Dutch Country Farmers’ Market

Chris Earnshaw
4 days ago
2 min read

Best Dripping Bargain in Laurel!

As a semi-retired punter in the art of Laurel Park horseplay, I sought at least one fresh pastime upon crossing the bar of age 65. Now, since at least 1979, I’ve adored the muddy majesty of the Laurel paddock. After the passing of the Defrancis/Manfuso regime at the racetrack, snaring long shot victories became something of a rarity.

Ironically, the link between racing—if only buggies at Freestate and Rosecroft—and moist Amish fried chicken and sweet pastries, would be the name Stolzfus. The banner name overarching the Dutch Country Farmers’ Market on Route 198 in Laurel is Stolzfus, the very same family who dominated standardbred harness competition for generations.

And so now I look forward to clamoring aboard the cream-colored jitney of my senior residence. Not for Dollar Tree off-the-rack bargains, no, not I. Rather the exploding caravansérail of the taste buds one finds from every crack and cranny and counter—where to begin wayfarer?

Grab a wire shopping cart and nosh a sausage and egg biscuit just inside the main doors on your right. Or, if you are a more adventurous Type A than I am, at noon, take some good advice and skip the pricey sit-down Lentz Family Room and make a beeline diagonally left to DJ’s Wing Counter.

The double lines there are always streaming way across the concourse: Fort Meade soldiers in cammo, righteous old grannies—a veritable pastiche of humanity, all seeking the tart but sweetly battered bird in its entire dizzying array of succulence.

Monstrous leg or thigh quarters, gargantuan crispy wings, bourbon-basted balls (which I admit not to have sampled), the boneless tenders, coupled with mildly spiced hefty potato wedges (the last are my personal faves). For 75 cents a pop, the accompanying BBQ, blue cheese, and honey mustard sauce cups are an absolute must. Wash it all down with a pint of home-pressed Amish lemonade, labeled with a meticulously drawn DJs sticker.

Then, once you’ve had your fill of the pullet, order up a small, exquisitely rated chunk of fudge: $11 a pound, my friend. But you’ll have to raise your voice higher as you call out the choice because of the rhythmic chop-chop of the poultry butcher’s cleaver.

For a yet more insatiable combo of thirst and major league sweet tooth, batter up for a brimful coffee shake, based on the super fresh Kreiders Dairy Milk from Lancaster, PA. Warning—the risk-taking health nut might even chalk up two more semolina dollars for a scoop of single “therapeutic see moss.” On your way out, buy a reduced sale “week old” cinnamon loaf of bread from Mr. Stolzfus himself.

Chris Earnshaw is a photographer, cultural historian, musician, and published writer in the Washington Post, Street Sense, Unicorn Times and Old Towne Crier. In 2016 an exhibit of his Polaroid street photography at the Historical Society of Washington DC garnered acclaim and a five-page article in the Washington Post Arts section.