Above The Bars

My food experience in MD

I kept hearing about how great the seafood is in Maryland; how the Blue Crab is to die for and how it’s such a shame I’m not here in the fall.  I definitely understand how that might definitely be the case as far as being in season, and my critique of the cuisine must be read with that in mind, but it doesn’t have any thing to do with what I had to eat on this outing.  I would have eaten my way through crab every evening if they were in season, but I had to improvise.  I had heard that the good seafood was to be found in this little area know as Pope’s Creek, so that’s where I went.  An associate and I went to a restaurant called Captain Billy’s because it was rustic looking and appeared to have been the original.  Turns out we were right, they were the first, but it also appears that good taste and judgment were not contributing factors in their longevity.  As soon as we walked in we should have heard sirens.  First of all, no restaurant above fast food level should ever, ever have fluorescent lighting and expect to be taken seriously.  Second of all, the term “salad bar” should be respected.  If your “Salad Bar” consists of iceberg lettuce, grated cheddar cheese, cubed ham and ranch, you should probably NOT call it a “Salad Bar” that my friends is a fixin’s bar and a pathetic one at that and it should not be considered a side.  Besides, if I’m paying $30 a plate for food, I don’t want iceburg lettuce to even be in the building.  Third, unattractive wait staff is always a bad sign.  Unattractive staff means that the attractive ones are being better paid somewhere else, which usually means there is a better restaurant in the immediate area.  In this case any restaurant in the immediate area.  With all of this in mind our rationalization was that if this place had been here this long there has to be something to it and with $30 plates you would think the waitress’ would be adequately compensated to attract attractive help, but ya’ know.  I got the sampler type platter, whatever maritime themed Feast, which consisted of scallops, shrimp, crab cake, hush puppies, and tilapia.  The crab cake was actually very sweet and tender and the scallops were cooked perfectly but all was seasoned in the least imaginative way possible and the hushpuppies were about football shaped and boring an inferior to even Long John Silver. As a matter of fact I would have much rather just given LJS $7.00 and eaten a better meal.  The waitress was, however very nice and helpful and was spared my disappointment being reflection on her tip, she didn’t cook it. Moving on.

I was a little put off of the whole thing to tell you the truth but on my last night I decided to try again.  This time I went to a little bar, known as “The Blue Dog Tavern”, named after the ghost of a dog. The story is almost as interesting as I found the place.  It did have in interesting barn façade inside the place, acting as a backdrop for a stage.  The waitresses were extremely attractive which gave me hope but the interior was very sterile and new.   Not the kind of place I would expect to have a barn façade as a stage.  I found the menu to be your just normal stuff and there was nobody else sitting at the bar, severely limiting my chances of striking up an interesting conversation so I had a very good cup of soup and a beer and I left.  Not an unpleasant experience just not one worth spending a whole lot of time on.  You would think that a new, emerging watering hole would have a beer better than Sam Adams? 

When I left I decided to go back over to Pope’s Creek and try one of the other offerings there.  There were two others, Gilligan’s and Pope’s Creek Waterfront Raw Bar.  One looked like pirates had invaded it and decided that it’s 5:00 somewhere but not here.  It was around 9:00 and it looked as if the staff just hadn’t left yet.  The other was a raw bar and looked like it could have been on a busy street in some metropolitan downtown but with 4 Harley’s parked out front.  I walked in and it became clear that mistakes had been made in my dining choice on the other evening.  I sat down and asked about their beer selection.  I ordered Pope’s Creek Lager, a microbrew from Annapolis and was quite impressed.  I looked at the menu and asked the bartender for his suggestions.  I had a mixed plate of Mussels, Calamari, Octopus and a few other things, cooked in a tomato and vodka sauce and served with toasted baguette.  The Calamari and Octopus were cooked to tender perfection without that “chewy” property that they usually have and the mussels were perfectly firmed up without being the least bit stringy.  It actually made me wonder if the acidity of being actually cooked in the tomato sauce may have some how affected the qualities of the seafood because as you assume certain qualities in some things, good or bad, and this dish mineralized all of the typical undesirable qualities.  After, a little while the loud, obnoxious, drunk Harley Guys left in an equally loud and obnoxious manner leaving me, the bartender and a guy watching baseball on TV.  Eventually, I started talking to this gentleman and find that he work for the military and has travel all over the world, not just in a professional capacity but also as a tourist.  I continued to talk to this guy, I ordered a ½ dozen Blue Point oysters and before I knew it I was looking at midnight and three souls in a bar.  The chef had already left carrying a satchel full of knives (always a good sign), the waitress had already been picked up, and the looming prospect of attending work the next day insisted that I retire. 

Due to the fact that I am often on these trips for professional reasons and I travel with my hot plate galley, I have learned that I usually start out by buying a bunch of food, cooking it healthy and cheaply.  Then at the end of the job, when I am out of food and don’t want to buy more, I end up treating myself to an evening or two of food and socializing.  The problem I keep running into is the fact that I don’t meet anybody until the end of the trip, which limits the ability to experience the things they are informing me about.  This area of “Old” United States is so rich in history, the families so old and established, and the area so untouched by the hectic circle of craziness that is our nation’s capital, only 30 miles away, that every citizen over 40 that lives there is a walking history lesson.  The proud and knowledgeable people are always so happy to share their experiences with a receptive ear.  I was at St. Ingnatious church at the cemetery and the caretaker just happened to be there and I was treated to the most wonderful conversation about the area and how John Wilkes Booth came through and stayed at Dr. Mudd’s house and the history of the area.  Contrary to many parts of the world, where people just want to leave for something different, when told that his family had continiously lived in the area for 300 years I said, “That kind of makes it hard to leave doesn’t it”. He replied, “Why would I want to”

As usual, I never get a chance to fully experience everything I want to on a trip.  Seasonal specific fare, professional obligations, and the fact that “fully” experiencing a location means moving there, but I had a good time and am looking forward to coming back, hopefully in the fall when the leaves are changing and the crab are fresh.

Above the Bars goes to Maryland pt. 2

To recap the events so far, I’m tired from riding 400 miles in a wind advisory, I am in completely unfamiliar territory in the middle of the mountains on the most rural of roads where trailers have chimneys to wood burning stoves. The roads, with 180 degree switch backs, are covered in wet gravel from the SNOW and there is lightening off in the not too distance accompanied by the most ominous of rain clouds. There is no cell phone signal in any of the places I have thought to check, so I have no access to the maps on my iPhone and I grabbed the wrong map off my printer,  I have seen maybe 2 gas stations in the last 2 or more hours, not a single motel or restaurant, and it’s frickn’ cold, turns out the sleet from an hour ago is melting before I get to it and it’s dark.  The biggest tragedy of all is that none of this is getting filmed.  Fortunately, I asked a very nice lady at gas station number 3 where the heck I was and she and a guy buying a case of Bud Light at 8:30 on a Sunday night were very helpful.  They directed me to a little Motel that I may have overlooked about 10 miles down the road I was going to be on, which I passed and had to turn around to get to anyway.  I managed enough cell service to call the wife and all is well.  My neighbor’s snoring is a welcome price to pay for shelter on a night like tonight and I can honestly say that today’s trip is among my favorite motorcycle trips so far. 

 As I get on the road again I find that rather than being the windy 30 Degrees that I expected it was actually about 45 at 8:30 (I started late so it might warm up, I guess I over did it) and I continued on my way under a nice blue sky.  I continue on US-50 eastbound and find the terrain keeps impressing.  I find what looks like some kind of monument to the sun.  Upon further inspection, I came to the conclusion that it was most likely a long forgotten well for the community of, well, I don’t really know.  It has an almost completely rusted through, black iron nipple protruding out of the top of what looks like a 20 fool long bench and I can only imagine that at one point it must have had a spigot that provided water, but it’s only a guess. 

I continue toward Romney 34 miles away and stop to fill up at a gas station/deli/grill/hardware/sporting goods/gun/coffee/grocery/ boot store.  Seriously this place had everything from sliced turkey to tire chains to crossbows, it was amazing.  Soon notice that the road has started to open up a bit.  I find myself banging away at curves and turns at 65 and 70 mph, just killing it, some of the most amazing sweepers I have found and the gravel has seemed to disappear.  I go on like this for a good little way and look in my mirror to find a pickup truck not only keeping up, but gaining. I don’t mean some new $35,000 F-250 that I see parked in frond of a $10,000 next to a $25,000 Sebring, this thing was made in the 80’s and has a flatbed on it.  These people are either certifiable or they could be doing it with their eyes closed.  It was a little intimidating and hard on the ego but before I knew it I was caught up to a truck towing a Bobcat and could calm down a little.  Some people curse and yell at slower traffic in situations like this but I like to use the opportunity to slow down and take in the scenery at a relaxed pace.  I start to notice about 10 miles west of Romney and 10 miles past, that there were all kinds of side roads coming off of 50.  These little roads were all labeled by the state/municipal government and legit but as soon as you turn off the hwy you see that the road is the next best thing to a logging road in Tenn.  I looked off and saw a tree fallen halfway into a road.  I want to return and take anything that says “Old bla bla Road” on a KLR or Tiger 800 or anything GS and soon.  Romney a wonderful little town that actually has hotels and stores and would make a good home base for a weekend exploration expedition of these roads, but I had to be on my way. 

I keep heading east towards Winchester, VA but the hwy transforms into a divided one and it makes me a little sad but what are you going to do.  Gas stations start to become more and more frequent and my sweeper-fest seems as if it might come to an end.  Soon I see a Wal-Mart and an Applebee’s, a sigh for the freeway and a Middle School

I pulled into a quaint little diner, the kind of place that I have been looking for but seem to find closed and not likely to reopen anytime soon.  There are probably seating for 35 people and b&w checkerboard floors, everyone seems to know everyone and I think to myself, as I get into a political conversation with the nicest lady, “This is America and I’m proud to experience it before it becomes unrecognizable.” I drive through Winchester and find a great, moderately large, community with walk only markets and parks.  The kind of place I would like to return to with more time to explore. 

On the far side of Winchester I pick up hwy 7, which quickly turns into a 2 lane then a 4 lane at the base of a mountain.  I was a little disappointed to find that it turned into another everyday freeway type road and in rebellion I saw the word Greenway, which turns out to be code for toll road.  I follow it in to 495 and after a few wrong turns and tolls (apparently if you don’t have 75 cents cash to pay the toll they make you pay by mail, even though they wouldn’t accept cash on the exact same road 10 miles ago.)  I am on my way.  495 wasn’t nearly as scary as everyone lead me to believe, however it is exceptionally confusing, I want to give thanks to Steve Jobs and his wonderful product, the iPhone, for getting me thorough it.  By this time I am noticing that the temperature is starting to seem a little excessive and realize that while I had taken the liner out of my riding pants at the diner, I had not removed my long underwear.  I pick a Burger King and head for the bathroom, the stall was horribly small and I caused the toilet to flush a minimum of 7 times while changing.  They must have thought a 4 year old had locked himself in and was playing with the new found toy, the automatic flush-o-matic noisemaker.  I take 495 to 5 and immediately get stuck in construction traffic.  At the next exit I decide to stop.  I have never before been so thankful that I took the time to shed a layer, because, come to find out, it was 84 degrees.  Yes, you heard right.  I left home in Indianapolis it was about 40 degrees, I went to sleep last night and it was about 35 degrees, I woke up this morning and it is 45 degrees and now it is 84. 

 

 

 

Abovethebars goes to Maryland

As I left the house this morning for my trip to Maryland I immediately started to regret not having brought along my associates so that we could have put this trip to video (the idea is to make this a video blog after all). I left my home in downtown Indianapolis and headed East on 70 making a quick pit stop to fill one tank and empty another. Apparently, not everyone has experienced the sensation of urgently having to pee while being encased in an obscene number of layers, which seems to limit their empathy for those in that state. While my hobby is riding motorcycles, the stocky gentleman with the protruding Neanderthal eyebrows seemed to make a hobby out of making an altercation where none should be. In my haste, I failed to lock the door to the one seater, which apparently deserves comment even after a dual apology. Anyway, my trip across 70 from Indy to Columbus, OH was uneventful and barely worthy of mention except for the fact that the topographical resemblance between that stretch of road and a pool table, combined with a wind advisory, made for a few interesting banking exercises when combined with passing 18 wheelers. I actually stopped in Dayton for a sporting goods store to purchase a few cold weather additions to my wardrobe but, as it is the beginning of April, I was informed that the lion’s share of that stock had been sent back to the warehouse because the season is almost over. I was able to find a ski mask type thing, who’s only success was to fog up both my glasses and my visor, and neoprene fishing gloves, which weren’t thick enough to stand alone or thin enough to comfortably fit under the gloves I had without making my hands cramp and sweat. 2 strikes, $24, and 30 min. wasted.

At Columbus I was over the wind and decided to head South East in an effort to make the terrain a little more sheltering from the wind, as well as a little more interesting than watching Stephen Hawking play table tennis. I headed south down US-33 to Parkersburg where I picked up US-50 east. It was really interesting when because US-50 went from your normal, everyday, interstate down to a 2-lane divided highway, down to a regular city street in Bridgeport and on the other side of Bridgeport it went down to a regular country road until you hit Grafton, West Virginia and it all changed. From Bridgeport to Grafton it had been a string of little towns, you could barely discern one from the next, if a town had a gas station it was an old one and you learn real quick that if you fall below a ½ tank, you may end up in trouble. I checked out the GPS on my phone and decide that I can take US-50 almost all the way in to D.C. so I made a plan of it.

I stopped at a Walgreens in Grafton, the first name brand thing I had come across in the last 2 and a half hours, and I bought myself a bottle of ibuprofen. I left the parking lot, said to myself “wow, they even have Red Box”, turned left, and was almost immediately surprised by the change in the roads. It went from la de da, slow curve to slow curve, mind-wandering ease to iPod off, 180-degree switchbacks and hairpins with multiple complications. It started off as a nice exercise in 2^nd and 3^rd gear cornering for about 20 miles and turned into a “what am I doing here” kind of moment when I first noticed the gravel starting to get to get worse about 15 miles in, by 20 miles in I noticed the snow in the landscape. It’s like, all of the sudden, you are like, “Hey, I’m on top of a mountain, how did I get here?”

I started to notice a weird correlation, when the roads start going all 150 degrees, the gravel decides to appear and it is wet with the snowcap melting multiplier. I think to myself, “Great, first big trip of the year and I’m going to hit a patch of wet gravel and low side my ass off a mountain with a short layover in Guardrail, West Vir-Fuck’n-ginia”. Before the gravel I was really impressed, I noticed that with perfect road conditions it was amazing that when the sign saying “turn 20 MPH” and it was actually a 20mph turn for a reasonable person, considering the base line speed limit was 55MPH. I believe that the speed limit on US-129 (the dragon’s tail) is 30 or 35 mph but this is just another road in the middle of nowhere to be navigated to and from work and by any drunk asshole who needs to get home and the speed limit is 55 mile per hour. Really? I am almost ashamed to admit it but in an hour and a half I only saw one car going my way, it was a Saturn sub-compact, I pulled off and let it pass me. I am a strong believer that motorcycles don’t kill people, the other guy doesn’t kill people, egos kill people and I wasn’t going to let mine force me to try and stay ahead of that car knowing damn good and well that he has no fear of his wheels coming out from under him. It continued like that for miles and miles and soon there becomes a new twist………..I see in front of me a cloud. Not just any cloud, but the cloud from The Never Ending Story. “The Great Nothing” cloud is directly on the other side of that windscreen, spewing lightning bolts into the air with reckless abandon. As if this isn’t enough, wait there’s more… it’s getting dark.