Where a password is not required
There’s more to Fells Point than rowdy bars, writes Christine Dell’Amore
TWO minutes into my stay at the Sagamore Pendry Baltimore, I’m whispering a secret password to the bartender. “Here’s your history,” he says, splashing a healthy dollop of whiskey into my glass of ginger-infused fruit juice.
Okay, okay, I admit the free cocktail is simply restitution for my room not being ready. But it does make a gal feel special.
And that password is apropos – Fells Point, hon, has history galore. The Sagamore, which opened earlier this year at Recreation Pier, was built in 1914 at the core of this boisterous waterfront district. In its early days, many immigrants to Baltimore disembarked through “Rec Pier”, which doubled as their dance hall and social centre. In the 1990s, the TV series
used the pier’s headhouse as a police station; it fell vacant until 2014, when Under Armour chief executive Kevin Plank purchased the complex with plans for a 128-room boutique hotel. He named it after the nearby Sagamore Farm, the source for his spring-fed Sagamore Spirit Rye Whiskey.
I’m impressed by local touches, such as a wall writ large with the fourth – and often forgotten – verse of
written by Francis Scott Key in this very harbour during the War of 1812. The long hallway to the lobby is sprinkled with symbols of Maryland – a thoroughbred, blue crab, baseball player, Edgar Allan Poe.
I stopped at the hotel’s buzzing Rec Pier Chop House, an Italian restaurant with an expansive view of Thames Street. Since I’d booked a 9.45pm reservation online – the earliest available – I asked if they could squeeze me in before. Sure, the host assured me, come any time. Sweet.
My room was so new I had to touch everything: cloud-like linen, leather settee with octopus accent pillows, darkgrained wood furniture, cool marble sink, streaked charcoal granite, shiny fixtures. The minibar tempted me with Heavy Seas and Flying Dog beers, Utz Old Bay potato chips and Kinderhook mixed nuts. (The prices, though, quieted my growling stomach.) A paper on my bed announced that the Sagamore is environmentally conscious; the bathroom was stocked with sleek, refillable bottles of MiN New York products and the espresso machine came with compostable cups.
I decided on a workout before dinner. I was awed anew by the hotel’s top-of-theline equipment still unsplattered with sweat. The 24-hour fitness centre is on the way to the pool, so people constantly stream by. And the rows of bottled water, with no water fountain – or even recycling bin – were decidedly non-eco.
A quick shower and change and in no time I was swirling my Biscotti Old Fashioned – Sagamore Spirit, Faretti Biscotti Liqueur, and aromatic and chocolate bitters – at the high-ceilinged Rec Pier Chophouse. Continuing the Maryland theme, I chose the blue crab linguine. It was fantastic. For a nightcap, I crossed the lobby to the hotel’s whiskey lounge, the Cannon Bar. Over a Last Word – gin, green Chartreuse, maraschino and lime – I asked the bartender about the black cannon illuminated in a glass case at the entrance. He told me that it’s very real, dating to the 1600s and one of three discovered under Rec Pier.
Such is a dichotomy of the Sagamore: The history is at once obvious and hidden. Without plaques or exhibits or literature, the onus is on you to learn what