A Guy Named Renfield

For birthdays or other special occasions, I like to create puzzles for my wife to find that will give her clues as to where her gift is hidden. When I have the time, I like to make puzzles that lead to other puzzles, so that she will really have to work to find it. (That can get tricky, let me tell ya.) Here is the latest one I gave her:

End of the Man From UNCLE’s title


Hammer to the second power


Element #15


Upside-down schwa


Pirate hearsay


Three-way intersection


Beginning of an Irish end


You


Operatic solo, minus the vowels


Single Morse dot

Bertha's is one of those institutional restaurants: it's been around since before the gentrification of Fells Point, its quaint charming atmosphere stems from the original wood floors and the maze created by fitting the restaurant into the original living space, and its known for a simple specialty: mussels. It's that last reason why I've never liked them much.

The problem with the mussels is that they come with a variety of different sauces you can order. It's a problem because they are dipping sauces served on the side. Mussels are great served on a broth, so even if you choose a style that will last through your entire bowl (garlic butter extends far enough, but the Spanish style is so thick you use it up after two bites), there is still nothing to dip your bread into, and that's half the joy of messy seafood. They have solved this problem by offering daily mussel specials, with the mussels actually cooked in a broth. The last time I was there i had some that were cooked in a medley including Old Bay, and they were magnificent.

The real special shout out is for the fact that they are the only restaurant in Baltimore -as far as I know- that serves their Guinness at room temperature. Well, cellar temperature they call it, probably to avoid trouble with the health inspectors. They do the same thing with their house bitter, which has a wonderful flavor and would not be as smooth served chilled. I'm surprised more places don't use that trick, including the Irish pub they sit practically cattycorner to.

I was reminded of an incident last summer. I was picking basil from our garden, and suddenly felt a sting on one of my fingers. I immediately ran inside to the kitchen.

“What’s good for a bee sting?” I asked my wife.

“Use the meat tenderizer,” she replied.

“I’m not going to whack my hand with a mallet,” I said incredulously. “It hurts enough already.”

Of course, she meant the meat tenderizer in the bottle on the spice rack…