I don’t know what spirits comprise the end of the world. But I do know what it tastes like. And that is, surprisingly sweet and pretty for such desolation.
Yesterday, two of us summer babies who went to college together met up in Baltimore for lunch. After strolling the Inner Harbor and shooting down all the noisy, crowded chain places, we ended up at Family Meal, a smart restaurant apparently helmed by a “Top Chef” alum. For having that kind of pedigree and quality, the prices were pretty respectable.
This being summer Restaurant Week in Baltimore, there were deals galore. I enjoyed a supple gazpacho with watermelon (didn’t seem particularly melon-y, but hit the spot on a hot day) and a roast beef sandwich (some of the most melt-like-butter roast beef ever) with adequate fries for $15. Worth a return visit for sure.
But what sold me on the place was the drinks, at a time when I needed a good buzz more than anything. The list of $5 shandies included something called The End of the World which I ordered because, well, how did they read my mind? I wish I remember what was in it besides Allagash (the other reason I ordered it because, duh, Allagash!).
It was soft and pink and foamy. It was sweet without being syrupy or sickly. It was like sipping a cloud or a lotus smoothie. I didn’t get the drunken high I had been craving, but instead fell into a mild reverie. Which, in the end, might have been a better bet, considering all the driving I had to do afterwards.
At any rate, if this is what the end of the world truly tastes like, order me another, and another, and another.