When my father turned 90 a few days ago, it seemed appropriate that we honor the occasion with a fitting food request. Joe Kelly wanted oyster potpie, a dish that was once common on a Maryland dinner table, but over the years, has gone the way of stewed tomatoes or corned beef hash.

It wasn't easy finding the right recipe. One got tossed out when a cooking step called for white wine or sherry. No. No. No.

Thanks to an old Baltimore Gas and Electric Co. cookbook bought at a Smith College book sale 20 years ago, a recipe surfaced in the proper Baltimore accent, which means unadorned. Let the simple ingredients do the talking.

OK. This was not exactly the exact recipe my grandmother would have employed, but her signature flaky piecrust went to the grave with her at New Cathedral Cemetery.

For the record, I don't know what shortening she used in her crust. She made her supper pies in a deep vessel. The pie shell was not tough or doughy and when completed, it resembled the surface of the moon -- curiously irregular. Once put on the kitchen table, it lasted about as long as a lunar eclipse. As it cooled, it emitted a plume of steam.

I darted over to Faidley's seafood stall at the Lexington Market for the required shucked oysters. Parts of Maryland culinary traditions may be inevitably disappearing, but every time I visit this market, I practically kiss the floor that some things never change. The seafood department of Faidley's grants tremendous reassurance. It is what it is, simple, as you remember it, fabulous -- this said by someone who does not like seafood, but loves to watch others put it down with happy enthusiasm.

The market clerk took a pint oyster jar from an enormous bed of crushed ice, then placed it in a plastic bag, which he also packed with ice so that the precious bivalves stayed cool.

The assignment of making the pie went to Margaret Hobson, a veteran baker from the Waverly Farmers Market. As soon as she opened a white cardboard baker's box and displayed the gorgeous results, there was a winner in the house.

A few minutes later my father's face lighted up. People I never knew liked oysters started using a serving spoon to taste just a little more. It was the first thing on the table to disappear. My family started speaking in reverential tones about oyster potpie.

I started thinking about the traditional dishes that have suffered at the hands of cooks trained at the culinary schools. While the Maryland crab cake flourishes -- people forget it was once considered a standard Baltimore bar food -- the oysters and Smithfield ham, fried oysters and oyster fritters are not now easy to find. Friends weep when lamenting the loss of Oysters Pauline, a classic dish available on certain days at the old Marconi's restaurant. And come to think of it, where have all those cardboard signs advertising the classic neighborhood oyster roast gone?

jacques.kelly@baltsun.com