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Chick and Ruth's Serves Comfort Food with a Capital 'C'
 | | Mac Bogert | | Customers pack family-owned Chick and Ruth's for breakfast. |
Outside Chick and Ruth’s on a sultry August afternoon, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. Literally. Inside, eggs sizzle on the griddle. Yachties discuss their next cruise over omelettes in air-conditioned comfort. Construction workers belly up to the counter. Suits grab bagels and coffee to go. A toddler eats pancakes with her fingers.
The clock reads 8:32. A bell rings. Owner Ted Levitt announces that it’s time for the Pledge. Patrons pause mid-gulp, put down their coffee cups and forkfuls of fried potatoes to rise and face the American flag. Hands on hearts, egg on their faces, they recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
This morning ritual is played out daily (8:30 on weekdays, 9:30 weekends) at Chick and Ruth’s deli, a family-owned business since 1965 that has served four generations of Annapolitans.
Chick and Ruth’s
165 Main St., Annapolis
410-269-6737
Open daily at 6:30 a.m. Closes at 10 p.m. Monday-Thursday and Sunday; 11:30 p.m. Friday and Saturday.
No credit cards. |
C and R’s is one of a vanishing breed of eateries where you can order breakfast fare all day, sundaes the size of the Washington Monument, crab cakes, homemade soups and everything in between. Roast turkey and mashed potatoes. Pancakes and sausage. Hamburgers. Bowls of kosher-style pickles. (Some of us have been known to decimate them before breakfast.) This is comfort food with a capital “C.”
 | | Mac Bogert | | Owner Ted Levitt takes a couple's breakfast order. |
Also comforting is the good value. It’s hard to run up a tab over $10. Sure, you can order a Caesar salad at a dozen tablecloth restaurants in town where you can expect to pay $8 and up. At Chick and Ruth’s, it’s $4.25, $5.50 for a large portion-and damn tasty. Who needs tablecloths?
And there’s no charge for the ambiance. The waitresses look like extras from a Barry Levinson flick. Bagels on strings pull the fluorescent lights on and off. Servers and customers do the C and R shuffle, scuttling sideways like crabs to navigate the narrow space. The decor is strictly 50s kitsch-lots of Formica in a palette of pumpkin, avocado and harvest gold. Autographed photos of the famous and not-so- famous blanket the walls.
The soda fountain treats are legendary. The shakes are so thick you can almost turn them over without spilling a drop. I’ve seen a giant-size ice cream soda refresh a quartet of Naval Academy midshipmen.
Diners line up to pay their bills. Levitt, in a white apron and his signature cap, makes change at the register. “Hello, young lady,” he says to a woman on the downside of 70. The customers love him. They loved his parents too.
Chick and Ruth Levitt established their Main Street restaurant when Annapolis was still a sleepy southern town and LBJ was in the White House. Ruth, much beloved by all who knew her, died in 1985. A jar at the counter invites patrons to contribute to cancer research in her name. When Chick Levitt passed away in 1995, Annapolis went into mourning.
Ted had a tough act to follow. But the show must go on, and follow he did. That he plays to a packed house is testament to his success. Like his father before him, Ted greets regulars by their first names and asks about their parents and kids. When he’s not at the register, seating patrons or taking orders, he performs sleight of hand. Kids gasp as he pulls a silk scarf from their ears or produces a coin from the very same place.
Ted’s wife, Beth, takes care of the books. Their son, Scott, 20, pitches in as a server when he’s not working as a paramedic. Daughter Lauren, 18, paid her dues behind the counter before leaving for Florida State University, where she’s a freshman.
The kids loaned their names to the Scotlaur Inn, the Levitt-owned and -operated bed and breakfast over the deli. “It’s the only Bed and Bagel around,” Ted quips.
 | | Mac Bogert | | The menu board lists sandwiches named after well-known politicians. |
Some of the waitstaff have been serving steaming platefuls of creamed chipped beef and the overstuffed sandwiches named for politicians for 10 or more years. Virginia Hudson has been working the grill since 1979.
The restaurant sits on what once was the front lawn of the Annapolis City Hotel, a photo of which hangs on the back wall. George Washington is said to have slept there the night before resigning his commission as commander-in-chief of the Continental Army at the State House, two blocks away. Too bad he couldn’t stick around for the Pledge of Allegiance and the corned beef.
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Annapolis resident Beth Rubin is the author of Frommer's Washington, D.C.
With Kids, two other D.C. guidebooks and hundreds of travel features. Her
award-winning novel, Split Ends, is available in paperback at
1stBooks.com.
Comments from users:
| Nancy Braun | LaOtto, IN | | nancy AT mtsfw DOT com | |
Chick & Ruth's must be known far and wide. When we come from Indiana we always go there. A visit to Annapolis wouldn't be the same without a stop there for breakfast. |
| | | Sunni Zimmer | Evansville, IN | | sunni_zimmer AT yahoo DOT com | |
We adore Ted and the whole crew. There is never a dull time at Chick n Ruths. My kids have always visited with us on vacation and call Ted "Uncle Teddy" after the wonderful pretzels he makes. It is a must see in Annapolis. We love ya Ted! |
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