Dining Review: Sam’s on the Waterfront

We all know the cliché about restaurants with a sightline to the water: fabulous view, lousy food. Sure, there are all kinds of exceptions—like those spectacular but humble lobster shacks along the coast of Maine—but let's face it, sometimes restaurateurs blessed with waterfront footage let the view do all the work. Not so at Sam's on the Waterfront, a longtime waterside cafe on the outskirts of Annapolis (which lately seems to have become the restaurant capital of Maryland) that recently changed owners. Perched alongside the Chesapeake Harbour Marina in a gated community, Sam's features food that's good enough to make hunting this place down a worthwhile expenditure of time. (Ask for directions beforehand or you'll never find it.)
In truth, you probably wouldn't seek out Sam's if it weren't for the food—not unless you lived nearby or were a hungry sailor looking for a place to dock the boat. The water view, highlighted by a wall of large picture windows, is nice enough but hardly a sweeping panorama of storm-tossed waves and sparkling beaches. What you'll see is a tiny harbor ringed by condos. Tranquil, and pretty at night when lights reflect off the water, but there are more spectacular views to be had in these parts.
Similarly, the neutral-driftwood nautical décor is a study in perfectly preserved 80's retro (Sam's was built in 1986), just right for sitting around the bar for rousing choruses of "Margaritaville."
Not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, it's a great setting for low-down fun: on Friday nights, a rowdy but congenial crowd gathers for live—and loud—jazz and impromptu sing-alongs. Other nights, although the place is quieter and more intimate, there's still the feeling of a neighborhood hangout—yes, a very yacht-y hangout, but casual nonetheless. However, this may not be true by the time you see it; new owner Andrew Parks (he's the grandson of the restaurant's namesake), who bought the place last year, has plans to redecorate the place. He wants the surroundings to match the menu, whose the quality and inventiveness he has already kicked up—it now boasts distinctly un-hangout-like offerings.
Chef Ahmed Koroma, whose resume includes stints as chef de cuisine at the Ritz Carlton and the Bethesda Country Club, knows how to create elegant food with luxurious ingredients. Much of it uses regional ingredients—the requisite crabcakes and rockfish—but with imaginative twists that up the "wow" factor considerably, like an oyster stew Señor M ordered to begin the meal one night. Sparkling fresh Chesapeake oysters floated in a creamy broth dotted with a brunoise of Yukon gold potatoes, carrots, celery, and lacy fennel fronds. What was that elusive touch of liquor? Anisette, our waiter volunteered. Of course—to complement those fennel fronds. Rich, delicious, and different. My simple but perfectly prepared ahi tuna featured rare slices arranged to conceal a bright pile of seaweed salad in bracing lemon-soy dressing and silky shiitakes.
Another night, we couldn't resist the luxe attraction of lobster mac-and-cheese, snowy hunks of the noble crustacean enrobed in lobster-infused béchamel and gratineed with asiago, parmesan, and mascarpone. A little over-the-top for an appetizer, but honestly, what could be better than that combination?
Well, entrées come pretty close. My special of cedar-planked Scottish salmon bathed in an Irish whiskey glaze would probably rile both Irish and Scottish partisans (does Chef Koroma do an Irish salmon in Scotch glaze on alternate nights?), but it's wicked good. There's a clever counterpoint of flavors at play: the fragrant cedar, the honeyed whiskey, the moist and creamy fish. A side of colcannon—potatoes laced with kale—adds a note of smokiness and puts the plate firmly on the western side of the Irish Sea. Señor M's herb-roasted Cornish hen is a delicately tender little bird sided with tangy cheese grits that have the heft of polenta, and a mound of decadently soothing creamed spinach.
Another night, another bird: this time, M's show-stopping duck three ways. A black bento box holds four compartments, each yielding up a treasure: crisp-skinned confit of leg in heady fig gastrique, a savory slab of duck pâté glazed with sweet-tart cherry mostarda, rare duck breast in balsamic reduction, a nest of hearty red cabbage. We're all over the way the deep, fruity flavors bring out the savory gaminess of the duck, the beautiful presentation, the textural and flavor contrasts among the different preparations.
Meanwhile, I'm definitely happy with my steak Diane, even though the dish was not prepared tableside (as it once was in the great old days of "Continental" restaurants), and even though it combined elements of steak au poivre with the traditional Diane's brandied Dijon sauce. Luckily, the peppercorns were dusted sparingly over the terrific piece of New York strip—I always wondered why anyone would mask a perfectly good steak with a thick coat of asbestos-proof heat.
When dessert time came, we were tempted by the sight of what was obviously the duo of chocolate mousses in chocolate cup with berries and Chantilly crème at the next table. Wow. Unfortunately, we'd just had a massive 14-ounce rib-eye. Did this mean we'd have to bypass sweet stuff altogether, even the white chocolate and California raisin bread pudding? Yep. Too full. In an uncharacteristic fit of restraint, M and I shared a dessert special of spice-roasted pears with crème anglaise. We were not sorry; despite the dearth of chocolate, it was delicious and healthy (okay, sort of healthy). Add to the impressive roster of desserts an extensive and affordable wine list and quietly professional service, and you have a nice surprise in this improbable and unassuming venue. Water view or not, Sam's is a find.