I must admit, while calamari tastes great, the acrid smell of raw squid is enough to make the nose twitch. That's what happened when Errol and I walked into the squid dissection class and the rank little cephalopods were plopped onto our plates. This may be normal for folks into food preparation, but for us it was a first-time experience, and seeing the slimy tentacles terminating in blue-black ink emissions pooling on the plate was enough to bring up fond thoughts of eating spinach. I sat there poking the critter with some level of morbid fascination, which I think may have led to Errol's decision to briefly leave the room under the guise of a "phone call."

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Off the coast of Maryland, deep in the waters of the Chesapeake, sits an island that goes by the name of Smith. Accessible only by ferry, this place is a reminder of the life of fishermen's days gone by.

Broken down and abandoned crab and fishery shacks pop up along the marshes that surround the villages of Tylerton, Ewell, and Rhodes Point; graying wood and collapsed ceilings, with pelicans and seagulls perched on the pylons that were once docks or fishing piers.

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One Friday afternoon, we had the luxury to be taken out by a few Ocean City locals (our web gurus, Full City Media) to a late lunch at The Shark.

In the process, we were able to assist a charter boat in need. So, about ten strapping young men, and one strapping young woman stepped outside of local restaurant, and helped the captain and his crew put the fiberglass roof back on the boat.

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