Our 100 favorite stylish people, places and things in Baltimore.
1 A soft summer breeze wafts through the branches swaying overhead. Here and there, an arc of sculpted bronze catches the waning rays of sunlight. Laughing couples laze around picnic baskets that spill over with platters of brie, chunks of crusty bread and empty bottles of sauvignon blanc. And near the front of the crowd, a lone musician coaxes sweet, clear tones from a saxophone. Are you dreaming? No, you’re just sprawled out on the grass with the rest of the crowd, on a Saturday jazz night in the sculpture garden at the Baltimore Museum of Art. —B.M.L.
2 In 1920s Baltimore, it must have been so easy to gossip about Alice Warder Garrett’s “Songs in Costume.” A middle-aged woman dressing up in elaborate costumes to perform amateur song and dance numbers in her private theater at Evergreen House? Really, Alice. But we love that she sang and danced, that she painted canvases depicting country scenes and her husband’s terrier. We dig that she participated in the art she loved— rather than only patronizing it, though she did so commendably through her creation of the Evergreen House Foundation, which continues to support musicians and artists through scholarships, programs and exhibits. Raven-haired, black-eyed Alice was truly a cultural maverick. She said she wanted to live “on the qui vive,” on the alert, ready for anything. Seems like she did just that. —L.W.
3Salt is our idea of the perfect corner bar: convivial, chic crowd, yummy food choices and stunning modern design (courtesy of Riley & Rohr). Yes, the dining area is cramped, the no-reservations policy can result in prolonged waits, and parking in the surrounding Butchers Hill neighborhood can cause agita. We don’t care. Another foie gras/sirloin slider, please! —B.M.L.
4 In the beginning— well, 1999— the American Visionary Art Museum held a ball to celebrate Mardi Gras and told revelers to dress as either saints or sinners. One guest came as Sister Wendy, the art nun, with a giant TV over her head. Someone else was John the Baptist, a replica of his own head on a platter. And
of course there were plenty of leather-clad S&M types. The Saints and Sinners Ball culminated in a parade through the museum featuring the costume-clad partiers, art cars, live animals and marching bands. Never a group to rest on its laurels, the AVAM folks have reinvented the ball every year by changing the theme to
reflect the current show at the museum. They’ve had aliens, aquarama and a beauty pageant celebrating the bra. And even though the gala has been moved to spring and rechristened Mondo Exotica, it’s still a bunch of wildly creative people coming together for an evening of crazy, creative fun. —M.B.
5 From her powerful, chocolate-y soprano to her flowing dark hair to the elaborate Italianate mansion she inhabited in the Green Spring Valley, Rosa Ponselle had a style all her own. The Connecticut native made her operatic debut at 21 opposite Enrico Caruso at the Met in 1918 and went on to become one of opera’s greatest divas. (Even Maria Callas called her “the greatest singer of us all.") In 1936, she married Baltimorean Carle A. Jackson (the mayor’s son) and lived out her life at Villa Pace, a sweeping white stucco manse/studio that seemed lifted from the Tuscan countryside. Opera may never see another quite like her. Charm City almost certainly never will. —J.S.
6 This Locust Point bistro has it all: excellent food with a menu that varies by season, a sophisticated yet unpretentious design, and the option to order any wine from the adjoining wine shop. Chris Spann and his whip-smart staff at The Wine Market keep it all running like a finely tuned machine. Other things to love: wines by the half-glass, a leisurely outdoor dining terrace and the most stylish mac-and-cheese in town. —B.M.L.
7 Owner Danny Dickman opened his namesake restaurant on the corner of Charles and Biddle streets in 1961, and for 25 years, Danny’s was the only place in town to sample real Russian caviar or fresh Dover sole, which Dickman had flown in twice a week. Mobil bequeathed four stars on the restaurant— the only one in Baltimore to garner such glitter. Before most Baltimoreans knew that fancy chicken entreés didn’t always come with a cream sauce, Dickman offered “cuisine for the connoisseur.” For that we salute a stylish restaurant and a restaurateur way ahead of his time. —J.S.
8 Though he was born in rural St. Mary’s County, Dashiell Hammett was a quintessentially urban figure, dressed in a pin-striped double-breasted suit with his fedora tilted just so, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Or was that Humphrey Bogart in the film version of Hammett’s “The Maltese Falcon”? Long after he died penniless in 1961, Hammett’s unforgettable characters remain: Sam Spade, created out of Hammett’s stint at the Pinkerton Detective Agency, which began at the Baltimore branch in 1915. And Nick and Nora Charles, who lived in a world in which it was always cocktail hour, but instead of getting sloppy or sick, they only got cleverer. In reality, Hammett got sick; he contracted tuberculosis at an Army camp outside Baltimore in 1919 and the illness dogged him the rest of his life, haunting him like Sam Spade haunted the lying liars. —L.W.
9 The woman in the office at Greenmount Cemetery recently informed us that no plots remain in the cemetery’s burial grounds, though there are still cremation niches and spaces in the Public Mausoleum. And yet, it’s lovely to think of resting eternally in the same soil as the city’s luminaries— Johns Hopkins, Enoch Pratt, A. Aubrey Bodine, J. Walter Lord— and its infamous, most notably John Wilkes Booth, who lies in an unmarked grave on his family’s plot. We visited the cemetery on a late summer afternoon, passing through the stone gates that lead from the killing city to the city of the dead. From atop the hill where the Gothic chapel sits, the cemetery looked like an elegant chessboard with its forest of monuments. The only sound was the distant hum of a mower, as a caretaker tended the graves. —L.W.
10Where else in Baltimore are you going to see the foreign films not nominated for Oscars, a clip of John Waters admonishing you not to smoke as he gleefully inhales or attend a Sunday morning screening complete with bagels, coffee and a discussion afterward? No place but the Charles Theatre. The 1892 Beaux Arts building began life as a cable car barn, later to be variously reinvented as a streetcar station, a bowling alley, offices and a ballroom. In 1999, cinephile John Standiford and his contractor uncle Buzz Cusack leased the space, installed four new movie theaters with stadium seating, hired architect Alex Castro to create artful industrial spaces and commissioned a former Charles Theatre employee, Baltimore interior designer Jonathan Maxwell, to craft an arresting Art Deco style for the lobby. No doubt, it’s a blockbuster hit. —M.Z.
11 Born in 1873 in Baltimore, Emily Post married a high society banker in New York and had two sons— and then divorced the banker in 1905 for infidelity. A divorce in 1905 is not a divorce in 2005— how well Ms. Post must have come to know, if she didn’t before, the importance of being treated with care and consideration. During her long career, she wrote 18 books, but she’s best known for the 1922 volume “Etiquette: The Blue Book of Social Usage,” in which she warns against eating corn on the cob in public, denounces the smoking of cigars and lectures on the proper fork to use for each course. But her advice was much more than a catalog of social rules. As she said once, “Etiquette is the science of living. It embraces everything. It is ethics. It is honor.” We wish there were more
etiquette in the world today. —L.W.
12 Back in the 19th century, a visitor could mention that she stayed at the Fountain Inn or Barnum’s or bedded down at the Rennert, the Southern or the Emerson, and even her friends back in New York City would nod approvingly. Nearly all of Baltimore’s majestic hotels are gone now— leveled by fire or the wrecking ball. But The Belvedere remains, a last link to Charm City’s grande dames of yore. When it opened in 1903, it boasted its own laundry service, upholstery and print shops and a 24-hour staff of plumbers. Despite accommodating presidents, power brokers and a host of celebrities over the years, it was never a financial success and the august hotel officially became condominiums in 1992. —J.S.
13 Proof positive that name is destiny, Baltimore interior designer Stiles Colwill oozes style. From the tangle of Jack Russell terriers nipping at his Belgian-loafered heels to his custom-made suits and brightly colored shirts and ties, Colwill imbues himself and his firm, Stiles T. Colwill Interiors, with panache and serious professional chops. Clients in Baltimore and beyond look to his discriminating eye honed as a former curator and director of the Maryland Historical Society and as a serious collector of Maryland furniture, silver and paintings. The son of a champion Maryland Hunt Cup jockey, Colwill oversees Halcyon, his inherited family farm and successful thoroughbred operation in the Green Spring Valley. His clients aren’t the only ones who benefit from his style and substance. A mainstay on Baltimore’s cultural arts scene, Colwill is a Maryland State Arts Council councilor and trustee of the Baltimore Museum of Art, Maryland Historical Society and Ladew Topiary Gardens, among others. —S.A.
14 During its heyday, Louie’s Bookstore and Café embodied all that was artsy and exciting about Baltimore— everything, in other words, that was not the suburbs. When we were teenagers living lives of quiet desperation, we’d escape the cultural deserts of Timonium and go to Louie’s. There we’d fondle poetry journals, gawk at the red-drenched walls hung with huge canvases and wonder how we might become the kind of people who made such paintings— or at least people who knew people who made such paintings. Alas, nothing gold can stay and Louie’s Bookstore and Café closed in 1999, soon to be reincarnated as simply Louie’s Café, soon to be reincarnated again as Ixia. Where Louie’s was boho, Ixia is sleek and dramatic, with royal blue walls, gauzy curtains and plush lounge chairs. The Mediterranean-inspired menu is exciting, the cocktails fanciful. Sigh. We’re all so much more sophisticated now. —L.W.
15 What is it that still draws us to the Owl Bar in The Belvedere? The massive wood bar? The autographed photos of movie stars on the walls? The mock tudor beams, snug booths, stained glass and exquisite brickwork? The dreamy wondering: how many servicemen were served here in the bar’s 100-year-plus history, how many speakeasy drinks were poured, how many out-of-towners warmed up with a whiskey after a Colts game? Or maybe it’s just looking at the owls peering down from their perch above the bar, as we reread the poem on the wall: “A wise old owl sat on an oak...” —M.Z.
16 At age 16, Rebecca Hoffberger became the first American to apprentice to mime Marcel Marceau in Paris. She studied non-traditional medicine in Mexico, helping to deliver babies in remote mountain areas in the state of Morelos and was awarded the title of “Dame” for her work on behalf of establishing medical field hospitals in Nigeria. And yet we respect her most for her indefatigable quest to create, fund and maintain the American Visionary Art Museum, a quest fueled every step of the way by her exuberance, her determination and, yes, her vision. —L.W.
17 The satin gowns and glowing white gardenias might have masked some of the pain in Billie Holiday’s life, but her voice gave it all away. Her careful phrasing and the dusky tone she created to sound like Louis Armstrong’s trumpet have inspired a myriad of singers, from the late Susannah McCorkle to current songstress Madeleine Peyroux. Nearly 50 years after her sad death, Holiday’s star still burns brightly. Baltimore claims Billie as its own because she spent her childhood in Fells Point, though for most of her life she was firmly planted in New York. But the romantic in us believes she always carried a little bit of Baltimore with her. —M.Z.
18 From its sunny glass interior walls overlooking a peaceful little garden to the ancient Antioch tiled mosaics adorning its walls, the airy atrium court (dubbed Schaefer Court) at the center of the John Russell Pope-designed Baltimore Museum of Art is the perfect place for everything from formal balls to feature film shoots (like 1989’s “Her Alibi"). —B.M.L.
19 Is the interior of any Baltimore library more recognizable than the Peabody stacks? The black-and-white marble floor laid out like a giant chessboard, the five levels of wrought-iron railings, so much like balconies you expect them to be trailing geraniums, the diamond-shaped panes of glass that pattern the skylight. Popular these days as a spot for wedding receptions, there’s still serious study going on behind the library’s heavy doors (the library collection holds more than 300,000 volumes, most from the 18th and 19th centuries). And on display through the beginning of January are assorted notes and ephemera from Baltimore’s own Mr. Mencken. —M.Z.
20 You put your best coat on, hopped on the No. 10 trolley to Howard and Lexington and hopped off in the middle of Baltimore department store heaven. Stewart’s, with its premier furniture department, claimed the northeast corner; Hochschild-Kohn, the northwest, and the ever-changing May Co. (later The Hecht-May Co., then Hecht Co.), occupied the southwest curb. From corner to corner you’d walk, stopping, perhaps, at the two-story Reed’s drugstore for a hot roast beef sandwich. Or, maybe a little farther north, you’d duck into beloved Hutzler’s to shop for hats or notions, and have lunch in the Colonial Dining Room. Schlesinger’s had fewer displays and brought dresses to you for your consideration; Hess and I. Miller offered wingtips, pointy-toed high heels and shiny Mary Janes. Shopping in Baltimore has never been the same. —M.Z.
21 Doyenne of the local design scene, Rita St. Clair and her eponymous firm have been tastefully decorating the interiors of well-heeled Baltimoreans for several decades. From its office quarters in a grand Mount Vernon townhouse, Rita St. Clair Associates designs not only residential spaces, but restaurants and hotels across the nation. Locally, Saffron, Nasu Blanca, Petit Louis and Kali’s Court all owe their memorable interiors to her talent and vision. The Palmer House hotel in Chicago and the Intercontinental Miami Hotel also bear her imprint. Known for her droll wit, keen personal style and devastating sense of humor, St. Clair also oversees her nationally syndicated newspaper column, “Design Line.” —B.M.L.
22 When founder Charles C. Stieff decided to sell silverware by the weight— not the piece— and to retail directly to Marylanders, he ensured that Stieff Co. silver would proliferate here. Floral patterns, particularly “Forget-Me-Not,” “Chrysanthemum” and “Rose,” were the most popular flatware, and “Princess,” a tribute to the American bride, was completely hand-chased— the heaviest and the most expensive. “President and Mrs. Eisenhower placed regular orders,” says great-grandson Charles C. Stieff III, who remembers helicopters on the factory lawn. Though it’s been nearly a decade since Stieff closed its Wyman Park factory, pitchers, vases and platters bearing its ornate repoussee floral motifs and landscape scenes “bumped out” on sterling still grace many a Baltimore dining table. —K.H.
23 You duck in off of Chase Street under The Prime Rib’s discreet awning and are quickly swallowed up by the cool, welcoming darkness. Inside, golden candlelight dances on faces as a low hum of chatter pervades the rooms. Off to the left, the clink of martini glasses on the marble bar catches your ear. Straight ahead, a tuxedoed gent literally tickles the ivories of a jet-black baby grand, and underfoot the exotic plushness of the leopard-print rug leads off in every direction to cosseting black leather banquettes. Is it 1966? 1986? 2006? It doesn’t matter. Of course, the level of service will be knowing and understated; of course,
your knife will glide through a perfectly cooked piece of filet mignon like so much butter; of course, you’ll try a bite of the black forest cake. It’s just another evening at The Prime Rib. —B.M.L.
24 Is it the bushy mustache? The little curlicues of hair? Or is it the perpetually staring single eye that so captures our attention? Whatever it is, Mr. Boh has charmed Baltimoreans since his debut on a can of National Bohemian beer in the 1930s. And though the beer has gone the way of the Colts, Mr. Boh is still ours. “You don’t have to drink beer to like Mr. Boh,” says Todd Unger, president of Natty Boh Gear, an all-Mr. Boh shop in Fells Point. “He more than just represents a beer, he represents a city.” We’ll wink to that. —J.S.
25 Federal Hill Park has history, that’s for sure. Residents gave the hill its name back in 1788 when thousands of Baltimoreans marched there from Fells Point to celebrate the ratification of the Constitution by the Maryland General Assembly. In the Civil War, Union troops occupied Federal Hill and trained their cannons on the city. But really, what makes the park special are the panoramic views of the city’s skyline and Inner Harbor. Here you are, right in the heart of Charm City and instead of feeling hemmed in, you feel like you’re somewhere in the clouds looking down from above. It must be how Superman feels. —M.B.
26 We’re going to go ahead and state it for the record: the annual lighting of the Washington Monument each December is the classiest civic event in Baltimore. The crowd is generous but not maddening, the mood lively but not raucous. And because it is not Artscape— not July— no one is sweaty and smelly. We gather, young and old, black and white, to listen to choirs and choruses. We sip hot chocolate and hot cider. And then, at the appointed moment, the fireworks explode and the monument is ablaze. No plastic Santas, no red-nosed reindeers, no blinking and flashing like over on West 34th Street. Just strings of gold light in the heart of the city. (Thursday, Dec. 7) —L.W.
27 In the annals of Great Comebacks in Baltimore City History, our vote for most stylish return goes to Belvedere Square. Born as a fresh approach to urban retail in 1986, it floundered in the late ‘90s and was destined to be cleared for a supermarket and/or big box stores in 2000. But up stepped developer Struever Bros., Eccles & Rouse and six years later, the Square is a hoppin’ mix of retail, restaurants and specialty shops, proving once again that Baltimore loves a good comeback. —J.S.
28 Milkmen who deliver… telephone exchanges… television without reality shows… some things have vanished forever. But how about freshly laundered, folded shirts, stacked and wrapped in brown paper and tied with string? Thankfully, you can still get that at T.C. Wing Chinese Hand Laundry in Roland Park. Shopkeepers Ricky and Shirley Tsao limit their clientele to about 400 customers, so be prepared to put your name on a waiting list (the waiting time is six to eight months, but has been as long as two years). As one longtime customer remarks, “You have to wait until someone moves or dies to get in.” —B.M.L.
29 It looked like an old roadhouse, the old Pimlico Hotel did, with its warren of clubby rooms you could get lost in venturing from your snug booth to the restroom. This was in the ‘60s and ‘70s, before the restaurant, originally owned by Leon Shavitz and Nathan Herr, moved to its late, “new” location on Reisterstown Road from its spot just off Northern Parkway near the track. But in both locations, the menu was the same, a thick phonebook of continental favorites like filet mignon, crab imperial and stuffed lobster tails. Gentlemen wore ties, ladies donned pumps and everyone sipped martinis to celebrate their horse winning… or not. —M.Z.
30 Although its place of origin, the chic Vespa bistro in Federal Hill, is now but a memory, the Sicilian Iced Tea lives on. The perfect summertime quaff, it’s sophisticated, refreshing and has a certain European j’nes c’est quoi. Here’s how to enjoy it at home, courtesy of the man who introduced it to Baltimore, Steve Ward (who cautions, “Measurements depend on how heavy a wrist I am swinging").
1 glass of prosecco, 4 to 5 ounces (Italian sparkling wine)
1/2 lemon juiced, quartered (pieces thrown in)
1 shot Montenegro Amaro (Italian herbal liquor)
1 shot Averna Amaro or Punt y Mes bitters
Shake together and pour over ice. —B.M.L.
31 Sure, St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York is likely the most famous in the United States and D.C.’s National Cathedral gets all the dignitaries. But our own Basilica of the Assumption was the first cathedral— and more importantly, one of America’s earliest shrines to religious freedom. That’s the way Archbishop John Carroll envisioned it when he turned to architect Benjamin Henry Latrobe, fresh off his design of the U.S. Capitol. Carroll didn’t want the new cathedral to look like a church in the European Gothic style. He wanted it to look “American,” so his countrymen would understand that Catholics were as American as they were. Funds were raised via a lottery— as was tradition in those days— and through what can only be called divine intervention, Carroll picked his own ticket out of thousands. (He promptly picked another.) In its 200 years, worshippers from Ralph Waldo Emerson and Marquis de Lafayette to Mother Teresa and Pope John Paul II have prayed in its pews. And now, after a $32million renovation, Baltimore’s basilica has been restored to Latrobe’s original splendor. —J.S.
32 Leave it to a Baltimore gal to nearly topple the British monarchy, be named Time’s first-ever female Person of the Year and utter one of the most popular quotations ever to grace a needlepoint pillow or cocktail napkin: “A woman can never be too rich or too thin.” Wallis Warfield Simpson was a twice-married woman and commoner when she met the man who would be king— Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor— and became his mistress. The only British monarch in history to voluntarily abdicate the throne, he stepped down in 1936 to marry the irreverent and domineering Simpson. They lived out the rest of their lives in exile near Paris as fixtures on the international social scene. Known for impeccable, austere style, Simpson’s periwinkle blue wedding dress became one of the most copied dresses in fashion history— and she remains a controversial figure well past her death 20 years ago. Buried beside each other at Windsor Castle, the Duke and Duchess reportedly briefly considered less-royal eternal digsin Baltimore’s Greenmount Cemetery. —S.A.
33 If Howard Street shops had something for everyone, Charles Street boutiques had something for everyone who could pay a little more. Andre’s beauty salon welcomed its clients through a red marble doorway into a room sparkling with chandeliers. Hopper McGraw had a wooden Indian camped outside and offered gourmet groceries. You went to Lycetts and Downs for giftware and stationery (how many wedding invitations did they engrave, one wonders), Fetting’s for beautiful baubles, Lohmeyer’s for blue blazers and cashmere sweaters, and Deluxe Saddlery for leather goods and clothes. Today, Sascha’s, located on the site of Andre’s, still sparkles with that same chandelier. —M.Z.
34 Many great rye labels have come and gone, but only one still bears a local moniker: Pikesville Supreme. Its familiar white, black and gold label beams proudly from store shelves and back-bars— the smooth, light amber elixir glowing from inside the bottle. (Sadly, Pikesville is no longer distilled locally, but in Bardstown, Ky. But that’s a reality we’ve come to accept.) Whether it’s an old-fashioned Sazerac at The Valley Inn or one of Mr. Andy’s Frozen Ryes at the bar at the Elkridge Club, we lift our glasses to this classic brand. —B.M.L.
35 One hundred years ago, Hans K. Schuler set up a studio at 7 E. Lafayette Ave. and moved his family in next door. Over the next 50 years, the sculptor would create some of the city’s most distinctive stone and bronze statues: the Hopkins monument at Charles and 33rd streets; the Pulaski Monument in Patterson Park; the statue atop Federal Hill of Gen. Samuel Smith, commander of Baltimore’s forces during the War of 1812; the Screaming Eagle in the Baltimore City Hall’s rotunda. As director of the Maryland Institute College of Art from 1925 until his death in 1951, Schuler championed the classical-revivalist style, a look that fell out of favor in the second half of the 20th century. But in 2006, faculty at the Schuler School of Fine Arts (which include several of the artist’s descendants) still teach traditional sculpture, painting and drawing to a new generation, proving that an education in the classics remains a classic education. —J.S.
36 There’s nothing more civilized, yet more satisfying, than the Cobb salad at the Café at Nordstrom. Just like Bob Cobb, the proprietor of the famed Brown Derby restaurant in Hollywood and inventor of the salad, intended, Nordstrom’s version is a big, wide bowl brimming with fresh greens with the signature ingredients layered in discreet sections over top: chunks of pale smoked turkey, fresh diced ripe tomato, crispy chopped bacon, sliced avocado, chopped cooked egg and crumbles of bleu cheese. While all the other department stores have closed their cafes, Nordstrom still offers the perfect place to partake of polite sustenance and relax from the rigors of shopping. —B.M.L.
37 Every year since 1949, on Jan. 19, the night of Edgar Allan Poe’s birth in 1809, a stranger known affectionately as the Poe Toaster has entered the Westminster Burying Grounds and left a partial bottle of cognac and three roses on Poe’s grave. Mysterious, dramatic, symbolic, it’s a fitting tribute to the enigmatic writer of such spooky stories as “The Cask of Amontillado,” “The Fall of the House of Usher” and “The Masque of the Red Death.” In life, Poe was a handsome fellow who dressed elegantly even in poverty, cutting a fine figure in a black frock coat and cravat. He had dark brooding eyes and an expansive forehead thought significant in his phrenology-obsessed era. Whether he died as a result of a drunken stupor, illness or another cause remains, like the identity of the Poe Toaster, a mystery. —L.W.
38 Landscapes and still-lifes. Portraits and city- scapes. Raoul Middleman paints them all, the beautiful and the ugly, the noble and trivial, each subject captured in bold brush strokes and rich, unexpected hues. His path to becoming one of the country’s most highly regarded figurative painters is equally as colorful. Baltimore born, bred and educated— he’s the son of Jewish immigrants and grew up in Ashburton— Middleman earned a philosophy degree at Johns Hopkins University before doing a stint in Montana as a ranch hand. He started painting after a move to New Orleans, and in 1961, briefly joined New York’s abstract painting scene. Middleman discovered a passion for landscapes, returned to his hometown to teach at the Maryland Institute College of Art— a position he still holds— and continues to find in Baltimore’s gritty industrialism and verdant countryside a collection of subjects as unique as his painting style. —S.A.
39 “You will never use these skills in a restaurant setting,” announced the instructor of Chameleon Café pastry chef Tina Perry’s charcuterie class at Baltimore International College. “I am teaching you for tradition’s sake.” Diners in Baltimore are grateful for the lesson. Perry and Chameleon Café chef/owner Jeff Smith keep the tradition alive through their French-inspired but wholly original house-made charcuterie, including paté made from local Springfield Farm chicken livers. Dried apricots or cherries add a touch of sweetness to terrines and galantines made from duck and pork. And Perry also makes the fruited chutneys and seeded, spicy mustards that accompany plump celery or maybe sage sausages. Smith admits it’s pretty crazy to make charcuterie in a restaurant: it’s time-consuming (it can take four hours to make a terrine) and it’s not exactly cost-efficient. But, he adds, “we love
doing it.” —M.Z.
40 Perhaps it’s morbid, but Baltimore should be proud it figures in the lives of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, that charming, brilliant, tortured pair of Peter Pans who epitomized the glitter and grief of the Jazz Age— even if it was as the scene of the beginning of their unraveling. In January 1932, Zelda sought help at Phipps Psychiatric Clinic at Hopkins Hospital and while a patient there, wrote her lone novel “Save Me the Waltz.” By the time her husband’s novel “Tender is the Night” (which treated much of the same material) was published in 1934, the family had moved to Bolton Hill, only to decamp again soon. In the fall of 1935, F. Scott returned to Baltimore and rented an apartment on the top floor of The Cambridge Arms (now Wolman Hall, a Johns Hopkins dorm at 3339 N. Charles St.) where he worked on the grim autobiographical story “Afternoon of an Author.” Five years later, he died in Hollywood. Within decades, “The Great Gatsby,” unloved in its day, was deemed a classic, proving wrong one of his famous lines: There are second acts in American lives. —L.W.
41 Baltimore isn’t known as a trend-setting town— except when it comes to its baseball stadium. When it debuted in 1992, Oriole Park at Camden Yards was revolutionary in its old-school design. With its brick facade and green-steel superstructure, the stadium looked like something from the days when the minor league Baltimore Orioles played in town. (The stadium’s bow-tie clad ushers only add to the retro appeal.) A dozen imitators followed, and the success of each was always measured by how well it compared to Oriole Park. Now if only those darned Orioles would win… —J.S.
42 High tea should be fancy enough to warrant the “special occasion” label, but not so fussy you feel trapped in a 19th-century novel in which bored women in high-necked dresses nibble dainty sandwiches and sip from dainty teacups when they’d rather be tearing out their hair. Housed inside a modest rowhouse decorated in shabby chic, and offering an appetizing array of sandwiches, pastries and teas served on charming mismatched china, Finnerteas in Hampden
offers the perfect high tea— and the gracious wait staff doesn’t raise an eyebrow if you fail to extend your pinkie. —L.W.
43 Are there any female art collectors anywhere whose efforts were more instrumental to the appreciation of modern art in America than Etta and Dr. Claribel Cone? Before the world loved Matisse, the Cone sisters bought his work and hung it in their quarters in the Marlborough Apartments. Each summer for many years, they left the confines of Baltimore to tour Europe, visiting with Gertrude Stein and buying art— a Picasso etching, a Renoir etching, more work by Matisse. After Dr. Claribel died in 1929, she left her half of the collection to Etta, encouraging her to donate the whole of it to the Baltimore Museum of Art “in the event the spirit of appreciation for modern art becomes improved” in the city. We’re not sure the spirit had improved much by 1949, when Etta died. But it surely has since, thanks to the Cone sisters and their incomparable collection of paintings, textiles and sculptures. —L.W.
44 It took a tomboy from Frederick who cut paper dolls from her mother’s fashion magazines to usher in the age of modernism in American fashion. Designer Claire McCardell’s vision and talent forever altered how women dressed. Hailed as the inventor of American women’s sportswear, McCardell refused to cater to the mid-century standard of copying rigid, men’s tailoring for women’s wear. Inspired by the busy, post-World War II lives of ordinary women, she introduced such casual, fashion-forward and still-hip designs as the first wrap-around housedress, strapless swimsuit, mix-and-match separates and the use of zippers and side pockets in women’s clothing. Who knows? Maybe her home state’s affinity for The Block inspired the McCardell innovation that has gripped the fashion industry ever since: the strapless, elasticized tube top. —S.A.
45 Every aspect of Homewood House, deemed the most intact Federal country house in Baltimore, seems to say “look at me.” Elaborate hand-carved woodwork and plasterwork edge everything, from the front portico to central passageway to bedroom mantels. Shining floor cloths bring inside the black-and-white marble checkerboard of the front porch. Brilliantly colored geometric and floral carpets enhance apple green, robin’s egg blue and almost fluorescent yellow walls tied together by soft green trim. In 1801, when the house was built, green was a new color, made from copper oxide. It screamed wealth. Today Homewood doesn’t scream, but glitters, like its silks and silver, its glass and highly polished mahogany. —K.H.
46 “Natty” describes Fred Lazarus to a ‘T’. The president of the Maryland Institute College of Art sports bow ties and bespoke suits, and his shock of curly hair never looks moppish or untended. Lazarus, who shops the Polo and Brooks Brothers outlets for “quality brands at cheap prices,” describes his style as pretty conservative, and says his ever-present bow ties, “are a little something that makes people smile.” We certainly think so. —M.Z.
47 Thank goodness for Darin Atwater’s Soulful Symphony. Performing everything from Duke Ellington’s jazz-tinged take on the “Nutcracker Suite” to conductor Atwater’s own genre-blending Song in a Strange Land, this mostly African-American ensemble melds classical, jazz, gospel, Afro-Cuban, swing and a touch of hip-hop into a funky musical stew that gets audiences dancing in the aisles. When was the last time you saw that at Meyerhoff Symphony Hall? —J.S.
48. In 1914, one of Baltimore’s most (in)famous nearly native daughters, Wallis Warfield, made her debut at the Bachelor’s Cotillon wearing “an exquisite gown of white satin combined with pearl and chiffon trimmings” and carrying a bouquet of American beauty roses. The event, ongoing since 1870, and held at the Lyric for many years, began as a series of balls before eventually claiming the first Monday in December as its own. These days, public details about the Cotillon are few, but come the Friday after Thanksgiving, rest assured that young women in scaled-down, simple-lined gowns and swathed in bouquets will be escorted to the ball-of-Baltimore-balls by fathers, grandfathers and uncles into the shining eye of society. —M.Z.
49 The Brass Elephant’s Tusk Lounge is one of the few places in the city where you can get drunk on the cheap during happy hour while still feeling civilized. Enter the historic mansion and climb the stairs to the second floor. Order a martini or a glass of wine at the marble bar. After a few sips, the room will appear even more beautiful than at first, the light from the crystal chandelier reflecting off gilt-frame mirrors in a warm golden glow. Perhaps you’ll order mussels in herb broth, a cheese plate or even a grilled filet of beef from the lounge menu. Or maybe you’ll just have that second drink, which is free, compliments of the happy hour special. The room is hushed. No one makes any sudden moves. Only with great reluctance do you return to the world outside. —L.W.
50 Before Nouveau Contemporary Goods arrived, Baltimoreans never realized that couches could be purple. Or that lamps could sport fringe. Steve Appel and Lee Whitehead’s original Charles Street store was not only a destination for those looking to add a splash of funky color to their living rooms, but a quasi-tourist attraction, as well. While we miss the eclectic layout of the original store, we know that purple couches await not far away at Nouveau’s Belvedere Square and Canton locales. —J.S.
51 The Hippodrome Theatre’s 1914 opening night featured vaudeville dancers, a comedy act and performing elephants. Ninety years later, after a $63 million renovation and a rebirth as the France-Merrick Performing Arts Center, the Hippodrome still offers a variety of talents and stands as a symbol of Baltimore’s revitalizing West Side. Frank Sinatra played with the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra at the Hippodrome in 1939, and performers like Jack Benny, Gene Krupa and Bob Hope appeared there before achieving fame. With 270 Broadway-caliber performances a year, the Hippodrome Theatre is once again the city’s most stylish place to see a show. —L.A.W.
52 We’re all about slumps— not to be confused with bettys, buckles, clafoutis, cobblers, crumbles, crisps, fools, grunts or pandowdys, though we like those, too. And our favorite rendition is the yummy blueberry slump, courtesy of chef Mark Henry at the tony Oregon Grille. The hushed, dark, clubby setting of the restaurant is just the place to tuck into this fruit-and-dumpling treat. —B.M.L.
Blueberry Slump
(Makes 1 9-by-6 pan, loaf pan or 6 portions)
4 cups fresh blueberries
1 cup sugar divided (3/4 cup for blueberries and 1/4 cup for top)
1 cup flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
dash of salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Butter pan. Gently toss blueberries with 3/4 cup of sugar. Place blueberries in buttered pan. In separate bowl mix flour, baking powder, salt and 1/4 cup sugar. Heat milk and butter in microwave until butter is melted. Pour warm milk into flour mixture, stir well and add vanilla. Ladle biscuit topping evenly over blueberries. Bake for 45 minutes, or until evenly browned. Cut into 6 pieces and serve warm with 1 scoop Haagen-Dazs vanilla ice cream or cool for later. Will keep up to 1 week in the refrigerator.
53 Sure, the Renaissance architecture of the Enoch Pratt Free Library’s Central Branch with its grand, department-store-style window displays is attractive. But like any good book, the real stunner is inside. Filled with highly polished marble columns, bronze balconies lining the mezzanine level and rich carved wood, the Main Hallway captures the imagination. Wall murals tell the story of Maryland history, while the six Lords of Baltimore— captured in full-length oil portraits— survey the library’s busy comings and goings among the book stacks and circulation desk. Skyward, the decorative ceiling with its gold rosettes and intricate geometric patterns transports you to a European cathedral (this one is a replica of the Church of Santa Maria in Rome). Designed by Clyde N. Fritz in 1933 when the Pratt’s collections necessitated the building of a new Central Branch, the form and function of the Main Hallway weave a story that stays with you. —S.A.
54 The sound of crickets and tinkling fountains. The smell of curry mingling with the fragrances of blooming flowers. A courtyard worthy of a maharajah. Could there be a more stylish location to eat outdoors in Baltimore than at the Ambassador Dining Room? —J.S.
55 For its Alice in Wonderland-like sculptures of swans, a Buddha and a hunting scene complete with rider, hounds and a fox, Ladew Topiary Gardens has been dubbed “the most outstanding topiary garden in America” by the Garden Club of America. But topiary is hardly Ladew’s lone attraction. Some 250 meticulously maintained acres feature 15 individually themed “garden rooms” that set a gracious tone for the estate New York socialite Harvey Smith Ladew purchased in 1929. Visitors in Ladew’s day included Lawrence of Arabia, Charlie Chaplin, Cole Porter and the occasional English royal. Today you don’t have to be famous to enjoy Ladew’s garden lectures, children’s nature walks, summer concerts, art exhibits and steeplechases. —K.H.
56 Many a horse has competed for the Woodlawn Vase since 1861 when it was first presented at the Woodlawn Racing Association in Louisville, Ky. After being buried during the Civil War to avoid being melted for shot, the 34-inch silver vase was given to winners at race courses across the country until it was given to the Maryland Jockey Club in 1917. Designed by Tiffany and Co., the vase, which weighs roughly 29 pounds, was appraised in 1983 at $1 million, a far cry from its original assessment of $1,500. These days, a $30,000 replica is awarded to the owner of the Preakness winner, while the original is displayed at Pimlico Race Course under the watch of four security guards. —K.B.
57 Back in its day, the Baltimore clipper ship was the fleet Muhammad Ali to the British navy’s lumbering Tunney Hunsaker. With two raked masts and a V-shaped hull that cut through the waves, clippers built in Fells Point sunk or captured more than 1,700 British merchant vessels during the War of 1812. One local journalist was so impressed with the clipper Chasseur after it sank 17 British ships alone, he dubbed her captain and crew the “pride of Baltimore,” a phrase that would resurface 150 years later when Baltimore was looking to name its ambassadorial clipper ship. After the war, with cargo more important than cannon fire, the Baltimore clipper gave way to vessels with bigger holds, but, alas, decidedly less punch. —J.S.
58 We’re dubious about the stemless wine glasses and we think requiring the servers and bartenders to wear a necklace bearing the restaurant’s signature icon is alarmingly cult-like. But these are minor quirks for the only establishment in Baltimore that completely envelops you in mood, style and sexiness from the moment you enter. On planet Pazo, business people, couples celebrating anniversaries and young professionals are all rendered more glamorous by the Mediterranean-inspired palette, soft lighting and DJ music floating down from the balcony. The only thing that threatens to hurtle the scene back to Earth are the occasional tourists traipsing through in T-shirts and sneakers. —L.W.
59 Is there anything John Gutierrez can’t do? From tables crafted out of old film reels to the sweeping, curved staircase at the American Visionary Art Museum to the oh-so-appealing trellis sign outside the Anthropologie store in Rockville, the work of this Baltimore-based architectural metalworker stands out. It’s modern, yet natural. Sleek, yet unafraid of a curve or two. Gutierrez trained as a furniture maker, but his deep interest in architecture and tremendous understanding of materials led him to the field more than a decade ago. “I decided I wanted to build and make things as opposed to just design them,” he says. We dare you to see one of his spare, organic-looking designs and not cop a feel. “We’re like the petting zoo of manufactured goods,” he says. —M.B.
60 For three weeks every December, Patisserie Poupon offers that most traditional of French Christmas desserts, the Buche de Noël. The concept is simple: a light sponge cake is spread with cream filling, rolled like a jellyroll, decorated with icing and garnished with chocolate leaves, red currants and mushrooms made from meringue to create a pastry woodland fantasy. Some years, raspberry is added to the butter cream that fills the rolled chocolate genoise. Other times, Joseph Poupon makes a roll flavored with Grand Marnier or bursting with pistachios or hazelnut praline. Who knows what flavors this year will bring? —M.Z.
61 Historians usually use words like “enigmatic” and “reticent” when describing William Walters and his boy, Henry. But we’d also like to add “incredibly generous.” While Etta and Claribel Cone’s gift to the city was contingent upon its peoples’ collective appreciation for modern art (see No. 43), Henry, upon his death in 1931, bequeathed his entire 22,000-piece collection to Baltimore—no matter that most citizens didn’t know House of Fabergé from House of Welsh. We thank you for your stylish gesture, Henry. There was nothing ambiguous about it. —J.S.
62 F. Scott Fitzgerald, Dr. Claribel and Etta Cone, Johns Hopkins Ph.D. candidate and later U.S. President Woodrow Wilson and a slew of retired Confederate honchos can’t be wrong. All made Bolton Hill their home. Today, its elegant 19th -century townhomes, public squares and fountains and wide boulevards lend the neighborhood an air of old-world urbanity, unlike any other in town. —J.S.
63 We’re beyond tired of the Hon hullabaloo and we cringe when out-of-towners say they adore Baltimore’s quirky characters and local color. It’s all John Waters’ fault, of course. Still, we can’t stay mad at the man. We admire his devilish wit, his willingness to point out inconvenient truths about America (in so much more entertaining a way than Al Gore) and his artistic adventurousness. We admire his intelligence, his verbal acuity, his engagement with the world outside of Baltimore. And, yes, we love seeing him around town, immaculately dressed, hair slicked, pencil-thin mustache with nary a hair out of place. In short, we believe John Waters to be John Waters’ most stylish creation. —L.W.
64 With an area of just 1.4 square miles and a year-round population of 320, tiny, tony Gibson Island defines exclusivity. It’s not truly an island, but a lush peninsula nestled between the Chesapeake Bay and Magothy River, east of Severna Park. A longtime summer playground for some of Baltimore’s oldest and wealthiest families, the 115 homes on the gated, private island sell for an average of $2 million. The centerpiece of
island social life is the Gibson Island Club, given to such exacting standards that it’s been known to snub even homeowners on the island. —B.M.L.
65 It boasts two bedrooms, a living room, 21/2 bathrooms, marble wet bar, working fireplace, dining room for 12 and, for those who need to satisfy their inner Liberace, a baby grand piano. The Intercontinental Harbor Court Hotel’s presidential suite is the swankiest roost in town— and the most expensive, with a rack rate of $3,900. Guests have included Frank Sinatra, Jerry Lewis and Patti LaBelle. But, alas, not Liberace. —J.S.
66 When Maison Marconi was about to close, regular diners didn’t form lines around the corner for one last meal like they did when Haussner’s was shuttered. It was just here one day and gone the next, like the soup du jour. And that’s a very sad thing, for Marconi’s was Baltimore’s oldest restaurant, a living link to a time when people ate creamed sweetbreads, jellied consommé and lobster Cardinale without apologizing to their cardiologists. It was never the most stylish restaurant in town, but it had a style all its own. And although it may reopen someday in another location, the ghosts of H.L. Mencken, Upton Sinclair and other long-gone habitués won’t be around to haunt it. —J.S.
67 Not only does beautiful, aristocratic Bolton Hill merit a slot on our list (see No. 62), but neighborhood residents have one of the chic-est alternatives for Sunday brunch around town— b bistro. After finishing the Sunday paper, we love nothing more than sauntering down to the sunny café, ordering coffee while we peruse the menu of brunch classics, then sitting back and feeling extremely cosmopolitan. It only gets better during the summer months, when we take our coffee— and our attitude— to a table outside. —B.M.L.
68 Baltimoreans looking for yet another reason to feel superior to Washingtonians need look no further than Mount Vernon Square Park. Between the country’s first monument to George Washington (beating D.C.’s obelisk by 56 years), the fountains, flowers and other statuary— of George Peabody, John Eager Howard and Lafayette, among others— you almost feel as if you’re in Paris (or at least nowhere near Arbutus). —M.B.
69 The one thing more rejuvenating than walking into a bar and saying, “I’d like a Resurrection” is actually drinking it. Brewer’s Art’s signature Resurrection Ale has only grown in reputation since the beer’s complicated inception 10 years ago when the yeast “died” during the fermentation and brewer Chris Cashell blessedly “resurrected” it. Why do we love this Abbey-style dubbel? The subtle spice, the caramel sweetness that somehow finishes dry, the marvelous complexity you get from combining five types of barley malt with copious amount of sugar. In short: there’s a lot to this beer. Served in large goblets decorated with The Brewer’s Art’s Charles Rennie McIntosh-inspired logo, Resurrection Ale just might be the most stylish quaff in town. —M.Z.
70 To us, Barry Levinson is great for his Baltimore Quartet— “Diner,” “Tin Men,” “Avalon” and “Liberty Heights"— in which he gives us back our history more memorably, more artfully, than we could tell it ourselves. And yet we recognize that the world cares little for our nostalgia, and that Levinson is best known as the director of box-office hits like “Wag the Dog,” “Good Morning, Vietnam,” “Rain Man” and “The Natural"— and TV series like “Homicide” and “Oz.” We’re not fans of “Bandits” and “Envy,” and yet we’re glad that Levinson made them.
It proves that one can run with the big boys and still come home again. —L.W.
71 You’d be hard pressed to find a wine list with more depth, variety and “wow” factor than Charleston. It’s no mere “list” at all, but rather a collection, as owner Tony Foreman travels frequently, tastes wines constantly and seeks the rare, treasured “trophy” wines that are selected with a keen eye to chef Cindy Wolf’s signature dishes. Charleston even has unique by-the-glass offerings, like viognier and gruner veltliner in 3- or 6-ounce pours. From Riedel Crystal glassware in the appropriate size and shape, informed advice in selecting just the right wine to complement your meal and consummate professional presentation at the table (the server has a small sip of the wine, to make sure that it is not corked), wine is not an afterthought, but a non-negotiable part of the Charleston experience. —M.Z.
72 Who knew that Masons had such style? We didn’t until the Grand Lodge of Maryland Masonic Temple opened to the public after its 2005 restoration by Murphy and Dittenhafer Architects. The former Maryland Masons headquarters, reborn as reception and meeting space as part of the Tremont Grand, boasts meticulously restored marble columns, opulent chandeliers and gorgeous stained-glass windows that would impress Tiffany. And we thought the tiki lights at our local Moose Lodge were classy. —J.S.
73 Only in Baltimore would a peppermint stick stuck into a lemon be considered a delicacy. This sweet-and- sour concoction found at Mount Vernon’s annual Flower mart is just one of many offerings that include an over-the-top hat and hair contest, a traditional maypole dance, a pet parade and a flower show. Artisans, craftsmen, designers as well as gardeners have come together at the Flower mart every spring for 95 years. We hope it blooms for another century. —K.B.
74 On a dark winter day, there’s nowhere more balmy than the Howard Peters Rawlings Conservatory and Botanic Gardens, also known as the Baltimore Conservatory. Sun streams in through the 90-foot-tall glass walls of the Victorian Palm House, which was built in 1888 and is thought to be the oldest surviving conservatory building in the United States. Once a staple of early-20th-century postcards, it now shines again alongside the newly constructed Orchid Room, Mediterranean House, Tropical House and Desert House. One of the loveliest events is the Holiday Poinsettia Show, when poinsettias of all varieties and sizes fill the conservatory. (Dec. 9 through 31) —L.W.
75 Trendy watering holes around town blow up, then fade away. Thank God we’ll always have the Club Charles. From its peerless jukebox selection (Patsy Cline to Black-Eyed Peas) to its eclectic mix of hipsters and wannabes to the beautiful barmaids with attitude to spare, it remains timeless. Throw in the noir-ish smoky atmosphere, the clubby red banquettes beneath gorgeous Art Deco murals and the requisite John Waters sighting, and you’ve got simply the hands-down coolest place going. —B.M.L.
76 With its handsome wood-paneled walls, dramatic open kitchen and first-rate takes on New American fare, Linwood’s has been a destination for Baltimore-area foodies for nearly 20 years. We love to watch the chefs prepare our food from the comfort of our banquette. And we love Linwood’s versions of our favorite comfort foods like gazpacho with crab meat and an old-fashioned chocolate sundae. —B.M.L.
77 Originally built in 1853 and redesigned in 1884 by Stanford White for Robert Garrett, the president of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, the Garrett-Jacobs Mansion was the largest and most expensive home ever constructed in Baltimore— the neighbors objected to its size. Then, as if to spite the neighbors even more, after Garrett died in 1896, his widow, Mary, and her second husband, Dr. Henry Barton Jacobs, enlisted architect John Russell Pope to build an extension that would double the mansion. Today it boasts 40 rooms— including a ballroom and an enclosed conservatory— and that famous curved staircase topped by a Tiffany glass dome, over which Brad Pitt dangled Bruce Willis in “12 Monkeys.” Scenes from “Accidental Tourist,” “Diner,” “Her Alibi,” “Clara’s Heart” and “The Bedroom Window” were also filmed in the mansion. —L.W.
78 He had a long shaggy mane and bad teeth, but he was one of the Baltimore area’s first legitimate TV stars. Native Dancer, aka the “Galloping Gray Ghost of Sagamore,” was sired in Kentucky, but raised on Alfred G. Vanderbilt Jr.’s Sagamore Farm in Glyndon. He came of age as television was entering people’s homes and CBS carried every one of his 22 races, all of which he won— except the 1953 Kentucky Derby. In an era of black-and-white TV, his gray coat stood out against other horses with darker hides, making him a fan favorite. (In 1954, TV Guide ranked him second to Ed Sullivan as the biggest attraction on television.) After three glorious years, injury forced Native Dancer to retire, but the horse, who graced the cover of Time magazine in May 1954, went on to sire 304 foals, 44 of whom were stakes winners. The Gray Ghost died on Nov. 16, 1967, and was buried at Sagamore, the Baltimore County farm he helped put on the map. —J.S.
79 In 1977, the C. Grimaldis Gallery opened its doors at 523 N. Charles St. under the careful eye of owner Constantine Grimaldis. Since then, a host of contemporary work has filled the airy space (and made you want to slow to a crawl and crane your neck as you drove by). Grimaldis exhibits a range of hand-picked work, from Baltimore painter Grace Hartigan’s dramatic canvases to Paul Wallach’s brightly colored sculptures, proving that a quality art gallery can set the standard, not to mention thrive, in downtown Baltimore. —M.Z.
80 When you wait nearly 100 years to add a new building to your campus, you’d better make it a doozy. In 2003, the Maryland Institute College of Art did just that when it unveiled the Brown Center— funded by Baltimore philanthropists Eddie and Sylvia Brown— to house MICA’s digital arts program. With sharply angled, translucent walls of glass and steel that grow from the cramped site and soar four stories toward the sky and West Mount Royal Avenue, architects Ziger/Snead with Charles Brickbauer have created a building that has inspired art students and passers-by alike. —S.A.
81 If you’re looking to score a new designer dress, catch a peddie and meet the ladies for lunch all in one place, then you must be headed for the Village of Cross Keys. Developed by James Rouse and opened in 1964, Cross Keys has long been the most fashionable place to shop— and live— in town. Heck, even Oprah once boasted a Cross Keys address. —M.B.
82 A defiant, elegant holdout against the blandness of today’s multiplexes, the Senator Theatre is Baltimore’s only remaining single-screen, first-run theater. This ornate, Art Deco gem delights patrons with details such as glass block, stainless steel and sunburst panels and a stunning circular lobby complete with chandelier and kitschy displays highlighting whatever title is playing. Designed in 1939 by John Zink, the Senator is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The theater has even made the cast list for a few movies— check out its cameos in “Avalon” and “12 Monkeys,” among others, and pass the popcorn. —S.A.
83 We know Pennsylvania Station doesn’t have the shopping and dining possibilities offered by Washington’s Union Station (although until 1928, Union Station is what it was called). And it doesn’t have the soaring interior space of Philly’s 30th Street Station. But column for column, we’d match its gorgeous, 1911 Beaux Arts exterior against any Amtrak depot in the country. Credit goes to famed architectural firm McKim, Mead & White, proponents of the City Beautiful movement, which emphasized streamlining the visual clutter of cities and returning architecture to a classical style of order and harmony. Order? Harmony? We’re quite sure the Man/Woman sculpture has the poor gents spinning in their graves. —J.S.
84 A favorite gourmet shopping destination for 60 years, Eddie’s of Roland Park was originally named Victor’s, after owner Victor Cohen, and occupied the space that’s now home to Petit Louis. The store offered top-of-the-line canned goods, meat and produce, a practice daughter Nancy and her two sons continue today. In 1990, the Cohens purchased a former Acme market on North Charles Street and opened a second branch, having already moved the Roland Park store to its current digs. In a world where tastes change as quickly as the latest diet fad, Eddie’s survives— and thrives. —L.A.W.
85 It’s a brilliant idea, really. Pick a theme (let’s say, tiki or Tuscany or barbecue), invite a dozen strangers (or several dozen) over to your house (or art gallery or studio), serve fancy drinks and finger foods and talk about art— or whatever else stirs you. The Creative Alliance’s Art to Dine For series brings interesting people together, raises a few bucks for the arts organization and allows regular Joes to see the personal spaces of Charm City’s movers and shakers. —J.S.
86 You’ve shopped for bargains at the Best Dressed Sale in the carriage house and taken in an outdoor Shakespearean performance. Maybe you’ve seen the gold bathroom on HGTV. But unless you’ve toured its grand Gilded Age interiors, designed by both architect Lawrence Hall Fowler and theatrical designer Leon Bakst, and witnessed its “collection of collections"— Asian and European furniture and porcelain, paintings, prints and 30,000 books— you’ve missed the true glory of Evergreen House. Occupied by two generations of the prominent B&O Railroad, banking and diplomatic Garrett family, Evergreen was a regular destination for congressmen and presidents, international royalty and art lovers from the late 19th century through the mid-20th century. They attended parties and strolled the gardens of the 50-acre estate, where artists, actors and musicians performed and worked, a tradition that still flourishes today with Evergreen’s artist residency programs and cultural events. —K.H.
87 You’ve shopped for bargains at the Best Dressed Sale in the carriage house and taken in an outdoor Shakespearean performance. Maybe you’ve seen the gold bathroom on HGTV. But unless you’ve toured its grand Gilded Age interiors, designed by both architect Lawrence Hall Fowler and theatrical designer Leon Bakst,
