my hair was bright yellow and my power level was over 2 million. Its going to be a good day.

“Don’t drink the water.” It’s a common phrase, usually said in jest. Heck, it’s even the name of a DMB song. These four words have become a part of our American culture, a snooty sneer at countries with lesser water purification systems. It is easy, then, to forget the true meaning of this phrase, and to merely assimilate it into our pop culture.

Folks, I am here to tell you that this phrase is not a hip trend or a mere play thing for our amusement. Other such trends have perished at the hands of time: Airwalk, polygamy, L.A. Gear, flapper dresses, Huffy, white bell bottoms with a glowing afro and a huge piece of gold hanging around your neck, to name just a few. But the phrase “Don’t drink the water” will not fade. It will remain a part of our lives colloquially and substantively simply because it is true. It is not a mere ploy, a joke, a cliche, or a subtle advertising campaign for Evian. When you hear “Don’t drink the water,” then don’t drink the water.

Perhaps it was the ice, or perhaps it was some bit of water in the food, freshly sprayed vegetables even. Maybe it was the mouthful of water I accidentally swallowed while swimming in the Mexican caves of Cuzama. All I can tell you is that the Gulf of Mexico never looked so nauseating from 40,000 feet as it did last week.

So please, heed my warning and all future warnings, embedded in song lyrics or advertisements though they may be. If someone tells you not to drink the water, don’t assume they are attempting to make a funny. Take their warning at face value. A little dehydration in the beginning can save you a week of life-threatening dehydration later.

Baltimore. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning for absolutely nothing, happy with the epic fail that is their lives.” Sure, when we think of Baltimore, we think of Scranton-esque hellhole. But we at chicken and rice wanted to discover what lurked beneath its unpolished surface–what diamonds in the rough still glimmered in the colonial port. We found crabs.

They feed on their dead.  Nature’s roombas, the bottom-feeders consume the detritus of the ocean.  However, in one of the most beautiful violations of the garbage-in garbage-out paradigm, these crustaceans are delicious.  The crabcakes in Baltimore were unequivocally superior to any I had ever tasted.  The seasoning brought out the true flavor of the crab without overwhelming it, and a lightly fried exterior added to the texture of the dish.  The care and attention to detail in the presentation was truly surprising, and definitely added to the experience.

Friends, there are many things we can say about Baltimore. But I think the one we can all agree on it that the city knows its bottom-feeders. The state of Maryland gets a 8.5/10 for having the foresight to never clean up the city of Baltimore, where nature’s trash collectors and America’s trash have formed a symbiotic relationship which can only be described as delicious. Hats off, and a strong recommendation to visit the great city for lunch, and leave shortly after.  The aquarium is pretty cool too.