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Summer ’87 and the Livin’ Is Easy

I don’t know what my parents were thinking. The morning after I graduated high school, I hopped in a red Chevy Nova with my friends Dave Groberg and Scott Greenberger, and we set a course (if not a GPS) for Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

The occasion? Beach Week, 1987.

A dozen of us seniors, a mix of guys and girls, from Washington, D.C.’s Woodrow Wilson High School had all chipped in for a beach house. We clambered into the available bedrooms, while an unlucky few grabbed sofas that would double as beds. We stocked the fridge with not much more than Gatorade and a couple of cartons of milk. And then we flung open the screen porch door and walked a couple of blocks to the beach, lugging a cooler, an umbrella, and a bunch of fold-up aluminum chairs.

Rehoboth, back then, was like a lot of Mid-Atlantic beach towns. A crowded stretch of sand, flanked on one side by pounding waves and on the other by a rambling boardwalk, with its carnival rides, bumper cars, french fry stands, and no shortage of tattered Bon Jovi tees and acid-wash shorts.

Most of us had grown up going to Rehoboth; our parents would rent the same kind of modest houses we were now crowding into. As kids, we’d spend all day in the sun without a dab of sunscreen (did it even exist in the ’70s?), returning to the house caked in sand and sunburned, Mom slathering on the Solarcaine.

We all got to know Rehoboth’s foods well—the Nic-O-Boli (basically a giant calzone) from Nicola Pizza, the buckets of vinegar-doused fresh-cut fries from Thrasher’s, and funnel cakes, taunting us with the scent of fried dough and powdered sugar.

As high school grads, I’d like to say that we stepped it up—that we sourced the …read more

Source:: Bon Appetit