Quintessential, food and family

Woody's Beach BBQ, Chincoteague, Va.

Sitting at the office desk thinking about the leftovers I brought for lunch, all I want is a juicy sandwich, delivered to me over a counter somewhere, maybe with some of those string fries that are so crunchy they were probably fried twice. Warmed up falafel just ain’t cutting it.

I am thinking instead of Woody’s juicy softshell crab sandwich, from a crazy little compound involving two food trucks and a lot of yard games, at the beach in Chincoteague, Virginia.

There are a few exemplary foods that I go to again and again in my mind (and sometimes in my car), each a sort of pinnacle of its category, against which every other is judged. It might be that perfect combination of crunch and chew, sugar and salt and chocolate (Whole Foods jumble cookies) or the smooth and tangy mixture of cream and fresh berries against just the right bite of liquor (Simeone’s homemade trifle). You never know where you will find these gems—a paper cup filled with crunchy, rich fried chicken livers at a meat counter in Baltimore’s Lexington Market, or my sister Jean’s perfect peanut butter cookies warm from her Montana oven are just as iconic as the Palak Chat fried  spinach salad at the tony Rasika in D.C.

Woody’s Beach BBQ softshell crab sandwich has joined this family of deliciousness and perfection.

I know, this may be sacrilege, since Woody’s isn’t even a fish joint. Its owner – who is a really friendly, fun guy who is supremely good at running a great little roadside eatery -- is not even  named Woody. And, he’s not the guy who’s out on the boat pulling crab traps, either. He’s not even the brother or son of that person, and is not really a local islander (he’s a “come-here,” which means he moved here from elsewhere and adopted the community as his own). Maybe the person behind the food-truck counter, the one doing the actual cooking, is a local?

But really, in the face of such a sandwich, who cares? The food here is more important than the bona fides, plus Woody’s, with its surfer-vibe (there are board shorts hanging on clotheslines, games like corn hole and tetherball to entertain you while you wait for your food, and tables made out of old surfboards and boats) charms me every time.

The sandwich is perfect: flavor-packed crab fried golden but not greasy, with the crunchy little crab legs sprawling out the sides and the soft center meat sweet and yielding, all enhanced by a tomato slice that tastes as if it’s just been picked from the garden down the street, the poster-Big-Boy of ripeness. And, there’s exactly the right amount of sauce, with exactly the right balance of tangy and smooth – some sort of mayo, garlic, lemon combo, done just right.

What could possibly compete with that? Not leftover falafel.

Another recently discovered gem, this time back in the city – well, Silver Spring, Maryland, which is sort of a wanna-be city in the suburbs – was part of a celebratory meal at 8407 Kitchen Bar (celebratory because even though I’d love to eat here weekly, it’s just too darn expensive). I’d thrown caution (i.e. credit card) to the wind and ordered without holding back – an act, when I can pull it off, that always make the food taste sweeter.

My reward, among other delicious treats: a fig and raspberry tart like no other I’ve tasted. In fact, I’ve never tasted that combination at all.

The crust: buttery perfection, just the right crumb. The filling: soothingly soft, sweet fresh figs offset with zingy raspberry accents. The result: Best. Tart. Ever. I’m afraid to make another pie as it can’t possibly measure up to this pastry delight. Props to pastry chef, Rita Garruba.

Actually, I will still make pies – just not this particular one.

In fact, I recently made a more rustic and perhaps more special-by-association pie—two, actually, for Tyler’s birthday. Which is a different story, but a short one:

Why two pies? It’s a legacy. Each Thanksgiving, when my mother would ask whether my dad – Tyler’s Grandad Myers – would like apple, pumpkin or mincemeat pie for dessert, he would always answer, “yes.”

So, Tyler didn’t have to choose: he got both a chocolate pecan pie and an apple pie, plus a merry and very loud round of the happy birthday song. Even if the pies were not epic, I have to admit they did turn out to be new markers for especially good. And the love around the table was, well, perfect.