Long, long post about a short trip to Rehoboth

This weekend my wife and I packed the kids in the car and took a day trip down to Rehoboth Beach, my bad back and all. Apparently several other DC area people had the same idea, because the trip took an extra half hour and 404 was crawling. I drove down because I knew I was going to get myself good and medicated to survive the day and wouldn't be able to drive back. When we finally parked down near the boardwalk rides, I could hardly lift myself out of the car. I felt like I needed a pair of pastel pants pulled up to somewhere just south of my nipples and some beige tassel loafers to match the way I was moving. That's where percocet comes in. A few ibuprofen and some percocet and I was making like Gene Kelly in Singin' in the Rain (not Gene Kelly in Xanadu).

I've always liked Rehoboth, ever since I was a kid and my parents would drive up for one day during our regular vacation in Ocean City, Maryland. Tip for any parents out there: the rides in Ocean City are a rip-off; a ticket will run you about $1.25 and most rides take three tickets or so. In Rehoboth, tickets are 25 cents and no ride is more than five tickets; the small kiddie rides are 1 or 2 tickets.

Rehoboth is a study in contradictions. First, it's a "family resort," which generally translates to quiet, safe, and traditional, but it's also a homosexual mecca, with "Out Gear and More" holding a prominent spot on the main drag and gay bars tucked into side streets. And that combination works in Rehoboth. Second, it's a major destination for DC area residents so it has a metropolitan sensibility: design stores, upscale clothing boutiques, and fine restaurants. At the same time, it's chock full of tacky t-shirt shacks and it has a Hooters franchise.

It's gotten more upscale in the past five years or so, and I would guess that it's because more Washingtonians and Baltimorons are either purchasing second homes there or figuring 2 and a half hours each way isn't a bad drive even in the off season.

However, what's interesting is that it's also imported some of the tackiness more associated with Ocean City. Did I mention the Hooters?

Me, I like the Rehoboth of my youth, but it's not coming back. Gone are the days when it was a little secret with only a few stores staying open through the winter. I suppose the outlets changed all that. Of course, I liked the Ocean City of my youth as well, when only two condos stabbed out of the barren north end of the city and the everything above 33rd Street was a long stretch of sand dotted here and there with a few outpost motels and beach houses. None of that is coming back.

However, the reason I started this post was to tell the story of dinner, which was at a joint called Dos Locos (and by the way, they put a tilda over the o in Dos, which is just plain wrong). We had been burned on Mexican food in Rehoboth before when we ate at the execrable Tijuana Taxi.

Dos Locos appeared to be busy and so we figured that was a good sign. The chips and salsa were fine until I detected the unmistakable flavor of crab. Upon further investigation, I discovered that some of the chips tasted of crab, while others didn't. To me, this finding could only mean two things: either the chips were old and had been recycled from another table or food had fallen into them in the prep area. Either way, it added up to sloppiness. Being on pain meds, I couldn't order a margarita, so I can't comment on their quality. However, I can tell you I've never had a worse Chile Relleno in my life. It seemed more like a corn dog, the coating was so thick and hard -- I had to take a few bites before I could even locate the sorry little chile cowering inside its massive crusty sheath. I left it sit in its shame and concentrated instead on the rice and refried beans so I could put something in my stomach. I have determined that Mexican food and Rehoboth simply don't mix.

Still, it was nice to get out of the city to watch our son frolic in the brisk surf, while we read the Post and took turns holding our new daughter.