By Cari Oleskewicz
Special to The Washington Post
Wednesday, July 12, 2006; F01
HANCOCK, Md.
When my husband and I moved from a one-bedroom apartment in Dupont Circle to our three-bedroom farmhouse in Western Maryland 10 months ago, I knew there would be changes. I was prepared for the slower pace of country life here, the unlucky deer loaded into pickup trucks after a good day of hunting and a mortgage that's cheaper than rent. What surprised me, though, was how differently we would eat.
Food has always been important to me. My husband likes to say that he'll eat anything that isn't moving too fast, and that's pretty much true. But I am highly selective. I enjoy eating out as much as I enjoy cooking -- I think about food, read about food, dream about food and delight in food. I value freshness, seasonal ingredients, creativity and, of course, taste.
The buffet of restaurants in Washington, where we had lived for three years, and Los Angeles before that, was easy to take for granted. I loved all of it -- the chefs, the menus, the atmosphere, the wines. We ate out a lot, and, because of all the options, we often went months between visits to the same place. We spent entire afternoons debating whether to eat Italian or Indian, French or Thai. Not that it was always an ethnic choice. We also could be found at the Old Ebbitt Grill, and we enjoyed a good, old-fashioned American cheeseburger and a hot fudge sundae. We kept secrets about little-known delicatessens and newly discovered cafes. Big meals were okay, because it was a long, leisurely walk home or to the Metro, perhaps stopping for an espresso or martini along the way.
Things are different now. When we were fantasizing about cleaner air and more space and less traffic, the idea of limited restaurant choices somehow never occurred to me. In Washington County, where we live now, there are no Ethiopian restaurants. We don't walk to dinner anymore. Instead, we get into the car, we drive to a shopping center somewhere and then we park and dine. Chain restaurants are everywhere; the International House of Pancakes is considered fine dining. We avoid the chains because I don't care for the food and there is usually at least an hour's wait for a table.
Even the takeout food is different. Instead of Au Bon Pain and Baja Fresh, we've got three Taco Bells within striking distance and a Hardees or Roy Rogers at nearly every corner. Not exactly what we were used to.
Moving to Washington County has not been total culinary suicide. Pomodoro in Hagerstown is one of the most authentically Italian restaurants I have experienced on this side of the Atlantic. The first time my husband and I ate there, I felt as if I had found my people. The bruschetta had a perfect balance of tomato, garlic and olive oil, and I could have eaten the linguine con vongole all night.
Also in Hagerstown, about 30 minutes away, the popular Always Ron's is a great place to feel like a local. While it doesn't offer anything exotic, it's reliable and just plain good. I always get the open-faced tuna melt. One of these days I'll try the ridiculously cheap yet huge portion of fried chicken.
A little farther into Washington County, Weaver's Restaurant in Hancock has a bakery that makes my knees weak. The eclairs are like cakes, and the pies and cookies have forced me to take up daily exercise.
There is also a noticeable difference in the way we now cook. For one thing, I have a kitchen. In Washington, D.C., I had a "kitchenette," which was basically a countertop with pint-size appliances and a shallow sink. In Washington County, I have the space to spread out my ingredients and utensils and cook enough for all of Western Maryland.
In D.C., we would walk to Whole Foods Market and fill up one or two paper grocery bags -- a fresh baguette usually sticking out from one of them -- with whatever was needed for the next meal. Here, we drive 24 miles to the grocery store, which is huge, over-lit and over-air-conditioned. Armed with a list and coupons, we fill a shopping cart with things we will need for the next week, at least. Nonperishables we buy in bulk. Shallots and organic foods are difficult to find.
In Washington, D.C., I ate baba ganoush and gourmet olives. In Washington County, my new neighbors keep trying to get me to eat pie and venison jerky.
My life has changed. There are things I miss about Washington, D.C., and things I cherish about Washington County. We cook now more than we eat out, and I find myself doing a sort of wine dance (you know, like doing a rain dance to get a good rain) before entering a liquor store. But that's okay. Lives change. And so do tastes: That fried chicken at Always Ron's is calling to me, even now.
Cari Oleskewicz worked for nonprofit organizations in Washington and is now a freelance writer.