Autumn means plaid shirts, trips to the pumpkin patch, falling temperatures, and colored foliage. But the best part of fall is definitely the food. And this year, Baltimore restaurants are going above and beyond pumpkin spice. From cozy casseroles and savory sweet potatoes to pumpkin pastries and roasted apples, these seasonal specials have us wishing it was October and November all year round.

Pumpkin Spice Latte-Inspired Pastries

Dooby’s: With blueberry-almond breads, pumpkin cream cheese muffins, and cranberry sage pop-tarts, Dooby’s’ new dishes incorporate some of our favorite fall flavors. The pastries are made in house every morning, so grab one while they’re hot (and before they’re gone.) 802 N. Charles St., 410-609-3162

Miss Shirley’s Cafe: Miss Shirley’s pumpkin-spice chocolate chip pancakes are one of a kind. They arrive garnished with cream cheese icing and spiced pumpkin seeds, and dusted with a cloud of powdered sugar for good measure. Various locations including 750 E. Pratt St., 410-528-5373

Stone Mill Bakery: This Green Spring Station bakery’s homemade goods and breads make it a local favorite, especially when the temperature starts to drop. This fall, check out the pumpkin cream cheese swirl bars for a sweet snack. 10751 Falls Rd., 410-821-1358

Iron Rooster: Southern classics meet fall-inspired flavors on Iron Rooster’s seasonal menu. Iron Rooster’s ooey-gooey pumpkin-filled ‘Roostarts’—aka homemade pop tarts—are the perfect snack for any fall-harvest fanatic. Various locations including 3721 Boston St., 410-762-2100

The Corner Pantry: The buckwheat pumpkin pancakes, topped with a hefty dollop of apple butter, at this Mt. Washington staple are the ultimate November brunch entree. Pair the tasty hotcakes with The Corner Pantry’s autumn sunrise juice, a mix of carrot, orange, and apple, for a truly satisfying spread. 6080 Falls Rd., 667-308-2331

Autumn Aperitifs

Johnny’s Restaurant: One sip of Johnny’s smoked fig Manhattan will make you say, “pumpkin-spice-who?” The drink is created with house-made brown sugar, fig, and black-tea syrup, and then garnished with a bacon-wrapped cherry. 4800 Roland Ave., 410-773-0777

Baby’s on Fire Cafe: For a morning pick-me-up, order a glass of this cafe’s house-made mulled apple cider. From vintage-loving hipsters to apple orchard admirers, everyone can find something they love at the Mt. Vernon hangout that offers bins of vinyl and fresh pastries. 1010 Morton St., 443-885-9892

Order & Chaos Coffee: If you can’t say sayonara to Pumpkin Spice Lattes just yet, try this cafe’s upgraded version. The next-level PSL includes touches of turmeric and pairs perfectly with a buttery cranberry scone. 1410 Key Highway, 410-244-1111

Comfort-Food Cravings

The Turn House: The Turn House takes fall flavor seriously. The apple and prosciutto toast includes apple butter, Honeycrisp apple slices, prosciutto, and Grafton cheddar. The dish pairs perfectly with a slice of the blueberry cornbread. 11130 Willow Bottom Dr., 410-740-2096

Water for Chocolate: This Fells Point eatery serves up options for savory snackers and sweet tooth nibblers alike. Try the sweet potato bread pudding with moonshine-crème anglaise or the sweet potato polenta. Warning: you might have to unbutton your jeans. 1841 E Lombard St., 410-891-2595

Birroteca: Birroteca’s fall menu marries the taste of Italian delicacies with the warmth of comfort food. The pumpkin gnocchi, topped with pancetta, caramelized onions, and duck liver fig sauce, will definitely satisfy those home-cooked hankerings. 1520 Clipper Rd., 443-708-1934

Atwater’s: Atwater’s is known to bring their A-game when it comes to seasonal treats. Both the apple-cranberry crisp and the Num Pang Salad, made with roasted cauliflower, peanut red cabbage slaw, and ginger eggplant, serve up some serious flavor. 2905 Whittington Ave., 410-644-3435

Sweater-Weather Sweets

The Charmery: Despite the dropping temperature, we can’t deny our excitement for The Charmery’s fall lineup. This year, the menu features flavors like spiced pumpkin, apple butter, butternut squash and cloves, and apple cider sorbet. Various locations including 1700 W 41st St., 443-759-4905

Gunther & Co.: This spice cake from Gunther & Co. practically screams Thanksgiving. Accompanied by pumpkin mousse, roasted butternut squash, cardamom creme anglaise, crispy sage, and maple ice cream, this decadent dessert is a must-order. 3650 Toone St., 443-869-6874

The Food Market: The loaded baked sweet potatoes at this Hampden hotspot arrive bursting with torched marshmallow, chipotle honey, pecans, bacon, and cinnamon sugar. And if you’re still itching for more, order the hand-whipped pumpkin cheesecake topped with cream, graham cracker crumble, and candy corn. Need we say more? 1017 W 36th St., 410-366-0606

Ground & Griddled: We are fall-ing in love with this cafe’s sweet potato casserole. The crispy crust is best served warm, and the inside is loaded with organic sweet potatoes, dusted with spices, and topped with brown sugar pecan butter. 301 W 29th St., 443-681-1901

Clutching her iPad to her chest, Irena Stein stands in the midst of the spacious, gleaming, sunlight-filled room that, in less than a month, will morph into a natural-foods cafe in The Johns Hopkins University’s remodeled Mudd Hall, her third on the Homewood campus. She lay awake for hours the night before mulling the final candidates for the new spot’s name—”My head is still spinning,” she says, drawing circles in the air with her right index finger—and now, 12 hours later, she runs the possibilities by her Dutch-born logo/website/signage designer Maarten Ottens—Amiel, Deseo, Acanto, and Baio. Finally, in keeping with the A-team motif of her two existing restaurants—Azafrán and Alkimia—they agree on Acanto (Spanish for the acanthus plant family).

Hopkins gave Stein the official go-ahead for the project only days earlier, and with just three weeks until its late-August launch, she frets about financing the venture and hiring suitable new employees. “The staff is what worries me the most,” she confides, “but we’ll figure it out.”

That Zen-like sensibility—she’s a practicing, not proselytizing, Buddhist—typifies Stein, 60, whose background in social work, cultural anthropology, and jewelry design defines her responsible and artistic approach to food selection, preparation, and presentation.

Fifteen minutes and a brisk walk away, she makes a pit stop at Alkimia (from the Arabic “al-kimiya,” for “alchemy”), her takeaway cafe in Gilman Hall, alternating between English and French as she confers with its Paris-raised manager, and then heads back to her office at her signature cafe Azafrán (Spanish for “saffron”), located in the Steven Muller Building—home of the Space Telescope Science Institute (STScI) and the center of the Hubble Telescope’s science operations—on the far fringes of the JHU campus. There, she deftly bounces between English, Spanish, and French while speaking with various members of her Benetton Nation-like staff.

That same cultural internationalism extends to Azafrán itself. Open weekdays and serving fruit salads, yogurt with honey, granola, and breads with homemade jams in the morning—not forgetting its all-day espresso bar—Azafrán devotes its principal energies to lunch, offering a standing menu of creative hot and cold sandwiches, soups, salads, and desserts, plus weekly specials that often reflect national or regional cuisines.

Working one week in advance, Stein personally devises these constantly changing specials—a kale/sausage/roasted potato flatbread entree and a chilled Thai-spiced watermelon with crab soup, to cite two examples—and sources a lot of her foods locally. She shops at farmers’ markets, Asian markets, and Restaurant Depot, augmented by deliveries and pick ups from Maryland purveyors such as Springfield Farm (meats), One Straw Farm (vegetables), Charlottetown Farm (goat cheese), and Black Rock Orchard (fruits). Environmentally conscious, the restaurant adheres to a mostly zero-waste recycling policy.

“For me, to feed people all-natural, homemade food is incredible,” Stein notes. “There is nothing industrial about what we do. If I’m not going to eat it, then I’m not going to have anybody else eat it.

(While Stein’s three cafes largely cater to Hopkins students and staff, they are open to the public as well.)

Fit, vivacious, and invariably dressed in elegantly casual attire, Stein launched Azafrán (what she calls her “improbable cafe”) in 2004 while running a catering business out of her Guilford home and working as a substitute pastry chef for restaurateur/food writer John Shields at The Baltimore Museum of Art-based Gertrude’s.

Back then, AURA—the Association of Universities for Research in Astronomy, which operates STScI/Hubble—approached Shields about taking over its Muller Building cafeteria. Overwhelmed by a confluence of projects, Shields declined, recommending Stein instead.

“I had known Irena for some time and loved the food that she prepared for caterings and private parties,” Shields explains. “She is one of the best chefs in the Baltimore region—in fact, one of the best I know.”

Stein inherited a dining area that “looked like a boarding school,” she recalls, “with the colors of a McDonald’s and plastic flowers” on the tables, plus a grease-caked kitchen. With AURA and Hopkins footing the bill, she oversaw the space’s complete overhaul, constructing an open kitchen and a comforting setting.

The first six months were shaky, with many diners objecting to Stein’s higher prices and smaller portions. Open your sandwiches, Stein urged her customers, and examine the high-quality contents. Equally vexing: an entrenched super-size mentality. When lunch-goers told her that they weren’t full after a meal, she replied, “Yes, but the idea is that you go back to your office and you’re productive” instead of sluggish and bloated.

In effect, she was teaching her clientele a new way to think about food, about eating—a more European sensibility. This included eliminating massive doses of salt, sugar, and fats. “Slowly, people adapted to our ‘weird,’ multicultural menu,” she says, “until there was a complete level of comfort.”

These days, Azafrán feeds up to 250 people daily: approximately 70 percent researchers, administrators, post-doc and grad students from STScI and the nearby Bloomberg Center for Physics and Astronomy and the Carnegie Institution for Science; 20 percent from the rest of the campus; and 10 percent from surrounding neighborhoods.

Among them, JHU/STScI astrophysicist Adam Riess, a 2011 Nobel Prize laureate in physics, who lunches at Azafrán daily: “I love how they throw hints of various cultures into whatever they do. I just had a special that was a large bruschetta topped with greens, prosciutto, and grilled peach drizzled with a balsamic glaze.”

Another regular, Antonella Nota—associate director for the European Space Agency (ESA) at STScI and a Hubble project scientist at ESA—appreciates the cafe’s “new and original recipes, drawn accurately from the international scene; the fresh and healthy ingredients; and Irena’s artist’s eye in the food presentation.”

Stein comes by her food philosophy naturally, not via a formal culinary education. Born in Caracas, Venezuela, she and three brothers were raised in a nurturing household that respected food, prepared at home daily and eaten together.

“My mom did everything from scratch, all natural, so we grew up cooking,” Stein explains. “It was an upbringing with a tremendous food experience; even though we lived in so many places, even though we traveled so much, we didn’t have any packaged food.”

Her Polish father left his homeland, presciently anticipating World War II, and eventually settled in Venezuela in 1936. He then worked as a film distributor for Warner Bros. and Columbia Pictures, taking his Venezuelan wife and their kids to Paris when Irena was six, back to Caracas when she was 10, and then to Brussels when she was 15.

In Brussels, Stein earned a bachelor’s degree in social work from the Institut Supérieur de Formation Sociale in 1976, focusing on community and cultural development, and served for several years afterward as a cultural coordinator working with the city’s impoverished adolescents.

Back in Caracas, she developed cultural programs for both the Venezuelan youth department and the National Library. Awarded a Fulbright Scholarship, she earned a master’s degree in cultural anthropology from Stanford University in 1982, after which she segued into contemporary jewelry design, creating limited-edition necklaces, brooches, and earrings that she exhibited at juried shows and sold in museum stores in the U.S. and Venezuela, all while living in San Francisco and, not incidentally, raising a daughter, Sofia. (Stein’s 1982 marriage ended in divorce.)

With the majority of her sales and shows based on the East Coast, Stein relocated to Baltimore in 1998 for its proximity to major cities and its affordability. But when a national guilt complex regarding buying luxury goods set in after 9/11, she was forced to call a career-path audible: “I needed to reinvent myself right away.”

Urged by friends to open a restaurant, she began instead by catering events for the local arts community, particularly galleries, working out of her home “in a 1950s kitchen that was falling apart” and the kitchens of two neighbors. Then came the stint with Shields at Gertrude’s and, subsequently, Azafrán.

Since then, Stein has maintained her catering business (using Azafrán’s kitchen), designing menus and brainstorming concepts for an array of arts, community, institutional, and private clients, including Riess, who chose Stein to handle the dinner bash thrown by his MIT fraternity honoring his Nobel laureateship.

In 2010, Hopkins contracted Stein to open Alkimia in Gilman Hall, serving salads, sandwiches, and desserts—ferried from Azafrán—to students, professors, and administrators. (Stein married Mark Demshak, an architect, in the airy, glittering atrium adjacent to Alkimia in 2012.)

Now comes the daunting prospect of preparing Acanto, which will offer a completely different menu from Azafrán and Alkimia. And barring any unforeseen setbacks, Stein will launch her first non-Hopkins-based restaurant next year in North Baltimore, serving what she terms “South American street food”: arepas, empanadas, tamales, and seviche. “I want to leave my Venezuelan imprint on Baltimore,” she says. She already has chosen a name, which, not surprisingly, begins with ‘A’: Alma (Spanish for “soul”).

You can bet that she will infuse the new place with her improbable governing food philosophy. “I want people to have the same pleasure and delight and deliciousness and loveliness as I do in my house,” Stein says. “We serve brilliant people. When they come here for that pleasure, we give it to them. The return is enormous feedback. They’re happy to come. They know what they’re putting in their stomach is very nice.”

Less than a year and half ago, Andrew Alter Buerger was the publisher of the weekly Baltimore Jewish Times—toiling away at the helm of a family newspaper business his great grandfather, David Alter, began when Woodrow Wilson was in the White House back in 1919. At its zenith in the late 1990s, this mini-media empire included Jewish publications in six different cities and the local lifestyle magazine, Baltimore Style. All that came to an ignoble end in April of last year after a costly and losing legal battle with the paper’s printer, in combination with long-battered balance sheets, forced Alter Communications to be sold at bankruptcy auction. The owners of Washington Jewish Week bought the nearly century-old institution and now publish the Baltimore Jewish Times. “Basically, they took over on a Friday and I was gone Monday,” Buerger says.

Today, the 48-year-old is in an entirely different field—quite literally. It’s a sunny, late-spring afternoon and the erstwhile publisher is tromping through pastureland near Bird-in-Hand, PA. His family once prospered from the labors of editors and advertising reps, but he’s here to show a reporter the front-line workforce for his latest venture: contented cows.

Amish dairy farms serve as home to the two bovine herds supplying the grass-fed milk (later skimmed) used to make B’more Organic smoothies, a line of health drinks based on an Icelandic form of strained yogurt that Buerger and his wife, Jennifer, began bottling in 2010. Sales have grown four-fold every year since, with the $3.99 pint bottles now available at hundreds of outlets from New York to Virginia, including Whole Foods and Wegmans.

As Buerger gingerly dodges the cow pies dotting the greenery beneath his feet, he reflects back on his former life. “Let’s see, it’s a Wednesday—that was press day,” he says. “We’d be on deadline, proofing copy and checking ads. I don’t miss that.

“I’d rather be out here,” he adds after a pause, squinting into the distance where some 40 piebald cows are languidly munching grass.

Buerger jokes that as a newspaperman much of his work was “avoiding cow patties of a different sort.” But there were some troubling things he couldn’t side step: The economic downturn, the Internet’s ravaging of print-media revenue, and the waning interest in Jewish newspapers among younger Jews. Perhaps most damaging of all, a bruising three-year legal battle with the printing company that had inked the newspaper since the 1950s. Buerger pulled out of a contract with the paper’s longtime printers, family-owned H.G. Roebuck & Son, Inc., whose terms, he felt, were crippling a business already facing financial headwinds. There were multiple lawsuits, a Chapter 11 filing—and a war of words and lawyers that got personal.

Buerger always thought he would die, figuratively, in the publisher’s chair, as his father Charles Buerger had in 1996. It was his dad’s passing that first brought the younger Buerger home to the helm from where he’d been running one of the family’s papers in Vancouver, Canada.

“No one ever retired from that position,” Buerger says. No one had ever been booted out of it, either. But any anger or bitterness about the loss of the family’s vocation is all in the rear-view mirror, Buerger insists. This fourth-generation publisher’s transition to first-generation yogurt maker is unfolding as a joyful second act.

“I had a great run in the media business,” Buerger says. “But I love what I’m doing now. I love the product and the industry. It’s a passion. I’m excited to put my feet on the floor each morning because I know I’m helping people eat healthier with a lower impact on the environment.”

Back in Baltimore, B’More Organic’s global headquarters is an under-the-eaves office tucked into the third floor of the Buerger’s Roland Park Victorian house. Just one floor below are the bedrooms of 3-year-old twins Joss and Bronner, whom the Buergers adopted from Ethiopia in 2010. At nap time, one must tippy-toe around the office. It’s just as well that the company’s sole employee besides the Buergers—marketing manager Eric Chessler—spends most of his time out in the company Chevy Volt visiting merchants.

It’s always causal Friday at the home office, as Buerger has shed the suits and ties of the media world for polo shirts and jeans. And he’s one of those guys who looks like he can still fit into clothes from his college days, thanks to a rabid interest in healthy eating that goes back more than a decade. Adopting a diet of lean protein while nixing sugar and white flour helped him drop 20 pounds and tame spiking cholesterol levels.

“From the day I met him, Andy has always been looking for the perfect food,” Jennifer Buerger says. The pair believes they finally found it on a mountainside in Iceland four years ago, where they had gone to climb the country’s tallest peak, Mount Hvannadalshnjúkur. The trip was a fundraiser for Jodi’s Climb For Hope, a charity they launched in 2006 using mountain climbing as a means to raise money for breast cancer research, while honoring Andrew’s sister, Jodi, who had battled the disease for years before dying in 2009. (Today, the charity also raises money for multiple sclerosis.)

“You have to eat what the guides give you on the mountain, and they served this yogurt-like stuff,” Jennifer Buerger recalls. “I looked at Andy and said, ‘You’re not eating this—I have to share a tent with you!’”

(To clarify: Andrew Buerger is lactose intolerant, and without getting graphic, let’s just say a mountainside tent is perhaps the last place he’d want to experience the intestinal backlash that can occur from ingesting dairy.)

Still, with heaps of calories needed for a strenuous climb, he felt he had little choice but take a few spoonfuls. Turns out, nothing untoward happened. He ate still more the next day and, again, no gut protests. Their hosts told them it was skyr (pronounced “skeer”), a dairy product, technically a cheese, in its Old World form, dating to Viking days. It is similar to Greek yogurt, in that it is strained to concentrate protein, while having the added bonus that its probiotics consume most of the lactose, thus sparing Buerger’s digestive system.

On the plane ride home the pair decided to go into business importing the stuff—until they discovered someone had beaten them to the punch: It was already on the shelves at Whole Foods. They contented themselves with buying a case of it a week, which they usually tossed into a blender with fruit for a nutritious drink. “One day we just looked at each other and said, ‘This is crazy, why don’t we sell a skyr smoothie?’” Jennifer Buerger says.

They worked with a food scientist in the dairy department of the University of Vermont, Andrew’s undergrad alma mater, to come up with a recipe and three flavors: banana, banana mango, and vanilla. Each has at least 15 grams of protein per 8-ounce serving, with zero fat, zero added sugar, and only 120 calories. (Compared to the average cup of flavored yogurt, which, ounce for ounce, has about the same sugar as soda.)

When it came to sourcing the skim milk used to make the smoothies, they looked in Maryland and further north before settling on the Amish countryside. It seemed a natural fit. The Amish were organic before organic was cool. “They were very welcoming,” Buerger says. “I love the way their families farm without hurting the environment, and I wanted to support that.

“And I’m still talking to guys in beards, hats, and black pants,” he adds with a smile, a nod to the sartorial similarities between the Amish and Orthodox Jews.

The drink is made in Amish country as well, and a year ago they moved smoothie production to a second, larger Amish-run plant near Lancaster, PA. (Yes, it uses electricity and modern equipment.) The Buergers invested some $100,000 in a special milk separator required to make skyr. “There went the college fund.” Buerger jokes.

When Buerger was still in publishing, Jennifer ran the company during the day and served as its chief cheerleader. Today, Buerger does the lion’s share of the heavy lifting while she is back at her initial career as a psychotherapist. She puts it another way: “My job now is to pay the bills.” While B’More Organic is growing like gangbusters—they expect another four-fold increase in sales to 35,000 cases this year—it’s still a couple of years away from making money, which is pretty much the norm for such startups. The pair is encouraged by the rise of Greek yogurt, which came out of nowhere to become a multi-billion-dollar industry. And, a new espresso flavor is also in the offing. (They plan to donate a percentage of B’More Organic’s profits to Jodi’s Climb for Hope once the company goes into the black.)

“Not to sound arrogant, but it was really easy to get our products into stores,” Buerger says, noting that Whole Foods and Wegmans took to the healthy, green products right away. “But now you have to go to each store at least once a month, if not more, and pass out samples because if they don’t sell the product, it gets kicked out.”

With his burgeoning business, young children, and not-infrequent trips to Lancaster to talk with his bearded, buggy-driving dairy associates, does Andrew Buerger ever pause to read the Baltimore Jewish Times?

“You know, I don’t even look at it—for a number of reasons,” he says. “I’ve moved on.”

Pickles are popping up all over the city as many area chefs and food purveyors turn out their own delicious versions. For Spike Gjerde of Woodberry Kitchen, pickling is a way of life. He pickles and preserves summer’s produce to provide local ingredients year-round at his restaurant. He even pickles broccoli stems, which many other restaurants toss in the trash, he says. When Clementine’s Winston Blick pickles at his restaurant, he thinks of his grandmother’s home cooking. Jason Gallant, owner of In a Pickle, aims for old-fashioned charm, selling his pickles from large, brine-filled barrels at the Baltimore Farmers’ Market & Bazaar and at D.C.’s Eastern Market. And these cooks aren’t just making traditional dill or sweet pickles— they’re pickling a variety of items, including eggs, beets, pumpkins, and rhubarb. The basic ingredients of pickling brine are water, salt, sugar, and vinegar (see recipe). The brine is then poured over raw foods and sealed in a container, which can then be heated, stored in the refrigerator, or vacuum-sealed.

Whatever method is used, pickling fits right into the “craft-food” movement of focusing on locally sourced and prepared foods. We talked to several local preservers about their mission.

Clementine

At the Hamilton restaurant, chef/co-owner Winston Blick makes a lot of food in house—from pâtés to marmalades. Pickles are a specialty, particularly bread-and-butter pickles (based on his grandmother’s recipe) and a beet-and-onion-infused pickled egg. He uses his pickled products as part of the restaurant’s charcuterie plate and even as a garnish for martinis.

“Pickling works well for our vision and overall theme— traditional foods using modern techniques.”

To make his pickles, Blick pours hot brine over thinly sliced cucumbers and seals the contents in a container. He doesn’t preserve these pickles long term because of the high volume he uses during the week. “I’ll also take something seasonal, such as ramps, and pickle it to make it last longer,” he says.

Blick feels strongly about the nostalgia of pickles. “Pickling is a craft,” he says. “And when customers see someone using their hands to make their food, it’s cool. But for me, pickling reminds me of something I enjoyed as a kid.”

Of Love & Regret

Chef Keith Curley has been pickling since the Brewers Hill restaurant opened a little over a year ago. “Pickling works well for our vision and overall theme—traditional foods using modern techniques,” he says.

He uses a quick pickling method, soaking vegetables in brine overnight so the flavors can infuse. Afterward, he vacuum-packs each batch of pickles.

In the early summer, Curley pickles asparagus, cauliflower, peppers, baby carrots, celery, and radishes. He likes to present them on his charcuterie plate. He also makes bourbon-infused pickles and pairs them with Binkert’s sausages and pâté toasts. “Pickles cut through the richness of many of my dishes,” he says. “They add contrast and brightness to the plate. And they’re also just fun to snack on.”

Curley also has pickling plans for the restaurant’s rooftop garden, where he grows peppers and other vegetables. “The more we source our own vegetables here, the more important it is to not waste anything,” he says. “For me, pickling is a beautiful way to extend their life.”

Woodberry Kitchen

The jars of pickled vegetables and other preserved foods lining the walls at Woodberry Kitchen are not meant for decoration. Canning and preserving are the backbone of chef/owner Spike Gjerde’s Clipper Mill restaurant.

Each year, Woodberry Kitchen organizes a “Preservation Workshop,” where employees watch canning demonstrations and receive detailed information about Maryland crop harvests, the history of canning and preserving, and more.

Pickling helps the restaurant stay local year-round, whether it’s preserving Maryland-grown summer cherries or garlic scapes (the curling tops of garlic plants), Gjerde says.

“Pickles contribute flavor and texture for sure,” he adds. “But for us, they play a greater purpose, which is to allow us to offer our guests these vegetables in the off-season and to help us ensure our commitment to offering locally sourced products.”

The Fork & Wrench

Executive chef Cyrus Keefer currently features pickled vegetables on his charcuterie tray. “If we have something rich on the plate, you need something pickled to cut the fat,” he says. “We want a little tanginess from the vinegar in the brine.” Keefer uses vegetables the restaurant grows in nearby plots and from local farms for pickling. He’s also planning to can various produce for year-round use.

He is especially interested in introducing Asian flavors to pickling, such as fennel pickled in the style of kimchee (fermented Korean vegetables), paired with an Italian dish. “No one has been doing this really,” says Keefer. “It’s kind of a different take on the farm-to-table movement.”

In a Pickle

Jason Gallant’s stand In a Pickle is a fan favorite at farmers’ markets in Baltimore and D.C. For him, pickles represent the best of the past. “In the old days, New York’s lower East Side was full of pickle-mongers,” he says. “One place, Gus’s Pickles, had big barrels of pickles in their store. Customers would reach in with their bare hands to grab pickles. That’s why we sell our pickles from wooden barrels—we want to reflect those times.”

While kosher dills are Gallant’s most in-demand pickle, he also sells sweet wasabi pickle chips, Old Bay pickles, half sours, hot-and-spicy pickle chips, and more. “I’ve also made small, test batches of wackier varieties like pickled pineapple and pickled beets,” he says. His “pickle pops,” or pickles on a stick, are also a hit with children and adults of all ages.

Gallant wants to keep his business small, rather than expanding to a storefront. “Farmers’ markets require fewer resources,” he says. “Some joke and call us gypsies. We’re there one minute, and gone the next.”

“I love seeing what other people and restaurants are doing with pickles. I’m the guy who wants to try them all!”

Tanner’s Comestibles

Evan Tanner wears many hats: He’s a bartender at Johnny Rad’s, a drummer in the local band War on Women, and founder of Tanner’s Comestibles. He’s also a self-confessed “pickle nerd.” “I’ve always loved pickles, every kind,” he says.

In 2011, he developed his own brine recipe after much experimentation. He was already pickling by fermenting vegetables when he took the process a step farther. “I started with a home-canning kit,” he says. “Things evolved from there.”

His varieties include habañero bread-and-butter pickles (his most popular) and lemongrass garlic-dill pickles. The jars can be found at stores like The Wine Source in Hampden, Fleet Street Market in Fells Point, and Grand Cru in Belvedere Square. He’s also awaiting FDA registration for his Caribbean jerk-spiced pickled okra and pickled ginger lemongrass edamame.

Tanner is excited about the explosion of the pickling scene in Baltimore. “I love seeing what other people and restaurants are doing with pickles,” he says. “I’m the guy who wants to try them all!”

The Baltimore Chocolate Dipped Salted Caramel Chocolate Cupcake

• 2 eggs
• 4 oz. Canola Oil
• 8 oz. Water
• 8 oz. Heavy Cream (substitute milk if desired)
• 1 oz. Vanilla
• 1 pound Granulated Sugar
• 12 oz. All Purpose Flour
• 4 oz. Cocoa Powder (recommend a dark blend)
• 2 tsp. Baking Soda
• 1 tsp Baking Powder
• 1 tsp. Salt
• 1/2 tsp Old Bay

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees
2. Combine all the wet ingredients in a mixing bowl and whisk until smooth
3. In a separate bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients.
4. Add the dry ingredients to the wet and whisk until completely smooth, no lumps.
5. Fill cupcake wrappers in cupcake pans 2/3rd full with batter
6. Bake in oven for about 14-16 minutes until the tops spring back when tapped or until when a toothpick inserted into the cupcake comes out clean.
7. Cool completely.

Quick and Easy Salted Caramel Buttercream

• 1 pound butter
• 1 pound powdered sugar
• 1 tsp Vanilla Extract
• 6 oz. pre made caramel (store bough or homemade)
• 1 tsp coarse sea salt

1. Whip all ingredients with a hand mixer or stand mixer until light and fluffy!
2. Frost cupcakes as desired!

**TIP** For a lighter, fluffier frosting, you can add a few splashes of heavy cream. You can also do this if the frosting is a little too thick to frost.

Chocolate Dipped Old Bay Potato Chips

• Old Bay Potato Chips
• Melting Chocolate

1. Melt down the chocolate slowly, being careful not to burn.
2. Dip half of the potato chip in the chocolate and allow to cool on parchment paper.
3. Once hardened, top each cupcake with the potato chip

The warmer weather is like a siren song to Baltimoreans to head outdoors—of course, the result is much more rewarding than what the mythological Greek femme fatales had in mind. Our fresh air promises relaxation and fun. Restaurants heed thelure, too, scattering tables and chairs on any space with access to breezes to accommodate diners seeking alfresco options. We’ve found 20 places where we think the ambiance and views make the food taste better than ever. We also talked to a local psychologist about the benefits of being outdoors and found out what local restaurateurs do during those inevitable summer showers.
Hint: Your meal won’t be a complete washout.

1. Alexandra’s Restaurant
2. The Ambassador Dining Room
3. Arcos Restaurant
4. Blue Hill Tavern
5. Bond Street Social
6. Café Gia
7. Gertrude’s
8. Kali’s Court
9. McFaul’s Ironhorse Tavern
10. Mr. Rain’s Fun House
11. The Oregon Grille
12. Regi’s American Bistro
13. The Seasoned Mariner
14. Severn Inn
15. Tabrizi’s
16. Tark’s Grill
17. Waterfront Kitchen
18. Wine Market Bistro
19. Wit & Wisdom
20. Woodberry Kitchen

Alexandra’s Restaurant

ELLICOTT CITY

The ambient sounds wafting across Alexandra’s patio are the whoosh of sprinklers and the occasional thwack of a golf ball on the green——unless it’s a weekend evening when a jazz ensemble begins tuning up as a member of the waitstaff stops by to mix a pitcher of sangria tableside. Part of a million-dollar renovation of the Turf Valley restaurant——named for the resort owner’s first granddaughter——was a new outdoor space dotted with fire pits, cushioned wicker sofas, and comfortable chairs around umbrella-protected tables. But the best part may be Russell Svoboda’s food. A veteran of the Great Sage in Clarksville, the executive chef balances fresh salads like the best-selling, seafood-laden Chesapeake cobb with interesting bites like Kobe beef sliders and Cajun corndogs——andouille sausage crusted in cornmeal——a welcome snack after 18 holes.
2700 Turf Valley Rd., Ellicott City, 410-480-2400.

The Ambassador Dining Room

TUSCANY-CANTERBURY

About the only thing more romantic than a winter meal near the crackling fireplace in The Ambassador’s elegant dining room is a summer meal in the garden. When the weather turns warm, the walls are literally raised, the flower beds planted, and the fountain cranked up. Those who want to keep the palate sated on a hot day can sip on a cold mango lassi or margarita, or nibble on a raita salad, cool as the cucumbers it’s made from. If a bit of heat doesn’t bother you, by all means go for a masala or vindaloo. Though the restaurant was named for the apartment building in which it resides, The Ambassador also reflects its namesake occupation: It’s a polite and accommodating introduction to another culture.
3811 Canterbury Rd., 410-366-1484 .

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Arcos Restaurant

FELLS POINT

There are plenty of Latin American restaurants in Upper Fells Point, but few transport you as successfully as Arcos——though the destination may not be entirely clear. Is it a San Miguel social club or a college-era spring-break bacchanal? Either way, the enclosed brick patio, with its rugged wooden booths and bar tables, walls decorated with wooden carvings, and colorful murals is the perfect place to quaff margaritas, sangria, or cerveza between nibbles of salty tortilla chips, warm from the oven, swirled in perfectly lumpy just-made guac, or slow-cooked, pull-apart barbacoa (barbecued meat) with rice and beans. The courtyard bridges seasons with heaters and a portion covered by a glass roof. But on clear nights, revelers flock to the open-air section, where a live tree reaches its branches from the bricks into the starry night sky.
129 S. Broadway, 410-522-4777.

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Blue Hill Tavern

BREWERS HILL

On a temperate evening, the upstairs deck delivers the hip vibe of Manhattan or L.A. with low wicker sofas, streamlined bar stools and kidney-shaped bar, fresh cocktails, artisanal drafts, and smoked oysters. And then there’s the view, from the rooftop decks of Canton row houses to downtown Baltimore, or if you’re dining in one of the second-floor alcoves, to the water, with the Mr. Boh sign looking over your shoulder. There’s also a smattering of aluminum tables surrounded by planters out front along Conkling Street in sight of the busy bar inside with its waterfall backdrop. Blue Hill Tavern’s talent is combining down-home charm with upscale sophistication——a place where you can dine on soft-shell crabs delivered fresh from Smith Island, washed down with an elderflower Cosmopolitan.
938 S. Conkling St., 443-388-9363 .

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Bond Street Social

FELLS POINT

It makes sense that one of OpenTable’s top 100 hot spots for 2012 is also a fine place to enjoy the great outdoors. Indeed, the Fells Point restaurant offers all of the necessary ingredients: an expansive brick patio, a harbor view, a convivial party vibe, and, of course, delicious fusion cuisine. The emphasis is on sharing dishes. Savor “social plates” like the piquant chicken Caesar bites, heavenly tuna tartare with wasabi cream, juicy Bond Street burger sliders, and the crunchy Social fish & chips with Old Bay tater tots. For dessert, think liquid. Sip a chocolate or Key-lime-pie martini as you watch the world stroll by. There’s no shortage of interesting characters sauntering around the former seafaring village.
901 S. Bond St., 443-449-6234.

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Café Gia

LITTLE ITALY

The colorful Little Italy bistro adds another dimension to its already impressive dining experience——alfresco meals on a second-floor balcony bedecked with a wrought-iron railing reminiscent of the French Quarter. The view of the row-house skyline in the evening is surprisingly scenic. Who knew Eastern Avenue could be so beautiful? A striped awning, roped in tiny white light, shelters the tables while enhancing the ambiance. The sought-after space is only open for dinner (or special parties), and the 22 seats fill quickly. Chef Gianfranco Fracassetti’s menu contributes to the allure, from the antipasto platter and grilled calamari to the bountiful plates of fettuccine alla Bolognese and shrimp fra diavolo. Cap a romantic evening with espresso and the restaurant’s signature ricotta cake.
410 S. High St., 410-685-6727 .

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Gertrude’s

HOPKINS-HOMEWOOD

A meal under the protection of the permanent tent in The Baltimore Museum of Art’s sculpture garden needn’t be dependent on an invitation to a Hopkins graduation or a wedding reception——though everyday diners may have to wait till those popular events clear out. There’s a reason this sublime spot with terraced fountains, near a collection of sculptures that includes works by Calder, Noguchi, and Rodin, is a highly sought-after spot for events large and small. Chef/owner John Shields, a pioneer locavore, continues to offer Chesapeake specialties, including his famous rockfish, Chincoteague fried oysters, and crab cakes named for his grandmother Gertie. On weekends, the ligh-fare menu is the perfect way to wind down after a stroll through the museum.
The Baltimore Museum of Art, 10 Art Museum Dr., 410-889-3399.

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Kali’s Court

FELLS POINT

Plan ahead if you crave one of the three garden tables at Kali’s Court, the luxe Greek restaurant in Fells Point. Kali’s honors requests for outdoor seating, but we’re told folks who want to dine at 7 p.m. are willing to settle for 4:15 to sit in the lush garden, bursting with flowers and herbs. The owner’s mother Kaliope (the restaurant’s namesake) is fondly remembered for the wild mountain oregano from her native Greece——used to season the restaurant’s famed bronzini——as well as the moon vine, whose white flowers open after sunset, that she planted every year. Guests are also seated at two indoor tables perched near wide open windows at the edge of the garden, and two additional deuces on a New Orleans-style second-floor balcony may just be the best seats of all, with views of the garden below, as well as across the Thames Street cobblestones to the water.
1606 Thames St., 410-276-4700.

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McFaul’s IronHorse Tavern

LOCH RAVEN AREA

Oh, Sanders Corner, you’ve come a long way since your ice-cream and early eatery days. The memories may be sweet from the time you were owned by the same family for more than 50 years, but another era has begun with new owners, a massive remodeling, and fine American cuisine being prepared by executive chef Evan Orser. The summer menu includes items like McFaul’s crab dip, farmhouse mac and cheese, Albright Farms berry-BBQ chicken, Tilghman Island crab cake, or a pork quesadilla made with local Ferguson Family Farm shredded pork. Perched on the edge of Loch Raven Reservoir, the restaurant is surrounded by greenery, visible from expansive windows. The best place for nature-watching, though, is on the covered wood deck. You’ll feel like you’re sitting in the treetops. It doesn’t get more idyllic than that.
2260 Cromwell Bridge Rd., 410-828-1625.

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Mr. Rain’s Fun House

FEDERAL HILL

A seat on the outdoor terrace at the American Visionary Art Museum’s whimsical eatery will put you nose to pinwheel with Vollis Simpson’s 55-foot whirligig, positioned at the edge of Federal Hill’s sharp slope. A cocktail or two and a plate of small bites mean a few more revolutions of the signature sculpture—giving the balcony the distinction of being a kind of inside-out rotating restaurant. Equally mesmerizing is the restaurant’s menu, a balance of levity and earnestness. Fun: the house-made boudin sausage with various sides including chili. On the serious side, there’s a rib-eye steak from Painted Hills farm. Mr. Rain’s fits hand-in-glove with Baltimore’s most quirky, and yes, visionary, museum.
American Visionary Art Museum, 800 Key Hwy., 443-524-7379 .

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The Oregon Grille

HUNT VALLEY

Jay Gatsby and Daisy would love it here. Dining on The Oregon Grille’s bluestone patio is akin to attending a ritzy party in the Hamptons. The service is seamless, the menu refined, and the setting pastoral. Diners are seated at white-cloth-covered tables amid a profusion of flowers, lush vegetation, and shade-producing green umbrellas. Unlike the dining room, jackets are not required after 5 p.m. in the courtyard. So relax and chill with a glass of wine or a perfect martini. Savor chef Matthew Siegmund’s seasonal menu from the lovely lobster bisque to filet mignon and Key-lime pie. If you can, sneak away from work for lunch Monday-Saturday. A baby-spinach salad or a burger will never taste so good. And don’t forget Sunday brunch either. You’ll be living the grand life whenever you visit.
1201 Shawan Rd., Hunt Valley, 410-771-0505.

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Regi’s American Bistro

FEDERAL HILL

Regi’s in Federal Hill offers urban dining at its best on a covered patio fronting busy Light Street. Neighbors walk by, greeting friends who’ve managed to score a precious outdoor seat. Everyone is so friendly, including owner Alan Morstein, that you’ll feel like a resident even if you aren’t. We like sampling the farm-to-table fare in the late afternoons before the crowds start roaming the area. The comfy rattan chairs and ceiling fans whirling lazily provide a respite while you enjoy New American cuisine and signature cocktails like the Stoli Strawberry Fields with muddled berries and champagne. For munchies, don’t miss AJ’s tater tots, the smashed veal meatballs with provolone and marinara sauce, and one of the most awesome cream-of-crab soups in town.
1002 Light St., 410-539-7344.

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The Seasoned Mariner

DUNDALK

Forget Ocean City. There’s a beach a whole lot closer for your dining pleasure——in Dundalk, no less——with Bear Creek serving as the postcard backdrop. Reservations are strongly recommended to nab a table on the restaurant’s deck, where a sandy expanse, palm trees, and a wood pier make you feel like you’re on vacation. There’s also a playground for kids, so mom and dad can enjoy adult beverages in relative peace. The mostly seafood menu fits the scene. Enjoy items like crab cakes, fried oysters, Smith Island stew, and shrimp-salad sandwiches while being lulled by the lapping water or watching the motorboats chug past.
601 Wise Ave., Dundalk, 443-242-7190.

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Severn Inn

ANNAPOLIS

When diners go in search of food in Annapolis, they usually are drawn to the touristy eateries near the city dock or other establishments across the Spa Creek drawbridge in Eastport. But there’s another option——Severn Inn, a fine-dining waterfront restaurant with an extended deck that stretches into the Severn River. It also offers incredible sunsets with the Naval Academy in the background. These prized seats go fast, so definitely make reservations. Seafood reigns here. While soaking up the view, dip into the Southern-style crab bisque, oysters on the half shell, “no filler” crab cakes, or wild rockfish. Wash it all down with wine from a well-represented list. And if you’re lucky, you may see Shakira the duck, the restaurant’s unofficial mascot.
1993 Baltimore Annapolis Blvd., Annapolis, 410-349-4000.

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Tabrizi’s

FEDERAL HILL

Adorned with French wicker chairs and close enough to the docked sailboats you could reach out and grab one (but, please, wait till after dinner to satisfy the craving for a boat ride—and jump aboard the Water Taxi, just steps away, instead), the patio spreads from the Harborview restaurant’s dining room along the harbor itself. On a summer Friday, as the concrete is cooling down, a jazz trio might be warming up to accompany a diner’s voyage through the Mediterranean-inspired menu of grape leaves and tabbouleh salad, calamari in chili sauce, or crab meat with saffron aioli heaped on a half avocado. The obliging wine list offers similar warm-weather treats, from a glass of sparkling Cava to a bottle of crisp German Riesling. Warning: This place is insanely popular for waterside weddings on weekends, so call ahead to avoid becoming a crasher.
500 Harborview Dr., 410-727-3663.

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Tark’s Grill

LUTHERVILLE-TIMONIUM

Ahem, there are rules for the patio: First come, first served; no reservations; a requested two-hour limit to hogging a table (our words, not theirs); and no smoking. The flagstone courtyard with the stone fireplace is busy and lively enough to demand such guidelines. Indeed, the place is hopping from lunchtime through after-dinner drinks. But that doesn’t mean the staff isn’t sweet and congenial. They make sure you don’t feel rushed and pace your meal accordingly. Nosh on appetizers like seared rare ahi tuna and fried local oysters before deciding whether to indulge in a full-fledged dinner of crab cakes and baby-back ribs or light fare like a salmon BLT or “Tark’s Custom Blend” burger. If you stop by for lunch, we can’t say enough about the shrimp-salad sandwich. It’s as wonderful as the surroundings.
2360 W. Joppa Rd., No. 116, Lutherville-Timonium, 410-583-8275.

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Waterfront Kitchen

FELLS POINT

The restaurant’s harbor view shouts Baltimore——albeit gently. From tables on the raised wood deck to the lower promenade, diners have a panorama of the old, still-working Domino Sugar plant across the waterway, the refurbished Bond Street Wharf building etched with the signature letters, a Water Taxi stand, and myriad passersby, walking, jogging, pushing babies, or dragging curious dogs. The waddling ducks are a bonus. It’s a glorious vantage point for the seed-to-table fare dished out by chef de cuisine Andrew Kopp. Enjoy appetizers like a plate of three local cheeses, dried fruits, a splatter of honey, and crisp crostini, or charcuterie featuring duck-breast prosciutto and chicken-liver mousse. Entrees range from Springfield Farm organic chicken to Chesapeake Bay rockfish filet. Or simply delight in a Tuesday-Friday happy hour from 2:30-6:30 p.m. with specially priced drinks and nibbles. Either way, there’s no charge for the vista.
1417 Thames St., 443-681-5310.

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Wine Market Bistro

LOCUST POINT

The patio is a dozen tables captured in the quiet center of a repurposed forge at the gateway to Locust Point, meaning a breezy spot even on steamy nights. August, says owner Chris Spann, is actually the restaurant’s busiest time. Summertime diners flock to the outdoors, fortified with wine from the adjacent shop or plucked from the wine list (its minimal markups giving bargain seekers cause to smile). The menu lightens up for warmer months with offerings like shrimp and octopus salad, chilled soups, braised pork cheeks, and fruit desserts. Weekend brunch might start with a smoked-trout salad or pea soup with rosemary-bacon foam and progress to eggs Benedict with cornmeal-fried oysters. The patio occasionally hosts special summer events like grilling and beer tastings.
921 E. Fort Ave., 410-244-6166.

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Wit & Wisdom

A Tavern by Michael Mina

HARBOR EAST

Harbor East’s waterfront became a little bit swankier since the Four Seasons Hotel restaurant opened its red-brick patio in May on a swath of landscape that probably has the most riveting view in town. Skirting the public promenade, the 12 tables, 12 seats at the outdoor bar, and scattered couches overlook the harbor, the Baltimore skyline, a nearby bustling marina, and Pier Six Pavilion. Huge, wind-resistant umbrellas provide cover whatever the weather. This is a place you’ll want to linger as you savor cocktails and appetizers or executive chef Clayton Miller’s full menu. For this reason, the restaurant will take requests for outdoor seating and accommodate diners whenever possible. The food, much of it cooked over an indoor wood-fire grill and rotisserie, is as captivating as the surroundings. How can you not be spellbound by wood-roasted bone marrow, wood-fired lamb loin and leg, and award-winning pastry chef Chris Ford’s delectable desserts?
Four Seasons Hotel Baltimore, 200 International Ave., 410-223-1456.

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Woodberry Kitchen

CLIPPER MILL

When you eat outside here, you may be seated near one of owner Spike Gjerde’s preservation efforts. After all, summer is not only a time for the dedicated farm-to-table chef to fill plates with luscious seasonal bounty, it’s also a chance to stock up for the colder months. A solar dryer, resembling a tipped pinball machine, may contain a stash of heirloom tomatoes or fish peppers, even as diners nibble on the fresh-picked versions at a table near towering cornstalks. Woodberry’s outdoor offerings include meals served on the gravel patio (which itself seems to resemble a raised vegetable bed) or cocktails and small plates around the fire pit, roaring when the weather warrants. As one manager puts it, “We just keep cold water and cold cocktails coming.” Of course, there are also plenty of grilled meats, seafood, and loads of Chesapeake Bay oysters.
2010 Clipper Park Rd., 410-464-8000.

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It’s no coincidence that The Prime Rib’s swank, supper-club vibe has been showcased in a TV show like The Wire or often brings mention of the retro era of Mad Men. The restaurant exudes an elegance and allure that appeals to diners—whether it’s a young drug-gang leader like D’Angelo Barksdale trying out the luxe life or a slick advertising guy like Don Draper.

In real life, The Prime Rib lives up to its billing. It’s been reeling in Baltimore sophisticates since its founding in 1965, wooing customers with big food and heady cocktails. You’ll find steaks as thick as a phone book and martinis as smooth as Daniel Craig—all in a sleek setting with leopard-print carpet, a Lucite grand piano, black lacquered walls, and skin-soft leather seating.

Over the years, the steakhouse parlayed its success to D.C. and Philadelphia. More recently, it opened a fourth location at Maryland Live Casino in Hanover, where it’s betting that hungry gamblers will want to take a break from the action and luxuriate in a plush setting.

But its proximity to the shops at Arundel Mills will also attract outsiders looking for a taste of Baltimore nostalgia. On a recent visit, a large party was celebrating a matriarch’s birthday. There wasn’t a slots player among them.

The dress code is more relaxed here than the tie-and-jacket attire usually seen at the North Calvert Street address. When I called to make reservations, a hostess told me that the only time jackets are required is when someone is wearing jeans. The restaurant’s website recommends business-professional or business-casual wear. These seem to be loose requirements. It was all across the board on a Sunday night.

Unlike the city restaurant’s intimate space, The Prime Rib at Maryland Live is spacious. The entrance lounge area is huge with an L-shaped bar; the dining room is bright and open; and an outdoor patio with a retractable roof and an expansive gas fireplace is a destination unto itself.

Not to worry, the beloved accoutrements are still here—from the carpet to the piano.

The menu is familiar, too, though you’ll notice some new additions. The tried-and-true Buzz’s salad (named after The Prime Rib owner Buzz Beler) was as great as always with its crisp compilation of romaine, tomatoes, avocadoes, and chopped egg in a sweet white-balsamic vinaigrette. The oysters Rockefeller were delicious, hefty morsels with a generous blanket of spinach and a hint of Pernod. And the Maine lobster bisque was silky, creamy, and resonating with a pleasant shellfish undertone.

Before we even tucked into our appetizers, though, we were presented with a complimentary amuse-bouche. This tidbit of roasted-corn purée atop a buttermilk biscuit with bacon dust assured us of the chef’s cooking cred.

We just wish our server had been more competent. It was really our only complaint. There were long lags between courses and a general forgetfulness on his part, including not delivering our bottle of wine until we were well into our entrees. We definitely missed Bobby, one of our favorite servers at The Prime Rib in Baltimore.

But the food was too good for us not to have enjoyed our evening. The 12-ounce signature roast prime rib with fresh horseradish yielded medium-rare goodness. The eight-ounce prime filet mignon proved to be a stellar, charcoal-singed round of meat.

Although many people associate The Prime Rib with beef, its seafood choices should not be ignored. The two jumbo-lump crab cakes we sampled would make any Marylander proud.

We also enjoyed a mound of steamed, slightly garlicky broccoli rabe—plenty for a table of four—and the restaurant’s well-known Greenberg potato skins that have been on the menu since The Beatles first crooned “Help!” and “Day Tripper.” We never tire of these crispy spuds, which are served with two dipping sauces—a spicy mayo and horseradish sour cream.

Desserts are just as sumptuous as the savory offerings. The apple tarte Tatin inspired awe with a baked apple perched on a pastry crust. The bread pudding with bourbon sauce and Key lime pie were ample servings that would satisfy any sweet tooth.

The Prime Rib is expensive with steaks soaring to $64 and seafood to $76, but, except for our novice waiter, the experience left us feeling like winners no matter what was going on in the noisy casino outside the restaurant’s stately doors.

With its wicker baskets, comfy couches, and piles of pine cones, Donna Hamilton’s Dickeysville home is warm, homey, and casual—a real reflection of the WBAL-TV anchor herself. “I can’t afford ostentatious,” she says with a laugh.

In December 2010, when Hamilton got ready to renovate her 1954 kitchen (think faux brick linoleum, Formica cabinets, floral wallpaper), she wanted to modernize, but she also tried to stay true to the legacy of the cottage-style house. “I wanted the kitchen to feel calm and contemporary,” says Hamilton. “Something soothing—just a pleasant place to spend time.”

Mission accomplished. The new space is a study in contrasts: Warm maple cabinetry is a counterpoint to cool surfaces (granite countertops and white subway tiles); vintage accessories (a corner cabinet, a collection of antique print pattern blocks) offset state-of–the-art, stainless-steel appliances (Bosch dishwasher, Jenn-Air oven); and country-inspired kitchenware keeps company with minimalist modern lighting. “This is not a showcase kitchen,” says Hamilton. “It’s a pretty kitchen, but it doesn’t have the best of everything, and I didn’t need anyone to design it. I’d been thinking about it for 30 freakin’ years!”

Even before the picture-perfect renovation, Hamilton’s kitchen has always been the heart of the home she shares with her husband, David, and where her children, Cada and Jesse—now grown and gone—stop by for home-cooked meals. “I love cooking because it’s a very sane and necessary activity,” says Hamilton, whose specialties include paella and shrimp and grits. “There’s a reason you cook. There are a lot of things we do in our job or the world that are not all that necessary, and they are not all that sane, but cooking is a thing with a purpose.”

Growing up in Birmingham, AL, Hamilton soon found herself in the family kitchen. “I really started to cook when my mom went back to work as my older sister went to college,” explains Hamilton, the middle child of three girls. “As the next oldest child, it was my responsibility to get dinner started.” Her mother, Mary Grace, was a simple Southern cook, whose specialties included fried okra, squash casserole, and cornbread. “My mother wasn’t a fancy cook,” says Hamilton. “But she was a good cook who never followed a recipe—and I’m a little like that. I like to cook in a more freewheeling way.”

Out of the kitchen, Hamilton has been equally unpredictable. “Everything that has happened to me has just come to me. None of it was planned,” she says. On a lark, after a brief modeling stint, Hamilton auditioned for a long-running Birmingham TV program, The Tom York Morning Show, in the late ’70s. “I don’t even know where I got the courage,” she says. “When I was growing up, it was pretty is as pretty does.”

Initially, Hamilton didn’t get the job, but went to work for the show’s programming director, eventually becoming York’s co-host. She moved to Baltimore in 1981 to host Evening Magazine, a local news and entertainment show. When the program ended in 1990, she appeared on The Learning Channel’s Great Country Inns. “I was looking for other ways to make money,” says Hamilton, “and decided to do a cookbook—Donna Hamilton’s Gracious Country Inns and Favorite Recipes—in conjunction with the show.”

Both in the kitchen and behind the anchor desk, Hamilton has found her calling. “I love what I do,” she says, “and I guess journalism is a lot like cooking. A little bit of this and a little bit of that goes for both. When you put together a story, you have all these pictures and all these sound bites, and you have to make it into a recipe or a story. You have to start and finish it. It’s making something from nothing.”

There was a need for cheese, explains Sharon Johnson of Federal Hill who recently opened Cheese Galore & More, a new stall at Cross Street Market (1065 S. Charles St., 410-244-5515). Johnson had been in sales and food management for 20 years before becoming the victim of company reorganizations and the economy. “Food is in my blood,” she says. “I decided to try this.” The shop’s case is filled with delectable goat cheeses, Bries, Taleggio, and Stiltons. (The mango-ginger has been a sellout.) Even stinky Limburger is popular, Johnson says. She carries accompaniments like herbed olives, Peppadew peppers, pâtés, fresh-baked baguettes, and Zeke’s coffee. But the most requested item is “Federal Hill crack,” she says with a laugh, referring to the shop’s Asiago spread. After sampling it, we understand the addiction.

For months, the tall windows and doors at 1728 Thames St. were plastered with thick brown paper. Construction trucks were out front, but curious passersby (including me) couldn’t tell what was going on in the centuries-old Fells Point building.

Soon enough, there was a big sign announcing that a restaurant was opening. But construction dragged. It would still be many more weeks before diners got a glimpse of the inside of Thames Street Oyster House, the dream of owner Candace Beattie.

Immediately, the place, next to the rollicking Cat’s Eye Pub, was packed. The glow of its debut was quickly doused when Hurricane Irene came roaring up the Atlantic seaboard, threatening to wash out the cobblestone streets and historic structures in the waterfront neighborhood. Once again, Beattie was covering up her exterior—this time with plywood.

Mercifully, the storm didn’t cause the expected damage, and Thames Street Oyster House took down its protective sheathing to finally concentrate on establishing a niche in this restaurant-and-bar-saturated community.

It’s no surprise that oysters—from raw to Rockefeller to shooters—anchor the menu. There’s also a New England theme with lobster dishes, clams, and other seafood rounding out the list. A few meat options are thrown in, too, like a grilled skirt steak with beet relish and sweet plantains. The chef, Eric Houseknecht, has composed a casual menu with thoughtful, seasonal ingredients.

And in an area known for tourists, pub crawlers, and hungry diners, owner Beattie has wisely presented a price point to suit eaters who want to satisfy their munchies with a burger or a salad or those who are looking for a full meal with appetizers and entrees.

Despite its name, the Oyster House doesn’t look like it hails from the Cape Cod area. With its hexagonal white-tile flooring, inviting wood bar, outdoor brick patio, and upstairs dining room with brown paper over the white tablecloths, the quaint row-house restaurant could easily have been plucked off the streets of Paris. The only thing missing is a French sneer from the wait staff. The servers here are young, friendly, and knowledgeable.

On one visit, our waiter Tony helped us choose from the dozen types of raw oysters available that day, explaining the pedigree of each. A paper guide with descriptions is given to diners, complete with pencils for marking your choices—similar to making selections at a sushi restaurant. But we really appreciated our server’s guidance.

We ended up with six chilled, plump oysters on the half shell—do try the Kumamoto ones from California—that we slurped happily with a variety of condiments, including a traditional mignonette with shallots and black pepper.

The bivalves whetted our appetites for the official appetizers, including the ubiquitous lobster mac ‘n’ cheese. (Is there a menu in town without this dish?) It turned out to be more of a hearty meal than a warm-up to the main event. A small cast-iron skillet is packed with cavatappi “corkscrew” pasta glistening with a rich Gouda sauce and studded with sweet lobster chunks. It’s a fine dish, just filling.

The oysters Rockefeller were fancy and delicious. The shells were properly set on a bed of rock salt, and their briny inhabitants were dressed with creamed spinach sporting Pernod and Parmesan. The knockout, though, was the shrimp ceviche—a bowl of plump shrimp “cooked” in a citrus marinade of lime, orange, ginger, and cilantro.

Now, it was time for the real test—tasting the crab cake. The 10-ounce patty was also served in a cast-iron skillet, filling up the pan like puffy pancake. It was moist and plump with lumps of crab. The Baltimore traditionalist in me could have done without the rémoulade sauce on top. The side dishes were great: sweet chunks of watermelon with threads of basil—a product of our late-summer visit—and horseradish potato salad.

The seared Block Island scallops were nicely burnished from a quick turn in the pan and meltingly soft inside. The farm-fresh succotash of corn, peas, and red peppers was a pleasing addition. The lobster and crab risotto with peas was laden with seafood but the rice was too chewy. The lovely, underlying flavors—lemon zest, basil, and Parmigiano-Reggiano—helped support the dish.

Sitting in the upstairs dining room with a view of the harbor, we wanted to linger over dessert. They’re made in house, which may or may not explain why they took so long to reach our table. During the interlude, we lost interest in the sweets. Their arrival didn’t perk us up.

They were well-prepared but unexciting—dulce de leche brioche bread pudding in a splash of dulce de leche sauce and a orange-scented crème brûlée. For a cool finish, we liked the raspberry sorbet buried beneath a thicket of fresh blueberries.

Thames Street Oyster House is also open for lunch Wednesday-Sunday. We soon returned to sample the lobster roll. It didn’t disappoint. Hunks of beautiful claw and tail meat spilled over the open-face crunchy roll. There’s even drawn butter on the side for extra indulgence.

At the end of the meal, the check is served in an empty oyster can, a fun touch. With its menu, décor, and range of prices, Thames Street Oyster House has already managed to find a way to attract locals and visitors in a competitive area of town. We have a feeling that, barring an unforeseen hurricane, the restaurant won’t be boarding up again anytime soon.

THAMES STREET OYSTER HOUSE

STYLE: A charming, bistro-like setting with an upstairs dining room and walk-in bar area.
CUISINE: A menu with a New England influence and a variety of seafood, including oysters, of course.
YOU’LL FIND: A private brick courtyard for dining with romantic lights strung overhead.

1728 Thames St., 443-449-7726. Hours: 11:30 a.m.-10 p.m. Sun., Wed.; 5-10 p.m. Mon., Tues., raw bar and bar food until 11 p.m.; 11:30 a.m.-11 p.m. Thurs.-Sat., raw bar and bar food until 12 a.m. Appetizers: $9-12; entrees, $16-27; desserts, $7.

When chef Bernard Dehaene held a “Flintstone Dinner” at his restaurant Zot in Philadelphia, he served guests such rarities as lion and Thai waterbugs, all the while dressed as the cartoon character Fred Flintstone. For his first Exotic Meat Club meal at Corner BYOB in Hampden, he may just don a loincloth, he says—or something in a leopard print. He hasn’t decided.

Both the dress and the type of food reflect the Belgian-born chef’s sense of fun and his creative flair in the kitchen—these days a four-burner, one-oven galley at Corner. His appetite for offerings like yak (with its lean beef texture) and python (prepared like calamari) is understandable. After all, this is a man who grew up on horse meat and wild rabbit in his native Brussels and, at age 15, persuaded his parents to let him become a chef.

They were horrified. “All chefs are drunkards,” they worried, but eventually they succumbed to their son’s wishes, allowing him to apprentice at a local restaurant.

Dehaene, now 45, started at the bottom, cleaning the kitchen and answering to the whims of a strict, demanding chef. Old-school European chefs aren’t known for being touchy-feely, so when Dehaene forgot to turn on the oven one day, he learned a hard lesson. The chef handcuffed him to the oven and left him there overnight. “I never forgot again,” he says, smiling and shaking his head at the distant memory.

On a recent afternoon, Dehaene—balding, jovial, and dressed in a black shirt and olive-green chef’s pants with beige clog-like shoes—sits at a table at the Corner, the 36-seat, boxcar-sized restaurant owned by his longtime friend Cecille Fenix, reminiscing about the past and pondering the present. He’s found his niche at Corner, which opened in March, serving Continental cuisine with Belgian leanings, including his penchant for exotic foods like wild boar (a roast pork flavor) and kangaroo (like a sweet filet mignon).

Fenix stresses that the meats the restaurant serves are legal. “Anything endangered is not going on the menu,” she says. “It’s not a very good selling point.”

Fenix and Dehaene also contend that the animals are humanely raised on farms before being slaughtered. While some Baltimore restaurants have been picketed in the past for serving foie gras—usually served as pâté made with goose liver from birds fed to enlarge that organ—animal-rights groups haven’t targeted Corner for that dish or other wild-game creations.

“We do business with legalized goods,” Dehaene says. “They have better things to do than picket a restaurant that is doing something to beautify the neighborhood—and it’s customer demand.”

The adventurous restaurant may seem a little over the top for Hampden, where low-key eateries are more familiar. (In fact, the spot was a greasy spoon for years.) But think again.

Just the other day, a diner called the restaurant requesting calf’s brains. The chef ordered 10 pounds of calf’s brains for a weekend special, serving them with fried-green tomatoes and an arugula salad. By that Sunday, they were gone.

This isn’t Dehaene’s first go-round in Baltimore. He landed in the U.S. in 1985, eventually working at Café des Artistes in Mt. Washington in the ’90s (at the same time, Woodberry Kitchen chef Spike Gjerde was a pastry chef there) before opening his own restaurant, Mannequin Pis, in 1999 in Olney.

He was finally able to prepare his homeland cuisine at the restaurant, which drew critical praise almost immediately. And even though he couldn’t get his favorite ingredient, horse meat, in the U.S., he found a substitute—kangaroo. “It’s similar to horse meat but doesn’t have that gamey flavor,” he says.

That was just the beginning. Soon, the chef was adding wild boar, antelope, black bear, ostrich, and other unusual meats to the menu. There was a bit of a culinary learning curve, though.

His first lion preparation was pretty much a disaster, says Fenix, who met Dehaene at Mannequin Pis. “It was tough,” she admits, still grimacing at the thought of trying to chew the meat. These days, the chef uses a sous-vide method, cooking the loin of lion for 24 hours at 57 degrees, then pan-searing the steaks for a crusty exterior and moist interior.

On this day, as Dehaene shares his thoughts, he jumps up occasionally to accept various deliveries. He’s giddy with excitement as he presents a newly received, shimmery white slab of sweetbreads and a packet of tiny speckled quail eggs. This mind is quickly determining what to do with his goldmine.

First, he’ll soak the sweetbreads in buttermilk, he says. After that, his eyes get dreamy with plans. Each day at 4:30 p.m., Dehaene sits down with his staff and finalizes the specials of the day. With their input, including that of his sous chef Zeke “Paulus” Altenbrend, he’ll come up with dishes like his recent skewers with five different meats: bison, kangaroo, duck, rib-eye, and lamb (the meats can vary). One preparation includes marinating the meats before threading the skewers and grilling the meat. The dish was another sellout, he shares.

Dehaene orders much of his specialty foods from purveyors like Best Game in Town in Arnold and Pasture to Plate, which bills itself as “the chef’s connection to the farm.”

Brian Shrago, a national sales manager for the Cicero, IL-based Pasture to Plate, says the interest in sustainably raised products has grown greatly in the last three to five years. “It’s been increasing tenfold as far as high-end restaurants that are a little more involved in where their food is from and what they are serving to customers,” he says. He’s also seeing this trend in mid-level eateries, too.

The economy, though, has impacted exotic game and its farmers, Shrago continues, resulting in less supply and higher prices to the chefs. While Pasture to Plate offers buffalo, wild boar, ostrich, llama, and the occasional bear to its clients, it does not sell lion meat.

“We tend to stay away from it,” Shrago says. “There are ethical issues.”

Lion is not a regular item on Corner’s menu, but Fenix points out that the meat the restaurant purchases “for regulatory purposes has to be USDA [United States Department of Agriculture] approved and processed by someone certified.”

Chef Dehaene maintains that he’s just cooking what diners want. “It’s the customer who comes to me and asks if I can do partridge, grouse,” he says. “They know my cooking. Any challenge, we welcome.”

Timid eaters should not freak out. The Corner’s regular menu is filled with well-known foods and flavors like crispy salmon, seafood salad, grilled rib-eye steak, and mussels. “It’s 30 years of cooking all the things I want to create,” Dehaene says of his food. “There are endless possibilities.”

The world of a chef is never easy with its long hours and high demands. Before helming Corner, Dehaene was hitting his stride at Mannequin Pis with his attention-getting cuisine when he was slammed with a heart attack. He was 38.

He was stressed out trying to win a fourth star for the restaurant, he says. There was only one solution. He sold the restaurant. “I accomplished what I wanted to do,” he asserts. He spent the next couple of years sailing, deep-sea diving, and motorcycling across America before being pulled back to the restaurant world like a child to a favorite toy.

While promoting Belgian beer for a company, he ended up in Philadelphia. Before long, Dehaene found a space in the city and opened up Zot, which also garnered positive reviews for its numerous mussel preparations and hundreds of beers.

Craig LaBan, the Philadelphia Inquirer’s restaurant critic, wrote in a review: “Order up a charcuterie plate and any pot of the 30 or so different kinds of beer-steamed mussels to begin . . . and the scene is set for a splendid meal.”

Again, success was fleeting. The restaurant closed in 2009 after Dehaene and a partner ended their business relationship. Next stop: Baltimore or, actually, Hampden.

Fenix and Dehaene almost set up shop in Mt. Vernon before discovering The Avenue space and signing a 10-year lease. “The moment I got in here, I felt like this was it,” the chef says.

He’d like to one day have a rooftop deck at Corner and to open a specialty shop with items like hams and cheeses. “There’s always so much more to do,” he says.

While the cuisine at Corner has received kudos—The Sun’s restaurant reviewer Richard Gorelick gave it 3½ stars—there have been complaints about the restaurant’s extra charges for using credit cards and take-home containers and for the confusing corkage fees.

“People think we’re nickel and diming them,” Dehaene acknowledges. But he stands by the policies, citing replacement costs for items like wine glasses, finding precious storage space for the containers, and for the price of simply running a business. “We try to give the best products at the best price for minimal profit,” he insists.

Meanwhile, the restaurant’s fans are lining up to be part of the Exotic Meat Club with more than 200 e-mails received so far. “We’re trying to brainstorm what the program should entail,” Fenix says.

She and Dehaene are hoping to have the first dinner in September, two to three weeks after Labor Day. They’re contemplating having a yearly membership fee, a portion of which would benefit a farm or other food-related business. The charge could also include a memento, perhaps an engraved knife to bring to the carnivore dinner, Dehaene says. The restaurant will send out e-vites when the details are decided.

For now, Dehane continues to offer Baltimoreans an epicurean opportunity to try foods they may not have experienced. “We’re not a restaurant for everyone,” he acknowledges.

But the confident chef is ready for feedback. “My kitchen is open for praise or hell,” he says. “If there’s anything we can get the customer, we do.”

On a rainy Tuesday, with only 30 minutes to spare, Kathy Patterson dashes out of her office into the streets near the University of Maryland Medical Center looking for lunch. Walking at a brisk clip, she bypasses any number of sandwich and fast-food joints before she reaches her destination: The Gypsy Queen Cafe.

This is a tradition she looks forward to every week, she explains, as she takes her place in line behind several other diners to order. But this is no ordinary cafe. It’s a 27-foot truck painted with psychedelic swirls of purple, green, and pink, a mobile eatery that changes locations every day, keeping diners apprised of where it will be via social media. And the menu offerings are decidedly unlike the ho-hum hot dogs and plastic-wrapped sandwiches found at a typical sidewalk cart or construction-site trailer.

Instead, there are crab-cake tacos with Old Bay aioli, sweet-corn hush puppies in a waffle cone, and black truffle sliders. This is street food with a decidedly gourmet twist. As Patterson waits for her Santorini beef wrap with Greek dressing, she shares how happy she is about the gourmet food trucks popping up all over the city.

“Food trucks really add something to the lunchtime scene here,” she says. “We’re tired of chicken salad and ham sandwiches and want a variety of interesting foods.”

Baltimore has long been an outdoor food kind of town. From the pit beef at the Sunday JFX Farmers’ Market and the downtown hot dog carts to the loncheras or taco trucks stationed around Fells Point, there are a number of places to grab a quick bite and eat in the open air. But the gourmet food-truck trend, so popular in cities like Los Angeles, Portland, OR, and New York, has largely evaded Charm City. That is, until two years ago, when Kooper’s Chowhound Burger Wagon came on the scene, soon followed by several other food vans.

The city wasn’t quite prepared for the food-truck influx, and there was a brief skirmish over regulations. The mayor and her staff ironed out the issues in May by establishing rules about permits and setting up food-truck zones.

Now, at lunchtime, you’re likely to see diners lined up at more than a half-dozen gourmet food trucks—in areas like Harbor East, Mt. Vernon, and Charles Village—cooking up everything from juicy bison burgers and vegan chilled cucumber-and-avocado soup to cookie-dough cupcakes and crêpes Suzette.

The mobile eateries not only offer variety, but they’re an event, says Shawn Smith, the co-owner of Curbside Cafe, a burrito truck that started making the rounds in Baltimore in May 2010. “Food trucks create a feeling of excitement,” he contends.

But what distinguishes one food truck from another? And how do you know what to order? Here’s what you’ll find when you belly up to the window and place your order at one of the city’s growing fleet of gourmet food trucks.

Oh, before we begin, a few things to note about food trucks: Many don’t take credit cards, so bring cash. And although most trucks try to maintain regular days at certain spots, check the whereabouts of your truck of choice through Facebook or Twitter before hitting the streets.

Kooper’s Chowhound Burger Wagon
www.kooperschowhound.com
Twitter: @BRGRwagon
Concept: Freshly handmade and grilled beef, bison, turkey, and veggie burgers.
The Scoop: A few years back, when Patrick Russell, owner of Fells Point’s Kooper’s Tavern, Sláinte, and Woody’s Rum Bar, was looking to expand his restaurant business with director of operations Bill Irvin, the nation was in the throes of a recession and getting a loan to open another restaurant seemed impossible. Instead, in fall 2009, they decided to take Kooper’s popular burgers on the road. The snappy yellow-and-brown food truck, splashed with images of Kooper the yellow Lab, is considered the first in the city’s wave of roving food trucks and draws crowds with its build-your-own burger menu. Favorites include The MacGuinness, a one-half-pound Angus beef and bacon cheeseburger, and Elvis Got the Blues, which comes with apple-smoked bacon and Maytag blue cheese. Choose your toppings and sauce. The crisp fries—sweet potato and regular—round out the meal. Prices: $8-10.

Gypsy Queen Cafe
www.gypsyqueencafe.com
Twitter: @thegypsytruck
Concept: Baltimore street food with gourmet flavors.
The Scoop: Truffles. Maryland crab. Braised pork with espresso barbecue sauce and caraway slaw. You’re not hallucinating if some of the items on the Gypsy Queen Cafe’s extensive menu remind you of Helen’s Garden, the now-closed Canton restaurant owned by Tom Looney and Ed Scherer and where Annmarie Langton was executive chef. They’re back to serving Baltimore diners, only this time from their mobile food truck. Instead of being stashed back in the kitchen, Looney and Langton can chat with diners and sing karaoke while cooking. “I’ve always wanted to be on the road, and food trucks have a connotation of cowboys and chuck wagons,” Looney says. “They are independent and cool and quirky, and Baltimore is famous for being like that.” From the tender crab-cake tacos with smoky chipotle Old Bay aioli to the crisp fried flounder po’ boy and waffle cones of mac and cheese with bacon “bling,” the menu is filled with regular items and specials that are satisfying, yet vibrant and fun. “What we’re trying to do is make good food and meet great people,” says Langton. “I love the fact that I can see the smiles on people’s faces when they walk up to the truck and look at the menu. I missed that when I was in the kitchen.” Prices: $6-10.

Icedgems Baking
www.icedgemsbaking.com
Twitter: @icedgemsbaking
Concept: Some 60-plus varieties of cupcakes, with about 20 kinds offered per day on the truck.
The Scoop: Just over a year ago, baker Christine Richardson was working out of a rented commercial kitchen when she realized that her refrigerated delivery van could be used for more than dropping off cakes to clients. So she filled it with 500 cupcakes and sent it out into the streets of Baltimore. Before long, the white van with the pink polka dots was selling out of cupcakes daily. “It’s just a little treat,” says Richardson, who opened a storefront bakery in Reisterstown last September. Icedgems has excellent basic flavors like vanilla, chocolate, and red velvet, but their more creative cupcake varieties really shine. Try the rich s’mores cupcake with its chunks of graham cracker, chocolate chips, and marshmallow frosting; the cookie-dough-stuffed Cookie Monster; or the dainty Elizabeth, a lemon cake filled with raspberry preserves and frosted with lemon buttercream. “We cook from scratch,” Richardson says. “Our cupcakes may have calories, but they are good calories.” Prices: $2.50 per cupcake, $12.50 for six, $24 per dozen.

Curbside Cafe
Facebook: Curbside Cafe Baltimore
Twitter: @Curbside_Cafe
Concept: Gourmet burritos.
The Scoop: Shawn Smith and Lesa Bain got the idea to start a food truck after they found themselves swooning over the grilled-cheese sandwiches and sweet-potato fries that a sidewalk vendor was selling from a cart to the late-night bar crowds in Hampden. “Burritos are the perfect food,” Smith says. “You can do anything with them, and you don’t even need a fork.” The burritos they sell from their petite red-and-white truck are filled with your choice of Cuban-style chicken with a citrus chipotle marinade, spicy chana masala, black beans, seasoned Black Angus steak, or a combination. Toppings can include cheddar cheese, sour cream, corn salsa, lettuce, red onion, and avocado, and a choice of Heartbreaking Dawns condiments, including jalapeño pineapple and habañero mango. Or grab a pineapple Jarritos soda and an order of Plantain Delight, a heap of hot, starchy fried plantains loaded with whatever toppings strike your fancy. Prices: $5-9.

Creperie Breizh
Facebook: Creperie Breizh
Twitter: @CreperieBreizh
Concept: Authentic French crêperie on wheels.
The Scoop: “We just wanted to offer something different from your everyday fare,” says Missy Coatrieux, who co-owns this mobile crêperie with her chef/husband Eric. Breizh is the Breton name for Brittany, where Eric is from, and where crêpes are taken very seriously. The plain crêpes and buckwheat galettes (thin, flat cakes) that Eric whips up on the navy-blue trailer’s two Krampouz crêpe irons are the real deal—thin and crisp, the perfect wrappers for such savory and sweet filling combinations as the Provençale (tomatoes, Gruyere, and pesto), the Loire Valley (goat cheese, strawberries, and baby spinach with honey Dijon), or the Bananatella (sliced bananas and Nutella). There are weekly and seasonal specials, too. What’s the most popular crepe? “It depends where we are,” says Missy. “At Johns Hopkins, it’s the Provençale with chicken; at Loyola, it’s the Normande, which is chicken, apples, and Brie. And at MICA, they like to come up with their own creative combinations.” Prices: crepes, $3-6.

Souper Freak
www.souperfreaks.com
Twitter: @SouperFreaky
Concept: Homemade soups, sandwiches, and salads from around the world.
The Scoop: As a kid, Irene Smith traveled internationally with her family. Wherever she went, she ate soup. There was beer-and-cheese soup in Ireland, gazpacho in Spain, white-bean soup with vegetables in Portugal, and back home in Potomac, MD, there was the chicken soup with fluffy matzo balls made by a friend’s grandmother. “Soup is healthy and delicious and just makes you feel good,” says Smith. So the former civil-rights lawyer decided to try her hand at serving soup and sandwiches from a 27-foot-long bright-orange truck. The menu changes daily, and has five soups, three salads, and four sandwiches, including vegetarian, vegan, and gluten-free offerings. Among the favorites are a posole, filled with chicken and hominy and topped with fresh salsa and tortilla strips; a variety of gazpachos; and a shrimp melt that combines crab-imperial-stuffed shrimp with melted cheese on flatbread. Ask for a sample of soup before you order to help you decide. Smith recently told a customer as she doled out a taste of Tuscan ribollita, “Just try one of my 600 other soups, and I’m sure you’ll find something you’ll love.” Prices: $3-7.

Miss Shirley’s Café
Facebook: Miss Shirley’s Cafe
Twitter: @missshirleys
Concept: Gourmet Southern food.
The Scoop: It didn’t take long for Miss Shirley’s Café to become a go-to place in Roland Park and the Inner Harbor for decadent Southern-inspired breakfasts and lunches. A third restaurant is slated to open in Annapolis in the fall, and, in the meantime, the Miss Shirley’s Café truck aims to bring their stacks of buttermilk and blueberry pancakes, bowls of gumbo, and overstuffed Alonsoville sandwiches (smoked turkey, Brie, apples, and honey mustard on ciabatta) to diners in the streets. The truck’s menu isn’t as expansive as the restaurant’s but includes many Miss Shirley’s classics, such as fried green tomatoes, the California Chicken BLT, and sweet-potato fries with mango ketchup and citrus aioli. Prices: $5-19.

And don’t miss these food trucks:

Cazbar On the Go (www.cazbar.pro, 410-528-1222): Succulent kebab and döner sandwiches, crisp falafel, creamy hummus, baba ghanoush, and other mezes come to you courtesy of the popular Mt. Vernon Turkish restaurant Cazbar. Find the cheery red truck serving lunch and dinner around town or call, and they’ll come to you.

Dangerously Delicious Pies (www.dangerouspies.com, Twitter: @BaltoPieTruck): Grab a slice of a Berger-cookie-stuffed Baltimore Bomb; a slab of sausage, tomato, and fennel; or a piece of crumb-topped mixed berry at this sleek black pie truck, founded by baker/rocker Rodney Henry of Dangerously Delicious Pies.

The Silver Platter (410-274-2619, Facebook: The-Silver-Platter). Lobster mac and cheese with truffle essence, seared scallops over fresh local corn cooked with thyme and cream, Baltimore pit-beef sandwiches, and New England lobster rolls are just a few of the treats that executive chef Chris Cherry and managing partner Damian Bohager are cooking up at this shiny silver truck. Find them parked at 421 Central Avenue in Harbor East from 10:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. on weekdays and at local festivals on weekends.

The Great Cookie, Mobile (www.thegreatcookie.com, Facebook: The Great Cookie, Twitter: @thegreatcookie): Rich and buttery snickerdoodles outsell chocolate-chip cookies at a rate of five to one at this truck, an offshoot of Jason Fruman’s Owings Mills-based chain of seven cookie shops. Also, stop by for many other freshly baked cookie varieties, including oatmeal raisin, butter crunch, fudge chocolate chip, white-chocolate macadamia, and brownies.

Tacos Jalisco: For more than a decade, this silver truck stationed at the corner of Broadway, between Bank and Gough Streets, in Fells Point has been doling out delectable tacos stuffed with beef, lamb, and tongue; chicken gorditas; tamales; and other Mexican favorites. The truck serves from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. every day but Thursday.

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RECIPIES

Gypsy Queen Cafe’s Crab-Cake Tacos with Red Chili and Old Bay Aioli

For the crab cakes:
2 pounds lump crabmeat
2 eggs
½ cup homemade or store-bought mayonnaise
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons Old Bay
1 cup cubed white bread
2 tablespoons butter

For the tacos:
Corn tortillas
Shredded cabbage
Cilantro sprigs
Red Chili and Old Bay Aioli (recipe follows)

Carefully fold all crab-cake ingredients together. Form into small balls and lightly flatten.

Melt butter in a cast-iron skillet on medium heat and cook the crab cakes until golden brown, about three minutes per side.

To assemble, warm each corn tortilla in a hot pan or griddle, fill with crab cakes. Add shredded cabbage and cilantro sprigs, and drizzle with Red Chili and Old Bay Aioli.

Red Chili and Old Bay Aioli

1 cup homemade or store-bought mayonnaise
1 tablespoon crushed fresh garlic (about 2 cloves)
1 tablespoon chipotle in adobo sauce
1 teaspoon Old Bay
¼ cup fresh cilantro

Mix ingredients together in a small bowl.

—Recipes courtesy of Annmarie Langton, Gypsy Queen Cafe

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Curbside Cafe’s Black Beans

1 (10-ounce) can black beans
1 ½ tablespoons ground cumin
1 ½ tablespoons chili powder
2 tablespoons sea salt
2 tablespoons fresh garlic, minced
1 ½ tablespoons fresh ginger, grated
3-4 sprigs fresh cilantro
1 tablespoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Drain beans, rinse, and place in large pot. Add enough water to just reach the top of the beans. Mix in remaining ingredients, cover, and heat over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, until boiling. Reduce to low heat and simmer for 30-40 minutes, stirring often. Remove cilantro sprigs.

To serve, drain bean mixture with a slotted spoon and wrap in a corn or flour tortilla with rice, topped with lettuce, onion, avocado, tomato, chopped cilantro, cheese, and hot sauce, or serve as a side over rice. The beans taste better the next day after the flavors have had a chance to develop, and they freeze well.

—Recipe courtesy of Shawn Smith, Curbside Cafe

Icedgems S’mores Cupcakes

For the cupcakes:
2 cups sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
¾ cup cocoa
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
4 eggs
¾ cup oil
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 cup water
1 cup graham crackers, broken into dime-sized pieces
1 cup chocolate chips
1 cup mini marshmallows
Marshmallow frosting (recipe follows)
Large marshmallows and squares of chocolate for decorating

Blend together sugar, flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add eggs, oil, vanilla, and water, and beat until well-mixed. Stir in graham crackers, chocolate chips, and marshmallows.

Scoop the mixture into cupcake tins lined with paper liners, and bake at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes until cake springs back to touch. Set out to cool. Makes 24 cupcakes.

Marshmallow Frosting
1 pound unsalted butter, softened
1 pound, 4 ounces powdered sugar
Milk, optional
Marshmallow Fluff

Blend butter and sugar, adding milk if needed for a smooth consistency, and mix on medium speed for 5 minutes. Stir in an equal quantity of Marshmallow Fluff.

Pipe frosting to decorate tops of cooled cupcakes. Add a larger marshmallow and a piece of dark chocolate to top for garnish. Brûlée the top of the marshmallow with a kitchen blow torch.

—Recipe courtesy of Christine Richardson, Icedgems Baking

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Creperie Breizh’s Buckwheat Galette Stuffed with Dijonnaise Mushroom

For the buckwheat galette:
½ pound buckwheat flour
1 tablespoon oil
2 eggs, beaten
½ teaspoon salt
2 cups water
Butter for cooking galettes

For mushroom Dijonnaise filling:
1 tablespoon oil
1 tablespoon butter
½ pound mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
Salt and pepper
½ cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard

To make galettes, place flour in a bowl, and make a well in the center. Add oil, beaten eggs, and salt in the well. Mix with a spatula, starting in the center and working toward the outside of the bowl. Add the water gradually while beating the batter to obtain a smooth batter, free of lumps. (An electric mixer on low speed works fine.) Let the batter rest for a couple of hours.

To cook the galettes, heat a non-stick frying pan over medium heat until well heated. Add a little butter, and heat until melted. Pour a little bit of batter into pan and let cook until you can slide a spatula under the galette and flip it over to finish cooking the other side just as you would with a crêpe. It should have a nice golden color. Garnish with shredded Swiss cheese or cheddar, let melt, add the filling, and serve.

(You can make the galettes ahead of time. Then, reheat them in a non-stick frying pan, garnish with cheese, and fill with the mushroom mixture.)

To make mushroom filling, in a skillet, heat oil and butter over medium heat. When butter is foaming, add mushrooms, salt, and pepper, and sauté for 15 minutes until golden brown.

Mix cream with Dijon. Pour the mixture over the mushrooms, and mix with a wooden spoon. Reduce the heat slightly, and let the cream thicken for about five minutes.

To assemble the galettes, add filling and roll them like a cigar, or place filling in the middle and fold the sides of the galette toward the middle, letting the filling peek out in the center. Garnish with chopped parsley if desired.

—Recipe courtesy of Eric Coatrieux, Creperie Breizh

I felt like I was channeling chef/adventure eater Anthony Bourdain as I carefully cut into a grilled kangaroo tenderloin at Corner BYOB in Hampden recently. My friends were a little aghast that I was going to eat Roo. Actually, so was I—though the medium-rare loin was lean and delicious. Like ostrich meat, I thought, determined not to think of the Winnie the Pooh character.

You don’t usually see this particular meat on Baltimore menus. Nor do you find yak, python, or black bear—all of which may turn up on chef Bernard Dehaene’s menu at this new spot aptly named for its location at the intersection of 36th Street and Elm Avenue.

But the Brussels-born chef isn’t trying to razzle-dazzle (or spook) diners. He’s been cooking these creatures for a while. In fact, at his former Philadelphia restaurant Zot, he held occasional “Flintstone Dinners” with all manner of species in his kitchen—from lion and crickets to Thai water bugs. At press time, Dehaene was planning an Exotic Meat Club, so he could showcase these special offerings at Corner.

The restaurant is so much more than serving unusual “proteins,” though. It delivers an array of dishes, which the chef describes as “a mix of Continental, European classical cooking with New American ingredients.” You’ll find such items as Dover sole meunière, beef stew made with Resurrection beer, roast cod, and a lamb brochette. Nothing scary or unfamiliar there!

I have to admit that I wasn’t sure what to expect at this restaurant with its bland, unassuming exterior. Don’t be misled.

Inside the former diner, the narrow space has been transformed into a cozy bistro with banquettes against the walls and bare wood tables. There are large picture windows, which provide a panorama of the outside pedestrians. And the cocoa-ebony color scheme is as sophisticated as the food.

The chef has been in the United States since 1985 and has been involved in several restaurants, including Mannequin Pis in Olney. He also spent time in Baltimore in the ’90s at Café des Artistes in Mt. Washington and is glad to be back in town. “I love Baltimore, the people and atmosphere,” he says.

Given Dehaene’s heritage, there are Belgian leanings on the Corner menu, too, such as mussels by the kilopot served with a cone of hot, salty fries and golden mayo. You can choose from several different preparations, including traditional marinière with white wine and herbs; Bruxelles with goat cheese, bacon and leeks; and curry and coconut milk.

We picked the harissa-spiced Red Devil bivalves with tomatoes, garlic, and peppers. (Harissa is a fiery hot sauce.) These black-shelled beauties were plump, zingy, and tender with lots of broth at the bottom of the pot for dipping. Note: Bread and butter are $3 extra.

Which brings me to other extra charges. The Corner is conveniently located within steps of the well-stocked The Wine Source, so you can pick up supplies. At the restaurant, there is a $3 corkage fee per full-size bottle of wine, plus $1 a person. It also prefers that you pay your bill with cash. You can use credit cards, but there is a $2 “convenience” fee.

Now that the money stuff is out of the way, let me tell you about our other appetizers. Both were among the specials offered that night—which is where the chef and his sous chef Zeke Altenbernd seem to get extra creative. Don’t overlook the regular starters, though. They’re worth consideration: pork loin salad, escargots and wild mushrooms, tomato shrimp cocktail, and seafood pasta, for example.

We opted for the sea scallops—two sweet rounds, which were seared and nestled on risotto with a goat-cheese-cream sauce laced with flecks of black caviar the size of mini polka dots. We also had a square of heavenly foie gras, whose savory richness was a captivating foil to tart brandied cherries and a smooth chocolate sauce.

In addition to the kangaroo entree, we also had the crispy salmon—a moist, pale-pink fillet lightly crusted with potato—with a lobster-potato mash and a succulent flambéed steak, finished off with Jeremiah Weed whiskey, with bacon Brussels sprouts and potato croquettes.

The Corner, which also serves weekend brunch, offers its handmade waffles for dessert, too. The crisp honeycomb-patterned treat provides an excellent base for assorted berries and fresh whipped cream.

We also savored a chocolate terrine, divided into two thin wedges and drizzled with raspberry sauce, and a chocolate hazelnut parfait with hazelnut ice cream, a dark chocolate sauce, and more of that airy whipped cream.

Admittedly, we were full by the end of the evening. Still, we’re sorry we weren’t able to sample the roasted beef marrow, shad with shad roe, and sweetbreads that chef Dehaene was also serving that night. But we have no doubt that the next time we return, there will be other intriguing dishes on the menu.

That is, if we can get a seat. The restaurant wasn’t accepting reservations at the time. But that policy could change, we were told. We hope it does. We have a feeling that once word gets out about this amazing little place, scoring a table might be difficult.

CORNER BYOB

850 W. 36th St.
443-869-5075
Hours: From 5 p.m. Wed.-Sun., 11 a.m.-3 p.m. Sat. and Sun. brunch.
Appetizers: $7-10; entrees: $17-26; desserts: $6-9.
The restaurant is BYOB, wasn’t taking reservations at the time, and accepts credit cards with a $2 convenience fee.

STYLE: The former diner has been updated into a charming dining room.
CUISINE: Continental with New American ingredients and some Belgian influences.
YOU’LL FIND: Exotic meats like kangaroo and yak are offered as specials.

It’s dinnertime at Stone Mill Bakery in Lutherville, and owner Alfie Himmelrich is working the room, doling out granola cookies at every table, schmoozing with customers, and filling a vat with the cafe’s signature nonfat vegetable soup.

When a customer requests shrimp chopped salad, Himmelrich apologizes. “Sorry, we’re all out for tonight,” he says. But several seconds later, he has a change of heart. “You know what, I’ll make it for you,” he says.

She tells him that she only has six minutes. “I’ll do it in five,” he says to her with a laugh. “Welcome to Stone Mill Bakery, where not only does the owner make the salad, but he promises what time it will be out.”

In many ways, the congenial Himmelrich is Green Spring Valley’s honorary mayor. By day’s end, he will probably have kissed more customers, hugged more employees, and brought more people together than a politician running for reelection. As longtime customer Shelley Goldseker points out, “People come for his karma. He is so welcoming, so authentic—an incredible host. And he has passed that sense of hospitality down to his staff. In what other restaurant would you find that the person who busses the table knows you by name?”

The environment is a big part of why people flock to this culinary Eden located along a bustling stretch of Falls Road in Green Spring Station. The restaurant is one part design museum with an emphasis on Mid-Century Modern (think George Nelson benches, Vistosi lights, a Piet Mondrian-inspired color-block motif, and a rotating gallery of museum-quality European art posters) and one part community center. “It’s like Cheers,” says Himmelrich’s best friend Doug Ramer. “It’s the place where everyone comes, and everyone knows your name.”

For Himmelrich, it was a conscious decision to create that sense of community. “From the people I work with to my customers, I think of all of them as family,” says Himmelrich, 54, who has two children, Hannah, 16, and Sam, 14, with wife Dana, a co-owner in the business. “My cafe is my house. For me, the most important thing is how you feel when you walk in here.”

Baseball legend Cal Ripken Jr. is a regular. “[My wife] Kelly and I always enjoy visiting Stone Mill,” he says. “It has become a staple in the community, and we feel very comfortable there. Alfie, Dana, and their team have created a special place. I can’t imagine Baltimore without the Stone Mill Bakery.”

Himmelrich may be as surprised as anyone by his role in the successful cafe—the enterprise earned somewhere between $4 million and $5 million in revenue from wholesale and retail sales in 2009. He hadn’t set out to own a bakery business.

His route to Stone Mill Bakery was a circuitous one, from The Park School of Baltimore and a family chemical business to collecting antiques and eventually his own company, which developed a “no-dig” system for laying and refurbishing sewer pipes.

But Himmelrich says his interest in hospitality began early on with his grandmother Hilda. “We had dinners on Friday nights, and she would always cook something or have something special for everyone in the family,” he says. “You never knew what it would be—for me, it was the olives from the market on Harford Road. It could be anything, but she made an effort for everyone in that room.”

Another influence was his alma mater, The Park School, where he spent 14 years. “If you ask me what impacted my childhood most, it was The Park School,” says Himmelrich, who was an avid soccer player there. “This was a place of personal expression, and you embraced it. I learned that just because I was an athlete didn’t mean I had to tunnel my vision that way my whole life.”

He recalls a particular event that expanded his horizons. “There was a play at school called The Chinese Law, and someone dragged me there, and said, ‘Why don’t you do this, too?’” he says. “Next thing I knew, I was on stage kissing a woman for the first time, and I was in heaven. All I’d ever done was kick a soccer ball.”

After graduating from Bowdoin College in 1978 with a degree in government, Himmelrich worked at an industrial paint company in Philadelphia before joining his father, Sam Sr., at Inland Oil, the family business that his grandfather, Alfred Sr., founded in the 1920s.

He did warehouse work there until deciding, at age 25, to set out for Maine on a Kerouac-style ramble in search of antiques—and himself. Accompanied by his dog Huckleberry, driving a Dodge van customized with a bed in the back, and with $2,000 of bar mitzvah money in his wallet, the adventure began.

“I went to every auction, bought antiques, and hung out at a campsite,” he recalls. But when he returned to Baltimore six months later, he had to sell his finds because he couldn’t store them, ending up with only $300.

He soon landed back at the family chemical business. He stayed for five years before forming his own company Enhansco, which used cutting-edge technology on sewer pipes. “Contractors would take a tube, run it through a bath of my resins, and inject it into the old pipes,” explains Himmelrich, who had a worldwide exclusive on the product.

Financially stable, Himmelrich reinvented himself again in 1996, at age 42, when his lifelong passion for food finally came into play. “Growing up, I always cooked,” he explains.

He was quite amenable when his younger brother Billy, a classically trained chef who had opened the first Stone Mill Bakery in 1987, asked him to get involved in expanding the operation.

“So I bought equipment, and I hung out at the bakery,” Himmelrich says. “It was great.”

When Billy decided to sell the business because of a move to Florida, Himmelrich took over the helm, growing the wholesale side (with more than 200 customers), increasing his on- and off-site catering business, and consolidating the retail space. He did several major renovations and also redesigned the menu (keeping many of Billy’s original recipes).

Today, Himmelrich is a hands-on proprietor. Back in the kitchen, as he blanches asparagus and chops romaine like a pro, he explains his core philosophy. “I can’t let just anyone make the salad when we’re out of it,” he says. “If you ate my tuna fish 10 years ago, the same person is making the tuna fish today, and the same person is putting it on your sandwich. Consistency is what it’s all about.”

Customers—from businessmen and women to young moms and ladies who lunch—come just for that reason. They can count on fresh sandwiches (like the classic Reuben with lean corned beef or the chicken, mozzarella, and pesto panini) and racks of delicious homemade pastries (like Valrhona chocolate brownies and tangy, melt-in-your-mouth lemon squares).

It’s clear that Himmelrich puts an abundance of passion on every Villeroy & Boch plate for his customers. Even his canine guests—who dine alfresco on the patio—get strips of applewood bacon.

“The food is beautiful and inspired,” says longtime employee Cris Janoff, “but the cafe is a sanctuary in a tough world, where you can come and be made to feel special and celebrate life.”

Fellow restaurateurs enjoy it, too. “One of the reasons it works so well is that Alfie cares so much,” says Linwood Dame, owner of Owings Mills-based Linwoods. “He had a vision as to what was needed there. He expanded the menu and created a nice, warm atmosphere. For someone to be able to put that together and know the audience in such a short period of time was incredible, and Alfie is very likable, very sincere—he is built perfectly for the business.”

Remarkably, Himmelrich never seems to tire from his long days. He’s up at dawn and heads to Stone Mill to make slow-roasted brisket and eat breakfast with friend Doug Ramer. Mid-morning, he checks in with his executive chef, Alan Maw, at his Hampden commissary and then drives to his bakery at Meadow Mill to consult with his office manager and check on the booming wholesale business, which includes The Johns Hopkins University, Goucher College, and The Oregon Grille.

Midday, he often works the lunch shift at the cafe, and then heads home for a late afternoon nap before handling the dinner crowd and going back to the bakery.

When he’s not working, he will go the distance to find a good meal—from Marie Louise Bistro in Mt. Vernon to Sushi Sono in Columbia—with son Sam, a fellow foodie, as his dining partner.

Later, back at Meadow Mill, racks of bread are set out to cool, and a fleet of six Stone Mill delivery trucks is lined up at the ready. Himmelrich is jazzed as he gives the once over to nearly every loaf.

On this night, more than 8,500 breads—from 251 baguettes and 132 bâtardes to 660 brioche—will go out the bakery doors.

“I love what I do so much,” Himmelrich says, plucking an oatmeal raisin cookie off the rack and popping a piece in his mouth. “As I learned at Park School, just because I was in the chemical business, it didn’t mean I couldn’t go into the bakery business.

“People are always asking me when are you going to retire? I’m not. Well, why would I? This,” he says, still chewing, “is what feeds me.”

Back in the heyday of his top-rated WQSR radio show, Rouse and Co., Steve Rouse once rode his mower from Hunt Valley to the show’s studios in Towson, cutting grass along the way, for one of his more memorable bits. “Allegedly, I drove my lawnmower from my house in Fallston to the station,” says the 59-year-old Rouse, “but I fully admit now that I started in Hunt Valley, where the sidewalk began.”

That ride may have been an indicator of his future. These days, Rouse, who works part time doing freelance voice work for WBAL-FM, 98 Rock, and other outlets, can most often be found on his six-acre Fallston farm tooling around on his blue 1967 Ford 3000 tractor (lovingly nicknamed “Hank”) while tending to 150 chickens, thousands of bees, and fields of some 40 varieties of fruits and vegetables—from turnips, strawberries, and radishes to Swiss chard, clover, and sweet corn. “Nothing makes me happier than spending a day on Hank,” Rouse says.

While he has maintained a chicken coop and small fruit and vegetable beds on this property for many years, Rouse and live-in love Vicky Murdock officially turned the property into a Community Supported Agriculture farm (CSA) in 2009, farming fresh produce for area families from June through October. (While the farm has not yet received organic certification, Rouse and Murdock practice organic farming and use no chemicals in their gardening.)

Radio Rouse admits that people are often surprised that he is Farmer Steve. “They don’t picture me as part of something like this,” he says. “To them, I have always been this radio guy, but I had the 98 Rock morning show crew here for lunch, and they thought it was cool.” For the record, the menu included mixed greens from the garden and grilled chicken breasts from Rouse’s own farm-raised chickens.

Mickey Cucchiella of the 98 Rock team says with a laugh, “Steve will one day look back at his life and think, ‘Wow, I did it—took an unbelievable career and threw it away on farming.'”

Jokes aside, Rouse—a self-professed child of the ’60s—has always had a passion for farming. Whether residing in Maine or Virginia, he has attempted to cultivate the land. In the ’80s, while living on a 50-acre farm in upstate New York, Rouse kept a vegetable garden, chickens, pigs, cattle, and bees. “At that time, my goal was self-sufficiency,” says Rouse. “I didn’t want to depend on anyone for anything. I was angry about the food situation with people spraying poisons on the food—that rubbed me the wrong way, and that has always been something that was a concern for me.”

When Rouse retired from radio full time in 2007, he contemplated the next chapter of his life. “I started thinking about farming and then decided to kick it up a notch,” he says.

After an interview with Joan Norman of One Straw Farm (the largest CSA in Maryland) for his WMAR-ABC2 show Maryland Living and after taking a small-farm basics class offered at another area farm, he was convinced that a CSA was the way to go. “The minute we decided we were going to do this, it seemed like it was everywhere,” Rouse says.

Last summer, Rouse and Murdock found five area families who were interested in joining their CSA. During the growing season, the families paid a cut-rate $10 a week (most CSAs charge between $20 and $25 a week) in exchange for an artfully arranged basket of enough homegrown fruits, vegetables, and other farm products (including eggs, honey, and, occasionally, chicken) to feed a family of four for a week. “We call them our guinea pig families since this is our first attempt at doing this,” says Murdock, a tall, slender brunette.

Initially, Rouse didn’t want to charge anything since he considered the project a learning experience. But “everyone said to me, ‘No, you have to get something for your labor,'” he says.

And, indeed, it is a labor of love, starting when Rouse and Murdock clean the chicken coop and feed the hens (plus the one male rooster nicknamed “The Falcon”) at 8 a.m. and continuing with an exhaustive list of chores like tilling, planting, picking, mowing, weeding, fertilizing, bee inspecting, and egg collecting that go on well into the evening until the duo settle down at midnight.

“This has worked out great for me,” says Rouse, who lost 25 pounds from farm work last summer. “There are some days I’m out here, and I’m like, ‘This is pretty much a perfect deal.’ I can spend all my time out here.”

On a glorious fall day, Rouse and Murdock proudly show a visitor Rousedale Farm, where elegant towers of deep green romaine and a bounty of beet leaves spring from the soil while delicate asparagus tree ferns sway in the distance. “Nothing goes to waste here,” says Murdock, as she shows off three water barrels in the backyard that collect rainwater, which, in turn, goes back to the chickens that peck at food scraps left over from the kitchen compost.

While the fields are dormant in the winter months, there are projects—including the installation of a wood-burning furnace and a “high tunnel,” a film-covered frame to extend the growing season—that keep them busy. A neighbor’s horses graze the field and produce manure that will be dumped over the fence into the wheelbarrow on Rouse’s property, which will then be tilled under to help make the soil richer.

Rouse’s favorite part of running a CSA is taking products to his customers. “I enjoy doing my deliveries,” he says. “I love the interaction with people and having a few laughs. I also enjoy answering questions. People will ask, ‘What’s this?’ and I’ll say, ‘A turnip.’ ‘Really,’ they’ll say, ‘I’ve never had a turnip.’ I love teaching them, and I also enjoy getting feedback.”

There are no complaints from subscriber Melanie Ruckle of Forest Hill, who joined a CSA for the first time. “The veggies we received were diverse, of the best quality, and fresh, fresh, fresh,” she says. “Knowing who grew our food and how much fun the grower had growing it added to the experience.”

She also enjoyed Rouse’s excitement each time he delivered a basket of goodies. “He is like a kid waiting for you to open a present,” Ruckle says. “He just loves it, and all of this [love] goes into that meal you cook.”

Ironically, Rouse and Murdock’s relationship grew out of gardening. The two became acquainted in 1994, and then, in 2003, when Rouse needed a project manager for a pilot he was shooting called Down on the Farm, he hired Murdock (who was formerly in finance) for the job. “I wanted to do a show because I said no one knows where their food comes from anymore,” he says. The pilot never took off, but their romance did.

These days, the kindred spirits toil in the soil. He does the heavy lifting. She is the planner, “project manager,” and basket stuffer. And whether they are planting blueberries in the snow or experiencing growing pains (like when the tomato crop didn’t take), they enjoy working together. “Getting down on your knees and having your hands in the dirt, you are providing for your own existence,” says Murdock. “You can’t get any more real that that.”

For Rouse, who has five children ages 18 through 39, educating people about the results is important. “I’m not trying to change anyone’s mind about organic vs. inorganic, but if someone asks me a question, I will tell them what I think,” he says. “For me, the bottom line is, ‘Do you want poison sprayed on your food or don’t you?'”

Both Rouse and Murdock are incredulous that their gardening dreams have come true. In the beginning, the couple would get panicky each Wednesday before the Thursday delivery, wondering if they would have enough produce. “It has been amazing to us that we have been able to supply this stuff every week since June 1,” Rouse says.

They hope to spark even more Mary-landers to grow local. “If we could do this, anyone can do this,” says Murdock. “It’s as easy as putting seeds into the ground and watering them. If you do that, you will always get something.”

Don’t look for Rouse to go back to his other day job anytime soon. “We had our show,” says Rouse, “Had it not been such a success, I might have more of a burning desire, but I got to the top of the mountain, and I achieved what I wanted to achieve. I really like doing what I’m doing here.”

Mmmm…sandwiches. We personally would like to thank the Earl of Sandwich for his part in establishing this lunchtime trend, now extended to all hours of the day. According to legend, the hungry 18th-century nobleman refused to leave a gaming table and asked his valet to bring him meat between two slices of bread. It may have been just a humble salt beef, but the name “sandwich” and a fast meal were born. Centuries later, the advent of sliced bread sent Americans into their own sandwich frenzy. The possibilities were endless. Today, the traditional version has many relatives—from paninis and burritos to pitas and wraps. In fact, we stuff almost anything between our bread. According to Becky Mercuri, author of American Sandwich, we each devour about 193 sandwiches a year for a hefty 45 billion annual total nationally. No wonder we’re tipping the scales on the heavy side. And, now, sandwiches have reached the status of culinary stars. Bon Appétit had a recent article on them, including one from Baltimore’s own Dogwood Deli, and even Oprah featured a “Sandwich Showdown” with gal pal Gayle on TV not long ago. Not to be left behind, we started looking for the best local examples. Our food writers and starving college interns prowled the area, finding an assortment of combos we’d go back for time and again. We’d say sandwiches are definitely here to stay.

Annapolitan
Sammy’s Deli/The Big Cheese
47 Randall St., Annapolis, 410-263-6915.
While tourists and locals line up at Chick & Ruth’s Delly on Main Street in Annapolis (and for good reason), there’s another deli within a block of the dock that assembles some of the best sandwiches in town—Sammy’s Deli. There’s no seating, but it’s just as much fun to find a table at the Market House food complex or a shady bench by the boats to savor one of the deli’s fine specimens. Our fave is the Annapolitan ($7.75). It’s got a soft, crunchy, sweet, hot vibe going on with creamy brie melted over shaved roast turkey and Granny Smith apple slices on the freshest-ever multigrain bread. Oh, yes, zingy honey mustard pulls it all together.

Beef Brisket
Miller’s Delicatessen
Greenspring Shopping Center, 2849 Smith Ave., Pikesville, 410-602-2233.
The deli seems like it belongs in a bigger city (there is one in San Francisco)—and an earlier time. The inside walls are decorated with posters that hark back to a glitzy age of technicolor Hollywood. There’s also a great selection of food—from pancakes to pastrami—but we were after the beef brisket sandwich ($6.29) with its great mound of tender meat and beefy gravy and a hefty portion of thick-cut fries to complement the brisket. We like that the service is quick and the management is friendly. The only thing you need to bring is an appetite.

Bistro Beef
Miss Shirley’s Café
513 W. Cold Spring Lane, 410-889-5272.
One glance at the lunch menu, and it’s obvious that this is not your father’s diner. The upscale menu is chock-full of interesting sandwich options, from lobster salad sliders to a dressed-up hot brown, but our hands-down favorite is the spicy-sweet bistro beef sandwich ($15.99). Not content to be standard lunch-box fare, this sandwich is worthy of any dinner plate. Peppery, tender beef is grilled to order, topped with blue cheese, tangy tomatoes, crisp mixed greens, and delicately roasted vegetables, like peppadews and Vidalia onions, then piled on chewy ciabatta bread. Served with Miss Shirley’s signature dipping salsa and either seasonal fruit or a mixed green salad, the bistro beef sandwich hits all the basic food groups, and does so with enough substance and style to carry us long past lunch.

The Bistro
Johnny’s Bistro on Main
8167 Main St., Ellicott City, 410-461-8210.
The simple sandwiches/salads/pizzas menu and order-at-the-counter service make a deceptively lackluster first impression, but each offering is carefully thought out and more than the sum of its parts. The Bistro ($9.99), for example, starts with dense, herb-flecked ciabatta bread, toasted to crunchy light-brownness. It is topped with strips of grilled, marinated flank steak, cut thick but still so tender that the layers are easy to bite through and chew. The richness of the meat is then balanced with a thin smear of horseradish aioli, a few rings of grilled onion, and roasted red peppers. It’s served with a sour pickle spear and house-made coleslaw with crunchy cabbage and vinegar dressing instead of overly sweet mayo or shoestring fries. Perfect.

Chicken Prosciutto
Bruce Bitner’s Café & Grill
2235 Churchville Rd., Bel Air, 410-879-6399.
Bitner’s makes the most of its location amid Harford County’s many farms by using local ingredients throughout its menu. Its chicken prosciutto sandwich ($8.25) features a chicken breast straight from Amrein Foods, a wholesaler in Joppa. The hot, juicy, marinated chicken, served open faced on homemade grilled focaccia bread, is topped with a slice of melted provolone made just a few miles away at Broom’s Bloom Dairy in Bel Air. The brilliant red ripe tomato slice comes from Harman’s Farm Market just up the road in Churchville. The provincial ingredients get a bit of an exotic flavor kick from a slice of salty prosciutto ham and a spread of nutty homemade basil pesto. It’s a sandwich that satisfies both your cravings and your environmental consciousness.

Chimichanga
Holy Frijoles!
908 W. 36th St., 410-235-2326.
Someone needs to take a bow for creating this deep-fried burrito creation. We think they’re an evil genius. Locally, we think thanks can go to Hampden hotspot Holy Frijoles!, which serves a delicious version of this Mexican staple. For $9.95, you get a large flour tortilla stuffed with cheese, poblano peppers, onions, and a choice of fillings, ranging from chorizo and grilled veggies to black beans and corn. Once you’ve mixed and matched your fillings, the whole deal is dipped into the deep fryer, just long enough to give the tortilla a crunchy casing. Top it off with picante, salsa verde, and/or sour cream, and savor this amazing wonder.

Cloak and Dagger
Eddie’s of Roland Park
Two locations, including 5113 Roland Ave., 410-323-3656.
Behind the deli counter at Eddie’s are some of Baltimore’s best creations between two slices of bread. The menu has a variety of special sandwiches named after local places and schools (like Boys’ Latin and Gilman), but we cleverly decided to stay neutral and go with the Cloak and Dagger ($5.99), which features a generous portion of lean turkey instead of corned beef. Topped with coleslaw, Swiss, and Thousand Island dressing, this heaping sandwich has a slightly sweet taste that is pleasantly different. Grab a bag of all-natural kettle-cooked chips, or go for a side of potato salad, and you’ve got yourself a great combination of sweet and savory that’s guaranteed to please.

Croque Monsieur
Petit Louis Bistro
4800 Roland Ave., 410-366-9393.
Feel like breaking away from the typical brunch fare of omelets, quiches, and pastries? Then try the croque monsieur at Petit Louis. This ham-and-cheese sandwich is a staple in French cuisine and rightfully so with its melted slices of Madrange ham and Gruyère cheese, sure to satisfy any palate. Thick slices of brioche bread are dipped into egg before grilling, resulting in melted ham and cheese squished between two heavenly slices of French toast. It’s paired with salty pommes frites. And that is a brunch that works for us.

Cubano
Alexander’s Tavern
710 S. Broadway, 410-522-0000.
After multiple trips to Florida, we’re always on the lookout for a good Cuban sandwich. While it sounds simple enough: roast pork, baked ham, dill pickles, Swiss cheese, and yellow mustard melded together between artisan bread and pressed to a golden state, it’s not so easy to find a version that meets Miami standards. At Alexander’s Tavern, though, you’ll discover a Cubano ($9) with flavors that jolt your taste buds into sharp focus—each chewy, warm bite reviving memories of sultry, tropical days. But what we really like at Alexander’s is a clever substitution to the classic—prosciutto ham. The salty bite of fried prosciutto creates an added layer of wow in the popular Latino sandwich.

Eggplant Parmigiana
Café Gia
410 S. High St., 410-685-6727.
We can’t get enough of the eggplant parmigiana sandwich ($7.95) at Café Gia. Who can blame us? We take a trip to southern Italy with each bite of its three thin layers of breaded eggplant separated by two pieces of mozzarella cheese that meets another skinny slice of eggplant, more cheese, and sweet pasta sauce spread on both parts of a crusty role. Based on an old family recipe from Sicily, the sandwich is savory and tender. More to our satisfaction, the sandwich comes with a salad of fresh greens, juicy tomatoes, and zesty Italian homemade dressing. Make sure to make the stop during lunch hours (11 a.m.-3 p.m. daily), otherwise you’ll miss the chance to take your taste buds abroad because the sandwich is not on the dinner menu.

Greek Veggie
Atwater’s
Three locations, including 798 Kenilworth Dr., Towson, 410-938-8775.
Picking a favorite sandwich at Atwater’s is like picking your favorite child: You like them all for different reasons. But lately we’ve become obsessed with the Greek veggie. It feels weird saying this, but it’s a refreshing sandwich. In between two slices of handmade kalamata olive bread, you’ll find crazy thin layers of marinated cucumbers, Vidalia onions, tomatoes, green-leaf lettuce, and an olive- and-artichoke-heart tapenade. Every bite bursts with an intense flavor, and the way the sandwich is constructed, you truly get a taste of each ingredient. And because it’s Atwater’s, the bread is super delicious, and we always pair our sandwich with one of the fresh soups. We never know which to eat first, so we alternate bites.

The Land and Sea
Beach Bum’s Café
1038 Light St., 410-528-8300.
Despite our occasional fascination with all things gourmet, we realize that often the best delis are the least dressed-up. Beach Bum’s—an ice cream shop/deli—certainly fits this bill. The menu is a single sheet of laminated, bright-yellow paper; the lettuce is iceberg; and the potato chips are ridge-less. Despite the lack of extras, we keep going back because Beach Bum’s knows more about putting a sandwich together than we ever will. The Land and Sea ($9.25) is an example. Yes, combining roast beef and shrimp salad really does work—the mayonnaise-y shrimp-salad dressing provides the perfect sauce for the beef, and the two flavors, separated by a layer of bread (we suggest rye), are distinct but complementary. From now on, we’ll trust Beach Bum’s to make our sandwich decisions for us.

Lobster Roll
Crossroads Restaurant
Radisson Hotel, Village of Cross Keys, 5100 Falls Rd., 410-532-6900.
Remember the Maine (lobster, that is): If you think you have to drive to the Connecticut shore to get anywhere near a good lobster roll, head for Crossroads Restaurant. Okay, so at $18, it’s not cheap, but it’s still a lot less than the gas to drive to New England. Using his own recipe, chef Don Crowther puts lots of meat in there, diced and tossed in lemon aioli, and serves this winner on a buttery, toasted roll. If you want to get totally in the crustacean zone, try it with his cream of roasted-red-pepper-and-crab soup, with lots of lump crab, and a cream base that is surprisingly light.

The Main Street Muffuletta
Savona
2 N. Main St., Bel Air, 410-803-0000.
This old-world-style Italian deli reinvents the Southern sandwich with a vegetarian flair. The traditional aged cheeses and Italian meats are replaced with fresh mozzarella and veggies. Savona keeps the familiar crusty, flat loaf—delivered fresh daily from La Pasticceria Aldo bakery in Little Italy—and it preserves the signature olive spread—made fresh on site. But the rest of the muffuletta ($7.49) is all Savona’s own: roasted red peppers, marinated artichoke hearts, lettuce, tomato, and sliced onion. Ask for it grilled, and with each bite, the softened cheese yields to the bread’s crunchy texture. The eight-inch-long sandwich makes a filling meal for two. Because Savona recently got a license to serve beer and wine, you can enjoy the sandwich with a glass of Chianti and watch the Main Street bustle go by.

The McMechen
On the Hill Café & Market
1431 John St., 410-225-9667.
The restaurant fits in perfectly in Bolton Hill—it’s a bit eccentric with lime walls and a chalkboard menu but also welcoming with a happy staff delivering sandwiches on cafeteria-style trays. It also features sandwiches named after neighborhood streets with unusual twists to make them special. For instance, the tuna salad gets dressed up with lemon and capers; the turkey comes topped with cranberry chutney. But the one we seek out is The McMechen ($7.75). The wrap folds up a careful balance of curried chicken salad, pecans, red grapes, greens, and mango chutney for a taste range that varies from spicy to sweet and crunchy to soft with every bite.

The 98 Rock Hercules
Pickles and Chips Deli & Grille
1220 E. Joppa Rd., Towson, 410-321-1088.
Someone has a sense of humor here—as well as a creative streak in putting together some of the most interesting combos around town. The sandwich names are just plain fun, honoring or poking fun at local celebs like Ed Norris (hot roast beef, of course) and Laurie DeYoung (grilled ham and cheese). And bless their hearts, there’s one still named for Brian Billick (hot corned beef) as well as new Ravens coach John Harbaugh (turkey and ham). But the reason to keep returning (besides the thick, homemade potato chips and fat, garlicky pickles) is a piled-high stack called The 98 Rock Hercules ($7.59): ham, bacon, Swiss, mayo, tomato, hot peppers, Old Bay, and pickle slices on wonderfully chewy pumpernickel. Another plus: 25 cents from each signature sandwich is donated to charity. So now, you can feel good about yourself while you stuff your face.

Pit Beef
F & L Pit Beef
1101 Cromwell Bridge Rd., Towson, 443-622-2688.
Around here, you’re likely to find pit-beef stands in unexpected places, like the one in the shadows of the Beltway off Loch Raven Boulevard. F & L Pit Beef is disarmingly low key, as it should be. But step up to the white truck’s open window, order a regular pit beef ($6), and get ready to chow into a fresh, soft bun (five inches across) filled with tender, charred beef. Oh, and be sure to say “hi” to Amarillo the caged cockatoo as you go around to the side for condiments—the requisite stinging horseradish and onions. There’s also relish, ketchup, barbecue sauce, and, since this is Baltimore, Old Bay, to add. You can take out or eat at one of the umbrella-shaded picnic tables, where strangers suddenly become friends discussing the sandwich’s merits. The truck is open from about 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., Monday through Friday, until Thanksgiving.

Porchetta
Isabella’s Brick Oven Pizza and Panini
221 S. High St., 410-962-8888.
Fans love this Little Italy place as much for its corner-store feel and friendliness as for its amazing pizza. But Isabella’s sandwich menu is where the real magic happens. In particular, the porchetta ($6.99 small/ $8.99 large) has our mouths watering at first tantalizing scent. The rich, garlicky aroma of roasted pork is just a prelude to the outrageous flavors to come. Rosemary-spiked pork, fresh mozzarella, and bright, slightly acidic tomato are layered on an Italian roll and toasted, if you’d like, in the brick oven. The result is a sandwich that’s warm, creamy, crispy, and intensely flavorful all at once. We always go for the large—and we never regret it.

The Real Italian
DiPasquale’s Italian Marketplace & Deli
3700 Gough St., 410-276-6787.
It takes guts to call a sandwich The Real Italian (small, $5.95; large, $7.95), but the gang at DiPasquale’s, a Highlandtown fixture since 1914, comes by it honestly. From the jars of peppers and dried beans, to the case of salamis and sausages, to the wise-cracking cast of characters who preside over the cash register and deli counter—it doesn’t get any more Italian than this marketplace and deli. As for the sandwich, it’s not for amateurs, instead made for those who can distinguish their mortadella from their capicola and their prosciuttini. The meats are piled high (there’s also salami on that sucker), along with provolone cheese, plus olive oil and vinegar, lettuce, tomato, onions, and a smattering of hots—all served on a substantial Italian roll, made in-house, with just the right amount of crustiness, but nothing you’ll break a tooth on, capisce?

Reuben (traditional)
Attman’s Deli
1019 E. Lombard St., 410-563-2666.
If you’re going to do it, do it right. That’s how we feel about getting a traditional corned beef Reuben at Attman’s, part of the historic Corned Beef Row, a marketplace of Jewish eateries opened in the 1920s on East Lombard Street. Today, only Attman’s and Weiss’s delis remain (cafeteria-style Lenny’s opened in 1991), and we couldn’t be happier because we can still order an Attman’s classic corned beef Reuben ($8.29) for lunch. The sandwich has generous portions of hot sauerkraut and their “famous” corned beef, sliced incredibly thin so it melts in your mouth. The deli doesn’t hold back on the Swiss cheese, and the subtle flavor of the Russian dressing is just enough to add a little tang. As you elbow your way through the always-packed lunch line, be sure to get one of their jumbo kosher pickles to complete the meal.

Reuben Royale (vegetarian)
Liquid Earth
1626 Aliceanna St., 410-276-6606.
When we think of tofu, the word wiggly comes to mind with texture that’s just hard to swallow. Not at Liquid Earth in Fells Point, where the thin, invigorating, marinated layers of pinkish red tofu in the Reuben Royale ($8.95) can be easily mistaken for fine slices of real corned beef. The sandwich’s traditional flair makes for a well-balanced triple-decker of melted Yarlsberg, warm sauerkraut, and fresh red onions blended with the restaurant’s own Thousand Island dressing on toasted Jewish rye. What we like even more is the option to add extra onions or tofu for $1.50 and the impressive array of more than 20 freshly squeezed juices with fun names like Facelifter (honeydew melon, mint, ginger, orange, and grapefruit) and Phat Kiss (pineapple and lemon). And it gets even better. When we eat at Liquid Earth, we are supporting our local economy. They use regional organic products and produce when possible.

Roast Turkey with Cranberry Sauce
Krause’s Lite Fare
400 W. Lexington St., Lexington Market, 410-244-0748.
As far as we’re concerned, the saddest day of the year is when all of the Thanksgiving turkey has finally disappeared, and we face another long year without leftovers. This year, instead of crying in our stuffing, we’ll head to Krause’s for a quick fix, sandwich-style. Famous for fresh-roasted turkey, Krause’s deserves its reputation as a Lexington Market institution. It’s our favorite makeshift Thanksgiving treat: whole wheat bread piled high with juicy dark meat, lettuce for crunch, and a thick slather of sweet, jellied cranberry sauce ($4.85). No matter what the calendar says, when we close our eyes and take a giant, messy bite, we’d swear we’re digging into dinner on the last Thursday in November.

Roasted Vegetable
Donna’s
Several locations, including 5100 Falls Rd., Village of Cross Keys, 410-532-7611.
It’s hard to believe that when Donna Crivello opened her first café and coffee bar in Mount Vernon in 1992, words like tapenade and espresso didn’t easily roll off our tongues. Now, they’re part of our everyday lexicon. Crivello nudged our culinary awareness with other dishes, too, like fragrant roasted vegetables. Today, that luscious mix of red peppers, onions, eggplant, and portobellos is still around. A recent roasted vegetable sandwich ($8.95) at Donna’s reminded us all over again why we like her style. The warm, crusty ciabatta roll was packed with tender roasted veggies and smoked mozzarella and came with a welcome side of fried sweet potatoes.

Roma
Ceriello Fine Italian Foods
529 E. Belvedere Ave., Belvedere Square Market, 410-532-1840.
The Roma ($7.95) is the kind of sandwich you want to savor, except that it’s so good you can’t help but scarf it down. Maybe it’s the rustic ciabatta bread. Maybe it’s the layers of finely sliced prosciutto. Or the fluffy yet dense mozzarella cheese and tomato, drizzled with a pleasant splash of olive oil, and punctuated with the slight tang of basil. Maybe it’s the way the bread crunches when grilled, panini-style (one option), or the way the cool, salty meat and rich oil combine when eaten cold (second option). Of course, it’s hard to really analyze it when eating this fast.

Salmon B.L.T.
Dogwood To-Go
911 W. 36th St., 410-889-0952.
Formerly known as Dogwood Deli, this is the hot lunch spot on The Avenue in Hampden. Serving salads, sandwiches, and smoothies made with locally-sourced, organic ingredients, the tiny takeout offshoot of The Dogwood Restaurant has earned a reputation for providing quality and quantity to hungry patrons. The Salmon B.L.T. ($11.75) is a prime example of this. (It’s not always on the menu, which changes often, but ask for it, and the deli will fix one.) Inside two plush pads of house-made sourdough bread, we found a thick filet of wild-caught salmon, chunky slices of heirloom tomatoes, hearty strips of local bacon, and hunks of romaine lettuce. An acidic kick is provided with a slathering of whole-grain mustard mayo. Perhaps best of all, Dogwood sandwiches come with a side of house-made, russet-colored potato chips and a pickle. It’s enough to make lunch, not breakfast, seem like the most important meal of the day.

Shrimp Salad
Koco’s Pub
4301 Harford Rd., 410-426-3519.
While shrimp salad sandwiches are pretty standard fare in our area, some are better than others. The shrimp salad sandwich ($13.95) at Koco’s Pub in the Hamilton-Lauraville area is one of our faves. Served on a sesame-seed bun, it’s quite simply delicious. Giant-size shrimp are mixed with just the right amount of mayo, so that the shrimps’ naturally sweet taste pops through. A sprinkle of Old Bay adds just enough zing. Utz potato chips and a pickle complete this classic treat.

Tuna Salad
Spoons Coffee Café & Roastery
24 E. Cross St., 410-539-6751.
The owners of Spoons in Federal Hill are not kidding when they call this thing tuna salad ($7.95). While most tuna salads have some mayo, maybe a little chopped celery or pickle, this concoction seems to contain an entire salad—minced broccoli, carrots, onions, celery, and even bits of apple. (Come to think of it, even without the tuna, that salad sounds good). Indeed, this recipe is so uniquely delicious, we think it could make a convert out of even the most stubborn of tuna purists. We suggest eating it on crunchy sunflower, where the nuttiness of the bread perfectly offsets the tangy and sweet tuna concoction. Wash it all down with a cup of the café’s aromatic house-roasted coffee and you’ve managed to enjoy two of Baltimore’s gustatory pleasures in one sitting—not too shabby.

Turkey, Brie, and Chutney
Golden West Café
1105 W. 36th St., 410-889-8891.
On The Avenue in Hampden and looking for a sandwich that’s a little out of the ordinary? Head to the quirky, colorful, and eclectic Golden West Café. It specializes in traditional New Mexican fare, but its menu includes a variety of other dishes. Patrons can order breakfast all day or choose from a long list of sandwiches. We recommend the turkey, Brie, and chutney sandwich ($9.99)—you’ll be pleasantly satisfied with the combination of sweet and savory flavors. The sandwich is piled with sliced turkey and lots of melted Brie with smooth mango chutney spread on top. Chutney choices include tart cherry and mango. (We usually opt for mango.) Another plus: Sandwiches are served on plush, house-made, grainy bread. We also loved the garlic fries, made with fresh, chopped garlic and peppercorns, but we don’t recommend them if you have a hot date later.

White Cheddar
Rosina Gourmet
Two locations, including 2819 O’Donnell St., 410-675-9300.
This is a sandwich that believes in teamwork. Individually, the aged white cheddar, Granny Smith apples, field greens, homemade honey mustard, and multigrain bread would be good, but not spectacular. Together, they create a sensation. Maybe the folks at Rosina practice some sort of sandwich voodoo, but the combination of the tart apples—which are always thinly sliced and crisp—sweet mustard, and tangy cheese is unexpected and yummy. We like biting into the soft bread while positioning our sandwich over the white butcher paper to catch the drips of honey mustard.

As if being an attorney, baker, and Food Network personality aren’t enough, the ever-resourceful Warren Brown is adding a new job title to his resume—published author— when his cookbook, CakeLove: How to Bake Cakes from Scratch, hits the stores this month. “I liked the idea of sharing what I learned,” says Brown, 37, who recently opened a CakeLove in Canton (2500 Boston Street, 410-522-1825). “I thought it was an interesting, fun step in the process of being a bakery owner.” Brown, who now has four bakeries, one cafe, and more on the way, says he hopes the 225-page book with 85 recipes will help home bakers through some of the trials and errors he experienced when he was teaching himself to bake. His favorite cake is New German chocolate (or NGC as he calls it). “I have a bond with NGC,” says Brown, with a laugh. “As much as I can, I stuff it into my face.”

It’s oddly comforting, in our low-fat, low-salt era, to see beefy people lined up to buy pork sausage.

Before any major food holiday—but especially Easter, which falls on March 23 this year—devotees of Ostrowski’s kielbasa politely form queues that start in the tiny store and wend their way up South Washington Street in Fells Point. Mostly male, blue collar, and middle-aged, these are folks who grew up in East Baltimore and were weaned on the stuff.

Thomas Harlow, a typical Ostrowski’s customer, waited about 20 minutes for Polish sausage on the Friday before Christmas. He used his time in line to share his life story with anyone who would listen, while his wife, Patricia, and miniature schnauzer, Heidi Ho, waited in his double-parked truck. Heidi Ho, wearing a festive holiday sweater, barked constantly through the open window—aroused, no doubt, by the heady aroma of garlic that poured out every time someone opened the door.

Harlow, a self-employed mason and amateur musician, lives in Dundalk. A short, stocky man of about 50, he guessed he has been making Ostrowski’s runs for about 20 years. This was his second trip in a week to buy sausage for himself, friends, and elderly neighbors. “It’s the best,” he says with conviction.

Those waiting for their numbers to be called enjoyed a free sample of the aromatic concoction, fresh and warm from the smokehouse and glistening in all its greasy splendor under the shop’s lights.

Presiding over this scene was John Ostrowski. Now 60 (and change), Ostrowski was born into the family sausage business and has never worked anywhere else. At one time, he said, his family even lived over the store.

About 40 years ago, he inherited the operation his grandfather started in 1919. Ostrowski may know his sausage, but he’s a little fuzzy on details such as dates and sales figures. With some prodding, he will estimate that about 15 percent of his volume comes from Easter sales, and another 10 percent from Christmas, with maybe 7 or 8 percent from Thanksgiving customers.

Throughout the day, Big John (as he’s known) moves back and forth between the small, ground-floor sausage factory and the retail store, which sells Polish condiments, maps, and gift items, in addition to sausage. Two women operate the shop, and two male employees help in the sausage factory during the holidays. Their good-natured attacks on one another are constant.

Big John can even joke about an ongoing dispute with his nephew, Victor Ostrowski, who owns a competing sausage business a few blocks away. John Ostrowski didn’t mind much, he said, until Victor started selling his sausage in local grocery stores, which confused the public. Many of John Ostrowski’s customers have phoned him in recent years to tell him his quality was slipping, he said, after tasting the store-bought kielbasa.

John Ostrowski contacted a lawyer, but he was told that because Victor Ostrowski has a legal right to use the family name, there’s no way to stop him. So John Ostrowski relies on word of mouth and declarations on the company website to set the record straight: John Ostrowski’s kielbasa can only be bought at his store at 524 S. Washington Street. (Attempts to reach Victor Ostrowski for comment were unsuccessful.)

Big John’s crew can make about 300 pounds of sausage in one batch. He uses pork that’s 20 percent fat (you need the fat for flavor) and a proprietary blend of herbs and spices—mostly garlic, salt, and pepper. Ostrowski’s mild sausage contains white pepper. About two years ago, he introduced the bolder gypsy variety, which contains cracked black pepper and more garlic than the mild.

The sausages are formed in long rings and hung to dry on stainless steel rods supported by sawhorses. Fresh sausages soon go into the fridge, and the rest sit in the smokehouse for three to seven hours. During periods of high demand, they can smoke up to 1,000 pounds of sausage at once. In fact, a few days before Christmas, Ostrowski drove to the store from his Lutherville home at 2 a.m. to turn on the smoker, so he could serve that morning’s customers.

“Everyone’s got a recipe for sausage, and they all think theirs is the best,” says Ostrowski. “But they [customers] come here.”

Last Easter, two men drove all night from Georgia to buy from his shop, he says. And it’s common for people to drive from Virginia and Pennsylvania for their holiday sausage. The folks at the East Coast’s largest Polish-American Festival (held annually at the National Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa in Doylestown, Pennsylvania) anointed Ostrowski’s sausage as the winner of the festival’s much-heralded kielbasa cook-off.

Brad Meerholz, 28, is a more recent convert. The Bel Air resident, who works in Fells Point, said he tasted Ostrowski’s kielbasa a few months ago and offered some to a friend. That friend liked it so much he served it at his engagement party.

Meerholz, who was waiting in line to procure some of the spicy stuff for himself and that same friend, echoed the opinion of longtime customer Harlow:

“It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“Eating an oyster without a fork is kinda like kissing,” says George Hastings. He’s evaluating the denuded and glistening mollusk now lolling in the half shell he holds in his hand.

“A lot of people will take the shell and jam it in their mouth—” he demonstrates, tipping the shell to his lips like a teacup and stopping just short of scraping the muddy underside across his bottom teeth. “No, no, no,” he grimaces. “Take it from the top, give it a little suck, chew it up.” He tips his head forward and presses his lips to the oyster’s plush surface. With a polite slurp, it is quickly in his mouth. He chews thoughtfully. “Mmm,” he says. “Good flavor. That was good. They say eating an oyster is like kissing the sea.”

If you’ve ever struggled, knife in hand, to convince a tight-lipped shellfish to open wide, consider this: On one occasion, at the Guinness Oyster Festival in Chicago, Hastings was part of a team of shuckers that opened 16,475 oysters in one day. His best officially clocked time for opening two dozen oysters is a jaw-dropping one minute and 55 seconds—that’s one oyster in less than 5 seconds. When not jetting across the globe in pursuit of championships on the competitive oyster shucking circuit, this professor of shuckery can (on Ravens gamedays) most likely be found behind the raw bar at Nick’s Inner Harbor Seafood in Cross Street Market, where he’s opened oysters for hungry crowds for over 15 years.

“A lot of time people think that I go out and catch oysters,” says the bearded Hastings. “I really don’t. I’m just an oyster shucker.”

Hastings learned his craft as a teenager in the Southwest Baltimore neighborhood of Violetville, where his neighbors Newton Robbins and Vernon P. Johnson Sr. taught him the skill they’d learned as a source of extra income during the Depression. Hastings, who at the time was dating Johnson’s daughter, learned from them the secret of “traditional, mid-Atlantic style” shucking.

As with so many things in life, it turns out that there is more than one way to shuck an oyster. The various regions of the U.S. where oysters are harvested each have their own local styles, just as the oysters from different areas each have their own unique taste. Hastings is an expert in the “stabbing” method traditional to the mid-Atlantic: he presses the oyster to the tabletop with his left hand and jams the pinky-sized blade of his “Chesapeake sticker” oyster knife into the oyster’s underbite, as opposed to prying the oyster open at the hinge (popular in the Gulf Coast and West Coast) or holding it in hand while jamming a wider style blade into its side (a New England technique). Each style has its aficionados, but Hastings insists no one technique is faster than another—it’s all in the hands of the shucker.

“I love his technique. It’s different than what we use in Canada,” says fellow shucker Patrick McMurray, on the phone from Starfish, the Toronto oyster raw bar and restaurant he oversees when he’s not also competing (frequently against Hastings) in oyster shucking contests.

“He presents the oyster on the top shell”—the flatter of the two halves, as opposed to the cupped bottom shell—”so you’ve got this soft, plump, beautiful oyster.” And, as lovely as the finished oysters appear, McMurray emphasizes that Hastings’ speed is just as startling as his flair. “It’s already in his hand before you know it.”

McMurray definitely knows oysters: besides writing the comprehensive Consider The Oyster: A Shucker’s Field Guide, he also won the Guinness World Oyster Opening Championships in Galway, Ireland in 2002. But as impressed as he is with Hastings’ skill with a shucking knife, he’s most thrilled with him as a human being.

“George is instantly everybody’s best friend,” he says. “He befriends everyone he meets. And he has a great passion for the oyster, which is a benefit in our line of work.”

“Shucking oysters, to me, became therapeutic,” Hastings explains. “It’s kind of repetitious, it’s a little Zen, but it’s a day out meeting nice people.” And while no one ever got rich opening oysters, there are still many intangible rewards for the shucker. “Whoever’s on the line with you, you sit around and talk about war stories—the hardest oyster you had to open and the weirdo people that you saw, or the beautiful people that you saw—all that kind of stuff. Even though you’re tired and your hands may ache, it’s all part of the fun.”

In 1994, Tom Chagouris, owner of Nick’s, suggested Hastings should fill in for a guy who’d dropped out of the Baltimore On The Bay festival’s oyster shucking contest. Hastings, who’d never entered a shucking contest before, decided to give it a whirl. “So I went up to the Inner Harbor, and guess what?” he smiles.

Hastings’ first place prize was $50 and a slot at the National Oyster Shucking Championship in St. Mary’s County, where he placed seventh out of 28 contestants around the country. After that fortuitous start, Hastings now competes in an average of half a dozen competitions a year (he often helps judge contests he’s won too, like the Baltimore Waterfront Festival). He’s a regular at the Mohegan Sun Oyster Open in Connecticut, the Global Gaming Expo in Las Vegas, and, most spectacularly, the world championships in Galway.

So far, Hastings has qualified for the world championships twice: once in 2000, when he finished in second place, and again more recently in 2004, where he finished sixth. “It’s quite a party in Galway,” he asserts. “It’s all about opening oysters, and in the evening there’s a black tie affair—great food, great wines, and the shuckers present the flag of their country in a procession going into the final banquet.”

Nearly every continent is represented at the finals, with entrants coming from as far away as South Africa, Singapore, and Australia. While every competitor’s hungry for bragging rights to being fastest oyster shucker in the world, Hastings insists that the competition’s not cutthroat. “Some folks show up with that chip on their shoulder, but not long after they arrive they figure out that everybody’s pretty damn good at what they’re doing,” he emphasizes. “That little chip slowly goes away.”

The rules of competitive oyster shucking value speed and precision, with a special emphasis on aesthetics. It’s not just about who can open the shells fastest: Each of the 24 oysters (or 30, for the world championships) shucked for competition must be good enough to be served in a fine restaurant. There are infractions for grit, sloppy severing of the connecting muscle, or cuts on the oyster’s surface. All three no-nos mean penalty seconds added onto your time. “It needs to look like a little pillow on the half shell,” says Hastings about the perfect oyster. “Some people’s oysters look like a scrambled egg. Judges don’t like that.”

And the biggest penalty of all, worth a whopping addition of 30 penalty seconds at the world championships, is for blood on the oyster. Jamming a blade into a closed shell is risky business, and injuries aren’t uncommon.

“I’ve only been to one competition where there was a bad stab,” recalls Hastings, whose own hands are festooned with silvery scars earned from collisions with the rough edge of the oyster shell. “A guy actually ran a knife right through his palm. It came out the other side. He finished shucking his tray, got off the stage, wrapped a towel around his hand, went over to the medic, and they took him to the hospital.” he chuckles. “He got three stitches on this side of his hand, where the knife went in, and three stitches where it came out.”

The contest is held in a tent erected on Galway Bay, with a huge, noisy, Guinness-enriched crowd of eager spectators pressed up close, less than five feet from the competitor’s table. Just to add to the hysteria, every oyster shucker is given a nickname so the emcee on stage can give commentary on their progress like a racetrack announcer. During his first appearance at Galway, for reasons that are still a mystery, Hastings was dubbed “Hannibal.” “The crowd gave it to me. Go figure, right? To this day, when I get around to some of the contests that’s how they know me, George ‘Hannibal’ Hastings.”

At the starting gun, each shucker grabs their first oyster, dispatches it as quickly as possible, and places it neatly on a tray before moving on to the next one, while the well-marinated throng of spectators hollers their support. The noise is deafening, but Hastings’ attention is focused only on oysters. “When you’re in the zone, there’s nothing like it. There’s 5,000 screaming people cheering you on, and you don’t hear anybody. All you’re doing is tooling along on your 30 oysters. You don’t hear anybody until your bell rings and then the volume comes up.”

In 2006, Hastings took second place at the Nationals in St. Mary’s County. Not bad, but it didn’t qualify him for Galway this year. His next shot to head to Ireland again will be determined this October 20 and 21 in St. Mary’s, but until then, he hones his craft at Nick’s, where the smiling faces of happy oyster eaters—including shucker friends from around the globe who come to visit when they’re in town—mean more than titles.

“Folks that love oysters love their oyster shucker,” says Hastings. “They want to talk to them. They want to hear about what kind of oysters they’re eating. They want to hear where those oysters are from. And then, once folks find out that you get around the country and compete, they want to hear about that, too. I tell people that’s my 13 minutes of fame.”

“I’ve got two minutes coming,” he smiles. “And if I ever get to cash them, maybe I could be world champ.”

There is a pig in Tio Pepe’s kitchen and it smells great. The pig has been gutted, slit belly to throat so that it can lie flat in the roasting pan. Its teeth are bared, its ears singed black and crispy at the tips. Its skin has reached a deep shade of bronze, but it is the meat inside that is the real treat—the rich odor of roast pork wafts up from the pan, which is coated in a layer of drippings mixed with water that will later be reduced into a sauce.

“Once a day, every day, we do the whole pig,” says Don Emilio, as the staff at this long-lived Spanish restaurant sometimes call its chef and co-owner. His real name is Emiliano Sanz, and he is the cousin of original chef/owner Pedro Sanz. He has been working at the restaurant for 37 years now, and took over the kitchen after Pedro Sanz’s death in 1989. At the time, some customers held their breath, wondering if Tio’s could withstand the loss of its most visible and beloved icon, wondering if the place would change irreparably.

They needn’t have worried. Tucked into its improbable basement location for almost 40 years now, Tio Pepe remains utterly intact, from snout to tail.

When the magazine staff first began planning this year’s Food Issue, we thought of profiling a Baltimore landmark restaurant, one that’s lodged in the city’s consciousness as part of its history and culture. Tio Pepe sprang instantly to mind. For one thing, it’s about the only place left in that category. Haussner’s, Marconi’s, The Chesapeake, Peerce’s—one by one, each has closed. The Prime Rib, which is often mentioned in the same sentence with Tio’s in local conversations about old-school restaurants, is part of a chain (albeit a very small, fairly local one) and is actually younger than Tio Pepe, which opened in 1968.

Also, people are still going to Tio’s—if you want reservations for prime hours on a Saturday night, you had better call two weeks ahead of time. Given its status as the last of Baltimore’s culinary old guard, and our own hundred-year anniversary, Tio Pepe’s seemed like a natural choice for the issue.

Plus ça change: As part of that anniversary, the staff had been looking through back issues of the magazine, searching for scrapbook-worthy articles. And as I flipped through the 1985 issues, there it was: “A Day in the Life of Tio Pepe.”

The article is something of a relic, the writing unrepentantly gushy and without any effort to maintain objectivity. Pedro Sanz, who was still in charge of the kitchen then, is characterized as some sort of culinary saint, with toque in place of halo. At one point, his eyes are actually described as twinkling.

Much of the article, however, is as accurate today as it was 22 years ago. The kitchen layout remains the same: a narrow corridor separating cold-side prep (where salads and desserts are assembled) from the hot side, which holds the Vulcan stoves, the ovens, and the gigantic steamer used to cook some 100 pounds of green beans each night. Many of the employees mentioned in the article are still working the same positions. Suckling pig is still a featured item on the menu.

But other facts have changed. In 1985, Tio Pepe was ranked Number One in our list of Best Restaurants—a position it had held since 1980, when we began printing such a feature. “The dynasty continues,” the editors wrote. “De Tio Pepe, non est disputandum.”

In 2005, that dynasty collapsed: That was the first year Tio Pepe did not appear in Best Restaurants. Our critic found serious problems with the service, and the food seemed unimaginative compared to what was being served at newer restaurants around town.

It wasn’t an easy decision for us to make. I know this because, for the past seven years, I have been the editor in charge of Best Restaurants. I remember the debate. I didn’t grow up in Baltimore; to me, Tio Pepe is just one restaurant among many. But I knew its reputation, and knew it would ruffle feathers.

Ruffled feathers doesn’t describe it; think more Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. Letters poured in, chastising us for taking Baltimore’s most beloved restaurant off the list. And then there were the phone calls—angry, angry phone calls. Some people told me flat-out I should be fired; others stuck with pointedly asking me where I was from. Subscriptions were cancelled.

No restaurant has provoked such fury from our readers. No restaurant has been such a thorn in my side.

And now I am standing in its kitchen.

BUT WHEN I ARRIVE AT THE RESTAURANT around 10 a.m. on a late-summer Friday, Emiliano Sanz is all smiles as he shows off that suckling pig. The mood here is industrious but relaxed; lunch is still a couple of hours away, and these days, it’s not much of an ordeal, anyway. Twenty years ago, when that last article was written, Tio’s was mobbed by its Friday lunch crowd; chefs made a massive platter of seafood salad at the beginning of the shift, to be served from a cart, and it would be decimated by 2 p.m. Nowadays, though, there are only a handful of tables at lunch—most of them on the large side, celebrations of some sort. If you want seafood salad, it will be made to order in the kitchen.

A sous chef—there are three or four working right now—diligently spoons a dark golden sauce through a metal strainer into a cylindrical container, where it will join 21 others in a steam tray on the counter. The sauces and soups form a spectrum of browns, from the warm ochre of this bisque sauce to the deep purply brown of the black-bean soup and the bright russet of the tomato sauce. There is truffle sauce and lemon sauce, onion soup and green sauce. At night, another nine sauces will squeeze into the steam bath as well: creamy champagne sauce, rich veal demiglaze.

Emiliano is busy chopping whole chickens into sections; a sous chef does the same with a box of beef tenderloins. In an era of portion control and pre-cut ingredients, Tio’s keeps it old school. “Maybe I’m too old-fashioned,” admits Emiliano, a stocky, animated man whose thinning gray hair is concealed by a mesh chef’s toque. “I just think it’s better to cut things yourself.”

Their knives slice through as if bone and meat were warm butter. The one the man slicing tenderloins wields is roughly the length of my forearm. They are sent out to be sharpened professionally every other week, but Emiliano says staff has to hand-sharpen them after about three days of use. The restaurant will go through approximately two cases of beef tenderloin tonight, says Emiliano; each case holds some 80 to 85 pounds of beef.

At 10:55, the first man in a red blazer comes in. These are the headwaiters. Tio Pepe’s service has three tiers: Headwaiters who take orders and answer customer questions, runners (blue blazers) who bring food from the kitchen to the table, and bussers (gold blazers) who clear plates and refill water. Servers work in teams of three, with one of each.

The wait staff starts up on prep work. One man carefully arranges chrysanthemums and carnations in tiny vases, brushing open the petals to make the blooms look fuller. Another whittles candles to fit into a brass light fixture. Two headwaiters chop yellow apples and oranges for the sangria. They’ve already set up the liquids they’ll need: 12 three-liter boxes of red wine, seven boxes of white, five large bottles of brandy, 16 of triple sec.

“That’ll all be gone at the end of the night,” says one waiter, gesturing with his knife.

The waiter is named Michael Link and he jokes that, with 20 years in the job, “I’m the new kid.” I ask him what’s changed at Tio’s over the years. He shrugs, still chopping fruit. “The prices have gone up with inflation,” he says. “That’s about it.”

Link is notable as one of the very few—perhaps the only—staff members for whom Spanish is not his native language. Other members of the staff come from Mexico, Ecuador, Peru, the Dominican Republic . . . and, of course, Spain.

This is the origin of Tio Pepe: Long ago, in the bleak years that followed the Spanish Civil War, there was a small town outside of Madrid called Cascajares, where unemployment and poverty had reached crushing proportions, just as they had everywhere else in Spain’s rural countryside. And so the young men of the village began moving to the city, just as young men were doing throughout the country. The first Cascajaran to do so wound up finding work in a restaurant—he wasn’t a chef by trade, but a job was a job. And he invited a cousin to come work with him. And that cousin invited another cousin. And so on. Eventually, this town of some 500 inhabitants came to lay claim to 50 or 60 chefs. (Today, many of them gather each August for a weekend-long festival.) One of those chefs was Pedro Sanz, who went to work with relatives at a Madrid restaurant when he was 13; he, in turn, invited Emiliano to work with him when Emiliano turned that same age. Then Pedro visited New York for the 1964 World’s Fair and decided to stay in the United States. The elder Sanz worked for a while at the now-defunct Peter Lucas restaurant in Roland Park, where people quickly began telling each other about the talented Spaniards working in the kitchen. When Pedro decided to open his own place in a subterranean spot on Franklin Street, his new fans followed him. And so, after a few years, did Emiliano.

The man who tells me this whole story is Miguel Sanz, Pedro’s nephew. (He and Emiliano are related, but distantly—Sanz is evidently a common last name in Cascajares.) Miguel is a quiet, gracious man who frequently hesitates before speaking, as if trying to find the most carefully worded response he can to any question. He was finishing up a master’s degree in engineering at Johns Hopkins when his uncle Pedro passed away; he wound up never using that degree, instead taking over as co-owner and general manager of the restaurant. “Things happen,” he says with a slight smile.

Miguel takes me on a tour of the restaurant. A series of expansions have created a warren of small interconnecting rooms whose individual sizes mask the restaurant’s true scale. The Spanish art on the walls is the same that hung there when the place first opened. Those walls themselves are spotlessly white; Miguel says they repaint a room each week, rotating through all of them. I gaze at the wall before us, the lines of its individual stones softened to blurry suggestions; there must be 40 coats of paint on there, I comment. “Oh, more than that,” says Miguel, sounding surprised that I would guess so low.

After the tour, we stand at the small, dark bar by the front door, waiting for the lunch crowd, such as it is. “You have to compare it to before they opened Harborplace,” says Miguel. “It’s probably half of what it was then. Harborplace was a killer for our lunch business here.”

Indeed, Tio Pepe has never depended on foot traffic; it is a destination restaurant. But now that the downtown crowd can walk to plenty of restaurants, there’s no need for them to drive up to Franklin Street, much less scour the streets for parking.

As if to confirm that, a group of a half-dozen women in their sixties come in, apologizing to the one member of their party who’s been waiting for them. “We were here at 12, but we had a hard time parking,” one explains.

“I got here early, so I went shopping at the Women’s Exchange,” says another.

“What’s the Women’s Exchange?” asks a third woman, and the gasps that follow her question are the gasps that Baltimore tends to emit whenever one of its institutions is not properly recognized: shocked, indignant, even mildly insulted.

Back in the kitchen, Don Emilio is gaily hacking the roast pig into entrée-sized portions with a gigantic cleaver. He and I chat about adapting Spanish cuisine for local ingredients, and about that out-of-towner’s rite of passage: our first softshell crabs. “I never saw till I came to Baltimore,” he tells me, but we both agree that the spider-shaped delicacies are surprisingly good.

Don Emilio is irrepressible. He wants me to sample or at least witness everything in his kitchen. Before long I am sniffing his tin of imported saffron. (A one-ounce tin lasts him a week, which may not seem like much until you realize that saffron easily goes for $1,000 a pound.) But it is hot and I am worried that I am distracting him from his duties, so I wander back to the bar, where maitre d’ Pedro Gutierrez is minding the door. Gutierrez, who is from Madrid, has worked here for 15 years; the other maitre d’, Francisco “Paco” Lobos, has been here since the place opened. He is currently on vacation with a regular customer; they are attending the annual chefs’ festival in Cascajares.

I ask Gutierrez if customers try to speak Spanish with him. “Yes,” he says. “Some people like to say things in Spanish. You know, they may only know one or two things, but they’ll say, ‘Hola.'”

Not two minutes later, a group of five men in their 60’s to 80’s walk in. “Hola,” says the first to Gutierrez, smiling.

“Como está?” asks the next.

The men file past and sit at a round table in one of the larger dining rooms. There is an empty chair, so I ask if I can sit and ask them a few questions. The Boys (“no, no—the Friday Boys,” one of them quickly amends) have been coming here for Friday lunch since 1976, back when they all worked in the same law firm. One is now a retired judge; a few of them still practice law, but they all make a point of coming here for their weekly lunch. They are only too happy to tell me stories of Tio Pepe past: the nights when the waiters would set Irish coffees on the floor in a line and set the whiskey in them on fire; the times Pedro Sanz would make them entirely new dishes, simply because they’d already eaten everything on the written menu; the time one of them was given three months to live, and after a miraculously successful surgery, held his survival party in one of the restaurant’s back rooms.

They order cold artichokes and fried potato puffs, gazpacho soup and fried shrimp. And what will I have? Originally I had not planned to eat anything—ethically speaking, it’s not good to accept gifts from story subjects. But I’m hungry, and the whole restaurant smells so potently of garlic, that I rationalize a bowl of gazpacho.

“Here, you have to try these,” says one of the Friday Boys, spooning a few fried potato puffs onto my plate. They aren’t on the menu, but they are nevertheless immensely popular. It’s easy to see why: crispy and feathery, these hollow pillows of sliced potato manage to taste both fried and light at the same time. The garlicky gazpacho, when it comes, is refreshingly cool, the perfect soup for a hot summer day.

The Friday Boys are reminiscing about what Baltimore’s dining scene was like when Tio Pepe first opened. “There weren’t any ethnic restaurants—not many, anyway,” says the retired judge. “There were some Greek places in Greektown, and German food in Highlandtown, but people didn’t usually travel to them.”

“There were a few good restaurants,” says another. “Marconi’s and The Chesapeake and Haussner’s.”

I ask why Tio Pepe is still in business when those places aren’t.

“The food is good,” says one.

“Well, the food was good at the other places, too,” argues another. The debate is by turns lawyerly and smart-alecky. Then the entrées show up.

Michael Link, who happens to be our server, tells me, “Chef Emilio asked you be sent this with his compliments.” It is the largest softshell crab I have ever seen, lightly battered and coated in sliced almonds, with a ramekin of rich lemon-garlic sauce for dipping. I take a bite. So much for journalistic integrity.

Minutes later, as I am happily chomping on what easily has to be a day’s worth of caloric intake, a well-dressed woman comes up behind me. Her whisper in my ear is so intense, I instinctively cringe: “I don’t care what anyone says, this is one of Baltimore’s best restaurants, and has been for 30 years,” she tells me, her eyes drilling into mine. I gulp and nod.

Meanwhile, the eldest of the Friday Boys—dapper in his pale suit and red-and-yellow bow-tie—has left the table to chat with two African-American gentlemen at a corner table. He brings them back to say hello: One is Dr. Levi Watkins, the first African-American chief resident of cardiac surgery at Hopkins. The other is Homer Favor, a former director of Morgan State University.

“He didn’t want to come today,” says Dr. Watkins, nodding at Favor. “But I told him, ‘The Judges will be looking for us.'”

Dr. Watkins and Favor tell me about some of the famous guests they have brought to Tio Pepe: Jesse Jackson, Harry Belafonte, Rosa Parks. “I saw [Yankees superstar] Derek Jeter here,” he mentions.

“In his rookie season,” agrees a Friday Boy.

“With his parents,” finishes another.

This is about the time when Link shows up with complimentary plates of Tio Pepe’s famous pine nut roll, a dish which had not impressed me during my only other meal at the restaurant, when I’d been checking it out for Best Restaurants—on that anonymous visit, it had been stale and dry. This time, though, it is fresh and delicate, the creamy custard and moist sponge cake creating one soft, comforting indulgence—it’s no almond beignet with lavender ice cream (to cite one of my favorite desserts that I’ve had in this town), but you’d be thrilled if your grandmother made some for you. The Friday Boys diligently spoon freshly whipped sweet cream on top of my slice. “They have the best whipped cream here,” says one. I cannot argue with him.

Lunch is over—both at my table and in the restaurant. Everyone takes a small break, Don Emilio sitting down for some sautéed chicken with a few other staffers.

THINGS DON’T PICK UP AGAIN until after 5. When I go back to the kitchen, Don Emilio wants to show me his lobsters—big, blue-shelled beauties that are destined to be boiled with celery, bay leaves, thyme, and peppercorns, then topped with shrimp, crabmeat, and champagne sauce. The result is Lobster Emiliano (though I later hear customers call it “Three Two One,” in honor of its shellfish trifecta), a dish that, once again, isn’t on the menu but is nevertheless ordered constantly. Don Emilio estimates that 30 percent of his orders can be off the menu.

Speaking of which, he wants me to try his potato puffs. I try to protest, but he is already in action. Here is the secret: Each slice of potato must be fried once in hot oil, then fried again in even hotter oil, and then flash-fried for about five seconds right before being served. Don Emilio does not use a thermometer to gauge the oil’s heat: “After this many years, you know.”

We chat a bit more about the supremacy of Spanish ham over all other varieties, about whether or not Tio Pepe will serve the highly prized Ibérico ham when it starts getting imported into this country next year (probably not—at $50 to $150 a pound, it will probably be too expensive for customers here), about his commute from his home in Perry Hall.

Jose Guzman, the mustachioed evening sous chef, calls out orders from handwritten checks in his sonorous voice: “Gambas para dos, paella, y Langosto Emiliano!”

“You see?” says Don Emilio happily. “It’s not on the menu, but they order all the time!”

By the time you read this, this scene will be a thing of the past; after many years of prodding, Tio Pepe is switching to a computerized ordering system.

It’s interesting to watch the orders. More than any other restaurant whose kitchen I’ve observed, Tio Pepe gets entire tables ordering the same thing: three orders of shrimp with garlic, three of chicken with crab, three of snails. Blue-jacketed runners lift trays with six, seven, eight heavy dishes stacked on top. You can see them wince with the effort. I wonder if this is why, with the exception of one lunchtime bartender, the entire staff is male.

Miguel Sanz, who has by now slipped into a suit jacket, offers another reason. “We do get women applying—and we’ve had women work in the kitchen before, or as bartenders—but they apply to be waiters,” he says, meaning headwaiters. “In all the time I’ve been working here, I think maybe three waiters have retired—one moved back to Spain, one retired, and . . . oh, I guess maybe two. If we do get an opening, we promote from within.” Women, he says, aren’t interested in a place where they’d have to wait a decade to get a shot at the best-paying positions.

Meanwhile, the house is filling up. By far the most common table type seems to be parents with their grown children. At one such grouping, diners pass around a plate of potato puffs. “We’ve been coming here since we moved to Baltimore—what, 14 years ago?” says a vivacious twentysomething blonde in a tasteful black-and-white blazer. Her parents agree. Her mother, elegantly dressed in black with a classic pearl choker, calls it “a special restaurant for a special occasion.”

The blonde daughter calls “the puffy fries” a favorite dish. “I think you told us about the puffy fries,” she says to her brother-in-law, a native Baltimorean.

“I think my grandparents first got me started on the puffy fries,” he says.

A hand-painted pitcher of sangria sits on almost every table. I ask Miguel if they ever go missing or get broken. “Both,” he says, smiling. “Sometimes, you have to tell a party who’s had a little too much sangria, ‘Can you please give us the pitcher?'”

Sangria breeds laughter, and the restaurant is now boomingly loud. A customer shows Pedro Gutierrez a photo of the 200-pound halibut his sister caught on a recent trip to Alaska; soon after, an older man asks the maitre d’ if he’s seen a man named Solomon. Gutierrez considers for a moment. “Not recently,” he says.

I slip back into the kitchen, which is now full of energy and the crash of pans onto burners. Suddenly, Don Emilio is beside me. “Here is a little tapa,” he says with a smile, handing me a plate of Spanish ham.

Back at the bar, the bartender is pouring drinks. Margaritas are popular, as are Coronas with lime. “I guess people see the Spanish, and get confused,” says a waiter with a grin.

I ask Miguel about Tio Pepe’s future. He mentions the restaurant’s 40th anniversary, coming in 2008. “I guess we’ll have to do something,” he says casually.

But beyond that? He’s already told me he doubts either of his children will want to take the place over. “To tell the truth, I haven’t even sat myself down to think about it,” he says. “I guess I’d like to see if we can make it to the 50th birthday. Past that, God will decide.”

But then his mouth quirks in that faint smile of his, and he adds, “Remember, we come from a place where there’s a restaurant in Madrid that’s been around since the 17th century.”

“I WASN’T ALLOWED HERE till I could respect it—when I was 16, 17,” says Marc Hassan, who is here with his brother and parents tonight. His parents have retired to Florida, but make a point of coming here every time they visit their old hometown.

I am coming to respect Tio Pepe myself. The dining rooms, which once struck me as dowdy and claustrophobic, now seem cozy and charmingly Old World. I’m beginning to understand the comfort of knowing you’ll be getting the exact same dish your grandparents used to order when you were a child. Even the haughty waiters seem to have softened—after all, if I’d been doing a job for 30 years, I’d probably stop feeling the need to prove myself to every fresh face who came by. Plus, it’s obvious that the restaurant’s regulars feel pampered.

But, much as it may pain me to say so—and, as the night wears on and the Tio’s stories pile up on each other with the dense sweetness of freshly whipped cream, the pain becomes almost physical—there are certain facts that cannot be denied. The food is heavy and old-fashioned. The staff is all-male. That velvet matador cape has faded from black to gray. And (Sanzes forgive me, but it’s true) at least one of the waiters has very obviously notdry-cleaned his jacket for a very, very long time. I guess what I am trying to say is: The past is a lot of fun to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

As the restaurant’s night winds to a close around 10:30, I head back to the kitchen, where, sure enough, Don Emilio has made me a to-go package with enough paella and gambas al ajillo to feed a family of four. The man has been here since 7:30 a.m.; he works double shifts like this at least four times a week; he is still wearing his chef’s toque. I ask him if he’s ever thought of moving back to Spain. “No, I don’t think so,” he says. “Everything in my life is here.”

As for the future of Tio Pepe, his answer is cryptically elliptical. “I’m 61,” he says. “I’ve trained all these guys. They know very good how to do things here.”

Then he turns to load my case of food into my arms. “This will be very good, you can heat it up,” he says, smiling at me.

I am a serious, professional journalist, so I will not tell you that his eyes twinkled. My objectivity cannot be bought with a few thin slices of ham or a reef’s worth of shellfish. It cannot be bullied by a city’s protective love. I am not that easily swayed.

I think it is more accurate to say his eyes shone.