The Glories of Seafood in Chatham

Put simply, Cape Cod has some of the best seafood around. On Sunday, after fetching my stepdaughter in Provincetown, we stopped at Chatham Fish & Lobster Company, which advertises "the highest quality seafood caught daily." This time a seafood market actually lived up to its claims: the scallops and mussels were exquisitely fresh. Meg prepared a simple but tasty broth for the mussels, first sauteing fresh garlic in lots of olive oil and butter, then adding white wine, which she reduced before pouring in some water. We lightly steamed the mussels in this fragrant broth, and they were glorious. For our main course, we gorged on scallops, again prepared simply. When seafood is this good, you really don't want to mess around with cloying sauces. Meg seared the scallops in a very hot frying pan, just "kissing" the heat when flipped. Divine!

Today we had a late lunch at the Impudent Oyster, just up the road from our rental. Our jovial waitress helped with choices and poured generous glasses of wine, always a good sign. Meg and I started with a dozen Wellfleet oysters, a local specialty. They were just as good as the waitress said, slightly briny and ever so plump. The homemade horseradish was hot enough to set off the oysters without overpowering their delicacy. Rod, who refrains from raw fish, contented himself with a very good cup of Lobster bisque, followed by excellent fish and chips made with local cod. Meg ordered mussels prepared Portuguese style with lots of chopped tomatoes and thin slices of chorizo, almost like a fisherman's stew. I had a huge bowl of steamers, accompanied by superb Portuguese rolls slathered in garlic butter. Halfway through, Meg and I swapped dishes so I could gorge myself on mussels as well as clams. Unbelievably, after this descent into gluttony, we ordered dessert. Rod and I split a slice of delicious coconut key lime pie; Meg had less luck with a mediocre chocolate panna cotta.

Normally, we would have gone for a long two-hour hike to work off this absurdly indulgent lunch, but the grey skies that had threatened rain all morning opened just as we left the restaurant. So we went back to our flat and indulged in the sweetness of doing nothing, or as the Italians would say, dolce far niente.

Mystic Pizza

We spent ten hours on what should have been a five-hour drive from Annapolis, Maryland to Mystic, Connecticut. Truly, it was the drive from hell: non-stop, pelting rain and continuous traffic jams from the end of the Jersey Turnpike through New Haven. Horrible, horrible, horrible.

To compound matters, we had the dogs in the back of the car.  Mind you, these pets traveled in the height of luxury, thanks to Rod's clever improvisation of two soft dog beds atop blankets. Chloe, always the princess, sank luxuriously into her cushion, rousing herself periodically to peer out the window.  Maggie, more restless by nature, pawed us anxiously and refused to settle, making a hellish trip even more miserable.  

Today, I might add, we are drugging Maggie before completing our journey to Chatham, Cape Cod.

Last night we arrived in Mystic, exhausted and hungry, not to mention bedraggled from numerous stops in the rain with the dogs.  Thankfully, the staff at the local Comfort Inn were pleasant and helpful, for which we were infinitely grateful.  We got to our room, fed the dogs, and promptly opened and began draining a bottle of red wine.  By the second glass, we realized that food was a necessity--unless we both wanted to pass out on the motel floor.  We wanted delivery food; after the ten-hour drive-from-hell, there was no way either one of us would willingly get into a car again.

In some strange state of free-association (exhaustion + wine + empty stomach), I remembered Julia Roberts in the 80s indie flick, Mystic Pizza. It turns out there really is a Mystic Pizza, and they even deliver to motels on the outskirts of town.  Well, I'm happy to report that the pizza is as good as its filmic reputation: it's actually the best pizza I've had since we were in Florence five years ago.  The crust was flavorful and crispy, the sauce herbal and pungent, and the ingredients absolutely fresh.  I especially appreciated the quality cheese, apportioned in just the right amount.  The salad also delighted: again, fresh ingredients with some nice touches, such as freshly roasted red peppers, artichoke hearts, and crumbled gorgonzola. Thank you, Mystic Pizza, for one ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak, soggy day!

Contentedly fed and watered, we watched an eminently stupid but enjoyable movie on HBO, Blades of Glory.  I don't know why I watch trash in hotels that I would never tolerate in my normal, workaday life, but I hear this is a fairly universal phenomenon (to be pondered in a future blog).

And now for the second leg of our journey . . .

15 Ria

Yet another lackluster meal, this one in Washington. We were looking for somewhere to lunch (or brunch) before taking in History Boys at Studio Theatre (see the subsequent post). Our friends suggested 15 Ria, which received an "excellent" rating from Zagat in 2006. Our experience on Sunday suggests that either the kitchen has fallen apart over the last couple of years or that the reviewer was smoking something that obliterated his/her taste buds. In short, our meal was a far cry from the claims touted on 15 Ria's web site ("contemporary American cuisine, using a bounty of fresh local products") nor did it live up to reviews.

Rod and I ordered a vegetarian cannelloni that was undercooked and unappetizing, the dough chewy and the vegetables raw. It was cold to boot. We sent it back to the kitchen. Worried about making our 2.00 p.m. curtain, we ordered omelets, which are quick to prepare. The best thing I can say is that they were edible. Dry, tasteless, they reminded me why I usually refrain from souffles and omelets in restaurants. At home, I can ensure proper execution of these dishes, and I accord eggs the delicate handling they deserve. As a child, I remember my father teaching me how to make proper scrambled eggs, emphasizing light beating and gentle stirring over a low flame. I quickly acquired a taste for slightly runny, tender eggs, not the plastic foam one too often encounters in American restaurants.

While it was pleasant to sit outside on a glorious spring day, the patio service was grudging at best. One waitress was responsible for the outside dining area, and she was sullen and slow. Dishes crawled out of the kitchen, and we twice asked anxiously about the state of our lunches. We had budgeted 90 minutes for lunch, certainly a reasonable time in which to order and eat a meal.

Clearly, we will not return to 15 Ria.

Follow-Up to a Fishy Tale

The manager of Annapolis Seafood did indeed contact me via e-mail to say that he was looking into my complaint.  Apologies were offered (which I duly here accept).  I still won't be returning to Annapolis Seafood anytime soon.  On Thursday I stopped by the local Whole Foods in Annapolis and purchased some "west coast sole" (what we used to call "sand dabs"), which was very good and very fresh, not to mention reasonably priced.  I'm not thrilled about giving my food dollars to Whole Foods, but right now they seem like the only good alternative for fish.

Of course, with halibut costing nearly $24.00/pound, I'm not sure we will be eating that much fish in the future, unless, of course, I come across the occasional special, as I did on Thursday.  I remain divided on the subject of fish from aquafarms.  I gather that some species, such as Tilapia, do little damage, while salmon wreak havoc on the environment.  For the time being, I'm inclining toward "wild" fish caught from the sea, but it's becoming almost prohibitively expensive, and I'm worried about overfishing.  It's difficult to know fully the ethical implications of one's choices.

A Fishy Tale

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am writing to complain about the practice at your Edgewater venue of selling old fish.  You advertise on your web site that "we go fishing everyday."  Evidently this is not the case.

Several times I have brought home seafood that smells bad: I have returned scallops, rockfish, and cod.  Fortunately, the crab cakes have always been fresh.  So suspicious have I become that I now demand to smell fish before purchasing it.  Today (Saturday, noon) I stopped by, hoping to find something for dinner.  Most of the fish in the case looked old, so I asked about the dry scallops,which I smelled.  They emitted a foul, offensive odor, and I told the salesperson that Annapolis Seafood had no right selling decrepit fish to its customers.  I then asked to speak with the manager.

Initially, he suggested the problem was me, not the scallops ("they smell like that").  I informed him that I grew up fishing on the coast of California and that we regularly bought our fish from the local wharf; moreover, my father owned and ran restaurants.  I know the difference between fresh and putrid seafood.  The manager then admitted that these scallops came in on Thursday.  They were already three days old just from being in the shop; and who knows how long they were out of the water before being shipped to Annapolis Seafood!

Most troubling of all, the manager subsequently disclosed that a fresh shipment had come in that morning, which I asked to inspect.  These scallops had the proper briny scent: they smelled like the ocean, not a garbage heap.  Clearly, the manager hoped to pawn off the old scallops before putting out the new shipment.

This is appalling, especially given the claims on your web site.  Even if the bulk of your customers can't tell the difference (or are too embarrassed to make a fuss), you have no business misrepresenting your seafood.  As I said at the outset of this letter, this is not the first time I have encountered questionable fish at your establishment.

I will continue to purchase crab cakes from Annapolis Seafood but nothing else after today's experience, which I am also recording in my blog.  We have a dining club in my community, and I will alert folks to your dubious practices. I am also going to talk to chefs and caterers in town to see about alternative sources for seafood.

Sincerely yours,

Dr. Deborah Payne Fisk

Associate Professor of Literature

Affiliate Professor of Theatre

American University

Lewnes Restaurant

I've ingested more meat in the last week than in the previous six months combined! A business associate of Rod's took us to Lewnes Steakhouse in downtown Annapolis. I voiced my usual reservation about dining at an Annapolis restaurant (see previous irritable posts on the subject), but Rod wanted to eat somewhere convenient rather than commuting into Baltimore. Fair enough. All three of us had had a long, trying day, and we didn't need extra time on the road.

So Lewnes it was. To my pleasant surprise, it is a restaurant that seemingly deserves its good reputation. An Annapolis fixture, Lewnes has been around since 1921, and the building certainly conveys a homey, lived-in atmosphere. The modest menu is limited to a few surf and turf offerings: the requisite filet mignon, rib-eye steak, and crab cakes. If you're a carnivore with a conscience, you might not want to partake of their U.S. prime beef, which is raised in feed lots, not on open grassland ranges. The web site is somewhat deceptive in that regard: viewed quickly, one might miss the essential fact that Lewnes does not use grass-raised beef. I blithely ordered my petit filet mignon, thinking that the poor creature who was sacrificed for my culinary pleasure had at least enjoyed his brief life in a natural habitat. Had I known of his feedlot existence, I would have ordered fish. Lest you think that I'm somewhat fanatical in this regard, read Michael Pollin's The Carnivore's Dilemma. Never again will you unthinkingly swallow a mouthful of meat or poultry.

Despite my guilty conscience, I have to admit the meat was excellent, rich and marbled in the manner of corn-fed prime beef. Lewnes does a fine job of preparing steaks, which come to the table sizzling in butter and cooked to perfection. I ordered medium-rare, and medium-rare I got. No complaints there. As is customary in steak houses these days, sides are ordered (and billed) separately. Ours were good but not superlative, with the exception of very nice fresh spinach sauteed in a little olive oil. None of the sides were hot enough, a continuing obsession of mine. Every restaurant in the U.S. should have monthly seminars on the art of getting food to the table piping hot: when did it become acceptable to serve tepid fare?

Service was prompt and professional. We declined dessert, although we had an absolutely amazing 2000 Dunn cabernet sauvignon with dinner, an outrageously expensive wine. I can cheerfully declare that it was worth every sip, but that's largely because I was the happy recipient of an expense-account meal.

Would I return? I don't think so. I'm not that keen on slabs of meat anymore (although there was a time), and their policy of using feedlot cattle troubles me. Given the number of small farms in Virginia that are now pasturing cattle, I don't see why a local steak house has to serve beef raised in gruesome conditions. Last night I unknowingly supported the horrors of industrial farming, something I prefer not to do again.

Old Stein Inn, Edgewater

I must admit that German food does not often present itself to us as an inviting culinary prospect. Last Friday night, though, it seemed the perfect anodyne to howling gales and pelting rain. Envisioning sizzling bratwurst and foaming German beer, we ventured over the South River Bridge into the hinterlands of Edgewater, a sleepy community off Route 2. Even by Edgewater standards, the Old Stein Inn is remote: its location managed to elude the customarily infallible GPS on Rod's car.

Was it worth the visit? I still haven't decided. The inn has a cozy, predictably Bavarian feel, and it appears to be a great favorite with the locals. Service was efficient and pleasant, and the food hearty and plentiful. I had a glass of a dry German Reisling, a nice accompaniment to tasty wiener schnitzel, red cabbage, and spätzle. Rod ordered smoked pork chops (kassler rippchen), which were flavorful but dry. Far better were the sauerkraut and German potato salad that came as sides. Rod also tried a slice of the black forest cake, which proved to be as bad as I feared. Frankly, none of the desserts, which were shown to us beforehand on a platter, looked especially appetizing. This had to be the worst black forest cake I've ever tasted, the chocolate cake bland and the frosting tasteless and greasy. One forkful was more than enough.

I suppose my hesitation has more to do with the national cuisine than the actual preparation, was which sufficient, if not noteworthy. At the end of the meal, as we waddled away, I remembered why I rarely eat food like this: slabs of meat, with sides of potatoes and cabbage, seem a thing of the past. What was once good hearty fare for farmers and laborers is absurdly protein- and calorie-laden for those of us who work in an information economy, tethered as we are to desks and computers. By contemporary standards, I'm fairly active (horseback riding; Pilates; elliptical trainer); even so, I hardly require a substantial Bavarian meal. At the same time, I must admit that we slept very well that night, even though high winds noisily lashed the house. Maybe there's something to be said for the occasional foray into satiety.

The Helmand Restaurant

As of tonight, I've declared a moratorium on eating out in Annapolis. We ventured into Baltimore this afternoon, partly to catch the end of "The Repeating Image" exhibit at the Walters Art Gallery and partly to find some decent food. We were delighted to discover that The Helmand, an Afghani restaurant on North Charles Street, was as good as its reputation.

We started with two appetizers, kaddo borawni, lovely chunks of spicy-sweet pumpkin topped with a yoghurt sauce, and banjan borawni, a stewed, aromatic eggplant dish. Both were excellent, nor did our entrees disappoint: aushak, best described as an Afghani ravioli (and sooooo good!); seekh kabob, marinated lamb tenderloin; and a vegetarian dish comprised of rice, mushrooms, and spinach.

Service was prompt and courteous and dishes came quickly out of the kitchen, which seemingly runs with military efficiency. The decor is pleasant: white walls, punctuated by the occasional textile, and tile floors. It feels open yet intimate. I was pleased that the temperature inside the restaurant on this frigid night was toasty without being stifling. In short, management had clearly seen to the comfort of their guests: it was the utter opposite of Bebo Trattoria the previous weekend.

So far, we have yet to experience a bad or even lackluster meal in Baltimore. We've only tried half-a-dozen restaurants, ranging from a casual Irish pub down at Fell's Point to a couple of brilliant French inns. All were priced fairly for the quality of food, and service was invariably professional. After two-and-a-half years of indifferent (or downright poor) food and spotty service, we've given up on Annapolis and are now looking north to Baltimore, where a seeming cornucopia of culinary delights awaits us.

Aqua Terra

I'm beginning to think that restauranteurs in Annapolis haven't got an iota of common sense. Last night we ate at Aqua Terra in downtown Annapolis. My lovely step-daughter (the professional chef) had come to town; it was too late to cook at home; and we wanted a nice meal to celebrate her arrival. We settled on Aqua Terra because a) they do small plates; and b) they gave us a nice meal two years ago.

In part, the fault was ours: we should have scrutinized the menu more carefully before sitting down. We were all dog-tired, and we failed to notice that most of the small plate offerings were fried. Not until dishes actually came to the table did we realize our mistake, and so we had small plate after small plate of fried fare: coconut shrimp; asparagus in a tempura batter; scallops wrapped in bacon. Only the mussels and vegetarian spring roll were spared a fate of sizzling fat.

As so often happens in Annapolis, seafood was woefully overcooked, the scallops chewy and the shrimp tough. Even the mussels were overdone, nor were they terribly inviting--a far cry from the heavenly mollusks I enjoyed in Bend, Oregon.

Our waitress was pleasant and attentive, and she good-humouredly indulged our finicky selection of wine, bringing Meg and me various reds to taste (we nixed all of the Pinots) until we settled on a decent Zinfandel.

I like the concept for Aqua Terra--hardly any restaurants in Annapolis offer small plates--but I wish the owners would diversify the menu. They should also consider the following changes:

❅Cut back on the fried food
❅Include dishes that are sautéed, steamed, or baked
❅Quadruple the number of vegetables and grains
❅Use low-sodium soy sauce in the Asian-themed recipes
❅Halve the cooking time on shellfish

Maybe I need to quit academe and open a restaurant . . .

Bebo Trattoria

With our friends, Michael and Susan, we tried Bebo Trattoria in Crystal City, Northern Virginia, the latest in Roberto Donna's culinary ventures. According to the web site, the restaurant fulfills "Chef Donna's life long dream of having a restaurant that allows guests to enjoy an Italian family dining experience." That statement puzzles me. Bebo Trattoria, while an attractive space, is anything but familial: large, modern, almost semi-industrial, it blends well with the impersonal hotels and high rises in the area. On this particular Sunday night, Bebo was nearly empty, probably due to the bitterly cold weather, but I suspect most of their clientele comes from the local defense industry. It's hard to envision Zia Sophia or Papa Guido merrily downing Montepulciano and risotto in that cavernous setting.

More to the point, the food, with a couple of notable exceptions, was a far cry from memorable Italian dining experiences I've had in the past, whether familial or professional, here or abroad. We started with four appetizers. Our waiter recommended prosciutto biellese, which was unavailable, so we tried speck, a nice smoked prosciutto. Thin slices of guanciale--cured pork cheeks--were not to our liking. Greasy and tasteless, they looked liked uncooked bacon. Far better were the caprese, a lovely combination of fresh mozzarella and homemade sun-dried tomatoes, and the bruschetta. Our entrees were equally mixed: the guys had agnello (lamb chops), which were unevenly cooked, a result of poor heat management according to my husband, the grill guru. Seasoning was applied with a heavy hand, overwhelming the flavor of the lamb. My risotto was the sorriest of the lot: lukewarm and glutinous, it was so salty as to be almost inedible. Susan hit the jackpot with the meatballs. Light, airy, and delicately flavored, they were nothing like the dense golf balls I remember eating as a child.

After hearing our complaints about the food, the maitre d' sent around dessert and glasses of Prosecco, a nice gesture. He apologized for the new chef in the kitchen, but I couldn't help but wonder why a chef that inexperienced (or unskilled) was learning his craft on paying customers. Susan's meatballs evidently had been prepared by Donna himself, which explained the marked contrast in quality. I am still shaking my head over the risotto, a dish that demands some skill but is not difficult. I make very good risotto at home regularly, and I know that stock and cheese can be salty, so I exercise restraint. As Susan noted, saline levels in cheese can vary markedly from one batch to the next. At the very least, taste the dish before flinging in salt with abandon!

If Donna really wants his Tuscan fantasy to work, he needs to get a decent assistant chef and a warmer, more intimate space. Giving his staff some additional training would help too. Our waiter, while pleasant, seemed distracted and never bothered to check on us after serving the food. I would have sent the risotto back to the kitchen, but we had a curtain to make, and I didn't have time to wait for a new preparation. Bizarrely, the maitre d' fiddled with lighting throughout much of our meal, taking us from darkness to glare and then back again. When Susan protested to our waiter, he muttered something about the maitre d' trying to master the lighting panel. Again, shouldn't the staff straighten out problems before the restaurant opens to paying guests, say, early in the morning? If you're going to market a chimera, then you need to tend to the atmosphere as well as the product itself, something Ralph Lauren learned long ago in his showroom displays. The same principle is at work, whether it's cannelloni or comforters.

A Modest Proposal for a Solution to Excess Barn Cats

As friends and family know, I'm not that fond of cats.  They're great aesthetic objects (especially Siamese and Burmese) but lousy pets, as far as I'm concerned.  Given my passion for dogs, horses, and open fields, I probably should have been an 18th-century lord of the manor, someone like Squire Western in Fielding's splendid read, Tom Jones.

I admit readily that cats provide a useful service in barns, limiting the rodent population and keeping other small critters at bay.  No argument there.  The cat population at Southwind farm, however, has exploded exponentially.  We have decrepit cats, who have outlived their ability to mouse; badly behaved cats, who piss on saddle pads and foul the tack room; and stupid cats, who don't know the first thing about horses. Several boarders are placing bets on one particularly gormless feline.  She lands on horses' backs--claws extended--and gets underfoot.  Before long, we will be scraping her off the roof or picking her remains from a horse's hoof.

To be fair, several of the cats do their job, behave fairly well, and comport themselves sensibly.  I have no quarrel with them.  Regarding the badly behaved cats, though, an idea of Sweeney Todd proportions did occur to me after seeing this photo . . . 

Asian Restaurants in Annapolis

A town with so many frangible restaurants is hardly going to care about interesting Asian food. You can't go twenty feet in downtown Annapolis without bumping into yet another surf 'n turf eatery offering the usual crab cakes, grilled steaks, or gussied up free-range chicken. Even the desserts are interchangeable: tiramisu, lemon cheesecake, creme brulee, and some sort of "death by chocolate" confection. For most Annapolitans, culinary innovation is not a high priority.

It was with considerable foreboding that we made our way to a modest Vietnamese restaurant in Edgewater called Saigon Palace. The food, I am pleased to say, was tasty and unpretentious and the service excellent. Food came piping hot from the kitchen (an obsession of mine), and the waitress was prompt and attentive without being officious.

The dumplings were a bit tough around the edges, probably from sitting too long in a steamer, and I would have liked more flavor in the mixture of vegetables and tofu, which arrived as a plain and not terribly appetizing mass: large, unadorned chunks of tofu surrounded by steamed vegetables. Everything was fresh and crisp, but the dish needed a sauce. Far more inventive were the Vietnamese pancakes, which were filled with shrimp and vegetables. The waitress showed us how to scoop up the pancake with large leaves of lettuce, and the juxtaposition of textures was pleasant indeed. We especially like the lemon and pepper chicken, although we puzzled over the name since freshly grated ginger, not lemon, was by far the predominant flavor.

As the lemon chicken suggests, Saigon Palace could use some help with labeling. Their web site claims they offer "the most authentic Vietnamese cuisine in the Bay area." As far as we know, they offer the only Vietnamese food in the area, which once again leads to the question of scarcity in Annapolis. Common sense dictates that communities with healthy Asian populations produce an abundance of good restaurants, as NYC, L.A., S.F., or even Northern Virginia attest. When I first moved to Washington twenty years ago, I was told that the best Vietnamese food was to be found within a 10-miles radius of the Pentagon, courtesy of the Vietnamese who fled the fall of Saigon and then followed the brass back to that imposing edifice. While the story seemed implausible, I had to admit that Northern Virginia boasted by far the best Vietnamese food in the greater metropolitan area, in addition to respectable Chinese, Korean, and Thai restaurants (who apparently followed in their wake).

The causal relationship between population and food is not axiomatic. I have been in overwhelmingly white towns that have excellent ethnic restaurants: witness our terrific lunch at Typhoon in Bend, Oregon.  The best Ethiopian meal I've ever had was in Madison, Wisconsin, hardly a bastion of ethnic diversity.  Ultimately, I think the desire to experience different textures, ingredients, and flavors perhaps balances (or at least mitigates) the question of population.  Having an educated, affluent citizenry who are well traveled or at least curious helps considerably, although here again I have found surprising exceptions in redneck towns boasting culinary gems.  It does not speak well for Annapolitans that they are seemingly content with boring "American" fare, indifferently prepared and woefully overpriced.

Eating in Bend, Oregon

Question: why does a town of less than 60,000 have over one hundred restaurants, most of them quite good?  Superb espresso bars on every block and delectable baked goods?  My adored Uncle Steve, who now resides in Bend, chalks up the good food to the influx of California money in recent years, but I'm not sure that entirely explains the phenomenon.  

I get the good joe; put politely, the Pacific Northwest obsession with coffee borders on the unhealthy.  True to form, Bend espresso bars, each one more exquisite than the next, feature organic beans and rarified roasting techniques.  It goes without saying that they observe fair trade practices and pay their mellow hippie employees a living wage.  This is Oregon, after all.

I even get the good bakeries: those cold, snowy winters invite consumption of chunky loaves of fresh baked bread and oversized muffins.  Skiers and snowboarders need their calories, as do the mountain bikers who swarm the region in the summer (Bend also has a ludicrous number of bicycle shops).

What I don't get are the many, very good restaurants in Bend.  I too reside in a moneyed town where pleasure figures significantly, although I'm beginning to suspect that a life of boating--the local pastime--dulls one's taste buds.  Maybe it's all that cheap hooch the yachties consume.  In my nearly three years of living in Annapolis, I've had one very good meal (more about that in future posts) and one excellent meal, although we had to venture over the Bay Bridge into Easton to get it.  Am I jealous?  Hell, yes.

So here's a brief paean to Bend, where we had a lovely Christmas Eve dinner at Ariana's.  Yes, the waiter was a little young and inexperienced, and, yes, the Dungeness crab was a tad overcooked, but the restaurant was warm and inviting, and the holiday menu was inventive and tasty.  I'm still dreaming of the plump, juicy mussels I ate at Merenda's, the best I've had since dining in Kinsale, Ireland three years ago.  Perfectly prepared and lightly seasoned to preserve their briny flavor, these mollusks were a culinary marvel (and I consumed an embarrassing number--only shame prevented me from eating more).  I would kill to find an Asian restaurant in Annapolis that came close to the Thai treasures at Typhoon.  And then there was all that coffee, crusty bread, and--oh yes, did I mention the gourmet chocolates flown in from Belgium?   Life ain't fair.