Off-Boardwalk: Atlantic City Seafood

2026 Atlantic City - TripAdvisor

We spent a couple of days vacationing in Atlantic City recently.  Our last few trips were a bit extravagant, so we decided to pump the brakes.  I couldn't justify flying toddlers to Europe three years in a row.  Admittedly, "Atlantic City family vacation" sounds like an oxymoron.  What could we possibly do with a 5 year-old and 3 year-old in a place built on slots, shots, and sinny-sin-sin?  However, as I scoped out options, Atlantic City kept topping the charts.  Mini golf, roller skating, arcade games, go-karts, indoor waterparks, a local aquarium.  Not bad for a 90-minute drive.  It was the off-season too, so everything was quite reasonably priced.  Most importantly, my better half has become a poker jones recently, and the dates aligned with a Texas Hold'em tournament at the Borgata.  Don't worry — no 1-800-GAMBLER calls...yet...

It's a city that has always fascinated me, too.  I grew up spending summers at the Jersey Shore in small towns like Wildwood and Stone Harbor.  Atlantic City, only a short drive north, always had this grown-ups-only mystery and mystique.  I'd be at the beach house playing Monopoly while my older cousins headed to the actual Boardwalk & Park Place for a night of big-kid fun.  Even when I got older and exposed to the A.C. nightlife, my interest only grew.  How could so much glitz, glamour, vice, crime, and everything in between materialize in a modest four square miles?  How did an 1870s agricultural town of fewer than 1,000 residents transform into a bustling city of 60,000+ by 1910?  How did it collapse just 50 years later, rebuild, then collapse again?  Most curiously, how did all this culinarily play out on Atlantic City dining tables?

Absecon Island, where Atlantic City is located, was seasonally inhabited by the Lenape people for millennia.  Absecon actually comes from the Algonquian word absegami, meaning "little water."  The island wasn't settled by Europeans until 1783.  It modestly grew over the next few decades, mostly as a farming community.  However, in the 1850s, Dr. Jonathan Pitney, now known as 'the Father of Atlantic City,' wanted to make Absecon a health retreat for affluent city folk.  He designed a large-scale resort and organized the construction of the Camden and Atlantic Railroad, allowing visitors streamlined access.  By the 1880s, the town grew well beyond a health retreat and became a popular summer vacation destination.  Dozens of luxury resorts, fine-dining restaurants, saloons, sideshows, entertainment piers, and even gambling dens and cabaret clubs were built.  Atlantic City had officially found its industry, and that industry was tourism & vice.  One former Atlantic City politician said it best:

"If the people who came to town had wanted Bible readings, we'd have given 'em that. But nobody ever asked for Bible readings. They wanted booze, broads, and gambling, so that's what we gave 'em."  

Al Capone & Nucky Johnson -
1929 Atlantic City Mafia Conference

Atlantic City’s party scene continued to grow through the 1910s and barely blinked at Prohibition. If anything, the city doubled down.  Politicians, like Nucky Johnson of Boardwalk Empire repute, supported organized crime and facilitated bootleg liquor imports, underground distilleries, brothels, illegal casinos, and speakeasies.  While the rest of the country was going through a dry spell, Atlantic City was entering its golden age.  Elaborate raw bars, opulent chop houses, champagne & caviar service at every turn.  The Miss America Pageant was established in September 1921 and the convention center built in 1924.  Through the 1950s, A.C. was America’s premier seaside playground, drawing millions with its Boardwalk glamour and nonstop nightlife.  

However, by the 1960s, the tide began to turn as the rise of air travel siphoned tourists to newer destinations like Miami and Las Vegas.  Atlantic City, as a town almost exclusively dependent on tourism, was left in dramatic economic decline.  As a financial lifeline, New Jersey approved casino gambling in the city in 1976.  This brought bursts of cash and visitors, but only for an elite few.  Developers built destination casino-resorts focused on keeping guests on-site.  Tourists shop, dine, spa, relax, and gamble without ever leaving the resorts.  In the worst cases, investors exploited the opportunity for personal gain and spectacle with debt-fueled projects they had no intention of ever settling.  Just look at what our current president did to Atlantic City in the 80s and 90s.  Sound similar to our current Orwellian state of affairs?  “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”  Either way, local businesses and residents, to this day, see nominal benefit from the casinos, though are ultimately still dependent on them. 

Things got worse in the 2000s when state and local legislatures began legalizing gambling in the surrounding areas.  Atlantic City's status as the exclusive East Coast casino destination was gone.  Pair that with the Great Recession and businesses started shuttering left and right.  Four of the major casinos in the city declared bankruptcy in 2014 alone.  Today, post-pandemic Atlantic City remains a place of contrasts.  Still anchored by casinos, it's checkered with palatial resorts and decrepit buildings in their shadows.  The wealthy helicopter in for boxing matches, bachelor parties, and lavish dinners at The Palm while year-round residents contend with persistent poverty and decades of discriminatory development.  So, in tackling my Atlantic City seafood tour, I had one firm rule — classy, cutty, or anything in between, it had to be a local, independent establishment.  No private equity-backed buffets. No Margaritavilles or Ruth's Chris.  No casino restaurant groups engineered in a boardroom three states away.  This trip was strictly Off-Boardwalk!

Knife & Fork Inn + Dock's Oyster House

Atlantic City is arguably most famous, or infamous, for its Roaring '20s era.  The Volstead Act was technically on the books, but martinis still freely flowed next to 22 oz. ribeyes on silver platters.  Politicians, gangsters, and celebrities all rubbed elbows in glittering dining rooms or cabaret clubs.  So, where better to start my tour than at two restaurants that were not only witnesses to Atlantic City’s heyday, but institutions that helped define it?

  Opened in 1912, The Knife & Fork Inn is a time capsule that awkwardly sits at the corner of Pacific and Atlantic Avenue in Atlantic City's Chelsea neighborhood.  You can immediately tell the surrounding area has gone through several iterations, but The Knife & Fork has remained architecturally unchanged.  Originally a private men's club for the town's power brokers and social elite, it remains one of the clearest surviving landmarks of Atlantic City's golden age.  It was even a frequent filming location for Boardwalk Empire.

It’s got all the familiar Gilded Age fare: dry-aged steaks, seafood towers, veal chops, and classic French sauces.  But they’re best known for the lobster thermidor — claw, tail, and knuckle meat folded into a rich cream sauce with herbs, white wine, and mustard, stuffed back into the shell, topped with gruyère or parmesan, then broiled until bubbly and golden brown.  How could I pass up that kind of iconic indulgence, especially paired with a petite filet mignon and grilled asparagus?  And it was great.  Rich, creamy, and decadent in all the right ways. The only real difference between Knife & Fork in 1920 and today is the price tag.  You may want to open an escrow account before making a reservation.

A little less than a mile northwest is an even older restaurant: Dock's Oyster House.  It started in 1897 as a modest oyster saloon selling local seafood.  With Harry "Dock" Dougherty's dedication to cleanliness and quality (a rare thing for the early 1900s), Dock's quickly grew in popularity and expanded.  It's now on its fourth generation of family ownership and widely loved as an Atantic City institution.  The Doughertys even purchased the Knife & Fork Inn in 2005.

Dock’s menu seamlessly threads the needle of classic but contemporary, upscale yet accessible.  Surf & turf and oyster stew sit comfortably alongside pineapple salmon poke and sesame-wasabi tuna.  They also offer a rotating selection of more than ten oysters, many sourced from South Jersey bays and inlets.  I ordered four oysters à la carte and a fluke crudo.  The Ludlam Bay oyster stood out in particular, with a savory brine and velvety texture that tasted almost like ocean butter.  The crudo was equally impressive — fresh and snappy, balanced by bitter greens, pickled red onion, and a bright herbes de provence vinaigrette.  Pro tip: stop by Dock's Oyster House for happy hour from 4 to 6 p.m. daily.  The bar is buzzing, the live pianist is popping-off, and many of the prices are literally halved. 

Cafe 2825 + Tony's Baltimore Grill

Atlantic City is a story of immigrants, and few embody this more than Southern Italians who came in the late 19th century.  Sure, everyone knows, even glamorizes the aforementioned mafiosos.  But thousands of Italian construction workers, dishwashers, fishmongers, bakers, dockhands, cobblers, cooks, and street vendors were foundational in building the city, literally and figuratively.  A.C. is also a story of upward mobility.  Those very same dishwashers, dockhands, or street vendors became the next generation's restaurateurs, contractors, or politicians.  As such, Atlantic City has been a red sauce town for over a century.  In my research, Chef Vola's kept coming up as the go-to Italian spot.  It's a shame that reservations are tougher than Taylor Swift tickets.  Luckily, there's another local instituation many say is even better.

Opened in 1986 by an Italian-American family from Brooklyn, Cafe 2825 sits on the border of Atlantic City's Chelsea and Ducktown neighborhoods.  Ducktown is actually Atlantic City's historic "Little Italy."  2825's got all the flair and fare of your typical, high-brow Italian-American eatery.  Tuxedoed serving staff, candles in Chianti bottles, black & whites of Sinatra, DiMaggio, and La Guardia all over the walls.  In true Sicilian style, all the recipes were directly sourced or inspired by the owner's mother and nonna.  Rigatoni with Sunday gravy, veal parmesan the size of dinner plates, housemade mozzerella and ricotta, Caesar salad prepared tableside.  I, however, was there for one thing: clams in red sauce. 



The most common American name for Italian-style tomato sauce, marinara, comes from the Italian word marinero, meaning mariner or sailor.  Some say it started with 16th century seafarers bringing tomatoes back from the New World to Italy.  During the lengthy returns, they'd mash up tomatoes, garlic, and dried herbs with olive oil and throw in any frutti di mare they caught.  Others say it was dubbed marinara after it became the preferred dish for merchants and dockworkers at Southern Italian ports.  Whatever the orgin, no dish better epitomizes Jersey Italian cuisine than clams in red sauce over pasta.  Briny, savory clam juice released by the little necks during cooking marries perfectly with the bright, garlicky tomato sauce.  Add in chopped cherrystones, toss it with al dente linguini and some fresh herbs and 👩‍🍳😙🤌.  Cafe 2825's version with pappardelle was spot on.  Funnily enough, it wasn't even on the menu at the time, but they were kind enough to make it by request.  That kind of accomodation says way more about Cafe 2825 than I ever could.  Highly recommend for a special night out.     
 

Literally right across the street is another A.C. stalwart, Tony's Baltimore Grill.  Dating back to 1927, Tony's feels like a preserved slice of mid-century Atlantic City history rather than a restaurant & bar.  Neon beer signs, dark wood paneling, dingy lighting, cracked vinyl booths with tabletop jukeboxes.  I think I even saw a Marlboro cigarette machine in one corner.  While the surrounding casinos, resorts, even restuarants are constantly reinventing themselves, Tony's is unapologetically steadfast in its dive bar identity.  In short, it's the kind of place Anthony Bourdain loved.

In terms of cuisine, Tony's is your classic Italian-American red sauce joint.  Spaghetti & meatballs, mozzerella sticks, wings, eggplant and chicken parm subs.  They've got red & white clam sauces, fried shrimp, and crab cakes on the menu too, hence the "Baltimore" portion of the name.  Though difficult to verify, Tony's is also widely credited with being the first establishment to serve pizza in Atlantic City.  With that in mind, I couldn't pass up Tony's clams casino pizza.  Sautéed green peppers, garlic & onions with chopped clams and smoky bacon on top of melted mozzerella and a crispy, pub-style crust.  Absolutely delicious.  And while "clams casino pizza" might sound strange, don't pass judgment until you've tried it.  Most foods are admittedly subjective and a matter of personal taste; this pizza is not.  If you aren't a fan after the first bite, you probably should consult a medical professional.  Might be an olfactory processing or taste bud issue that's best left to trained ENT specialists.   

Kelsey's & Kim's Southern Cafe + Yardy Real Jamaican

Atlantic City is the story of many migrant groups, not just Italians.  Filipino, Puerto Rican, Korean, Honduran, Mexican.  In stark contrast to neighboring Jersey Shore towns, the largest demographic in the city is currently Hispanic, and over 30% of full-time residents are foreign-born.  Each group has put its own culinary stamp on the city and is undoubtedly deserving of its own exploration.  Just check out this caldo de mariscos from El Tacuate.  Few have had such an impact on the city as the African-American population, though. 

In a way, everyone in Atlantic City is an immigrant (save any current Lenape residents), and African-Americans played a role in the city even before its formal founding in the 1850s.  However, the Great Migration in the early 1900s saw thousands of African-Americans leave the Jim Crow South for the promise of prosperity in the North.  Atlantic City actually advertised job opportunities directly to Black Southerners.  Sadly, though, upon arrival, they faced the very same discrimination and segregation they'd sought to flee.  Resilient as always, African-Americans developed their own Atlantic City community in the Northside, filled with successful Black-owned businesses, restaurants, jazz clubs, and even their own beach.  Desegregation and casino development drastically changed the community from its mid-centruy heyday, but there are still vestiges and heritage establishments around today.

Located in modern-day Midtown, Kelsey's Supper Club has been echoing the historic Northside spirt of Atlantic City since 2012.  Soul food paired with live jazz and R&B creates a vibrant, community-centered atmosphere enjoyed by tourists and locals alike.  They were even granted an award last year by the city's "Keep It Local" campaign.  Unfortunately, their hours of operation didn't align with our vacation dates.  Fortunately though, Kelsey & Kim's Southern Cafe has been serving up the same cuisine in A.C.'s Northern Inlet neighborhood since 2009. 

We arrived early on a Sunday morning to good signs and good vibes.  There was already a lengthy queue of guests in their finest church clothes waiting to be seated.  The decor is modest, warm, and welcoming — exactly what you want from a comfort food establishment.  As for the menu, they've got all the Soul food staples: fried chicken, black eyed peas, sweet potato pie.  You know I had to get the fried catfish and shrimp combo, of course, with a side of collard greens and rice & gravy.  The catfish and shrimp were great.  Sweet, golden, crispy, perfectly seasoned.  My 4 year-old ended up eating more than I did.  Those collards, though 🤤.  Salty, earthy, and slightly bitter with tons of savory, braised ham hock.  The greens alone are worth the trip. 

More recently, Atlantic City has welcomed several waves of Afro-Caribbean immigrants.  Haitian, Dominican, Guyanese.  There are Boricua and Garifuna churches, markets, barbershops, and more all around the city.  And right in Midtown is a gem that's been dishing up some of the best curried goat and braised oxtail around for over a decade - Yardy Real Jamaican.  I won't lie, Yardy's feels like your typical corner takeaway in a pretty cutty part of A.C.  Plenty of weathered faces, bulletproof glass, and check-cashing storefronts around.  They've even got the hallmark patrons-only restrooms and a picture board menu of several dishes.  That said, it's perfectly safe and fine.  Just stay smart and enjoy some of the best beef patties on the East Coast.

I was there for one dish and one dish alone: ackee & saltfish.  A common misconception is that Jamaica's national dish is jerk chicken, but it's actually ackee & saltfish.  Ackee is a tropical fruit native to West Africa that is widely cultivated and prized across Jamaica.  Like a lot of other tropical produce, such as taro or cassava, ackee is actually toxic unless properly prepared.  When cooked, it's mild and slightly nutty with a soft, buttery texture, almost like scrambled eggs.  In terms of the dish, salt-preserved cod is reconstituted and sautéed with onions, peppers, tomatoes, and herbs.  The ackee is then gently folded in towards the end of cooking to maintain its delicate texture.  At Yardy's, they served it in a classic Jamaican breakfast-style with fried dumplings and plantains.  Candidly, it's not a dish for the culinarily fainthearted.  Savory but very strong saltcod flavors mixed in with creamy ackee and spicy scotch bonnets.  The sweet plantains and doughy dumplings cut it well, but it is intense.  Delightfully intense if you like those flavors, and I highly recommend Yardy's version as it's one of the best I've had.  My kids crushed their chicken wings too.    

Barbera Seafood Market

I often joke that casinos are some of the most beautiful places on the earth.  It always raises eyebrows as gaudy gambling palaces like Trump's Taj Mahal immediately come to mind.  The joke is that I most certainly do not mean aesthetically beautiful, but rather culturally or even philosophically.  I can't think of many places beyond a craps table where you'd see a grandma from Toledo, a salesman from Tokyo, and a gangster from Trenton celebrating and high-fiving each other.  Casinos are living, breathing examples of how we're all fundamentally the same, and that vice is one of the few things truly blind to race, color, and creed.

The culinary equivalent of this in Atlantic City is Barbera Seafood Market.  Located in Ducktown, right across from the iconic White House Subs, Barbera has been providing some of the best seafood in town since 1919.  Also on its fourth generation of family-ownership, Barbera has witnessed and weathered over a century of constant cultural and economic change across the city.  They were even honored with the Keep It Local Resiliency Award last year.  The key to their success is a straightforward formula: fresh fish, fair prices, and personal service.  They've even kept their fried fish & sandwich carryout prices the same since the 90s.  Like, seriously, a fried flounder combo platter is just $8.99!  
   
This is why Barbera Seafood is so loved across the city.  Top notch quality and customer care are great, but abundantly available around town.  I'm sure the $65 sea bass at Gordon Ramsay's is tasty and served by amazing staff.  However, it's the affordability that makes Barbera special.  And not just because you can save a few dollars on your diver sea scallops.  That's definitely appreciated, but their prices make it a truly welcoming, diverse, and almost egalitarian market.  You can be in line behind a Manhattan investment banker purchasing lobster tails and a local housekeeper buying smelts with SNAP benefits.  The stark wealth contrasts that often define Atlantic City seem to fade away here.  Fresh, healthy seafood and friendly service should be accessible to all, and Barbera has become an Atlantic City pillar by embodying exactly that.

I was there for the $3.99 whiting sandwich.  A humble fish, breaded and fried, then served in a foil-wrapped burger bun with your choice of cocktail, tartar, or hot sauce.  Honestly, it was the most nostalgic bite I've had in a long time.  While at college in Baltimore, I of course always wanted seafood, but could rarely afford it.  As such, I spent a lot of time trying out all the local lake trout take-outs around the city.  I had some of the worst fried whiting sandwiches around, but also some of the best.  Luckily, Barbera's was the latter.  A generous portion of crispy, flaky whiting fillet tucked into a soft roll with ample amounts of Texas Pete's.  So simple yet so satisfying.  Definitely check out Barbera's Market for a genuine taste of Atlantic City, not just the seafood but the city's character as well.

Atlantic City delivered everything I hoped for: family fun, fascinating history, and, of course, several great meals.  It's a city that feels small enough to eat your way through in a few days, yet the deeper you explore, the more you realize you've only scratched the surface. We'll definitely be back soon, so let me know in the comments which spots I missed.
 

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd

  

Shucked Ceviche

Every summer I try to bridge two of my favorite hobbies - gardening and seafood - into a post.  It started with an oyster shell paved garden path.  Then, it was pairing oysters with farm-fresh eggs from chickens our neighbors raise.  After that, it was turning homegrown peppers into hot sauce for an oyster condiment.  I won't lie, I've found it takes a lot of creative grasping and poetic license to pair seafood and gardening.  Wish I were as clever as The Beatles.  Sure, I could just run through seasonal fish recipes, paired with garden fresh produce.  Lobster BLTs, pan seared halibut over summer succotash, mahi mahi tacos with charred corn salsa, grilled ahi tuna and sesame cucumber salad.  All delicious, but a bit boring.  There's already plenty from the content creating clickbaiters.  "OMG you guys! Run, don't walk, to these amazing salmon recipes! #DeInfluence.  I like some history, exploration, or at the very least, a little whimsy.  Whether successful or not is a different story, but that's usually my aim.  

This year I leaned into the gimmick side.  The kids and I tackled our annual English pea harvest earlier this summer.  I always sow a few different pea varieties around St. Patrick's day, along with other frost tolerant plants like radishes, kale, beets, and lettuce.  This means that come Juneteenth, the garden is overflowing with peas.  My children won't touch a pea on a plate, but somehow love grabbing them right off the vine and enjoying as a snack.  The big harvest has become a bit of a tradition.  One day each year, usually a Saturday or Sunday in late June, we wake up and head to the backyard.  With warm morning dew on our feet and popcorn bowls in hand, we gently pluck each pod from the garden.  Then, we hang out on the deck, sipping coffee and juice, listening to reggae, and process the peas.

When my daughter said "I love shucking peas" this year, it got me thinking - what other foods do we shuck?  Is there a reason that we shuck corn but peel bananas, hull sunflower seeds, and husk coconuts?  I've heard shell and shuck used interchangeably for peas, but shell and shuck for beans can mean entirely different things.  What about peeling shrimp, cracking crabs, and shucking oysters?  I really enjoy weird etymology, bizarre grammar, and strange lexicon.  Why do we drive on a parkway and park on a driveway?  What cruel person decided the fear of long words should be "hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia?"  Do you think they named oranges before they named carrots?

According to the Britannica dictionary, and similarly across Cambridge, Merriam-Webster, and others, the most common, contemporary definitions of shuck are.

shuck (n):  

the outer covering of a nut or a plant (such as corn); the shell of an oyster or clam

shuck (v): 

to remove the outer covering of (a plant, such as corn) or the shell of (an oyster)

The true etymology of the word is unknown.  Just ask Gemini, ChatGPT, or any other LLM and you'll get a host of different answers.  That's because these models are programmed to never admit uncertainty, even when sources conflict.  I love a good AI hallucination, but I'm pretty excited to see the AI bubble burst.  I'm by no means a luddite; I use “AI” for data processing and organization at work all the time.  It can do incredible things, and will only get better.  But presently, it's more akin to a search engine on steroids than intelligence.  It's a streamlined parrot of the internet.  It doesn't reason or understand.  Rather, it's being deliberately engineered to seem it can for quick investments and money grabs.  In the worst cases, it's even being fraudulently propped up.  The hype will eventually collapse.

Abraham Fleming's 1577 account
of The Black Shuck

Anyway, while the true origins of shuck are lost to time, there is still reasonable speculation.  The front-runners seem to be Old English's scucca, Low German's schok, and Dutch's schokke, all of which were used in reference to husks, shells, or coverings.  According to The Oxford University Press, the earliest use of shuck with current definitions was as a noun in 1674.  Funny enough, it was describing pea and bean pods, e.g. pea-shucks.  In 1785 we first see shuck as a verb, detailing corn shucking, and we see oyster shucking references in the mid-1800s.  Curiously, the Old English, German, and Dutch words also meant to shake, shrink, terrify or be frightened and shocked.  There's record of shuck, scucca specifically, denoting a devil or demon going back to the 11th century.  References to The Black Shuck, a demon dog said to roam the British coastlines of East Anglia, go back to the 16th century.  Gives a totally different meaning to "Live to Shuck, Shuck to Live" through that lens 😬.  Perhaps shuck around and find out is more appropriate?  Just jokes.  Love my Hog Island homies.      

In American English, shuck gradually evolved to take on other meanings throughout the 19th and 20th centuries.  I'm sure you're familiar with the interjection "shucks," such as "aw shucks," expressing mild embarrassment or disappointment.  Less commonly, there's shucking off clothing or a bad reputation, as in to discard.  It also meant something valueless in the 1800s, like "it wasn't worth a shuck."  More recently there's the practice of shucking hard drives, which is taking an external drive and repurposing it internally.  Modern variations of shuck are also based in African American Vernacular English.  A shuck can be a fraud or scheme, or to shuck can mean to deceive or trick.  Think of shuckin' and jivin', which has its unfortunate foundations with the Black community evading undue attention from the authorities.  Equally unfortunate is the phrase's racially coded appropriation nowadays, and some don't even realize that when they use it.

I'm not a linguist, computer scientist, or race relations expert, so take all of this with a grain of salt.  My research often amounts to shuck.  But with that salt, I can confidently say I'm damn good at making well-seasoned and flavorful seafood preparations.  So while the etymology and history of the word shuck are fun, I wanted to make a dish with my kids celebrating all things shucked.  With our homegrown English peas shucked and on hand, fresh clams, corn, scallops, and oysters all came to mind.  Honestly, I couldn't think of many other shuckables.  No problem, though, because all that sounded like the start of one tasty ceviche.  

My son and I headed to Gentile's Market in Newtown Square.  They've always got the best seasonal produce in stock.  We picked up some ceviche basics - limes, shallots, fresno chiles, green onions, and cilantro.  For the shucking portion, we of course grabbed a few ears of fresh Jersey sweet corn.  Every region of the country has its own celebrated corn basket, and I'm not going to say Jersey's is better than Nebraska, Iowa, or anywhere else.  However, New Jersey is known as the Garden State for a reason, and their produce is top notch.  There are a lot of reasons to hate on New Jersey, but their corn isn't one of them.  Again, just jokes.  Nothing but love for ya, Dirty Jerz.

Next, we headed right across the street to Hill's Quality Seafood to pick up some littleneck clams, scallops, and a single oyster.  I've had and made oyster ceviches before and must admit they're not my favorite.  I like Veracruz's vuelve a la vida, which usually includes oysters.  And the line between ceviches and other Latin American or global raw seafood dishes is a blurry one.  Aguachile, poke, kinilaw, tartare, coctel, tiradito.  An oyster on the half shell is technically just a crudo.  So I do like innumerable raw oyster preparations.  However, shucking and mixing loose oysters into the classic ceviche mix of citrus, chiles, and alliums isn't my cup of tea.  There's something about the oysters' texture, in volume and concentration, swimming around in the leche de tigre that doesn't work for me.  They just don't have the right tooth or body to stand up, and I end up feeling like I'm eating them just for the protein.  That being said, you know I had to incorporate at least one oyster into my shucked ceviche.

We halved the limes, chopped the cilantro, sliced the green onion, and brunoised the shallot and fresno.  By we, I mean the kids got to massacre a few green onions and some cilantro on the side with their plastic knives while I managed the rest.  They did shuck the corn and I sliced some kernels off the cobs.  The diver scallops got diced too.  Next, it was onto the clams.  Same logic as the oysters, raw clams aren't great in ceviche, in my experience.  However, while cooked oysters aren't either as their texture remains rather supple, cooked clams take on a nice, firm texture that holds up well.  We steamed the clams for 10 mins, and once cooled, the kids and I shucked them from their shells with some butter knives.  They absolutely loved this part, and it was toddler safe.  Last, the single Wellfleet oyster.  Ceviches are often finished with crunchy toppings, adding a nice contrast to the bright and acidic base.  And few things are better than a golden brown, crispy fried oyster.  I shucked it, dredged in corn meal, and deep fried in canola oil for a few minutes.  I set it to the side, and with the prep ready to go, it was finally ceviche making time.  

Prep is the laborious part of ceviche.  Fine dices, uniform knife cuts, lots of squeezing citrus.  All very important.  A shoddy chop on onions is no major issue when sautéing, but when eating them basically raw, a millimeter or two can make a big difference.  And bottled lime juice isn't even close to fresh, so never cut any corners here.  The juice is quite literally worth the squeeze.  However, once finished, the rest of ceviche making is just mixing things in a bowl and seasoning.  Quite easy.  Depending on the type of seafood, it can help to marinate it in citrus juice for 15 to 20 minutes before adding the rest of the ingredients.  The acid denatures the proteins of the seafood, both firming and tenderizing while giving it that 'cooked' appearance.  In this instance, the clams were already cooked and I wanted to keep the scallops crudo, so no marination on this one.  The other key step is combining everything in a bowl over ice.  Ceviche should be served ice cold, and this set up helps ensure that.  You can even find special bowls for serving ceviches, tartares, and other dishes that need to be kept chilled. 

Shallot, fresno, cilantro, sweet corn, peas, clams and scallops all came together in the icy bowl with ample amounts of lime juice and kosher salt to taste, then got plated in a hand thrown bowl a friend gifted to us.  I thought of finishing it with some spicy peanuts or pistachios, as you'll occasionally hear of shuckin' both.  However, I decided to stay classic and added some canchas.  They're basically Peruvian corn nuts and are a standard accompaniment to Andean ceviches.  We didn't personally shuck and make them, but they were certainly shucked at some point.  Topped off with some green onion, a little more cilantro, and of course the fried oyster, the ceviche was good to go.  And it tasted great.  Spicy, tart, savory, tangy.  Various levels of sweet ranging from the corn and peas' earthy sweetness to the clams and scallops' oceanic.  The canchas and oyster provided great textural contrast and saltiness.  All spot on with no edits, and a delightful bite on a warm summer's day.  

Wish I could say my kids felt the same.  Since they were integral in the whole production, they were champs and gave it a try.  But I suppose ceviche is more of an acquired taste.  I'm not giving up, though.  They'll be ceviche fiends just like me at some point.  However, I can positively report they're now avid shuckers, and nothing makes me happier than that.  I hope y'all enjoy the rest of your summer and get a few chances to have some shuckin' fun! 

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd

Mariscos de Miami

I had a work trip to Miami recently.  First time I had been in twenty-one years, almost exactly to the date.  And I can't say that previous trip was a genuine representaion of the town as it was purely for Super Bowl XXXIII.  I was also only thirteen years old at the time.  But now, I was excited to get a taste of the true Miami experience, to say the least.   

Unfortunately, the trip was to be real brief.  Fly in late Thursday night, work nonsense all day Friday, another work event on Saturday night, and then fly out on Sunday.  However, if I planned right and did some research, I could fit in a little The Layover-esque seafood focused tour.  I needed to do Miami a little culinary justice from the shitty corporate conference meals I knew I'd be having.  Think of the most mediocre chicken-or-fish wedding you've been to.  That's basically every business conference meal I've ever had.

The hotel was located in South Beach and my first impressions were the standard.  Beautiful beaches, palacial looking palm trees, sultry weather and women.  Merengue music blaring from every club on Ocean Drive as street vendors hustled Cuban cigars.  Multichromatic deco hotels everywhere and luxury sports cars cruising by at four miles per hour.  Miami's South Beach is one of those few places that feels exactly like the stereotypes you know and expect.  

A couple of things did surprise me, though.  I had no idea there was such a Middle Eastern influence in the area.  Every other storefront seemed to have a hookah lounge, and pretty legit looking döner kebabs or shwarma shops were on every block.  The other odd thing was that nearly every menu I looked at had a Philly cheesesteak.  Cuban place, cheesesteak right under Cubano in the sandwich section.  Italian restaurant, Philly cheesesteak.  Late night dining options, cheesesteak, cheesesteak, cheesesteak.  Philly cheesesteaks were more ubiquitous than all the bulging biceps and bronzed buttcheeks.  Perhaps for all those foreign tourists trying two-bird-one-stone it while in the States.   

Anyway, with most of my work obligations out of the way on Friday, I woke up bright and early on Saturday to get down to the real business.  I had a few specific destinations in mind, but only half a day and so many other possibilities.  What should I go for?  White table cloth or economical?  Classic or eclectic?  Try and focus on oysters or go for any and all seafood?  Every tourist town poses a real challenge in terms of finding solid cuisine.  World renowned dishes specific to a region often get exploited, being overpriced, poor quality, and frequently both.  Miami is certainly no different.  I had to be careful to avoid the city's culinary equivalents of Pier 39's chowder in a bread bowl.  So, with a loose plan, an immense appetite, and company plastic in hand....let's get it!  

First stop was of course the famous Joe's Stone Crab.  A South Beach instituion serving all things seafood to the community since 1913.  As Delmonico's is to Manhattan, Union Oyster House is to Boston, Tadich Grill is to San Francisco, Peter Luger's is to Brooklyn, and so on, Joe's Stone Crab is to Miami.  One of those historic "see-and-be-seen" type places that celebrities, athletes, and the rich frequent.  Apparrently Lady Gaga was in just the night before my visit, according to the manager.  No need to go into all the history as the link provides that.  Joe's doesn't take reservations either and given my limited time, I wasn't going to wait in line for ninety minutes just for glitz and glamour or pomp and circumstance.  I was just there for the namesake: Florida stone crab claws.  Fortunately, Joe's has an adjacent takeaway place that's open from 7:30am to 10pm.  So, I was able to get my day started early and right.   

Stone crab claws are an interesting fishery.  One, the season is only from October to May the following year.  Not an uncommon practice for most wild fisheries.  Joe's isn't even open the other months.  Two, and the curious part, is that the whole crab isn't harvested.  Fishermen trap catch the crabs, pull them up, break off one of their claws if being ethical, both if being assholes, and throw the crab back.  The crab will live and be able to regenerate its claw(s), often up to three or four times in its life.  I've had stone crab at several places I've worked in the past, and I have to say it's certainly the sweetest crab you can find.  At Joe's they were no doubt some of the best I've had.  Not exactly the most budget friendly of meals at $25 per claw for the jumbo size, but definitely worth the once in awhile treat.  Served alongside a creamy mustard sauce, drawn butter, and plenty of lime wedges, I cracked and ate right by the water in South Pointe Park, watching boats and early morning joggers pass by. 

With the perfunctory but pleasant Joe's Stone Crab under my belt, it was time to head to the next destination.  From 100 plus years of service at Joe's to less than 100 days at the next, INTI.MO is the newest establishment in Juan Chipoco's Peruvian-Japanese fusion restaurant empire.  Chipoco not only celebrates his Incan roots in decor and cuisine at INTI.MO, but also in his restaurant group's imperial takeover of Miami's dining scene.  Guy is the hottest thing in South Florida since guayabera shirts.  And luckily, at a block and half away in South Beach, this new location was only a stone crab claw's throw away from Joe's.  Dad jokes always crush it.

Tiraditos and tatakis, ceviches and causas, sushi rolls and sashimi, plus everything in between.  All sorts of mishmashed items littered the seemingly overwhelming menu.  I didn't even ask what the "sushi bomb" was.  I decided to stay classic.  "Ceviche mixto, please, and one of those fruity cocktails rimmed with chili salt."  When in Miami, right?  It was good.  Cubed corvina, squid, shrimp, and octopus.  A simple citrus forward leche de tigre with a floral habenero heat balanced out by sweet hominy (choclo), crispy corn nuts (canchas), and blistered sweet potato.   The dish lived up to the ostentatious decor and Andean gold ornamentation, and came with a side of nice conversation I had with one of the sous.    

Ok, that's two South Beach locations down.  Time to head West, specifically to Miami's Art District of Wynwood.  I'd scoped out Mignonette quite some time ago in a Miami Herald article I found in my frequent and diligent regional oyster research, a.k.a. Googling random shit on my phone while sitting on the couch and ignoring 30 Rock reruns on TV.  I would say that when you think of the Miami food scene, oysters aren't exactly the first thing that come to mind.  "The colder the waters, the better the oyster" is a common saying, and oyster culture (in every sense of the word) changes drastically by latitude.  The "months with only an R" rule is necassarily more observed in the Gulf and Southern Atlantic, and most oysters are wild harvested rather than farmed, unlike their Northern counterparts.  The Florida Panhandle's Apalachicolas are probably the most recognizable, and there are some growers starting to cultivate more oysters in the Southern states, Southern Cross Sea Farms in Cedar Key being one of Florida's great examples.

Mignonette seemed to be one of the city's oyster bars held in the highest regard, and was included on Eater Miami's Essential 38, so I figured it the best place for my bivalve fix.  The establishment itself was gorgeous.  Retrofitted 1930s gas station with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the City of Miami Cemetary.  Staff was as nice, informative, and welcoming as could be.  The only thing that rubbed me the wrong way was, I guess, just the general concept of the place.  It felt like it was trying too hard to be a NYC or Boston raw bar.  You're in Miami, so be a Miami raw bar.  It is possible.  Out of six oyster varieties, not a single one was from Florida, or even the South, despite it being January and about as peak oyster season as you could get down there.  The chef I chatted with briefly said he simply couldn't find good Florida oysters.  Maybe locavorism hasn't hit Miami yet?  I doubt either are true.  And if you are going for a reputable North Atlantic style raw bar, dubious Blue Points and listless Hood Canal Quilcenes aren't the way to get there.

The crudo and baked oysters I had were delightful, though.  Thinly sliced amberjack, jalapeño, and chives dressed with olive oil and blood orange juice and topped with spiced brioche croutons.  Simple, refreshing, and spot on.  The baked oyster line up consisted of:

 Oysters Rockefeller - spinach, parmesan, breadcrums, and pernod
Oysters Frank - manchego cheese, applewood smoked bacon, and sherry 
Oysters Bezos - foie gras, mushroom duxelles, and marsala   

All three were well done.  Cheers for the bacon and oyster combo on the Oysters Frank - salty pig parts and shellfish always hit home.  The foie gras oysters were damn tasty too and I can't help but applaud their titular whimsy.  Oysters Rockefeller, at their advent in 1889 New Orleans, were described as so rich that they had to be named after the wealthiest man alive, John D. Rockefeller.  Foie gras packs that same richness, so only our contemporary Amazon mogul would be suitable for the name.  Thumbs up.  

I also admit I'm not being entirely fair in my criticism of Mignonette's concept.  It did have a great menu of classic and creative dishes, several locally focused or paying homage to the South's regional cooking styles.  It was an objectively nice dining experience.  I think I was the asshole at fault in wanting something a little more Miami in my oyster bar.

So, with my reactions to Mignonette's style and approach, I was clearly getting sick of the higher-brow Miami restaurant scene I'd experienced so far.  Noted.  Time to get farther West to Little Havana's La Camaronera.  Jumped in a cab and off I went.  Immediately, I started feeling better as the fancy gardens and gaudy hotels made way for Tigo Móvil signs and joyerías or casas de empeño.  I even got to dust off my decade old Spanish, mostly with my Venezuelan Uber driver and in my search for a cajero.  La Camaronera is cash only.  No se aceptan tarjetas.  I can appreciate that.  An old saying I heard was confirmed, as well.  Years ago, while in Panama, a local described Panama City as "the Miami of Central America, only we speak more English."  That was definitely true of Miami's Little Havana.

Fresh fish market and fry house, La Camaronera is a 40 year-old Cuban seafood joint from the famed Miami fishing family, The Garcia Brothers, dating back to 1976.  Long story short, several of the Garcia brothers immigrated to Miami in 1966 and worked as fishermen, a trade they'd learned as kids in their native Cuba.  They saved up their earnings, and in a few years, opened their own wholesale and retail fish market.  A few years later, they threw in a deep fryer, added some standing counters, and La Camaronera was born.  It's also seen as kind of a crossroads of Miami culture.  A place where everyone from Coral Gables billionaires to Liberty City gangsters can be seen queueing up for a fried shrimp basket or caldito de cherna.   

Similar to Joe's Stone Crab, the establishment is best known for one item in particular:  the pan con minuta or fried red snapper sandwich.  Straightforward in concept, it's a butterflied and deep fried red snapper filet served on a lightly toasted Cuban roll topped with chopped onions, ketchup, and tartar sauce.  Can't deny that the tail on presentation adds major bonus points to the experience.  It was as tasty as I'd imagined and exactly the direction I'd hoped my crawl would turn.  Step aside ham, pork, pickles, and mustard...there's a Cubano de pescado that's definitely one-upped you in my sandwich book. 

Four stops in less than six hours was probably respectably sufficient, no?  But thankfully, I still had one more to go.  Even before my trip to La Camaronera, I felt I was missing something major.  I'd checked off most of the main places on my list, but I hadn't had that one maverick experience.  You know, that culinary wildcard where you just stumble across a cool looking spot, enter with no expectations, and have one of the best meals of your life.  True hidden gems.  Obviously, they are few and far between and you can't force them.  They just happen when they happen.  But I definitely wanted to try and find something akin, free of TripAdvisor and Yelper opinions.  Also, there are large Haitian and Bahamian populations in Miami.  Why hadn't I looked into that?  Where were the lambi and bannann peze or the conch fritters?  Admittedly, we do need to be sensitive to the conch's populations and over-fishing, or better yet, "conchservation" (read the article, I can't take credit for that one).

So, I decided to start asking around, in short, "where can I get some good cutty Caribbean cuisine."  The shucker at Mignonette, without any hesitation, had said "Chef Creole's Seasoned Kitchen.  But careful, you gotta be sure to go to the original on 54th Street.  That's the best."  Ok, I looked into it a little.  My initial impression was that it couldn't be good or what I was looking for.  Basically a local chain with six locations, a massive catering service, and even an online retail store for sauces and swag.   

Then, I asked the La Camaronera cashier the same question.  She was very nice and gave me a few options, and Chef Creole's was on that list.  It was even nicer when she started ignoring a long line of customers waiting to order so she could call her "chef friend" and ask for his recommendations, on speaker phone no less.  You don't find personal service like that often.  He immediately said "Chef Creole's Seasoned Kitchen, but the original one on 54th Street," as well.  Ok, there had to be something here.  Three completely unsolicited, industry veteran responses of "Chef Creole's."  That's more than enough evidence for me, chain or not.  Google doesn't have the answer to everything sometimes.  Enter Uber ride number three of the day and away we go.

The Little Havana landscape gradually gave way to what can be best described as the residential scenes from a Trick Daddy music video.  And as soon as I arrived at Chef Creole's, I knew I was in the right place.  It consisted of three parts:  a walk-in takeaway section, a drive-thru, and an outdoor cabana dining area.  Bright yellow, bright blue, and Chef Creole branding covered every door, sign, table, employee, catering van.  Chinese takeout-esque photos of braised oxtail, red beans and rice, fried shrimp, and pork griot lined the walls over ice chests filled with Cola Lacaye.  The only regret was that I had no stomach real estate left for a proper Chef Creole feast.  It was tough to decide as I defintely couldn't handle a full plate of garlic lobster and crab with all the sides.  So, I went with the conch salad.  Quick cash exchange for a pre-packaged pint of the salad, styrofoam cup of Hawaiian Punch, and out to the cabana I went to enjoy the beautifully balmy weather of Little Haiti.

 Conch is a damn tasy meat.  Kind of like a marriage between crab and octopus in flavor, but with the firm texture of geoduck siphon.  I would have loved to find a Bahamian Conch Chowder or tried the stewed conch at Chef Creole's, but perhaps that's for next trip.  The salad was legit, though.  Diced up conch with tomatoes, jalapeño, and onions mixed with ample amounts of lime juice and salt. Tough to beat.  Whatever the hell you want to call them: ceviches, salads, cocteles, crudos...if you're mixing citrus, shellfish, peppers and alliums, I'm always game.  And I couldn't remember the last time I'd had Hawaiian Punch.  Talk about a nostalgic sip.  Too bad red sugar water is out of favor cause that shit is delicious.  All in all, the conch salad at Chef Creole's was the perfect ending to my Mariscos de Miami tour.  

Actually, that's a lie. I was able to sneak in one last ceviche at a South Beach farmers' market right before I left for the airport on Sunday.  Like I said, I'm always game. 

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd