If you’re anything like us (read: snowball snobs) you know exactly what you’re ordering once you step up to your favorite roadside stand this season.

As Baltimoreans, we all have our preferences. (Egg custard or Skylite? Domed top or pointy top? Marshmallow on top or in the middle?) But no matter what combo fills your cup, nothing beats the feeling of chopping away at the refreshing treat—especially when it’s the perfect ratio of ice to syrup—once the humidity sets in.

To get you ready for summer, we’ve rounded up a few of the best spots in town to get your fix. Among them is Ice Queens in Locust Point, whose mother-daughter duo sat down with us to discuss their signature New Orleans-style snowballs. (We see some of your eyes rolling, but, trust us, they’re incredible. Read the Q&A at the end of our list to find out why.)

The Bus Stop: Options are endless at this dessert haven off of Hanover Pike in Upperco, but the snowballs are likely the most refreshing item on the menu. Unique takes on the classic cup of ice include DIY half-and-half flavors, a blended snowball (two flavors blended together), or the “Lollipop,” which layers a snowball with vanilla or chocolate soft serve. 15513 Hanover Pike, Upperco

Chestnut Ridge Volunteer Firehouse: Take the scenic route along the winding roads of Greenspring Valley to mix and match your favorite flavors from the stand in front of the firehouse—which acts as an annual fundraiser for the organization. 12020 Greenspring Ave., Owings Mills

Chill Snowballs & Ice Cream: Living up to its name on Main Street in Reisterstown, this family-friendly stand from brothers Todd and John Hays—who have been slinging snowballs since the ’80s—is an ideal spot to wind down on a summer night. Enjoy a lengthy list of classics, diet flavors, and signature concoctions like Unicorn and Tollhouse Cookie. 249 Main St., Reisterstown.

Crushed Velvet Shave Ice: Let’s get this out of the way right from the jump—Crushed Velvet serves shave ice, which isn’t technically a snowball, but still a very fun, unique spin on our city’s chilled treat. Taking inspo from the Hawaiian delicacy (a more fine and fluffy, rather than crunchy, texture topped with homemade syrups and formed in a dome shape atop a small bowl), the Key Highway stand (which is moving to Hampden soon) offers signature flavors like Peach Melba and Chocolate-Covered Cherry. Be sure to give the owners a follow on social for updates on community events and pizza-and-dessert deals with its neighboring sister-spot, Key Neapolitan by Verde. 1302 Key Highway. 

Emmorton Snowballs: This Bel Air institution, which began as a tiny structure off of Emmorton Road in the summer of 1981, quells sweet tooth cravings with flavors ranging from green apple and strawberry to signature mixes like the Blood Orange (cherry and orange) and Down on the Ocean (banana, coconut, and pineapple.) 101 E. Wheel Rd., Bel Air.

Friendly Snowball: The name fits the vibe at this Joppa Road community fixture, equipped with tables, umbrellas, and greenery that make you forget you’re in a Parkville parking lot. Around since 1984, the family-owned spot prides itself on its marshmallow, which can be added to more than 50 flavors. Stick with the classics, or go for premiums like Raspberry Cordial, Caramel Apple, or Milky Way. 2025 E. Joppa Rd., Parkville

Go Melvo Sno-balls: Run by namesake founder Melvin (Melvo) McMahon and his son, Jeff, this 30-year-old snowball staple has a fleet of roving trucks that can often be found at schools and sports games around town. Plus, on hot days, you can count on the trailers stationed in Severna Park and on the beach at 146th Street in Fenwick—where you can pour your own marshmallow. Fan-favorite Melvo medleys include the Cruel Summer (watermelon and Skylite) and the Cal Ripken (orange and egg custard.) Multiple locations including 104 Maple Ave. Severna Park.

Ice Queens: The fluffy snowballs at this Locust Point favorite are an homage to the finely shaved ice that’s popular in New Orleans (see our Q&A, below.) But the shop has passed the Charm City test—with options ranging from old-fashioned egg custard to Peaches N’ Cream and Chocolate-Covered Strawberry. 1648 E Fort Ave.

Icy Delights: Many locals have become acquainted with this local snowball chain, which has been around since the ’90s and boasts nine shops and stands scattered everywhere from Parkville to Brewers Hill. The business has become known for its signature style, which tops its  cups with a plastic dome cover and provides a long spoon for stirring. The brand has also made a habit of placing marshmallow in the middle of the ice—so don’t get discouraged if you have to dig around for it. Multiple locations including 3930 Fleet St.

Kona Ice: Neighborhood kids (and adults) are likely familiar with the island tunes that signal one of the snowball trucks from Kona’s fleet is nearby. But the chain also boasts a longtime stand in Parkville, where you can find palm trees, straw umbrellas, and all of the classic flavors, plus rotating specials like lavender lemonade and blueberry açai. If you want to pair your ice with something savory, grab a soft pretzel, hot dog, or order of nachos and stay a while. 3326 E. Joppa Rd. Parkville.

One Sweet Moment: The team at this famous wooden porch in Hamilton has been greeting guests for more than 30 years. The lengthy menu of both shaved and crushed ice snowballs showcases more than 150 choices, categorized by regular flavors, specialty mixes, sour selections, and cream concoctions (think: Creamy Colada and Root Beer Float.) Don’t forget to try the new-ish egg custard soft serve. 2914 Hamilton Ave.

Opie’s Soft Serve and Snowballs: Grabbing an after-dinner treat at this sweets shop has become a community tradition in Catonsville. Flavors range from strawberry to cotton candy, and—if you’re having a hard time choosing between a snowball or ice cream—go for the signature “Snowcream,” which layers soft-serve in the middle and on top of the ice. 1603 Edmonson Ave., Catonsville.

Original Hawaiian Island Snowballs: This summer hangout off of Liberty Road in between Randallstown and Eldersburg has been enticing locals for decades with its tasty treats and daily specials. Though it offers funnel cakes, soft pretzels, gelatis, and ice cream sundaes, the shop is best known for an array of more than 100 snowball flavors ranging from pear and tangerine to Fireball and strawberry-banana. 10636 Liberty Rd., Holbrook

The Peggy: After purchasing Walther Gardens in Hamilton-Lauraville last year, Christopher Heller—of The Margaret Cleveland home and garden shop in Bolton Hill—renamed the property’s beloved snowball stand “The Peggy,” after his great-grandmother. Expect fresh flavors made with pure cane sugar (Candied Orange, Cookie Butter, and French Raspberry, to name a few) and a fun new logo on your pink cup. 

Aside from that, Heller is committed to preserving the history of the community gathering spot—dubbed the oldest snowball stand in the country—as well as its age-old egg custard recipe. 3501 Southern Ave.

Quality Snowballs: Stationed just across the street from its sister-spot, The Food Market, on the Avenue in Hampden, this 10-foot shipping container churns out big flavors with toppings like fresh fruit, whipped cream, candy pieces, condensed milk, and torched marshmallow. If you’re feeling adventurous, try concoctions like banana with Oreos or rainbow cream with Nerds. 1014 W. 36th St.

Snoasis: Nothing screams summer like squishing your toes in the sand at this beachy Timonium mainstay—which first debuted in 1977. You can pretty much get any flavor under the sun (we’re partial to multi-colored Rainbow, pictured above) and finish it off with drippy marshmallow or the secret-recipe vanilla topping, for good measure. 30 E. Padonia Rd., Lutherville-Timonium

Stouten’s Marina and Snowball Stop: This neighborhood gem located at Stouten’s Marina on the water in Dundalk has something for everyone, whether you’re jonesin’ for a fruity flavor or in the mood for a peanut butter and jelly snowball (grape topped with peanut butter sauce.) The stand is even equipped with a drive-thru window for the scorchers when it’s too hot to step away from the A.C. 817 Wise Ave., Dundalk 

Summer Shack Snowballs: It’s difficult to drive down Falls Road without making a pit stop to this family-owned stand, which offers outdoor seating and plenty of sidewalk chalk to occupy little ones. Head to the royal blue awning to order a colorful cup (think Georgia peach, pink bubble gum, and Tutti Frutti.) 2339 W. Joppa Rd., Lutherville-Timonium

The Snowball Stand: Tucked away in Woodstock, this community gem off Route 99 has been a Howard County favorite since its inaugural summer in 1974. Gather in the gazebo to slurp standouts like blue raspberry, mango, and cola. Be sure to also check out the rotating “flavors of the day” sprawled on a chalkboard sign out front. 1970 Woodstock Rd., Woodstock

The Snowball Effect

How Ice Queens became one of the most popular sweet shops in Locust Point.

By Marie Bosslett

In 2020, mother-daughter duo Melanie and Dasia Kabia opened Ice Queens Snoball Shop on East Fort Avenue in Locust Point. Four years later, its popularity has, well, snowballed, with locals continuing to line up around the block to get a taste on warm days.

We caught up with the bubbly owners to discuss their start, favorite flavors, and what it’s been like to bring their signature New Orleans-style ice to Baltimore.

How did Ice Queens come to be?
Dasia Kabia: I worked at a snowball stand in Southwest Baltimore County for five years and got inspired. I shared the idea with my pediatrician, who is from Louisiana, and she became my “Angel Investor” who gave me my first loan.

Melanie Kabia: When she was young, Dasia’s grandmother used to take her to the same snowball shop that she ended up working at, so it’s a cool family tradition. Snowballs are nostalgic, so it was easy for us to fall in love with the idea.

What is a “New Orleans-style” snowball?
MK: The machine we use was patented in New Orleans and gives super finely shaved ice. We’re still a traditional Baltimore snowball shop with classic egg custard and marshmallow recipes, but you’re also getting that New Orleans twist with sweet cream and fruit.

DK: In my opinion, New Orleans has found a way to make the best ice. Combining a Baltimore snowball with it was a match made in heaven. It’s exactly what I wanted.

Do you often get Baltimore purists who are critical of trying something new?
DK: Of course.

MK: Every day. But we always convince them to try something they may not have had before. That’s a fun challenge for us.

How does it feel to have such a large presence in the community?
MK: It’s an amazing surprise. In two months, we went from two to 20 employees. It’s so humbling and encouraging to have that connection with our customers. It warms our hearts to know that we’re sharing a part of our family just through a snowball.

DK: It’s been an honor to watch my dream grow like this. Starting a business in the middle of the pandemic at 22 years old was very scary, but I always had the community supporting me.

What are your favorite flavors?
DK: Strawberry Shortcake. It’s delicious, looks pretty, and is very Instagrammable.

MK: Our Old Fashioned, which is an egg custard with sweet cream and marshmallow. But Mango Tango is also on my favorites list.

There won’t be a Triple Crown winner in 2026, but Preakness 151 will still be one for the books. For the first time, the middle jewel was held at Laurel Park—30 miles south of its traditional home in Park Heights—while Pimlico Race Course undergoes renovations.

On one hand, it was an iconic weekend for the underdog Anne Arundel County track, which has been around for 114 years. Pastel-clad fans in the sold-out grandstands watched as Napoleon Solo charged to victory while sipping cherry-garnished Black-Eyed Susans. But it was also bittersweet for regulars, as the facility prepares to transition into a training headquarters and cease live racing for good next year.

That being said, the scaled-down festivities (crowds were capped at 4,900 with no InfieldFest concert) marked Laurel Park’s first and last Preakness.

Contributing photographer J.M. Giordano was on the ground to capture all of the pageantry and nostalgia on film (and an early digital camera) as the day went on.

This time last year, a three-year-old colt named Journalism charged to victory at Pimlico Race Course, as the reality that it would be the last Preakness in Park Heights before the existing Old Hilltop buildings would be torn down—to make way for renovated facilities in 2027—hung over attendees.

This year, Laurel Park, the much smaller racing complex located about an hour south in Anne Arundel County, will become the temporary home to the Triple Crown’s middle jewel as Pimlico upgrades continue.

For Laurel regulars, it’s going to be a bittersweet weekend. On one hand, they’ll see the typically quiet track come alive for the festivities. But it will also mark the course’s first and last Preakness, as it’s expected to cease live racing and transition into a training facility next year.

Though it might be lesser-known, there’s not much like the 115-year-old Laurel—with clouds cascading across it’s bright skylight windows and horses thundering down the track on a crisp day. Racing is not static. It’s great blurs of color as the horses and jockeys in blazing silks pass by like a LeRoy Neiman painting.

This was the track experience I sought to capture throughout the past year. The colorful silks and the colorful people. Winners, losers, women in their best hats, men in suits that make you think you’ve traveled back in time. And I wanted to do all on film (using several vintage Nikon cameras and lenses, Kodacolor and Kodak Ultramax film, and even 20-year-old expired Fuji Industrial 100 film made to highlight reds and blues) like “the old days.” Even during the coldest races, as seen in a few winter shots, the pageantry is still there.

Yes, the Oriole Bird has a mom, and just in time for Mother’s Day, she’s getting a glow up.

If you’re at Camden Yards for Sunday’s game, you’ll see it, thanks to a Maryland Institute College of Art student’s vision. Think Black-Eyed Susans, Laura Ashley aesthetics, and maybe your mom’s spring or summer style from decades ago.

The Oriole Bird first broke into the world from a seven-foot Styrofoam egg on the Memorial Stadium field before the O’s home opener in April 1979. We’ll save the complete family history for another day, but for at least the last several years, the Orioles have featured Mother Bird alongside her Mascot Hall-of-Famer child on Mother’s Day at Oriole Park.

Until now, momma bird has worn—to put it nicely—a nearly comical, mismatched outfit (floral print dress, striped purse, checkered headscarf) assembled from a thrift store. The new ‘fit looks much more curated. Paying homage to her style, it’s still dated and still has flowers, but now purposefully so.

It was designed by MICA sophomore Angel Forsyth as part of a class project and collaboration with the Orioles. The team picked Forsyth’s concept from a group of submissions organized by MICA’s Hope Simpara, who teaches garment design and production. Students compiled mood boards, drew conceptual sketches, and produced a finalized rendering.

“The goal was to give her a put-together look,” Forsyth says of Mother Bird.

Before getting the assignment, Forsyth didn’t know there was such a character. (To be fair, neither did we.) A general fine arts major pursuing an illustration minor, Forsyth says the class is their first foray into fashion design.

Forsyth brainstormed and landed on a style that mothers of sports fans in their twenties today would have seen worn by their mothers in the 1970s or ‘80s.

“Then I started thinking about styles from that time, inspired by the original dress, like Laura Ashley-style florals with poofy sleeves and sailor collars,” Forsyth says.

Simpara also mentioned to the class that the Black-Eyed Susan was the state flower of Maryland, which unlocked a core memory for Forsyth. They remember being 4 or 5 years old and walking a path bordered by wildflowers near the family’s apartment outside of Syracuse, N.Y., where Forsyth and their dad, Jeff, would bring back a fistful of the blooms for Forsyth’s mom, Kelly. Today, Forsyth and their mom even have matching tattoos that include Black-Eyed Susans.

“It just feels like a very Mother’s Day-type symbol,” Forsyth says.

From their research and mood board—which included vintage Orioles logos and merch, those Laura Ashley dresses, and the mascot itself—the concept was hatched. (Much like the “birth” of the Oriole Bird decades ago, in a costume worn by another college student, then-Morgan State senior Gregory Tull).

Forsyth added a flower-adorned Preakness-style hat, too. “I love things that are a little bit outdated, especially for a project like this,” Forsyth says. “It made sense to have something chic, but outdated. It was meant to be like fashion from a different time.”

Forsyth and Simpara took measurements of Mother Bird last week on MICA’s Baltimore campus, and dress construction came together this week as Forsyth wrapped up other finals and was part of an art showing.

On Sunday, Forsyth—who eventually wants to be an art teacher, if not write graphic novels—will be at Camden Yards with their mom. While they played softball for years and—being from New York—attended a few Yankees games as a kid, it will be their first Orioles game ever.

“I like watching baseball, but I’m also kind of just there to hang out and buy a snowcone and periodically ask who’s winning,” Forsyth says.

Not a bad way to do it. Except this time, Forsyth and others will also get to see their work on full display. Black-Eyed Susans, on a bird, on Mother’s Day. Does it get any better?

When contemplating a sequel, especially one that comes out two decades after the original, you must ask yourself the following questions:

• Is it better than the original?
• Is it even in the same league as the original?
• Does it make a good case for its own existence?
• Does it give us a chance to spend time with some characters we’ve grown attached to over the years?

Regarding The Devil Wears Prada 2, my answers are, in order: No. Also no. Not really. And yes.
The original The Devil Wears Prada, which came out in 2006 and followed the adventures of the hopelessly unstylish (at first) young journalist Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) facing off against the formidable Anna Wintour proxy, Runway magazine editor Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), has turned into one of the quintessential comfort films. It’s the kind of film you can watch over and over again—and probably recite some parts by heart. It’s aspirational in a variety of ways: A young woman finding her voice. A formidable woman softening a bit, while demonstrating why she’s so formidable. A snooty but loving guncle (everyone’s favorite heterosexual gay man, Stanley Tucci). An arch nemesis turned reluctant ally (Emily Blunt). And fashion, all that glorious fashion.

Much has happened in the ensuing 20 years. Everyone agrees that Andy’s boyfriend (Adrian Grenier, who doesn’t appear in the sequel) was a dud. Miranda Priestly’s “cerulean blue” monologue—this film’s answer to A Few Good Men’s “you can’t handle the truth”—has gone viral. Oh, and print media is, let’s just say, not the powerhouse it used to be.

As the sequel starts, Andy is an award-winning investigative journalist whose newspaper has just folded. Meanwhile, Miranda has a crisis of her own—she wrote glowingly about a fashion brand that was revealed to use sweat shops and is now the subject of memes that vilify her, depicting her with a Pinocchio nose or dressed as a fast food worker with a speech bubble that reads, “You want lies with that?” (Films notoriously have a hard time replicating meme culture.)

Somehow, Andy is hired to be a feature writer at Runway magazine in the hopes that her famous journalistic integrity will send the right message to readers.

When Andy bounds into Miranda’s office on her first day back at Runway, she’s excited to finally be on the same footing as her old boss—indeed, she assumes that it was Miranda who put in the good word for her. Instead, Miranda turns to Tucci’s Nigel and says, “Who is this?…Do I know her?” (It’s a funny, albeit lazy joke.) And just for a second, all of Andy’s poise and confidence is out of the door. Briefly, she’s that gawky college grad wearing Marshalls sweater sets.

Part of the fun of the original was witnessing Andy’s makeover, but in this film, she’s fabulous from the jump, dressed in fitted blazers, oversized sunglasses, and stiletto heels. (Nigel quips, “Oh, look what TJ Maxx dragged in,” when he first sees her, but no one’s buying it.)

As mentioned, the dud of a boyfriend is out of the picture, but they give Andy an almost insultingly perfunctory love interest, an architect played by Patrick Brammall. (If anyone can explain his overarching role in the film, other than to remind us that Andy is still a catch—duh—please let me know.)

The film’s crisis, essentially, is how can they save Runway in a world of venture capitalists who buy up publications just to cut staff, reduce coverage, or worse. If in the original film Runway was all-powerful in its influence, reputation, and glamour—now it’s just a little sad.

Justin Theroux has a funny turn as Benji Barnes, a Jeff Bezos type who is dating Blunt’s Emily. He’s depicted as a big nerd who has been given the glam treatment by his stylish new girlfriend (who can’t get enough of his money but clearly despises him).

All the leads are still in good form—both in terms of performance and appearance (they are remarkably well preserved). Streep, in particular, makes great hay of Priestly having to cut back on things—how dare they make Miranda hang up her own coat (sacré bleu!) and fly coach (the horror!).

This is clearly one of those cases where all the famous people were game to do a sequel so they built a script to make it happen. Although only two writers are credited—Aline Brosh McKenna and Lauren Weisberg—it has the distinct feel of having been written by committee. The film is competently directed by David Frankel, who also did the original, although there are a few too many shots of Andy striding quickly through New York traffic for my taste.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 is a chance to hang out with our old friends and see some great clothing—and little else. For some, that will be enough.

In the same way that yarn weaves together a scarf or cozy blanket, common threads connect the community. That’s the philosophy that Natasha Ibrahim has lived by since she founded The Local Stitch as a pop-up to sell supplies and gather the knitting community for workshops in 2025.

Now, she’s letting the same sentiment guide her into her next chapter, a brick-and-mortar fiber arts shop in Fells Point.

After a year and a half of preparation, The Local Stitch opened on April 17 at 1910 Fleet Street, offering an array of yarn and other materials fiber artists can use to knit, crochet, weave, and more. In keeping with Ibrahim’s mission, the space will also serve as a homebase for her frequent community art meetups.

Ibrahim’s love for crafting was inspired by her grandmother at a young age. Starting her own small business came years later, as a reaction to weakened social ties in the post-pandemic world.

“As a society, we lost the muscle memory that is needed to bring people together,” she says. “That connectivity, seeing people in person, creating events and reasons for people to unite—that’s really important right now.”

Her community focus also extends to the shop’s shelves, which—unlike commercial craft stores—do not feature products owned by private equity. The store sources yarn from Baltimore-based companies Neighborhood Fiber Co. and Plied Yarns, along with Kelbourne Woolens from Pennsylvania, Harrisville Designs from New Hampshire, and Meridian Mill House from North Carolina. Those are just the shop’s domestic brands, though, as it also carries Icelandic yarns in store.

“As a fiber art shop, we want to be supporting other local fiber artists,” Ibrahim says. “If you’re making something in Baltimore City, I’m going to prioritize supporting you over anyone else. Because this is my home, this is my city. I care about you and I care about your success.”

In addition to outsourced brands, Ibrahim hand-dyes her own line of fibers sold in the store. A portion of sales from one of her custom-dyed red yarns is currently supporting the Amica Center for Immigrant Rights.

It’s an unsurprising fundraiser, as fiber artists have been known to use their craft as a means to rally around political causes for years. (Think: the Pussyhat Project that originated in 2016 as a way to advocate for reproductive rights in the wake of President Trump’s first election.) When the Trump administration increased the presence of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers in Minneapolis earlier this year, knitters created viral patterns on the popular online database Ravelry as handmade symbols of resistance, with proceeds donated to immigrant relief organizations.

In addition to donations to Amica, The Local Stitch is teaming up with fellow local craft club Craft & to support those in need with an upcoming “Stitch for the Feast” knit-a-thon at the Creative Alliance on May 9. Proceeds will aid Baltimore-based nonprofit Moveable Feast, which provides meals to people living with chronic illnesses.

“People who take the time to sit with themselves and make something with their own hands—I think those are actions that foster empathy,” Ibrahim says. “Fiber art is a pretense for bringing people together.”

After a long, cold, snowy winter, things at Black Ankle Vineyards in Mt. Airy were looking good. Despite the “snow-ment” that coated the region for weeks, the vines had survived. Then, a perfect storm arrived.

An unseasonably warm spring, including several consecutive days in April with temperatures in the 90s, pushed the bud-break four weeks earlier than usual. Days later, April 21-22, an unprecedented and sustained frost—with temperatures reaching the low 20s for more than six hours—decimated those tender shoots.

“The leaves look like someone took a torch to them,” says Emma Pope, communications manager for the vineyard, which lost 100 percent of its bud-break in that one night.

It’s a devastating loss that can be seen across Maryland’s wineries. Such cold temperatures over a prolonged period of time thwarted the mediation attempts typically employed with a normal late-season frost. As one of the few vineyards in Maryland that is entirely estate produced—meaning they do not purchase grapes from anywhere off the vineyard—it’s particularly hard on Black Ankle. It’s likely that the entire 2026 vintage has been lost. Even if the vines put out new shoots and fruit, it will be smaller. And, ironically, it will ripen later in the fall, when fear of frost will again be an issue.

“We’re choosing to move forward with optimism,” says Pope, adding that the vineyard will fall back on its wine reserves to honor its commitments to wine club members and tasting room visitors. “We will likely cut our wholesale—sales to local wine shops and restaurants—to keep inventory. And our hope is we won’t have to buy outside fruit.”

In a statement, the Maryland Department of Agriculture called the April 21-22 event, “One the most significant crop losses in recent memory due to a late-spring frost,” particularly for the state’s wineries.

While the blame is falling on the frost, Pope explains it was the extreme heat that was really the problem.

“What set this apart was that bud-break was so early due to the extreme warm weather—everything was in grow mode,” she explains. “Usually when we have a late-season frost you will see some loss off the early-ripening vines, but we typically won’t have seen bud-break across the entire vineyard. That was what devastated us.”

Ava Marie, meteorologist with Baltimore’s media partner, WBAL-TV, says that many plants across Maryland got caught by a “false start” to the growing season.

“Despite the colder than normal winter, spring has been running several degrees above normal, triggering earlier-than-normal plant growth,” she says, adding that, “the recent cold snap in April was extreme, even by Maryland standards. On April 21, BWI Airport measured a low of 30 degrees, while areas to the north dipped into the 20s. Looking back at the records, that’s the coldest our area has been this late in the year in 70 years.”

Marie adds that longstanding drought conditions may have amplified the frost’s impact, as dry ground heats up faster during the day but also loses heat more quickly at night.

At Baugher’s Orchards & Farms in Westminster, which is a popular destination for pick-your-own fruits throughout the growing season, the damage is still being assessed. Dottie Dunn, who manages sales and purchasing at the farm, says they’ll know more in a few weeks when fruits form, but they’ll likely have less product with the same amount of labor.

“The results for our farm are less crops to pick and sell, and less crops for our customers who like to pick their own cherries, peaches, and apples,” says Dunn. “We still have to perform the routine orchard maintenance required to keep trees in good health, even if there is not much fruit on the trees.”

Two Boots Farm in Hampstead is known for its cut flowers, but they also have a significant pawpaw orchard. Owner Elisa Lane says they are still assessing the damage, but the morning after the frost, all the pawpaw flowers appeared dead. If the crop doesn’t survive, or is smaller than usual, it will mean, conservatively, a five-figure loss to the farm’s bottom line. They also lost all their spirea, a flowering shrub sold to wholesale florists and used in bouquets sold at farmers markets.

“Everything was going great,” says Lane, “but then we had the heat wave and all the crops were at least a week ahead of where they usually are.”

In the extreme heat, staff brought out shade cloth to try to preserve tender spring flowers. A week later, the shade cloth was off and staff were putting out row covers to protect plants from the frost.

Chasing after mercurial weather has become the norm at Two Boots. “This is what scientists have told us, that this is the direction weather is going, with more unpredictability and extreme weather events,” says Lane.

With cooler nighttime temperatures predicted this weekend, staff are once again pulling out the row covers to protect tender plants.

“Early spring warm-ups are becoming more common with a warming climate,” says Marie, “which puts plants in a vulnerable position, since the frost window in Maryland still extends into May.”

This is what concerns Pope. “We can deal with one bad season—the greater concern is will we be seeing this more often as weather changes get more frequent?”

Lane says it’s fortunate that her operation, which includes early-season plant sales and a variety of seasonal flowers, is diversified. If they were exclusively a pawpaw farm, the frost would have been catastrophic.

For Maryland’s vineyards, there is little recourse but to wait on Mother Nature and see what can be recovered. For many small operations, crop insurance can be too complicated and cost-prohibitive to manage. At Baugher’s, Dunn says there isn’t insurance for a killing frost, only hail damage. And Pope explains that insurance is generally for vine death. As the vines at Black Ankle are technically still alive (just not producing), insurance would likely not help.

For those who want to help farmers in need, the advice is simple: buy local. Lane encourages locals to come out to events like this weekend’s Flower Mart and Cylburn Arboretum’s upcoming Market Day and buy whatever vendors have to sell. She also suggests joining a CSA, or buying gift cards from farms that maybe don’t have product today, but will in the future and could use the cash flow now.

Dunn says farms appreciate when customers “accept some imperfect fruit and vegetables. As nature has it, not everything grows perfectly, and if we can’t sell the imperfect, it drives up the cost of what we can sell.”

“Buy local wines,” implores Pope, adding that the support from the community in the wake of the frost has been overwhelming. “It doesn’t even need to be ours—buy Maryland wines, Virginia wines, East Coast wines in general. There is this whole ‘buy local’ movement, but it often doesn’t translate to wines because people don’t think of it as an agricultural product. But, at its core, wine is a product from a farm, from farmers.”

Sometimes you’re glad a film was made simply because it allows a great actor to be great. Such is the case for The Christophers, Steven Soderbergh’s film about the relationship between an aging art icon and a forger, starring a wonderfully game Ian McKellen as disgraced painter Julian Sklar.

Julian is a feast of a character—prideful, scabrous, witty, and performatively cruel—and McKellen leaves no crumbs. It’s hard to distinguish between Julian’s public persona—first he was an enfant terrible of the art world, then a universally acknowledged master, then a canceled “Great Man,” and finally a professional grouch—and his private one. The lines have clearly blurred.

After his cancelation, which is alluded to but never specified (although hardly shocking since Julian says and does all sorts of inappropriate things), he retreated to his home studio—a massive duplex in London filled with canvases (some empty, some half-finished, some complete), palates, books, empty clawfoot bath tubs, dress forms, lamps, tapestries, and all manner of clutter (kudos to production designer Antonia Lowe for creating this exquisitely lived in and character-revealing home). He stopped painting, instead earning a (disreputable) living by doing Cameos (slapping on a beret, dropping a bon mot or two, and saying “happy birthday” or what have you) and acting as the Simon Cowell of the art world on a reality TV competition show called Art Fight. He pretends to be disdainful of it all—the consumerism of the art world, the shallowness of reality TV, the ludicrousness of those Cameos—but clearly part of him delights in those things, too.

Julian has two adult children—Barnaby (James Corden) and Sallie (Jessica Gunning)—whom he despises. Understandably so, they’re insufferable, but it’s hard to tell which came first—his disdain or their awfulness.

It’s their idea to hire a forger named Lori (Michaela Coel) to complete a series of paintings called the “Christophers.” These were Julian’s most successful works, made when he came out of the closet and fell in love with a young man, who eventually broke his heart. The third series of the Christophers has remained unfinished. Knowing that their father is old and in poor health, the siblings concoct a plan: Lori will apply for a job as Julian’s assistant while secretly finding and completing the unfinished works; then they will be “discovered” in the attic and sold for millions upon Julian’s death.

The gimlet-eyed Lori has a relationship with both Sallie and Julian. She was a classmate of Sallie’s at art school—we find out that Sallie made one feeble attempt herself to complete the Christophers and failed (we eventually see the laughably bad work)—and knows of her mediocrity. She also has an aversion to Julian, but we don’t find out why until later. She reluctantly accepts the gig.

Making her way through the (intentionally) complicated front door of Julian’s home and up the noisy staircase, she applies for the job as assistant. Mostly, she just listens as Julian holds court—“if you’re an artist I don’t want to know about it,” he says, while getting her name wrong (he calls her Lisa) and going off on a series of tangents. Lori’s skill is stillness, for the most part. She lets him monologue and pays close attention, missing nothing. Finally, impressed (mostly with himself), he hires her. One of her tasks will be to destroy the unfinished Christophers, which gives her perfect access to the works.

One day, Julian finds an article she published in an art journal that was brutally critical of him and his latter stage work. (She calls him bloviating.) He’s deeply offended, but he gains a new respect for her, even more so when she comes clean about his children and their plan for the Christophers. “What makes you think you could do [the forgery]?” he asks pointedly. She somewhat defiantly breaks down his work—describing how the thickness of his paint and the use of light conveys his moods, his feelings about Christopher. Her insight is undeniable. Suddenly, he seems to want to impress her and maybe even know her, although she remains intentionally opaque.

And this is my biggest problem with The Christophers—which I generally liked: Lori is a cryptic character to a fault. Does she hate Julian? Does she want his approbation? Is she growing fond of him through their work? Is this all some elaborate form of revenge? And why did she choose forgery? Yes, it’s hard to make a living as an artist—she works part time at a food truck—but not all struggling artists turn to forgery. Is it merely a skill she has, or does it say something about her as a person that she has not found her own artistic voice? The film never explores this.

As an actress, the brilliant Coel is a formidable foil to McKellen. It’s fun to watch them face-off, even as I did yearn to know more about her.

Additionally, the film feels a bit ambivalent about this once great man. Julian is clearly an asshole. His cruelty toward his children is inexcusable no matter how awful they are (casting Corden was a deft, if slightly nasty, touch). And Julian’s whole schtick is cruelty—discouraging and publicly humiliating the artists who earnestly share their work with him on TV. But he is undeniably entertaining, too. And, of course, there’s a good deal of vulnerability and even self-loathing just beneath the surface. I guess we’re supposed to feel that he deserves it all—the fame, the respect, but also the infamy and the subsequent isolation.

The Christophers is a great film-club-discussion type movie. I hosted a screening of it this weekend and there were lots of disagreement over Lori’s true feelings for Julian and vice versa—had she grown to love him? Did he see her as the daughter he wished he had? And what of the art of forgery? One clever audience member suggested that Soderbergh—the anti-auteur, who calls himself a cinematic “shapeshifter”—might have genuine respect for such powers of mimesis. Is there inherent value in excellent forgery? Insights into cancel culture and the commodification of the art world are less compelling. But I must say, I had a blast with The Christophers. In the end, it’s a script worthy of McKellen’s gifts—which, in turn, makes it a gift to us all.

In our new Walk & Talk web series, we send a reporter and a local tastemaker to a Charm City cultural event and record their real-time reactions. 

This week, arts contributor Kerry Folan met up with Baltimore Jewelry Center director Shane Prada at The Walters Art Museum for a preview of the new exhibition Douriean Fletcher: Jewelry of the Afrofuture—a major showcase for the 39-year-old self-taught jewelry maker, whose designs for the 2018 movie Black Panther put her in the international spotlight.

On view April 18 through August 9, the exhibit explores the self-taught metalsmith’s jewelry as a powerful narrative tool in art, Black identity, and visual storytelling. As part of the opening day celebration on April 18, instructors and artists from the Baltimore Jewelry Center will lead a free workshop in which participants learn more about narrative jewelry and storytelling through art making.

A re-creation of the jeweler’s bench Douriean Fletcher used when she first began metalsmithing, back when she was in her early twenties and working at an arts nonprofit in New Orleans, sits at the start of Douriean Fletcher: Jewelry of the Afrofuture.

I am not a jewelry maker, or even generally very handy, so among the tools laid out here I recognize only the hammer. But I’m with Baltimore Jewelry Center director Shane Prada, who knows quite a lot about jewelry, and about Fletcher.

Prada names the objects I don’t know—the butane torch, the wire cutter, the cowrie shells, beads, metal sheets, rooster feathers, and wire used in the designs. There is also an old T-shirt of Fletcher’s, and the mattress she used to sleep on if she was working late.

Prada is visibly energized to see the ephemera from Fletcher’s early life, including nearby family photos, her mother’s bible, and the tiny church dress she wore as a child.

“I get very excited by shows that include objects from the artist’s life and tell a narrative,” Prada says. “The choice to put day-to-day objects in this show really grounds it in an understanding of the person who’s making the art. Like, Fletcher was raised in the Seventh Day Adventist tradition, which doesn’t believe in adorning the body. That is a really interesting thing to know about someone who grew up to be a jewelry designer.”

We’re on the ground floor of The Walters Art Museum on an unseasonably warm April afternoon to view the Douriean Fletcher exhibition before it opens to the public this weekend.

The deep purple-painted temporary exhibition gallery feels lushly cool in contrast to the hot day—a smart design choice for a show that will be on view through the dog days of a Baltimore summer. It also has the effect of making Fletcher’s large-scale gold pieces glow in the dim room. (I think of Junichiro Tanizaki’s classic essay “In Praise of Shadows,” which famously challenges the Western insistence on equating white with all things good and argues for the aesthetic superiority of the dark.)

A glimmer from a case of earrings catches Prada’s eye, and we move towards it.

“Ooh, there are some really excellent compositional choices here,” she says of a pair of big brass ear cuffs adorned with colored beads, in what look to me like abstract patches.

I ask what she likes about them. “So, they’re asymmetrical, but they’re still relatively balanced. The choice of color is quite pleasing.”

She points out the way the beads are organized in both a linear way when you zoom in (they’re lined up neatly in rows like beads on an abacus), and a more organic way when you zoom out, with the colored patches positioned incongruously on the brass plate, breaking any kind of grid.

“You can tell this is a person who has a deep knowledge, or deep natural sense, of materiality, composition, and color,” Prada says. “Jewelry is a small package, so understanding how to play with small elements of composition and color really matter.”

These earrings demonstrate the type of work the Pasadena native artist was doing when renowned costume designer Ruth E. Carter discovered her in 2015 and invited her to collaborate on the Hollywood productions Fletcher is now famous for—particularly the Black Panther movies, which imagine the fictional world of the wealthy and powerful African country Wakanda. Mannequins displaying those iconic costumes are in the next room. Prada and I head in their direction.

“This is a really cool piece,” Prada says, stopping in front of a long, pale pink cape and dress with an open-work silver bodice cage worn by Queen Ramonda in Wakanda Forever. Again, I ask her what she likes about it.

“Well, as someone who loves clothing as much as I love jewelry, I like the idea of taking this exoskeletal costume piece and elevating a garment, which is the fun thing about contemporary jewelry. It’s often very large.

“I mean, you can see the earrings that I’m wearing almost reach my shoulders,” she says gesturing to a pair of dangly oversized chain links that appear to be made out of some kind of hard plastic, “and yet it’s rarely made of fine material. It approaches sculptural art.”

As we look at the rest of the costumes—including an enormous gem-laden headdress, a copper necklace and bracelet worn by Okoye during T’Challa’s funeral, and faux jade necklaces inspired by ancient Mayan earthenware figures on display nearby—I ask Prada what she thinks makes Douriean Fletcher, the Douriean Fletcher.

After all, Fletcher is the first jewelry designer to be included in the Motion Picture Costumer Union, a sought-after collaborator by luxury department stores and brands, and one of the only living jewelry makers I can think of to get a solo show at major museums. I can name dozens of fashion designers off the top of my head, but the only jewelry lines I can think of are brands, like Cartier and Tiffany. How does a young, self-taught artist emerge to be such a star in this field?

“We don’t have many Douriean Fletchers, right? But she clearly was doing things like these editorial shoots,” Prada says, referencing a photograph from 2016 where Fletcher is modeling some of her creations. “That costs money. It also shows she’s valuing herself as a creator and as a designer. That takes a lot of believing in yourself and positioning yourself, like, ‘Yeah, I made this.’”

Later on, at the official press preview, I am able to ask Fletcher the same question.

“I think that what sets me apart is being my own model, being the person that was telling the story of the jewelry, and being very specific about what I wanted to say,” she tells me. “All my work was coming from my own personal experience. My first few pieces came from this dream I was having, and from my own personal desires. So I just put myself in the middle of my story.”

As the exhibition demonstrates, this is something Fletcher continues to do to this day.

As Prada and I round the corner to the final section of the show, which focuses on Fletcher’s current personal practice, we are confronted with several striking blown-up photographs of Fletcher posed on a dark background, wearing the gleaming gold pieces from her 2021 Messenger Collection. Prada gravitates towards a particular necklace, with what looks to me like an enormous crystal strapped with wire to a squiggly gold plate. She points out its relationship to Fletcher’s earlier pieces.

Fletcher was inspired by the jewelry of Alexander Calder and Art Smith, who were known for preferring wire wrapping to soldering or welding techniques. She was also influenced by two specific ancient Egyptian rings in The Walters’ collection (on display near the exhibition entrance), which Fletcher discovered through a Google search in 2008, back when she was just starting. Like Fletcher’s necklace, the rings use wrapped wire in their designs.

“So, in fine jewelry, your hardest stone settings will be something like a bezel or a channel—these settings that require a lot of exactitude,” explains Prada, referring to settings where the metal rims the stone, protecting it and securing it in place. “There are rules about the way that you should do them. To me, this is all so connected to a kind of cultural supremacy, this ‘right’ way of doing something. But truly, we don’t have to follow rules like that, especially when it comes to art.

“And in this case, when we encounter a simple way of capturing a stone that has not been cut and faceted in this very traditional, more Western style, the raw beauty of the stone gets to be seen and shown off.”

Prada finds this really exciting, especially for a self-taught artist looking for alternative approaches to traditional jewelry making.

“[Fletcher is] getting elevated in a place like Bergdorf Goodman with designs that she didn’t perfect through a refined goldsmithing education or years in art school,” she says. “To me, it’s like she’s announcing that it’s okay to do things your way. While we see this often in art, we see it less so in craft education, and I think there’s something really freeing in witnessing this kind of jewelry in a museum.”

We head back towards the entrance, where we left our bags and where The Walters’ ancient Egyptian rings are displayed. As we gather our things, preparing to leave, Prada stops to admire one of the rings that Fletcher found on Google all those years ago—that in so many ways brought her here to Baltimore.

An engraving of the Egyptian god Ptah in green jasper stone sits in a gold swivel ring. Wire wraps the sides of the ring shank, adding a layer of texture and interest.

“Wow—see, nowadays, we would mimic a texture like that by using a motorized tool,” Prada says, remarking on the craftsmanship and unknowingly echoing Fletcher’s own comments on the ring in the museum’s press release (which I have read, but she hasn’t).

Fletcher is quoted there describing the mark of the hand on these 2700-year-old pieces as deeply inspiring to her: “You can tell someone physically wrapped the wire—that actual hands have worked on it, as opposed to a soldering iron,” she says. “The representation of handcrafted art in museum spaces is so important.”

Prada continues, leaning in for a closer look.

“We so often think about antiquity as very boring. But, no. They were just like us, and they wanted things to be fun and interesting. We should all be looking to history for our jewelry.”

The region’s OG film festival is back for its 27th year, from April 8-12 at the Parkway Theatre and other venues in Station North. As ever, the fest includes both original and revival features, shorts, and docs, with an emphasis on local and marginalized voices. Here are three reviews to whet your appetite.

HONEYJOON

This bittersweet comedy by Lilian T. Mehrel resists the urge to lapse into sentimentality at every turn. June (Ayden Mayeri) has traveled to a resort on the romantic Azorean Island with her mother, Lela (Amira Casar), a Persian expat living in England, to honor the one-year anniversary of her father’s death. When he was a young man, her father had traveled to the island and loved it. They have a picture of him on the shore looking pensive and handsome that they carry with them on the trip.

Lela is still grieving more explicitly—she had envisioned the trip as a time to cry and hug—whereas June wants the tenor to be more celebratory. The dynamic between the two is established quickly. Lela complains that June hasn’t unpacked yet, then urges her to cover up, her dress is too skimpy—a recurring theme.

One of the seemingly interchangeable handsome young resort workers that June flirts with takes their picture and remarks that they look like sisters. Lela smiles for the first time in a while; June’s face drops. June thinks Lela, who is obsessively following Iran’s “Women. Life. Freedom” movement and wants to tell everyone about her late husband, is a buzzkill. On a cliff, they encounter a couple on their honeymoon and take their picture. Then Lela begins unloading about her dead husband. “Don’t ruin their honeymoon!” June scolds.

June is right about this and a few other things—you can’t celebrate the brave women of the Persian uprising while simultaneously telling your (hot) daughter to cover up. Bodily autonomy is much of what they’re fighting for. But Lela is right too. The trip can’t just be fun—grieving is baked into the mix—and June can run from her grief but she can’t truly escape it.

A classic example of the film’s sly way of avoiding mawkishness: Lying in bed together—they are awkwardly stuck in one of the resort’s many honeymoon suites—Lela asks June to spoon her.

“I’m not dad,” June grumbles, but then, looking at her mother, so vulnerable, she yields. She hugs her mother from behind. As the camera pulls back, Lela farts.

The film is filled with bits of silliness like this—most work, a few feel a little cutesy (Lela has a habit of of mangling English idioms: “You were the Adam’s apple of [your father’s] eye” or “like apple, like tree.”)

The second half of the film is dominated by João (José Condessa), a chill and sneakily wise surfer dude who takes them on a tour of the island. June, of course, falls for him (and he for her). But the film is generous about acknowledging Lela’s sexuality, too. She misses her husband—she misses sex with her husband. And when one of the resort workers explicitly flirts with her, you can see she’s flattered, if not slightly tempted.

Honeyjoon is a smart, closely observed film about mothers and daughters and grief. It’s funny and sad in equal measures—just like life.

HONEYJOON screens on April 8 at 9 p.m. and April 9 at 5 p.m. at the Parkway Theatre. Director Lilian Mehrel will be in attendance for post-screening conversations. 

BARBARA FOREVER

Before Instagram and TikTok recorded our every waking move, there was the lesbian artist Barbara Hammer. Her films and art pieces were radical acts of self-exploration and transparency. To watch her films is to know every nook and cranny of her body and mind—literally. She was experimental in many ways—as both an avant garde artist and a queer artist whose work spanned decades.

As a young woman, she married a man and, already showing signs of her rebellious spirit, joined him on a cross country motorcycle trip. They landed in an artist’s community on the west coast, where she found herself “serving coffee” to her husband’s friends. She left him.

At that point, she was already carrying around a Super 8 camera and playing with different exposures and perspectives. Later, she met a lesbian couple—she claims she had never even heard the word “lesbian” before—and realized, hey, that’s me.

From there, her work became inextricably tied to her sexual identity. She filmed the bodies of naked women, often her own, and interviewed her many lovers, even those who were reluctant to be on camera.

Barbara Forever, directed by Brydie O’Connor, is a loving, even reverential, portrait of this remarkable artist, who wanted to leave a literal legacy of herself and those she loved, as captured on film.

The film opens with Barbara, probably in her mid-50s, fit and strong, flexing naked in front of the camera. Then we cut to a different Barbara—still naked, but bald from chemo, looking frail. And soon we see Florrie R. Burke, Hammer’s longtime partner, watching clips of her lover on film, a wistful look on her face.

Then we’re back to Hammer, now vital and young and fearless. With her spiky hair and round glasses, she resembles the artist Laurie Anderson (or perhaps vice versa). She takes another motorcycle trip around the world. She goes on the NY subway and interviews strangers. She roller skates. She disrobes, again and again—talking about what it is to be an artist, a sexual being, a human.

At nearly two hours, I found Barbara Forever a bit on the indulgent side. Then again, there were thousands of hours of source material to choose from—I’m sure whittling it down was a herculean challenge. And, much like her contemporary, Andy Warhol—an obvious corollary, though he is never mentioned in the film—Hammer was not afraid to bore her audience. She wanted her work to be poetic, hypnotic, transcendent. So perhaps this slightly too-long work makes sense. It’s immersive—just as Hammer would want it to be.

At the film’s end, we see Florrie Burke standing in front of a giant installation of and by her partner, who we understand has left this mortal coil. Hammer is naked, bald, seemingly walking through a kaleidoscopic pool of water, like an aquarium. It gives off the uncanny feeling that she’s being reborn—or has somehow transcended her human form. She’s not here anymore. And yet she will always be here. Barbara Forever.

BARBARA FOREVER screens April 11 at 5 p.m. MICA’s Fred Lazarus IV Auditorium and April 12 at 3 p.m. at the Parkway Theatre. Director Brydie O’Connor, producer Claire Edelman, and editor Matt Hixon will be in attendance for post-screening conversations.

MISPER

In the poker-faced Misper, our sad sack hero, Leonard (Samuel Blenkin), a clerk at a desiccated seaside hotel in the English countryside, does his daily rounds at a snail’s pace, methodically walking the halls as the camera patiently follows him. The hotel, called The Grand, is clearly on its last legs.

One guest compares it to The Shining. Another guest notes that the walls smell of bacon—but not, they clarify, in a good way. A new employee cheerfully calls it “a waiting room to the afterlife.” But there is, as director Harry Sherriff makes clear, a certain grandeur to its decaying beauty.

Leonard is an enervated character somewhat in the vein of Harold from Harold and Maude. On top of wandering morosely around the hotel, he sits morosely at the front desk and then spends time morosely in his spartan room. Indeed, the most avid thing he does is pine after a fellow Grand employee, Elle (Emily Carey). But even that is done somewhat tepidly.

“There’s that worried face again,” Elle says to him.

“That’s…just my face,” Leonard replies.

The film dabbles in David Lynch style surrealism—out of nowhere, Leonard stumbles upon the hotel manager, Gary (Daniel Ryan) singing karaoke to a tiny delighted audience—their smiles too wide, bordering on grotesque. (The hotel’s few guests are senior citizens, many of whom get a perverse satisfaction in complaining about its decline.)

Another member of the tiny staff seems to refuse to do work. She starts her day with a 45-minute cigarette break and sleeps in an empty room, snapping at Leonard not to bother her.

One night, Leonard gets up the nerve to ask Elle what she’s doing after work.

“Nothing,” she says expectantly. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he replies.

But that’s the extent of his nerve. They stare at each other for a painfully long minute and then she leaves. The next day, Elle has disappeared. The film is about how Leonard, and the rest of the Grand staff, deal with her mysterious absence.

Leonard becomes depressed. In a scene that incapsulates the film’s dark humor, he calls a mental health hotline. “If you need help, press the star key,” a voice intones. He looks at the phone in dismay: There is no star key.

The jokes are funny, but few and far between, and we are treated to many wide shots of people sitting around in awkward silence. The film flirts with all sorts of great ideas: how inaction can lead to crippling regret and how horrible the Missing Girl Industrial Complex can be—while all of England is luridly asking, “What Happened to Elle?” real people are hurt and suffering.

I wish the film had developed those ideas even more. That said, there’s certainly enough here for to me recommend, especially if you’re a fan of the deadpan and the exceedingly droll. But I confess I wanted to give Leonard, and indeed the entire film, a shot of adrenalin.

MISPER is set for closing night, April 12, at 7:30 p.m. at the Parkway Theatre. Director Harry Sherriff and writer/producer Laurence Tratalos will be in attendance for a post-screening conversation.

The Drama is a psychological horror film masquerading as a romcom. From the jump, something feels a little off about the “meet-cute.” At a coffee shop, Charlie (Robert Pattinson) sees Emma (Zendaya) reading a novel (The Damage by Harper Ellison, a truly excellent fake title and author). Taken with her, he does a quick google search of the book and approaches her.

“I love that book,” he says.

She ignores him. All of a sudden, he feels like all eyes in the coffee shop are on him, judging him for this hapless pick-up attempt. Time seems to freeze.

Finally, she removes her single earbud and looks at him. She explains that she’s deaf in one ear and had no idea he was even talking to her. They decide to have a do-over, a cute practice that is repeated throughout their romance. He sits back down and tries again.

Later, over dinner, he continues the ruse when she asks him for his thoughts on the ending of the novel.

“Is she dead?” Emma asks.

“Um, yeah, I think she’s dead,” Charlie says.

“And what about the mirrors?”

“Uh…the mirrors?…I think they’re, um, metaphors,” he sputters.

She stares at him, quizzically, until he finally comes clean: He hasn’t read the book. He just wanted to talk to her.

That lie, while seemingly innocent, was actually pretty dark: He wooed her under false pretenses, pretending to be something he wasn’t. Not necessarily a dealbreaker, but a red flag to be sure. What else would he lie about to get his way?

But here’s the thing: This film isn’t actually about Emma’s safety or whether or not Charlie can be trusted. It’s the opposite. You see, Charlie has told a tiny lie. Emma has been hiding a whopper.

IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILED COME BACK AND READ THE REST OF THE REVIEW AFTER YOU’VE SEEN THE FILM!

Okay, so Emma and Charlie get engaged. They’re in love—and they’re happily planning their wedding. Over a tasting dinner of mushroom risotto and too much wine with Charlie’s best man, Mike (Mamoudou Athie) and his wife, Emma’s maid of honor, Rachel (Alana Haim), they play an ill-advised game of “What is the worst thing you’ve ever done?” (I can’t emphasis enough how much you should never play this game.)

They go around the table, admitting some genuinely messed up things, until they get to Emma, who is quite drunk at this point.

“I planned a school shooting,” she says.

Charlie laughs nervously.

Then, with mounting horror, everyone around the table realizes she’s serious.

“I didn’t do it, of course,” Emma says quickly. But the damage has been done.

It’s Rachel, played with exquisite haughtiness by Haim, who storms away in disgust. As far as she’s concerned, Emma is canceled. The wedding is obviously off. And a freaked out Mike essentially agrees with her.

It’s up to Charlie to navigate his conflicting emotions. In the wedding speech he was writing, he extols Emma’s unimpeachable character, but now he thinks, does he ever know her? (There’s a wonderful scene where he begins editing out words like “kindness” and “empathy” in the speech.) He can’t reconcile the woman he thinks he is marrying with a person who would plan such an evil act.

So yes, The Drama is about the impossibility of really knowing someone. And I like the idea of a romcom morphing into a kind of “hell is other people” horror film.

But something about this film really put me off. It’s reminiscent of Tár, a film I actually loved that nonetheless had one glaring flaw. As we know, most so-called “geniuses” who get away with sexual predation are men, but Tár dared to ask the question: What if it was a woman? Flipping that paradigm seemed like provocativeness for its own sake.

It’s worse with The Drama, mostly because it’s not nearly the film Tár is. The majority of school shooters are boys. More specifically, white boys. Why on earth have a movie about a Black woman who considered such violence?

The answer is simple: It’s to center Charlie’s dilemma, his pain, his confusion. I knew without even checking that the film had been written by a man, writer/director Kristopher Borgli (Dream Scenario). The film is entirely from Charlie’s perspective as he drives himself slightly mad with uncertainty.

Pattinson, who burst on the scene playing a heartthrob vampire, has spent the rest of his career trying to undo that fact. He specializes in men on the verge of a nervous breakdown—I feel like I’ve almost never seen him in a film where he doesn’t twitch and sweat—so this is right in his wheelhouse. He’s good at playing Charlie’s increased agitation. Should he go through with the wedding or not?

The ever-captivating Zendaya has the trickier part because her inner life is intentionally opaque—that’s part of the puzzle of the film. We’re supposed to at least entertain the notion that Emma could actually be psychopath, not just a woman who had a troubled adolescence who briefly lost her way.

Zendaya does the best she can with this cryptic character, but I found the whole premise of The Drama off-putting.

Yes, the otherness of our lovers is rich material to mine. But the shock value of this film overpowered its ideas. (It’s like that old fashion insult: “You’re not wearing the jacket. The jacket is wearing you.”) By embracing an outlier and taking the premise to such an extreme, the film lost its grip—both on reality and my interest.

A sellout crowd. Sunny, 75-degree weather. Orange everywhere. The Oriole Bird bouncing around the seats.

Orioles season is so back, and courtesy of $135 million in public funds from the state, Oriole Park at Camden Yards has gotten some serious upgrades since the end of last season. Fans will notice the new amenities—look no further than the state-of-the-art scoreboard (more on that later)—but rest assured, the ballpark hasn’t lost its charm and character.

Of course, the roster got a refresh, too, with additions like veteran slugging first baseman Pete Alonso, who joins an O’s homegrown core intent on returning to the playoffs under first-year manager Craig Albernaz. 

On Thursday, with Orioles starting pitcher Trevor Rogers allowing only three hits over seven innings and new closer Ryan Helsey getting his first save, all the O’s needed from their offense to win was an RBI sacrifice fly from Colton Cowser and an RBI single from Blaze Alexander. 

After taking in the season opener from the field—as well as from the stands, Splash Zone, and the newly relocated Jim Henneman Press Box—we compiled five of our favorite new things at Camden Yards.

New Faces (and Walk-Up Songs) 
Upon signing a five-year, $155 million contract with the Orioles this winter—just the type of move fans have been longing for under Baltimore native David Rubenstein’s ownership—Alonso spent several weeks searching for a new walk-up song that would play before his at-bats at Camden Yards. 

In front of 42,134 fans on Thursday afternoon, we found out what he landed on—and it’s perfect.

Alonso walked to home plate to the crescendo of “Birds” by Baltimore’s own Grammy-award winning hardcore punk band, Turnstile. “It is perfect,” Alonso told us in the clubhouse after the game. 

Here’s how it came together: Alonso knows Turnstile guitarist Pat McCrory through mutual friends, and they met in December in Baltimore when Alonso visited town to take his physical and complete the O’s free-agent signing of him. An easygoing conversation in February, recorded by the O’s, hatched the idea to use “Birds.” 

“Turnstile is sick. They’re a great band,” Alonso said. “I know they’re a Baltimore band. Them winning a Grammy is big-time. I’m happy to represent.” 

The standing ovation that fans gave him before his first at-bat, as “Birds” played, was a “dream come true,” he said. “It’s such a blessing and I’m happy we got the win for them today. He added, “It felt like a movie today. There’s a lot of excitement with this group of guys and this team. You could really feel that from the fans. It was electric today.”

The good vibes didn’t quite carry into the batter’s box, though. At least not yet. 

Alonso struck out in his first two career Orioles plate appearances against Minnesota Twins starter Joe Ryan (and later flew out to the warning track in the eighth inning). But, hey, it’s early. The 31-year-old, who left the New York Mets, has a strong track record that suggests the hits will ramp up soon enough. 

The Scoreboard
Undeniably, the most noticeable difference at Camden Yards this season is the giant videoboard in center field. It’s two-and-a-half times larger than the previous scoreboard, which was the smallest in pro baseball. And it was dated. Even the eagle-ist of eyes could have trouble seeing the correct score in years past, especially during the day. But no problem anymore. 

Built by Daktronics, the board is now the 12th-largest in MLB, allowing fans at the park to easily view everything those at home might see on television, including the new ball-and-strikes challenge system. Plus it’s easier to see in-person exclusives, like a reimagined crab shuffle. (In related news, ICYMI, relish took the first live hot-dog race win of the year.) 

“The goal here wasn’t to go crazy or try to have the biggest in the country,” Orioles president of business operations Catie Griggs said of the scoreboard. “That’s not what Camden Yards is. We feel this is right sized for our ballpark.”  

Which still means big. For scale, it’s the equivalent size of 800 55-inch TVs. 

The Other Side of the Scoreboard
A giant image of a uniformed Gunnar Henderson at bat, part of a new multi-year sponsorship deal between the Orioles and Under Armour, now greets fans coming in off Gate H on Eutaw Street, with the tagline, “This is our yard.”  

Henderson saw it for the first time on Tuesday. “Pretty cool,” he said when we asked him about the signage, thanking both the Orioles and Under Armour. But is he comfortable with his sizeable stature—both real and symbolic—over the team (and fans) out in centerfield?

“Yeah,” he said, as if there was no question. “It’s really special.”

Now, for the next thing. A long-term contract between Henderson and the O’s…

A Lot of New TVs, and a Brand-New Sound System
No more squinting at the screens on the concourse for a peek of the action while you’re grabbing a dog or refilling your beer. There are now 600 modern TVs around the ballpark, programmable with on-demand video and other information (like what items are sold-out at concessions).  

And you can hear everything now, too. The stadium’s long-beleaguered sound system has finally been fully revamped with 900 new speakers. The radio broadcast piped in through the system—for example, on Thursday, the play-by-play voice of Brett Hollander—provides a great atmosphere while out of your seat. 

Something for Everyone, from Premium Club Access to Budget-Friendly Bites
Visuals and audio aside, many of the stadium upgrades appeal to higher-income clientele, most notably, the Truist Club. Replacing the old press box behind home plate, the ballpark’s first-ever premium club seats around 350 in an upscale restaurant-style setting. The price tag is around $15,000 for 40 games, according to O’s officials, which works out to around $375 per ticket. 

“We do want this to be a ballpark for everyone, we recognize there are people for whom this is the experience they wanted, and we weren’t able to offer it,” said Griggs, noting that Camden Yards was one of two MLB stadiums without a premium club previously. 

The club/suites level also got a refresh, most significantly with a pair of large bars overlooking the field at the end of the first and third baselines.

Throughout the stadium, new food items on deck include crab smash tacos; Yakamein (stir-fried udon noodles with grilled shrimp, onions, and hot dog slices in a soy sauce gravy); and a Japanese cheesesteak from Washington, D.C.-based chef Katsuya Fukushima, featuring a sweet soy broth and fresh toasted roll. (Highly recommend.) 

Thankfully, last season’s fan-favorite value menu is back, as well. Simple food and drink items (like the humble hot dog, peanuts, refillable soda cup, and 12-ounce domestic beer) are available for under $5. And many eats from local restaurants have returned for another year, as well, like Ekiben, Attman’s Deli, Stuggy’s, and, of course, Boog’s BBQ. 

A New Favorite Pre-Game Personality
We must mention one more favorite of the day—109-year-old Baltimorean Arthur Green, who tossed a ceremonial first pitch to a raucous ovation. Yes, 109. I chatted with him briefly before the game. He laughed with affirmation when I said he’s seen a lot of what’s happened in Baltimore.  

Green, a World War II and Korean War veteran, then ditched his walker to stroll onto the grass and effort a pitch toward Henderson at home plate. He was then greeted with more ovation by fans as he took his seat down the left field line. 

Yes, people, Birdland bliss is back at a refreshed Camden Yards. 

“The crowd was awesome,” Albernaz said after his first win as O’s manager, which really culminated afterward when players put him in a clubhouse cart and showered him with beer and soap. “The whole place was electric today. There was no down in the game. The whole day was awesome.” 

Once news hit that Herman’s Bakery would be closing its doors on March 31 after a 103-year run—due to its owners wanting to slow down and prioritize their health—customers formed lines out the door to stock up on their favorite fudge-topped cookies, strawberry shortcake, and German chocolate cake.

It’s no wonder why. Herman’s has been revered by Baltimore for generations. But for me, it’s a family legacy—all credited to the perseverance of a quiet but ambitious immigrant who found success despite minimal education.

The history of Herman’s begins with Harry’s Bakery in East Baltimore. It’s namesake, Harry Francis Herman, who we called “Grandpop,” was born in Russia in 1886 of Polish decent. He came to the United States “on the boat” when he was six years old, likely due to extenuating family circumstances. He was sent to Baltimore by his biological parents to live with a family he didn’t know.

His Polish name was Waclaw Grzeskowiak, and it’s still something of a family mystery as to why he changed it to Harry F. Herman. Grandpop’s naturalization papers were certified in 1918. He was described as “a short (5’5”) 32-year-old.” His indoctrination to the United States required him to denounce Czar Nicholas II of Russia.

In 1923, Grandpop opened Harry’s Bakery in a converted rowhouse on the corner of Fleet Street and Montford Avenue, on the fringe of Highlandtown and just a block south of Patterson Park. His family was growing, and he had to provide for them. He had apprenticed as a baker and knew the local clientele, so opening a bakery was an obvious choice.

It was a neighborhood where transplants from Poland, Lithuania, and Ukraine settled and united as a community. They loved Grandpop’s baked goods and fresh bread. Grandmoms in their babushkas would be greeted by my Aunt Dene with “Good Morning” or “Good Afternoon, Panie,” which means lady in Polish.

The year he achieved citizenship, Grandpop and his wife, Mary (age 28), already had four children. (Another was yet to be born). The youngest at the time was their son (my uncle), Harry James Herman, who was only three months old, but would ultimately become the heir apparent to the family business.

After working for his father for several years, my uncle realized that Dundalk was booming. It was the late ’50s, when big employers like Bethlehem Steel attracted a melting pot reminiscent of the East Baltimore neighborhood that had enabled Harry’s Bakery to thrive. In 1958, with his wife Sophia right by his side, Uncle Harry made the bold move to open Herman’s Bakery in Dundalk, ironically 40 years after his father became a U.S. citizen. Grandpop’s store, Harry’s, continued operating until 2003.

The façade of the new bakery on Holabird Avenue—with the business name spelled in block letters under retro-styled arches—became a local landmark. It started the expansion and contraction of the business, which at one time had locations in Baltimore-area malls including Golden Ring, Kenilworth, White Marsh, Hunt Valley, and Eastpoint. Compared to Harry’s little rowhouse cubical, which the family had to expand by taking out the first floor living room, the Dundalk store was huge. People came and went with regularity, and there rarely was a lull.

Uncle Harry’s children—Cassandra, Harry Jr., and Harriet—were a tad young to work in the bakery when it first opened, but that changed soon enough. Cassandra and Harry became fixtures, especially in the business’ heyday with its six locations. Eventually, so did their children, and their children. Four generations benefitted from the family affair. Customers were more like friends, and Herman’s products were in high demand for weddings, birthdays, and anniversaries.

Cassandra and Harry Jr. continued an active presence in recent years. But Cassandra’s daughter, Adrienne Porcella, has become the chief baker and “keeper of the formulas”—a term she uses to describe the time-honored recipes, some of which have been inspired by Old World techniques Uncle Harry picked up while in Europe.

I have many happy Herman family memories, including gathering around my grandparents’ kitchen every Saturday night for crabs and beer, and packaging fresh-baked cookies at Christmas time.

Through it all, Herman’s Bakery has been the thread that tied us together. But there would never have been a Herman’s without the vision of that young Polish immigrant Waclaw Grzeskowiak.

Mary Jo Tarallo was Ski Editor for the Evening Sun during the 80s, and she worked for the ski industry for almost 30 years after leaving the paper. She also worked for several nonprofits in the Baltimore area including United Way of Central Maryland, where she won a Gold Award for a campaign television show that starred Oprah Winfrey and Richard Sher.

With their new restaurant on the corner of 36th Street and Elm Avenue in Hampden, Ben, Amy, and Jake Lefenfeld have headed east of their beloved Basque region to the Italian coast.

Starting on April 2, Seppia will be open for daily dinner service. The new 250-seat restaurant has been several years in the making and is one of the most eagerly anticipated openings of the year, especially since a January fire temporarily closed the Lefenfeld’s Basque-based La Cuchara in Hampden-Woodberry.

Seppia (pronounced sep-e-a), named for the cuttlefish commonly found in the Mediterranean Sea, is set inside the G.C. Murphy Five and Dime building. The historic 1901 structure was at one time a stable and last home to the Five & Dime Ale House.

“We decided to purchase the building after looking at it,” says Ben. “We love the neighborhood and have been right down the street for 11 years now at La Cuchara. We thought it was a great opportunity to expand and put down very long-term roots within the community.”

With the help of Charles Patterson, director of design at SM+P Architects, the space underwent a full renovation that included moving the staircase, demolishing a portion of the second floor to create a 50-foot high ceiling, and refurbishing an old elevator that will now serve as a dumbwaiter to ferry various items from the restaurant’s basement kitchen and a wine cave, which will double as a private dining space.

An original terra cotta wall has been restored and is now showcased behind the bar. And the restaurant’s interior is all aglow with its sea green, gold, and caramel color palette, plus warm chestnut wood and brass finishes.

The driving force for a second spot, says Ben, was to provide new opportunities for their team.

“We were losing talent, because they were outgrowing us,” says the chef. “We needed a place to allow for people to rise up in the company.”

“Pasta is something special—it’s not the kind of thing you bring home and reheat. It’s in the moment of the technique and the freshness of it—there’s something a little mystical about that.”

The bulk of the menu will focus predominantly on pasta, both hand-rolled and extruded.

“I’ve always loved Italian food and fresh pasta,” says Ben. “Pasta is something special—it’s not the kind of thing you bring home and reheat. It’s in the moment of the technique and the freshness of it—there’s something a little mystical about that.”

To that end, Ben is currently hard at work in the kitchen refining his recipes for crispy artichoke lasagna with spinach, béchamel, and sugo di Pomodoro; ruffled-edge mafaldine with squid ink; and casarecce pasta (short noodles with curled edges) with venison ragù.

Seafood dishes also abound, including acciughe al verde (that’s Spanish-cured anchovies soaked in a green sauce of lemon, toasted garlic, olive oil, and parsley); frito misto (a variety of fried shellfish including cuttlefish, calamari, shrimp, and zucchini); and tuna crudo with chile crunch, fermented chiles, and tangerines.

A clever Buffalo milk ricotta “palette” starter is a canvas for a variety of accompaniments such as pistachio pesto, confit tomato, roasted garlic, and roasted shallots.

For the chef, culinary inspiration comes from research, experimentation, and especially travel. In 2024 and 2025, Ben and his wife, Amy, taste-tested their way all over the Boot Country.

“We started in Venice, we went to Abruzzo all along the Amalfi coast, stopped in Genoa and Vernona,” he says. “We went to Bologna. So many of the ideas for this menu came from the Ligurian coast.”

The menu will also change with the seasons. “We’ll be focusing on dishes and inspirations from Northern Italy in the wintertime and going to the south in the summertime,” says Ben, “but we want to utilize the best ingredients possible, so we’re going to see where that takes us from the starting point that we have right now.”

Ben sees the cuttlefish as an apt symbol for Seppia. “It just evokes a feeling of freshness, of salinity, of the ocean. It defines what we are going after.”

The cocktail program will be equally innovative with some 330 wines, predominantly from Italy but also other Mediterranean countries including Spain, France, Portugal, and Croatia. (On Sundays, wines $100 or more will be half-priced, with featured wines 25 percent off Monday through Thursday.) A quintet of martinis, from dirty to dry, will round out the beverage side of the menu.

The restaurant is named after the cuttlefish—a cross between a squid and octopus hybrid—because of Ben’s fascination with the mystical marine animal.

“I’ve been snorkeling before in the Caribbean and seen them,” he says. “They change color so they can camouflage with the rocks and if you’re swimming with them, all the other fish will be swaying with the waves and moving with the current, but the cuttlefish stays in one spot. It’s extremely intelligent and has a vision spectral color range, that is more than any other species on Earth.”

Ben sees the cuttlefish as an apt symbol for Seppia. “It just evokes a feeling of freshness, of salinity, of the ocean. It defines what we are going after,” he says.

After the opening, Ben is looking forward to getting back to the kitchen at La Cuchara, as well, though there’s no timeline just yet for reopening.

“We’ve been cleared by the powers that be to start rebuilding,” he says. “We’ve cleaned up all the fire debris except for the hood [where the fire is believed to have started] that the insurance company wants to take another look at. And then we are waiting on quotes to put a new duct run in for the wood grill. Once we have that quote and get an okay from the landlord to do it, we’ll have a much better timeline in terms of reopening.”