12 Phrases You’ll Only Understand If You Live in Maryland

Maryland may be small, but it’s packed with more pride, attitude, and seafood seasoning than most states three times its size. Whether you’re from the crab-loving Eastern Shore or the “don’t-you-dare-call-it-the-South” suburbs near D.C., Marylanders speak their own brand of Old Bay-flavored truth. If you’ve ever judged someone solely by how they eat a crab, you’re probably one of us.

1. “Whatchu know about Old Bay?”

It goes on everything—crabs, fries, popcorn, your cousin’s wedding menu. It’s not seasoning; it’s a belief system.

2. “You goin’ downy ocean, hon?”

Translation: “Are you going to Ocean City?” And yes, the word “hon” is mandatory.

3. “I don’t care what anyone says—UTZ is better than Lay’s.”

You will die on this chip hill, and you are correct.

4. “I’m from Bawlmer.”

That’s “Baltimore,” but said so fast and mumbled it might as well be one syllable.

5. “Busch, Natty Boh, or both?”

The official beers of backyard cookouts, Orioles losses, and questionable life choices.

6. “Crab feast at my place—bring a mallet and some newspaper.”

No plates, no forks, no fancy anything. Just steamed crabs, sharp elbows, and finger-licking chaos.

7. “Don’t sleep on pit beef.”

The underdog of Maryland meats. It’s smoky, it’s tender, and it belongs on a roll with horseradish immediately.

8. “We don’t pump our gas—wait, no, wrong state. Carry on.”

You had a brief Jersey moment. It’s okay. Shake it off.

9. “That bridge makes me nervous every time.”

The Bay Bridge: part beautiful view, part white-knuckled existential crisis.

10. “I ain’t goin’ to D.C. unless I have to.”

Said by anyone who’s ever spent 90 minutes in traffic just trying to go 8 miles.

11. “The Terps are lookin’ good this year.”

You say this every year. You believe it every year. We respect the hustle.

12. “If you don’t know how to pick a crab, don’t touch the pile.”

This is a sacred ritual. Amateurs will be judged—and possibly publicly shamed.

If these phrases make perfect sense, congrats—you’ve earned your stripes (and maybe a few Old Bay stains). If not, spend a summer elbow-deep in steamed crabs, try not to offend anyone’s football allegiance, and always ask for extra paper towels. You’ll be talkin’ like a Marylander faster than you can say “Natty Boh and a half-smoke, please.”

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