Shauna Eats Sunnyside

Shauna Eats the County

Back in mama’s old stomping grounds of backwoods MD last weekend, I enjoyed some of the finest seasonal Bay-area cuisine in “the County” with my lively and equally-as-hungry fam. It’s been months since I was last down for a visit, but I still swell with yearning for the simple elements that marked my youth: Porch swings. Soft grass in bare feet. The hum of cicadas. Honeysuckle. Huge starry nights. Summer storms. Windy back roads. Silence (!) …

Prior to this particular visit, I’d worked myself into quite a batch of homesickness. I first survived a rather cumbersome Amtrak mishap (that bastardous train broke down ten minutes from my stop and following several failed attempts to “recharge the locomotive,” all 180 passengers were forced to execute a train-to-train transfer, complete with luggage, wheelchairs, strollers and golf clubs, before continuing to our respective destinations). Upon eventual arrival, moms and I promptly hit the bar for some crabcakes and booze.

Woody’s Crab House is a hot spot on Main Street of a small town, and they make a mean crabcake. We entered the packed bar area to a black-beréted, grey-haired artisan gyrating his way through the most off-key rendition of “Fade to Black” my ears have ever been privy to. Guess that’s “small town,” for ya. Dude was a trainwreck of epic proportions… especially when he began beat-box improvising during the instrumental segment. But the drunken crowd egged him on, and mom and I had no choice but to chill. Madre ordered us two crabcake sandwich platters and we pulled up bar stools to eat and imbibe merrily.

My county knows what’s up on the crabcake tip. Unlike other areas of the country, it really is an abomination in Maryland to sub imposter crabmeat into any recipe calling for the shellfish (that means you, Foxy’s!). MD restaurants take pride in their blue crab dishes, and the freshness and size of meat hunks is really a culinary pissing contest, of sorts. You don’t mess with that…

Fuck up #1: I neglected to photograph the infamous house specialty. Here’s the only pic my nearly crapped-out Mac could nab from the Woody’s Crab House website… just try to envision it bigger, like the size of a succulent, ocean-floor-dwelling softball:

Woody’s has been lauded by local media for many years for their jumbo lump crabcakes and creamy crab bisque. During the summer, with its close proximity to the water and bad-ass deck seating, the restaurant becomes a free-for-all of bushel-cracking seafood tourists, and for good reason.

This crabcake is the hotness. Lightly fried or broiled (go broiled, the deep-fry distracts from the meat), substantially chunked with fresh, tender crabbie and minimal seasoned breadcrumb filler in a whopping cylindrical patty on (or off) a potato bun alongside crisp fries and a delicious (non-pungent) cabbage slaw. At $10ish, depending on the daily specials, it’s a good deal among local crab shacks well-versed in overcharging for shellfish. Alongside my $3.50 Coors Light draft (what can I say? You can take the girl outta MD…), it was the perfect meal to usher mama into a slower, hometown state of mind, despite the manic man in black harrumphing into the house mic.

The next morning, the women of my family convened over breakfast at the wide, patchworked world of Cracker Barrel. My cousin S, grandma Babs, sister D, and my mama were pumped to hit the countrified, wood-paneled nook for some (meh, somewhat authentic) Southern staples. Although CB is a chain that B adamantly shuns, I say ya can’t argue with biscuits and apple butter. Or hash brown casserole. Or baked apples-n-cinnamon. Or mugs of Stewart’s root beer (big ups, Pop-Pop!). Or grits and maple syrup. Or bottomless sweet tea.

S hails from New Hampshire, goes to college in VA, and pounces on the Barrel every chance she gets. If it’s any indication of the voracity of appetite in my family, this girl housed a three-pack of french toast, a cheesy scrambled eggs/crispy bacon/hash brown casserole combo (with obligatory orange slice) and TWO chocolate milks in one sitting. Gotta respect that flow.

Babs went with a similar potion of fried eggs, hash brown cass, beautiful sausage patties (kinda hard to come by, and MUCH better slathered in maple syrup than their oblong linked counterparts), fluffy biscuits, and a side of grits and butter.

D gussied up light and low-carb with scrambled eggs, sliced tomatoes, turkey sausage and fresh bananas (see? Cracker Barrel isn’t all country fried steak with sawmill gravy)…

I attempted “not overly gluttonous” but got screwed on the dual-biscuit clause… Moms and I both got these fun (new) egg-and-veggie skillets (hers with cheddar, mine without) alongside twin biscuits and fresh apple butter (huzzah!). I really dug the veggies, to be honest. Al denté broccoli florets, peppers, tomatoes, onion, mushrooms, and not-too-greasy potato wedges underlying scrambular eggs. I didn’t mind the lack of cheese but mom certainly appreciated hers. The biscuits, though heavy on the ass, were undeniably savory.

As if life couldn’t get any more foodcentric, S, mom and I stopped at our local orchard (word on the big pumpkins), following breakfast, where I picked up $2.67 jars of tangy plum butter and strawberry rhubarb preserves. (B and I have since cracked the PB on some hearty grain toast with peanut butter, and it’s proven an ideal drunken midnight snack.)

Later that night, mom made the most unnecessarily excessive bowl of stir-fry yet. But fuck it was good. Tender chicken cubes, white rice, scrambled egg, canned water chestnuts, scallions, shredded carrots and the most tongue-pleasing crunch snap peas with some spritzed soy sauce action. I may be grown, but there’s still nuthin like a home-cooked meal, and ma killed it!

Last stop of the evening (and my gut’s still paying for it, eight days later): S and I threw fat flaps to the wind and oven-toasted two fresh sugared apple cider donuts from the orchard. Whence warmed, buried them in bowls beneath mounds of vanilla and cookie dough ice creams, both chocolate and strawberry sauces, peanuts (S went with big with peanut M&Ms and a chewy ginger cookie), and swirls of Cool Whip. Complete and total gluttony. Halfway through the mooshy mess, my logic kicked in. WHAT THA HELL AM I DOING?!?! But sometimes, being bad feels so good. It was sickeningly delicious, achingly decadent and surely cavity inducing. I’ll be working that fucker off til Xmas.

My final county throwdown came at my sister and her boo’s favorite haunt, the Rendezvous Bar. D & her man J make a weekend habit of the local sports bar, and in fact, plan on having their bachelor/bachelorette blowout there this spring, complete with strippers, penis theming, and beer pong. I give ‘em credit for doin “drunk messy party” right.

Mom and I decided to casually split a 1-lb. jumbo shrimp and Old Bay fries special ($10) and piping cheesy crab dip in a bread bowl while D and J watched the Eagles take a beating from the f’n Cowboys. Our shrimp were huge, spicy, and tender… fries were, um, fried, and Old Bay seasoning just makes everything better. Dip was creamy, cheesy and bubbly, with hunks of crabmeat throughout (though not a lot of other seasoning). The bread bowl was dense and absorbant, and scooped remnant cheese nicely. Paired with a pitcher of domestic (you know how we do) and a pack of Marlboro Lights (NOT MINE), a solid way to spend a football Sunday south of the Mason-Dixon Line.