The endless rain didn’t stop my crab cake quest. After consulting Yelp, I decided on Sobo Café and we headed downtown around 12:30.

Sobo Café is nondescript on the outside, but inside it’s funky and inviting, with blue and white walls, hardwood floors, and eclectic music, from reggae to rap, playing overhead. I took a window seat and watched as a man with shoes and no socks washed another man’s car in the rain.

When I saw the lunch menu, my heart sank. No crab cakes!

“I drove all the way from California to have a crab cake and heard that yours are the best. Any way you could make an exception?” I asked the waiter.

He consulted the owner, Brent, who came over to my table.

“Yeah, I can do a crab cake for you. Usually it’s $21 at dinner, how about $13?” he said.

I nodded appreciatively. I would’ve paid dinner price happily, I just wanted a crab cake.

“You want a big salad with that?”

The man was reading my mind.

Ten minutes later, a plate was laid before me.



Crab cake heaven

I bit into the softest white roll imaginable and nearly cried in delight. The crab cake wasn’t cake, it was almost all lump crabmeat, sweet, tender, juicy, briny, held together with the barest of breadcrumbs and lightly fried in butter for a luscious salty tang. I added the piquant homemade tartar sauce with capers and wow…quite possibly the best meal I’ve had on this trip. The fresh baby greens with a homemade feta vinaigrette were awesome, too. I thanked Brent and the waiter profusely.

“I wish you were human sometimes, Loren, so you could have ate that with me,” I told my faithful companion, who waited in the truck so I could indulge. Since it had stopped raining and we were close to the harbor, we found a parking spot and went for a walk.

The Baltimore Harbor looks a bit like I would imaging Sydney does, just in smaller scale - glimmering high rises, shiny yachts, historical ships at the ready for tourists, lots of shops and restaurants. There were many field trips happening simultaneously, so it was a bit tough to cut through the crowds, especially when some of the kids were yelling, “Pit Bull!” with a mixture of fear and excitement.

Baltimore Harbor


"Your hair...I can't bear it...must look away..."

We stayed for about 20 minutes, until the sprinkles started and a mad dash was made back to the car. I was so full, all I had for dinner was a Wendy’s baked potato and a peach for dessert.

On the 11 o’ clock news, the anchor announced that Baltimore was no longer America’s deadliest city. Good to know! It had moved to second place and for the life of me, I can’t remember who’s first. New Orleans?

That’s the weird thing about some of these big cities - you know that there’s poverty and addiction and crime all around - you can see it in the eyes of people - and feel it in the air - in spots. Then, one minute, you’re driving along and locking your doors, and the next, you’re in high roller territory.

On our way to Philly this morning, after I went to a Baltimore 7-11 where a sign read “Please remove your hoods,” we took a detour through a suburban area rife with brick houses and endless lawns. Out of nowhere, there were dozens of Orthodox Jewish families walking on the street, pushing baby strollers, kids in tow, the men and boys in suits and hats. One man was wearing a massive furry Russian-looking thing similar to Fred Flintstone’s “Grand Poobah” hat. The woman were decked out in black dresses, with simple, barrette-held long hair. Where did they come from? Where were they going?

Gidget the GPS took us straight to Pat’s “King of Steaks” in Philly, where, miraculously, I scored a killer parking spot right across the street. It was exciting, like I had reached some sort of culinary Mecca. Throngs of people were eating at tables and on a stainless metal counter. I ordered my cheesesteak - having studied in advanced - a pepper steak with (onions) and Whiz. Within 20 seconds, it was waiting for me.

The scene at Pat's...make it snappy!

“That’s mine?” I asked the no-nonsense cashier.

“Yeah,“ he said a bit impatiently.

“Really?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said again. I imagined his full reply would be “Yeah, you stupid tourist, take your sandwich and move on. You’re holding up the line.” If only he had the time.

The real deal


A girl & her cheese steak

The first few bites were amazing - cheesy, oily, salty, juicy, beefy goodness melding into the pillowy white roll. The problem was, the cheese didn’t trickle down to the bottom, so some bites were just beef, and when that was the case, the sandwich was, I’m sorry to say, mediocre. I’ve had better at Philly’s Best in Santa Clarita. (I’m sure I’m going to get hate email over this). I wrapped up the plain beef in a napkin for Loren.

While standing at the counter, I did meet a nice man and his daughter from Canada. He lived in Philly for 10 years and told me while it’s safe during the day, he wouldn’t go out at night.

“They’ve killed 8 cops here in the last year,” he said in disbelief.

Maybe it was Philly that was the deadliest city?

No worries. We’re not staying downtown, we’re in the burbs by one of the largest malls in America. Fortunately, I am not a shopper, so this is not alluring to me. We drove by the Liberty Bell on our way to the hotel, but it was packed with tourists. Tomorrow, we’ll head out first thing in the a.m. and try to beat the crowds.

Instead, we ventured over to Valley Forge National Historical Park, which allows leashed dogs throughout it’s massive acreage. While we couldn’t go inside the Visitor’s Center, which shows an 18-minute film every half hour, we could wander the many trails.

Miss Thang was excited, at first, as she always is, to go for a walk. However, her stamina is not very good. It’s a nice day, not too hot, but she was panting before we passed the ½ mile mark.

I spied a cannon in the distance, so we trudged over there for a photo opp. I imagined what it would be like to have fought on this land, with these weapons, and really can’t fathom it. War is bad enough nowadays, with all it’s clinical, high-tech weaponry. Back then, it was practically hand to hand combat. Not as gnarly as “Braveheart” but still…it must have been horrifying.

"Now that's a big gun!"

We came across another cannon and a young couple in the distance, who were tending to a sick bird they had found. (I hope the bird makes it). I asked the man to take our picture and he did so happily.


"Didn't I just do the cannon thing?"

After the shot, Loren flirted shamelessly with Brendan until he gave her hugs and kisses.


"That's it...a little more to the right...ah..."

Across the way, there were several encampment houses. Small, dank, smelling of cedar and dirt, there were bunk beds and minimal amenities. They are replicated huts, as the originals were tore down by the British in 1777, but they made the point.

Not exactly the Ritz.

Since Loren was plopping down for a break almost any chance that she got, I decided to cut the tour short and go back to the car. We took an off-path grass trail and when Loren stopped, I did, too, taking a moment to appreciate the almost angelic clouds and gorgeous blue sky.


"Hallelujah!"

A little air conditioning and a lot of water put Loren back in form, so we drove to the National Memorial Arch, dedicated in 1917 to the “patience and fidelity” of the soldiers who wintered at Valley Forge. Indeed.

Tomorrow, it's NYC for an adoption event at Happy Paws Pet Resort and Monday, a shelter event at Animal Haven. Yeah. My people.