Devin Allen makes me drink. You know, the dude from West Baltimore, who captured the historic Time cover during the uprising back in 2015. Since then he’s traveled the world, had multiple shows, was recognized as the inaugural Gordon Parks fellow, taught numerous youth programs, and has donated hundreds of cameras to kids in Baltimore. And still, he makes me drink. I hit him up about business, and he invites me to Aloha on Charles Street, which is literally 100 feet away from my office.

I have been to Hawaii twice and Aloha on Charles Street looks nothing like the tropical-fruit-garnished-drink-serving bars on the island. Aloha is a Japanese sushi spot, but they sell bar food like fried wings and shrimps––oh, and they sell Korean food and Chinese food too. It’s actually a good business plan. It’s also the only mostly Black dive bar in Charles Village or Mount Vernon, I’m not really sure what they call that neighborhood. They have a restaurant upstairs, but I meet Moody—we call Devin Allen “Moody”—downstairs in the dive part. It’s easy to find him, his neat fro is always picked out and rounded to perfection, floating atop a crowd of people who are enamored to be in his presence.

“Yo this my bro D. Watkins,” he laughs says, introducing me to a new person every week. “He a top author, he from East Baltimore, but he cool.”

Moody has to say this to the crowd, because I’m ‘noid around strange people, even after I had two or three. And then I pound vodka gimlets, as we trade dreams until the lights fade and the Lyft guy rolls up, drops me off, and I prepare to do the same thing again the next day.

Kondwani Fidel makes me drink. I try to commit to work, I really do, and when I’m in almost in rhythm and the words are flowing, he beats down my line and pops in the group text we share with Moody like, “Where you at Dummy?” If Moody replies first, we instantly get an Aloha invite, so we go. Koni drinks vodka gimlets too, which is dangerous. Dangerous because any bartender can make them, it’s just vodka and lime juice––some spots use a little simple, some used fresh lime and others used the bottle stuff. Either way it’s drinkable and they work. Dangerous because Koni orders them back to back, slamming empty glasses on the table­—I try to keep up, he challenges me to, but I have to explain to him that I’m older. I used to be him 10 years ago. Not a world-renowned, celebrated writer, who graced many magazines and televisions screens like him at 24. Not a dude who goes out and inspires kids to read at age 24, like him­­––but a young dude who could drink all night and pop in the morning like I haven’t had a sip.

I’m too old for that, the way we drink physically hurts, but still, we do this at Aloha, but really do it at Clavel. With age, I’ve actually developed a liking for gentrified cocktails, made with organic mixes and delivered by farm-to-table people who roll their own cigarettes. Ain’t I a contradiction? Well Koni is a contradiction too, because he also lives in East Baltimore and guzzles those same drinks.

Tariq Touré keeps me from drinking. His poems and insight are wrapped in meaning and give hope. We ate chocolate chip cookies over my house on Christmas Eve, where Tariq explained that we too can “Be the Light,” without alcohol. Tariq’s Muslim and offers us wisdom and guidance. I probably would not have had a drink, but Lawrence Burney, who’s also a writer, and Koni––they make me drink. I think that Tariq thinks if I put the bottle down and developed even-more-focus, I could strengthen my brand, gain a bigger audience and get that Ta-Nehisi Coates love. But Tariq is smart, he knows I don’t want to be loved like Coates, I want to be loved like Little Melvin. A dude that made mistakes, recognized them, and then used that power to help others choose a different way, while still being respected enough to walk on any block in Baltimore. I want to be loved like Little Melvin and would be honored to die in Baltimore just like Little Melvin.

But I might be too ‘noid to live like Little Melvin. My old ways haunt me. Too many strangers speak, and I don’t know if they are plotting or just like my work––this is still Baltimore and the reason I hate going out now. A dude stared at me during one of those Aloha nights. I felt his eyes so I took the knife off the table and put it in my pocket. My friends were on their thirds and fourths, I was still sipping number one, staying on point, waiting for dude to make his move. I caught him looking for the third time, so I nodded, “Wassup?” He leaped from his stool and bolted in my direction, I rested my hand on the knife handle and slid my chair back.

“D. Watkins, you D. Watkins, right?” he screamed, “I don’t wanna blow up your spot, but can we take a selfie? It’s for my daughter! Pleassse! She gonna love it!”

I removed my hand and put a peace sign up for the picture.

I make my drink. I can’t put that on Koni or Devin and it’s not fair for me to leave Tariq with the responsibility of encouraging my sobriety. The fact is that alcoholism runs bone deep in my family, my bloodline keeps these Baltimore bars and liquor in business, celebrating any and everything all of the time, even the stuff we shouldn’t celebrate, like making it to see tomorrow with that morning sip. Using it as a fix all for the pain, agony, and hurt that comes with existing in Baltimore as a Black person––there’s no shortage of that. And no shortage of the alcohol needed to numb it. Aloha has plenty, and carryout so you can take some home as well.

The post Make Me a Drink: On Aloha and alcohol appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

1. The BBQ (2602 Greenmount Ave., [443] 468-2131): I had been hearing about The BBQ for weeks before I made my way over to Greenmount Avenue to try it for myself. The place features a steady soundtrack of gritty blues, and offers smokey, meaty mains like pulled pork, pit beef, chicken, and ribs. Then there are the sides, which can make or break a place like this: mac and cheese, collard greens, sweet and savory baked beans, and more—they’re all great. Maurice Bradford, who owns and runs the place along with his son, welcomed me, and offered me a free sample of his homemade peach cobbler. He also said he was looking to expand his section of Greenmount to make it feel more like a community spot with outside seating and live music. I can’t wait to see what he does next. (Lisa Snowden-McCray)

2. Ida B’s Table (235 Holliday St., [410] 844-0444, idabstable.com): The “modern soul food” tribute to Ida B. Wells opened this fall on the ground floor of The Real News Network (full disclosure, a Beat affiliate) with husband-and-wife team Chef David Thomas and Tonya Thomas at the helm, bringing done-up Southern staples (frog legs, fried chicken) and unexpected fusion (fry bread tacos, kimchi reuben sandwiches) to downtown. Serving up breakfast, brunch, lunch, and dinner made from locally-sourced ingredients, plus a fully-stocked bar with craft cocktails, Ida B’s extensive menus boast mostly hits and actually something for just about everyone, and the ample space and warm service make for the kind of true Southern hospitality Baltimore needs. (Maura Callahan)

3. Blacksauce Kitchen (401 W. 29th St., blacksaucekitchen.com): Open only on Thursdays with a changing menu announced day-of, this Waverly Farmers Market legend went brick and mortar this year, giving a bit more access to its specifically mindful and inexplicably delicious take on barbecue and soul food. The effect is something that still feels special but accessible and never exclusive. And it’s all about the little things: its neo-soul and post-Rawkus Record hip-hop soundtrack blasting while you wait; the affable service (if you go more than once they will almost surely remember your name and thank you for returning); and even the look of the place, with a variety cookbooks displayed on shelves and photos on the the walls, including one of the Sterling’s Crab and Oyster House that used to occupy the space—a small acknowledgement of past that matters a lot amid a moment of rapid development and rewriting. (Brandon Soderberg)

4. New America (429 N. Eutaw St., (443) 388-8576, facebook.com/NewAM): A project of artists and cooks and artist-cooks, the January opening of New America in the Charles Fish & Sons building helped combat the city’s dearth of good diners with dishes that find strength in simplicity—including some of the best brunch food we’ve had a while. The space has become as much of a venue as it is a restaurant, regularly hosting film screenings, poetry readings, drawing nights, and more. As the diner’s name suggests, the food and atmosphere feel distinctly American, though less in the Wonderbread-and-apple-pie kind of way than a continually expanding and adapting series of intersections. (MC)

5. Rye Street Tavern (225 E. Cromwell St., ryestreettavern.com): Rye Street Tavern is a seafood lover’s dream. Go with the wood-grilled Maryland rockfish, a plate of shrimp, creamy stone-ground grits, and smoked tomato beneath a sweet, tender cut of rockfish with a crispy grilled skin; or the lightly breaded, fried popcorn softshell clams served with fragrant jalapeno peppers and a tartar sauce drizzle. And with a different Maryland crab appetizer for each day of the week, a waterfront view, and the main dining area’s open-kitchen concept so you can check out the chefs hard at work, Rye Street Tavern does seafood and just plain American food only with five-star service. (Arli Lima)

6. 16 On The Park (800 N. Wolfe St., pyramidrestaurantgroup.com/collection/16-on-the-park): This rooftop restaurant atop the new Residence Inn Hotel in the Johns Hopkins Medical area offers a sweeping view of the city and a focus on seafood. That it is a standout along with Rye Street Tavern, which also opened this year and works within the same good-food-gone-a-bit fancy theme, makes it even more impressive. In part, this is due to 16 On The Park’s versatility—in particular, its sleek outdoor patio and raw bar (Raw Bar On The 16)—and its exceptional entrees: seared chicken served with fresh vegetables and pan jus, and roasted fingerling potatoes served alongside a prime wagyu flat iron steak are forever fighting it out for best plate. Even the crab cake—served with a garlic aioli—is a whip smart spin on a typical dish. (Arli Lima)

7. Miss Carter’s Kitchen (218 N. Liberty St., [443] 630-8255, instagram.com/misscarters_kitchenllc): You’ll know you’re near Miss Carter’s Kitchen, a particularly delicious soul food spot, before you even arrive because of all the energy emanating around it, especially at night when the Liberty Street establishment feels alive with people and food and fun. This is your expected soul-food-and-such-in-styrofoam-containers done with a more personal, family-run touch. On man, the sides—the potato and seafood salads, the seasoned french fries—and a particularly good and sweet half-and-half are standouts. You’ll find the wait for your food a delight as you chat it up with whoever else is in line or perhaps, probably, Miss Carter herself. (Brandon Soderberg)

8. The GruB Factory (1210 N. Charles St., [443] 602-7018, facebook.com/thatgrublife): It takes someone bold to even introduce another vegan place into Baltimore—the monolithic Land of Kush looms—and while there should not be this “there can only be one” logic, it remains, in part because Kush is so good and in part because non-vegans are often picky. So welcome to Baltimore, GruB Factory, and thanks for the seitan, made in the kitchen and unmatched. The relatively small menu is a bonus—they know what they do well—and makes it easier for the vegan skeptic, who won’t be one anymore once they try the french toast platter and taste its almond milk batter with agave honey mixed in. (Brandon Soderberg)

9. Minnow (2 E. Wells St., Suite 116, [443] 759-6537, minnowbaltimore.com: Minnow opened in South Baltimore in May, just a block away from another local gem, Hersh’s. The two now form one of the best culinary one-two punches in Baltimore. Minnow is owned by Ben and Jake Lefenfeld, who also own La Cuchara, and while it’s had some menu changes since opening, it is now one of the more creative and whimsical destinations in Baltimore. Chef Drew Lesoveck is slinging some inventive dishes on the seafood-forward menu but that L.D.F. dry aged burger, with its squid ink bun and umami sauce, is a stand-out and a standard for all other burgers in Charm City. Other highlights include the whole “Bait” section on the menu: shareable bites served in quaint sardine tins. If you’re looking for a cocktail, try the Smoke & Fire and Love Potion #8. If you want something with a lofty name that lives up to its billing, give the F* That’s Delicious (bourbon, amaro, cava) a try. (Leandro Lagera)

10. Showroom at Motor House (120 W. North Ave., [410] 862-0930, motorhousebaltimore.com/showroom-cafe-bar): Showroom is Andre Mazelin’s newest creative venture melding food, drink, and art. It’s the anchor café and event space for Motor House (formerly Load Of Fun). Aptly named, Showroom is housed on the showroom floor of a former car dealership that used to reside in the building. The spot includes a spacious bar and a back room with plenty of cozy nooks along with a fully equipped stage for live entertainment. At the helm of the kitchen is Daniel Horowitz, founder and executive chef of The Pantry, a local catering company. They’re slinging food from breakfast to lunch most days and have a killer happy hour from Tuesday to Friday (all night on Thursday). The menu is an eclectic mix of international flavors and the bolsitas, which are essentially bags of goodness with a range of flavors from Mexican to Tex-Mex to Mediterranean, represent what Horowitz is trying to accomplish. As for the cocktails, and there are many, but don’t pass up the No. 9, especially since the menu describes it as a “tiki variation of a sazerac.” (Leandro Lagera)

The post Year In Review: The Beat’s top 10 new restaurants of 2017 appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

On Dec. 16, the Baltimore Museum of Art hosts chef and musician Dylan Ubaldo for a Calasag pop-up event. Below is a report from Ubaldo’s Calasag pop-up from earlier this year…

Growing up, Filipino food has always been best served by your family. There were a smattering of small take outs and bodegas that served Filipino food but none were too memorable and none of them certainly were better than my family’s food. Yes, there is obvious bias but that’s what Filipino food is all about. It is, much like other cultural cuisine I would suspect, one of those memories and cynosures of life that is very much intertwined with your heritage and upbringing. So, to me, eating Filipino cuisine outside of our family gatherings has always been a little bit of a disappointment. It’s not that the food isn’t good, it was just that it was never as good (which, admittedly, is a pretty tall task).

However, it seems like Filipino food is finally taking hold as a restaurant concept. I know, I know, this has been predicted for years and years now, but there is Bad Saint, a quaint little 24-seat restaurant in Columbia Heights that was even named the #2 best new restaurant of 2016 by Bon Appetit. D.C. is getting a new one in Kaliwa, Filipino Kitchen in Chicago is getting rave reviews, it’s hard to get a seat at Perla in Philly, and we can’t forget Maharlika and Talde in NYC. There’s even a traveling chef, Yana Gilbuena, who’s made it her mission to travel the country under the name, Salo Series, and spread the gospel about Filipino cuisine.

Despite all these developments, I didn’t think the Filipino food movement would ever reach Baltimore for a variety of reasons—from it’s proximity to D.C. to Baltimore’s reputation for being slow to accept new cuisines (this is changing though!). I mean, Filipino food may have not yet arrived at the shores of Baltimore, but you can certainly see it on the horizon. There was a Kamayan by Chef Gilbuena at R. House and a Calasag pop-up at the Compound, which I attended back in June.

Calasag is a collective of friends, artists, and cooks headed by Chef Dylan Ubaldo. The name comes from a small village in the province of Bulacan where Dylan’s family hails from. It’s about three hours north of Manila and about two hours north of Quezon City, where I was born. A Kamayan, by definition, is a feast that you eat with your hands. It’s usually served on a communal table covered with banana leaves. In Calasag’s pretty handout—which also included the menu, a history of the Philippines, and their bio—they write “A Kamayan gathering is [a] celebration of indigenous heritage in the Pilipinas. It is a reminder that during Spanish and U.S. colonization, eating with your hands was considered savagery and Pilipinos were forced to adapt to eating with utensils.”

While the importance of this is true, most Filipinos these days just think of it as the best kind of backyard communal feast. The lineup for this Kamayan included coconut ube rice (white rice steamed with coconut milk and ube extract), bagoong greenery (baby bok choy and Chinese broccoli sauteed in shrimp paste with cracker nuts and crispy garlic), blue crab lumpia (Filipino egg rolls with Maryland lump crab, ginger, cabbage, and cilantro), chicken adobo (chicken legs and thighs braised in soy sauce and coconut vinegar seasoned with lemongrass, whole peppercorn, and bay leaves), and pinoy BBQ skewers (grilled pork belly and shoulder marinated in banana catsup, calamansi, and soy sauce with bird’s eye chilies).

The food was laid down carefully and intricately: Rice went down first, followed by careful placement of the other dishes. They also served colorful papaya and individual pieces of calamondin (small, tart citrus fruit, kind of like a cross between a tangerine and a kumquat). The food and flavors were spot-on to this balikbayan; I especially enjoyed the ube rice and adobo. The rice was creamy and provided a good base for all the food I was shoveling in my mouth.

I’m used to larger lumpia, but having crab as the sole filling was a great change up. The BBQ skewers evoked some great childhood memories, especially since we could see them cooking it on an open makeshift barbecue drum. The greenery was a welcome addition of vegetables, but I couldn’t find the bagoong (shrimp paste) flavor in the dish and wished that it came through more since it may be one of my favorite things ever.

The meal took almost four hours, but barely felt like it was 30 minutes. At the end of the night, Chef Dylan turned into singer Dylan and the amphitheater became a karaoke soundstage. I was only able to stay for a rousing rendition of Enrique Iglesias’ (half pinoy) ‘Hero,’ an inspiring cover of the Backstreet Boys’ ‘I Want it That Way,’ and a booming ‘Roxanne’ from the Police. Each song brought down the house and created a sea of smiles. If my whole evening consisted of those three karaoke performances, it would’ve been a great night but it wasn’t even the best part.

Overall, I’m not sure I am ready to cede Calasag’s food and flavors over my mother’s but Chef Ubaldo and the rest of Calasag never lost sight of the meaning of Kamayan. They essentially welcomed us into their home and brought a small community together. Filipinos surge with pride at the advent of our food across the country (as I’m sure how people of other cultures have felt when their food became mainstream) because it also introduces Filipino culture as a whole to widespread consciousness with a community of mindful Filipino chefs and their friends leading the way. Calasag’s food was a good representation of Filipino food, but the vibe was much more important. Filipino food and Kamayan aren’t just cuisine—there’s a whole experience to bring to the table.

A version of this review first ran on Leandro’s blog, Food Nomad (foodnomad.net).

The post A Kamayan: A report from Calasag’s pop-up event in June appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

This city boasts quality Ethiopian cuisine, but if you ask me, there are too few places to get it. There’s Dukem in Mount Vernon, and Tabor and Jano Bar & Lounge downtown. Ebenezer is moving from its spot on Washington Boulevard in Pigtown a few blocks up on Pratt Street. That’s pretty much it. This dearth is no good for people like me who, for whatever reason, experience near-violent cravings for Ethiopian cuisine’s deep, distinctive flavors—over the past year I’ve been toying with my own recipes using berbere spice and other ingredients from Kana Market next to Tabor, but unsurprisingly, great Ethiopian food takes the expertise of those who are brought up in the tradition and cuisine.

But now, we can add one more to the lineup of Ethiopian restaurants in Baltimore. Zeni Cafe (316 Park Ave., [410] 244-0350) opened over the summer, and is located just a few doors down from Tabor, but it’s not the same deal. At the tiny storefront, you can grab a cup of super-dark Ethiopian coffee ($2) and go, or sit down for a traditional Ethiopian morning meal—“Qurs” in Amharic, the country’s state language—which, during my Saturday morning visit, also meant watching a televised football match between Manchester United and Brighton and Hove Albion (Manchester won 1-0, and the guys crowded into the cafe just to watch seemed pretty happy about that). Painted with thick waves of warm brown and buttery yellow that lead to the counter in the back, the walls are adorned with quintessential Euro-American cafe decor plus a couple Ethiopian coffee posters: Elegant women performing the traditional coffee ceremony, jebena (or coffee pot) in hand.

Much smaller than those at Ethiopian spots serving dinner, Zeni’s sit-down menu offers just nine options—vegetables play less of a role in Ethiopian breakfasts, it seems, than they do in the herbivore-pleasing dinners, heavy with a range of stewed and sauteed greens, lentils, peas, and more. I went with the combination item ($13.99), which included injera (spongy, crepe-thin sourdough bread made from teff flour that doubles as a scooping utensil), tibs (chunks of tender beef with onion, fresh tomato, and peppers), and kitfo (minced beef in spices)—all of which are eaten for any meal. My admittedly inexperienced understanding of kitfo was that it’s traditionally served raw, like a tartare; this however was cooked through with touches of pink here and there (I’ll take my meat still kicking, but cool). The tibs were seasoned more sparingly than I’ve previously experienced, and tasted mild next to the richer, spicier kitfo. Both meats were dripping in their juices—you’ll need extra injera to sop it up.

My partner ordered the scrambled eggs with firfir ($8.99)—finely shredded injera mixed with beef and spices, a breakfast staple in Ethiopia also called fitfit (Zeni also offers vegetarian firfir, and the scrambled eggs option can alternatively come with chechebsa, a chopped-up herb bread, instead of firfir). Remarkably flexible and strong, injera comes with most Ethiopian dishes for good reason: Why use a metal spoon or fork when you can eat your food-to-mouth transportation device? Injera is addictive even removed from its function as a utensil, so using injera to scoop up more injera sounded great to me. Even better when it’s soaked with berbere spice, tomato, and meat juices. Served with a light and fluffy eggs, the dish proved to be our favorite, along with the coffee—strong and smooth with a delicate foam film on top.

Without fail, Ethiopian food will fill you up, and breakfast is no exception. Still, had our meal not followed two consecutive Thanksgiving feasts, I might have ordered a few pieces of baklava or a smoothie to go as I checked out at the counter. But this was not that day: As of press time, I am still hurting.

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