This past summer, (my last and, sadly, only summer spent wandering in Baltimore’s heavy heat) I finally learned and realized what it means to be part of this city’s food culture.
I worked (and still do) at Fleet Street Kitchen, one of Baltimore’s best restaurants and one of the five establishments of Bagby Restaurant Group. I work as part of support staff and am responsible for cutting bread, bussing and setting tables, running food, steaming tablecloths and preparing amuse-bouches for dining room guests.
I was ecstatic with my new job; I had never worked in a restaurant before, but it had always been my dream (I would have even been happy doing the job for free). I was finally surrounded by people, — whether it be the chefs, servers or managers, — who cared enough about food to surround themselves with it every day. I was overwhelmed.
I imbibed the restaurant industry like I was suffering from service industry dehydration for the past 20 years and had now just been handed a glass of water. I relished the late night hours, polishing silverware until 1 a.m. I enjoyed the singularity in having my weekends be Mondays and Tuesdays. I looked forward to the first Sunday of every month because of industry night at Salt.
It was fascinating hearing about the different restaurants in Baltimore, too, from why Pabu in the Four Seasons was closing to how a certain restaurant in Hampden was ripping off Bobby Flay recipes.
I felt a part of it all; I wanted to be a part of it all. I couldn’t wait for the school year to start, to finish my last year at Hopkins and to go to culinary school, where I could finally plunge the entirety of myself into the food world.
Fleet Street focuses on locally sourced, farm-to-table cuisine. We get many of our ingredients from our own Cunningham Farms, and whatever we can’t get from there, we buy from other local farms.
Our menu is incredibly seasonal, and it was this factor (alongside being alone in Baltimore for three months) that inspired me to go to the farmer’s market every week and truly teach myself what it means to eat local.
Every Saturday morning, I would walk to the Waverley Farmer’s Market and buy at least one food I had never given much of a chance and another that was exceptionally seasonal.
I bought bunches of radishes, purple basil, the sweetest strawberries I have ever had (sadly, due to the cold winter, strawberry season was incredibly short), gooseberries, candice grapes, corn from the Eastern Shore, Cherokee Purple heirloom tomatoes and the list goes on.
One time, I even bought 15 pounds of local peaches because the seconds (a farmer’s market term used for fruit that’s a little overripe or bruised) were so cheap. I pickled vegetables, made jams, cooked mostarda.
I became obsessed. I was starting to really understand why the farm-to-table, local and seasonal movement was sweeping the culinary world; it just made sense. Cook with strawberries when they’re the sweetest, and take advantage of the summer months when you can easily find 20 types of heirloom tomatoes. But to be honest I felt, well, bad.
It was my last summer in Baltimore, and I was only now fully experiencing what the Chesapeake region had to offer.
But with whatever regret I may have for not taking more advantage of Maryland produce during my time here, I’m excited to see what the change of the seasons has to offer. I’m even more excited for wherever I will find myself next year and the local produce it’ll have to offer.
Despite everything, however, I’m glad I allowed myself the opportunity to spend one summer, however transient it felt, surrounded completely and solely by bites of Baltimore.
