This event couldn’t happen without the support of the following partners and sponsors. Please show them your appreciation by supporting these local, generous establishments.

PRESENTING SPONSORS

Urban Chic
STYLE Magazine
Putting on the Ritz

FEATURED SPONSOR

Andy Kushner Entertainment and the VIPS

SUPPORTING SPONSORS

Absolute Entertainment
American Visionary Art Museum
Barefoot Wine and Bubbly
BE Lifestyle Luxury MedSpa
COVERGIRL
Cosmetic Surgery Center of Maryland
Casa Noble, Zaya Rum, Crystal Head Vodka
Jay’s Valet Service
Kali’s Restaurant Group
Kobi Day Spa and Salon
Lebanese Taverna
Morton’s Steakhouse
Mr. Rain’s Funhouse
Perkins Productions
Radcliffe Jewelers
RA Sushi
Plan it Perfect
Sweet. A Bakery and Cafe
Talara
The Oceanaire Seafood Room

SPECIAL THANKS

Chesapeake Limousine
Crazy Lils
Kathy Freunel
Michelle Mishka Colombo, MICA artist
Amie Decker
Downtown Diane
City Peek
Kelly Small
Kendall Teague

RUNWAY MODELS

Leonor Amotta
Cindy Zagorski
Patti Neumann
Gizelle Bryant
Sarah Fleischer
Sarah Caldwell
Duff Goldman
Jay Mislan
Jeb Beard

ABOUT THE EVENT | MEDIA | BUY TICKETS

BUY TICKETS

Thursday, Sept. 30, 2010
The Jim Rouse building, 800 Key Highway
American Visionary Arts Museum
7p-9:30p (VIP cocktail party 6p-7p)

Join Urban Chic on September 30th for a one-of-a-kind fundraiser, benefiting the American Visionary Arts Museum. Hosted by Lindsay Buscher, Cate Buscher, and Kendall Teague, the evening will delight 450 movers and shakers with red carpets, designer fashions, fabulous entertainment, food and drink—and a few surprises. Complimentary valet parking provided by Jay’s Valet Service.

MC Sir Andrew will lead the evening’s events. Guest appearances include Mary Schmidt Amons (Real Housewives of DC), Duff Goldman (Ace of Cakes) and his crew, Brian Lawrence and Suzin Boddiford (STYLE Magazine), and some surprise celebrities.  Visit www.facebook.com/baltimorestyle for updates.

Other activities include:

• Live Music by the VIPS
• Innovative tasting stations
• Get your photo taken on the red carpet at COVERGIRL and STYLE Magazine’s Step & Repeat
• Silent & Live Auctions
• Mystery luxury jewelry raffle by Radcliffe Jewelers
• Artist Michelle Mishka Colombo creates art on-site using only COVERGIRL cosmetics.

Tickets for the VIP lounge sponsors include an exclusive cocktail hour before the event begins at Mr. Rain’s Funhouse and premium gift bags.

• Front row $100
• General admission $45
• Guests will also receive a ‘chic’ gift bag upon their exit

$ 1,000 CLUB CHIC VIP LOUNGE PACKAGES include 6 VIP tickets and private lounge seating with complimentary champagne, an exclusive pre-event cocktail hour at 6pm at Mr. Rain’s Funhouse and a premium gift bag (tax-deductible amount $790). Contact .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) for inquires. Limited number available.

The American Visionary Art Museum is dedicated to the study, collection, preservation, and exhibition of visionary art, and to use such art to explore and expand the definition of a worthwhile life. At the very heart of AVAM’s mission is a commitment to and belief in the power of creativity.

Mary Schmidt Amons (The Real Housewives of DC, season 1)
As a second generation Washingtonian, Mary spent summers at the Kennedy residences as a child, and is the granddaughter of legendary radio and TV personality Arthur Godfrey. Married to husband Rich for over 20 years, Mary is matriarch of the Amons clan of five children.  When she’s not busy running her household, Mary pairs her love of fashion with philanthropy as founder of “Labels for Love” and co-founder of “The District Sample Sale,” two D.C.-based charities. (Courtesy of Bravotv.com)

Duff Goldman (Ace of Cakes)
In addition to owning and operating Charm City Cakes, Duff is also a sculptor, artist and musician. He plays bass in the indie instrumental band “so I had to?” and is an all around good guy with the cleanest hands in town. Duff studied at the Corcoran School in Washington, D.C. and was at one time a graffiti artist.  Duff started working for acclaimed Baltimore Chef Cindy Wolf while attending the UMBC. After graduation, he studied at the Culinary Institute of America in Napa Valley, Calif. Duff was a stagiaire at the French Laundry, working under acclaimed pastry Chef Steven Durfee. Duff later became Executive Pastry Chef of the Vail Cascade Hotel and Resort in Vail, Colo. There, he worked with such notable chefs as Jessie Llapitan and Chef Jason Rogers. Duff left Colorado to bake bread for Todd English’s Olives in Washington, D.C., where he worked under Executive Chef Steve Mannino. In 2000 Duff returned to Baltimore to open Charm City Cakes. (courtesy of foodnetwork.com)

Brian Michael Lawrence (Editor, STYLE Magazine)
Brian Michael Lawrence is the editor-in-chief and creative director for Style magazine, a bimonthly regional consumer lifestyle publication based in Baltimore.
He holds degrees in management and graphic design from Carnegie-Mellon University in Pittsburgh. Brian is a member of the American Institute of Graphic Arts, and currently serves on the board of the Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter, has previously been on the board at Maryland Art Place and is a member of the Frances Scott Key Society at the Maryland Historical Society. During his career, Brian’s work has been recognized with awards from the AIGA 20/20 Show, CASE, Washington Edpress, Financial World magazine’s national annual report competition, the City & Regional Magazine Association’s national magazine bronze medal and first place in the graphic design category from the Society of Professional Journalists.

Aside from Style magazine, he is heard weekly on his “Style Report” on radio stations MIX106 and 101.9 Lite FM, and he writes a regular nightlife blog, “Brian Lawrence Live.”

Suzin Boddiford (Fashion editor, STYLE Magazine)

SPONSORS & PARTICIPANTS | MEDIA | BUY TICKETS

Teresa B & Style are proud to present the special Purple Pride Event to celebrate the best part of Football Sunday—the tailgating!

How do I win?

• Upload a photo of the best tailgating food and decor you’ve ever created at a game

OR

• Submit your #1 tailgating recipe

All submissions must be received by September 27th.  One submission per family.

What do I win?

• A Teresa B Gift & Home gift basket including AMAZING seats for a football game and plenty of Baltimore football merchandise to help you cheer on the team! (valued at $350)

The top 5 tailgating photos and top 5 recipes as voted on by a panel of judges will be posted on baltimorestyle.com/teresab for fan voting beginning on October 4th! Voting will conclude on October 11th and the top two from each category will win big!

On Saturday, October 23rd, stop by Teresa B Gift & Home at 10866 York Rd in Hunt Valley from 11a-2p to join your fellow football faithful at the “Purple Pride” fan event to win great Ravens prizes including autographed items! All fans are invited to this one-of-a-kind event where the winners will be announced and there will be special guest appearances.

The top winner from each category will be featured in December Issue of Style Magazine!

The good news? Tiffany & Co. is coming to Towson Town Center. The bad news? Sorry, fellow procrastinators, they aren’t carrying silver frames, baby rattles or any of the other gorgeous gifties for which Tiffany is so well-known. While they are happy to have these items overnighted to you, madly dashing in on the way to great aunt Gertie’s 50th anniversary bash ain’t gonna happen. In keeping with the same slightly conspicuous choices as Louis Vuitton ( I don’t want a clutch,
I want couture!), Tiffany is limiting their stock to engagement rings (and other sparkly things for men and women) plus the jewelry collections from Tiffany designers such as Frank Gehry, Paloma Picasso, Elsa Peretti and Jean Schlumberger. That Cirque Chinois ginger jar you’ve had your eye on? Buy a train ticket to New York, sweetie. Don’t miss: Bring in any Tiffany items that need to be cleaned or repaired. This location will also carry the new Tiffany line of leather goods. Towson Town Center, 410-583-4721

Back in the 19th and early 20th centuries, the only way to get from Baltimore to the hamlet of Irvington, Va., was by hopping aboard a steamboat. The trip would take 24 hours as the boat steamed along, stopping at countless crossroads and plantations on the way from big city Baltimore to the tiny outpost on Carter’s Creek.

Thanks to automobiles and bridges spanning the Potomac and Rappahannock rivers, these days the journey to Irvington takes about 31/2 hours. Even that feels like a far piece of road given that, after all that driving, you’re still on this side of the Bay (and given Virginia’s vigilant highway patrol officers— ouch!). But when you set eyes on the butter-yellow beauty that houses Hope and Glory Inn, you know immediately the drive was worth it. The inn is one of a kind, and the perfect setting for a weekend getaway that’s about relaxing and exploring in equal measure.

“This building was originally the Chesapeake Academy, a private school for day students and boarders,” says Dudley Patteson in his gentle Richmond drawl. Dudley owns the inn with his equally Southern-charming wife, Peggy. “It was coed, which was rare, but the school kept the female and male students separate,” he says, gesturing to the inn’s two separate front doors, where floor mats read “H” and “G.” 

The Hope and Glory Inn is known as the H&G to insiders, and it seems many guests are insiders in the sense that after their first stay, they come back as often as they can. Perhaps the best evidence of this is in the H&G’s cozy bar, which, in keeping with the school theme, is called “Detention” and decorated with schoolbooks on the wall and marble notebooks on stainless steel tables. We ducked in for a drink before dinner and had a ball scanning the entries in those marble notebooks that detail the various “crimes” guests committed in order to be sentenced to detention.

A brief and random survey reveals that the entries generally fall into two categories: over-indulging in beer, wine and spirits; and over-indulging in, uh, romance, often in the inn’s outdoor shower and tub. Far from your run-of-the-mill hot tub— that would be too expected for the H&G— the bathroom is actually an enclosed outdoor room with a clawfoot tub and rain shower decorated with potted plants and twinkling Christmas lights. “We just had a couple celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary and after they came out of the shower they said, ‘We feel like we did something naughty,’” Peggy Patteson tells us.

Peggy loves that story because it fits with the inn’s unabashed mission: to help couples relax, reconnect and romance each other. That means no TVs or phones in the guest rooms (and iPhone users have no cell service of any kind). That means there’s Billie Holiday or some other mood music playing day and night in the main inn and garden. And that means there are really comfy beds in pretty rooms that make you feel years younger for having spent a night in them.

But at H&G, the romance isn’t cloying— you won’t feel like you’re walking around in a cloud of aggressively sweet perfume. It’s humorous and playful, light and whimsical. The main inn features painted checkerboard floors, toile upholstery and assortment of dollhouses, birdhouses and a chess set that pits cats against dogs in a fight to the death. Upstairs, a deer head hanging in the guest lounge wears a necktie. “Lots of things here make you smile,” says Dudley. “That’s the point.”

Each of the seven rooms has its own charm— one with a balcony overlooking the front gardens, one with its own sitting room, one with a clawfoot tub in a corner of the room (complete with rubber ducky). The six garden cottages— four dating from the 1920s and two from the early 21st century— are more private than the rooms in the house, but you can’t go wrong with any of the lodging choices here.

Along with a gurgling fountain and a riot of charming, old-fashioned flowers, the inn’s garden features metal signs that offer a variety of koan-like messages. “Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what to do with your life.” “Don’t be afraid to love.” “Say yes to something you usually say no to.” “Sleep naked.” And, outside the garden cottage where we stayed: “Don’t work when you sleep.” We didn’t, especially after drinking cocktails in Detention and at Nate’s Trick Dog Café— more on that later.

After Peggy showed us to our cottage, which featured a sitting room on the ground floor and a king-sized bed upstairs, we faced that age-old question: stay and relax, or go out and explore? Our curiosity got the best of us, and within a few minutes we’d grabbed a couple of the inn’s bikes that are free for the borrowing and were off to explore Irvington. “You can’t get lost,” Dudley told us. “All roads lead to the water.” We biked one way and found ourselves at the entrance to The Tides Inn, the venerable resort right at the tip of Carter’s Creek. If we’d had more time, we might have eaten dinner or lunch on their patio, but instead we just strolled through the grounds and got back on the bikes to head “downtown.”

The population of Irvington is 673, so it’s definitely a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of place. But what it lacks in quantity it makes up for in quality. There are a few nifty stores offering home accessories and clothing— I spent an hour in The Dandelion women’s boutique alone, which is housed in an old parsonage and staffed by a crew of very helpful ladies who were kind enough to deliver my purchases to the H&G— and there’s a charming coffee shop and Nate’s Trick Dog Café. Yes, the café is in a tiny town in rural river country. But inside, it’s all big city, sleek and chic, offering a vast martini menu, terrific steaks and crab cakes— and an inestimable tuna tartare appetizer.

When we parked our bikes to poke around in the stores, we noticed the same metal signs we’d seen at the H&G. Later I learned they are the handiwork of Bill Westbrook, the impresario and visionary responsible for the fact that we were even visiting Irvington in the first place.
During its heyday at the turn of the 20th century, tiny Irvington thrived as a fishing port, and boasted its own newspaper, opera house, hospital, roller rink and more. Then it got hit with a double whammy: a fire that destroyed much of the town in 1917, and the end of the steamboat era 20 years later.

By the 1970s, when Westbrook was driving through Irvington looking for a place to sail that wasn’t too far from his advertising job in Richmond, there wasn’t much except a rundown inn “calling my name,” he says. He resisted for a while, but then he read John Irving’s “Hotel New Hampshire” and answered the call. He bought the inn, renovated it completely and in the mid-1990s opened the Hope and Glory to rave reviews.

“But there was no repeat business,” he says. “I was perplexed. So we started asking guests and they said, ‘Where is there to eat? What is there to do?’ I decided to build shops and a restaurant. After I did that, the inn took off.” And so did the town, garnering such descriptions as “tiny meets tony,” “small town uptown” and “where Mayberry meets Manhattan.”

Westbrook happened to be in Irvington while we were there, which was serendipitous since he clocks most of his time in Minneapolis these days. He’d come to take care of business at White Fences Vineyard, which is his main gig in town now that he sold the H&G to the Pattesons.

After a quick snack at the coffee shop, we biked to White Fences, where the entrance to the six-acre vineyard is marked by two gigantic steel corkscrews, “follies” that apparently ruffled a few of the townspeople’s feathers, and another koan-like message: “Stay amazed. Make wishes. Enjoy your wine.” “I have a need to tell people how to live their lives,” says Westbrook. “I think we all need a lot of encouragement to get through the day.” 

Beyond the vineyard are seven Gothic cottages that are modeled on those at the 19th-century Methodist camp meeting in Oak Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard. Each has three bedrooms and three baths and is decorated with the same shabby chic charm as the inn itself. Nestled near the cottages is a lovely swimming pool with an outdoor “tabernacle” (a sculpture wrapped in wisteria).

We left our bikes outside the screened-in “wine lounge” and went inside to commence tasting under the tutelage of Anne Kirkmyer, the chef at the vineyard. Kirkmyer told us the vineyards feature both vinifera and French American hybrid vines, and the wines are called Meteor because the grapes were planted during a meteor shower in 2003.

With such a small boutique operation, everything is done by hand— or by feet, as is the case with the Irvington Stomp, which the vineyard hosts every Labor Day Weekend in honor of the grape harvest. It’s a big celebration that involves local mayors stomping grapes in barrels, live music and food and wine. That would be a great event to take in while visiting Irvington, as would one of the dinner parties the Pattesons host in the inn’s dining room on Saturday nights.

We were still working our way through the Meteor wines when Dudley Patteson drove up and said, “I heard you were over here.” That’s how small the town is! “There’s a bit of a storm expected so we’ll need to postpone the boat trip until tomorrow morning.” As it turned out the storm never came, and we had a lovely stroll from the inn to the Trick Dog Café for dinner, and then back to the inn again along the quiet tree-lined streets.

After breakfast in the inn’s courtyard (served to us at individual tables— no buffet, no forced conversation!), I jumped in the car for the four-mile drive to Kilmarnock, a neighboring town that has become known for its antique stores. It’s no wonder— there are several on the main street alone, including Lewis Trimble antiques, which specializes in early modernism. Trimble, a 30ish transplant from New York City, opened the gallery with his mother and grandfather seven years ago.

“Most of the buildings on the street were empty when we opened,” he says. “But now things are really starting to move.” He’s encouraging more friends from New York to move to Kilmarnock and open businesses. “We’re getting to be like the Hamptons of Virginia,” he says.  Next door is Comer & Co., which opened in June 2009 and specializes in 18th- and 19th-century English and Continental furnishings and accessories. The gentleman at the desk when I popped in was Brad Stephens, a playwright, actor and artist, also a transplant from New York City.

Kilmarnock, together with Irvington and another little town called White Stone, make up the triad of charming towns at the southern tip of the Northern Neck. In White Stone, you can hit Charlie’s Tiki Bar out on Windmill Point, where the Rappahannock meets the Bay, Seven Sinful Martini Bar, or hit the River Market for picnic fixings. I wish I’d had more time in Kilmarnock and White Stone, but I had to hurry back to the H&G to meet Dudley for our ride on Faded Glory, the inn’s 42-foot Chesapeake Bay Deadrise, whose boat design is the Virginia state boat.

When we arrived the day before, he’d said, “You have to get out on the river. If you don’t, you won’t understand Irvington.” Chugging along Carter’s Creek— which is far more like a river than any creek I’ve ever seen— I get his drift. With its deep water, boaters can dock right at the foot of the hill upon which their glorious homes are perched— the tall bluffs mean no flooding worries. Ospreys nest in channel markers. And in the distance— nine nautical miles, to be exact— is the Bay itself. Whether you explore the water on the Faded Glory (the inn offers crab cruises and sunset cruises) or rent a canoe or kayak, it’s a must-see.

So is the Steamboat Era Museum, which opened in 2004 in a quaint little building just across the town park from the H&G. The museum tells the story of the 600 steamboats that once plied the waters between Baltimore and Norfolk, carrying livestock, produce, churchgoers and even actors on a floating theatre between 300 landings. Without the steamboat, Irvington and the entire Northern Neck would have been cut off from the world. I was struck by the beauty of the boats, and as we made our way back to Baltimore quickly and efficiently, eating up the road miles with our car, I found myself wanting to be on the water instead, watching the land float past as we slowly chugged northward.

Hope and Glory Inn
65 Tavern Road, Irvington, Va.,
800-497-8228, http://www.hopeandglory.com
Rates, $175-$350, breakfast included.

PLAY
>Steamboat Era Museum
156 King Carter Dr., Irvington, Va., 804-438-6888, http://www.steamboateramuseum.org

>Historic Christ Church is a National Historic Landmark and one of the most important examples of Georgian architecture in U.S. 804-438-6855, http://www.christchurch1735.com

>White Fences Vineyard offers wine-tastings and wine/food pairings. Whitefencesvineyard.com. The Irvington Stomp is Sat., Sept. 4 at 3 p.m. Adults $10, $5 kids 6-16, under 6 free. http://www.irvingtonstomp.com

>Farmer’s markets offering crafts, folk art and produce are held in Irvington the first Saturday of each month, and in Kilmarnock every fourth Saturday through October.

>The Dandelion is an old parsonage transformed into a treasure trove of distinctive ladies’ clothing, shoes, jewelry, gifts and decorative accessories. 4372 Irvington Road, 80-438-5194, http://www.thedandelion.com

EAT
>Nate’s Trick Dog Café offers great cocktails and food with a sleek uptown vibe.  4357 Irvington Road 804-438-6363, http://www.trickdogcafe.com

>Something Different Country Store and Deli is the creation of Dan Gill, a former farmer and river country native who calls himself an ethno-gastronomist. He serves up out-of-this-world barbecue, fresh roasted peanuts, she-crab soup, hoecakes and something called the Virginia Sandwich, which is smoked turkey and country ham salad. Located 2 miles north of Urbanna, Va.

In spring 2009, the Baltimore Opera Company folded after more than a half-century of producing grand opera at the Lyric Opera House. But the end of the BOC has hardly meant the demise of opera in Charm City. Several local companies offer everything from concert opera to rock opera in locations ranging from a Mount Vernon mansion to a fire-charred church. And for die-hard fans of grand opera, never fear— it returns to the Lyric in fall 2011. Meantime, give these a try. 

Plainclothes Opera
Gazing up at the regal archways and gold-encrusted moulding, it would be easy to believe you’re in an Italian opera house. And the first few notes of the soprano’s aria only reinforce that feeling. But, you’re not in an opera house; you’re in the elegant ballroom at the Garrett-Jacobs Mansion. And the soprano hitting the high notes, well, she’s wearing the same Banana Republic pants as you.

Baltimore Concert Opera is exactly that, a concert. No elaborate costumes, no large sets, no orchestra. But before you decide opera isn’t opera without those elements, Baltimore Concert Opera general director Brendan Cooke wants you to close your eyes and let the sound wash over you, distraction-free. “I realized that the opera business is going in the wrong direction,” says Cooke, who sang with the Baltimore Opera Company for 10 years before founding Baltimore Concert Opera. “It is becoming very visually oriented and taking away from the vocal ability that makes it great.”

In its inaugural season last spring, Baltimore Concert Opera produced Mozart’s “Don Giovanni” and “A Flight of Puccini,” offering two sold-out performances of each. In its second full season, the company will present the music of “The Barber of Seville,” “La Bohème” and “The Marriage of Figaro.” Amongst the opulence of the historic Mount Vernon mansion, opera singers belt out traditional Italian arias while dressed in street clothes and standing before music stands. The informality is the point. “We encourage you to grab your drinks, bring them in and ask questions,” says Cooke. At each production, the conductor gives a pre-performance lecture, offering insight into the show.

In keeping with the informality, when Baltimore Concert Opera held open auditions last spring, they invited the public to purchase a ticket, watch and listen as each singer gave it their all, a sort of “So you think you can be an opera singer?” event. Baltimore Concert Opera relies mostly on local performers, but artists have traveled from as far away as California, even though the pay is far from lucrative. “There are a lot of people that just want to be singing,” says Cooke. “The caricature of the diva is falling by the wayside.”

In 2009, Cooke started the company with $750 of his own money. Now Baltimore Concert Opera boasts a $100,000 budget. Even more than the budget, however, Cooke values the public reception. “We’ve tried to make the vocal product more accessible, and we’ve attracted a lot of curious people,” says Cooke. “Finding people that have come for the first time, and then take the initiative to come back— that’s the most rewarding thing for me.”

upcoming performances
“Il Barbiere di Siviglia,” Sept. 24, 26.
“La Bohème,” Dec. 3, 5.
“Amleto,” March 25, 27.
“Le Nozze di Figaro,” May 20, 22.
At The Engineers Club at the Garrett-Jacobs Mansion. Tickets, $25-$65. 443-844-3496,
http://www.baltimoreconcertopera.com

Let It Rock
At first glance, Aran Keating and Dylan Koehler appear to be two average 20-somethings making a living in Baltimore. Opera composers? Surely not. But you can almost hear the electric guitars tuning as Keating begins chatting excitedly about Baltimore Rock Opera Society.

It all began in 2007, with five friends fresh out of college, a passion for the performing arts and a goodly amount of beer. Fast-forward two years and the group had written, produced and performed “Gründlehämmer,” a nearly three-hour rock opera featuring 22 original songs.

Traditional opera, BROS is not. You will not find a classical orchestra or Italian arias. What you will find is an entirely local mixture of amateurs and professionals volunteering their time to produce affordable and “completely mind-shattering” entertainment. Although Keating and his friends possess no operatic training, he cites the operatic aesthetic, structure and storytelling as the inspiration for what they do. “It’s not just rock music,” says Keating, BROS’ artistic director. “We strive to make the music tell a story.”

“Gründlehämmer,” set in the mythical world of Brotopia, has a Beowulf-esque feel with a young warrior battling an evil king. But instead of weapons, he uses electric guitars. “Gründlehämmer,” which is the name of the Holy Grail of guitars, sold out its first weekend run in September 2009 and returned for a second sold-out run in February 2010 at the 2640 Space in Charles Village.

BROS holds auditions for its all-local cast and networks to find Baltimoreans willing to lend artistic abilities, set pieces, lighting and performance space. “We are all otherwise employed, but we treat this like it’s our real job. We have an extended family 100-deep. It’s entirely a community effort,” says Keating. “It’s a microcosm of the entire art and music scene in Baltimore.”

This winter, BROS will present a double feature of one-hour rock operas: “Amphion,” a tragic love story set in the Byzantine Empire, and “The Terrible Secret of Lunastus,” an epic set in space in the distant future. 

Rock opera may not appeal to traditionalists, but BROS tries to include universal elements, from love to humor to horror. “At ‘Gründlehämmer,’ we saw kids, lawyers, grandparents in the audience,” says Keating. “This is an art for everyone.”

upcoming performances
The BROS double feature, tickets, $12.
For dates and location, go to http://www.baltimorerockopera.org.

Tradition for All Ages
Ask Jenny Kelly about her love for opera and she’ll regale you with stories of her time spent performing abroad and booking productions throughout the United States for the touring opera company Teatro Lirico D’Europa. Now, however, the Baltimore native is concentrating on bringing traditional grand opera back to her hometown through Baltimore Opera Theatre.

As the closest thing to the grand opera of the Baltimore Opera Company, Baltimore Opera Theatre is dedicated to producing full-scale, fully staged classical operas. Think larger-than-life sets, elaborate costumes, a full orchestra and all the dramatic emotion and action you can handle— all performed in Italian.

In its first season last year, Baltimore Opera Theatre produced two full productions at the Hippodrome, Rossini’s “Il Barbiere di Siviglia” and Verdi’s “Rigoletto.” This season the company will present three opera favorites, “Madama Butterfly” at the Hippodrome, and “Lucia di Lammermoor” and “La Traviata” at the Gordon Center for Performing Arts. The Gordon Center stage and orchestra pit is larger than that at the Hippodrome, perfect for accommodating the full cast with chorus and extras and an orchestra of 40.

To keep expenses down, Baltimore Opera Theatre and Teatro Lirico D’Europa share set pieces, costumes and an orchestra, and the Baltimore productions feature the international cast of Teatro Lirico D’Europa, with a few local singers and musicians mixed in. Markand Thakar of the Baltimore Chamber Orchestra will conduct “Madama Butterfly” during the upcoming season.

Despite the tradition behind Baltimore Opera Theatre, Kelly emphasizes its mission is to attract audiences of all ages. The company has lowered prices to accommodate the current economic climate and Kelly connects with area schools to invite their performing arts students to serve as extras. “Opera is no longer stuffy and reserved for the elite,” she says. “When we look out into the audience and see lots of families, we know we’re doing something right.”

upcoming performances
“Madama Butterfly,” Oct. 23. At The Hippodrome.
“Lucia di Lammermoor,” Feb. 2, 3. At the Gordon Center for Performing Arts.
“La Traviata,” March 9, 10. At the Gordon Center for Performing Arts.
Tickets, $25-$55, 410-419-4344, http://www.baltimoreoperatheatre.net
FOR INFORMATION ON PURCHASING TICKETS call 410-419-4344.

Bravo, Hon!
“Intimate. Innovative. In English.” The alliterative motto of Opera Vivente neatly sums up the homegrown operas general director John Bowen has staged for the past 12 seasons in Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Mount Vernon.

Don’t let the Italian name or formal location fool you. All of Opera Vivente’s productions are in English, and they’re usually given a modern spin. “I am always trying to tell a story and do so in the most efficient and relevant way for a modern-day audience,” says Bowen. “People want something to which they can relate.”

Last season’s production of “The Magic Flute” received a particularly local treatment, with plenty of Baltimore slang, O’s jerseys and Natty Boh.

Bowen, a Peabody graduate, began brainstorming the idea of opera in the vernacular in 1994. He knew he wanted a small performance space. And he knew he wanted to provide an outlet for locally trained opera singers who face difficulty procuring roles in Baltimore. After four “workshop years,” Opera Vivente debuted in 1998, and Bowen is gearing up for his 13th season this fall.

In honor of the company becoming a teenager, he’s programmed three operas involving both the emotional upheaval associated with the teenage years, and supernatural occurrences related to the lucky number 13: Donizetti’s “Lucy of Lammermoor,” Handel’s “Rinaldo” and Puccini’s “The Will-o’-the-Wisps.”

Audiences regularly fill all 180 seats in the church’s Great Hall, and no seat is more than 120 feet from the performers. That intimacy is key to the opera experience Bowen wants to foster. “I want the audience to be welcomed in and moved by an art form that is one of the most fantastic things man has ever created,” he says.

upcoming performances
“Lucy of Lammermoor,” Oct. 22, 24, 28, 30.
“Rinaldo,” March 4, 6, 10, 12.
“The Will-o’-the-Wisps,” May 13, 15, 19, 21.
All at Emmanuel Episcopal Church. Tickets, $30-$75, 410-547-7997, http://www.operavivente.org

High Drama
Timothy Nelson’s mission is to remove the pomp and circumstance of traditional grand opera and emphasize the dramatic side of the art form. “We focus less on the cocktail reception and tuxedoes and opera frill, and much more on opera as a form of drama,” says Nelson, the artistic director of American Opera Theater. “Opera should move you, not just because the music’s great, but because it’s relevant, contemporary theater.”

Nelson, a Peabody graduate, founded American Opera Theater in 2003 with several other artists from Peabody, and in 2004 the company presented its first production, Purcell’s “Dido and Aeneas.” Unlike other opera groups in Baltimore, American Opera Theater is an actual company. There are no open auditions or castings, and the majority of its members have worked together since its beginning seven years ago.

It is perhaps the stability of the company that allows AOT to experiment with new approaches and new work. This season features “Butterfly,” a new version of Puccini’s “Madama Butterfly” that reorders the traditional score and story to produce a more intimate portrayal of the heroine’s struggle. Even the music gets a modern spin, written for a prepared piano— an instrument played by placing objects inside to create different percussion sounds— and an Indonesian musical ensemble made of a set of instruments called a gamelan. Later in the season, AOT will produce a setting of the Alberto Gonzales congressional hearing in the style of a Handel oratorio, double-billed with the company’s staple piece “Dido and Aeneas,” which will feature the Peabody Chamber Opera and Handel Choir of Baltimore.

The Theatre Project, where the company performs, offers an intimate space that removes the need for elaborate staging or exaggerated gesture, as is typical of traditional grand opera, and allows for smaller-scale shows. AOT will present two one-man shows this season: “Harawi,” a cabaret performance for voice and piano of Olivier Messiaen’s famous works, and “Kafka’s Fragments,” a staging of Kafka’s prose and poetry for soprano and violin.

The company will close its season with a new setting of Kurt Weill’s “Lost in the Stars,” a musical theater piece about apartheid in South Africa. AOT performers will appear alongside students from the Baltimore School for the Arts in a retelling that examines racial relations in Baltimore. “When I was conceiving the piece, something seemed more organic and sincere about using Baltimore City youth,” says Nelson. “They’ve grown up in this climate, it’s personal for them.”

And the company is passionate about calling Baltimore home. “Baltimore has a wonderful climate for experimental work,” says Nelson. “We’ve tried performing in other places, but those cities just didn’t have the audiences that were open to trying a different approach. In Baltimore, the audiences are open-minded. They’re excited.”

upcoming performances
December 2010:
Butterfly, $30
Harawi, $20 or $10 with purchase of Butterfly ticket
February 2011:
Gonzales Cantata & Dido and Aeneas, $30
Kafka’s Fragments, $20 or $10 with purchase of double-billed ticket
April 2011:
Lost in the Stars, $30
All performed in Baltimore Theater Project
Check http://www.americanoperatheater.org for upcoming dates and more information.

Was there ever a signature more distinctive in the Baltimore landscape than the one that belonged to Stewart’s? The giant “S,” sharp as a bolt of lightning, followed by the boldly tossed off script, managed to be both elegant and powerful.

That snazzy, sassy signature sprawled across every Stewart’s department store façade from downtown to Westview to Golden Ring, and was emblazoned on charge-a-plates, shopping bags and hatboxes. It is what I remember most about Stewart’s— more than the jaw-dropping staircase of the York Road store or the eerie tunnel of shops that led to the Timonium branch with its glittering imported Irish crystal chandeliers, more than any childhood dress or special Christmas purchase. The Stewart’s logo spoke of what being grown up meant to me as a child; it was an emblem of sophistication and charm and class.

In retrospect, it’s odd that my youthful memories of Stewart’s are unequivocally connected with elegance when, during the 1970s (when I would have been a young customer there), the adjectives tossed at Stewart’s were far less kind. “Staid,” is how one Sun article described the store. “Static” and “non-aggressive,” said another. “While other stores went for youth,” wrote The Sun in 1982, “Stewart’s was long associated with the older, more traditional customer.” This was not meant as a compliment.

Throughout its tenure as one of Baltimore’s grande dame department stores, Stewart’s always seemed to be outshone by the three H’s— Hutzler’s, Hochschild Kohn and the Hecht Co. (formerly the May Co.)— Baltimore’s homegrown stores. As Michael Lisicky explains in “Hutzler’s: Where Baltimore Shops,” Stewart’s was an outsider, the only one of the “Four Corners” stores owned by a non-local, and a gentile to boot.

“Stewart’s managed a quality store but always seemed to be in Hutzler’s shadow. It never received the loyal following that the other stores enjoyed,” writes Lisicky, who points out that even former Gov. William Donald Schaefer “never thought much of Stewart’s.” “If you wanted to get the good stuff you went to Hutzler’s,” Schaefer is reported saying. “If you wanted to get ordinary stuff you went to Hochschild Kohn or the May Co.” About Stewart’s, he remained uncharacteristically mum.

But despite its contested status, Baltimoreans did shop at Stewart’s— it wouldn’t have survived 82 years otherwise— and its history, particularly in its suburban outposts, reveals a store that offered more than just quality merchandise and fine service to its customers, though it did both of those things. Nearly 30 years after Stewart’s disappeared, former employees still speak about their work experiences there with a warmth and loyalty that would be hard to muster in the current era of box store shopping. To the summer workers and “floaters,” department managers and cosmetic representatives, Stewart’s offered a beautiful work environment, fair wages and rewards, and, quite often, a step up the company ladder. In a more modest world, this was the stuff of dreams.

The three H’s already had at least 20 years of business (and in Hutzler’s case, closer to 50) under their belts when Louis B. Stewart, a former railroad magnate who presided over New York’s McCreedy and Co., bought Samuel Posner’s dry goods store on the northeast corner of Howard and Lexington in 1901. Posner had taken a gamble in moving his Lexington Street business to the six-story white palace that he commissioned from architect Charles E. Cassell, and there was no question the structure was splendid. Characteristic of the Italian Renaissance Revival style, the building was highly ornate, boasting row upon row of columns, carved laurel wreathes and bushy-maned lions heads caught in mid-roar. Construction costs, however, proved insurmountable for Posner, and the business soon became Stewart and Co. Later, the store would become part of Associated Dry Goods corporation, a New York-based consortium of department stores that would come to include chains such as Lord & Taylor, Robinson’s, Pittsburgh’s Joseph Horne Co. and St. Louis’ Stix, Baer & Fuller.

Stewart’s asserted itself into the Baltimore shopping scene right away, and by May 1902, the store’s display advertisements in The Sun were touting all manner of merchandise, including “fancy striped lawn shirtwaist suits” (“$1.98 value for $1.25”), kimonas [sic] “with fancy borders and the long flowing sleeves; worth 75 c., for 50 cents,” and “plain linen wash skirts” for $1.98. The millinery department, according to the ad, “has been ‘the talk of the town,’” and the “Wash Goods” department (later known as Fabric and Notions) offered shirting madras and sheer corded chambray for home seamstresses.

When the store celebrated its first Christmas in 1902, ads reminded shoppers on Christmas Eve that “the last few hours for Christmas gift buying will be fraught with a hurry and bustle and excitement unknown at other seasons of the year,” and advised them to shop at Stewart’s, “the brightest, most helpful, and safest Christmas store.” The ad also included a tempting price list of goodies for the Christmas table, including “cream almonds,” vanilla marshmallows and fruit paste from the store’s candy department, as well as “home dressed Howard County turkeys.”

By 1928, Christmas at Stewart’s included performances by the employee Christmas choir, a tradition that, beginning in 1934, culminated in an annual radio broadcast. And in the 1930s and ’40s, historic Baltimore scenes, re-created in miniature against a backdrop of giant bells, filled the store’s Christmas windows. In 1931, the store became the first in the city to boast air-conditioning. Eventually, the store even installed heat lamps on the Howard Street side of the building to keep customers warm as they window-shopped. A store memo also advised that “cruisewear and bathing fashions can be modeled on the sidewalk under the heat lamps with hardly a chattering of teeth among the models…”

For some employees, working at Stewart’s downtown could be as exciting as shopping there. Retired teacher and Parkville resident Audrey Noellert was 18 when she began working for Stewart’s part-time in the late 1950s, beginning in Notions (though she didn’t sew, something that was unusual for that department), where she earned a dollar an hour selling needles and thread, slippers, hairnets and “those little packages of Woolite you’d buy for traveling.”

During lunch breaks, she would go upstairs to the employee lunchroom where there was a piano, and a scene that sounds like it could only unfold in the movies would come to life: “I would start playing piano,” says Noellert, “and everyone would gather round and sing and do silly things” before lunchtime was up and people went back to work.

Noellert was later chosen to be on Stewart’s College Board, the store’s contingent of young, female sales models. “They [store executives] called us up for a meeting, and began looking us over and sizing us up to be on the College Board,” remembers Noellert. The young women chosen would be given one or two outfits from the junior department to model throughout the store. “We got to keep the outfits,” says Noellert. “We would walk around with name tags on, and our pictures were in the paper when we were advertising Stewart’s.

“I remember the day they were picking us out they were asking us what we intended to do,” she recalls. “I said, ‘Teaching.’” But she was asked if she ever thought about being a buyer for the store. It was something she hadn’t considered, but it was an offer that was often made to promising employees.

Baltimorean Don Alexander began working in Stewart’s downtown toy department for 60 cents an hour during Christmas 1961, before being moved to the linen department. “I couldn’t believe that we had tablecloths that sold for $700,” he says. “Swiss organza, hand-appliquéd, linen, double damask. It was really the age of specialization. There was nothing that you couldn’t buy if you wanted it.”

Alexander worked at Stewart’s for 17 1/2 years— as a buyer for books, records and religious articles (which were sold on the mezzanine of the downtown store), and later as the buyer for the Budget Store in the basement of Stewart’s at Reisterstown Road Plaza and downtown, as well as a buyer for Millinery, Handbags and Hosiery. There, the ladies at the counter would remove stockings packed three pair to a box and gently push their hand inside to show off the shade to be matched with a customer’s dress purchase.

Stewart’s regularly promoted from within, Alexander says, recounting spectacular buying trips to Taipei, Geneva, Istanbul and Florence. But he recalls the small favors, too, like the 20 percent employee discount or the dinner voucher for a meal in the employee cafeteria placed in every paycheck for part-time people who worked nights. Or the bulletin that was distributed around the Reisterstown Road Plaza store when he returned from fulfilling his draft obligation. It read, “No more bugle calls. Don Alexander is back from the army. He will be buying for the Budget Store,” Alexander recalls. “They made a big thing out of it. That’s the way they were. The department stores were wonderful to their employees. It was a fun, fun experience.”

Like other department stores of the era, Stewart’s began moving outward to the suburbs beginning in 1953 with its York Road store, located on a 10-acre lot near the intersection of Walker Avenue and designed, according to The Sun, “to blend into the essentially suburban and residential character of the site.” 

The brilliantly white brick store boasted 78,000 square feet of selling space (it was later expanded to include 110,00 square feet), an elegant restaurant, The Terrace Room, and decorative touches like a floor-to-ceiling glass wall with fiberglass curtains and murals of Homewood House, the Washington Monument and the Federal Hill skyline decorating walls inside. No wonder Towson alumni magazine editor Ginny Cook, who worked in the coat department as a student in the 1970s, recalls that “everything just sparkled.”

“When you walked in that front door, it was quite lovely,” she says. “You would walk in and you would feel as if you were somewhere.”

Cook remembers the niceties of the job, how the employees were required to dress up, and how they were trained in good service. “You helped people try on things with no expectation that they would buy it,” she explains. “We would take the coats off hangers for customers [and assist them in trying them on].”

There were five suburban outposts total, including Timonium and Westview (which opened in 1970), and Golden Ring (1974), but perhaps the most beloved was the Stewart’s at Reisterstown Road Plaza. Opened in 1962, it was the most stylish of all the Stewart’s stores, a fact Stewart’s promoted in a pamphlet designed to introduce customers to the highlights of the store. Designed by Raymond Loewy and William Snaith, the new store was indeed as “stunning” and “dazzling” as Stewart’s purported it to be, the façade a modern amalgam of glass and curves and concrete.

Inside, Stewart’s, now owned by Associated Dry Goods, spared no expense or detail. A “broken glass mirror floral arrangement”was the focal point of the Shoe Salon (where salespeople were encouraged to wear the merchandise), while the Country Clothes Shop had walls of ash wood and sconces from Normandy. Louvered wooden doors replaced curtains in the fitting rooms of the Bridal Salon and the Fur Salon, where the rooms sat in the middle of the selling floor as a convenience to customers. There was the Garden Shop with a gazebo designed to showcase outdoor furniture, the D’Arrigone Salon of Beauty with “whisper quiet Lecromatic styling chairs,” murals and chandeliers and a Kirk Silver department.

“It was a beautiful store, clean and well-maintained. It felt so glamorous to work there,” says Susan Reinstein who did just that from 1973 until the store’s closure. “And there was a sense of professionalism from the top. You wanted to do a good job.”

Although Reinstein never worked at Stewart’s full-time (she is a teacher for the Baltimore City Public Schools), she still maintains that Stewart’s “changed my future and my destiny.” It was there she met her husband of 31 years, when she “floated into the Men’s Department.” (Weddings among Stewart’s employees at Reisterstown Road Plaza were not uncommon).

Employees and shoppers have very particular memories of Stewart’s at Reisterstown Road Plaza: of the BLTs and tuna fish sandwiches in the Chesapeake Room, just next to Silber’s Bakery, of the Notions department that sold oddities from saddle soap to boxed Playtex bras, of the older sales staff that completed sales slips by hand and made all the shirt displays and clothes racks look perfect. This Stewart’s was part of the community before folks spoke of such things.

Edwina Smith, a 22-year veteran whose positions included managing the Reisterstown Road store and buying junior’s and women’s lingerie, recalls that one of the most exciting times at the Plaza Stewart’s was Old Fashion Bargain Days, (continued on page 140) held in the 1960s during early July. The sale was tied into an antique car show sponsored by the shopping center. “We all dressed up in old-fashioned costumes,  in caps and skirts,” Smith remembers. “This was a big sale day— we really did business with that.”

For Pikesville resident Debbie Shavitz, Stewart’s holds an honored place in her memory, one she revisits each time she drives past Reisterstown Road Plaza.  More than 30 years ago, she was a single parent with a small daughter, and every application she made for credit was turned down. She approached the Hecht Co., a store where her aunt worked, thinking the family connection might help. No luck. “No one wanted to give me a shot,” she says bluntly. One afternoon Shavitz called Stewart’s, and an African-American woman in the credit department told her, “if you get here by 5 o’clock, I’ll help you get a credit card.” “And that started me off in my credit history,” says Shavitz.  “I owe everything to that woman and that department store. And I think she was the kindest woman. Maybe she knew the position I was in and just wanted to give it a try.”

By the late 1970s, Stewart’s was struggling. It had fallen behind on both marketing and merchandise trends, and some critics faulted the chain for failing to expand to the new shopping malls in Hunt Valley and White Marsh.

At Reisterstown Road Plaza, departments slowly shrunk so that Fine Dresses became simply “Dresses,” and Better Sportswear merged into Moderate Sportswear. And even though the store began catering specifically to a younger clientele with such fashion must-haves as Calvin Klein jeans, it was too late.

Stewart’s closed its downtown store in 1979, the second of the big four to do so (Hochschild Kohn was the first). The Sun estimated a crowd of 3,000 to 4,000 shoppers blocked traffic on Howard Street during the closing sale days. They were let into the store in small groups to maintain control, and it took more than an hour to clear the store at closing time.

By 1982, rumors had discount-heavy Caldor replacing Stewart’s stores, something that became fact in 1983 with the Reisterstown Road and Golden Ring stores closing in January. Westview closed a week afterward, with the York Road and Timonium stores following suit in March 1983.

The Howard and Lexington store still stands, now an office for Catholic Relief Services. The Timonium building, still camouflaged behind other businesses, houses state government offices and a Loehmann’s in its lower level. The York Road building is a state office building, as is the Reisterstown Road Plaza building, where the studios of classical radio station WBJC are housed behind the arched façade. The building has been painted a dull shade of tan, but the curves and glass remain. All that’s missing is the beautiful merchandise and the familiar Stewart’s signature.

Legendary are the large, historic parks of Baltimore: Clifton, Druid Hill, Patterson, Carroll, Leakin, Wyman and more. But there are a host of smaller, intimate green spaces in and around the city that one happens upon incidentally. These little gems help to create an increasingly important “green necklace” that laces Baltimore. They also offer passers-by moments of unexpected joy, respite and even healing.

A Commemorative Garden
[sally’s garden, maryland institute college of art]

Ten years ago, it was unimaginable that a garden might ever exist along wide and busy Mount Royal Avenue. But the combined efforts of Maryland Institute College of Art alumna Doris Reif and landscape architects Jonna Lazarus and Julie Higgins resulted in one of the first green gathering spots on the urban campus. This well-integrated space was created in memory of Reif’s daughter Sally, and to recognize Sally’s three children. “It was the beginning of the [landscape architecture] that is now used all over campus,” says Lazarus, who is the wife of MICA president Fred Lazarus.
   
Higgins and Lazarus used patterns of threes on this triangular plot, installing easily maintained plantings that would provide visual interest when MICA was in session and resonate with the site and with the purpose of the garden. Three large stones recognize Sally’s children and provide, along with the bluestone wall, places to sit. Three multi-stemmed River Birch trees provide vertical interest and a sculptural quality, as well as interesting bark and beautiful yellow leaves in fall. The stems of red twig dogwoods and red barberry bushes brighten gray winter days. Daffodils explode with color in spring. All year long stands of perennial grasses provide texture and grace. Evergreen Austrian pines screen out Howard Street below. “I think in spite of the fact that it’s on busy Mount Royal,” says Lazarus, “it feels very peaceful.  Now that it’s grown up, it’s enclosed and cozy.”

A healing bridge
[ kernan hospital ]

Installed in 2000, the garden at Kernan Hospital, on the western edge of the city, is designed to stimulate with sight and smell, and touch the mind, body and spirit of patients making the often-difficult transition from traumatic injury to returning home. It features a pond with goldfish, snails and waterlilies; a bridge; a pergola; brick, concrete and crushed stone paths; trees; and perennials and containers of annuals that are changed every season. Throughout the day, one part of the garden is in sun and another in shade. That is true of the benches, too, including a signature element of this and every garden funded by the Annapolis-based TKF Foundation: a wood bench with a journal and pen attached to a shelf underneath. Here reflections are written as a testament to the garden’s ability to help and as encouragement to others.

“Everyone loves the visual relief from the insanity of a hospital,” says horticulturalist Rae Ann McInnis, who has maintained this garden since its beginnings. Family members wait in the garden for their loved ones’ surgery to be completed and staff comes out just to sit. “The patients are the ones who’ll break your hearts,” says McInnis. Many climb out of their wheelchairs and learn to use a walker and cane, and move around in the garden. Paths of various materials simulate curbs, sidewalks, earth and sand, which patients must learn to navigate at home.

“Often I tell the patients to pick a piece of lambs ear, hold it in your fingers, rub it and worry it all day,” says McInnis. “Take a piece of lavender and smell it.” McInnis also bags up lavender for the staff and patients to take home, as well as divisions and cuttings, allowing the healing effects of the garden to spread.

A prayer garden
[ the pope john paul ii prayer garden at the basilica of the assumption ]

An outside prayer garden on North Charles Street at Franklin Street was a novel concept, but one embraced by the leaders of the Basilica when they purchased the lot where the Rochambeau apartments once stood. A 7-foot bronze sculpture of Pope John Paul II created by local artist Joseph Sheppard serves as the focal point of the garden, which was designed by Mahan Rykiel Associates and opened in October 2008.

“When you stand at the top of the parking garage [next door] you see that it is shaped like a fish,” says Mark Potter, executive director of the Basilica of the Assumption Historic Trust, Inc., explaining that the fish is an image associated with Jesus. While the prayer garden is a memorial to two visits paid to the Basilica by Pope John Paul II, it is designed to welcome people of all faiths. Embedded in the granite wall enclosing the garden is a stainless steel band depicting symbols of Judaism, Christianity and Islam.

The plantings, however, were chosen to resonate particularly with the Catholic faith. Kousa dogwoods are emblematic of the crucifixion while ferns symbolize humility, and laurels, victory, triumph and eternity. Roses symbolize the Virgin Mary; hellebores, said to have bloomed on Christmas Day, are a symbol of the birth of Christ; and periwinkle, used as the primary ground cover, is associated with references to the Virgin Mary as the “Star of the Sea.” In spring, tulips, and in fall, chrysanthemums, bloom in white and pale yellow, the colors of the papal flag.

Living memorial
[ september 11 memorial garden at loyola university ]

The focal point of the elegantly simple, but horticulturally diverse and sophisticated September 11 Memorial Garden is a fountain with nine jets and 11 stones set in front of a glass wall. The water brings serenity to the space while the glass wall behind it represents both the strength and the fragility of human life. Envisioned by the late Rev. Harold Ridley, S.J., who served as Loyola University’s president until his death in 2005, and Helen Schneider, associate vice president for campus services, the garden memorializes those in the Loyola community affected by the 2001 tragedy. “So many of our students come from the greater New York metropolitan area that Sept. 11 had great impact,” says Courtney M. Jolley, director of public relations.

Funded in part by a $22,000 gift by the class of 2003, and designed by Carol Macht, principal at Hord Coplan Macht, the garden invites peace and contemplation on the busy campus quadrangle. The square shape of the fountain, the rectangular bluestone pavers and the overall rectangular shape of the garden resonate with the Gothic stone chapel, itself a reverential setting. The plantings feature white-blooming plants (crape myrtle trees, azaleas, deutzia, oakleaf and climbing hydrangeas, hellebores, astilbes and hostas), which
suggest peace and tranquility and bring light into the garden after dark.

The Loyola community celebrates the garden’s beauty in spring and gathers there after a death and for the annual 9/11 prayer vigils. “This garden is used in good times and bad,” says Jolley. “And by the entire community— students, faculty, employees. It’s the quiet place on the busiest days.”

A sense of home
[ the gardens of gilchrist hospice ]

Driving up the long driveway to Gilchrist Hospice, the importance of the landscape is clear. First, the open hillside makes the low-lying facility, which opened in 1996, feel as if it is in the country and not off bustling Towsontown Boulevard. Then comes the well-landscaped entrance where wisteria climbs a pergola and azaleas, nandina and birch trees edge the building.

“We want the families and patients to feel that this is their home, not an institution, and the gardens around it are part of that,” says Catherine Boyne, former president of Gilchrist. Each of the 34 rooms opens to the outdoors. Some rooms open onto the patio of the courtyard garden; others open out to the hillside and the creek where deer gather; and the newest open to recently installed patios and plantings.

“We wanted to provide a restful, peaceful space for families at the end of a person’s life. The visibility of the gardens helps make them feel that this is their home,” says Boyne. The gardens are planted for year-round interest with evergreen plants such as boxwoods and holly, shrubbery such as azaleas and viburnum, and grasses and bulbs, perennials and annuals. In each area is a water element. “Water provides a sense of quiet and a constant background,” says Boyne.

Along with providing a beautiful and serene place for family and patients to visit, the gardens also have been used for small family weddings so that the patient in Gilchrist could attend. “One young woman moved her wedding date up five weeks, so her father could be there,” says Boyne. “We rolled the bed out and used the waterfall as a backdrop.”

Anyone attempting to navigate the streets of Federal Hill trying to find a “grown-up” place to eat— away from the frat-boy party scene of Cross Street— will welcome the reopened Porter’s. It still has the familiar neighborhood pub feel that it always has, and now has a new chef and a new menu to boot. They describe it as “comfort food with a twist,” and we won’t disagree, with offerings like grilled cheese (Halloumi cheese layered with toasted sesame bread and arugula), eggplant puttanesca (topped with mozzarella, sauce and pecorino), a meatloaf melt (on potato bread with bacon and pepperjack) and blackened venison (over Yukon gold puree, sautéed Swiss chard and rum beurre blanc). Open every day for dinner, and for brunch on weekends.  1032 Riverside Ave., 410-332-7345

One of the great pleasures of the autumnal season for me is Banned Books Week— Sept. 25 to Oct. 2 this year— sponsored by the American
Library Association and various other organizations that doggedly fight against that All-American itch to censor.

Censorship is a custom that seems to belong in the time of Cotton Mather but is right at home in the age of Glenn Beck. Mark Twain’s “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” has the distinction of being banned by someone or other for the entire 125 years that it’s been in print. There were even objections to Huck before the book was printed. If that does not make it some sort of classic, I cannot say what would.

You don’t hear much about anyone actually trying to burn a witch these days (not that I want to give anyone any ideas) but book banning is older than the country. It has followed us from the time of the simple hand-set printing press on to the information superhighway and the era of the Internet.

Americans (or at least a good number of them) love to curl up with a good book and then try to make sure no one else gets to curl up with that book. Although fundamentalists of all stripes tend to be in the vanguard, they are not the only ones who wish to censor. Persons of all colors like to ban books. And of all creeds, too. It appeals to homegrown fascists and it appeals to feminists. It appeals to the right wing, the left wing and the wing nut.

Book banners all have one thing in common.  They are certain that they are right. (It also helps immensely if you believe that you are doing the work of the Lord, too. “God wants this book banned. HE told me so.”)

Every year the nation’s librarians monitor the banning of books from sea to shining sea. Their research shows us that we are not as enlightened as we like to think, and that book banning knows no geographic boundaries. It is as possible in an upscale Chicago suburb as in the wilds of Arkansas.

Although many of the most frequently banned books tend to be juvenile titles that many older readers will not be familiar with, according to the ALA, some well-intentioned soul in this country has banned the work of Chaucer, Aristophanes, Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare, Daniel Defoe, Boccaccio, Walt Whitman, Ambrose Bierce, Jack London, Langston Hughes, James Joyce, D.H. Lawrence, William Faulkner, Joseph Conrad, Harper Lee, Richard Wright and Ralph Ellison. The list goes on and on.

The Radcliffe Publishing Course created a list of the 100 most important novels of the past century. Nearly half of those— 42 of the 100— have been banned somewhere, including such sinful works as “The Great Gatsby,” “The Grapes of Wrath,” “Of Mice and Men,” “The Sun Also Rises” and “All the King’s Men.” I am glad to report that although they no longer lead the field, these distinguished American writers continue to be among the banned. 

Book banning is plainly a grave assault on the First Amendment. In other words, it is unconstitutional. A person who is capable of such a thing is truly a danger. We worry about terrorism abroad, but what of terrorism here? A man capable of banning books might be as dangerous as a man with a box cutter.

A cursory glance at current titles that are often banned would indicate that S-E-X is the culprit, especially gay sex. “Uncle Bobby’s Wedding” was one of the most banned books in the country last year. I have not read it but I’m going to guess that Uncle Bobby was not marrying the girl next door. “God made Adam and Eve NOT Adam and Steve,” as I heard a preacher once froth. Sexuality, says the ALA, is the great boogeyman. Any hint of it makes a book liable to banning. Satanism, witchcraft and the occult are often cited, too. Harry Potter is giving Huck Finn a run for his money nowadays in the banned book competition.

Between 1990 and 2000 there were 6,364 challenges issued against books in America, according to the ALA. But the grim news is that for each challenge reported there may be as many as four or five that go unreported.

Lists of banned books are baffling. Somehow Maurice Sendak’s “In the Night Kitchen” and “The New Joy of Gay Sex” can both wind up on the same list. “To Kill A Mockingbird” and “Heather Has Two Mommies.” “Where’s Waldo?” (also for kids) and “American Psycho” (not for kids). 

The scope of this selection is alarming. It seems at a casual glance the work of pranksters, a hoax, a kind of Saturday Night Live sketch, fodder for The Daily Show or The Colbert Report. But it’s not. 

Naturally, George Orwell’s “1984” and Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World,” novels pondering what a totalitarian future might hold, are often cited on banned books lists. Orwell and Huxley would have liked that.

When it comes to apple recipes, I often prefer the simplest: a slice of Granny Smith paired with a chunk of aged cheddar. The Granny Smith’s tartness holds up wonderfully to the strong cheddar cheese, making for a perfect match. That said, apples are surprisingly versatile and sometimes I do like to get a little more creative with them. 

The following recipes transform apples into gourmet fare. A fun presentation on an old favorite is the Waldorf salad nest that combines all the traditional ingredients but modernizes the presentation with “eggs” made from walnuts with a blue cheese center. The Granny Smith aged cheddar custard tart plays on the yin and yang of slightly sweet and savory. Pork chops and apples is a classic, but I update it by sautéing the apples in brown butter and finishing them with fresh-picked thyme leaves. One of my all-time favorite desserts is poaching apples with dried cherries, then baking them off in a ramekin lined with thin buttered bread, essentially making a charlotte. Pistachio anglaise and cherry compote complete the dish. Using these recipes, everyday apples, treated with a little finesse, can be elevated to something even more special than Granny Smiths and cheddar.

Waldorf Salad Nest with Walnuts
Apple and Aged Cheddar Tart
Poached Apple and Sour Cherry Charlotte with Pistachio Anglaise
Center Pork Loin Chop with Brown Butter and Thyme-Sauteed Apples

The Blue Ridge Restaurant Group, based in Howard County, has opened its sixth restaurant, Stanford Grill, in Columbia. The “upscale casual” menu is straight-ahead American cuisine, with dishes such as hickory-grilled steaks, Eastern Shore-style crab cakes, wood-grilled fish and wood-fired rotisserie chicken. The wine list is primarily domestic, with 27 varieties available by glass. The building occupies the former Lone Star Steakhouse and has been fully renovated. The interiors, which seat 250 people, feature an open-air kitchen, a bar area and wood, granite and leather accents. There is also an outdoor patio for dining, and the restaurant offers jazz nightly. Open daily for lunch and dinner. 8900 Stanford Blvd., 410-312-0445

When Mary Pat Seurkamp talks to prospective students about the benefits of an education at a Catholic women’s college, she speaks not only as the president of the College of Notre Dame of Maryland, the state’s only women’s undergraduate institution, but as an alumna of a Catholic women’s college. During her 13-year tenure as president, Seurkamp, who’s worked in higher education administration for 40 years, has sought to balance the College of Notre Dame’s traditional mission with the realities of the changing economy. She’s spearheaded the creation of the schools of education, arts and science and pharmacy, as well as the Accelerated College, where students can earn a degree in business or nursing in less than three years. On the eve of the new school year, Style chatted with the Roland Park resident about the power of education to transform the world— and her penchant for telling students to put down their cell phones and actually talk to each other.

> There is no other single factor, in my opinion, that has the ability to transform a society the way that education can.

> Providing greater access to education to all students— not just the traditional students— is absolutely critical to the health of our
society. Every college and university needs to be focused on how we’re going to serve the student population that now exists—and the demographics are very different than they were four years ago.

> The power of education plays out across all income levels. If we can provide personal and academic support to low-income and first-generation college students and engage them early on, they achieve at the same levels as everyone else.

> We tell students from day one that they have a responsibility to give back to society. Giving back can mean being a terrific mother, but it also can mean giving back to your neighborhood, city, state.

> This current generation of college-aged students— the millennials— are an interesting group of young people. Unlike my generation, they like authority and trust authority. And they come to us having had very scheduled lives. The challenge is to teach them how to create their own fun, their own activities, their own lives.

> The biggest thing about young people is to understand that college is a period when they can afford to be idealistic. And even though it may be frustrating at times, we shouldn’t shut that down. They have the opportunity to take reasonable risks.

> Technology is a wonderful tool and it plays a major role in the classroom. It brings the world much closer to students. But I do
worry that we become so reliant on technology that we begin to lessen our ability to relate to each other on a personal level.

> When I walk in the dining hall and see groups of students on their phones, I tell them they should be talking to each other, that it’s important for them to be having social time. They smile. They’re used to me.

> Sometimes people to say to me as the president of a women’s college, ‘Aren’t you creating an environment that just isn’t real?’
I look at my experience at a women’s college, and I see the same thing with our students today: it was the place where I really learned to trust myself, to trust my abilities and skills, and to know that I could use them and be successful and contribute.

> The question of going coed comes up with every women’s college in the country. But what’s been confirmed by research is that young women who attend women’s colleges are more highly engaged and a bit more serious about their academic goals. They tend to go into fields like math and science and go on to graduate school at a higher rate.

> It was in a Catholic college that I really had an awakening to my social responsibility, understanding that my education wasn’t just for me, but was to be of service to the community.

> Society gets changed by one person at a time, making significant contributions.

> We ask our students, ‘Whose life will you change?’ It’s about changing your life, but it’s also about changing others’ lives.

On May 27, David and Jane Smith hosted 170 guests for Kennedy Krieger Institute’s annual Spring Reception. Guests were treated to hors d’oeuvres, flowers, music and the beautiful gardens of the Smiths’ Baltimore County home, Cunningham Manor.
 
The Crystal Strings chamber ensemble provided a backdrop as guests mingled and strolled among the 20 acres of gardens inspired by England’s Hampton Court. Design By Nature floral studio created arrangements of roses, hydrangeas and hibiscus that dotted the setting. Nibbles included cascading displays of fresh summer fruits, whipped cream and flutes of champagne, along with beef tenderloin, crab cakes and shrimp, all prepared by Watson Caterers. 
   
A brief presentation by the Kennedy Krieger leadership recognized the support of several attendees, including Art and Pat Modell, Stephanie Cooper Greenberg, Judi Fader, Laurie Luskin, Brenda Jews and Jill Miller. As guests departed, each was presented with a potted orchid as a gift from the hosts.

When Alexander Baer first looked at the penthouse on the top floor of The Warrington in the 1990s, he was completely taken with the view from the apartment’s two terraces. One faced east, and offered “a city view” spanning the tree-lined streets of Guilford to Key Bridge in the south. The other faced west, and offered what Baer dubbed the “country view”: the green lawns and sedate buildings of the Johns Hopkins University campus.

But, alas, the apartment featured something Baer found untenable: a dead end. One room led to another before ending abruptly, which meant guests at Baer’s frequent dinners and parties would have no opportunity to “flow” through the apartment. Instead, they’d have to turn around and retrace their steps. What a shame that such a terrific view was attached to an unworkable living space, Baer thought, putting the penthouse out of his mind.

Then, in 2001, a pair of out-of-towners were driving through the streets of Guilford and fell in love with Baer’s home. Even though the home wasn’t for sale, Baer’s realtor asked if he’d consider selling for the right price. By then, he was looking to shed the large home with its lawn and garden for a simpler lifestyle in Baltimore, especially considering he splits his time between homes in Fire Island, N.Y., Key West, Fla., and New York City.

As luck would have it, the penthouse was back on the market, and Baer returned to look at it. This time, he saw something he hadn’t before: if he converted the west-facing terrace to a den and added a hallway off of it leading to the kitchen and back to the foyer, he could create the flow he needed.

“Terraces are such an important part of apartment living that it never occurred to me to remove one,” says Baer, who owned his own namesake design business from 1972 until 2006, when he sold it to designer Jay Jenkins. “But I knew I’d never really sit out there. I don’t need two terraces. What I need is a room.”

And, of course, he needed flow. “I think flow is very important,” he says. “People don’t want to be trapped. They want to meander from room to room.”
Once The Warrington’s condo board agreed to Baer’s renovation plan, he began the familiar process of identifying how he wanted to live in the space and creating a plan to achieve it, something he’s done for countless clients. “Like any job, I started with the footprint,” he says. “The most beautiful of rooms is not successful unless it works for the client’s needs.”

Baer entertains several times a month, so he knew immediately that he wanted to combine the living room and what had been the dining room to make a grander living room commensurate with the 4,000-square-foot apartment. Then he took the dark media room that had been the dead end and converted it to a roomy dining room that can seat 24, lifting the ceiling in there and in the den to create light-filled, airy rooms.

He knew he wanted a room near the kitchen where he could store his large collection of china and serving ware (items that had been stowed under beds and in closets in his previous Baltimore residences). Since he doesn’t cook much, he made the kitchen smaller, giving him more room for the hallway (though he did install a commercial kitchen because it seemed more appropriate for an older kitchen). And upstairs, he combined two of the three bedrooms into a larger master suite with a closet, bathroom, exercise room and dedicated work space. (Even though Baer sold the business, he continues to do design work for longtime clients.)

As far as his aesthetic for the renovation, the goal was to make the apartment look as if it were from the same era as the 1920 Beaux Arts Warrington itself. The wood floors are new, but are hand-scraped and hand-hewn to look like 18th-century parquet. The foyer features a traditional limestone floor with a black granite border. Since, as Baer says, “the apartment needed everything,” (only one element remains from its previous owners: the door to the guest bathroom), he was working with an essentially blank palette. His other homes are modern or casual; this penthouse was to be a more traditional space, a place where Baer could display the art and china he’s collected over the years. The palette is neutral, with very little pattern in the furnishings and a subtle beige striate faux-finish on the walls. “When you look around, you see a diversity of art,” he says. “That’s what people enjoy looking at here: the assemblage of art.”

Baer declines to name-check his collection, but says he buys things he loves, regardless of whether they’re considered valuable by the art world or not. “There are some important names and some stuff from flea markets,” he says. “The thing is that I love them all.”

That love can be abiding, as it is in the case of Baer’s affection for Chinese export armorial porcelain manufactured from 1760 to 1790, which he began collecting in the early ’80s. And it can be fierce, as in the case of one of his favorite paintings, “Ladies at the Bath,” which hangs above the casual dining area in his living room. The painting, done by Ruskin Williams, was hanging in the house in Key West that Baer eventually bought, but only because the owner agreed to include the painting in the sale. “I put it this way to the owner: I like your house. I love your painting,” he says.

He takes as much pleasure in a plate found at a garage sale for $2 as a work by Picasso, Diebenkorn and Leger, though he does espouse the philosophy that each room ought to have one splurge in it. In his living room, it’s the 18th-century Italian marble mantel with bronze mounts that he bought in New York. Above it hangs a Federal-style convex mirror found in a North Carolina antique store. In the dining room, it’s the French Baccarat chandelier with half-toned prisms and cabochon balls, purchased at Jones Lighting. In the den, it’s the Regency breakfront bookcase.

Up an elegantly curving staircase lies the private area of the penthouse, where Baer “nests” in his bedroom among his art books and computer, and art and objects assembled over a lifetime of collecting. The colors of the books and art pop against the neutral walls, bedding and sisal rug underfoot. In both the master and guest bathrooms, Baer has installed old-fashioned sinks, toilets and showers and traditional wallpaper in an effort to make the apartment seem as though it’s always looked this way.

The cozy guest bedroom features a more dramatic striate on the walls, handsome red window treatments and a pair of multi-color miniature chairs a client gave him— she hated them; Baer loved them. Above the bed hangs a Ken Parker abstract; on the wall adjacent is a Renaissance-era painting. “It doesn’t matter that they’re not from the same era,” he says. “If it pleases your eye, you should have it around.”

With every design choice he’s made in the penthouse, Baer seems to be delivering the same message: that his home is formal but not fussy, that beautiful things shouldn’t be hidden away for protection— and that nothing should be taken too seriously. “I use everything I have,” he says. “If it breaks, it breaks. It should be enjoyed.”

Walking through the penthouse, it’s clear that Baer does enjoy everything in his home, but perhaps nothing so much as that magical view.

Resources
Wall finishes The Valley Craftsmen, 410-366-7077, http://www.valleycraftsmen.com
Window treatments Drapery Contractors, 410-727-5333, http://www.draperycontractors.com
Flooring MasterCare Flooring, 410-242-6401, http://www.mastercarefloors.com

It’s been 50 years since Calvert Hall College followed the trend of other private city schools and left its downtown roots for a home in the suburbs. Fifty years since students descended to the basement of what was known as the “Old Hall” for lunch in the cafeteria, climbed to room 205 for detention (both for reasons of tardiness and for “discipline”) or occasionally crossed Cathedral Street for Mass in the Basilica. Fifty years since Calvert Hall student-athletes practiced football at Walbrook Oval, baseball at Herring Run Park, or cadged basketball courts at other schools around town. Fifty years since a replica of the 6-foot, 1,500-pound limestone statue of George Calvert, the first Lord Baltimore, complete with pointed beard, ruff and cape, was moved to the new Towson campus along with faculty and students.

Calvert Hall College (CHC) has been a presence in Baltimore since 1845 when, as Cathedral School, it opened its imposing doors on Saratoga between Charles and Cathedral, becoming the first school in the United States operated by the De La Salle Christian Brothers. The Gothic structure, its façade replete with stone arches, cost $10,200 to build, and the choice of Robert Cary Long Jr., Baltimore‘s first professionally trained architect, to lead the project, “indicated that Calvert Hall was going for the best,” says Tim Wollon of the Baltimore Architecture Foundation.

But in a history that would inevitably repeat itself, the school, soon known as Calvert Hall College, grew quickly, enrolling 100 students in 1845 and 123 students in 1879.  According to an undated CHC student handbook, Cardinal James Gibbons declared a school holiday in 1884 when enrollment reached 200, and by 1890, a nearby site had been purchased for a new building.

Under the direction of prominent Catholic architect Thomas Kennedy (who was later known for other projects, including buildings at Loyola College and the College of Notre Dame of Maryland), the Victorian “Old Hall” was built on the corner of Cathedral and Mulberry, catty-corner to the Basilica of the Assumption, and across the street from what would become the central branch of the Enoch Pratt Free Library. In 1891, the four-story school, which was topped with a pointed bell tower and a small cross, was dedicated and blessed by Cardinal Gibbons in a ceremony that included the unveiling of the Calvert sculpture. 

But it wasn’t long before the student body and the resident Christian Brothers outgrew even that building, and a former Knights of Columbus building was added as an annex, thus creating a small schoolyard for intramural basketball and an area known as “the ramp.” Initially designed for school bus use, according to Jack Murtaugh, CHC Class of ’61 and recently retired CHC faculty, the ramp became the place for 1950s-era students to grab a smoke between classes.

“Most of the students back in those days smoked,” explains Murtaugh. “And it was amazing because it [the ramp] was only 20 by 30 feet and you’d see around a thousand kids there taking a quick smoke. One of the Brothers, a physics teacher, would throw buckets of water out the second-floor window because the smoke was so thick.”

The ramp wasn’t the only close space in the school. Murtaugh remembers the Old Hall as “a big, old, gray crowded building.”  Classes could be large— sometimes between 40 and 45 students— and “the hallways were not real wide,” says Murtaugh. “When classes broke, you would come out one way and go down another set of steps, always in one direction.”

Attorney John Doud, CHC Class of ’58, remembers classrooms with high ceilings and big windows, and corridors lined with narrow wooden lockers that were often shared among two or three students. There were lots of steps, no air conditioning, and though there was a gym in the basement, Doud recalls, it had posts in the middle of the floor, a detriment to anyone trying to sprint downcourt to make a basket. Subsequently, all of CHC’s athletics were conducted off campus. There was also a running joke among students, says Doud, that there was “a sub-basement where the brothers had their bar,” though this speculation was never proven.

Despite the snug circumstances, Doud remembers the Old Hall fondly. “It was a pretty old-fashioned kind of building, but it was a comforting, embracing type of place. That was our home, so to speak,” he explains. “Every parish was represented and [the brothers] prepared the students very well to be competitive with students anywhere.” There was discipline, of course, but it was “very orderly,” Doud says. “All they [the brothers] had to do was look your way and you were back in line.”

Citing reasons of overcrowding yet again, Calvert Hall College moved to its current residence in Towson in the fall of 1960. In October of this year, Doud and the Class of 1958 will mark the 50th anniversary of the closing of the Old Hall with a Mass at the Basilica of the Assumption and the mounting of a commemorative plaque on the south wall of the front portico of the Archdiocese of Baltimore Catholic Center, the building that replaced the Old Hall after its demolition in the summer of 1961.

Wollon spent that summer working for the architectural firm Wrenn, Lewis and Jencks just a few doors down from the Old Hall. “I don’t recall that anyone mourned its demolition,” he recalls. “Victorian buildings were not in great favor then. Now we can regard it as an excellent example of the period, by a very talented architect.”

Even now, however, the Old Hall continues to survive outside the realm of memory. Some of the building’s stones were used in the façade of Maryland Hall on the Loyola University campus.

While finding one’s way to Cockeysville can be a bit challenging (does GPS even register anything north of Greenspring Valley?), finding Shamelessly Simple won’t be— just look for the bright turquoise building. What will you find inside? Eco-friendly pewter ice buckets (do you really want to chill your Chardonnay in anything leaving a carbon footprint?), tabletops by artsy-craftsy Joyce Shelton and eco-friendly paper goods. Savvy was most pleased to see the impossible-to-find, hand-poured travel candles from Seda France— Savvy may not arrive at her destination smelling fabulously (eau de United, anyone?) but the Crimson Amaryllis scent ensures everything in her carry-on doesn’t suffer the same fate. Don’t miss: The collapsible market totes. Made of light-weight tubing and colorful vinyl, they’re perfect for the farmers market or just for sitting cutely in the back seat, catching everything that’s floating around in the Range Rover. 10712 York Road, 410-891-8467

> go north
Princeton, N.J., is less than 150 miles from Baltimore, and that’s close enough for any autumnphile who wants to kick up piles of leaves while campus-jumping along the same streets Albert Einstein once roamed.  And while you’re getting your beautiful mind on, stay where he was known to eat, drink and be merry— the Peacock Inn.  Princeton is a serious place to study, and this is a place of serious luxury: Sferra blankets, Hollandia mattresses and Molton Brown bathroom amenities are just a few of the indulgences offered at the Peacock (guests get to take their pair of Frette slippers home with them!). The food is au gout perfection by chef Manuel Perez (formerly of New York’s Le Bernardin, Water Club and Nicholas).  http://www.peacockinn.com

On Oct. 23, head 30 minutes to 70 Wooden’s Lane in Lambertville to find the Howell Living Farm, where the owners take folks on horse-drawn hay-rides through nearby Pleasant Valley, under the red sugar maples and spreading oaks. Then head back to the farm for old-fashioned wheat threshing and bread baking (and eating!). http://www.howellfarm.org 

> go west
Head to Frederick and use the Hill House Bed and Breakfast as a base camp for your trip. Owned by Taylor and Damian Branson, the 1870s-era home offers a relief from the normal, kitschy quilted-doilie look of most Western Maryland B&Bs.  Sweet autumn colors inside complement the change of seasons out.  http://www.hillhousefrederick.com

Take advantage of this time of year with a Currier & Ives day by going on a self-guided historic covered-bridge tour (find directions via http://www.fredericktourism.org).  Eight covered bridges can be found in Maryland, and three of them are in Frederick County: Loy’s Station covered bridge (circa 1880); the Roddy Road covered bridge (circa 1856); and the Utica Mills covered bridge (circa 1850). The tour is only 30 miles round-trip, but these woods are so gorgeous, a picnic will be in order, so be sure to pack a basket.

If you want to spend the night under the trees, Camp Misty Mount at Catoctin Mountain Park in Thurmont has sparse (one ceiling light, one porch light and no electric outlets) but clean cabins that come with indoor fireplaces. They’re connected to a dining hall with a communal campfire, so do the s’mores thing at night, then take the Spicebush Nature Trail in the morning for a brilliant display of hardwood hues. On October weekends, take fall color walks with a park ranger (perfect for those who want to understand the science behind the color change). Afterward, follow the trails to Cunningham Falls (also known as McAfee Falls), to catch Maryland’s largest cascading waterfall (78 feet!). http://www.nps.gov/cato/index.htm

> go south
Fall brings out the artist, sometimes the adventurer, often the romantic— and there is one place that brings them all together. The Piedmont region of Virginia offers up pastoral views, winding roads and quaint country inns nestled at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. First stop is Poplar Springs The Inn resting peacefully in the hamlet of Casanova, a breeding ground for Virginia thoroughbreds. The rooms are luxurious retreats with sweet views of the countryside, and there are acres of quiet roads on which to walk and take in the smells and sounds of fall. Just in case the two-hour drive through D.C. traffic has you a bit tense, The Inn Spa provides excellent services, including massages and deluxe reflexology treatments with small heated river stones. Chef Howard Foer of the Manor House Restaurant cooks up amazing meals— try his roasted Virginia squab breast, foie gras gnocchi and braised fennel sugar apple with a roasted garlic paste on the patio if it’s a warm Indian summer evening, or take a table in front of the cozy fireplace indoors to take off the chill. http://www.poplarspringsinn.com
 
> go east
Most people don’t think of the Eastern Shore and autumn leaf peeping as two things that go hand in hand, but they blend very nicely together. Easton is a great jumping-off place for some of the best, easiest biking in Maryland, and there’s no better place to spend the night than The Inn at 202 Dover (innat202dover.com), a historic 1874 mansion, restored by hosts Shelby and Ron Mitchell. The rooms are huge, the jacuzzi bathtubs are inviting, and the location is a mere five blocks to Easton Cycle and Sport (eastoncycleandsport.com). Hit the rails-with-trails 2 1/2-mile path, or loop around the triangle of Easton, Oxford, and St. Michaels, because this is the time of year when the air is crisp and the colors of fall will make you want to stay outside all day. Oct 9-10, visit the Arts Marketplace, which presents a whopping 60 juried artists’ works of ceramics, fabric, glass, jewelry, furniture, paintings and more (academyartmuseum.org). http://www.eastonmd.org

Danielle DiFerdinando is keeping up with the Kardashians. Or, at least, her handbags are. At the age when most young women are graduating from college and juggling career options, DiFerdinando is the designer behind Danielle Nicole Handbags, a line of luxury handbags carried nationwide by Saks Fifth Avenue— and regularly spotted on the arms of Cameron Diaz, Whitney Port, Kate Hudson and the Kardashian sisters.

The handbag designer, however, was not raised at Fashion Week or amongst the trendy buzz of the Big Apple. DiFerdinando grew up in Ellicott City and attended River Hill High School in Clarkesville. Her father is the founder and president of Boardwalk Fries, and the unassuming 22-year-old can still be found munching on the hand-cut fries with vinegar every time she’s in town. Yet DiFerdinando knew as a teen that the family business was not her calling. “I started with making men’s neckties,” she recalls. “I’d go to Jo-Ann’s and get material and start sewing.”

After high school, DiFerdinando pursued a degree from the Fashion Institute of Technology and traveled to Europe for her studies. Her introduction to the design houses of Fendi, Hermes and Armani gave her ideas and inspiration for her own line. And, if she’d needed further convincing that the fashion industry was for her, living in Italy was “two solid months of fashion, eating and going out at night.”  

While attending school in New York City, DiFerdinando landed a competitive intern position with Bergdorf Goodman. She spent three months in the buying department and three months working alongside a personal shopper to learn customers’ (for example, Donald Trump’s wife Melania’s) wants and needs. In 2005, she launched Danielle Nicole Handbags and in 2007 she designed a line of luxury cosmetic bags for Bergdorf Goodman.

Danielle Nicole quickly gained momentum as boutiques and department stores across the country and around the world began carrying the handbags. Offering a functional twist on classic styles, the handbags are made from Italian leather and lightweight lambskin and are designed to accommodate the busy lives of women while ensuring style and visual appeal.

Each season, DiFerdinando designs her bags around a central inspiration and theme. Last season, she introduced bags in different shades of greens, yellows and browns with two-tones and bone accents, all tied together by a safari theme. Recently DiFerdinando launched Elle Nicole, a new line featuring trendy twists on Danielle Nicole’s classic styles. The fall line is inspired by 1980s fashion and mixes chains, studs and leopard print with bold yet sophisticated colors and materials. The “Lydia” bag, the best-seller and a favorite amongst the Kardashian sisters, is studded with decorative fringe, echoing the chic rocker trend.

Despite her rapid success, for DiFerdinando, the business is personal. She names each of her handbags after important women in her life, such as sisters and close friends. “I’m hands-on through the entire process,” she explains. “They aren’t just buying Danielle Nicole, they’re meeting me.” 

Her personal touch, however, does not keep DiFerdinando from being aggressive in the cut-throat world of fashion. “I’ve been on a reality show that had a fashion show and I wanted to get on the runway and sell my handbags,” she says. But while they were deliberating to see if I could go, I just went up without permission and got on the runway!”  

In the future, DiFerdinando hopes to design clothing, shoes and jewelry. “I started when I was 18 and now I’m 23,” she says. “I love what I do. I wake up and can’t wait to get back to work.”
 
For more information about Danielle Nicole Handbags, visit http://www.danielle-nicole.com.

It’s always been a mystery to me— whenever people around town reminisce about the long-gone days of downtown shopping, they inevitably mention Hutzler’s. Some will even talk about Hochschild’s. A few might mention the May Co. (which later became Hecht’s). Or O’Neill’s or Gutman’s. Almost no one has anything to say about Stewart’s. Come on folks, where’s the love?

Michael Lisicky’s book, “Hutzler’s: Where Baltimore Shops,” was the talk of the town last holiday season, and it extolled the virtues of the city’s most treasured hometown chain of department stores. No argument here. I read it and was fascinated by the level of merchandise and service that was taken for granted by Baltimoreans for years, before the chain faltered and failed. In 2006, we here at Style produced a story about the history of the Hecht Co. when that chain was being subsumed by Macy’s, and I got schooled in the minutiae of that store and its place in the pecking order of local merchandisers. And last March, we delved into the heritage of Hochschild Kohn & Co. in our “Past Perfect” department, and heard lots of feedback from readers who wanted to wax nostalgic about that one.

Mention Stewart’s and you’ll hear the sound of crickets. Well, maybe not always. I remember when I came to town hearing it mentioned once or twice, and always as its having been the “fanciest” or “most expensive” of the local stores. But somehow just not as well-loved, or at least not outside of old-school WASP circles. In an editorial from 1983 in The Sun, when the chain announced it was closing, the store was referred to as “the aristocrat of Baltimore stores.” And in the early part of the 20th century, the downtown flagship was thought to be the largest department store south of the Mason-Dixon. This fascinated me, and spurred me to assign writer Mary K. Zajac to investigate.

What we found is a legion of locals who shopped and/or worked at the chain’s downtown gleaming white palace-like store or at one of its five chic suburban branches. The store’s employees were a close-knit family, its stores were beautifully designed, its merchandise was first-rate, its service, stellar.

One more thing to bring to your attention: starting in September, we’ll add a useful new feature to the Style magazine website: our “Little Black Book.” Or I should say, your Little Black Book. It’s a clearinghouse of dates over the next year when all major charity functions, benefits and parties will be held. So if you’re on a committee with a major event to plan, check out Little Black Book first to clear your date so that there won’t be as many frustrating overlaps in parties next year! And please, send me your event dates now, so that we can include them in the launch of Style’s Little Black Book. 
     
Brian Michael Lawrence
editor-in-chief
.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)
http://www.baltimorestyle.com

[ help protect the environment. please recycle this magazine. ]

Nestled in the middle of a side street and tucked between bustling Harbor East and Little Italy is Vino Rosina. Located in a renovated industrial space in the Bagby Building, the new restaurant is the latest place to showcase the talents of homegrown chef (and former Top Chef contender) Jesse Sandlin. The sleek, minimal interiors include light hardwood floors, exposed brick walls, leather-clad dining chairs and chic hanging lamps. A rectangular bar upfront lends a social, convivial air to the place, and an open kitchen showcases the staff’s skills. The concise menu is divided into five categories: Raw, Salad, Oven Roasted, Sides and Cheese, plus charcuterie and appetizers. (Our pick: the roasted half chicken with fresh spinach and herb butter.) There’s an extensive wine list, and a nice selection of bottled beers, too. 507 S. Exeter St., 410-528-8600

After 12 years, ESPN Zone at the Inner Harbor’s Power Plant has closed. The Baltimore location had been the first in the national chain of sports-themed restaurant/ arcades.  ... >>The Point in Fells Point has opened in the space that formerly housed Miss Irene’s and briefly, Poe Boys. (1738 Thames St., 410-327-7264) ... >> Now open at the Power Plant: Dick’s Last Resort, part of a national chain of casual restaurants “with attitude.” (621 E. Pratt St., 443-453-5961) ... >> Tangier’s has opened in Canton, serving a Moroccan spin on tapas. (845 S. Montford Ave., 410-327-0029) ... >> The Get Down is a new lounge that has replaced Fletcher’s. (701 S. Bond St., getdownbaltimore.com) ... >> Now closed: Baltimore Pho in the Hollins Market neighborhood.

On what feels like the hottest day of summer, Veena Irani and I hover over a skillet of hot oil in her Cub Hill kitchen, watching tiny balls of dough bob in the simmering fat. When they brown to the color of nearly burnt toast, Veena scoops them out and drops them into a large pot of sugar syrup strewn with olive green cardamom pods, where they’ll sit overnight absorbing the syrup like fat little sponges.

“You see how easy this is?” she asks. “Should we make another batch?”

“Oh, yes,” I say, and she reaches for the milk powder to begin measuring again.

I’ve been eating Veena’s gulab jaman ever since she brought the sweet dessert and some other delicacies to my family not long after her family moved next door to us in the mid-1970s. It was the first time any of us had tasted food from Pakistan, and while we struggled with the extreme spiciness of the kabobs wrapped neatly in tin foil (they were hot-fragrant-strong and unlike anything I had ever put in my mouth), the gulab jaman only pleased.

The small balls looked familiar— like shiny Dunkin’ Munchkins— and their syrup bath reminded me of loukoumades, the fried dough balls drenched in honey we’d sample at the local festival at St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox Church. But unlike crusty glazed doughnuts, the gulab jaman were soft and squishy and imbued with the syrup that penetrated every bite. A munchkin couldn’t stand a chance against them in a sweetness competition, and even the custard-filled cream puffs with the smear of chocolate icing that Mrs. Hastings, our neighbor on the other side, treated us with occasionally seemed Plain Jane in comparison. I was hooked and throughout my childhood, I looked forward to the plastic container filled with the syrupy sweets that would arrive from next door.

In the years since, I’ve made Indian food in my own kitchen. Armed with my husband’s copy of “Madhur Jaffrey’s Indian Cooking” and a slim volume called “30 Minute Indian,” I’ve tackled Bombay-style Chicken with Red Split Lentils and khatte chhole, sour chickpeas. Kheema matar, minced meat with peas, has become almost as much of a standby as hamburgers.  And I’ve even induced folks who say they don’t like Indian food (I’m looking at you, Dad) to try garlicky Gujarati Green Beans and ‘Dry’ Okra (OK, I didn’t exactly tell him it was okra; he thought it was zucchini).

But when it came time to make Indian desserts, I balked. Perhaps it was because neither of my cookbooks offered many recipes for sweets beyond rice pudding (which seems like overkill if you have rice with dinner) or because after all the chopping and sautéing to make an Indian meal, a simple, familiar baked custard was about as much dessert as I could muster.

I had never even considered making my own gulab jaman until Veena showed me a booklet of mostly Indian recipes she put together for her daughters when they married. There among the handwritten recipes for “Apple Pickle – Nani’s recipe” and “Sag Gosht (Spinach with Meat)” was Gulab jaman. “They’re very easy,” she confided. “The trickiest part is getting the dough to the right consistency.”

Gulab jaman has only five ingredients: powdered milk, flour, baking powder, butter and water. Though Veena ate them growing up, she never made them until she came to the United States in 1969. Middle-class Pakistani women often didn’t do much cooking at all, she says— there is “help” to do that.

“When we came here, there were not so many Indian places or places to buy ingredients,” Veena explains as she rubs several tablespoons of soft butter into the dry ingredients, her gold bracelets clanking softly against the glass bowl. “Someone from Pakistan would send recipes, and people over here… would pass them around. We learned to make gulab jaman [and other dishes] simply by trial and error.”

By now the mixture in the bowl has become sandy, almost like pie crust, from being worked between Veena’s fingers. She measures out a quarter cup of water and begins adding it sparingly to the mixture, kneading it all the while. It feels just about right when you have to press firmly to hold the dough together.
Mixing the dough is easy, but rolling the dough into balls is more challenging than it looks. You really need to put pressure on it as you roll it between your palms, Veena says, but mine crumbles anyway. She looks at a bumpy ball I’ve eked out, saying, “This won’t look good, but it will still taste good.”

While we roll the dough she tells me that “gulab” is the Urdu word for rose, and that some people use rosewater to flavor the sugar syrup rather than cardamom. “Jaman” (also spelled “jamun”), she says, is an oval-shaped fruit in Pakistan. “When you fry the dough and put it in syrup, the color comes close to that fruit.”

The frying takes only a few minutes, and before long we’re plunging the fried gulab jaman into the syrup Veena made earlier. “They always taste better the next day,” she admonishes, though she probably knows I will sample several before tomorrow. The whole process has taken less than a half-hour.

“Now that you see how easy this is, why do you think people don’t make them?” Veena asks. “Maybe because they don’t have this recipe?”

Now they do.

Gulab Jaman

The good news at the newly reopened McCabe’s: the trademark burger is as tasty as ever. Ditto the crab cakes. (The beef is from Springfield Farms and the breads are from Stonemill.) The accomplished kitchen also turns out lots of way-better-than-bar-food entrees like shrimp and grits, chicken potpie and polenta lasagne. And the rendition of French onion soup is stellar. New owners Dan McIntosh (Sonar) and Patrick Ito (Copra) have spruced the place up, too. Lighter paint on the walls brightens up the narrow space and the flow has been improved between the bar and the busy dining room by opening up the dividing wall. Welcome back, old friend! 3845 Falls Road, 410-467-1000

While Savvy has nothing against picking up a little cellophane-wrapped bunch of this or that as she breezes out of Eddie’s on Roland, she’s just thrilled that former Canton babe Amy Epstein has moved her flower shop, Crimson & Clover, right around the corner. Stop in to see what’s fresh and gorgeous in the cooler (love that Amy is using flowers from local organic growers and sustainably grown blooms). Also interesting? The unusual selection of houseplants. Savvy was particularly intrigued with the Tillandsias, an air plant that, much like most of Savvy’s friends, can seemingly survive without any food or water (though unlike most of Savvy’s friends, it does not need to be misted with vodka). Don’t miss: Fragrant bunches of dried lavender for your lingerie drawer and what Savvy thinks is just about the smartest thing ever, a vase recycling program (finally someone thinks of this!). Bring in your old glass containers, woven baskets— whatever monstrosity housed the hot mess your mother-in-law sent you from 1-800-Flowers on your last birthday— and Amy will see that it is properly recycled into something less unfortunate (and you get a free bouquet to boot!). 733 Deepdene Road, 410-534-5459

Because the world can’t get enough quilted, printed handbags, placemats and photo boards, Vera Bradley has opened in The Mall in Columbia. The upside to visiting the mothership? Items you won’t find elsewhere, like eyeglasses plus a wide range of home goods and office accessories. Don’t miss: The new tiny, highly packable umbrellas. Gray days are perhaps the best (some might say only) excuse to bust out Bradley’s permanently perky prints. The Mall in Columbia, 410-740-0533

When Susan and Paul Niemeyer moved into their Roland Park house in 1978, they found a well-landscaped yard with a sloping back lawn, magnolia, maple and ash trees, azaleas and boxwoods, nice flagstone paths and a fountain, but no developed garden beds. Over the past 30 years, the Niemeyers have transformed the gardens into an intimate, artistic, cohesive creation, doing most of the planning and labor themselves.

Their first move was to create a curved border of boxwoods in the front yard and restore the fountain in the side yard, says Paul, a U.S. Circuit Court judge by day and poet, planter and garden designer in his off-hours. In 1985, Paul designed and sited a patio behind the house that features artistic trellis walls and a cedar shake roof, now covered in moss. Over the years, he and Susan, a teacher and fiber artist, have trained English ivy in the fanciful shape of an elephant on the adjacent garage wall.
Paul also terraced the sloping backyard and continued the original flagstone paths on the side to connect the front gardens to the new patio, which Susan filled with containers and surrounded with beds of roses, perennials and annuals. “Every spring, my friend Judy and I go to Westminster and buy a whole car-full of plants. Other drivers comment on the hanging baskets inside the car,” says Susan, who broadens the horticultural diversity every year.

In 2001, the Niemeyers introduced an element that makes their private garden unique. “We lost a lousy silver maple,” says Paul, “and all of this land, 40 feet wide in the lower garden, opened up.”

The couple considered creating a Japanese garden until they remembered the labyrinth Susan had visited at a San Francisco cathedral. Paul researched the 4,000-year history of labyrinths, had four truckloads of soil delivered, and spread and leveled the new earth himself with a rototiller. He scribed the circle and inner paths of the labyrinth with strings and orange spray paint then planted 153 boxwoods (the number of beads on a rosary), each 20 inches apart, for the circular passage. At the center is a white ‘Pascali’ rose surrounded by white stones Paul and Susan gathered in Jerusalem and in a summer spot in Vermont. Just outside that inner circle are three benches for rest and contemplation.

The labyrinth has now been traversed by friends and family, who have walked meditatively, skipped, run and danced at all hours. A son was married there, and Paul has been known to appear there to his grandchildren dressed in Easter Bunny attire.

concept: An English garden, with interconnected garden rooms each filled with beds marked with hand-painted tiles from a shop in Jerusalem. Some commemorate deceased parents and grandparents; others honor living family members. 

The palette of the garden is cool, with whites, blues, pinks and a touch of red. As for plant selections, “We go in phases,” explains Paul. “Roses, hostas, grasses, vines.” Each phase runs intensely for about year, with an artistic insertion into many of the various “garden rooms.”  More containers filled with jasmine standards, hibiscus plants, gardenias, mixtures of vines, annuals, perennials and herbs are planted every year.

prized plantings: Roses— at one time numbering 42— that provide a long season of color, including a pale pink ‘Sally Holmes,’ deep red ‘Don Juan Dortmund’ and white iceberg ‘Dainty Bess,’ the boxwood maze, blue atlas cedar.

future plans:  A greenhouse behind the garage for Susan’s growing collection of tropicals and containers, and something on the ivy-covered slope around it. An all-native plant garden is a possibility, as well as a wrought-iron fence on the west side.

Resources
Plants and trees McLean Nurseries, 410-882-6714; Westminster Wholesale Nurseries, 410-848-9444, http://www.westminsterwholesale.com;  Fieldstone Nursery, 410-357-5114, http://www.fieldstonenurseryinc.com

Pruning and tree service Carroll Tree Service, 410-998-1100, http://www.carrolltreeservice.com

Lawn care Green Way Lawns, Westminster, 410-876-2323

Fountain restoration Buddy’s Pool Service, 410-666-1800, http://www.buddypool.com

The ancient Irish believed that cats were mysterious and omnipotent creatures capable of amazing feats. They believed cats could talk (in English and Irish!). They believed, too, that cats were emissaries from the other world.

They had that part right.

In the bleak midwinter a long time ago, I was walking home from John Gach, the legendary, much-lamented, used-book dealer on Greenmount Avenue, when I saw a small, gray cat cowering in a window well.

My kinsmen in Ireland believe that kindness to animals brings good luck. Here was a cat in need of kindness. And here was a man who could never have too much luck. I was wearing a heavy peacoat and gloves, and I scooped him up under my arm and carried him home.

He was filthy. He was rail thin. He had wild, yellow eyes and hair like a fright wig. An early misadventure had resulted in a broken tooth at the front of his mouth, leaving him with a weird and evil grin. He looked like a cat out of a George Booth cartoon in The New Yorker. I called him Diesel.

Diesel was unprepared to live in a house so I set up quarters for him in our garage. I hooked up a heating pad and put it in a box with some old beach towels— an improvement over the window well. And I fed him. That meal sealed the deal. Although he would live in our garage for some two years before I felt he was prepared for the house, Diesel never left. My daughter was 6 the winter I met Diesel. She was 22 when he died.

Diesel had a hard look to him and even though he ate voraciously he maintained his slim figure over the years. He moved in a kind of stalking crouch and he did not like to be touched. He loathed children. It took years before he would allow me to pick him up. And I was the only person he’d allow to take such a liberty.

Diesel was a Baltimorean in the truest and best sense of the term. He was of Baltimore. He had withstood the hard Baltimore life. When I took him to Vinson Animal Hospital, a few blocks south on Greenmount Avenue from where we met, the opinion was that he had been on the street his entire life. He was maybe 4 or 5 years old at that point.

Other than the most perfunctory and absolutely necessary visits— rabies and distemper— Diesel was not the man for the vets. Getting him into a carrying cage was a two-person job. Getting him out was a three-person job. Once out of the carrier, he was nimble and quick. If he was sick a day in his life he never mentioned it. And yet, an endless number of earnest young veterinarians scolded me about allowing him to go outside. He had come off Greenmount Avenue! I figured he could handle a backyard in Roland Park.

Diesel fought with every one of God’s creatures great and small until the day he died. Other cats were wary of him. Dogs, even quite large dogs, more so. He was a fierce and battle-hardened old warrior who would stand down a German shepherd or a Lab with his scary stare and his weird teeth, making a low growling sound that really was alarming. Unsuspecting dog walkers would be at first amused to see this small, ratty gray cat hop up off a wicker chair on our front porch and approach their dog, which outweighed him 10 to one. But it was the dog who would back down. Diesel was insanely territorial. Our property line was not to be crossed and most surely not to be crossed by man’s best friend.

I had Diesel professionally groomed a few times and it cost me a fortune because they needed at least three attendants to deal with him. Even then, he was never a beauty. With time he showed himself to have four white paws, a thing that had not been discernible on the evening that we met. Still, grooming was something he did most casually.

Diesel tolerated our other cats— first Grace, who was with us when he arrived and seemed startled but accepting of him. She lived to be 22. After she died we acquired Luke from a contractor who had found him and his mom and a half-dozen kittens in Hampden. Diesel did not fight with Grace or Luke, and they regarded him as an eccentric relative who had to be tolerated.

Diesel never went on any trips with us. I put him in a cardboard carrier once (talk about stupid ideas) and he literally clawed his way out as I drove and then ran around inside the car like a demon.

Diesel liked to sleep. He liked to sit in the sun. He was a solitary fellow. I would guess he slept 22 hours a day. But he was nocturnal and would go a-roving in the wee hours if permitted.

I think of him everyday. I still see his gray ghost lurking at the corner of my eye. I am absolutely certain that he was an emissary from another world and I have no doubt that he brought me good luck.

They get hair all over everything. They track in this or bring in that. They aren’t always up to speed on good manners and style. We aren’t talking husbands. So why do so many hotels allow “him” but not our cute, furry pets? We set out to find the reason, but instead we found a whole slew of great places to take the pups and cats on vacation. And, yep, he can come, too… if he promises not to throw the towels on the floor this time.

> the safest bet
Any Kimpton Hotel.  Hotel Palomar, Hotel Monaco, Topaz Hotel, Hotel Rouge, Hotel George, Ink48, 70 park avenue hotel, etc.— no matter which hotel you choose under the Kimpton name, you’re guaranteed a welcome sign for your pet, and there’s no extra charge.  Not only will your dogs and cats be called by name, but under the “Hospetality Unleashed” pet packages, furry friends will be spoiled with their own bowls, chew toys, beds, door signs to alert other guests and staff that your pet is in the room, collars, leashes, umbrellas, toys, eco pet products, pet-friendly magazines and treats. Plus, there are no fees, special deposits, weight or size limits. And for those who want their animals to be walked or given a spa treatment, some of the hotels (such as Hotel Monaco in Alexandria, Va., and The Muse in New York City) have pet ambassadors who are there to tend to all your pet’s needs.

> Bo knows washington
For those who want to get close to Barack Obama’s dog Bo, the nation’s capitol has plenty of Kimpton hotels, but just as exciting is the four-star Sofitel on Lafayette Square. Why? It’s a French hotel with a very French staff, and the French love animals!  Don’t be surprised to see the staff bending over backward to bring your pet little nibbles from the kitchen, or to let it sneak under a table at Le Bar (although we’ve seen it happen, it isn’t really allowed— but, well, they’re French!). Just steps from the Mall, plan a full day of traipsing from one monument to the next with your pup, or walk toward the Potomac and cross over into Alexandria, where many cafes have jumped on the “doggy menu” bandwagon. Grab a coffee and a bowl of milk and stay a while. There’s a $50 pet fee. Sofitel on Lafayette Square, Washington, D.C. http://www.sofitel.com

> paws in midtown
Dream Hotel is a luxury boutique in the heart of midtown Manhattan that has enough quirky, whimsical modernity that even your cat will understand that this is the cool place to go. Their Chopra Center Ayurvedic Spa has aromatherapy and massages that will keep you calm, while your cat waits for you to come back and play yarn ball, and your dog waits for you to take it just a few blocks down the way to Central Park— the ultimate NYC dog experience. After a long run in the park, come back and dine at one of the four restaurants, or call in for room service. The hotel charges $50 for pets. Dream Hotel, 210 W. 55th St., New York City. http://www.dreamny.com

> philadelphia freedom
Before it was Philadelphia ringing in our independence, it was the Lenape Indian village of Shackamaxon. And what the Lenape knew about greenery is what will be most important to your pet, so highly recommended is the Rittenhouse Hotel on verdant Rittenhouse Square. There’s a $50 fee for each animal, but animals are treated sweetly, and there are plenty of sitter services at the ready to take your pet for a walk around the square or town if you’re out and about looking at the museums. Plus, they’ll come scratch kitty behind the ears. If you want to go out walking with your pet, all the scenic trails in Fairmount Park (http://www.fairmountpark.org) lead right up to the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy Schuylkill Trail (which links Philadelphia to Valley Forge), and as long as your dog is leashed, you can both take in extensive sunshine. Rittenhouse Hotel, 210 W. Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia, Pa. http://www.rittenhousehotel.com.

> bow-wow by the boats
Dogs and cats are not only welcome at Loews, but they have their own gourmet room service menus, and their food is prepared by an award-winning master chef. After din-din, kitties get their own litter boxes (and litter) and pooper scoopers, and pups get doggie doo-doo bags. Other amenities include leashes, collars, pet placemats, dog-walking routes, water bowls, treats, rawhide bones, catnip and scratch poles and specialized bedding.  And if you want more, call down for the pet-walking and pet-sitting services. With all this excitement in-house, you’ll probably forget to explore Annapolis and its incredible water scenes. Oh, well. There’s always next time. (Pet fee: $25.) Loews Annapolis Hotel, 126 West St., Annapolis, Md. http://www.loewshotels.com

Baltimore can’t seem to get enough of the tapas trend, even though it’s worn out its welcome in most other U.S. cities. Centro Tapas Bar is the latest entrant, and is a solid performer, serving stylish, authentic takes on Spanish-style small plates. There’s a lot to choose from on the menu, including charcuterie, cheeses and counter tapas, as well as a long list of hot tapas (creamy chicken and Serrano ham fritters, crispy potatoes with a spicy pepper sauce, a confit of organic chicken wings with a sour ancho chile sauce, crispy rockfish fritters, traditional paella with Calasparra rice, prawns, mussels and clams). The well-chosen wine list is made up exclusively of Spanish and South American bottles, and the interiors have been chicly updated. Open for dinner Tuesday through Sunday. 1444 Light St., 443-869-6871

Savvy’s unmentionables drawer always seems to suffer from a bit of schizophrenia (much like Sav herself): Cotton from Victoria’s Secret co-mingles with Lejaby, sports bras jumble with silky barely-theres. While Savvy loves mixing high and low when throwing together her outfits, having an undies middle-ground between “now I’ll be spending my weekend handwashing” and “God forbid the paramedics see me in these” would be nice. That’s where Soma Intimates comes in. While just a stroll away from Victoria’s Secret, Soma feels worlds away in design and vibe. Leave Vicki to the 20-somethings who believe that, with enough padding and pushing, they can land their own Tom Brady. Soma has solutions and styles that are more in line with high-end brands. Their Vanishing Edge panties have a grippy seam to keep from riding up. Their Cool Days/Cool Nights fabric (found in dresses and sleepwear) will keep you from feeling like you’re having a hot flash (even if you are). There’s even workout wear with slimming panels for those who want to look like they’ve been hitting the gym for, well, longer than they’ve been hitting the gym. This is not to say that Soma is strictly utilitarian— their designs just happen to be as practical as they are pretty. Don’t miss: Their Skirt The Issue “skapri” (capri pants with a built-in skirt)— genius!  Towson Town Center, 410-828-0632

On our first morning at Fort Lewis Lodge, we threw on sweat shirts, left the charming little log cabin where we’d spent a restful night— at least until our 10-month-old woke us at 6:30 a.m.— and followed the path marked Cowpasture River. Any negative associations conjured by the river’s name (I don’t automatically connect cow pastures with sparkling clear waters) dissipated a few minutes later when we arrived at its banks. In the foreground, sunlight glittered on water trickling over rocks while in the background rose a sheer wall of rock. Around us was the lush river valley, acres of fields dotted with grazing cows and, in the distance, the green peaks of the Allegheny Mountains.

“Hello there,” a voice called from upriver. One of the guests we’d met at dinner the evening before was standing in waders casting her fishing line in an arc over her head as the inn owners’ dog splashed nearby.

“Is it just me,” I said to my husband as I waved back, “or do you feel like we’re on the set of ‘A River Runs Through It’?”

It wasn’t just the river and the fly-fishing that called up memories of the movie based on the autobiographical novel by Montanan Norman Maclean. Since we’d arrived in Bath County, Va., I’d felt like we were in the West. The country roads we’d driven after leaving Interstate 81 led up mountains and down into valleys, delivering us through thick stands of trees— almost 90 percent of Bath County is forest— from one panoramic view to the next. We passed few cars (less than 5,000 people live in the county and there are no incorporated towns) and not a single traffic light. We breathed in clean, fresh air. We looked up at a sky that was big and blue.

Most out-of-towners come to Bath County, located about 200 miles from Baltimore, to stay at The Homestead, the renowned resort located in the town of Hot Springs, and perhaps take in a concert at the equally renowned Garth Newel Music Center. But we were looking to get away from big groups of people and truly relax in nature, albeit without having to rough it. That’s exactly what John and Caryl Cowden offer at Fort Lewis Lodge.

Natives of Ohio, the couple came to Bath County in 1978 to help farm the 3,200-acre property that John’s father had bought after being swept away by the beauty of the area on a trip to buy a bull. Even though John had agricultural school training and wanted more than anything to be a farmer— and even though the property had been a farm since Revolutionary War days— the Cowdens learned after five years that they couldn’t make a living solely by farming. So, while raising three young children, running a cow/calf/cattle operation and growing row crops, the Cowdens renovated Lewis Mill— a circa-1850 grist mill on the property— into a big dining room and kitchen, and built a two-story lodge, which is attached to a 1930s-era salt-glazed tile silo that houses three in-the-round rooms reached by a spiral staircase. They opened for business in 1989 and since then have added a circa-1900 five-bedroom house on a upper tract of land known as Riverside House, and erected three one-bedroom historical log cabins, all of which were painstakingly dismantled, moved to the property and put back together again.

All of the structures offer comfortable and charming rooms that are, thankfully, more Shaker chic than country kitchen, and offer modern amenities like air-conditioning and wireless Internet. We were lucky enough to stay in the Tall Timbers cabin, which has a wet bar (with a mini-refrigerator that’s a good place to store fixings for a picnic lunch), a wooden farm table and a daybed on the first floor and a roomy bedroom and bath on the second floor. A sliding glass door leads from the bedroom to a balcony with views of the valley.

The buildings that comprise Fort Lewis Lodge house 19 units total in a combination of rooms and suites, and, from serving as general contractor to sawing logs, John Cowden has been intimately involved in their creation. “I love farming, but I found something I love even more,” he says. “Building.” His most recent creation is a covered pavilion that he calls a “large outdoor living room.” There’s a ping-pong table, comfy chairs and a large stone fireplace that John lights every night. Sometimes there are informal gatherings of bluegrass musicians. “When we run into somebody and they’re willing to play, we just see what happens,” he says.

Six years ago, he gave up farming completely and now the land serves multiple uses. “We use the natural beauty for hospitality. We lease the land to farmers, do timber harvesting when the [U.S.] Forest Service recommends it and lease the land for hunting,” John says. “Everything overlaps somewhat seamlessly.”

It’s pretty rare to find a place that suits families as well as couples and single travelers— and suits those who want to “do” as well as those who want to “be.” Fort Lewis Lodge manages to be that place. With a maximum of just 45 guests spread out over 3,200 acres, you can get away from everyone and everything if you like. You can hike— the hickory loop trail travels up the backside of that wall of rock we saw on the far side of the river. You can borrow the lodge’s mountain bikes and cycle along quiet country roads or strike out for more adventurous terrain— John will orient guests with a map. Or you can try your hand at fishing trout or native rockfish in the river.

Those in need of R and R can simply stroll the grounds or loll on the bench overlooking the little pond outside Lewis Mill. That’s the tact we took, though had it been a bit warmer, you can bet we would’ve spent hours at the swimming hole, a 5-foot-deep pool of clear blue water located at a bend in the river 200 yards east of the lodge. The Cowdens have built a little sundeck there and provide inner tubes and kayaks for paddling around in the relatively tame white water. That swimming hole is the kind of thing that makes you happy to be alive, and it makes a stay at Fort Lewis Lodge a great alternative to a weekend at a hot, crowded beach. I can’t imagine a nicer way to spend a summer day or two— or a better way to work up a healthy appetite.

“Eating is kind of a centerpiece of the Fort Lewis experience,” John Cowden told us when we arrived. That wasn’t news to me. A friend had visited the lodge a few weeks before, and made me a list of what she’d eaten for dinner. One night it was grilled pork tenderloin with barley and wild rice, pasta salad with dill and zucchini, glazed carrots, green salad and apple cake. The next night it was grilled beef tenderloin, crab cakes, stewed tomatoes and pumpkin muffins.

So when we arrived at Buck’s Bar (Buck is John Cowden’s nickname) for the evening social hour, a glass of local Dominion beer only whetted our already hearty appetites. We were among the first folks at the buffet table when John rang the dinner bell at 7:30 and we weren’t too proud to go back for seconds of grilled salmon with dill sauce, corn pudding, sweet potato casserole, snap peas and strawberry shortcake. Most of the vegetables were grown locally and all of the breads and desserts were made from scratch. “Everything is made to go together,” says Caryl Cowden. “It’s like you’re going to a dinner party.” Her simple, satisfying American cuisine has earned such a reputation that folks drive out of the way to dine at the lodge even if they aren’t staying for the night.

After dinner, we strolled back to our cabin, put our baby to sleep and I immediately crawled into the cozy queen-size sleigh bed while my husband soaked in the outdoor hot tub and climbed the steps to the star deck. Even though the mountain air was chill, we left the sliding glass door open so we could listen to the night sounds.

That morning, after our walk along the river and a delicious breakfast— quiche, hash browns, homemade muffins— we got back in the car. We had that feeling you get when you’ve really relaxed, the feeling of having been away for weeks even though it has only been a day or two. Thankfully, we still had one more day in Bath County, so instead of heading back east toward Staunton, where we’d spent a fun afternoon touring the town and the renowned Blackfriars Playhouse, we headed farther west on Route 39. Most of the way up Warm Springs Mountain, we pulled over to take in the view of the 9,000-plus acres of forest owned by the Nature Conservancy. Coming down the other side of the mountain dropped us nearly at the doorstep of Jefferson Pools.

If you’re looking for a luxurious spa experience, your best bet is to head five miles down the road to The Homestead. But if you’re looking for a historical spa experience, Jefferson Pools is the real deal— the octagonal, domed wooden building that houses the men’s pool house is considered the oldest spa structure in the United States. It opened to the public in 1761 and remains pretty much the same as it did when 75-year-old Thomas Jefferson took the mineral waters to soothe his rheumatism.

Leaving my husband to amuse our daughter on the lawn, I paid $17 to a gal at the entrance of the ladies pool house, which was built in 1836. She showed me to one of the dressing rooms located around the perimeter of the pool, where I shed my clothes and considered donning one of the bathing suits provided (they were sewn by a local woman years before) before deciding to stick with my own. I could have gone in the buff— since the men’s and women’s facilities are separate, clothing is optional— but I was more interested in coverage than exposure, especially after all that delicious food at Fort Lewis Lodge.

I left the dressing room and stepped down into the pool to find the water warm— 98 degrees (as opposed to 115 degrees up the road in Hot Springs)— and bearing the scent of sulfur like any good natural spring should. As I floated on my back, staring up at the round hole in the domed roof, every so often a bubble rose up from the rock floor. Four women of a certain age, friends who visit the pools every year, relaxed at the edge of the pool. Since the posted rules say “no loud talking,” we didn’t disturb each other’s peace.

My $17 entitled me to an hour-long soak in the pool, but after about 20 minutes, I was itching to do more exploring. A short drive away, while scoping a spot for our picnic lunch, we happened upon Hidden Valley Bed and Breakfast. Even more secluded than Fort Lewis Lodge, the inn is housed in an 1851 plantation home called Warwickton, which is now owned by the Forest Service. Proprietor Pam Stidham showed us around the property, which features historical slave cabins, a vast garden and a “summer kitchen” that was one of the sets for the movie “Sommersby.” On our way back to the picnic area, we chatted with a fisherman who’d just caught a few trout off the one-lane bridge that leads to the inn. Under the bridge rush the waters of Jackson River, one of the Top 100 trout locations in the nation.

Late afternoon found us pulling off Route 220 into Warm Springs, a charming hamlet with a picturesque courthouse and miniature library and post office strung out along a hill leading to the Inn at Gristmill Square. The inn is actually a collection of five 19th-century buildings housing 17 rooms and suites, and our room was one of seven housed in a former hardware and feed store. Like all of the accommodations, it was furnished with a mix of antiques and modern amenities: a king-size bed, a pair of wing-backed chairs, a fireplace with a mantel hand-carved by Hessians, a soaking tub and a flat-screen TV.
 
Just across the central stone patio was the Waterwheel Restaurant, which occupies the former grist mill of the inn’s name. The building is a national historical landmark and the water wheel remains, as does the millstone and the grain elevator. “The wheat still comes out of the walls,” says Bruce McWilliams, who runs the inn with his mother, Janice. “Every time we have a big wind storm, we see it.”
 
In the restaurant itself, tables are set down among various milling contraptions, and we enjoyed imagining the function of each as we tucked into our dinner there. Before we headed back to our room, we peeked into the bar, which occupies the home of the miller who once ran the grist mill, and walked into the basement to see the flywheel, which stands next to a wine cellar where guests can choose a bottle for their tables.

In the morning, we savored the continental breakfast delivered to our room in a picnic basket and moseyed along the gurgling river before packing up and heading back over the mountain toward the interstate. As we drove away, I thought about what Bruce McWilliams had said when I told him how much I liked Bath County, and how much I wished it were two hours from Baltimore instead of five. If that were the case, he told me, it would be much more crowded, and much less wonderful. “Bath County is a little hard to get to,” he’d said. “It takes a commitment to get here, which is part of the charm.”

STAY
> Fort Lewis Lodge, 603 Old Plantation Way, Millboro, Va., 24460, 540-925-2314, http://www.fortlewislodge.com. Rates from $215/night, including dinner and breakfast for two guests.
> The Inn at Gristmill Square, 124 Old Mill Road, Warm Springs, Va., 540-839-2231, http://www.gristmillsquare.com. Rates from $110/night.
> Hidden Valley Bed and Breakfast, 2241 Hidden Valley Road, Warm Springs, Va., 540-839-3178, http://www.hiddenvalleybedandbreakfast.com. Rates from $120/night.

PLAY
> Jefferson Pools, Warm Springs, Va., 540-839-7741, http://www.thehomestead.com/spa_at_the_homestead
> Blackfriars Playhouse, American Shakespeare Center, 10 S. Market St., Staunton, Va., 540-851-1733, http://www.americanshakespearecenter.com

For what seems like a biblically long time, there was no pizza in Charles Village, which always seemed weird, given the population of college students. But as of this spring, there’s pizza on nearly every block in the ’hood. Maxie’s (3003 N. Charles St., in the old Xando space) sells pizza by the slice topped with everything from taco fixings to chicken and ranch sauce. Sandella’s Flatbread Café (3202 St. Paul St.) offers thin cracker-style pizza, wraps and quesadillas made with their signature brick-oven flatbreads. And Ledo Pizza (3105 St. Paul St. ) will be offering their famous “we’re square because we don’t cut corners” pizza, along with subs and pasta dishes.

You say creating a satisfying relationship with your dog begins before you even buy or adopt it. What do you mean?

Ninety percent of a successful relationship with your dog is getting the right breed for you.

An honest evaluation of the time you realistically have to devote to your pet—not just now when it is new—but over the course of its life will help you decide. If you don’t have the time or desire for lots of activity or dog games, you need a breed that is laid back—Shih Tzu, Pug or Mastiff. These types need several walks per day, but then are content to lounge, sort of the couch potatoes of the dog world. Working and hunting dogs—Beagles, Golden Retrievers, Labrador Retrievers—conversely will take energy and stamina on your part to give them the physical and mental challenges they need to remain healthy and content.

Can you really teach an old dog new tricks?

Yes! And just like training a puppy, training an older dog begins the day you bring your new canine home. Remember that you are in control of your dog’s behavior, environment and training conditions. The challenge can be in controlling our own reactions and attitudes toward our pets when the improper behaviors such as barking, nipping, jumping up, or chewing don’t conform to what we deem normal social behavior.

Your books have the words “pure and simple” in the title, but if dealing with your dog is really that easy, why is there a whole industry devoted to doggy problems?

Because people seek answers from professionals only after they have a problem. The “simple” part of my book titles refer to being consistent in how you reinforce the behaviors you desire from your dog before a problem arises. Once you understand basic training techniques— using a leash both inside and outside to control behavior (something everyone can learn to do), providing the same spot daily for your pet to relieve himself— you can consistently and repeatedly implement them. Letting a professional help, even with just one training session, gives you the opportunity to experience the correct way to physically implement training techniques and to hear the correct tone of voice that is necessary for commanding, correcting and praising your dog. Dogs are not trying to be difficult. It’s that they are busy doing something more important to them at the moment.

There are so many different theories about how to train dogs. Why is that?

The main goals of training are to understand your pet’s current behavior, and then to learn communication techniques to guide your dog to appropriate behaviors. And there are several theories, as you say, toward accomplishing this. I am for any training that is humane to the dog. Sadly, some trainers believe in force to train dogs. I am against this. Other trainers use food. And yes, food can be a powerful motivator or incentive. But using food or treats alone has health consequences. Still others look to change personality traits of dogs. I believe good training does not change the dog’s inherent nature at all—it compliments it. I use consistent verbal commands and interactive activities to engage the dog. And this really is my soapbox: Beginning training the moment you bring your dog home will prevent many obedience problems—excessive barking, destructive chewing, inappropriate elimination, not coming when called —from ever becoming an issue. I can’t stress it enough.

What kind of pets do you have, and are they perfectly behaved?

My wife Dru and I have a couple of Chihuahuas and an older Welsh corgi. Are they perfect? No. They don’t sit quietly in the corner. Do they behave? Yes. These are good dogs for us. I take great pride when my pets give pleasure to others and aren’t obnoxious in a social setting. Just like with your kids: You take pride when they behave around others! We also have two horses, two Umbrella cockatoos, a Ball Python snake and a cat. One of my birds just bit the tip of my finger off. There is a lot of forgiving and acceptance at our house.

“People like to see collections of contemporary art in people’s homes,” says Contemporary Museum executive director Irene Hofmann, which is why on an early spring evening, 23 guests visited three Baltimore collectors’ homes as part of one of the museum’s popular Director’s Dinners.
 
The evening’s activities were organized as a progressive dinner party, and began with prosecco and hors d’oeuvres, including chopped mushroom crostini with truffle oil and dates stuffed with Black Diamond cheddar, served among C-prints by Shirana Shahbazi and Rineke Dijkstra and an enormous silver cloud sculpture by Iñigo Manglano-Ovalle at Hoffman’s own mid-century modern home in Green Spring Valley. Next, guests moved to the home of Larry Eisenstein and Robin Zimelman for a meal of Escolar a la Veracruz and basmati rice with coconut and pineapple, prepared by Irena Stein and her staff from Azafran Catering.
   
Pastries and coffee greeted guests at the final stop of the evening, the home of Bill Goldiner, where Erwin Wurm’s life-sized sculpture “The Artist Who Swallowed the World When it Was Still a Disc” caught the attention of more than one observer, and the powder room wallpaper designed by artist John Baldessari that read “I will not make any more boring art” caused more than one wry chuckle. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One of the best things about living near the Chesapeake Bay is our access to fresh, delicious seafood. If you’re looking for some great wines to pair with your next seafood feast, here are three wines built for the job.

> Cava
One of my favorites is a sparkling wine— Spanish Cava. Named after the underground caves where these wines are produced, Cava is a blend of three native grapes: Macabeo, Parellada and Xarel-lo. Cava has been made since the 1800s, using the same tried-and-true process developed in Champagne, France.

Sparkling Cava is typically dry and crisp with flavors of apple, pear and citrus and a touch of earthiness.  The crisp acidity and palate-cleansing bubbles make Cava a great pairing for seafood, especially clams, mussels, salmon and fried seafood. Most Cavas are in the $10-$20 range. Brands to look for include family-run estates such as Mont Marçal, as well as Cavas from larger estates such as Cristalino or Segura Viudas.

> Abariño
Another one of my “go-to” seafood wines is Spanish Albariño, which originates in Galicia. This region is almost entirely dedicated to two industries— fishing and winemaking. While much of Spain is hot and dry, Galicia is lush and green. 

Albariño is a favorite of sommeliers for its ability to match well with a variety of dishes, including seafood. Classic pairings include steamed mussels, shrimp, scallops and lobster. Albariño is also a great match for spicy seafood dishes such as paella or shellfish with Cajun spices. 

Albariños are typically medium-bodied whites with aromas of peach, apricot and citrus that are balanced by food-friendly acidity. This same grape is called Alvarinho in Portugal, where it’s used in the snappy wines of Vinho Verde, which can be a great pairing for Maryland crabs. Typically you can find good examples of Albariño for $15-$25, and brands to look for include Burgans, Morgadio, Laxas and Pazo de Señoráns.

> Muscadet  
If you like raw seafood, then you need to know about Muscadet. Hailing from the Loire Valley of France, this wine was built for raw oysters, shrimp and clams. Bracing acidity along with a citrus backbone make a sip of Muscadet as delicious as squeezing some lemon on your seafood. This wine’s fruit flavors come alive when combined with seafood. The acidity of the oysters will soften the acidity of the Muscadet, transforming this wine into a softer version of itself.

One of the best areas in the Nantes for high-quality Muscadet is Sevre et Maine and you definitely want to look for wines with that designated on the bottle. Another term specific to Muscadet is “sur lie,” and that will indicate a wine that was aged with its lees (dead yeast cells) after fermentation to add richness and complexity. The good news about Muscadet is that it is usually quite affordable, ranging from $12 to $20 per bottle. Brands to look for include Domaine de la Pepiere, Domaine de la Quilla and Domaine des Dorices.

Laurie Forster, The Wine Coach®, is a wine educator who creates corporate events, group tastings and team-building seminars. She is the author of “The Sipping Point: A Crash Course in Wine,” and can be heard each week on WBAL Radio 1090AM. Visit http://www.thewinecoach.com.

Each summer I take a stab at making homemade ice cream. I put the silver Donvier ice cream maker cylinder in the freezer and cook up a vanilla custard of cream and eggs, which I stash in the refrigerator and wait impatiently to chill before pouring it into the ice cream maker. I turn the red handle every few minutes and watch the silky liquid seize up and harden into a bumpy, yellowish mass. The ice cream tastes fabulous right out of the Donvier— creamy, eggy-rich, fresh— but after a day or two in the freezer, it turns hard, I turn sullen and it’s another summer before I make another attempt.

After experiments like this, I’m very grateful for the pioneering work of Jacob Fussell. In 1851, the dessert world changed when Fussell, a Baltimore dairy owner, made lemonade from lemons by turning a surfeit of cream into hundreds of gallons of ice cream, creating the first wholesale ice cream business in the nation.

Fussell didn’t invent ice cream; the frozen confection had been gaining in popularity in the United States since the mid-18th century (ice cream was reportedly served at the table of Sir Thomas Bladen, who served as governor of Provincial Maryland from 1742 to 1746). But ice cream was strictly a summertime treat, made in small batches at home or bought from a local confectionary. Fussell introduced ice cream as a commercial product and spawned an industry that’s given us Creamsicles, Häagen-Dazs and Klondike bars.

In the early days, purveyors like Hendler’s delivered their ice cream around the city by horse cart, each gallon buried deep in a mixture of ice and salt that required metal hooks to dislodge it from its frozen chamber.  Very quickly, however, the ice cream scene became all about mass production and efficiency. Located in East Baltimore, Hendler’s (catchphrase: “The Velvet Kind”) was the first company to use motorized, and then refrigerated, delivery trucks, the first to have a completely automated facility, and the first to abandon hand-packing for their “famous brick,” a rectangular block of ice cream also known as “the packaged pint.”

Although it seemed like Hendler’s was the ice cream of choice at every soda fountain from 1905 to 1960, there was plenty of competition from other local companies, including Arundel, Delvale, Eckels, Bonwick and Rourk, Castleman’s (known for making spumoni and tortoni for Little Italy restaurants), and Castle Farms, which had stalls in the Lexington and Broadway markets.

Despite the number of ice cream purveyors, there were really only three flavors available— vanilla, chocolate and strawberry (though you might occasionally get a seasonal peach or butter pecan). Later, local companies like Lee’s and Moxley’s picked up where commercial ice cream companies like Baskin-Robbins and Friendly’s had taken off, producing myriad flavors, like a halvah-flavored ice cream I remember from Lee’s Joppa Road store and Moxley’s eyebrow-wigglingly sour lime sorbet.
On the surface, Taharka Brothers, one of Baltimore’s more recent ice cream ventures, doesn’t fit the typical ice cream mold. “This is not your normal ice cream situation,” concedes Darius Wilmore, the company’s chief creative officer.

In the company’s compact facility on Clipper Mill Road, I watch as three impossibly tall young men transfer toffee-colored, 14 percent butterfat, salty caramel ice cream scoop by scoop from a large container into small cardboard pints. An older man with closely cropped gray hair and wearing khakis painstakingly places grapefruit halves on the reamer of a manual juicer. He pulls the handle, the grapefruit deflates and the pinkish-yellow juice, which with a little sugar and freezing will become sorbet, streams into a large glass measuring bowl. Two freezers, formerly refrigerated holds on freighters, blow minus-20-degree air around small stacks of frozen ice cream, and two carts decorated with a mosaic of colorful images wait for summer’s festivals. The whole operation seems closer to Jacob Fussell’s 19th-century experiment than a 21st-century business.

But Taharka Brothers is a social enterprise that began as the non-profit Sylvan Beach and was later revamped as the for-profit Taharka Brothers in 2008 (though still owned by Sylvan Beach), explains Sean Smeeton, the company’s CEO. Here, a handful of young African-American men make ice cream together with the goal of gaining entrepreneurial training and the confidence to go out and inspire others in the community (they also share living quarters downtown). 

“The city could use some young black leaders to make a difference, influence their peers,” says Smeeton, who sees the work at Taharka Brothers as “a platform to give an alternative vision of success.”

If this seems a lot to ask from an ice cream company, Smeeton is quick to point to Ben & Jerry’s, another ice cream company with a conscience. “Ice cream is a
social product,” Smeeton says. “It’s easy to bring people together.”

Wilmore wants Taharka Brothers’ Mount Washington “scoop shop” to be an extension of the company’s social mission.  It should reflect the vibe of Baltimore, he says, and serve as “a place of culture” that shows movies and hosts concerts and inspires the community. It should be like a big ice cream social, Smeeton suggests.

Wilmore smiles. “I want it to feel like John Waters and Tupac [Shakur] met at my Aunt Ruby’s and ice cream was served on Oakmont Avenue,” he says.
Count me in and pass the salty caramel.

Honey and Honey-Roasted Peanut Ice Cream

That adorable face on the left belongs to a kitten named Malibu. Born to an unwanted stray, Malibu turned up at the Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter a few weeks ago, in need of nursing and care. He was born with a hip problem, which restricts the mobility in his hind legs, so he had even more strikes against him than the many perfectly healthy cats and dogs that come through the doors of BARCS each year (some 11,000 to 12,000!) in need of shelter.

I first encountered Malibu on the BARCS Facebook page and couldn’t forget him. He needed a foster home to take him in and care for him until he was 2 months old and would be available for adoption. I monitored the Facebook page daily, keeping tabs on his progress and spreading the word to anyone I could, to try to find him a foster home. Fortunately, Malibu’s story is a happy one: within a few days, a volunteer had stepped up and taken him in— feeding him, taking him to veterinary appointments and looking after him.  And soon after, another caring (and lucky) individual adopted him and took Malibu to his new “forever home.”

BARCS and the other animal shelter organizations such as the Maryland SPCA and the Baltimore Humane Society (as well as their dedicated staffs and many selfless volunteers) do an amazing job of loving and caring for animals in need in our area. (Disclosure: I recently joined the BARCS board.) Hopefully this first-ever issue of Style dedicated to pets will not only illuminate a topic so near and dear to many of us, but it’ll also introduce you to some of the people that really make a difference in the lives of animals and pets everywhere.

Not every homeless animal gets the happy ending that Malibu has. I hope that as you peruse these pages, you’ll think about how you might help the strays of Baltimore, either through the joy of adopting a pet, or through the satisfaction of donating some time, supplies or funds to a deserving organization. Thankfully, people’s awareness of BARCS and the work they do every day is growing, and the number of animals’ lives they are able to save on a yearly basis is increasing— but it’s not enough to save every one. Yet. Please consider how you might save an animal’s life (and welcome a loving pet into your home) right now. You’ll never have a better friend. 
 
Brian Michael Lawrence
editor-in-chief
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http://www.baltimorestyle.com

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Christine Mason started Nectar in 2007 with an adorable Canton Square storefront, her dog Kiki and up-and-coming designer pieces that would help her clients look “polished, approachable and endearing but never showy.” While Kiki and Christine’s fashion point of view have remained, Nectar has now moved to Fells Point. What else is new? Christine has stocked up on the amazing new fall evening looks from Lilly Pulitzer and great wrap dresses and cardis by Plenty by Tracy Reese. Nectar fans will still find favorites like bold cotton dresses from Envi, infant sunhats from San Diego Hat Co. and Scentations By the Sea Tide candles and room diffusers, plus jewelry by local artists. Don’t miss: The wrap leather La Mer watches with charms and chains. 1628 Thames St., 410-522-7722

West Meets East

When Jamie and Timothy Frank built their Northern Baltimore County home six years ago, they knew exactly what they wanted. When it came time to construct a pool house, however, they needed more creative guidance, so they hired Patrick Jarosinski of PDJ Associates after seeing another pool house he had designed. “The original scope began as an open pavilion, and transformed into a fully conditioned living space,” says Jarosinski. The pool house has an open plan with a cathedral ceiling, a fireplace, banquette and bar fully equipped for entertaining, a bathroom, laundry facilities, an outdoor shower, air conditioning and radiant heat.

The pool house blends with the main house with its Butler stone foundation, board-and-batten siding and metal roof, but stands on its own by virtue of its rustic, cozy interior. “We spend time in Deer Valley, Utah and love the architecture there, so this is our mini-Western home in Maryland,” says Jamie. From mid-April to mid-October, Jamie moves her office into the pool house so she can look out over the pool and onto the beautiful vistas while she works on home projects. Throughout the year, the family loves to entertain guests poolside. “We’ve had a few parties, but the most memorable by far was a sit-down dinner for 22 that we had last spring— the fireplaces were going, and lots of candles. It was a beautiful evening!” —Lauren Hooper

Architect: Patrick D. Jarosinski & Associates, Inc., 410-527-3750; Landscape architect: Bob Jackson Landscapes, Inc., 410-356-1620; Pool contractor: Lothorian Pools, 410-667-7665; Interior design: Hall & Co., 410-296-8499.

Grecian Influence
As the owner explains, when she and her husband decided to build a pool house, they wanted something that looked like it could’ve always belonged on the property. “I needed it to have a formal feel,” she says, to match the style of the family’s Greek Revival-style home in Roland Park. So they hired architect Patrick Jarosinski, and forged a year-long partnership which resulted in what Jarosinski calls “a beautiful collaboration.”

Inside the pool house’s main chamber, a black, wrought-iron chandelier hangs from the sky-blue, white-paned barrel-vaulted ceiling. White, custom marble tiles line the floor, trimmed with a black, Greek key border. Arched doorways lead to wings on the left and right. Centered on the back wall is a black granite fireplace, flanked by cabinets that conceal a wine rack and storage areas.

Furniture includes a black sleeper sofa and comfy, upholstered chairs in greys and polka dots. Four ottomans add punch, clad in rich red, green, blue and orange leathers. “The furniture is very architectural, and very comfortable,” says Jarosinsk. Bright, contemporary artworks portraying parts of historic Baltimore (all by artist and neighbor Greg Otto) decorate the walls.

Two separate bathroom/changing rooms flank the main living space in the poolhouse, and through another doorway next to the bathroom on the right is a kitchenette equipped with a large sink, overhead cabinets, dishwasher, stainless steel warming drawer and washer/dryer.

The family and their four children all use the pool house year-round, even through the winter. “We escape to the pool house,” says the owner. “We come out here to laugh.” Jarosinski, who’s designed his share of poolhouses, observes, “It’s different than a normal pool house. This is a special place.” —Greg Howard

Architect: Patrick D. Jarosinski & Associates, Inc., 410-527-3750; Landscape design: Foxborough Nursery, 410-879-4995; Stone mason: Primo Doria, 410-667-1616; Contractor: Ilex Construction & Development, 410-243-6796

Outdoor Living
When Nancy Getter and her husband, Keith, decided to re-do the pool area behind their Guilford home in 2006, they wanted something that the entire family could use throughout the entire year, and decided that just a pool house wouldn’t cut it. So they transformed the area into a liveable space with specific areas for different activities. “We wanted something beautiful to look at,” Nancy explains. “And we wanted it to be very open.” Laura Thomas of Melville Thomas Architects was brought in to design the new pool area. After the initial construction was completed, the Getters enlisted designer Dan Proctor of Kirk Designs to add some panache to the outdoor space.

The pool house itself occupies a corner at the rear of the pool. Built of stone and sturdy cedar, it contains a bathroom, storage area and a small locker room for guests to change clothes. Outside, a white porch roof supported by pillars extends a few feet into the courtyard, providing shade for the seating area. Wisteria vines snake down the cedar wall, and music speakers dangle from the roof. “My husband’s out there almost every night in nice weather,” says Nancy of the area where one can relax, read, listen to music or follow a baseball game.

Tucked into another corner of the pool patio under a pergola is a dining area complete with a fireplace wall. “The fireplace is the greatest thing,” says Nancy, remarking that the family made s’mores in the fireplace during the Blizzard of 2010. “We use the fireplace all year long,” she says. A wrought-iron fan spins lazily overhead, while a couch, two chairs and a glass table sit in the center of the space.

In another corner of the pool area is an outdoor kitchen. A stainless steel grill is set within a stone wall, flanked on one side by a stainless-steel fridge, and on the other, by a stainless-steel beer tap.

About the pool area, completed in 2007, Getter says with a smile: “It changed the way we live, and we’re always ready to entertain guests.” she says. “It’s an easy way to bring people together.” —Greg Howard

Architect: Melville Thomas Architects, 410-443-4400; Interior design: Kirk Designs, 410-468-0798; General contractor: Victor Boehm Building Co., 410-561-0700; Landscape architect: Mark Willard & Associates, 410-666-2872; Pool contractor: Lothorian Pools, 410-667-7665.

Bob DiDonato, 48
years vending: 29 years
products sold: Beer, water and ice cream  
day job: Business development/engineer, Thales Communications

“Initially I started for the love of baseball, then got addicted to the competition inherent in vending. Every night, just about every one of us wants to [outsell] all the other vendors. [They] keep running tallies that we check. While we can’t always beat everyone (Clancy is so good it’s extra special whenever any of us beat him), we’ll take anything we can get— the most hot dogs, the vendor who sells the most product in our vending room, individual battles between two vendors, and so on. Usually beer is the best product to take, but on Sundays, it’s a whole new game— water, lemonade and ice cream can outsell beer, so the whole ‘best vendor of the day’ game expands. Other than the [official] list, nobody keeps tabs or anything like that— just a bit of pride on the days that you win.”

“Fancy” Clancy Haskett, 51
years vending: 36
products sold: Budweiser and Bud Light
day job: Maryland State Highway traffic engineer, vice president for All Pro Vending

“I started pouring them ‘fancy’ the second-to-last year at Memorial Stadium in 1990. I poured one beer in a cup with one hand and then somebody said, ‘That’s pretty fancy, Clancy.’ And I thought, ‘That sounds pretty cool— Fancy Clancy— and that’s where I got the [nickname] from. So I started pouring one beer in a cup with one hand and styling a little bit with it, and then I just started pouring another beer in the other hand and so I was pouring two beers at the same time with two hands. [The fans] started saying, ‘Hey that’s pretty cool, Fancy Clancy!’ And then I started getting real stylish, pouring beers behind my back, and that caught on.”

Perry Hahn, aka “RoboVendor,” 49
years vending: 31
products sold: “Whatever fish are biting”
day job: Engineer/Inventor

“I made four attempts to build a successful mechanical beer can opener. The current design was first used in 1991 in the closing months at Memorial Stadium. It hurt my sales more than it helped because it was constantly breaking down. Nevertheless, I persisted on this design because I saw a lot of potential. The very last day of that season I sold 26 cases of beer using my contraption. It broke down six times during the game. Each time, I would get out my tools and spare parts to fix the thing, and the crowd would give me a standing ovation when I started to sell beer again. By my reckoning, that was the first time that my device helped my sales more than it hurt them. Early the next season, the fans in the center-field bleachers at Camden Yards started referring to me as ‘RoboVendor’.”

Bill Birrane, 38
years vending: 3
products sold: Beer, ice cream, water, hot dogs  
day job: Real estate sales

“You can’t beat the atmosphere. It’s a great workout— I don’t need to go to the gym. There’s great camaraderie among the vendors. There are pretty girls and, of course, the baseball. [One time] a young lady bought a hot dog and asked me to feed it to her. I assisted with the first bite! It’s important to be friendly, courteous and quick. If you can build a rapport with the fans you’ll do even better. ... When the baseball season is over I’ll be going back to the gym, but I prefer running the steps with two cases of beer.” 

Howard Hart, 57
years vending: 28
products sold: Beer, ice cream, water
day job: Vending

“No matter how bad the baseball is, each night is filled with hope. Maybe this game I see a no-hitter, maybe a guy hits three home runs. Maybe the game comes down to the final out, or maybe I see a play unlike any I have ever seen. Maybe tonight an old friend shows up at the park, or maybe I take time to see the joy in the faces of the children. It’s been difficult to do lately— I’m breaking down some physically— and the teams have been of such poor quality. But the beauty is still out there. You just need to pick through the garbage to find it. And, of course, hope springs eternal.”

Jeffrey “J.Jay” Hahn, 38
years vending: 20th for Orioles, 23rd total
product sold: Beer
day job: Systems engineer

“Vending has provided me with the opportunity to travel and see major sporting events— Kentucky Derbys, Super Bowls, World Series, Belmont Stakes, Preakness— most of which I would not have had the chance to even get a ticket. Usually [I don’t watch the game], I get the highlights. I hear the crack of the bat or the roar of the crowd. I look to see the end of the play, then sell more beer.”

Daniel Hahn, aka “Danny the Beer Man,” 46
years vending: 29
products sold: Budweiser, mostly
day job: Marketing, Mel Schneider Title

“For the past 15 years, I’ve been selling Bud at third base at Orioles games, lower bowl in the northwest corner for the Ravens, and first base for the Nationals. Fans may not get consistency from their teams, but they’ll get it from me. Through the years I may have been able to sell more of other brands due to brewer marketing programs. However, I stay true to Bud. I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t. It’s in my fridge.”

Michael Kelly, 31
years vending: 5
product sold: Beer  
day job: Baltimore City fireman

“My most memorable game was when I caught a Jason Giambi home run ball with the peanut bag slung over my shoulder and then got a standing ovation from the 30 guys still in the bleachers when I tossed it back onto the field. I also found myself dating a girl for a couple months after I found her phone number written on a five-dollar bill.”

Tim Lovell, 46 & Katie Lovell, 36
years vending: 14 and 13
products sold: Mostly beer
day job: Tim, 7th-grade science teacher; Katie, children’s speech pathologist

Katie: “We met in ’97 at the park and ‘hung out’ for about a year before we became an item. We dated for a while and got married in 2003, with a lot of the vendors there.”

Tim: “It’s nice to go into work together, hang out after the game for a midnight snack or a few beers, come home together, all while making extra money and getting exercise. We usually work in different sections, but if we end up in the same one, we try to split up the section so we can both do well. We may see each other in passing in the aisles or in the vending room, but the faster we move, the more we can sell, so there’s not a lot of time for socializing. We aren’t competitive about sales with each other, we just try to stay away from each other so we can both do well. That’s really our vending philosophy with all vendors. Some games I sell more, some games Katie sells more. It depends on the section for the night, the crowd, our energy level— and some luck, too.”

Greg Schwalenberg, 58
years vending: 31
products sold: Beer
day job: Curator, Babe Ruth Birthplace Museum and Sports Legends Museum at Camden Yards

“I got started by answering a ‘help wanted’ ad in The Baltimore Sun for Memorial Stadium vendors back in 1979. At the time I was working at the Walters Art Gallery [now Walters Art Museum] and could always use a little extra cash. I was going to most of the Orioles home games anyway, so I figured why not take advantage of the situation and make some money at the same time? Unfortunately, you really don’t get to watch much of the game while you vend.”

Robert Yore, 46
years vending: 19
product sold: Beer (usually Miller Lite) 
day job: High school math teacher

“One night I was calling out my beer and walking up an aisle out in the left-field lower box seats when I saw a Baltimore icon and the best sports announcer I’ve ever heard, Chuck Thompson. When I got to his aisle, I put down my case of beers, poured one from my case and sent it down his row. I yelled down that the beer was from me and that it was for him, and then stole his famous call by shouting out, “Ain’t the beer cold?” The next day, when he was on WBAL talking about the game, he told the story on air of how a beer man gave him a beer the night before and although he didn’t get the beer man’s name, it was one of the nicest things that had ever happened to him at the ballpark. He’ll never know how much I enjoyed listening to him over the years, but being able to do something nice for him, and hearing that he enjoyed the moment, made me feel good. Even today, I still miss Chuck Thompson.”

Behind the Beers  
No surprises here: the vendors at Oriole Park prefer to hawk beer, since customers are more likely to tip for a cold Budweiser than, say, a cone of cotton candy. But since not every vendor can sell beer, they’re ranked according to their sales over the course of the season. The one with the highest sales volume gets first pick of product and location, and so on until all products and sections are divided. “For each game there are only a certain amount of products to select from,” explains 31-year vending veteran Greg Schwalenberg. “So, if there are only 25 beer cards to select and you are vendor number 26, you will get a less desirable product.”

The vendors at Oriole Park, who work for facilities management and food services company Aramark, receive a 17 percent commission on sales (or 17.5 percent for those who work the tougher upper decks), which works out to be $1.23 per bottle for beer vendors. Although vendors do not receive an hourly wage, good ones can make approximately $200 to $300 in commissions and tips on a busy night with a good team in town. If the Orioles are winning, that usually translates into higher beer sales. “The most I’ve sold in a night is about 25 cases of beer, which was about $550,” says Bob Yore, who’s been vending for 19 seasons. “That’s only happened a few times, and certainly not this year.”

Jayne Miller, WBAL-TV chief investigative reporter, with Cooper
Jayne Miller thought her new dog was defective. The first time her chocolate lab, Cooper, jumped into the water, Miller saw he couldn’t swim. “I was used to Labradors who were excellent swimmers, but he was just thrashing. It was embarrassing,” she recalls. “I jumped in the water and tried to tell him to level out, to doggie paddle. But he was in a total panic! I called the breeder, and I said, ‘He’s a defect.’ She said, ‘Just give him time.’ So, sure enough by the next year, he was swimming. Now he loves the water.”
 
Cooper is the latest in a long line of dogs Miller has owned dating back to her childhood in Pennsylvania. Her last chocolate lab, Pup, lived 16 ½ years. When he died five years ago, Miller headed to the famed Wild Goose Kennels in Federalsburg on the Eastern Shore and picked out Cooper. “He’s actually a relative of Buddy, the chocolate lab that [President] Clinton got during the Lewinsky scandal,” she says. “And when that dog died, they went back to the breeder and got another chocolate lab, Seamus. [Seamus] and Cooper share the same dad.”
 
Cooper usually wakes Miller early in the morning and the two go for a 20- to 30-minute walk. More often than not they head to the Canton Dog Park, a fenced-in, several-acre plot at the corner of South Bouldin and Toone streets. Miller, who sits on the park’s board of directors, is currently trying to raise funds to improve the site. The TV reporter wants everybody— especially those in city government— to know the importance of dog parks for downtown residents.
 
“You have to understand, dogs provide two really important things for people: one is companionship; the other is security. I tell everybody: You want people to live downtown, you have to have a place to accommodate their dogs.”
 
And Miller, whose dog was a faithful companion during her recovery from brain surgery several years ago, simply couldn’t imagine life without one. “Dogs just make life brighter,” she says. “Even on your darkest day a dog can make you smile. You come home after a lousy day and there’s nothing quite like that sound when the door opens.”  —Joe Sugarman

Dorothy Hamill, Olympic figure skater, with Pan and Penny
Dorothy Hamill was one of those kids when it came to pets. You know, the kind who brings home every stray cat or rabbit and begs her mom to let her keep it. “I used to sneak them into the house,” admits Hamill, who grew up in Greenwich, Conn. “People would say, ‘Do you want a kitten?’ And I’d say, ‘Sure!’ My parents were pretty good about it, though.”

These days, Hamill has just two pets: a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Penny and a long-hair German shepherd, originally her husband, John’s, named Pan. (“As in the Greek god of shepherds,” she points out.)

Hamill says she fell in love with Penny the first time she saw her at a pet shop.

“There was just something about her. She wasn’t barking, she was up on her hind legs and wagging her tail with excitement and peeing on it at the same time. I didn’t know anything about Cavaliers. She just spoke to me. I couldn’t leave her there.”

Penny and Pan get along well, says Hamill, despite, or maybe because of, the 80-pound difference in their weights. “Pan is very protective of her, but every once in a while he’ll put her in her place. He’s a little scary looking, but he’s just a big baby.”

The dogs spend a good part of the day outside, barking at deer, squirrels, red-tail foxes or the cats that live next door to the couple’s north Baltimore County property. Often, Hamill and Penny will go on “goose duty,” scaring the Canada geese that frequent the pond, upon which Hamill skates when it freezes.
 
But mostly, Penny is the ultimate lap dog, never far from her owner’s side.  “[Dogs] provide that unconditional love,” says Hamill, who often brings Penny along when she travels. “They never complain. They just want to be loved. ... And they’re such wonderful company.” —Joe Sugarman

Julie Mercer, Senior Director, American Red Cross, with chico
It all started with Bill, Hillary and Chelsea. They may not be the former first family, but Julie Mercer’s birds quickly took on some of the characteristics of their namesakes. “About four years ago, [my husband] Raphael came home from a shopping trip with a gilded bird cage,” Mercer explains. “Two days later, he purchased two cockatiels, who we named ‘Bill’ and ‘Hillary’... Bill quickly learned to whistle ‘Hail to the Chief’ and inquire ‘Where’s Monica?’ Later, we acquired a third cockatiel and named her ‘Chelsea.’”
 
Mercer, who had always been a cat lover, explains that her passion for birds began after meeting Raphael. After the couple bought those first cockatiels, they fell in love with a baby cockatoo named ‘Chico’ at the store. Then Mercer discovered ‘Sweet Pea’ at the same shop and adopted her to be Chico’s cagemate.
 
“Sweet Pea said ‘I love you’ as I passed her cage, and that simple phrase sealed her fate,” says Mercer. “After Sweet Pea’s adoption, we learned her life story. Not from the shop, but from Sweet Pea herself. She revealed two distinct personalities: a nasty one, ‘Mary,’ and a sweet one, ‘Candy.’  She can sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ offer a kiss and say ‘thank you.’  She can also curse like a sailor, drink wine from my glass and bite viciously until she draws blood.”
 
Chico is a little more predictable, and he can typically be found on Raphael’s shoulder as he waters plants outside their Mount Vernon home. “Like many pets and their owners,”says Mercer, “the two have begun to resemble each other.”
 
After buying two more parrots, the couple now owns six birds—Hillary flew away a few years ago— and four cats. “As you can imagine, they all contribute to a noisy, chaotic living situation, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.” —Lauren Hooper

Kathy Harvey, president of Harvey and Daughters Branding, with Bert, Hap and Zeke
Bert and Hap are golden retrievers, and Zeke is a black Labrador. To Kathy Harvey, president of the marketing firm Harvey & Daughters Branding, her dogs are her children. Hap is the brat of the three, always hogging the attention. Zeke, the oddball of the group, is the most determined beggar, always vying for a free meal. And although Bert’s the youngest, he’s the most mature. Very reserved, he rarely makes a sound unless his mouth is full.

And to the rest of the staff at H&D, they might as well be co-workers, since they come into the office every day. 

“I’ve brought dogs to work since day one,” Harvey says. “They’re mama’s boys.”

That much is obvious. Though the dogs have free rein of the large, trendy-looking office, they rarely leave Harvey’s side. The dogs range from 9 to 10 years old, but probably behave better than most kids that age. In fact, Harvey says they’re assets to the family business because they keep everyone calm.

“They get upset if there’s a stressful meeting going on,” she says. If things get real bad, they’ll hide in the corner until the tension subsides. “I don’t know what I would do without them.”  —Gregory Howard

Suzan Garabedian, first vice president, SunTrust bank, with Saint
Every once in a while, someone comes along who changes your life. Even less often, you meet someone who saves it. For Suzan Garabedian, that someone was Saint, her 14-year-old Dalmatian.
 
Garabedian began her banking career at SunTrust in her hometown of Richmond, Va. When SunTrust acquired Loyola Federal Savings and Loan 15 years ago, she relocated to Baltimore to manage the human resources department at the new branch. The first few months, she worked 12 to 14 hours, seven days a week. As the days blurred, she feared she was working herself to death. So she bought a puppy, Saint.

“She brought me back to life,” says Garabedian. “She’s my great friend.”
   
Owning Saint meant that Garabedian would have to leave the office throughout the day to walk her dog, feed her and forge what would become an inseparable bond. Now, Garabedian speaks to Saint as if she’s an old friend, sharing stories from their past. “When I traveled for over three days at a time, I would wear really red lipstick and kiss her on her forehead so my friends would know that I’m gone. I still do that, don’t I, girl?” she says, gesturing toward Saint.
 
During one Fourth of July parade in Federal Hill, where she lives, Garabedian painted red and blue spots on Saint. Everyone loved Saint’s “costume,” and Saint won the award for best pet. “After the parade, the blue washed off, but the red didn’t,” Garabedian says, chuckling. “She had red spots for a few months!” —G.H.

Sharon Akers, Executive Director, Edward St. John Foundation, with Colonel 
“I think I was born wanting a horse. As far back as I can remember, at Halloween I’d ask for a horse, at Easter I’d ask for a horse, for birthdays I’d ask for a horse,” says Sharon Akers. When Akers, who was trained in English riding, finally got the OK from her parents to get a horse of her own, it came with one condition: she had to be old enough to have a car and buy the gas to drive out and visit it. Her lifelong dream came true when she bought her first horse at age 18, and she’s never looked back.
  
Colonel, a 19-year-old, 1,200-pound registered quarter horse gelding, is the fourth horse she has owned, and it’s easy to see why she is so attached to him. “He doesn’t realize he’s a horse— he thinks he’s a big dog. He comes when you call him, bows and gives kisses. This is a horse that a lot of kids have learned to ride on, and I put adults on him that are first-time riders,” says Akers. “It’s funny, though, I used to say to him, ‘One of these days, if you have anyone who treats you like a horse, you won’t know what to do.’”
  
Akers laughs when she describes how much she’s spoiled Colonel in the 16 years she’s owned him. “Colonel has led a very luxurious life. He’s had a lot of TLC,” she says. “But he has given me so much back. I cannot even begin to share some of the good times when we’ve been out walking through the woods. When things get upsetting or I’m under pressure, I get on the horse and all my stress and cares are gone away and I can think clearly.” Though Colonel lives on a 100-acre farm in Howard County, Akers tries to get there as much as she can. “I’m happiest when I’m on horseback,” she says. “My theory is, it’s much cheaper than therapy.” —Lauren Hooper

Stephanie Rawlings-Blake, Mayor of Baltimore City, with Beluga
In 1997, when Stephanie Rawlings-Blake bought her first house as a single 27-year-old woman, her family recommended that she get a dog for companionship. As it happened, a family friend’s bouvier had recently had a litter (thanks to a visit from their neighbor’s black Labrador, who jumped the fence) and Rawlings-Blake took home the fattest puppy, appropriately named Beluga. In the early days of Beluga’s puppyhood, Rawlings-Blake would rush home between work and court and City Council meetings to walk him.
 
Growing up, she’d always wanted a Chihuahua. Beluga is about the furthest thing from that: he’s big and fluffy and low-key— and just about the least fussy dog you’ve ever met. The now-13-year-old Beluga pulls Rawlings-Blake this way and that, panting and prancing and, above all, drooling. (It was a good thing she came to the Style photo shoot armed with wet wipes because Beluga tagged her bodyguard’s sleeve.)
 
“My daughter thinks of Beluga as her little brother,” says Rawlings-Blake.
 
Though Beluga was originally Rawlings-Blake’s dog, he’s now glued to her husband, Kent’s, side. “It’s like I don’t exist,” she says. “They have a boys’ club. My husband calls him ‘the great equalizer,’ because he’s the other man in the family.”
 
Beluga commits occasional transgressions— he likes to sneak cheese and eat clothes— but Rawlings-Blake says he’s a great guard dog. “He barks at everything. He’s the alarm system for the neighborhood,” she says. “And he’s been a good friend.” —Laura Wexler

Oh, the stories the parking lot at 6000 Baltimore National Pike could tell. Of first dates and teenage make-out sessions. Of dead batteries and tires stuck in the mud. Of popcorn and hot dogs, B movies and cartoons. If this lot, which now serves a Home Depot, could give up its secrets, it would reveal the world that was the Edmondson Drive-In.

In the 1950s, drive-ins flourished around Baltimore, and the Edmondson came into full flower in 1954 under the design hand of Jack Vogel (who later built and then ran the Bengies, Baltimore’s only remaining drive- in) and ownership of George Brehm Sr., who transformed a grassy field into a gravel lot with an enormous screen, concession stand, playground and parking for 1,200 cars. A giant, stylized marquee with a big lighted arrow pointed folks into the lot, where a forest of speakers stood on poles like miniature birdhouses. Families with small children, couples on dates and groups of young folks looking for an inexpensive summer night out flocked there throughout the mid-’60s, the drive-in’s heyday. The promise of two movies for around $2.50 per car was a deal too sweet to pass up.

“The trick was to book the best possible main picture with the worst co-feature available,” Brehm told The Sun in a 1983 interview. “You opened with a good show but you wanted the bad show [to be] so bad it would drive most of the audience out so you could get a whole new crowd in for the second showing of the first picture. We made an awful lot of money off some awful bad pictures.”

My husband and his roommate saw an awful lot of those awful bad pictures in the ’80s. “[The drive-in] has a certain aesthetic that can’t be duplicated,” reflects the roommate, Chris Dreisbach, director of Applied Ethics and Humanities in the Division of Public Safety Leadership at Johns Hopkins University. “The idea that everybody is sort of by themselves together, all in same space sharing the same experience.”

You went, he explains, because you wanted to be outside, you wanted to laugh and you didn’t want to have to think too much. The movie was somehow secondary, though “it had to be a B movie,” he says, “[especially horror movies] like ‘The Last House on the Left’ or ‘Legend of Boggy Creek.’

Although Dreisbach attended drive-ins in his native Minnesota, the Edmondson, he says, seemed particularly evocative of Baltimore. “There was something kind of unpretentious and traditional about it and the way people were drawn to it, much like some would be drawn to some long-standing tradition,” he says. “Harbor East doesn’t strike me as Baltimore, but Edmondson does.” John Waters and Barry Levinson must have shared the same sentiment, as the drive-in made appearances in “Polyester,” “Serial Mom” and “Tin Men.”

If the Edmondson symbolized the simple pleasure of watching movies outside, Westview Cinemas was its opposite— all sophistication and luxury. The epitome of the suburban “new frontier,” Westview, a sleek, flat-roofed beauty of white granite and glass, held court from a small hill overlooking the dowdy drive-in.  A swooping white roof jutted over the entrance to create a modern porte-cochere, and heated sidewalks prevented snow and ice from accumulating.

Built in 1965 for Brehm and Joseph Einbinder by Fenton and Lichtig (the architectural firm also responsible for the Hillendale Theatre), the theater’s original color scheme featured navy, gold and green in its sweeping curtains, patterned carpet and cushy Heywood-Wakefield seats with padded arms and reclining backs. It had a massive Technikote screen measuring 51 feet wide by 22 feet high. But the lobby was the real star, with its crystal chandeliers and small pool with a life-size statue of a female water bearer in ancient dress at center.

Like many cinemas of the era, the Westview started out with one screen and then multiplied. By the end of its life, the theater held 10 screens, one devoted to arthouse movies (“Henry and June,” the first film rated NC-17, played there in the early ’90s). The entirely forgettable Bette Midler vehicle “That Old Feeling” was the last film shown.

In that 1983 interview in which he discussed his wily strategy at the drive-in, Brehm remarked that “the land has become more valuable than the drive-in that’s built on it” and that he had turned down “tempting offers.” By 1991, he’d given in to temptation and closed the Edmondson Drive-In. Westview Cinemas lasted until 1997, when it was torn down to become a Circuit City (now the site of a brand new HH Gregg appliance and electronics store). Only the Edmondson’s marquee remains, its arrow pointing down the hill to the Home Depot.

Who doesn’t have fond childhood memories of grilled cheese sandwiches? No one, that’s who. Now, a new fast/casual restaurant in Catonsville,  Grilled Cheese & Co., lets you be a kid again with a menu of nothing but— you guessed it— grilled cheese sandwiches. Everything from a simple classic rendition to gourmet combos featuring bacon and tomatoes (Style’s favorite), barbecued chicken, crabmeat, grilled ham and a slew of different kinds of cheese is offered on the menu. (There are also salads and soups.) Prices for sandwiches are in the $5 to $7.50 range, and the owners are hoping to franchise the idea into a chain.  500 Edmondson Ave., Catonsville, 410-747-2610

The intersection of Hanover Street and Fort Avenue is now home to Bluegrass, a charming and friendly new neighborhood restaurant and tavern. Although it’s housed
in an all-new building, the feel is rustic and authentic, and that describes the menu as well.  Chef Patrick Morrow’s Southern roots come through with the menu’s concentration on grilled game meats, extensive charcuterie offerings, and classic Dixie fare such as pimento cheese and crackers, crawfish hush puppies, aged cheddar grits, chicken-fried quail salad and a classic muffuletta— and cornbread in a hot cast-iron skillet comes with every order. Need more to tempt you? How about a Gunpowder Bison strip loin served with spoonbread and Sea Island peas or the grilled Berkshire pork chop with roasted apples, baked heirloom beans and a root beer sauce? And the bar prides itself on its collection of fine bourbons. There are dining rooms upstairs and down, and large windows on the street level swing open to the outdoor sidewalk seating area, perfect for warm weather dining. Open for dinner Tuesday through Sunday, lunch on Thursday and Friday and for brunch on weekends. 1500 S. Hanover St., 410-244-5101

Virginia Byrnes has finally opened a Mount Washington Mill branch of Dogma— “life, with your pet”— but thankfully the store has retained its charming downtown vibe. Dogs will dig delicacies from Taste of the Wild, local raw creation K-9 Kraving and even organic food from Karma. For dessert? Buster will beg for cookies from the “barkery.” Pick up a new plush toy (no surprise, a creation called Grandma Hippie is the No. 1 seller here) or a summery ribbon leash. There is professional grooming by appointment, but DIY-ers can scrub Spot in one of the self-serve baths. Now go fetch Savvy a Southside, will you? Good dog. Don’t miss: Savvy’s favorite felines are huge fans of the original Scratch Lounge. This cat bed/scratching post/mess-free-catnip-roll-around-spot is simply one of the most brilliant pet products ever invented. 1340-G Smith Ave. (next to Whole Foods Market), Suite B, 443-708-4420

When you first lay eyes on him— a wiry figure with shaggy hair, surprisingly young features, clad in a simple, navy suit— you would never guess that architect Brian Swanson regularly rubs shoulders with some of the richest, most famous people in the world. But when you hear him speak— very quietly, with a precise, almost regal accent— you get the feeling that there’s more than meets the eye.  It’s not Swanson’s voice as much as the passion that emanates from it when he’s talking about his career, his family, his life and his journey from apartheid South Africa to Baltimore.

Born in Cape Town, Swanson grew up in a period of tremendous political unrest and economic recession. Somewhat mirroring the ’60s civil rights era in the United States, South Africa was ripe with interracial conflict.  “The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife,” Swanson says.  “I was often scared for my own safety.”

Swanson has loved architecture for as long as he can remember, and after attending architecture school at the University of Natal in Durban, he signed on with an international architectural firm in Durban. While in Durban, he also met his future wife, Margaret, whom he married in 1973. By 1977, he was promoted, and moved to the Johannesburg branch.  “We had to build commercial shopping centers, hotels, restaurants… I was in my 20s,” recollects Swanson. “You had to do everything in those days.”

He did do everything, and in 1979, his work paid off.  When the Johannesburg branch shut down due to civil turmoil in the city, Swanson was selected to travel to America to work for the firm in Maryland.
Swanson worked for the firm for four more years, mainly building commercial shopping centers.  He left the company to work for a Baltimore-based firm.  In 1983, at an industry conference in New Orleans, he met New Yorker Dan Barteluce, then a principal of the architectural firm HTI.  They immediately hit it off, and the next week Swanson found himself traveling to New York, where Barteluce offered him a position to head up a satellite office in Baltimore, which he did until 1986. 

Then he and Margaret started Swanson Design. “It was myself and my wife, really, just running the show,” Swanson says. “For two years, we were really producing amazing designs,” he remembers fondly.

When Barteluce launched Barteluce Architects & Associates in 1989, he asked Swanson to join up as a consultant on a project- by-project basis (he was named creative designer for the firm in 2004). In that capacity, Swanson was traveling weekly to Manhattan, and the firm grew throughout the ’90s.  In 1996, the firm won the contract to design stores for the jewelry chain Cartier.  “A pivotal moment,” according to Swanson.  After succeeding with Cartier, they secured other high-end retail contracts in America: Burberry. Chanel. Roberto Cavalli. Fendi. Dolce & Gabbana. Before he knew it, Swanson was jetting across the country, building stores for the most exclusive fashion brands in the world.       

Then, in 2006, billionaire entrepreneur Steve Wynn called.  He was opening the Encore at Wynn Las Vegas, a resort, hotel and casino comprised of two giant towers connected by an enclosed shopping promenade.  Wynn wanted to lace the strip with a collection of the most exclusive stores in the world—  including Chanel and Hermés— and he wanted Barteluce Architects to design them. “Sometimes I pinch myself, really,” admits Swanson. “I don’t know if it gets much better than that.”

But maybe it does. In between his two dozen or so trips to Vegas, Swanson was hired by model/TV personality Tyra Banks to build and design her new apartment, located a block from the World Trade Center site. He’s got business in Russia with the giant retail chain TSUM and he’s currently competing to win the global rollout contracts of Hugo Boss and Lacoste. 

Still, with all his traveling and business success, he remains modest and mindful of his South African roots.  “I try to go back as often as possible,” Swanson says, smiling. “It’s like getting into a nice, warm bath.” 

Jordan’s Steakhouse was a Main Street staple in Ellicott City for quite a while, but came to a sad end last year. Now Portalli’s has opened on the spot and brought classic Italian cuisine to the neighborhood. The new owners have brought in chef Keith Holsey to run the kitchen and have kept the layout of the restaurant intact, but brightened it up with new paint and lighting. The menu features traditional Italian pasta dishes, meats and fish, as well as Italian-inspired dishes such as seasonal gnocchi and a crab and risotto cake with roasted red pepper sauce and parsley pesto.  Open daily for lunch and dinner. 8085 Main St., Ellicott City, 410-720-2330

Occupying the anchor spot vacated by oZ Chophouse, Venegas Prime Filet brings a steakhouse menu back to Maple Lawn. The layout of the space— large main dining room and adjoining circular barroom— remains the same, but the decor has been given an overhaul. Now decked out in earthy shades of orange and gold, the interiors are glamorous and swank, with a Mediterranean influence. The list of cuts is classic steakhouse fare— filet, Porterhouse, New York strip, rib-eye, hanger, Delmonico— and the twist is a list of sauces (au poivre, béarnaise, hollandaise, cabernet) and butters (gorgonzola, herb and garlic, rosemary-sea salt), as well as habanero salsa and horseradish cream, to complement your steak. Interesting sides include Brussels sprouts with bacon, mushroom risotto and pickled beet slaw, as well as standbys like broccoli au gratin and mac’n’cheese. Open nightly for dinner. 8191 Maple Lawn Blvd., 301-490-2290

Nestled in the heart of Little Italy, Milan is a sleek new lounge and restaurant seeking to bring a jet-set feel to the old neighborhood. Designed by Meghan Hoffmann, the 12,000-square-foot space includes a contemporary bar, lounge and sushi bar on the main floor done up in shades of crimson, espresso and white, a main dining room upstairs that exudes a Miami South Beach feel, and an indoor/outdoor patio lounge area overlooking the street. Executive chef Stephen Carey’s menu offers a blend of modern Italian cuisine infused with Mediterranean flavors, and includes grilled steaks, hand-made pastas, bruschetta, flatbreads and Italian-inspired sushi.  Open nightly for dinner. 1000 Eastern Ave., 410-685-6111

Now that it’s moved from Mount Washington to Key Highway, Home On the Harbor actually has a home on the harbor. While the location has changed, the aesthetic— modern without being sterile— has not. Stop here for sleek sofas (including the well-proportioned Jenna, perfect for smaller spaces), mid-century modern chairs from Knoll, imaginative lighting from Kartell and the simple whimsy of Alessi home accessories. Don’t miss: The Timber Table from Gus Modern, an earthy take on this year’s Lucite trend. 1414 Key Highway, 410-433-1616

If you’re looking to take your wine rack “green,” you’ll be pleased that there are more wines than ever using environmentally friendly practices. To determine a winery’s level of “green,” there are a number of factors to consider. Here is what you need to know…

> What makes a wine organic? The USDA National Organic Program defines a USDA organic wine as one “made from organically grown grapes without any added sulfites.”  The term “organically grown” indicates that no chemicals or pesticides are used in the vineyard. Sulfites are a byproduct of fermentation, but they are often added to wines before bottling due to their natural preservative qualities.
 
Just to confuse things even further, the USDA requires any wine with more than 10 parts per million of sulfites (virtually all wines) to add the warning “Contains Sulfites” for people who are allergic. So even USDA-certified organic wines will have this on the label. 

> What does “made with organically grown grapes” mean? Many winemakers use a second designation on the bottle stating that the wine was “made with organically grown grapes.”  The only difference between this category and the USDA organic designation is that the winemaker can use a small amount of added sulfites. This slight addition of sulfites allows the wine-maker to ensure the wine will not prematurely fade and will last longer on the shelf. Most of the “green” wines you find from California and South America fall into this category.

> What are biodynamics and sustainability? Biodynamic methods are based on an all-natural and spiritual approach to agriculture. The goal is to make a winery totally self-sustainable by using the land and its resources to farm and ward off pests. In addition, it suggests that by following the rhythms of the land (sun, moon, etc.) you can create a wine that is an expression of its origin.
 
Wineries that focus on sustainability also take a holistic approach to being green. All activities and practices are evaluated with the goal being to make minimal impact on the environment. Things considered include energy usage, packaging, recycling, water usage, pollution and employee welfare.

> How do I find green wines in my local shop? It’s not always easy to find “green” wines, and many that are made organically are not labeled as such.  Some stores like The Wine Bin in Ellicott City are making the process easier by specifically identifying wines with an organic focus by adding a ladybug sticker on the shelf tag. Dave Carney, owner of The Wine Bin cautions wine lovers to look at the big picture. “Organic agriculture is just one aspect of being green, but a winery’s usage of energy, tractors that cause fuel emissions and packaging are also part of the entire carbon footprint a winery makes. Try to look at the big picture when you are looking to make your wine drinking more eco-friendly.” —Laurie Forster

Laurie Forster, The Wine Coach®, is a wine educator who creates corporate events, group tastings and team-building seminars. She is the author of “The Sipping Point: A Crash Course in Wine,” and can be heard each week on WBAL Radio 1090AM. Visit http://www.thewinecoach.com.

What’s in a name? For Johns Hopkins, the executive director of Baltimore Heritage Inc., a vibrant, 50-year-old non-profit that advocates historic preservation for the economic revitalization of Baltimore, it’s not snobbery. As a collateral descendant of the Johns Hopkins, the 40-year-old Bolton Hill resident is a distant relative whose strongest links with his famous forebear are Quaker roots and a passion for service.
 
After graduation from Yale, Hopkins headed to law school at George Washington University. “But after two years as an attorney in Washington, I felt other people were out there having all the fun,” he says. “I wanted to be out there doing things.”
 
So off to the University of Michigan he went for a master’s in environmental policy, then came to Maryland to work on then-Gov. Parris Glendening’s Smart Growth initiative. As director of its Maryland Smart Codes program from 1999 to 2003, Hopkins worked to eliminate barriers to the redevelopment of neighborhoods.
 
About that time, Baltimore Heritage, an organization that began in the spring of 1960 after architect W. Boulton Kelly organized a tour showcasing fine city architecture at a time when the “demolish first and plan second” credo often governed urban renewal, was feeling the need for a paid executive director. Johns Hopkins became the first full-time executive director in 2003, and he immediately knew it was a perfect fit. “My wife says I have an irrational love of Baltimore,” he says.
 
Before Hopkins came on board, Baltimore Heritage was well-established as a tenacious protector of city neighborhoods and architecture. It had worked to stop the demolition of City Hall in the 1960s, the building of an interstate through Fells Point in the ’70s, the demolition of the B & O warehouses and Camden Station in the ’80s and a demolition-based redevelopment plan for the West Side in the ’90s.
 
The scrappy non-profit had lost some battles, too. One thousand houses were demolished to allow the building of the “Highway to Nowhere,” a 11/2-mile stretch of Route 40 West through Harlem Park and Midtown-Edmondson. In 1984, the Tower Building, deemed an equal to the Bromo-Seltzer
Tower, was torn down.
 
Since he’s come on board, Hopkins counts the 100-year-old Rochambeau Apartments on Charles Street (torn down in 2006) as a significant loss. But the Laurence Hall Fowler-designed house “Castalia” and the Scottish Rite Temple in Tuscany-Canterbury have both been added to the city’s landmark list, and the Captain’s House in Fells Point and a flour warehouse with a water tower on Guilford Avenue also have been saved.
 
“Right now we’re heavily focused on West Baltimore,” says Hopkins. “We’re working with communities to prevent ‘demolition by neglect’ of historic neighborhoods and buildings.” Current initiatives there include preserving the Hebrew Orphan Asylum, the oldest Jewish orphanage in the country; the Sellers Mansion on Lafayette Square; and the “Superblock,” where 16 structures, including one of 20 remaining cast iron buildings in the city, stand near the former Brager-Gutman’s department store. To help in the effort, Hopkins recently hired a field officer to work in historic African-American neighborhoods.
 
To keep up with the times, Baltimore Heritage has added a presence on Facebook and Twitter, and continues to offer its successful monthly behind-the-scenes tours and annual neighborhood walking tours. A Centennial Homes program, the first in the country, recognizes families who have owned city homes for 100 years.
 
On June 11, the organization will celebrate its 50th anniversary with a walking tour of historic buildings on Mount Vernon Square and a gala at a home Baltimore Heritage helped to save: the beautiful Garrett-Jacobs Mansion.

For information about walking tours, endangered buildings and tickets to the June 11 gala, call 410-332-9992 or visit http://www.baltimoreheritage.org

Located downtown on Water Street, Velleggia’s now has live jazz on Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings in its Wine Cellar. (110 Water St., 410-986-4445)  ... >>Grilled Cheese & Co., featuring, you guessed it— a menu of different spins on the classic combo—  is set to open in the 500 block of Edmondson Avenue in Catonsville. ... >>In Federal Hill, old favorite Porter’s Pub and Grille has reopened under new ownership. (1032 Riverside Ave.) ... >>City Tap House has announced it’ll be opening in Harbor East in late summer. Expect more than 100 craft American and European draft beers.

Chef Michael Marx has done it again. After bringing his unique spin on authentic Mexican cuisine to town a few years ago with Blue Agave (and authentic Texas barbecue at Rub), he’s topped himself with the opening of the new Miguel’s Cocina y Cantina. The soaring two-level space is done up in lots of funky folk art, including a colorful Day of the Dead-themed graphic mural that wraps around the upper level windows and Mexican streetscape architectural fronts on the lower level. A lively bar occupies the center of the restaurant, and offers a hand-picked selection of rare and high-end tequilas. Here, the margaritas are a big draw. Or try a chela helada, or iced beer— a beer cocktail on ice with a salted rim, available in three varieties. The menu features salads, small plates and dinner entreés, in addition to the expected tacos, tostadas and quesadillas, all done with a sophisticated spin. And look for unexpected items like shrimp corn cakes and the house specialty, queso fundido (cheese fondue). Serving lunch and dinner on weekdays, dinner on Saturdays, brunch and dinner on Sundays. 1700 Beason St., in the Silo Point complex, 443-438-3139

Local author Deborah Rudacille grew up in Dundalk, marching in the town’s annual Fourth of July parade and developing a taste for Lynyrd Skynyrd and Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Her family’s roots in the area reach back a half-century— her paternal great-grandparents came to Sparrows Point in the 1920s, and her maternal forebears two decades later— and, like most kids she knew, she was the daughter of a man who earned a good salary and job stability in return for laboring in the hot, hard din of the Bethlehem Steel plant. In 2006, Rudacille returned to Dundalk and Sparrows Point to research her new book “Roots of Steel: Boom and Bust in an American Mill Town” (Pantheon), which is at once a history of one of the nation’s mightiest manufacturing plants and an homage to the people whose efforts made it thrive. 

Did you always know you would write this book?

I always kind of wanted to write about Dundalk because it was such a fascinating place to grow up, but I never thought about writing about Bethlehem Steel. Right after President Bush was elected for the second time, there was a lot of talk in the media about how white working-class workers were always voting against their interests. I thought people in places like Dundalk were being demonized, and I wanted to show this community and communities like it in the round rather than in this very limited, negative and flat picture.

You knew a lot about Dundalk and Sparrows Point when you started. What surprised you most in researching the book?

The biggest surprise, and one of the things that became a major theme in the book, was the very different experiences that black and white steelworkers had. The history of race in Sparrows Point was painful to come to terms with. From its earlier days, the town of Sparrows Point was segregated— black families lived on the north side. And Dundalk had a charter mandating that black people couldn’t live there— they lived in Turners Station. In the mills themselves, all of my sources pointed out that African-American men had the hardest, dirtiest jobs. In many ways, the African-American steelworkers were better off than elsewhere— the jobs paid pretty well even though they couldn’t get the best jobs— but still, they did not have anywhere near the opportunities for advancement that white steelworkers had.

We all know about the demise of Bethlehem Steel, and the fact that many retired workers have lost their health and life insurance and much of their pensions. What could have been done to have created a better outcome?

One of the points I try to make in the book, and which came through in all of my interviews, was that in the postwar era, American manufacturers were at the top and didn’t plan ahead for the days when Europe and developing countries would develop steel themselves. Management was resistant to new technology. The union and management were always locked in conflict. The workers, themselves, didn’t understand they were going to have to make some changes. In the end, when the whole thing fell apart, upper management protected their own pensions and benefits, but the retired workers really suffered, and continue to. As one of my sources pointed out, Bethlehem was on the front edge of this recession.

What is the legacy of Bethlehem Steel?

I think Bethlehem Steel represented the kind of job security and working-class prosperity that has largely disappeared in the United States. When I was growing up in Dundalk, people who didn’t graduate from college or even high school could go down to the Point and get a good job. It was a hard job, a dangerous job, but it was a stable, profitable job.

What’s the best future you can envision for Sparrows Point?

If I could wave a magic wand, I would transform it into the nation’s premier facility for green manufacturing and green industry. The products manufactured there would be used to rebuild our crumbling infrastructure and the foundations of a 21st-century transportation system— and the companies operating on the site would be American-owned and maybe even Baltimore-based.

A few of Savvy’s favorite summer things? Popsicles, lounging poolside and fun, inexpensive accessories that perk up her summer staples. Frill is perfect for finding cheap thrills like Pietro Alessandro bags (which have more than a passing resemblance to designs by young Hollywood fave Foley + Corinna), costume pieces from fashion press darling Elizabeth Cole, retro-feeling goodies from Lulu Guinness and Jan Michaels plus simple shapes in copper and silver by local designer Laurie Flannery. The woven, pale gold Anya Hindmarch-ish tote Sav picked up for pennies will make even runs to Costco feel more like an afternoon in Capri. Don’t miss: The adorable headbands, perfect for breezy afternoons. 846 W. 36th St., lower level, 443-759-5156

Savvy hopes this doesn’t shock her more sensitive readers, but she’s often fantasized about coming home and finding Patrick Sutton in her bedroom. Redoing it. So she can finally have a space she truly loves instead of the classic/contemporary hot mess hodgepodge she currently slumbers in. For those of us who have not yet been fortunate enough to have Patrick design our domains, hitting up Patrick Sutton Home is the next best thing. Not familiar with Patrick’s aesthetic? Here it is: Luxury living that is fresh and comfortable. “Nothing here is staid or traditional or calculated,” Patrick says of his namesake store, “I search the world for things that will inspire people to have a full, rich life— whether it’s entertaining grandly or curling up on a Belgian sofa on a rainy afternoon. Things that will make you fall in love with your house.”  And, thanks to the new location’s expansive, sun-filled space, there is much to love: Art objects, one-of-a-kind antiques, furniture, great books, super-comfy upholstery, table settings in natural materials, handblown glassware. The best part? No hourly shopgirls here— staffers are trained design professionals. So while you may not be able to bring Patrick home, rest assured that all your design fantasies will be fulfilled. Don’t miss: Patrick’s own line of furniture, including a perfect hand-hewn board top and steel base coffee table, plus steel and wire mesh pedestals. 701 Aliceanna St., 100 International Drive Building, first floor, 410-605-0196

When I was in high school, I read “General Logan’s Orders” at a Memorial Day fete before a modest crowd on a village green in Maine next to a statue commemorating Civil War veterans. A Carnegie Library, a gift from the Scottish robber baron, faced the green, along with a venerable Baptist Church whose early minister had long, long before penned “America,” which we remember better as “My County, ’Tis Of Thee.” There was a parade and people marched. A classmate read “The Gettysburg Address.” We were still planning on winning the war in Vietnam that year.

“General Logan’s Orders” were the instructions of Gen. John A. Logan, commander in chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, who more or less founded Memorial Day in 1868 to honor those who died in the Civil War. Probably few remember General Logan, but his orders made the focus of the day very clear. The holiday was “designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet churchyard in the land.”

Back then, Boy Scouts, VFW members and Gold Star Mothers, those who had lost sons in the service of our country, festooned the nation’s burial grounds with little flags on Memorial Day. Many still called it Decoration Day, in homage to General Logan’s orders. It makes me feel like Methuselah writing that, but in the 1950s and 1960s it was true.

The Civil War did not seem so far off then. The last veteran died when I was in grade school. It’s still a young country when you realize that it was possible to be alive at the same time as someone who fought at Bull Run. Remember the Civil War?  Remember “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again”?

A few years ago I was in Washington, when I realized I was near the Vietnam War Memorial. I walked across the lawn, went to the directory and looked up the names of people I went to high school with who had died in Vietnam. I found Rodney Delisle’s name. I knew his sister in high school. She was in my homeroom. He was one year ahead of me in school and he died July 6, 1969, at Quang Tri. He was 19. I knew a lot of people who went to Vietnam and some came home dead. “Be the first one on your block to have your boy come home in a box.” That was Country Joe and the Fish and “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-To-Die Rag.” That was not “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again.” Different wars, different songs, I suppose. According to the National Archives, 58,193 Americans died in Vietnam and more than 85 percent of them were men between the ages of 17 and 27.

One of my early memories of those easy years after World War II was that there were a lot of people around who had fought in the war, real combat veterans. But no one talked much about the war or what they’d done in it. There were guys in my town who’d gone ashore at Bougainville and Tarawa and Guadalcanal, but you’d never know it.

The biggest saber rattler in my town—Mr. American Legion— was never in combat. He spent “The Big One,” as they called it down at the bar at the post home, counting blankets at Fort Drum. He drove around town in a big Buick with flags on it and vanity plates. He wore his American Legion cap a lot. His photograph appeared frequently in the local newspaper. He was ever vigilant for signs of communism. He often spoke at public events on the dangers of Moscow. He presented deserving youths with savings bonds. Even as small children we knew he was a ridiculous buffoon.

Now everyone who talks most loudly about the war never actually saw a war. Neither George W. Bush nor Dick Cheney nor Donald Rumsfeld ever “smelled Yankee powder,” as the Rebels used to say. (I’m not counting peace-time service or home guard nonsense.) Neither did William Jefferson Clinton or Barack Obama. And few in Congress serve, nor do their sons and daughters. Who among the windbags braying on TV ever saw combat? Glenn Beck? Rush Limbaugh? Bill O’Reilly? Time was that a decent man would have been ashamed to speak of war if he had not seen battle. What loss have they known?  Who among them has had their boy come home in a box?

Memorial Day is supposed to be for remembering. But it is not so much observed now. Just another three-day weekend to drive downy o’shun or shop the big sales. I wonder what old General Logan would make of the holiday, and of the armchair warriors and talk show saber rattlers who are so quick to doom the sons and daughters of the working class to die.

Liam Hickey is not only the new chef at An Poitin Stil, he’s the new personality behind the bustling Irish restaurant/bar in Timonium. Hailing from from Edenderry County Offaly, a small town 40 miles outside of Dublin, he’s likely to greet you when you come in. “I like the front of the house as much as the back of the house,” he says. Trained in Dublin, he moved to Naples, Fla. where he met Dorsey Baldwin, one of the owners of the Stil. “Dorsey invited me up,” he says. “So I came and sat in the parlor room of the restaurant, and it felt just like my grandmother’s house.” (In fact, all the furniture in the restaurant was shipped from County Wicklow, 20 minutes from where his grandmother lived.) Shepherds Pie, Irish Stew, a lot of meat and potato dishes are the normal Irish fare, but Hickey adds some newer European dishes to the menu. “My favorite is a stuffed pork chop with fennel, apricot and cranberries, topped with mustard brandy sauce.” He recommends pairing it with a Lindemans Bin 50 Shiraz. A thousand welcomes, Chef Hickey.  2323 York Road, Timonium, 410-560-7900 —S.G.F.

A trip to Cunningham Manor in Baltimore County takes 30 minutes from Baltimore City, not the six hours required to cross the Atlantic and drop down in an English garden. Out Falls Road, through a pair of stone and wrought-iron gates and up a winding drive, a massive stone manor house rises up and looks at least a century older than its seven years. Behind it are gardens on a scale of some of the most magnificent in England.

“I don’t know anything to speak of about gardens,” says Sinclair Broadcast Group executive David Smith. “But I know what I like.” In 2003, Smith broke ground on the 200-acre estate, which he named Cunningham Manor for his mother’s Scottish maiden name. A year before that, Smith and his wife, Jane, started working on the concept for the gardens. “When Jane and I traveled to our house in Maine, the bookstore in Portland had many garden books,” he says. “The ones I became attached to were [renowned garden designer and writer] Gertrude Jekyll’s books and English-style gardens… I like the flowing look.”

Back in Baltimore, Smith’s assistant Cam Smart, who had once lived in England, researched English garden designers. “A lot were big-time operators. Then there was this one fellow and his wife, both landscape architects,” remembers Smith. In October 2003, Smith contacted Surrey architects Michael and Frances Edwards, who have long been involved with Arts and Crafts landscapes like those of Jekyll. Smith sent them a simple drawing and later a plane ticket. Michael Edwards traveled to Baltimore laden with pictures and information about Gertrude Jekyll and her gardens. When he arrived, the Smiths spread out their 50 garden books, and the design process began for gardens within the geometry of the stone walls (already in progress) on the 30-acre parcel of land occupied by house and garden. 

Over the next two years, Michael Edwards visited Maryland several more times. (The Smiths also traveled to England to meet with the Edwardses and to visit the Chelsea Flower Show, Jekyll’s Munstead Wood and the more formal Hampton Court.) The two couples exchanged e-mails and drawings as the Edwardses incorporated the Smiths’ likes and dislikes into plans that married Jekyll’s flowing, painterly beds and garden rooms to the geometry of the more grand and formal Hampton Court. The final plan featured a central garden axis leading from the front door of the house through the central hall, the back door, the terrace staircases and gardens, to the back wall, with its opening flanked by a large potting shed and a large greenhouse.

A green lawn off the back terrace was made wider so it could double, in English style, as a croquet court. Instead of one steep staircase to the gardens, the final plan featured a series of three staircases plus two long pergolas on either side of the gardens.

The two pergolas, which parallel the central axis, provide vertical interest, summer shade, perspective lines, structures that lead somewhere (always important to Jekyll), and an opportunity to grow vines and climbing roses. “I’m not sure exactly how we arrived at two pergolas,” says Michael Edwards. “Gertrude Jekyll herself managed only one in her grand house in Surrey, though adding a great many, usually singly, in her commissions.”

Having two meant further reinforcement of the symmetry of the house, and matching Hampton Court.

The Smiths always knew that they wanted roses as the primary horticultural feature of their garden— roses were outstanding in Britain in 2003 when they visited. In addition to the pergolas, which are covered with roses, the lower formal garden was designed as a rose garden with clipped yews and geometric beds radiating out to resonate with the curves of the garden walls.

As it turned out, the roses the Smiths admired in England were carriers of a disease to which American oaks might be susceptible. Luckily, David Austin roses, so popular and successful in England, had nurseries in Texas. “And that became our solution,” says Michael Edwards. In 2006, ground was broken and the garden was installed. 

Some 650 rose bushes, 640 tractor-trailers of stone, two greenhouses, several hundred trees and many thousands of perennials, annuals, vines and shrubs later, the gardens of Cunningham Manor now require two full-time gardeners.

Jodi Cantler, garden manager, says the biggest challenge is “keeping the roses happy.” While she and gardener Phil Dickmyer use an integrated pest management system with as many environmentally friendly practices as possible (including about 9,000 ladybugs, 9,000 earthworms and 20 praying mantis cocoons released into the gardens), they do spray to control fungus and other problems.

Besides the rose garden and roses climbing on the pergolas, borders are filled in Jekyll-style in seemingly uncontrived order of masses of colorful perennials that bloom sequentially. Some, like butterfly bushes, were planted because David Smith likes to photograph butterflies. Some trademark English plants like hollyhocks, delphiniums and dahlias thrive under Cantler and Dickmyer’s care, and other Maryland-friendly plants like foxgloves and cosmos have been added as well.

“I think we learned faster than Miss Jekyll,” says Edwards, “as she was known to use her favorite plants no matter which district or county they were being sent to, with the result that her greatest successes were in the counties nearest to her home.”

To give an idea of the quantities of plantings here, annuals grown in the greenhouses number 6,000 each season, with 1,000 purchased from wholesale nurseries for the 96 large containers placed around the gardens and on walls and terraces. Last year the color scheme of the annuals was mostly pink and purple; the year before that it was mostly pink and yellow. “We try to change it up every year,” says Cantler, who says that when she arrived at the gardens in 2006, she had to adjust her thinking. “It has to be big. You have to have something dramatic with the ‘Wow’ factor.” 

A recent project has been changing out the clipped yew hedge in the rose garden— the yews didn’t allow enough air circulation around the fungus-prone roses— and replacing it with boxwoods. On the drawing boards now is a woodland garden by the entrance, a nearby dry stream bed and a lower pond.

Three years since its installation, the gardens are beginning to mature and fill in. “It’s evolved, and it still is evolving,” says David Smith. “Anything you plant today is different tomorrow. It’s a work of art.”

It’s also a work of art used to benefit other organizations via fundraisers for the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra, Kennedy Krieger Institute, Horticultural Society of Maryland and the Maryland Rose Society. At one of the events last summer David Smith remembers an English woman in a flowered dress and a wide-brimmed hat sitting on the low stone wall in the rose garden. He went to see if she was all right, and she said, “I’m fine. I just have to tell you I feel like I’m in England.”

I’m sure I’m not the only one who was glad to see the last of winter. Not only was it depressing to get hit with storm after storm, but the damage done to trees, bushes and all types of plant life in the area was severe. I’m still seeing trees splintered and fallen everywhere I go, and I spent multiple weekends pruning and reshaping plants, shrubs and bushes around the perimeter of the house. 

So it was nice to pull out some of the lush, verdant photography of the gardens we shot last summer as we began to put this issue together. In one case, a pair of amateur horticulturists have transformed their home’s hillside and yard over the years into a series of charming garden rooms (page 70). In another, a local businessman and his wife consulted with some top British garden experts in the design and planting of a magnificent formal rose garden behind their newly built estate in Baltimore County.

Our annual Home & Garden issue is always a chance to shake off the doldrums of winter and celebrate the abundance of gorgeous garden design that we have here in our own backyard. And, thankfully, we have contributing writer Kathy “Huddy” Hudson to marshal all these gardens and shoots for us.

We’ve got the home front covered, too— a stunning transformation from an empty, bare-bones condominium overlooking the harbor into a sleek and sophisticated lair for a worldly bachelor, and a traditional Charles Village rowhouse given an ultimate “green” makeover and turned into an open, light-filled, contemporary living space for its owners. We know that lots of readers appreciate the green approach to building and remodeling, so we’ve also beefed up our efforts to bring more similar projects into our pages in upcoming issues.

And what about fashion? We’ve got that covered, too. Meet this issue’s Stylemaker, Robert Barker Taylor, on page 54, for his unique take on retro-style fashion and art. And acquaint yourself with local fashionista Deborah Morrison (page 66) to see how one woman takes vintage fashions from the 1920s and the ’60s and integrates them into her full-time wardrobe. And if you’re interested in learning to create your own fashionable pieces? Well, check the Maryland Academy of Couture Arts— we’ll tell you all about it.
     
Brian Michael Lawrence
editor-in-chief
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http://www.baltimorestyle.com

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Vineyard hopping
The historic Middleburg Country Inn offers the true B&B experience of plush beds in a sweetly prim room, with an excellent breakfast (the Apple Spice old-style waffles are tasty!). But best of all are the über-welcoming owners, Jo-Ann and Kevin Hazard. They’ll be the first to tell you the best vineyards to visit: Chrysalis (the vineyard that brought back the traditional American Norton grape), Swedenburg (the owner was instrumental in passing certain laws that allowed for Virgina wine sales), and Pearmund (on the forefront of Virginia wine production— producing the most wine in Fauquier County— with an art gallery worth seeing). Most of the vineyards offer cheese and fruit to go along with the wine tastings, but if you’re still hungry (and standing) when you get back to town, then grab dinner at the Rail Stop Restaurant, down the block from the inn. But hold off on dessert. Instead, sneak back to the inn and ask Jo-Ann for a slice of her to-die-for lemon pound cake. 209 E. Washington St., Middleburg, Va., 800-262-6082, http://www.middleburgcountryinn.com

Gardener’s haven
In the Brandywine Valley in northeastern Delaware sit 11 buildings from the 19th and 20th century, which, together, make up The Inn at Montchanin VILLAGE— one of the most luxurious spots to stay in the state.  Come for the history, but stay for the gardens. Start your day at Privy Lane, where you’ll be greeted with dahlias, roses, lack-eyed Susans and more. Then hop in your car and drive 10 miles over the Pennsylvania state line to Longwood Gardens (longwoodgardens.org) to explore the 1,050 acres (with 20 indoor and 20 outdoor gardens). Between May 29 and the beginning of September, the Festival of Fountains takes place, displaying 100-plus waterlilies that bloom both day and night within spectacular European fountains. Route 100 and Kirk Road, Montchanin, Del., 302-888-4205 or 800-Cow-Bird, http://www.montchanin.com

Recreation redux
Located in Western Pennsylvania is a Relais and Châteaux property, the Lodge at Glendorn, and it is here where some of the best outdoor activities in the mid-Atlantic can be found. Take a canoe or kayak out on Bondieu Lake or go for a dip in the oversized swimming pool. Ride a Cannondale mountain bicycle or hike through miles of trails. Trap and skeet shooting, golf and tennis also abound. Three miles of privately managed lakes contain trout in abundance for fly fishing: Robbers Nest Branch, Jill Lake Branch and a mix of browns, rainbows and brookies. Cast your line from shore, or have an Orvis guide take you on a Day Tripper Float Tube— and if you need more fly fishing, take a gourmet packed lunch and head out into the Allegheny National Forest, or take a scenic boat ride down the Clarion River. After a long day on the water, hit the spa for a traditional Swedish massage, then have dinner at the inn’s restaurant. 

Highly recommended:
the quail and foie gras with poached pear, pomegranate molasses and hedgehog mushrooms, followed by the Bison striploin with gratin potatoes and a bleu cheese crust in red wine jus. Then head to your room— preferably the Forest Hideout— a brick cottage with a slate roof and an all-wood interior with a fireplace for cooler nights. 1000 Glendorn Drive, Bradford, Pa., 814-362-6511, http://www.glendorn.com

Fine palette
Since 1852, the Hotel Fauchère in eastern Pennsylvania has been serving up an exquisite reason to just come relax. First of all, it’s also a Relais and Châteaux hotel, which means that it can stand alone for a simple, charming stay. Kiehl’s bath products, original hardwood floors, firm mattresses with 2 inches of feather bedding covered in 100 percent Egyptian cotton and Frette linens is enough to make it hard for anyone to even rise from sleep.  But the Delmonico Room calls— named after Louis Fauchère’s friends, the Delmonico Brothers, who had the first real stand-alone hotel restaurant in New York (they also invented the hamburger, Lobster Newburg, Eggs Benedict, and the famed steak, among other things). Start with a pecorino flan with a black truffle essence, and segue into the housemade boudin noir shepherd’s pie. The spot-on end to the meal is a baked Fauchere Alaska, served with a citrus and tarragon parfait. Then wake up to a Sunday jazz brunch, which has virtually everything any food fanatic could ever want, including some delicious baked goods. 401 Broad St., Milford, Pa., 570-409-1212, http://www.hotelfauchere.com

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

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

Recipes:

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

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

When I walk into the Maryland Academy of Couture Arts in Timonium, Ella Pritsker, the fashion designer behind the Ella Moda label, greets me wearing crisp pinstripe trousers, a white collared blouse stitched with rainbow threading and a twill jacket lined with shiny gold buttons. In other words, she looks like a walking, talking Coco Chanel. When I compliment her outfit, she mentions that she makes most of her clothes. “I even made this,” Pritsker says, tugging at a red silk scarf knotted around her neck that could easily have been purchased at Saks.

As a young girl growing up in Soviet Russia, Pritsker began creating Barbie-like dresses for her paper dolls then quickly advanced to making full-fledged, tailored outfits as she grew older. At age 21, while waiting in Italy to come to the United States through the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, Pritsker befriended three
European dressmakers and found herself face to face with her deepest desires: hand-stitched custom couture and high-end fashion. “Working with them was when I knew this was what I would do with my life,” she says.

Arriving in Baltimore in 1990, Pritsker, barely knowing English, walked into A Fabric Place on Falls Road. Owner Michael Bearman offered her an armful of free samples and when she returned with seven hand-sewn Cinderella ball gowns, he began recommending her to his clientele. Seven years later, Ella Moda, a haute couture clothing line customized for executive women, was born. “My interest has always been a classic European style, and I always stay true to that,” says Pritsker.

Wanting both to preserve the fine art of traditional dressmaking and to educate others, Pritsker founded the Maryland Academy of Couture Arts and offered her first class, “Pattern Making and Design,” in spring 2009. The 14-week curriculum teaches the ways of the top fashion houses in Paris, using custom design methods instead of traditional American practices. Amazed, I wonder aloud if I, a notorious bobbin jammer who hadn’t picked up a needle since my seventh-grade home economics class, could create anything wearable, much less high-fashion, but Pritsker has no doubts. “You’ll make something that will fit you like a glove,” she assures me. “It will fit better than anything you’ve ever bought in a department store.” 

I follow her into the classroom, where an intricate black floor-length gown made of sheer silk and a taffeta collar quickly catches my eye. This upscale version of the little black dress, I later learn, had earned raves at the 2004 Alliance for a New Humanity runway show in Puerto Rico. Close by, a chaise lounge and a tall mirror reach up to the vanilla-colored ceiling and rolls of cashmere are neatly stacked under the workstations. Taking in the “Project Runway” feel, I quickly forget I’m in a tidy corner studio nestled up on the fifth floor of an office building. 

At the beginning of class, my four classmates and I stand at the white drafting desks designed specifically by Pritsker. Each houses an individual steamer, lamp, sewing tools, sewing machine— and not much else. Pritsker doesn’t believe that real designers need the newest gadgets. She’s a purist, and lives by the traditional way of creating couture.

Since I’m just sitting in for the night, I’m placed in the hands of Tori Burns, a nonprofit fundraiser by day and budding designer by night who aspires to make dressmaking a central part of her professional life. “I’ve always sewn from patterns but everything I sewed looked homemade. At a loss, I read a profile on Ella and knew exactly where I needed to be,” says Burns. “Now I call myself ‘the aspiring couturier.’”

Eager to show me the ropes, she gathers my introductory worksheets and begins by explaining that first she will help me measure myself, which, to my horror, means stripping down to my underwear and standing in the middle of the classroom in front of the mirrors.

Measuring the couture way also involves locating focal points, which is done by marking taped Xs on the center of the front, side and back of the neck, as well as the shoulder bone, the chest bone and under the arm along the waist.

My attention quickly goes from shyness to mathematical confusion. My skills with fractions are rusty, to put it kindly, especially when trying to subtract thirds from sixteenths. Thank goodness Pritsker comes to my rescue. “I’ll show you a trick for working with fractions,” she says, bending the measuring tape and moving her finger in increments of thirds to come up with the answer. Within an hour, I’ve finished calculating all the required 38 measurements, including the width of my armhole crease, bust height and abdomen.

I didn’t understand why we were doing all this measuring until Burns lets me in on the basis of the entire course. Students would create their own sloper, or personalized pattern, from the measurements just taken. In most sewing classes a pattern is supplied, but Pritsker’s class bleeds couture every step of the way. “We start out with a square block,” says Burns, unrolling a piece of design paper. “And we will be using the measurements we took for our hips, abdomen, waist and knees to draft the sloper for a skirt.” Following the step-by-step instructions, I transfer my inches and centimeters onto the paper that will become a customized skirt pattern molded exactly for my body.

From there, Burns walks me through cutting out my paper sloper and tracing it onto a piece of beige muslin. “The muslin is our rough draft. You’ll sew all the sides together and try it on. If it fits, then you will have a template for all of your future skirts,” she explains. “If it doesn’t fit, you’ll need to go back to your original dimensions and revise.”

After carefully cutting out the muslin, I take my seat at the sewing machine and have a revelation. Most of the trouble I’d had with sewing in the past had to do with the machines jamming, but Pritsker’s machines were easily calibrated, allowing me to stitch all sides of my sloper together knot-free and fast. Within a half-hour, I hold in my hands a thin cotton version of a potential skirt. 

Eager to try it on, I sneak into the fabric closet where I can disrobe in private. Stepping out into the room, I skip over to the full-length mirror ready to put my calculations to the test. Reflecting back at me is my skirt: accurate, fitted and convincing. It, as Pritsker promised, lays against my body like nothing else in my closet.

While my journey ended with the muslin model, Burns and the others re-created their muslin onto actual fabric, applying their skills in fine couture finishing embellishments and working toward the reveal— a fashion show at the conclusion of the course. Awed by the store-bought look-alikes these women were creating, I glanced down at my sloper and had another revelation: even a non-sewer like me could craft couture creations with the right guide instructing me along the way.

“Pattern Making and Design” runs through May 26 at the Maryland Academy of Couture Arts, 20 E. Timonium Road, Suite 312, 410-560-3910, http://www.marylandacademyofcouturearts.com.

Throughout the four decades they’ve been married, Susan and Rich Walther have lived in 12 homes, including an 1890s Victorian, a 1920s Tudor, a 1960s rambler and, most recently, a 1980s ersatz Cape Cod. They’ve lived in small towns, cities and suburban developments.

Occupying so many different places over the years constituted a kind of housing education for the couple. So when they began searching for a place to retire in 2004, they knew exactly what they wanted: a home in a walkable urban neighborhood that had lots of natural light, was energy efficient and looked good. In this place they would reinvent themselves for the next phase of their lives.

Pretty quickly they realized that what they wanted probably didn’t exist— it would have to be created. And so when Susan Walther, a longtime graphic designer who recently retired from her post at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History, walked into the two-story, 1,800-square-foot, brick rowhouse in Charles Village, she saw potential even though it looked nothing like what she and Rich, a soon-to-be retired human resources manager, envisioned. The Walthers bought the house, fixed it up and installed a renter, knowing it would take several years to find an architect, design plans and construct their dream home.

They were right to predict the process would take that long. Partly because green technologies are still fairly new, meaning a significant amount of research needed to be done to integrate all the components. Partly because the Walthers were working within a fixed budget. But mostly it was due to the uniqueness of their mission.

“The Walthers didn’t just want to do a typical house using green materials and an energy-efficient heating and cooling system,” says Charles Alexander, principal at Alexander Design, who became the architect on the project. “They wanted those things integrated seamlessly into good design.”

Walking into the home for the first time, Alexander immediately recognized one of its key assets: it faces south. That means that in winter, the home takes in lots of natural light. And in summer, when the sun is higher in the sky, the home is shielded from intense rays by its front porch and shade trees. In terms of energy efficiency, the home had another big plus: it’s shielded from the elements on two sides by neighboring houses. Alas, that characteristic came with a downside: like all rowhouses, the home was dark in its interior. “Very quickly, a driving question was how to get natural light to the middle of the house,” says Alexander.

The answer to that question became the central design feature of the home Alexander Design would create. The architects took a typical element of many rowhouses— a skylight above the central stairway— and amplified it tenfold, creating a sort of shed on the roof that allows light to filter in through three walls of vertical clerestory windows. “We shaped the ceiling to be curved to allow the diffusion of light across a larger area,” says Alexander. “Even on a cloudy day, you get a lot of light: direct light for surprise and interest, as well as diffused light, which changes throughout the day.”

Like everything in the home, not only does the light shed provide aesthetic pleasure, as sunlight floods through the open stairway into the dining and living areas, but it also serves a green function. As Prescott Gaylord, president of Baltimore Green Construction, the builder on the project, says, “The greenest systems are the ones you don’t have to use”— and the profusion of natural light coming from the light shed means less need for electric lights (which usually account for about 20 percent of utility bills, says Gaylord). Most strikingly, three interior windows in the stairway shaft provide sunlight to the master bathroom, kitchen and the bathroom adjacent to Susan Walther’s studios, all of which lack outward facing windows. “I don’t need to turn lights on in these rooms, even though they’re interior rooms,” she says.

Hidden on the north wall of the light shed is a large exhaust fan that works via the chimney effect, pulling hot air up from the living area and expelling it through the roof. The fan provides enough relief from the heat and humidity that the Walthers don’t plan to use the air conditioning regularly. When they do, the consolation is that the home’s four “mini-split” units are ultra-efficient, cooling specific zoned areas rather than the whole house.

From the street out front, the Walthers’ home looks like a renovated rowhouse with nice new wooden windows. You can’t see the light shed on the roof. You also can’t see the three solar roof panels that collect energy from the sun and use it to heat hot water that is circulated throughout the radiant heating system in the floors and the plumbing system. “The water that’s running through the floors is the same water the Walthers drink,” says Eric Lewis, senior associate at Alexander. “Depending on the use, the water is tempered up or down, and distributed. In the case of a run of cloudy days, an on-demand gas-fired unit will heat the water.”

Lewis calls the home’s mechanical system “beautiful” even as he recognizes it’s not very sexy. “They’re mechanical systems— they’re difficult to talk about at a party,” he says. “But they are key to the Walthers’ mission, which was to have low energy usage.”

Gaylord seconds that sentiment, saying, “The most important system in the house is very nonsexy and boring, and it’s the wall system. Because we needed every inch in the house for living space, we needed the biggest bang for the buck in terms of insulation. So we used closed-cell bio-foam, which is sprayed into a cavity and fills cracks to make sure the house is ‘tight.’ Because it’s tight, the house retains its heat and coolness.” Both Lewis and Gaylord believe that the Walther home is likely the greenest in the city.

Though the home’s key systems may not be sexy, the home, itself, is. The sleek white oak floors (which are reclaimed, and were purchased at Second Chance) and white walls provide a backdrop for the Walthers’ collection of art, sculpture and furniture. In the open living and dining area, there’s a rice chest from Korea, a mid-century Eero Saarinen “grasshopper chair” and a set of black Eames dining chairs.

Local firm Luke Works created the cast concrete sinks in the bathroom, which are embedded with the Walthers’ collection of beach glass, a few square nails and a glass fuse from the home’s deconstruction and Bromo-Seltzer blue glass in a nod to the home’s Baltimore roots. Susan’s work table, the stair railing and the metal drapery rods were created by local metal worker Malcolm Majer. Susan herself designed the kitchen, which features aubergine walls, open shelving and a wall of custom cabinetry that conceals the refrigerator, air conditioning unit and TV. In one corner of the concrete countertop a butter knife engraved with Steiff Silver rose pattern is inset (the same pattern Susan’s grandmother had), as a reminder of the traditional in such a modern space. Another reminder is the “truth niche” in Susan’s office that shows the original brick wall now hidden under the new insulated walls.

Perhaps the most attractive design feature is the profusion of glass. In the living area, the back wall features three large windows along with a glass door that leads out to the deck. In Susan’s office, three large windows overlook the street. And in the master bedroom, another collection of windows fills the back wall. All of them are triple-paned high-efficiency windows. As Susan says, “The windows are worth their weight in gold.”

She says she and Rich so love their home that every time they enter, they feel happy. Still, she says, “I think I have one more house in me. It would be neat to take everything we’ve learned here and apply it.”

When I heard Nora Roberts had opened a romantic inn, my heart skipped a beat.   

Queen of the romance novel, Roberts has written more best-sellers than anyone in the world. Of her 190 full-length novels, 164 of them have spent over 800 weeks on The New York Times best-sellers list. More than 400 million copies of her books are in print in 34 countries. She also writes romance detective novels under the pseudonym, J.D. Robb. As if that isn’t enough to keep her busy, between chapters she purchased and oversaw every aspect of the renovation of the historic Inn BoonsBoro, minutes from her Keedysville, Md., home. 

“Every time I came into town I’d see that place and think, that poor thing, it needs someone to love it and care for it,” says Roberts. “This building was very important to me and the town. I wanted to do something special, something fun.” Roberts purchased the rundown property in 2007 and began fixing it up. Like one of her famous unexpected plot twists, midway through construction a fire caused by a damaged propane tank destroyed most of the building. Not easily dissuaded, Roberts began anew. The $3 million-plus renovation was completed in February 2009. 

Count me among those travelers who would not name Boonsboro as a top weekend destination. But that was before I experienced its charm. We fell for the town mostly for what it lacked— souvenir shops, a trendy Starbucks or Golden Arches on every corner, or anything neon. The town is as comfortable as fuzzy slippers on a cold winter night. “No pretense” could be its motto. While this rural location between Hagerstown and Frederick is filled with historic sites— Civil War battlefields, charming covered bridges and numerous war memorials— we say “nada” to all of them. Our focus is on everything Nora.

“It’s pomegranate,” says Suzanne, the perky innkeeper, when I ask about the intoxicating scent in our room. Roberts named each of the inn’s eight rooms (except The Penthouse) after a different love-struck literary couple. The furnishings of each room—- and the fragrance— evoke the era of the story. Since heather-covered moors are featured in “Jane Eyre,” the Jane and Rochester room is heather-scented; lavender greets guests in the veddy English Elizabeth and Darcy room (“Pride and Prejudice”) and the aroma of green tea and ginger welcomes guests to “The Thin Man’s” Nick and Nora Charles Art Deco suite. 

Don’t look for rooms paying homage to Romeo and Juliet or Rhett and Scarlett— only couples with happily-ever-after endings will do. At Inn BoonsBoro, as in Roberts’ novels, love conquers all. The idea might sound cheesy, but it’s not. The concept is subtly executed with high-end antique reproductions, French imports and custom-made furniture. 

Our Marguerite and Percy room (“The Scarlet Pimpernel”) is a nod to 18th-century France. Sumptuous silk brocade draperies frame two full-size beds piled high with pillows. Practical and pretty cane benches match handsome cane headboards. And an antique white, marble-topped French nightstand holds the room’s prized possession: a colorful baroque lamp that belonged to Roberts’ mom. Other family treasures are sprinkled throughout the inn. 

Roberts added all the luxurious touches that she enjoys when traveling. Every room has a cashmere throw, 32-inch flat-screen TV and a copy of the book and DVD that inspired it. While each bathroom is individualized— some have a gas fireplace, copper tub, private entrance or porch— all have heated floors and towel racks and multiple-head showers. 

If God is in the details, Nora Roberts is definitely a religious gal. Lime green leather piping accents two barrel-back olive green velvet chairs that cozy up to a massive stone fireplace in a reception area. In the library, a chocolate brown tufted faux suede sofa with playful zebra-patterned cushions invites me to curl up with one of the room’s many tomes. And a comfy lounge offers yet another inviting space for lingering with a glass of complimentary wine served daily with assorted nibbles from 7 to 8 p.m. 

Before dinner we chat with a couple from Virginia and the next morning we have coffee with a mother and daughter from Delaware. Everyone we talk to is a huge Nora Roberts fan. They’re here primarily because Nora Roberts is having a book signing the next day at Turn the Page Bookstore and Cafe across the street, an occasional event announced on her Web site that attracts hundreds of fans. 

Coming from the traffic-choked suburbs, it is a ‘boon’ to discover that every shop and restaurant in town is a stone’s throw from the inn, so once we park the car the only transportation we need are our feet. The main draw at Turn the Page, owned by Roberts’ husband, Bruce Wilder, is The Nora Room. Shelves are packed with copies of her books and Nora memorabilia a la autographed totes, mugs and DVDs.  Next door, Gifts BoonsBoro (another of Roberts’ businesses) showcases sophisticated paintings, ceramics, jewelry and crafts by regional artists. 

Want a milkshake? Or a rifle? Step into Crawfords Restaurant Guns and Ammo, where you’ll find the creamiest $3 milkshake at a retro Formica counter opposite shelves stacked with buckshot, knives, rifles and pistol-cleaning kits. As they say, only in America. 

Dining options are limited but very good. Our lunch at Vesta’s Pizzeria and Family Restaurant, owned and run by Roberts’ son Dan is love at first bite. We devour hearty Mediterranean salads and turkey wraps while ogling a sizzling pizza nearby.  Dinner is steps away at Palettie’s Gourmet Bistro. This casual romantically lit hideaway offers hearty organic steak as well as more inventive house specialties that reflect the chef’s passion for no-fuss high-quality food. We opt for grilled chicken breast over molto salad, a signature dish of chef Lettie Gordon. The menu warns that this salad is not for the unadventurous. Every night it is a little different, depending on what ingredients are freshest and most flattering to the entree.  Ours is a mix of greens, fresh chunks of pineapple, strawberries and apples tossed together with a balsamic and fig juice dressing. The town rolls up the carpet pretty early, so after dinner we return to our room and curl up with a good book— one of Nora’s, of course. 
     
But you don’t have to be a Nora Roberts fan to fall in love with the inn— you just have to love the art of romance. After a breakfast of fresh fruit, yogurt and possibly the world’s best French toast, we return to the realities of life, refreshed and rejuvenated. Sometimes the shortest and most low-key getaways are the most cherished.

Inn BoonsBoro
1 N. Main St., Boonsboro, Md. 21713
301-432-1188, http://www.innboonsboro.com
Rates, $220 to $300 per night plus 12 percent tax. Breakfast is included.

PLAY
> Boonsboro Museum of History
Contains thousands of artifacts spanning 5,000 years. Steven Spielberg copied the slave ankle chain on display in this museum for the film, “Amistad.” http://www.museums- usa.org/ museums/info/1167297
> Washington Monument State Park
The park is named for the first monument in the country to honor George Washington. A rugged stone tower was dedicated to the first president by the citizens of Boonsboro in 1827. Washington traveled through Western Maryland in his early years as a surveyor. The Appalachian Trail winds through this park and passes the base of the monument.
dnr.state.md.us/publiclands/western/washington.html
> Bast Furniture
In business for more than 170 years, Maryland’s oldest furniture store is worth a browse. Most of the furniture in Inn BoonsBoro was purchased here.  http://www.bast-furniture.com
> Shepherdstown, W.Va.
A short 10-minute drive from the heart of Boonsboro, Shepherdstown is the oldest town in West Virginia.  Dozens of shops and restaurants line the streets including the Yellow Brick Bank restaurant, once a favorite of high-profile Washingtonians including George Will and Nancy Reagan.  http://www.yellowbrickbank.com
   
EAT
> Vesta Pizzeria & Family Restaurant
2 S. Main St., Boonsboro, Md., 301-432-6166,
http://www.VestaPizza.com
> Palettie, A Gourmet Bistro
1 S. Main St., Boonsboro, Md., 301-432-0500
http://www.palettie.com 

It wasn’t always known as the “Old” Pimlico Clubhouse. The three-story layer cake of a Victorian mansion adjacent to Pimlico Race Course gained its aged modifier only after an observation tower for horse trainers and owners was added to what was known as “the little clubhouse” in 1920.

But the grand Old Clubhouse of Old Hilltop symbolized all that was stylish and classy about Maryland horse racing during the first half of the 20th century.  On the wraparound front porch where so many fans watched thoroughbreds circle the track, gingerbread arches curved over carved balustrades. A bevy of second-story windows sported long shutters against pale yellow shingles. And a neat cupola, bearing Pimlico’s famous jockey weather vane, was the cherry that topped the snug third floor.

Built in 1870, most likely under architects John Niernsee and J. Crawford Neilson (the building has also been attributed, probably in error, to architect George A. Frederick, according to Baltimore Architecture Society board member James Wollon), the birth of the clubhouse coincided with the birth of Pimlico, both under the auspices of the Maryland Jockey Club.  A Sun article reported that on Oct. 25 of that year, racing fans, some wearing black armbands in honor of Gen. Robert E. Lee’s recent death, paid 50 cents at the gate to watch the colt named Preakness win the first stakes race on the first day of racing at Pimlico.

From its early history onward, the clubhouse was the center of the social swirl. The Sun’s Society column routinely named those who attended parties there, and one article titled “Smartly Gowned Women Throng Pimlico Clubhouse” described each and every smart gown. When the Maryland Jockey Club sold the property in 1890 (and ceased to sponsor races at Pimlico between 1890 and 1904), the clubhouse became home to the Pimlico Driving Club, which celebrated its grand opening in 1891 with a meal of “salads, cold meat, salmon, crab, and other good things”— namely, copious amounts of champagne.

By 1899, the property had changed hands again and was known as the Country Club of Baltimore County at Pimlico, a social club that promised fine cuisine, a music hall, billiards and tenpin bowling alleys in the basement. During this time, one of the building’s many renovations resulted in $5,000 worth of improvements, including gilded interior columns, “exquisite electric lights” and extensive repainting of the interior rooms in tones of deep red, olive and yellow. “Never before since the clubhouse was built has it been so attractive,” gushed The Sun.

By 1904, the Maryland Jockey Club was back at Pimlico, and the clubhouse reverted to the social hub of the race course. Veteran newspaperman and racing reporter Joe Kelly remembers the building during its heyday in the 1940s, when a seat on the porch would cost $6. “Some people would only go to the Old Clubhouse for their racing,” says Kelly, adding that an afternoon at Pimlico was as much a social occasion as a sports occasion. “They never had to enforce a dress code there. Everybody dressed for the occasion in suits, hats, ties.”

Meals at the Old Clubhouse were legendary, often featuring traditional Maryland favorites like terrapin soup and the signature Preakness Salad, a variation of the Cobb with chicken, ham and bleu cheese tossed in among the greens and vegetables. Kelly recalls the glamorous dining rooms, where headwaiters wore tuxedos and white tablecloths graced each table.

“The food was excellent. They generally followed a custom of having certain dishes on the same day of the week. Saturday was Irish Lamb Stew. I do remember that. They did a first-class job,” says Kelly. “It epitomized stylish thoroughbred racing. It had atmosphere.”

Besides its dining rooms, the clubhouse also offered exquisite parlors where people could socialize between races and third-floor quarters for trainers to stay overnight (though the third floor later became home to the President’s Room, where the winning Preakness owner and his group would be feted after the race). The Maryland Jockey Club’s historic library was housed in the building and Eddie Arcaro’s silks from his 1948 Preakness win with Citation were part of the National Jockeys Hall of Fame, located on the second floor. Many of the stately rooms were hung with original paintings by Vaughn Flannery, who painted racing scenes of Pimlico, and portrait painter Henry Cooper.

All of this was lost when, on June 16, 1966, the Old Clubhouse burned to the ground in an eight-alarm blaze late in the evening. Joe Kelly recalls that his wife insisted they go and see the fire. “So I did go,” he says. “And I saw the most dramatic thing when the weather vane toppled down and fell to the ground.” The famous weather vane, still painted blue and white in honor of the recent 1966 Preakness winner Kauai King, was the only thing that survived the fire. It’s now in the museum on the race course grounds. 

I had my first cup of coffee in Glasgow at age 19. It was during a tutorial, a group of us students huddled on dusty carpets and burnt-orange upholstered armchairs under the eaves of our Scottish literature professor’s fourth-floor office. Someone put the electric kettle on and soon cups of instant coffee were being passed around. I was a committed tea drinker, but I didn’t want to say no.

I can’t say that I liked the coffee. It was, as all first-time sippers may recall, bitter and thin tasting. But something about the experience stuck. The next day I ordered my first cappuccino at a nearby café. That soon became a regular ritual. Four months later, I arrived back in Baltimore a changed young woman. I was 5 pounds heavier, shorn of my springy, permed bob— and I was a coffee drinker.

Twenty years later, I’m no coffee gourmand, yet I do bother with the bean and the grinder. I allow myself to be treated to cappuccino on weekend mornings, and I always pick up a pound of Small World Coffee’s Rocket Blend for espresso when I visit my sister in Princeton, N.J., or Nicaragua Don Zeledon from Alterra, a roaster that merits a stop in Milwaukee when we pass through en route to visit relatives in Iowa. On a chilly rainy day in the Italian city of Lecce, I downed a memorable café correcto, inky espresso with a dash of booze (in this case, Sambuca), that warmed me, if not the gray city air.  And if you’re ever in Columbus, Ohio, I know from experience that Café Brioso makes a mean cappuccino. But aside from sampling, my interest in coffee hadn’t gone much beyond half-heartedly comparing dark roasts to light or Central American to African blends. Until I met Jean Popovich last summer.

I was leaving Zeke’s Coffee on Harford Road, a bag of Bali-Timor blend in my hand, when Jean walked in with her father to buy green beans. “Green beans?” I wondered aloud. Yes, she told me. She was going to roast her own coffee at home, a habit she picked up when she was living in Serbia. “I can show you how,” she offered, and we exchanged contact info and promised to be in touch.

Months went by before I called her, only to learn from her father, Gary, that Jean and her husband had moved their professional flute repair business to Boston. But Gary kindly gave me the Popoviches’ number there, and when I called one morning to get instructions, I reached Jean’s husband, Boris. He had no idea who I was but kindly told me about their coffee roasting experiences.

Growing up in Belgrade, Boris explained, he used to watch his cousin roasting green coffee beans in the oven. When Boris and Jean moved to Serbia for a brief time, they took up the family tradition. 

“The problem in Serbia,” said Boris, “is that they have really bad coffee.”  So, Boris tracked down a company that sold Arabica beans wholesale to restaurants and went to work, pouring the beans into a roasting pan and roasting them at a steady temperature, shaking the pan every few minutes until the beans met the medium roast (what professional roasters call “full city roast”) he desired. He and Jean liked the results so much that they continued the practice when they returned to the States.

Eager to try my own hand at roasting, I returned to Zeke’s to procure green beans and get more detailed instructions from Todd Brizzi, Zeke’s master roaster. Todd expressed doubt when I told him about the Popovichs’ oven roasting method. Coffee beans require air for even roasting, he explained, pointing out that the roaster Zeke’s uses is essentially a giant hot air popper, not unlike ones folks use to make popcorn.

“I have a Whirley-Pop,” I volunteered, and Todd admitted that that might work.  He explained that not much happens until the beans reach 300 degrees, when they start to change color and the chaff flakes off as the beans expand. When they reach 400 degrees, or first crack, “that’s when it sounds like popcorn,” Todd explained.  Taking the beans to first crack yields a medium roast. If you roast longer, you hit a second crack and get a darker roast. “French roast,” said Todd, “is pretty much a controlled burn.” I leave Zeke’s with a $5 bag of Brazil Monte Carmelo, a sturdy bean Todd thinks can withstand my experimentation, and an admonition to wait at least 24 hours for the roasted beans to de-gas before brewing them.

At home, I’m oddly nervous. What if I burn the beans, stink up the house, or worse yet, ruin my husband’s Whirley-Pop? I decide to try the oven roasting method first, turning on the convection option in my stove (that’s moving air, right?) and setting the thermostat to 450 degrees. I pour a half-cup of pale green beans onto a cookie sheet and slide it into the oven. At one minute, they deepen in color to pale brown and then brown. At three minutes, they begin to smoke (oven fan: on!); at five minutes, they crack like popcorn. At six minutes they still don’t smell quite like coffee, but by eight minutes, they’ve turned the color of cocoa, with the exception of a few pale stragglers. I decide that I don’t want a dark roast, so I take the pan out of the oven and toss the beans back and forth between two metal colanders to cool them. They look like real coffee, I think, and so emboldened, I try the Whirley-Pop, promising my husband I’ll buy him a new one if I destroy this one.

Everything goes faster in the Whirley Pop. After one minute of continual cranking, the beans begin to brown, then smoke, and I turn the heat down to medium for fear of burning them. After two minutes, they crack and spring lightly in the air. There’s lots of smoke now and the beans are deep caramel before I know it. At four minutes, I judge better safe than sorry and toss them into the colander.

It’s hard to wait 24 hours, but I follow the rules and let a whole day pass before brewing a cup of each method (“Mary’s Home Roast Convection” and “Mary’s Home Roast Whirley Pop”) and sit down to conduct my own informal taste test. The Whirley Pop brew is darker with a little bite, while the oven roasted brew is soft and mild. Neither is spectacular, but each holds its own as a cup of coffee. I feel oddly proud, as if I’d grown and harvested the beans myself, instead of simply roasting them. I have visions of creating my own blends, propping up burlap sacks of beans against my kitchen wall, learning to make heart shapes in the cappuccino foam.

Then the caffeine buzz wears off and it’s time to make another pot of dreams.

Local roasters:  Zeke’s (http://www.zekescoffee.com, 443-992-4388) and Bluebird Artisanal Coffee Roasters (http://www.bluebirdcoffee.com, 410-675-2424) sell green beans to home roasters. Seven Bridges Cooperative offers step-by-step instructions (including the Whirley-Pop method) on its Web site, http://www.breworganic.com.

Spiced Prune-Almond “Coffee” Cake

The Red Devils “Heart and Sole Stroll”
Sunday, June 13
Centennial Lake
Columbia, MD
10am walk • 9am registration

Don sneakers and devilish finery and join MIX 106.5’s JoJo Girard and the Style magazine team for The Red Devils “Heart and Sole Stroll” for charity around Columbia’s Centennial Lake. The 2.4-mile walk through nature, raises money for services funded by the non-profit to improve the quality of life for Maryland breast cancer patients and their families including transportation to and from treatment, meals and groceries, house cleaning, therapeutic massage, and prescription drug assistance, at no cost.

Stroll Festivities

• Games, face painting, balloons, clowns and other entertainment, including a raffle in the Strollers’ Village.
• Pack picnics (pavilion reserved until mid-afternoon).
• Enjoy Centennial’s playground; rent canoes and paddleboats; or reserve tennis courts.
• Enter your dog in the Devil Dog Parade and costume competition!
• Registrants receive commemorative t-shirts; survivors get a special gift.
• Awards and prizes will be given to outstanding individual, family, and team fundraisers, as well as the best-dressed dog.

Join Style magazine’s team and register on-line now at www.heartandsolestroll.com for just $35/individual.

On a Friday morning last summer, my husband and I handed our luggage to a porter and stepped aboard the lovely double-decker ferry that would deliver us to Bald Head Island, N.C.  It was a place I’d wanted to visit for years, after hearing about its three wide white sand beaches, pristine maritime forest and exceptional array of wildlife— not to mention its complete lack of cars. Now, we were on our way for a weekend escape, surrounded by families and couples who planned to stay a week or longer on the island, lucky them. The grandfathers and fathers talked about fishing while the mothers and daughters chatted about watching a mother loggerhead lay her eggs the previous summer.  A young couple on their honeymoon sat side by side on the deck to catch the wind in their hair, gaze at the sea and discreetly smooch.

When the horn sounded and our little ship left harbor, my husband and I felt the real world melt away. As we approached the island about a half-hour later, we could see West Beach and an impressive array of homes with wide, wrap-around porches. Several sailboats floated past; a group of pelicans spread their wide wings and flew mere inches above the waves, on the hunt for breakfast. To our south was a swath of marsh grass wide as a prairie. I couldn’t recall the last time a journey made me unwind so completely. We pulled into the harbor and, as our luggage made its way from the ferry to the home we’d rented for the weekend, we got into a golf cart and set out for a tour.

Bald Head Island is a 12,000-acre barrier island located about 30 miles off the coast of Wilmington, N.C., poised at the confluence of the Cape Fear River and the Atlantic Ocean. Its location gives it a unique natural splendor, one preserved by the conservation restrictions put in place by the island’s owners and developers that ensure that only 2,000 of the island’s acres will ever be altered by humans. The result is simply paradise: clean, white beaches; thousands of acres of marsh; and a pristine forest of palmetto and ancient canopied live oak trees bearded with Spanish moss. On our tour, we, along with several other families, pulled our cart to the side of the road and sat in hushed awe as two red foxes trotted up the road and scurried into the forest.

Bald Head Island has all this, and plenty of creature comforts, too. There’s the Shoals Club on South Beach, with its Olympic-size pool, championship golf course and fine dining. There you can view both the sunrise and sunset and watch the dramatic clapping waves formed by the confluence of ocean and river. There’s a variety of eating options, from fine dining to casual beach grills. There’s an art gallery, a gourmet market, a charming B&B and a new spa. The island even boasts its own historical museum (Smith Island Museum of History, which is housed in the old lighthouse keeper’s cottage) and a nature conservancy (the Bald Head Island Conservancy and Smith Island Trust). There are about 1,000 private residences and approximately 215 year-round residents.

Long before brothers Kent and Mark Mitchell bought the island in 1983 and transformed it into an upscale escape, its proximity downriver from the Port of Wilmington made Bald Head Island (known at the time as Smith Island) a prime hangout for marauding pirates, including Edward Teach, aka Blackbeard. In addition, the island housed Fort Holmes, which during the Civil War helped ensure the safe passage of blockade runners and protected the river from the Union Army. My husband and I parked our cart outside Old Baldy, North Carolina’s oldest standing lighthouse, which marks the entrance of the Cape Fear River, and climbed the 108 steps to the top. There we were treated to a splendid view of the marsh, which is marked by a flowing maze of creeks. We made a mental note to rent kayaks to explore it the next day.

When we arrived at our vacation home on East Beach, we found it to be as delightful as the rest of the island. The front porch faced the ocean, the long windows in the dining and living rooms offered a view of the river and the ocean both, and a lush maritime forest was just outside our bedroom. Our home was part of a little neighborhood, yet the arrangement of the houses was such that I never felt like I had neighbors. Vacation home options on the island are varied. You can choose a home high on a bluff that overlooks the ocean and has no neighbors nearby, select a home tucked in the maritime forest under a canopy of 200-year-old live oak trees, stay on the harbor in a one-bedroom bungalow or rent a home in the Hammocks, which has a neighborhood pool and is popular with families. Each home comes with its own golf cart or two and a small carriage house for parking.

My husband and I had toted a few provisions over from the mainland but Bald Head’s maritime market has everything you need. So unlike other beach vacations, we didn’t have to worry about packing food for the whole weekend. We simply walked into our home and enjoyed cocktails as a brief summer storm blew through. Later, we took the golf cart over to Eb and Flo’s Steam Bar for a lovely meal followed by a walk on the beach. The beach was lit only by the moon and the stars, except for the flashlights held by a small group of folks from the Bald Head Island Conservancy who were hoping to see a mother loggerhead crawl from the ocean and lay her eggs. The island is one of the East Coast’s most important nesting grounds for the massive turtles. Between May and October they swim ashore at night to nest, and about eight weeks later, the nests “boil” and more than 100 baby turtle hatchlings scurry to the sea. One little boy said if they didn’t get to see a turtle, they would at least see the amazing phosphorescent plankton farther up the shore. My husband and I trailed behind the group and, sure enough, there were areas where the plankton-rich water seemed magically lit from within.

The next day we rose for a sunrise paddle through the marsh, spotting pelican, heron, egret, ibis, American oystercatchers— and, most impressive, a red-tailed hawk teaching her two juveniles to hunt. We stopped for brunch at the River Pilot Café, then strolled through the Woods Gallery and the little stores along Maritime Way before heading home, grabbing two beach chairs from our house and strolling down the wooden walkway for an afternoon of sunning and swimming at East Beach.

We capped off our weekend with a romantic dinner at the Shoals Club, perched high on the sun-kissed dunes that overlook Cape Fear. I felt a little wistful when we boarded the ferry for home the next day. Bald Head Island’s pace and charm make you want to stay as long as you can. I’m already planning to bring the whole family back.

GETTING THERE
The ferry leaves Deep Point Harbor in Southport, N.C. (30 miles from Wilmington International Airport) every hour on the hour (off-season schedule is abbreviated). Round-trip tickets, $15. Ferry reservations should be made in advance.  910-457-5003, baldheadisland.com/contact/ferry

STAY
The accommodations on Bald Head Island run the gamut from cozy homes and condos to expansive oceanfront beach homes. Rates start about $250 per night and go way up. The most straightforward way to arrange lodging is at 800-432-RENT or vacations.baldheadisland.com.

>You can also check in to Theodosia’s Bed and Breakfast, a beautifully appointed Victorian-themed B&B on the harbor. Rates start at $225. 800-656-1812 or http://www.theodosias.com.

PLAY
>Smith Island Museum of History, 910-457-7481, http://www.oldbaldy.org

>Bald Head Island Club Golf Shop, 910-457-7310, http://www.bhiclub.org

>Island Retreat Spa, 910-457-5003, http://www.baldheadisland.com/explore/spa

>Riverside Adventure Company, 910-457-4944, http://www.riversideadventure.com

EAT
>Eb and Flo’s Steam Bar, 910-457-7217

>The Pelicatessen, 910-457-0266, http://www.bhiclub.net

>The River Pilot Café and Lounge, 910-457-7390

>Shoals Club, 910-454-4850, http://www.shoalsclub.com

I get around. Part of my duties as editor of this magazine is to be aware of openings around town of new restaurants, stores and other businesses. I personally write about new restaurants and clubs in our Epicure pages in each issue and on my blog. And for all the musings about the sour economy and sad announcements of store and restaurant closings, there’s a bright spot: There are just as many new restaurants opening up regularly as there ever were. Maybe even more, by my measure.

In this issue, you’ll read about four new restaurants in Baltimore City: Langermann’s, Field House, The Rowhouse Grille and Sam’s Kid (see pages 32 and 34). In the May/June issue, we’ll cover more: Milan in Little Italy, Miguel’s at Silo Point, Blue Grass in Federal Hill, Portalli’s in Ellicott City and Venegas Steakhouse in Maple Lawn. And they keep coming: Ullswater recently opened in Federal Hill, and slated to open this spring are the City Tap House in Harbor East, Charmington’s in Remington and a new tapas bar in the space once occupied by The Bicycle in Federal Hill. That’s just what’s on my radar right now.

So take heart, friends— things aren’t all that bleak. Every new restaurant, pub, bar, lounge and club adds more diversity and excitement to our cultural landscape. It all helps form a more vibrant, livable city.

Another part of what makes for a cosmopolitan, livable city is a thriving and diverse downtown retail landscape. Baltimore once had this in spades: four major, local department store chains— all with behemoth flagship stores centered on Howard and Lexington streets. A “ladies’ mile” of high-end boutiques and shops on Charles Street that lured fashionable women up from Washington to shop. Smaller neighborhood shopping districts on Greenmount Avenue, Pennsylvania Avenue, in Hamilton, Hampden, Essex and along York Road. Sadly, most of these are gone.

On page 42, Style contributor Mary K. Zajac digs into the history of the Hochschild, Kohn & Co. department store and its grand, six-floor emporium downtown. It’s hard to imagine the bustling energy that these stores had, and how intricately they were woven into the day-to-day lives of Baltimoreans. The memories of the decorated store windows at Christmastime, the formal dining rooms and tearooms, and the much-cherished Thanksgiving Toytown Parade that brought Santa to town and kicked off the Christmas shopping season— all make one a bit melancholy that Hochschild’s is no more.

You can still see Hochschild’s engraved-stone store logo on its big, old service building at Park Avenue and Centre Street. And you can still appreciate its taste and cachet in its 1948 Streamline Moderne-designed Belvedere branch, still looking spiffy on York Road at Belvedere Square (now Daedalus Books and a Lynne Brick gym). The next time you’re there, walk down that sweeping entrance ramp to the lower level (near where Hochschild’s Coffee Cup snack bar once was). There’s a nice display there with big, vintage photographs that relates some of the history of this once-great store. 

Brian Michael Lawrence
editor-in-chief
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http://www.baltimorestyle.com

For most of my life, the world was flat to me, bounded by California on the west and Turkey on the east, the farthest points to which I’d ever traveled. Now, after 14 plane trips, eight currencies and 24 time zones, this country girl (and longtime fearful flier) can tell you the world is indeed round. I started out going west, kept going and showed up back in Baltimore again 64 days later. Hey!
Even though I wanted to go ’round the world, I didn’t want a whirlwind tour, a different country every day. You’ve heard of “slow food”— what I desired was “slow travel.” I’d stop only a few places— six or seven in all— but I’d sink deeply into each. And while I’d travel alone, I’d rely on guides and hosts to welcome me, introduce me to their home countries and allow me to know them. Thanks to an air booking agency, Twitter, online traveler review services and my own research, I was able to make all the arrangements for my adventures before I left.

And what adventures they were! I walked the rooftops in old Jerusalem, took a 14-hour market-to-table cooking class in Aix-en-Provence (oh, the lavender-infused creme brulee!) and discovered my own personal ruined castle among the frost-tinged moors on an island in Lochindorb, Scotland.

But, of all my experiences, four stand out.

The Myoshinji Temple Complex
Kyoto, Japan
“Myoshinji?” I said hopefully to the woman who stepped down behind me from the bus. It was 11 p.m. and I’d just realized that I’d overshot my bus stop. She smiled and led me silently back down the road until we reached the entrance to the Myoshinji temple complex, which includes about 40 temples, each with its own resident group of monks. The huge and forbidding gate was closed, but a little wooden side door was unlocked.

I walked through it and for the next few minutes felt my way silently through one moonlit temple courtyard after another until I reached the Shunkoin temple, which rents a few rooms to visitors. Like all of the rooms, mine was small, with a mat on the floor and a pillow filled with a kind of seed pod. Delicate sliding screens separated it from the outdoors. I slid the screens closed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

At dawn I was awakened by the sound of gentle rain on wooden shingles and a deep-voiced bell being hit with a wooden hammer. This was the day I would meet Maeda Roshi, head of Zuihoin Temple, teacher and mentor to Masato Fujiwara, the architect and builder who’d been serving as my guide in Kyoto. I had chosen to visit Kyoto because it is a city of art, literature and music, and because its Buddhist temple gardens are miracles of understatement, discipline and humor. But it was the first stop on my trip, and I was feeling a bit disoriented and intimidated by all the foreignness.

My hour with Maeda Roshi changed that. A vigorous man in his late 60s, he was waiting for us in one of the inner temple rooms reached by a corridor lined with magnificent works of art. I managed to get into a fairly comfortable position on the floor— not easy for me— and Masato seated himself to the side so he could translate. Within minutes we were talking and laughing. I felt at ease and understood.

After Maeda Roshi performed a simplified tea ceremony, I ventured a question. “I love to walk among the trees and animals,” I said. “I can feel God there so easily, but I don’t always like to be around people. I can’t feel close to God with other people, especially in a crowd.”

“See the people as trees,” he said. This was a perfect Zen answer: With five words, Maeda Roshi completely resolved my question, lifted me to a new level— and set before me a challenge.

The next day I tried to practice “people-as-trees” in the Ryoanji Temple garden, which is one of the most famous, and most simple, of all Zen gardens in the world: just raked gravel and a few large rocks. The garden was tranquil and peaceful; the other visitors were not. But when I expanded my vision so that the human visitors were part of the scene, not an intrusion, something let go. I was, at least for that moment, in charity with all my fellow human beings— even ones who tell bad jokes in a famous Zen garden. Throughout my entire trip, people-as-trees became a touchstone when I was impatient with anybody or anything— even myself.

The Golden Triangle motorcycle ride
Chiang Mai, Thailand
I was straddling a rented Honda Phantom motorcycle in the northern Thailand city of Chiang Mai, threading my way through traffic, trying to keep my eyes on the bright yellow helmet straight ahead. The helmet belonged to my guide for the weekend, Jim Spence, and when I took my eyes off of it to look ahead, I gasped. Just outside the flat cityscape, the Himalayan Mountains, dim in the morning mist, seemed to fill the whole sky.

I’d bought my first motorcycle when I turned 60, and when I heard about the Golden Triangle loop in northern Thailand, 450 miles of fairly good mountain road (with 4,000 turns) that winds through some of the most spectacular countryside in the world, I knew I had to try it. This would be a day trip; the plan was just to do a small section of the Loop.

My first hint that the day wouldn’t go according to plan occurred at Mae Rim just north of Chiang Mai, when Jim turned off the main road onto a lesser but still mostly paved road. Whenever the road turned sharply, it gave way to a series of ruts.  To my surprise I not only stayed vertical, I was enjoying myself. I had asked Jim to take me away from the tourist routes. Here I was, riding past lush fields of green— this part of Thailand could probably feed most of southeast Asia— and stopping at a marvelous roadside restaurant where the owner cooked us a meal straight from her garden.

After lunch, Jim turned off the lesser road, this time to one made of dirt and rock. This was a track he’d taken before, but not for six months and in that time the road had deteriorated to the point where a constant effort of will and muscle was required to forge forward. It was exhausting and scary. But I was still doing well, and still enjoying myself.

Then we came to a stretch of road paved in uneven cobblestones that led to a steep downhill with a curve at the bottom. I stopped and got off the bike, trying to gather my fast-ebbing courage. Right then a scooter sailed past bearing a young Thai woman with two children on the back. “There go all my excuses,” I conceded, saddled up and headed downhill to meet my fate. A man on a scooter was coming up right at that moment and his eyes grew wider and wider as he saw me coming right for him in an impromptu game of chicken. At the last moment I remembered that in Thailand you drive on the left side of the road and swerved out of his way.

Our adventures didn’t stop there, but continued for hours under the hot sun. We got lost, stopped to help a young Thai who had failed to navigate one of the treacherous turns on his scooter, then found ourselves. To my infinite relief, we made it safely back to Chiang Mai just as darkness fell.

My reward for the day was Jim’s quiet comment that I had done very well, and that most riders even with off-road experience would have likely fallen off their bikes at least once on the route we’d traveled. For my own part, I took from the day a sense of quiet confidence that I could handle danger and stress in unknown conditions. Given the choice, I wouldn’t have picked such a difficult route, but I treasured having survived it as much as I treasured my view of the remote Thai countryside.

The Haa Valley, Bhuta
Only eight pilots in the world are licensed to make the entry into Bhutan’s lone airport and if you have a window seat for the approach, you can see why. The day I flew in, the plane played thread-the-needle with a series of mountain spurs, getting closer and closer to the ground, to the accompaniment of wooden flute music piped over the communications system. All the passengers erupted in applause when we dodged the last haystack and touched down.

By Bhutanese law, travelers must be accompanied at all times by a guide. I chose Bridge to Bhutan, which is run by two young brothers, Lotay Rinchen and Fin Norbu. Lotay and Fin come from the village of Dorokha, in the Haa Valley, a pre-industrial farm area in western Bhutan that did not have electricity, roads or cell phones until two years ago. Everywhere I went, I met members of the men’s extended family. The urban family members were educated; at the other extreme were the nomads who follow the family’s herds of cattle to new pastures each day, and who do not read or write (but use cell phones!).

After a day touring the area around the airport so I could acclimate to the altitude of about 8,000 feet, Fin and his cousin Phuentsho and I set off by car for the six-hour trip to Dorokha, which is reached by crossing the 13,000-foot Chelala Pass. The top of the pass, where hundreds of white prayer flags whip in the wind, is mute, heartbreaking and hopeful. Stretching beyond our feet was a series of mountains enclosing fertile settled valleys. As we descended the other side, I saw beautiful farms with carefully tended fields and fences, all built by hand.

In my two days of living with Phuentsho’s sister Deki and her husband Ugyen in Dorokha, I helped prepare an evening meal picked from the garden that featured butter churned that morning and rose at dawn for the milking of the family’s cows. I knew that in 1972, the king of Bhutan coined the phrase Gross National Happiness as an alternative to Gross National Product for measuring growth and progress. And, witnessing a standard of living in Bhutan that includes large well-built farmhouses, good food, beautiful clothing and decoration and an extensive and intricate system of family and village connections, I wondered, “What have I been missing?” And what will happen next year when a hotel is constructed so that foreigners can visit the Haa Valley and soak up all the pre-industrial bliss? I’ve often dreamed of time-traveling to Maryland in the days before the Industrial Revolution, and spending a few days there. Visiting Dorokha gave me a taste of that, and it was wonderful.

Masai Mara Game Reserve, Kenya
My week in a game camp in the Masai Mara was full of excitement. One day my guides Frederick Ronko and William Rotigen (Masai warriors commonly take English first names and Masai last names) and I helped three young goat herders avoid a troupe of hyena. One night we heard a terrible prolonged roaring noise and the next day found a slaughtered water buffalo and her calf. And, since my cabin was next to a water hole, I was endlessly entertained by zebra grazing, impala and warthog skirmishing and tiny monkeys carrying their even tinier babies watching to see whether I’d left my door open.

But my greatest adventure began when my guides offered to introduce me to a young Masai woman so she and I could play the African drum together. When I saw Agnes Mako sitting shyly on my porch holding two drums in her lap, my heart just melted. After a half-hour or so of exchanging rhythms and smiling, we talked easily (she had learned excellent English in school), and the next day she sent a carefully handwritten note inviting me to attend her school graduation.

A brave and determined 16-year-old with a sweet and slightly mischievous smile, Agnes was one of only two girls in her graduating class. Her mother is a widow living in her late husband’s village, unusual circumstances that allow both Agnes and her mother the rare chance to control their own property, which, for the Masai, is primarily cattle. (In general, Masai women do not own property and have almost no legal rights.)

As Frederick, William and I walked to the school for the graduation ceremony, I told them I wanted to give Agnes a calf that could be raised and sold to pay the fees that would allow Agnes to continue her schooling. It was a radical idea— Agnes will probably be the first Masai young woman ever to have a calf of her own. But Frederick and William and I had had a chance to discuss the idea of women’s rights during our long game drives, and now they offered to help oversee the purchase of the calf and protect Agnes’ rights, if necessary.

When we got to the school, Agnes greeted me along with the other adults, with her head bowed for blessing. I met her mother and asked her permission to make my gift. Then Frederick and William gathered all the adults together and spoke to them about the plan. Though I couldn’t understand what was being said, I could see the excited expressions on the villagers’ faces. Agnes herself was clearly embarrassed by all the attention, but was pleased.

Afterward, when we walked to where the village women were preparing a feast, they all told me they would help see that Agnes continued her schooling. Agnes’ mother took two beautiful beaded necklaces from her own shoulders and put them on my neck. Of all the souvenirs collected on my trip, I treasure those necklaces the most.

I had thought that my ’round-the-world trip would be the last traveling I ever did, that I’d spend the rest of my days “home by the fire.” But now I have friends all over the world to visit. At the very least, I must return to Africa, to see Agnes grow into a leader of her community, and to play the drum with her again.

As you might expect from its name, Field House is a sports bar. Or rather, a sports bar on steroids. Two floors. Multiple bars. Fifty plasma screen TVs, all tuned to sports (including many booths with private TV screens). Located in the double-height space that once housed the elegant restaurant Atlantic and, more recently, Ray Lewis’ Full Moon Bar-B-Que, Field House is an offshoot of the identically named upscale sports bar in Philadelphia. Claim a table, booth or seat at the bar and peruse the menu of classic American pub fare: soups, sandwiches, salads, pizza and entrées like shepherd’s pie and roasted chicken pasta. French fries come four ways: Chesapeake (with Old Bay and cheese sauce), Southwestern (chipotle dipping sauce), Spanish (chorizo sausage, pico de gallo, jalapenos and pepper jack cheese) and Cheesesteak fries (with shaved ribeye, sauteéd onions and Cheese Whiz)!  2400 Boston St., 410-800-4004

Maybe the Orioles’ problem these last dozen years or so has to do with the same old spring training regimen year after year in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Perhaps some fresh scenery in a new city will provide that shot of winning karma the team so desperately needs. (And maybe Cal Ripken will come out of retirement to bash 40 home runs, too.)

At the very least, the move to Sarasota’s Ed Smith Stadium means frustrated O’s fans have a new city to explore— one with a great mix of cultural, culinary and recreational activities and more than a few similarities to Baltimore.

> ATTRACTIONS
Culture vultures’ first stop should be the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art (941-359-5700, ringling.org). Like Baltimore’s William and Henry Walters, circus magnate John Ringling combed the world for artistic masterpieces. In 1931 he built a museum with 21 galleries in which to display works by Rubens, van Dyck, El Greco and hundreds of others.

To see how the Ringlings lived, stop by the couple’s sprawling mansion, Ca d’Zan, on the museum grounds. The 36,000-square-foot Venetian Gothic terra-cotta manse with 41 rooms and 15 bathrooms looks as if Don Corleone and Louis XIV teamed up on the design. Mable Ringling had a thing for roses, and visitors can wander her 22,000-square-foot rose garden out back.

Also on the premises is the Ringling Circus Museum, a trove of memorabilia and artifacts documenting the history of Ringling Bros. and “The Greatest Show on Earth.” Note John and Mable’s over-the-top private rail car, the Wisconsin, in which they traveled the country in luxury.

Like Baltimore’s National Aquarium, the Mote Marine Laboratory (941-388-4441, mote.org) offers live dolphin shows and a shark tank, but also features indigenous manatees and rays for petting.

A short drive away lays the Sarasota Jungle Gardens (sarasotajunglegardens.com), an old-time Florida attraction comprised of “jungle” pathways and dozens of tropical birds, alligators and other South Florida critters. The highlight here is a free-range flock of pink flamingos, which visitors can feed by hand. Check also for daily performances by Frosty, the aging cockatoo who’s been riding a unicycle for audiences since his days on the “Ed Sullivan Show.”

> DINING
Like Baltimore, seafood dominates menus in these parts. But the crabs are stone crabs. (You eat only their claws, usually served cold, with a little cocktail sauce or mustard.) The old-school, Obrycki’s equivalent here is Moore’s, an institution on nearby Longboat Key. It may look like a seafood packing house from the outside, but its open-air, bayside tables make for a perfect crab-cracking setting (941-383-1748, stonecrab.cc).

Siesta Key, an 8-mile-long barrier island just south of downtown, has its share of rollicking crab and oyster bars, including Captain Curt’s, whose clam chowder scored first prize at last year’s International Chowder Championships (941-349 3885, captaincurts.com).

If you prefer white linen on your tables instead of brown paper, try Aqua, one of the area’s hot new seafood restaurants (941-918-8041, aqua576.com). It has great views of Sarasota Bay from its third-floor dining room and sublime caramelized sea scallops with Moroccan couscous.
> RECREATION
You’re in Florida, aren’t you? Hit the beach. Stephen “Dr. Beach” Leatherman, a coastal researcher at Florida International University, ranked the white quartz sands of Siesta Key the second best in the nation in 2009. Incredibly, the powdery sand stays cool to the touch even in summer.

If shopping is your pleasure, head to St. Armands Circle (starmandscircleassoc.com), a tony enclave of 130 stores (mostly independent) and restaurants, located on St. Armands Key, a short drive from downtown. That busy eatery spilling out onto the sidewalk is the Columbia Restaurant, (941-388-3987, columbiarestaurant.com), which has been serving Spanish food in Sarasota since 1959. You won’t find Natty Boh on its menu, but you can find fantastic sangria, made tableside— a wonderful drink with which to toast an Orioles’ win. Or, alas, mourn another loss.

> DETAILS
AirTran Airlines offers nonstop and connecting flights from BWI Airport to Sarasota. Southwest flies direct to Tampa Bay, about an hour’s drive away. The Orioles provide a list of hotels near the stadium and offer several travel packages, including air, hotel, rental car and tickets at baltimore.orioles.mlb.com/ spring_training. For info on Sarasota tourism: 800-800-3906, sarasotafl.org. 

At Tortilleria Sinaloa on Eastern Avenue, men in thick wool shirts buttoned over hooded sweatshirts eat posole. They lift spoons to mouths to taste the pork-enriched broth. They add spoonfuls of chopped white onion and pinches of cilantro, and lift again, this time chewing steadily on the nuggets of hominy that have opened and bloomed like popcorn in the soup. Never mind that it’s morning and that each opening of the door brings a slice of frigid winter air. Never mind that the metallic squeal and grinding of the tortilla machine makes conversation all but impossible. The posole, its steam warming their faces more than the weak sunshine coming through the plate glass storefront, is their focus.

It is my focus, too. This morning, Isabella Leon, a four-year employee of the tortilleria owned by Melissa and Robert Willingham, is going to show me how to make the spicy soup.

My curiosity about posole springs from a curiosity about hominy. Lately I’ve been seeing hominy as a recipe ingredient in contemporary food magazines, like the Chili with Guajillo and Ancho Chiles and Hominy featured in a recent Food and Wine. But like many of my generation, hominy is an enigma. I know it’s a corn product and a staple in some Southern kitchens. I have a vague memory of seeing cans in someone’s pantry. To be frank, I’d been turned off by descriptions of it as congealed (who wouldn’t?) until I first ate hominy in posole, a dish that has grown in popularity in Baltimore thanks to the Mexican cooks who serve it in the Latin American restaurants that populate Fells Point.

A little research reveals that hominy is no newcomer to the city. Philip Stieff’s compilation “Eat, Drink, and Be Merry in Maryland” features a recipe for “Hominy Chafing Dish,” a rich dish of hominy baked with butter and cream. More recently, recipes for hominy muffins and hominy with sausage and pan gravy are included in John Shields’ “The Chesapeake Bay Cookbook.” And, as I learn, it wasn’t that long ago that East Baltimore boasted one of the region’s best known hominy producers, Mrs. Manning’s Hominy.

A conversation with Mrs. Manning’s grandson, Parkville resident Chris Manning, kick-starts my hominy education. He explains that hominy is the dried cracked kernels of white corn that have been steamed to both plump the kernels and allow the hull to be peeled away (a similar product, whole kernel hominy, depends on lye for peeling the hull).  “To make it from scratch yourself, it takes a long time,” says Manning. “It’s very tedious.” In that sense, he muses, his grandmother’s canned hominy was “one of the first fast [prepared] foods.”

Margaret Manning, a German emigrant, began selling her homemade hominy, along with other products like sauerkraut, door to door in 1904. By 1917, her hominy was so popular that the family began mass producing it under the name “Mrs. Manning’s Hominy” from a packing house at 803 S. Clinton St. Chris Manning even remembers hearing a live local radio ad during World War II when he was 12 or 13, in which the announcer extolled “the virtues of Mrs. Manning’s Hominy”... saying “Don’t forget to look for Mrs. Manning on the can.” He pauses adding, “That’s what’s known as a blooper.”

During the Depression, Baltimoreans turned to hominy as an inexpensive, filling side dish, says Chris Manning, who still eats hominy the way he ate it growing up at that time.  “I put it in a pot,” he explains. “Heat it up. I add a little milk and a pat of butter and maybe a little bit of pepper. You don’t need to add salt. When you heat it, it uncongeals.” Manning says the hominy is especially good with sausage or pork chops, particularly if you replace the butter with a little pork fat from the skillet.

According to Manning, the Mannings’ cannery was the last remaining canning factory in Baltimore City until the business was sold in 1995 to Lake Packing Co. Inc.  in Lottsburg, Va., who retained the name but moved the operation. Even the can’s packaging is the same as it was—a clean white label with “Manning’s” in red capital letters above a blue bowl of the fluffy white hominy and “ALL NATURAL HOMINY” in yellow on a navy band below. The only change may be the addition of “Maiz Pozolero” on the label, a nod to a new wave of immigrants seeking out hominy for posole.

At Tortilleria Sinaloa, however, Isabella Leon uses dried hominy rather than canned in the posole, explaining that the dried hominy has more flavor. She begins by boiling the dried hominy in water until the kernels are soft. Every so often she reaches in with a spoon, pulls out some hominy and prods and scrapes the hull with a French manicured fingernail to see if the hull is loose. When it’s ready, she rinses the hominy, and puts it back in the pot to boil for another half-hour with a large, peeled onion and a small handful of garlic cloves.

“Everyone in Mexico eats posole,” says Isabella, while she defrosts the pink and white pork ribs and split pig’s feet that will go into the stew. In Mexican homes, it’s made for birthdays, Christmas or whenever a family gets together. The tortilleria makes posole several times a week, although at busy times it can be made twice a day. All of the women at the shop take turns making the soup, and while they might vary their recipe at home, making a green posole using green peppers and tomatillos or creating their stock with chicken, here at the tortilleria, Isabella explains, the posole is pork-based and red.

To make the “red,” Isabella and I pull the stems off of dried shiny red guajillo peppers that have been soaking in water, and push them into a blender with an onion, garlic and water. Once the mixture is blended into a tomato colored cocktail, Isabella strains it into a bowl where, separated from its skins and seeds, the mixture loses its redness and becomes a bright luminous orange. It looks dangerous and spicy, but it smells (and tastes) fresh, like the juicy ripeness of a raw red bell pepper.

Once the pork has cooked in the hominy broth for about 30 minutes, Isabella ladles several spoonfuls of the guajillo mixture into the soup, adds some salt and it is done. She dips me a small bowl and I inhale the soup’s multi-layered scent before bringing a spoon to my mouth where I taste pork fat, sweet pepper and the chewy nuttiness of the hominy. It is incredibly humble and incredibly good.

I ask Isabella how she learned to make posole, but she simply shrugs and smiles. “Everyone knows how to make it. It just takes a long time,” she says, gesturing to another pot of hominy bubbling on the stove.

Hominy, Oysters and Sausage Dinner
Pork Posole

Big changes have come to The Can Co. complex in Canton and Langermann’s is a welcome addition. The two-level space that was formerly Kiss Cafe has undergone a complete renovation, yielding large dining rooms both upstairs and down, as well as a spacious bar area with seating of its own. The menu, described as “Southern inspired,” comes courtesy of seasoned executive chef Neal Langermann (Red Sage, J. Paul’s, Clyde’s, Georgia Brown’s in D.C.) and doesn’t disappoint. Southern staples such as shrimp and grits, fried catfish and fried green tomatoes all appear, as well as a tempting jumbo lump crabcake served with corn succotash. The herb-roasted chicken (with stewed green beans and mashed potatoes) is a bargain at $14.95, and the aged white cheddar macaroni and cheese is reason enough to become a regular.  Serving breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. 2400 Boston St., 410-534-3287

Upon entering Stephen Fisher’s North Baltimore home, it is immediately apparent that a collector lives within. Nineteenth-century European paintings line the walls, salon style, first floor to third. Japanese cloisonné vases, singularly and in artistic groupings, pop up by the front door, in the den— and one with a crab motif sits by the kitchen sink, near the jar of silver polish and box of baking soda Fisher is using to clean each of the 130 objects to be displayed as part of the show “Japanese Cloisonné Enamels from the Stephen W. Fisher Collection” at The Walters Art Museum.

Finally reaching Fisher’s living room at the back of the house, one is surrounded by Japanese cloisonné, all of it produced from 1880 to 1915, during the late Meiji period, when Japan was attempting to advance economically and become a world power. Cloisonné boxes, jars, vases, bowls and trays fill lighted cabinets, perch on shelves, sit on a long table atop a gold obi, a kimono sash normally worn around a Japanese woman’s waist.

Begun in 1970 with one Chinese cloisonné toothpick holder purchased for $5 at a Bolton Hill yard sale, Fishers’ collection has grown in quantity and quality. When the 130 pieces leave his home for the museum, another 70 from storage will immediately take their place.

“I believe in ‘slow and steady wins the race,’” says the 60-something retired Baltimore County public school teacher, counselor and principal who is currently an interior designer. Over the course of 40 years, through patient waiting, inquiring, searching, saving, selling family silver, borrowing money, swapping and persistence, Fisher has amassed a collection that is considered by The Walters to be one of the finest in the world. His collecting has led him to Paris, Amsterdam, Germany, Austria, Switzerland and Japan. Many pieces were purchased in London. “Think about it,” says the consummate teacher. “Everything went through London.”

Three of his favorite pieces in the Walters exhibition are an Ando gold wire fish vase that appears on the cover of the catalog, another vase by Ando depicting a mountain scene and a deep blue gull vase that was the centerpiece of the first Walters show of his collection in 1989. Fisher purchased that gull vase by Namikawa Yasuyuki, along with three other outstanding pieces, on Madison Avenue in the late ’70s. Those pieces moved his collection to a new level. “I was ready to mortgage the house,” he remembers. “I knew I had to do something, so I sold 40 [objects] to buy my first four major pieces.”

Fisher’s love of art began as a child in New York, where he grew up near the Metropolitan Museum of Art, frequented the Cloisters and had private art lessons beginning at age 10. As a student at Haverford College outside of Philadelphia, he was a history major and often visited the famous Barnes Collection nearby. After college he lived in Europe for several years, studying the works of Austrian painters Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele.

Upon returning to the States, Fisher moved to Washington, D.C., and began a career as a teacher. It was the Vietnam era, and he felt that the future of America depended on quality public education. That is one reason he’s happy his collection is on display at The Walters, which offers educational programs for children. “I’ve always thought that collecting art is about sharing and teaching others about what you value,” he says.

Like any collector driven by passion, a major museum exhibition isn’t stopping Fisher’s momentum to acquire more. Just two months before the Walters show, he purchased a major piece, a large 1900 vase by Namikawa Sosuke depicting a raven in a maple tree. “The raven has special meaning; I’m a Baltimorean by transplant… and that raven has attitude. This piece is first-rate in every way,” he says, pointing to the beak, the detail of the shadows in the enamel and the work’s seeming simplicity, always a hallmark of great art. “People could collect their entire lives and be satisfied with just this.”

“Japanese Cloisonné Enamels from the Stephen W. Fisher Collection” runs Feb. 14 to June 13 at The Walters Art Museum. 410-547-9000, http://www.thewalters.org

Bordeaux is steeped in tradition. Even in the old-boy network of wine regions, it’s a powerhouse, with more than 1,000 years of winemaking history and some 300,000 acres of vineyards planted. When I visited Bordeaux last fall, I thought this would be the last place to get a pulse on wine trends for the future. I was wrong. During the visit, I experienced two major trends that I think are significant for the entire winemaking world.

> Biodynamic Winemaking Techniques Organic winemaking prohibits the use of pesticides, herbicides and, for the most part, preservatives. Biodynamics takes these concepts further by adding a holistic approach. Timing planting, harvest and other activities to the lunar calendar and using natural means to combat pests and disease are just a few of the tenets of Biodynamics. Clos Puy Arnaud— located in the Cotes de Castillon region of Bordeaux— is run by Thierry Valette, who is dedicated to these techniques. Thierry is the former co-owner of a prestigious estate in St. Emilion and a former choreographer. Now he makes natural wines that dance on the palate. Visiting with Thierry is as delicious as it is inspirational. He explained that the all-natural practices of biodynamics are riskier than modern techniques. He adds, though, “When you take risks you are truly alive.” Great words (and wine) to live by.

> New Packaging Options Ever have wine in a tube? I hadn’t until my visit to Chateau d’Arche in the Sauternes region. Sauternes and other winemakers in Bordeaux are experimenting with glass wine tubes for selling smaller “glass sized” portions. The tubes are 10 centilitres (3.38 ounces) in volume. Sweet wines, like Sauternes, are perfect for the tube. Rather than purchasing a $40 bottle of wine, you can pick up a tube to go with dessert and, also, to share with your date, for only $10. In the Medoc, Chateau Anthonic makes the tubes available to retailers in order to let consumers sample their wines. With each case purchased, a retailer receives tubes to use for samples. Many retailers are hesitant to open a $50 bottle of Bordeaux for sampling purposes but, if you have a hot prospect, you can crack open a tube. (I’m not sure if these are approved by the FAA for air travel, but I’m excited about the possibility of bringing tubes on board so I don’t have to choke down the mediocre wine that airlines usually serve. That would be progress!)

Bordeaux has a beautiful countryside, a long tradition of winemaking and gorgeous, Old World chateaux in every direction, but it also has a group of driven, passionate winemakers who focus on innovation. If you want to experience a place where old school meets the new cool… Bordeaux is it!

To experience the tradition and innovation in Bordeaux first-hand, join The Wine Coach for the Bordeaux Harvest Tour in September 2010. Visit http://www.thewinecoach.com/bordeaux for details.

Laurie Forster, The Wine Coach®, is a wine educator who creates corporate events, group tastings and team-building seminars. She is the author of “The Sipping Point: A Crash Course in Wine,” and can be heard each week on WBAL 1090 AM.

It’s somehow appropriate that O’Malley Antiques has moved from being next to a restaurant (where they were on the opposite end from Petit Louis in the Roland Park Shopping Center) to a space once occupied by a restaurant (the old McCafferty’s location in Mount Washington). The switch has enabled O’Malley’s to almost double the amount of inventory on display. What hasn’t changed? Their focus. You’ll still find 19th- and 20th-century American pieces, plus 18th-century Continental, Maryland furniture, Chinese and Japanese exports, Quimper, engravings, lithographs, Staffordshire, silver pieces, rugs, mirrors and more. What you won’t find? Empire and Victorian. “We like to stick with the blue blazer look,” says owner Charlene O’Malley. Indeed. Don’t Miss:  The chance to find exactly what you want. If you don’t see it in stock, Charlene will track it down. 1501 Sulgrave Ave., 410-466-0606

Claire Hecht Miller was anxious. She was out running last-minute errands before hosting her first major party in her recently renovated home for 55 guests. “When I came through the door and saw the job that Jake Boone had done on the flowers and the table settings, I relaxed,” she says. “I knew I was in good hands.”

The idea for the party had been hatched months before, when she and her husband, Lee, had seen the Brasil Guitar Duo playing at a small club in Rockport, Mass., during a summer holiday. Taken by the duo’s talent, Lee went online and discovered they’d be in Maryland for another performance in November, and the idea of having a party with a musical performance by the pair was born.

Invitations with a black lace detail were mailed, Ridgewell’s was hired to provide catering and Jake Boone was brought in to design the flowers, tables and centerpieces.

Guests enjoyed butlered hors d’oeuvres and champagne upon entering the home, then were seated for the classical musical performance. Afterward, they adjourned to tables for the seated buffet dinner, which included peppercorn-crusted beef tenderloin, crab cakes, grilled vegetables, three-cheese potatoes and a red treviso salad with compressed Asian pear. Sauterne was served with dessert.

“Throwing a party is like putting on a little production,” says the hostess. “But once the planning was done and it was under way, I just relaxed and enjoyed myself.”

There were long, long lines. Customers were impatient. Clerks were rude and short-tempered. They were out of most of their stock. Furious patrons vowed they’d never be back. It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. But it wasn’t Christmas. It was just a regular day at my local post office.

The post offices I frequent— the Roland Park and Hampden branches— now close each afternoon from 1 to 3 p.m., triggering a scene of merriment worse than the mayhem of the season to be jolly.

Lines normally associated with the Nazarene’s birthday, the April tax deadline or an old-fashioned savings & loan bank run are now daily sights. As Bob Dylan reminds us, “The post office has been stolen and the mailbox is locked ...” I imagine a similar scene is occurring throughout the city as post offices shut their doors for one- or two-hour spans (not the same spans, of course, because that would be too user-friendly). Some now close for the day at 1 p.m., making even bankers look like they’re doing overtime. If your post office has not started closing, don’t worry, it will soon enough.

At the Roland Park station, the automated stamp machines broke during the reign of Reagan and were never repaired. The old photocopy machine, a device that might be useful at a post office, died. So did the plants. Recently, drawings by small children based on their heart-warming visits to the post office were removed. (Why add insult to injury?) All of the old clerks have been transferred or retired and now only one harried clerk staffs the counter most days.

The clock has been removed, too. Why remind customers how long they’ve been in line?

Perhaps the end of the postal service should not surprise us. First they took away most of the corner mailboxes. Then they reduced hours. The mail arrives later and later every day. Soon they’ll throw Saturday mail under the bus. The cost of mailing has gone up as the service has gone down. The price of the first-class stamp in my lifetime has rocketed from 3 cents to 44 cents, more than half that increase occurring in the past 20 years.

Lately the funsters at the postal service have been running these madcap TV ads designed to make it seem simple and even fun to go to the post office. It’s just one big happy family. No problem. No worries. We’re your pals at the U.S. Postal Service. There’s lots of smiling, and I think there’s hugging, too! The ads are beyond preposterous. People taking hallucinogenic drugs must be making them.

Not long ago I was selected to complete a customer satisfaction survey about the postal service. It came on the very day that my mail was delivered after 5 p.m., the two weekly newspapers I subscribe to arrived two weeks late, and I’d stood in line for one hour at my local branch. Don’t let anyone ever tell you that Americans are losing their sense of humor.

The salutation alone was the first belly laff.

“Dear Valued Customer…”

Valued customer?

Some days I receive mail that has been chewed up by either animals or machinery. I get a lot of mail that is wet. We’ve had droughts and my mail was wet! I get mail for people who lived at my address when James Polk was in the White House. When I get mail for my neighbors, I deliver it to the correct addresses, as they are nearby and I can use the exercise. (I know that this is probably a federal crime and that the FBI may come and see me now because they aren’t very busy.) This gives me an opportunity to engage in banter with other members of the valued customer family. Most of them do not like the postal service, either.

I did not bother to fill out the survey. Like most of my countrymen I rarely go postal. I have largely eliminated the postal service from my life. The Internet, UPS and FedEx have made that possible.

When I was a child, the mail was delivered by a postman right out of the imaginings of Norman Rockwell, a grandfatherly gent with a good word for one and all. He whistled. You could time his arrival with a calibrated watch. Even dogs liked him.

Once, mailmen were the cheerful face of the government at its best— patient, helpful and reliable. Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail, and all that. We don’t have a regular mail carrier now, and we haven’t for years. We never get mail if it snows. NEVER.

And now, everything at my local post office seems like a bad omen. Last year, they left the flag up all year, near as I can figure. Those broad stripes and bright stars that flew over Fort McHenry during the perilous fight flew every day and every night. They never took it down! Finally, the flag disintegrated, just sort of unraveled in the wind, much like the postal service.

These days, nothing is more au courant than thriftiness and recycling. Doing what’s best for your pocketbook and the planet is easy at Re Deux, a new second-hand shop tucked into the courtyard of Wyndhurst Station in Roland Park. On a recent trip, Savvy found wonderful pieces in you-let-THIS-sit-unworn-in-your-closet— really? shape from Burberry, Philosophy di Alberta Ferretti and Prada, as well as loads of nearly new bags, shoes, belts and scarves. Yes, you have to sift through some what-were-you-thinking? Talbots castoffs, but there are also plenty of vintage gems as well as “score!” moments like the one Savvy witnessed when she saw a pretty teenager scoop up an Alexander McQueen dress for her prom. Now that’s social responsibility Sav can fully support. Don’t Miss:  The sales. Merchandise gets further markdowns at the end of each season, making designer finds extra affordable. 5002 Lawndale Ave., Wyndhurst Station, 410-323-2140

Savvy has yet to be to a town where she can’t find fabulous shopping of some sort (she’s bought boots in Billings, perused vintage pepper shakers in Peoria, snagged some silver in Santa Fe… ). When she’s asked about her favorite secret out-of-town shopping destination, she has one answer: Desert Hills Premium Outlets in Cabazon, Calif. Did Savvy just say outlets? Yes. While she’s loved sending Baltimore friends to darling little boutiques in Paris, London, Miami and more, nothing has ever quite matched the reaction of folks who come back with tales of current season Etro, Ferragamo, Prada, Zegna, TSE and more for way less. Just a two-hour trip from Los Angeles, the outlets are right outside of Palm Springs. Follow the hipsters to the Ace Hotel (701 E. Palm Canyon Drive, 760-325-9900) which is a little like staying at an Urban Outfitters, but you’ll get into it. After your day of shopping, head back into Palm Springs for a fabulous dinner at Johannes (196 S. Indian Canyon Drive, 760-778-0017) the only restaurant that Savvy has ever been to that does California and Austrian cuisine equally well (she loved the rack of lamb and the schnitzel!).

After Harvey Ladew read Rachel Carson’s 1962 book, “Silent Spring,” which many credit with jump-starting the nationwide environmental movement, he stopped spraying his 250-acre Pleasant Valley Farm in Monkton with DDT. Today, the folks who run Ladew Topiary Gardens use that decision as the guiding light for their commitment to an increasingly environmentally sustainable approach.

“Sustainable and green practice now seems the common way to do things,” says Emily Wehr Emerick, the gardens’ executive director. “It didn’t used to be. ... Once everyone saw a problem and said ‘spray.’” Environmentally sound practices are key to maintaining the health of the 22 acres of historic gardens and five acres of meadows, says Emerick, as well as to reducing the roughly $400,000 annual cost of maintaining them.

Though environmental purists eschew lawns, Ladew would not be Ladew without the lush Great Bowl or the verdant lawns adjoining the two garden axes. But Tyler Diehl, head of gardens, has eliminated the mowing of some areas and adopted the ancient American Indian practice of burning the meadows every three to five years rather than mowing or spraying them.

Diehl and his crew add sand to the soil to prevent compacting in high-trafficked areas. And in several areas where thatch builds up and reoccurs, Diehl mows, scrapes it up, composts it, then re-seeds.

Perhaps most radically, instead of “blanket spraying” of broadleaf weeds, a small canister is used to target specific areas. Fifteen years ago, the turf was sprayed with fertilizers and weedkiller six times a year. Ten years ago, that was reduced to three times. Now only some areas receive treatment, and at most two times a year. Many areas receive no spraying at all.

The same is true in the Rose Garden. Diehl has reduced spraying to once a year and has gone back to planting old roses that require less maintenance. “Besides some ‘Knock Out’ roses we have only 18th- and 19th-century roses— no hybrid tea roses,” he says. “Ladew’s original climbing ‘New Dawn’ roses are well established. They’re also underplanted with banking plants, like perennial geraniums, to protect the beneficial insects that control aphids.”

Diehl and his gardeners have increased their tolerance of certain pests like aphids, and they don’t do anything to eradicate Japanese beetles on the roses. When he does spray the roses, Diehl uses the old-fashioned lime sulfur one year and dormant oil the next.

Throughout the gardens, especially on the 10-year-old Nature Walk, where tours and classes take place, Diehl is on a quest to curb the spread of non-native invasive plants. Trees like Norway maples, which Harvey Ladew planted, have now put out so many seedlings that they create a dense canopy that prevents understory trees and other plants from growing.

Other non-native invasives Ladew is working to reduce include multiflora roses, privet, garlic mustard, Canadian thistle, Japanese honeysuckle and miscanthus grass. “We can’t eradicate these completely, because the deer population feeds on them farther up the road, then deposits the seeds here,” says Diehl. But he tries. He pulls 75 percent of the plants. He also cuts them. Only if there is a big stand or something with a substantial trunk does he apply a pesticide to the stems by paintbrush or spray.

Diehl looks to natives first when he has to replace a plant. “Mr. Ladew used natives in his gardens— hemlocks, tulip poplars, sugar maples and locusts,” says Diehl. Because the aim is to preserve the original design and plantings, when a blue spruce dies another blue spruce is planted. But Diehl also uses natives like hornbeam and dogwood trees, witch hazel, clethra and Echinacea, and he’s replaced non-native invasive grasses like miscanthus with panicum (“switch”) grass.

For the past several years, Diehl and his team have devoted more time to sustainable practices like composting. The gardeners haul everything no thicker than a baby finger onto the compost piles, which are turned three or four times a year. “It takes a few years to pay off, but it pays off big,” says Diehl.

Although they do water the lawns (because they are key to the historic gardens) they do so judiciously. “Careful turf maintenance leads to healthier lawns, which in turn lead to a decreased need to water,” says Emerick. “The secret is to water thoroughly when you water. Turf is no exception.”

Undoubtedly Harvey Ladew would be proud of the increased knowledge of sustainable practices the current administration and horticulturalists adhere to in his gardens. Problems that plagued him, like the perennial challenges of hemlock pests and diseases, have been checked by more “green” protocol.

“Harvey Ladew was a hands-on gardener who knew his plants intimately,” says Emerick. “He knew a successful garden was a healthy garden. He’d be fascinated with what our horticulturalists know now, what we are learning, and, more importantly, what we are putting into practice every year.”

Imagine a neoclassic palace of a building. Rounded arches, carved cornices, six levels of shopping and large windows at street level to show off the merchandise. A place where you could buy dry goods, notions, shoes, books and appliances all under one roof, a store convenient to the streetcar and to other downtown shopping at its location at Howard and Lexington. You would think such a place would thrive forever.

And yet, not long after the building’s opening, one of the store’s owners overheard one woman tell another, “It’s beautiful, but it can’t possibly last.”

The store owner was Max Hochschild and the store, Hochschild, Kohn & Co., was Baltimore’s first downtown department store. Hochschild’s more than outlasted that anonymous woman’s predictions. It even outlasted Max Hochschild, a man known for his longevity (he kept an office in the downtown store from his retirement in 1925 until 1957, two weeks shy of his 102nd birthday).

Founded in 1897 by Hochschild and brothers Benno Kohn and Louis B. Kohn, and designed by Joseph Evans Sperry, an innovative architect whose firm was one of the first to design buildings with elevators and flush toilets (the Bromo-Seltzer Tower is his most famous creation), Hochschild, Kohn & Co. remained at Lexington and Howard until 1977, when it became the first of the Baltimore department stores to abandon its downtown flagship.

Until then, it was the place to go to visit the Smoothie Shop for ladies corsets and full slips, or the hat department, where you could buy a Tailored Topper with your charga-plate. Shoppers left messages in Hochschild’s Appointment Book just inside the Howard Street entrance to tell friends to meet them for lunch at the sixth-floor Georgia Tea Room, checked purchases that would later be delivered home by the uniformed drivers, and perused the well-stocked book shop. Hochschild’s sold lamps and typewriters, fountain pens and furs, “better dresses,” pet supplies and beauty services. But still, as Michael Lisicky, author of “Hutzler’s: Where Baltimore Shops,” reflects, “Hochschild’s was where the common folk shopped.”

Hochschild’s president Martin Kohn echoed this sentiment in a store bulletin from the 1970s when he described Hochschild’s place in Baltimore’s department store history.  “Hochschild Kohn was not known as a high-fashion store,” he wrote. “Its volume was in the middle to better price range, and for its volume, it depended on its interesting and aggressive promotion, its broad stocks, its competitive pricing— but most of all, on its good will.” Hochschild’s valued customer service favored a liberal return policy and boasted that they sponsored “no fake sales,” even fashioning a complex set of rules for their Bargain Fridays, where set items were priced at least 15 percent off the regular price.

Despite this, Hochschild’s still had class. Former Hochschild’s employee Virginia Brunk Franklin recalled a 1943 training lecture in which female employees were told: “No bare arms, no bright dresses, no loud jewelry, no fancy hairstyles, no gum, no pencil behind the ear, and never, never call the customer ‘Hon’ or ‘Honey!’”

Sister Dorothy Daiger, SSND, whose father, Harry E. Daiger, was Hochschild’s production manager and did layouts for newspaper ads from 1945 to 1969, was a teen model for the store in the mid-1940s when girls from local high schools were chosen to model store merchandise. “You went to Teen World and picked out what you liked and then you put it on and you would model it in the tea room,” recalls Sister Dorothy. “I would walk through with other girls, stop at the tables and there would always be a lot of ladies up there having lunch and they would admire you and smile. And you would say, ‘This sells for $17.95 in the Teen World department.’ I did it for a couple of years.”

But what Sister Dorothy and many Baltimoreans remember best about Hochschild’s was the annual Thanksgiving Toytown Parade— a jumble of balloons including Mickey Mouse, Little Bunny Cotton Tail and a huge inflated dragon, marching bands, reindeer and, of course, Santa Claus. Beginning near the Baltimore Museum of Art, the parade wound its way downtown, signaling the beginning of the Christmas shopping season and drawing shoppers to Hochschild’s other major Christmas attraction, the street-level display windows, which were decorated with a different Christmas-related theme each season. What didn’t change from year to year, however, was the Laughing Santa Claus. Jovial to some, but terrifying to others, the giant mechanized Santa would lean forward in his chair, booming “Ho! Ho! Ho!” through speakers to shoppers on Howard Street.
In the following years, Hochschild’s would be known for a series of firsts. In 1947, with the opening of Hochschild’s Edmondson Village, it became the first downtown department store to expand into the suburbs. (The following year it opened a second suburban branch, its sleek Hochschild, Kohn Belvedere store, now a mixed-use retail complex at York Road and Belvedere Avenue.)

In 1960, Hochschild’s served 120 Morgan State student demonstrators in the downtown store restaurant, becoming the first of Baltimore’s department stores to integrate and eventually change their strict policies of not allowing African-Americans to either try on or return clothing.

In 1966, Hochschild’s, which had remained in the hands of its founders’ families, became the first acquisition of Warren Buffett’s Buffett Partnership Ltd. And in 1977, it became the first of Baltimore’s department stores to close its downtown store (the chain had expanded to include at least eight other locations, including Security Square, Columbia, Eastpoint, Harundale and Kenilworth).

The grand, six-story building at Lexington and Howard streets burned in a 10-alarm fire in 1983, the same year the Hochschild, Kohn & Co. chain went out of business, closing all of its branches. In 1985, Hutzler’s erected its glitzy new downtown “Palace” store on the former Hochschild’s site, but closed it a few years later as that venerable local department store chain also faced closure.  It has since been converted to a multi-use building including offices and several storefronts, none that boast a Laughing Santa.

The first ladies of Baltimore’s boutique scene, Melissa Kirby and Jamie Campbell, have left The Avenue (Shine Collective’s home since Melissa and her husband, Matt, founded it in 2002) and relocated to Clipper Mill. Now open Thursday to Sunday, Sav’s fave gals are spending more time focusing on their fashion blog and e-retail. But fear not, Shiners, you can still get your fill of Iosselliani stack rings, Linea Pelle handbags and great pieces from Monrow. And now also look for polish by RGB (Savvy is obsessed with Toast, a modern taupe shade, even though it makes her look like a corpse), the dresses from J Lee Silver and the charms from Mifflin. Stop in (yes, it’s in the back of the building next to the woods— it’s shopping among the squirrels, girls) for affordable luxuries and key pieces that will instantly up your fashionista factor. Don’t Miss: Catapult Vintage, amazing clothing and shoes edited by Shine resident stylist Alana Madill. Clipper Mill, 2010 Clipper Park Dr., 410-366-6100

Federal Hill loves its converted rowhouse bars, and recently gained another— called, not coincidentally— The Rowhouse Grille. The new owners gave the space a thorough renovation, and the result features blue-gray walls, glowing cherry floors and a polished oak bar and woodwork. A smallish dining room in the rear contains tables for gathering, and the upstairs holds another larger dining room, along with a smaller bar area complete with roaring fireplace and windows overlooking the street. Craft beer fans will delight in eight flowing taps (three of those dispensing Clipper City ales). The kitchen has been concentrating on lite fare, starters, salads and sandwiches (including some scrumptious paninis— roast beef and mozzarella, smoked salmon, Italian chicken, to name a few) for now, and plans to expand the menu in the coming months.  Open 4 p.m. to 1 a.m. Monday-Friday; 11 a.m. to 1 a.m. Saturday. 1400 Light St., 443-438-7289

During my 35 years in the corporate world, I encountered my share of job applications. But the one I filled out in June 2009 was the first that required a dance audition and a photograph of me in a tuxedo. This application wasn’t for a job per se, but for a gig as a “gentleman host,” where in exchange for free passage on a 30-day luxury cruise from Cape Town, South Africa, to Fort Lauderdale, Fla., I would (mostly) dance with single ladies of a certain age.
At 74, and retired for 12 years from my position as president of a $20 million, world-wide company, I felt my life had become stale and sedentary. I needed a new challenge. The role of gentleman host seemed perfect. I’d financed my first trip abroad— a student tour of Europe in 1955— by giving ballroom dance lessons and, ever since, I’ve loved to dance. I also love travel, especially at sea. And I love people… or so I thought.

After I boarded the ship in Cape Town, I learned from Ellie, the ship’s social hostess and my direct supervisor, that my responsibilities would encompass much more than a few fox trots and rumbas. I’d host a table of “Solos” (as both women and men traveling alone are known) at breakfast; assist with half-hour dance lessons twice a day; join Solos for cocktails; make up tables and host Solos for dinner; accompany a Solo to the evening show; and, finally, dance with single women until midnight, a time when any sane person my age would already be in bed. I’d need to learn and use all of the Solos’ names— roughly 45 of them— greet all of the 700 guests aboard with a cordial “good morning” or “good evening,” and always smile, smile, smile! And, Ellie said, I must never enter a passenger’s stateroom under any circumstance. There must not be even a hint of impropriety.

I spent my first few hours exploring my home for the next month, one of the most luxurious small cruise ships in the world. First, I located the Horizon Lounge, where most of my hosting activities would take place. It featured a long bar, a small stage and dance floor and scores of low-slung, heavy chairs that wouldn’t slide around in a rolling sea. Then I peeked in on the ship’s several dining rooms and the open-air pool deck, with its rows of deck chairs. Access to these attractions and many more— the theater, a computer center, the library, the boutique, a casino, a disco bar— was from a beautifully decorated atrium that soared from Deck 3 to Deck 11.

Then I met Heinz, the other host aboard who would share my 300-square-foot stateroom. At 67, Heinz had been traveling as a gentleman host since 1997. Tall and thin, with white hair and a mustache to match, he was from Munich and spoke with a slight accent. He favored a white dinner jacket and colored shirts, and wore rectangular Jil Sander glasses by day, and round-framed ones embedded with multi-colored speckles at night. He had seven pairs of shoes, some with contrasting laces, and immediately dismissed my Crocs as ugly and inappropriate, even after I’d explained that they were the only shoes comfortable for my feet and that I had gotten special dispensation to wear them.

At the opening cocktail party that evening, I met the first of the Solos. Brenda was retired from a career in private banking, and would (oddly, I thought) soon become addicted to the onboard casino. Terry was a jolly former bookie from London, obviously on the prowl for a single woman. Patrick, from Australia, emphasized points by drawing out vowels and dramatically blinking his eyes. Shirley, a retired airline stewardess, immediately announced I should be “ready,” because she loved to dance. And Mariella from Los Angeles was a sleek, Afghan hound-like divorcee who’d been married to several men (at separate times) in the movie industry.

Over the next day or two, I met more Solos. Gabriele was a 70ish, slight and stylish widow with carefully coifed gray hair and a long neck like a gazelle, which was often circled with a sparkling cuff of silver or gold. Born in Switzerland but now living in Florida, she spoke with a charming accent. Always elegant, and elegantly dressed, she favored the cha-cha, which she performed with an ease that could only have been achieved through many lessons. She shared my love of photography and when I showed her the sharpening function on a photo editing program, she declared me a genius.

Margot, on the other hand, was not so easily charmed. When we met, she insisted that her name was pronounced “Margo,” but spelled with a T. “Remember that,” she warned, pointing an arthritic forefinger in my direction. Margot didn’t often dance, but when she did, her girth and intransigence made leading her across the floor like steering a tank. One night at dinner, Margot got into a serious dispute with a woman named Diane, about some place in the world each had visited.

“Isn’t it strange?” Margot said, leaning toward Diane. “The limes there are yellow.”

“No,” said Diane. “They’re green.”

“No. They’re yellow.” Margot was not giving up.

“They’re not yellow,” Diane insisted.

“Yes, they are, dear. I’ve been there. And they’re yellow.”

“I’ve been there, too. And the limes are green!”

“Can one of you reach the butter?” I asked, falling back on years of corporate experience in conflict resolution by saying something, anything, to change the subject.

Then there were the Claudines— One and Two— French ladies in their 60s who spoke no English and were always beautifully dressed. They didn’t care about actual dance steps so long as they could push and pull me around and endlessly twist on their toes to the beat. Trying— not always successfully— to keep up with one of them on a moving dance floor, I often had to apologize in my stumbling, high school French for stepping on their elegantly lacquered red toes.

One night just as I was knotting my black tie in preparation for the captain’s reception, Ellie called my stateroom to ask if I could escort a Solo named Dr. Ruth to the boutique. The Dr. Ruth, I wondered? When I rang the bell to her suite, the woman who opened the door was as small as Dr. Ruth but otherwise quite different. Her dark hair, short and spun casually around her head, framed a face so full of wrinkles that its only smooth surface was at the bridge of her nose. She was stooped and slightly humped from osteoporosis but her dark eyes were alive with intelligence and mischief.

“Oh,” she said, “I deedn’t expect such a handsome gentleman.” She smiled and took my arm for the short walk to the elevator. “Be careful, Dr. Ruth,” I told her.  “The ship is jumping around a little.”

“Not a problem for me. Joost as long as I haf you,” she said with a coquettish grin. “And pleese call me Dr. Reetah.”

When we reached the boutique, Dr. Rita explained to the saleslady that she had regrettably left her jewelry at home and needed something to wear with her dress. Dr. Rita tried on a few necklaces before selecting one with an array of mauve glass beads set in silver. She turned to me and said, “Vat do you sink?”

Most of the Solos were so invested in themselves that it wouldn’t have occurred to them to ask my opinion about anything. “I think it’s lovely,” I said. And I did.

I found Dr. Rita a comfortable chair in the Atrium and, embarking on my usual conversational overture, asked her about her travels. “Oh,” she said. “I travel a lot. Zee last time, I tell my grandcheelrin to get in anozer line from me. I know zee immeegrashun vill stop me since my passport includes stamps from Eerahn and Pakeestan and Eyerak and Afghaneestan.”

What followed was one of the most interesting half-hour conversations I’ve had. Born into an intellectual family in Romania, Dr. Rita had tried to hide her background when the Nazis invaded. A friend who owned a foundry rubbed her hands with salt to try to roughen them enough to persuade the Nazi colonel that she was a worker there. But when confronting her, the colonel made an offhand remark that was part of a quotation from Goethe, and without thinking, Dr. Rita finished it. That little slip sent her to a concentration camp from 1941 to 1945. Later, she’d come to the United States and was now a psychiatrist specializing in the psychoses of nations. She told me that she believed the many generations of Shiite victim-hood augured a rocky future for Iraq, and that the ancient pride of the Persians would make it very difficult for Iran to abandon its nuclear ambitions. What a truly fascinating person she was, and what a relief from Margot and Diane and their spat about the limes!

As the cruise continued, my days settled into a routine. I got up early to photograph the sunrise, sneaking out of the stateroom in the dark so I wouldn’t wake Heinz. (The forced intimacy of our roommate situation had not made us bosom buddies, to say the least. I got along with him only by being obsequious, not exactly natural to my post-managerial personality.) Then, I’d stop by the computer center to check my e-mail and enter the previous day’s experiences in my blog before the buffet opened at 7:30.

After breakfast, I was free until 9, when I returned to the Veranda to host the Solo breakfast table, engaging with Solos over their own bacon and eggs. During days at sea, at 10:45 and again at 1:45, I assisted with the dance lesson for the day— salsa, quick step, merengue, slow waltz— perhaps grabbing a little sun and a welcome, solitary lunch in between. Following the dance lesson in the afternoon, I usually retreated to the shady side of Deck 5 and slouched in a deck chair with a book, hiding behind my sunglasses and my baseball cap.

On days in port, I was free, like any regular guest, to join a shore excursion. Or, if the buses were full, I might act as host, counting heads and carrying a first-aid kit for possible emergencies. I took the cable car up Table Mountain in Cape Town, photographed the favelas of Rio de Janeiro and visited a rum plantation built in 1643 on Barbados. I’ll never forget the extravagant, lavender agapanthus in the lush gardens at Longwood House on St. Helena.

Each evening at 6:30, it was back to the lounge for cocktails and more smiling, and for strategically creating the table arrangements for dinner, struggling to incorporate the whims of the 15 to 20 Solos: “I don’t want to sit next to her;” “Don’t put me at a table of more than six;” “Not that table— we sat there last night.” After dinner, I’d escort a Solo lady to the evening show that might feature a pianist, juggler, magician or singer— often someone young on the way up in their career, or someone older, on the way down— before returning to the lounge for that final hour of dancing, spreading myself equally around among Shirley, Marlene, Marissa, Mariella or one or both of the Claudines.

Each night, I fell into bed exhausted, not so much from physical activity as from the mental and psychological gymnastics devoted to keeping the Solos happy.

To my surprise, as the days passed I grew to feel a little sorry for many of the Solos, so snugly wrapped in their affluence,  ego and status. There were various reward levels— bronze, silver, gold, platinum and titanium— earned by accumulated lifetime nights aboard the cruise line’s ships. These levels were attached to certain perks: free laundry, free computer time, free phone calls, a daily copy of The Wall Street Journal, priority in reservations at the two upgrade restaurants on board, discounts on future travel. Although most guests claimed these perks meant little, they spoke of them often. “On my next cruise, I’ll become a Gold and get the paper.” Or, “I can’t wait until my laundry’s free.”

Even toward the Solos who annoyed me, I began to feel some sympathy. Or perhaps it was pity. Some were really sad: Patrick, after too much wine at dinner, disturbing other guests seated around him by snoring through the evening’s show; lonely Rosalie, who already had five cruises booked for 2010 with nothing better to do than work on her itinerary for 2011; and even Margot, her underlying anger preventing her from establishing any genuine intimacy with her fellow passengers.

Near the end of the cruise, I was offered another hosting gig on the same ship for the first few legs of a world cruise, 47 nights from San Diego to Singapore. The invitation prompted me to evaluate my experience even before I’d returned to Baltimore, unpacked and caught my breath. I had found the sea travel calm and soothing, and I thoroughly enjoyed visiting South Africa, St. Helena and Brazil. I’d grown very fond of some of the guests: Libby, the talent manager with the infectious laugh who was my best audience; Lise, from Montreal, who happily anticipated her next cruise with her 5-year-old granddaughter; and the fun-loving Millers from London, who surprisingly knew the entrepreneur there to whom I sold the company from which I retired.

But I didn’t always enjoy the forced intimacy with the many shallow and uninteresting characters so invested in their status. And I certainly didn’t like rooming with Heinz, who had already accepted a host position on the San Diego to Singapore run. So, I graciously declined the offer. Anyway, I needed at least a short break from the always-smiling intensity of the role of companion-tour-guide-raconteur-diplomat- manager-dance partner necessary to being a gentleman host.

Good and bad, I had definitely found the challenge I’d been seeking. As Arthur Murray once said, “To put spice in your life, try dancing.” Samba, anyone?

Now open in Little Italy: Milan. The upscale lounge and restaurant features a menu that blends modern Italian cuisine with Mediterranean flavors. (1000 Eastern Ave., 410-685-6111)  ... >>Poe Boys in Fells Point has replaced Miss Irene’s. Expect a more casual and price-friendly menu, a game room with billiards and 18 beers on tap. (1738 Thames St., 410-558-0033)... >>In Harbor East, Elevation Burger has closed. Other area closings include Cosmopolitan in Canton, Three in Patterson Park and DuClaw Brewing Co. in Fells Point. ... >>Noodles & Company has announced it’ll be opening in the Light Street Pavilion at Harborplace this spring.

In the space of 13 years, Dan Proctor, principal/owner of Kirk Designs, and his life partner, Jeffrey Hess, have designed the interior of the three homes they have owned. Their first house was in Guilford, their second house in Roland Park, and now they’ve landed in a 1927 white stucco and stone house in Homeland. From the outside, the home appears small next to some of the larger homes in the neighborhood. “It might look like a miniature cottage, but as soon as you open the door, it looks like Mame built it— like something from Paris in the ’20s or ’30s exploded inside,” says Proctor.

The 12-by-24-foot foyer, with its black slate and white ceramic diamond-pattern tiles, sets the mood for a “little bit of Paris in Homeland,” says Proctor. A long, mirror-topped table by David Weisand stands between two doors that were added after Proctor and Hess bought the house. “There used to be one door where the table was, but we wanted to use the space better and we wanted balance,” says Hess, who also works in the design world. To the right of the entry table is a Jacques-Emile Ruhlmann-inspired Art Deco burgundy velvet boudoir chair set next to a sweeping staircase, surrounded by walls painted “Jackie O blue,” says Proctor, before adding that it’s officially Benjamin Moore No. 703.

The hallway features two closets, one used for coats, as might be expected, and the other to house the stereo system and mammoth collection of CDs. Where are the speakers? Nowhere in sight, given Proctor’s pet peeve about visible speakers and wires. “We have a cool stereo system that has allowed us to bury the speakers in the ceilings under the plaster throughout the house,” he says. “Essentially, you have no idea where the sound comes from, and it keeps the ceiling clean.”

Between the window seat and the table is what was originally a breakfast room, then a laundry room, and now a powder room reminiscent of something aboard a vintage luxury liner. Paneled mahogany walls provide a handsome backdrop for two wall-sized antiqued mirrors that complement a vintage Venetian octagonal mirror. “That mirror inspired the way we did this room,” says Hess, pointing to the legs of the sink and other octagonal-shaped touches. The black marble sink complements the St. Laurent black marble and herringbone tiles, with ivory-accented trim on the floor.

Across the hall, the dining room is painted a very dark, steel-charcoal and features step-up moulding designed by Hess. “Imagine a very dark Chanel suit with white cuffs. That’s what we wanted to achieve,” says Proctor. Framing the windows are ivory and black double-weave, striped floral draperies, that look, says Proctor, “like a divine hostess gown, perhaps like something Gloria Vanderbilt might wear at the Biltmore.”

While moving the door to the other side of the room to accommodate the view of the stairs and to keep the balance, Proctor and Hess also decided to lay down new floors of herringbone oak. In the middle of the room is a round, burled walnut table by Mitchell Yanosky, a mimic of an Albert Hadley design that Proctor had seen in an old black-and-white photo. The table is surrounded by ivory and charcoal shantung silk-fabric chairs. Along the walls, in keeping with the Chanel/Parisian feel, are Roman leaf and feather-motif crystal sconces. The large abstract prints are by Robert Motherwell.

Across the hall, on the other side of the staircase, is the living room, brilliant with ivories, touches of golds and an abundance of sunlight. Says Hess: “One of the main reasons we purchased this house was because of all the natural light that comes in.” The light plays off the Italian silk drapes, and striped French silk Louis Seize chairs, and brings out the texture of the sisal rug. To impart a sense of the exotic to the room, Proctor and Hess added a zebra rug under a copy of a red-topped antique English club table.

“I love a little bit of red in any room— red is one of those ‘everything’ colors,” says Proctor. “There are a lot of different reds. They’re welcoming. They make people smile a little bit. They make me happy.” What didn’t make Proctor happy, but what Hess loves (and Proctor has come to like), is the antique chest of drawers with the marquetry inlaid Asian scene.

At the top of the curved banister— which has been tongue-oiled, because, says Hess, “We wanted to keep the feeling of years of people having touched this”— is the first piece of art that Proctor and Hess bought together. It was purchased in New Orleans some 13 years ago when “we didn’t have two nickels to rub together,” says Hess. It’s by an unknown Welsh painter, and its title is “A Rather ’20s Woman Dancing.”

“We couldn’t afford it,” says Proctor, “so when I got home, I called the gallery and asked them if I could buy it in payments.”  Now it resides above their favorite piece of furniture in the entire house, a French chest of drawers. “It’s nothing important, but to us it means a lot.” And that’s a theme Proctor communicates to his clients all the time. “Expensive things might be important, but self-expression and your personality and what you like are more important than anything when it comes to designing your home.”

Off to one side of the stairs is the master bedroom, where the palette is quieter. After designing all day, says Proctor, “we wanted a respite from color. In my work, a lot of clients ask for that respite.” The room is painted “Millet”— a warm off-white— and it blends into a ceiling that was raised by a foot.  Says Hess: “The builder said they could move it a foot only, and the old wood, the old collar ties, had to be used to suspend it, because new wood wouldn’t hold.”  Once the new ceiling was finished, Proctor and Hess had custom tongue-and-groove paneling installed.

A wing-back, textured-weave headboard frames the king-sized bed. There was no bed wall, so the couple created one by putting a solid-panel wool gabardine drapery by Bergamo over the window. The vintage bedside tables from Ezra Black are mid-century modern and fairly scream “Mad Men,” which is appropriate, as that’s the DVD that resides on the chest of drawers in front of the bed.  The English-made, striated wool wall-to-wall carpet is thick and lush, and leads into what used to be a master bath, but which Proctor and Hess turned into an alcove.

The master bath now occupies what used to be another bedroom. The same charcoal paint (called “Dragon’s Breath”) used in the dining room is used here, contrasting with the striking marble tiled floor by New Ravenna. The tiles are a combination of a Napoleon dark tile, a beige Crema Marfil tile and a white Calcutta gold tile, all put together in ovals and mosaics to look as if a rug were spread out. The two went so far as to make sure the tiles didn’t border the vanity, but instead, the marble vanity rests on top of where a rug might be.  “We wanted the oval borders to impose a rug on the viewer,” says Hess.

When asked how long it took to design the house, Hess says, “After we put a contract on the house, we were immediately flying to California. We sat on the plane, and on a cocktail napkin, we sketched up exactly how we wanted to do it and it hasn’t varied at all.” Says Proctor: “We took a house we found and… came in and dressed it up, so you would not know it had been manipulated with a new design. You’d think it had always looked this way.”

RESOURCES
Woodwork TCS Woodworking, 2730 Loch Raven Road, 410-662-5959, http://www.tcswoodworking.com

Ornamental plasterwork Hayles & Howe, 2700 Sisson St., 410-462-0986, http://www.haylesandhowe.com

Framing The Beveled Edge, 2010 Clipper Park Road, 410-366-6711, http://www.bevelededge.net

Floors Master Care Flooring, 4000 Coolidge Ave., 410-242-6401, http://www.mastercarefloors.com

Art Renaissance Fine Arts, 1848 Reisterstown Road, 410-484-8900, http://www.renaissancefinearts.com

I spent my summers as a kid on the steamy streets of New York City. Dive-bombing the unsuspecting below with seltzer water from our 6th-floor apartment. Eating what was then considered exotic Chinese food and daring my dad to try the sea cucumber. Taking in pizza off a Broadway street curb, followed by Italian ices off Columbus Avenue then jumping in the water blasting out from the fire hydrant to cool off.

There were also the more elegant times, when Dad took me to F.A.O. Schwarz to pick out a new toy; to drink tea at The Plaza Hotel, then head over to The Pierre to watch the debutantes parade in; to Café Carlyle to check out Bobby Short checking himself out in the mirror while he sang Cole Porter and Jerome Kern songs; to the Kennedy Center, Broadway, the Met. Those were my New York days so many years ago. And it’s that combination of new and old that I’m trying to get back each time I return.

So when I heard that The Pierre Hotel had reopened after closing its doors for a $122 million renovation, and that Tim and Kit Kemp, the sui generis hot new hoteliers of London, had opened their first American property, the Crosby Street Hotel in SoHo, I knew I had to return.

I decided to stay first at The Pierre, the neo-Renaissance hotel built in 1928 by celebrated architects Schulze & Weaver that stands on Fifth Avenue and the southern tip of Central Park. One of four crown jewels of the luxurious Roaring ’20s (the other three being the Waldorf-Astoria, the Sherry-Netherland and the now-defunct Savoy), it went bankrupt during the Depression, but was saved by J. Paul Getty when he added apartments into the mix. For many years thereafter, it was the spot for famous celebrations, weddings, etc. In December 2007 the hotel closed for renovation, and reopened in June 2009. Now, once again, guests can sleep in the same rooms and suites that once hosted the likes of Howard Hughes, Coco Chanel, Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, Elton John, John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart and Queen Elizabeth II.

The renovation— a tour de force by three of Manhattan’s big leaguers: Alexandra Champalimaud & Associates, Brennan, Beer, Gorman & Associates and James Park & Associates— has transformed the hotel entrance into that of a NYC apartment building, where guests are invited to feel as if they’re entering their place of residence, taking the elevator with their favorite lift attendant, on their way to their own private pied-à-terre on the Upper East Side. The hotel has succeeded in this mission. The understated, elegant Manhattan hotel that’s about old money and good manners— a tradition that, in the last 20 years, has fast been pushed aside for the more robust new Wall Street money—stands firm with The Pierre.

Of the 140 guest rooms, 38 suites and 11 grand suites, I’m awarded the Presidential Suite. The designer touches begin at the door, but are immediately set aside for the enormous views of Central Park. There’s The Dakota, where John Lennon was shot. There’s the Wollman skating rink below. A bit ahead, I can spot the Jackie Onassis Reservoir, and right below me, almost touchable, is Hermès— ooh la la! Through another window, the horse-drawn carriages line up with the yellow cabs along Central Park South. These are to-die-for views out of windows that actually open.

But back to the designer touches. Agra wall-to-wall sculpted wool carpet in whites, beiges and golden hues meet large, twin tufted sofas and matching coffee tables. A Louis XV desk and a pair of demi-lune rose-colored Italian marble tables stand under 14-foot ceilings. I have two bedrooms from which to choose: one with twin beds fit for royal children, and a master suite with the loveliness of white-on-white arabesque cloth on the walls, and, really, the best view from any bed in the city.

I do what any breathless guest does. I order room service— cappuccino and a pastry— and enjoy it while I relax in the luxury bathroom, with its built-in TV above a roomy tub that rises up on a platform, with a huge picture window in front. The walk-in shower— large enough for four people— has a rain shower head built in the ceiling. Between the shower and the bath, it’s hard to stay dry in my room. But I must towel off, because I have a reservation at Manhattan’s newest, hottest restaurant, Le Caprice.

To get there, I walk through the famous Rotunda on the first floor of The Pierre — a domed room with a trompe l’œil mural climbing up the walls to the ceiling, where 3-D clouds float. The art is just this side of kitschy— with Erik Estrada and Jackie O painted in togas— but somehow, because it’s The Pierre, it’s also very “Jean-Honoré Fragonard” artsy.

Walking into 70-seat Le Caprice is almost culture shock after the Rotunda. Inside, the restaurant looks like a Chanel compact, with everything black and white and shiny. It’s a Richard Caring creation (the genius behind some of London’s most successful restaurants like The Ivy, Sheekey, Daphne’s, Bam-Bou and Urban Caprice), and his first foray in the Colonies. He doesn’t let down. I order the lobster salad, with shaved fennel and asparagus, and a wild mushroom risotto; then I have the Thai-baked sea bass and coriander-infused rice with a Gewurztraminer Domaine Paul Blanck wine. I have a happy palate, but still have to try the Scandinavian iced berries with hot white chocolate sauce. And voila, the final analysis: the experience of eating at Le Caprice starts with the look and ends with the good spirits in the stomach.

The best way to end the evening is at Two E, the bar/lounge with Jesse Torres, the head bartender, at the helm. “We’re going back to the 18th and early 19th centuries with our drinks,” he tells me. He’s studied under Dale DeGroff, the man who invented the term “mixology,” and does indeed bring a new twist to the older drinks. His Manhattans are made with Punt e Mes Italian vermouth instead of the typical sweet vermouth. His PierreTini uses Captain Morgan’s rum mixed in with the gin. And the Gin Gin— designed for fashion week and worth a trip by itself— is made with Domaine de Conter, Fever-Tree ginger ale, Hendrick’s cucumber-infused gin, fresh mint, fresh lime juice and fresh cucumber juice. It’s become a universal hit, and it was born right here at The Pierre.

I picture myself a young Audrey Hepburn, getting ready to hit Barneys, Bergdorfs, Bloomingdales and Bendels, because I’m smack in the heart of it here. But three and a half miles south, I get my Edie Sedgwick on in SoHo at the spanking new, gorgeously imaginative Crosby Street Hotel. Coming here is a lot like heading to the Museum of Modern Art — I almost forget there’s a room waiting for me. The first thing I notice in the lobby is the South American sculptor Jaume Plensa’s 10-foot-tall head made up of white, metal letters — seemingly the alphabet floating into the shape of a man’s head. It looks as if a kid can climb over and inside of it. Two life-size papier-mâché dog sculptures made from Beano magazines (an English cartoon from the 1940s) by Justine Smith are seemingly at the ready to jump up happily to greet me. In the drawing room, just next to the lobby, is an enormous dog painting by Francois Bard, picking up on the theme of being eagerly welcomed by a best friend. And hello to the Andy Warhol take on four Queen Elizabeths in different colored hats. My favorite sculpture is the grouping of 12 old, black, rotary-dial phones, mounted to the wall, with their cords and receivers shooting out at different angles, impatient to be answered. Kit Kemp must do eclectic-meets-art better than anyone else on the planet. Wherever you go, you’re met head-on with a creative take on something.

It takes me a while to get to my room, because there is just so much to see. I have to shimmy past the 99-seat cinema, with its bright orange leather seats and purple felt walls. There’s a multi-purpose to this club. Guests get to bring friends, and people get to come in off the street (for the price of a standard movie ticket) and talk about the new to-do in Manhattan. And this is a space dynamic enough to talk about, too.

My lodging for the night is a one-bedroom suite, an edgy study in black and white. The 10-foot-high, floor-to-ceiling window looks out toward Broadway and over the skyline. There’s a terrarium on the corner table and a fireplace in the living area. There are sculptures and paintings of cats, cows and horses throughout. The bed is a Frette-sheeted wonder, and the black and white dotted fabric headboard against the bold black wall complements the fabric on the dressmaker’s mannequin stationed next to the nightstand. On my desk is a mini-dressmaker’s mannequin light that, when illuminated, is blue.

The other rooms in the hotel are different in color (some are brilliantly flashy) and accessories (one comes with a giant silver penguin statue and matching penguin mirrors, another with a whitewashed ironwork chandelier paired with corresponding delicate candelabras), yet all have the same component found in all the Firmdale hotels: the dressmaker’s mannequin. It’s Kit Kemp’s signature— her first hotel, the Covent Garden, is a center for fashion and design companies; and it works especially well in the fashionable SoHo neighborhood, of which the hotel has become an extension. In keeping with the hip, the hotel has earned the first LEED gold certification for a designer hotel in America, by installing energy-efficient lighting, using low VOC finishes and FSC certified wood, and by recycling the refuse from the former building and parking lot that used to stand in the same spot.

The Crosby Bar offers some of the best food I’ve ever had in N.Y.C., which is odd, as the hotel does not claim to have a restaurant, per se. But executive head chef Robin Read oversees the most amazing scallop sliders, au goût fish and chips with minted pea puree and a gourmet free range chicken breast with braised savoy cabbage and bacon. And good luck deciding between the passion fruit crème brûlée, pear and poppyseed crisp with crème fraîche sorbet or the fig tart with fig ice cream and whipped vanilla mascarpone.

Sure, my weekend trip to Manhattan has been a step above the blasting fire hydrants and jaunts to F.A.O. Schwarz during my Upper West Side days. But spending time at The Pierre and The Crosby gives me exactly what I wanted: a return to my favorite memories of Manhattan and a chance to make new ones.

The Pierre Hotel
2 E. 61st St. at 5th Avenue, 212-838-8000, http://www.lhw.com

The Crosby Street Hotel
79 Crosby St., 212-226-6400, http://www.firmdale.com

PLAY
> Winter Antiques Show, 337 Alexander Ave., Bronx, 718-292-7392, http://www.winterantiquesshow.com; Jan. 22-31, 2010. A major antique happening. Find the most beautiful antiques, jewelry, paintings, rugs, chandeliers, furniture and silver one can imagine. This is where the hoi polloi and designers mingle.

> Shen Yun Performing Arts at Radio City Music Hall, 1260 6th Ave., 212-465-6115, http://www.radiocity.com; Feb 13-21. Controversial, yet exciting classical Chinese story-based dance.

> Spider-Man Turn Off The Dark at the Hilton Theatre, 214 W. 42nd St., 212-556-4750; http://www.hiltontheatre.com. The Edge and Bono come together to create what director Julie Taymor calls her “circus rock ’n’ roll drama.”

>Brooklyn Kitchen Labs, 100 Frost St., Brooklyn, 718-349-5033; http://www.thebrooklynkitchen.com. 7,000 square feet of cooking school-meets-butcher shop-meets brewing and winemaking.

>Le Caprice, 795 Fifth Ave. at 61st Street, 212-940-8195

The outside of the Ednor Gardens rowhome owned by Ed Istwan and Kim Domanski is as quiet and idyllic as its neighbors, on a narrow street sheltered by mature trees on the cusp of Baltimore City’s urban core. Inside, though, the house is a riot of color and style, an homage to all things artistic, free-spirited and joyful.

“We’re both happy people who love to laugh. I like to smile when I walk through the door,” says Domanski, when asked to describe their design style. “And everything here has a story.”

Istwan, 38, and Domanski, 37, met in 1994 when they were pursuing their master’s degrees at the Maryland Institute College of Art. They’ve been roommates ever since. Istwan is now a visual merchandiser at IKEA’s headquarters in Philadelphia and Domanski works for the Baltimore Office of Promotion and the Arts. Both are deeply entrenched in the local art scene and fill their home with pieces that reflect their creative eye. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that everything we have in our house we love,” says Istwan.

When the pair purchased the circa-1929 rowhouse in 2000, they restored the home to its original bone structure, replacing windows, for example, and removing a pass-through from the kitchen to the dining room that broke up the small space and detracted from its functionality. When it came time to decorate, it was all about color. The entryway and stairs are a bright yellow-green, the bedrooms are Kelly green and a deep pink-red while the bathroom is turquoise.

“The color scheme is inspired by a TV test pattern,” Istwan explains. “They are bright colors that pop, but aren’t overwhelming or Crayola-esque, like something you’d see in a kid’s room.”

The home’s eclectic furnishings and artwork are the result of years of collecting. Istwan and Domanski haunt thrift shops, consignment stores, estate sales and auctions in search of treasures for their home. Although Istwan says their style is “not modern with a capital M,” the pair do like the clean lines and organic shapes epitomized by mid-century modern design, visible in their choice of a dining room set created by Warren Platner, a Baltimore native who worked for Knoll Products. The set was the pair’s first major furniture investment, bought on eBay.

“We couldn’t find a pendent light to go with the dining room,” says Domanski. “Everything was a stereotype, like flying saucer in shape.” Instead, Istwan made one by weaving together electrical zip ties. Despite this very modern sensibility, there are surprises in this home, too, like a collection of needlepoint pillows and an Americana circus sign.

Istwan confesses to a love of all things modular. The house has a modular sofa. There are modular bookshelves that practically glow when their collection of Swedish glass lamps are switched on. There are even modular candlesticks from the 1960s on the dining room table that are so intricate they resemble a piece of sculpture.

Istwan formerly worked for the American Visionary Art Museum, and both he and Domanski have a passion for “outsider” art. Istwan’s bedroom wall currently exhibits a series by Jenny Holzer (known for her large-scale projections) called “Truisms;” Domanski has a to-scale Christmas tree at the foot of her bed by Gary Kachadourian. And because the pair is always on the hunt for new pieces, the house is constantly changing and evolving. A Robert Longo print a guest recalls from the dining room might be in the bedroom on the next visit, or a chair could be whisked off to the basement and replaced by an 18th-century wardrobe.

“We call the basement ‘the stockroom,’ and we borrow from it heavily,” Istwan quips. For example, for years the pair had a basement full of the 125 black picture frames that Istwan bought at an outlet for a dollar apiece. When they bought a salesman’s display book for Kosta Boda glass from the 1920s at auction, the frames fulfilled their destiny, creating a beautiful black and white series on the home’s stairway.

Not surprisingly, Istwan and Domanski utilize IKEA designs in the décor.
“We love IKEA textiles,” Domanski explains, pointing in particular to the many rugs in the home, the bright, graphic Marimekko fabric window treatments and throw pillows. In the living room they used IKEA fabric laminated onto plastic panels to create an accent wall and matching IKEA ceiling fixtures hang over their beds. “I love the big graphic prints. They just make you smile,” says Istwan.

“I think IKEA is a great resource for functional solutions,” he continues. The home features an IKEA kitchen and Istwan and Domanski share a built-in wardrobe made by the company as well. By sharing the storage space for their clothes and stashing it in Istwan’s office, they free themselves of the need for bureaus in their bedrooms. This, they say, is a key to maintaining order in a small house that could easily be overwhelmed with art and collectibles.

“We rotate our things often to keep clutter and mess down and we have hard-working spaces, like the wall of clothing in the office and having all our books on one wall,” Istwan explains.

If there is one thing in the house that is what Istwan calls “design with a capital D,” it is the deck, created with the help of friend Andrew Yff, a custom welder and artist, and Janet Bardzic, a neighbor. Istwan wanted to channel the Herman Miller-designed Nelson Platform bench (introduced in 1946 and a staple of contemporary design ever since) in deck form. The new deck embraces that same slatted style and multiplies the duo’s living and entertaining space.

Istwan and Domanski find it impossible to think of their home as complete. There’s a dishwasher to install, artwork to shuffle around, and perhaps one day they’ll tear out that old fireplace. And there’s always something new and tempting on eBay. “When you talk about ‘interior design,’ it usually sounds like there should be a period at the end of the sentence and it’s over. For us, design is a rolling thing,” says Istwan. “I love that we’ve made it so personal,” adds Domanski. “You can look at shelter magazines and never see that people live there. I hope people sense that we enjoy living here.”

When Courtney Pivec went to M&T bank in March 2007, she had no idea that she was about to meet the man of her dreams. Brian Stamp, who worked as a financial adviser, recognized Courtney’s last name while he was closing her account, and realized they shared a mutual friend.

Unfortunately for Brian, Courtney was already in a relationship. Still, he wrote her a note saying how great it was to meet her. After that, the pair found themselves constantly running into one another at social events. A year later, Courtney had broken up with her boyfriend and Brian was ready to make a move. They have been together ever since.

When the wedding day arrived, roughly 135 family and friends gathered at the Corpus Christi Roman Catholic Church in Bolton Hill. Because the church is already ornately appointed, with Victorian Gothic stained-glass windows, intricately sculpted marble pillars and walls ornamented with mosaics, the couple decorated the interior with only two large altar arrangements of roses, hyacinths and peonies in shades of coral and cream.

The bride walked down the aisle wearing a strapless white gown from Priscilla of Boston. “I knew it was the one because I felt very pretty and it gave me a lot of freedom to move around,” says Courtney, a media assistant at Pivec Advertising, owned by her father. Her bridesmaids chose different styles of black dresses from the Simple Silhouettes line at Garnish Boutique.

After the Mass, the guests adjourned to the Walters Art Museum, where they were served pink champagne and a variety of hors d’ oeuvres, including shrimp ceviche in a tortilla cup and lobster tempura dipped in a honey butter sauce, Courtney’s favorite. An hour later, the group moved to the museum’s sculpture court for dinner and dancing.

After the guests were seated, all eyes moved toward the long stairwell to watch Brian and Courtney make their entrance. The couple then joined together for their first dance as husband and wife as “Everything” by Michael Bublé played. Soon after, toasts were made while guests enjoyed a warm salad of slow-roasted tomatoes and house-made mozzarella followed by a duet entree of sliced sirloin steak and lobster vol au vent.

Appetites sated, the guests joined the bride and groom in dancing the night away. A brief interruption was made to observe the ceremonial cutting of the wedding cakes. The bride’s cake was a towering white ensemble decorated with a delicate floral design with flavors of toasted coconut and raspberry and amaretto. The groom’s cake was similar to a black forest cake, with chocolate and cherry filling. A native of Buffalo and ardent hockey fan, Brian had his cake ornamented with the Buffalo Sabres’ design, which incorporated a buffalo and a pair of crossed sabres.

“My favorite moment was when my husband got up on stage to sing, ‘That’s Amore!’ to me,” Courtney gushes. A rich ending for a chance meeting in a bank.

Resources
Locations Walters Art Museum, 410-547-9000, http://www.thewalters.org; Corpus Christi Roman Catholic Church, 410-523-4161, http://www.corpuschristibaltimore.org
Photography David Mielcarek, 908-247-5322, http://www.cinematicbydavidm.com
Flowers Romance of Flowers, 410-526-7252, http://www.romanceofflowers.com
Gown Priscilla of Boston, http://www.priscillaofboston.com
Bridemaids’ Gowns Garnish Boutique, 410-464-0601, http://www.garnishhboutique.com
Catering Linwoods, 410-356-3030, http://www.linwoods.com

It was five years ago that fine-dining duo Tony Foreman and Cindy Wolf unveiled Pazo, their Mediterranean-themed lounge and restaurant in Fells Point. So they decided to throw a party to mark the occasion, and some 360 invited guests and regulars showed up to help them celebrate.

Partygoers were greeted at the door with glasses of sparkling Cava, then had their choice of four specialty cocktails that were paired with matching-color CoverGirl lip glosses for guests to take home. Menu items from the kitchen of chef Michael Costa included bruschetta, croquetas, calamari, pizza Christina, butifarra and empanadas. And for dessert, Charm City Cakes chef Duff Goldman created a towering eight-tier chocolate espresso cake.

Non-stop entertainment included roaming jugglers and other circus-themed performers, performances by a troupe of hip-hop dancers and music provided by house DJ Ryan Patrick. Artists were on hand to create Super Art Fight, a live art-generating performance, creating a piece of wall art during the course of the party. Later, there was a live auction of the work, with proceeds going to the House of Ruth.

Love was in the air at Federal Hill’s Little Havana when the owner of the popular waterfront restaurant and bar, Chris Whisted, met his soon-to-be wife, Melissa Lembo. They immediately hit it off. Although Whisted knew after their first date at Corvino (then-called Junior’s) that Lembo was “the one,” he waited a year to pop the question. He took the opportunity to propose on a rainy day just outside of Fenway Park during a trip to Lembo’s Boston College reunion. With the damp ring glistening on her finger, she said, “Yes.”

When planning their wedding, there was no Bridezilla in sight, as Lembo “refused to conform to the wedding madness,” she says. Her goal during the six-week engagement was to remain focused on spending the rest of her life with Whisted. “The planning process was very simple. We’d have it no other way,” says Lembo.

On July 17, 2009, the couple’s immediate families gathered at Holy Cross Church in Baltimore for a Catholic Mass and intimate ceremony with Lembo’s cousin Father Frank Tumino and family friend, Father Vito Buonano as the priests. The wedding party, consisting of the couple’s nieces, bride’s nephew and groom’s brother, stood at the altar with Whisted, as both of the bride’s parents escorted Lembo down the aisle.

With Whisted in a pale pink sport coat and bow tie and Lembo in a simple, elegant Nicole Miller gown, they recited their vows and listened to Father Tumino’s personal homily about a couple who was “patient to wait for the perfect person.” Says Lembo, “The best part of the ceremony was that it was intimate and we were surrounded by the people who are our support system in our lives. It really made it special that it wasn’t a big show.”

With a small ceremony and a big party, they had the best of both worlds. The next day, more than 150 guests celebrated on Little Havana’s sunny deck for an island-themed cocktail party. When guests arrived, they were greeted with a celebratory mojito, then mingled and enjoyed live music performed by two of the newlyweds’ close friends. Other drink offerings included a homemade Limoncello made by the groom himself, as well as a raw bar, an assortment of made-to-order sandwiches and dessert and fruit from Vaccaro’s Italian bakery.

During the four-hour reception, a handful of guests and friends took turns toasting the happy couple. “The atmosphere at our party at Little Havana was unique, and it’s still providing us with stories from our guests about what a good time they had,” says Whisted.

Resources
Locations Holy Cross Church, 108 E. West St., 410-752-8498; Little Havana, 410-837-9903, http://www.littlehavanas.com
Photography The Annapolis Photographer, 410-224-0088, http://www.theannapolisphotographer.com
Flowers Earl F. Jackson Flowers, Cross Street Market, 410-539-7077 
Gown Nicole Miller, Nordstrom, Annapolis, 410-573-1121

When I was a child, I was taken to the petting zoo, a seedy animal park where the beasts looked traumatized and sad— a real horror show. Patrons, though warned not to do so, fed the unfortunate inmates Humpty Dumpty potato chips, Eskimo pies and something called a Charleston Chew, which is the consistency of Silly Putty. These were part of diets not readily available in the wild, or at least not the wild that these unfortunate creatures hailed from. The zookeepers looked like old carnies or recently released jailbirds. They carried clubs. It made for a fun day. My parents probably did not know any better.

Naturally, when my daughter was young, I took her to the zoo. I did not know any better, either. The animals looked traumatized and sad. Sometimes they stared and rocked back and forth. I’m no Steve “Crocodile Hunter” Irwin but they did not look happy. And yet when guests visited us, we took them and their small children to the zoo. Going to the zoo was a regular event.

On a recent Sunday I went up to the Baltimore Zoo (now called The Maryland Zoo in Baltimore) and sure enough there were thousands of people there with small children. One does not go to the zoo without small children; it’s a ritual of parenthood. Let’s take the kiddies up to the zoo and let them see the wild things.

The Baltimore Zoo is not, blessedly, the medieval house of horrors that it once was, and is actually a pleasant stroll on a nice day. The zookeepers are all well-scrubbed, looking like the cast of “Up With People” or Latter-Day Saints. No clubs espied. The zoo now has make-believe African watering holes and faux bits of the Serengeti. Still, a zoo is a zoo and I’m not sure about keeping animals in them. I’m no vegan but somewhere along the line I began to wonder if zoos were a good idea.

Hardly a day passes that there is not a story in which someone gets badly hurt or even killed messing about with God’s wild creatures. The San Francisco Zoo is ripe with tales of misadventures. A recent chuckle involved a gentleman described as a mental patient who decided to get closer to the bears. He’s going to live. Not so lucky was the guy two years ago who decided it might be fun to tease a Siberian tiger. After the tiger killed the fun-seeker (tigers are faster than morons), the cops shot it. Most zoo stories end like that. And then an “expert” sagely notes that they just can’t understand what the heck got into Simba. He always seemed so happy in his spacious railroad-car-sized cage.

I read these stories in lieu of the sports pages, finding them instructive. They convey a kind of karmic revenge. You put wild creatures in captivity and once in a while they show you how they feel about it.

This is how I feel about it: I think we ought to shut all the zoos. They are primitive places that speak to an earlier time. They do not, I believe, advance our knowledge of the wild kingdom one iota. You don’t have to be Desmond Morris to realize that an adult elephant or big cats may go insane when confined, or that when animals pace furiously in their tiny cages, they are frantic. In the wild, animals roam over vast expanses; at the zoo they often squat in a box the size of an executive suite in a Hilton Garden Inn.

Taking children to see the wild things confined in unnaturally small spaces and living desperate lives is a bad idea. Why not take them to a public execution? A hanging? A crucifixion? Plainly the time has come to abolish such divertissements. We don’t burn witches. We don’t stone the woman taken in adultery, except in some of the more enlightened oil-producing kingdoms. We don’t flog.

Today, CNN reported from Moscow that a bear on ice skates— now that sounds like something you’d see in the wild— attacked two people during rehearsals at a circus, killing one of them. Maybe he didn’t want to ice skate? Anyone ever wonder about that? Maybe he didn’t want to go to medical school? Maybe he just wanted to be a bear. I am not sure what that involves, but I know that bears in the wild do not skate. Or ride little bicycles. Or wear funny hats. Or play toy musical instruments. Ditto lions and tigers.

But at the dawn of the 21st century we still allow barbarous practices that should shame a decent person. Just the other day, a 25-year-old polar bear named Mercedes was sprung from the Edinburgh Zoo after having spent most of her life (she’d been born in the wild in Canada) living in grim captivity.  Mercedes, the last polar bear living in captivity in the United Kingdom, was taken to a rural game preserve. It is not exactly the arctic wild, but it sure beats life behind bars.

With wedding season coming up, it’s possible that you’ll be planning a shower soon. Instead of having the same old “traditional” shower, with games and hours of “oohing” and “aahing” over “traditional” gifts, consider a wine theme! You and your guests will have a delightful (and educational) wine-tasting and the lucky couple will receive a wine collection.

> The Basics First, decide if it will be ladies only or co-ed. I suggest co-ed because it’s an excellent icebreaker for the entire bridal party, close friends and family. Depending on the number of guests and your budget, choose to either hold the event at a restaurant or in a private home. If the latter, rent glassware from a party supply store to make it easier on yourself. Also, hire helpers to pour wine and clean up.

> The Theme Ideally, the wedding party will purchase a wine fridge for the lucky couple that can be filled up by the shower guests. Use the invitation to let guests know about the wine theme and to ask them to bring a bottle of their favorite wine. Include a 4-by-6-inch index card for listing their name and why the wine is special to them. Then, as guests arrive at the shower, take a picture of each with their special bottle. The picture, along with the notecard, will go into an album for the couple to refer to as they savor the wines they received.

> The Wines Find out what wines the bride and groom like to drink (are they Syrah fanatics?). Or, if their honeymoon destination is, for example, Italy, use that for inspiration. Then work with the restaurant’s sommelier or a sales associate at your wine store to select a variety of wines for the shower. The tasting should start with the sparkling wine, then move from lightest to fullest. After the bubbly, I suggest tasting a few whites and then a few reds. Finish with a dessert wine or port. Assuming a 2- to 3-ounce tasting portion of each wine, order at least one bottle of each wine for every 10 people. Create a menu for each guest listing all the wines served and leave room for notes. Most wineries have online tasting notes that you can include on the menu. If you want to make the tasting a bit more educational and entertaining, hire a wine educator or sommelier to lead the group.

> The Food You can either hire a caterer or ask each person in the bridal party to bring a dish.  It’s good to have a display of cheese, meats and olives at the start. This assures that guests have food before the tasting gets under way. These also go well with the lighter wines you’ll be serving first. Have heartier courses for the red wines and, of course, don’t forget dessert. The wine-themed shower will allow everyone to taste six new wines while getting to know each other. The bride and groom will end up with a well-stocked wine collection to begin their marriage and, at the wedding, everyone will feel like old friends.

Want to learn more about the factors used to determine wine style? Visit Laurie’s blog at thewinecoach.com.

Laurie Forster, The Wine Coach®, is a wine educator who creates corporate events, group tastings and team-building seminars. She is the author of “The Sipping Point: A Crash Course in Wine,” and can be heard each week on WBAL 1090 AM.

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