the bounty of
the Chesapeake at the prestigious James Beard House in New York City.

While
Gauss prepared an Eastern Shore buffet comprised of whole shrimp, fried
Maryland drummy, and crispy skin rockfish, Keefer cooked up a sous-vide
lamb chop with artichoke purée. Still, the meal was a team effort.

“When
we both found out we were participating, that was a turning point,”
Gauss says. “We were like, ‘We need to go there and play for Baltimore
rather than as individuals.’”

Though they vie for the same
demographic of diners, these chefs—whose styles range from traditional
Japanese to comfort cuisine—do not view themselves as restaurant rivals.
“There’s no real competition,” says Keefer, who worked at The Food
Market when he was between jobs. “We are all doing our own thing, and we
all want to do better.

You see a whole different craftsmanship if you go to Pabu or if you come to Fork & Wrench—and we love each other’s food.”

While
saying this, Keefer is sharing a plate of fried chicken and biscuits at
The Food Market with Gauss. “Other cities are cutthroat,” he continues.
“They feel that if someone comes in and they’re good, they’re like,
‘Oh, there goes my business.’ But that’s not how it works.”

Gauss,
who has been dubbed the class clown by the group, agrees. “We all play
different roles. I don’t want to be the next Charlie Trotter [an
esteemed Chicago chef who unfortunately died last year]. I’m as
Baltimore as it gets.”

He’s proud of his local roots and career
path, but also appreciative of what the other chefs have done. “Someone
like Jonah [Kim] is more like world class,” he says. “He’s a rock star.”
(Like “royalty,” adds Keefer.)

The chefs are particularly
referring to Kim’s role at the Las Vegas restaurant DJT, which earned a
prized Michelin star several years ago.

The chefs—many of whom
share photos on Instagram—have also come to lean on each other for
particular areas of expertise (and occasional acts of generosity).

Amendola,
having worked at Thackeray Farms in South Carolina and at the famed
Stone Barns, for example, is an expert in searching for foods in the
wild. “He understands foraging,” Gauss says. “Now, if someone brings me a
foraged mushroom, just to cover myself, I send him a picture of it
before I use it.”

Kim and Keefer also have a common interest.
“Cyrus is really big into Asian flavors,” Kim says. “We’ve shared
sources and ideas, and I love that he has Asian influences on his menu.”

Even
food and supplies get passed around. When Becker, who oversees the
cooking staffs at all the Bagby restaurants, found himself with a large
surplus of tomatoes, he heaped nearly 200 pounds of the summer-ripe
beauties on Pabu as well as Wit & Wisdom, also located at the Four
Seasons Hotel Baltimore. And Gauss happily lent Kim his food truck to
park at the Baltimore Museum of Industry when the Pabu chef catered the
wedding of a restaurant co-worker last fall. “I did fried chicken,
numerous salads, some sushi, and ribs,” Kim says. “And Elan Kotz
[Gauss’s business partner at The Food Market] helped out.”

In the
band of brothers, there are sisters, too. “I think we probably all drink
too much and swear more than people are comfortable with,” says Jesse
Sandlin, chef at Oliver Speck’s Eats & Drinks, located around the
corner from Fleet Street Kitchen. “We’re all kindred spirits, and we
understand the daily grind. I consider myself especially friendly with
Chad and Cyrus. Chad and I have even talked about doing a dinner
together.”

Given the constraints of a chef’s schedule, it’s not
surprising that bonds form. “It’s easier to be friends with chefs.
They’re the only people you can call at 11:30 at night or 6:30 in the
morning,” says Gauss. Adds Keefer, “We speak the same language. We talk
about the same stuff, like all the new cookbooks that are out. In fact, I
can tell you about all the cookbooks that are out right now that are
worth paging through.”

Gauss can’t help teasing his friend. “If chefs had baseball cards, you’d have every one,” he jests.

The
idea of a chefs’ friendship circle came about in 2005 when Waterfront
Kitchen’s consulting chef Jerry Pellegrino (“He’s like the Papa Bear
overseeing all of us,” quips Kim) founded the Secret Chefs Society—a
monthly supper club for area chefs, including Woodberry Kitchen’s Spike
Gjerde and Rey Eugenio of Ouzo Bay.

Each chef was expected to
prepare a dish using the same list of basic ingredients. From the first
dinner, Pellegrino saw the potential. “We started prepping at around 11
p.m. after a cocktail at the bar and finished dinner sometime after 5
a.m.,” he says. “What I remember was how the same ingredients produced
five incredibly unique and amazing dishes.

“It was then we all
realized that we could learn so much from cooking and drinking with each
other. I’m happy to see the younger chefs in the city start to do
things together again. It’s imperative to building a better food culture
in Baltimore.”

For some chefs, a culinary friendship is no
different than any other friendship. “The definition of this ‘band’ [of
brothers] to me is people who are willing to support each other no
matter how ridiculous the request is,” Gauss says. “I could probably say
to Cy [Keefer], ‘Hey, come cook hotdogs with me at my kid’s baseball
league,’ and he’d be out there with me grilling the buns.”

As the saying goes, that’s what friends are for.

What music do you listen to while cooking?

Sometimes silence is golden.

1. Classic hip-hop, rap. I like it upbeat in the kitchen. —Chad Gauss
2. Something that’s a little softer when I’m working behind the line—Keane, Fleetwood Mac. —Cyrus Keefer, pictured, center
3. I try not to listen to music in the kitchen. But if I do, it’s Empire of the Sun. It’s super poppy. —Patrick “Opie” Crooks
4. Depends on what and where I am cooking—anything from Bill Withers and Marvin Gaye to Tool. —Chris Becker
5. Honestly,
   the music I like to listen to most when cooking is classical music. In a
   high- stress environment, it’s nice to listen to something relaxing.
   —Chris Amendola
6. Whatever I have on my iPod. If it’s prep, I want
   something upbeat like Mastodon. I’m all over the place. Other times, it
   could be the Zac Brown Band. —Jesse Sandlin
7. We don’t listen to any music. It’s a focus thing. If we did, it would be ’80s music. —Jonah Kim

What’s your favorite cookbook?

Joy of Cooking is no longer the coolest cookbook on the shelves!

1. My Little Amish Cookbook. My grandmother gave it to me. It’s down to earth. The recipes are easily adaptable. —Chad Gauss
2. Eric Ripert’s A Return to Cooking. There is soul in the book about his coming back to cooking. —Cyrus Keefer
3. Pickles, Pigs & Whiskey by John Currence. It’s real, down to earth. —Patrick “Opie” Crooks
4. I go through phases. Now, probably The River Cottage Meat Book [by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall] and Daniel Humm’s I Love New York. Another all-time favorite is probably Thomas Keller’s Under Pressure. —Chris Becker
5. It’s either The French Laundry Cookbook
   [by Thomas Keller] because, when I was just starting out, I read that
   book 100 times it was so inspiring to me, and the other is On Food and Cooking [by Harold McGee]. To me, it’s still one of the greatest books ever written for a chef. —Chris Amendola
6. Right now, John Currence’s Pickles, Pigs & Whiskey and Edward Lee’s Smoke and Pickles. —Jesse Sandlin
7. Michael Bra’s Essential Cuisine. It’s amazing. It was a prized cookbook going through my career. —Jonah Kim

What do you like to cook at home?

We’re not the only fans of the crockpot!

1. One-pot dinners and breakfast for my kids (ages 11, 5, 2). —Chad Gauss
2. I braise. I like the one-pot wonders, everything in the same pot. We let it cook ’til we’re hungry. —Cyrus Keefer
3. A simple roast chicken. —Patrick “Opie” Crooks
4. Super simple dishes like whole roasted black bass and roast chicken. However, my wife would tell you nothing. —Chris Becker
5. I
   don’t tend to cook much at home. I will order a pizza or eat a bowl of
   cereal or a good ol’ PB&J with a glass of milk. . . . It all changes
   if I am dating someone or trying to impress someone. —Chris Amendola
6. I don’t cook a lot at home. I do cook breakfast, and I just got a juicer. —Jesse Sandlin
7. Pasta. I worked in an Italian restaurant before Baltimore. —Jonah Kim

Who’s your bff?

One of them has a curly tail!

1. My wife, Wendi, and my work wife Elan [Kotz, his restaurant partner]. —Chad Gauss
2. My wife, Angela. —Cyrus Keefer
3. Asher Baskett. He lives in Nashville, TN. We’ve been friends since high school, 10 years. —Patrick “Opie” Crooks
4. My wife, Alison. —Chris Becker
5. It would probably be between my brother or a guy I grew up with, Christian. —Chris Amendola
6. Obviously, my pig Ollie. —Jesse Sandlin
7. My wife, Carly. —Jonah Kim

An Inside Look at Cunningham Farms

Restaurateurs David and
Jane Smith take their locavore mission seriously at their Cockeysville
property. The working farm provides produce, eggs, lamb, and pork to
their restaurants—Cunningham’s, Fleet Street Kitchen, Ten Ten, and Bagby
Pizza Co.