Oysters & Melons

Full transparency, my annual oyster & gardening post didn't quite go as planned this year.  I've had a lot of fun with some previous projects: "shucked" ceviche with garden fresh peas and corn, homegrown chile peppers for oyster hot sauce, even pairing eggs from our neighbors' chicken coop with oysters.  For this year's, I started in late 2025 by attempting to grow a perennial known as oyster leaf.  Also known as oyster plant, oyster leaf is in the borage family and closely related to Virginia blue bells.  Relatively rare and prized by chefs, it's got a succulent, snappy texture like a nopales, and a clean saline, oceanic taste like, well, an oyster.  I've only had it once, over a decade ago, while living in San Francisco.  In the States, it's difficult to find outside of the areas it grows wild or is now cultivated, like the North Atlantic or Pacific Northwest.  So naturally, I tried growing it.  And unfortunately, I continue to try growing it.  Direct sow, paper towel sprouting, cell trays with starter mixes, Aerogarden, cold stratification.  Plugs or starts are practically impossible to source, and Mertensia are notoriously difficult to germinate, so I've learned.  I haven't reached the point of defeat just yet, but my oyster leaf escapades are tracking for summer 2027 at the earliest.

But for 2026, things looked dire, as if my annual oyster & gardening post was not going to happen.  Then, as a saving grace, the Tuscan cantaloupe I'd planted back in April went gangbusters, providing some inspiration in oyster & melon pairings.  Oysters, with their natural brininess and minerality, are complemented well by sweet and tart.  Lemon, lime, grapefruit, blood orange, even pomegranate, apple, and stone fruit are commonly served or paired with oysters in some way.  Melons most certainly check that box.  Some Pacific oysters (Magallana gigas) also have slight cucumber or melon flavor profiles.  I've had Kusshis that tasted like straight Watermelon Jolly Ranchers.  So, as my kids and I eagerly awaited over half a dozen melons to ripen on the vine, I started thinking of oyster & melon combinations.

Usually I do some sort of deep subject matter dive in my posts, or at least try to.  The history of Atlantic City, the global dissemination of capsicums, debates around combining cheese and seafood.  But, here we are with my 11th hour, slapdick plan B: oysters & melons.  I'm not saying oysters & melons is a bad idea.  Far from it.  I just want to acknowledge that I'm leaving a lot of fun history, botany, and culture around melons on the table here.  That said, I had to at least provide a bit of detail on what I find interesting about melons, so here we go.
  

I like melons.  Melons taste great.  People have been eating melons for millennia.  Nobody seems to agree on whether melon cultivation originated in Sub-Saharan Africa or the Middle East, but thank you to whoever figured it out.  Some foods that we call melons aren't actually melons, like pepino melons or bitter melons.  Other foods, like Armenian cucumbers, are actually melons, scientifically speaking.  Taxonomic vs. culinary classifications are often weird.  Some growers have been hybridizing and creating cool, new melon varieties, like the Sugar Kiss or Lemon Drop.  Personally, I prefer the big ol' natural melons, though I like augmented melons and little melons too.  Today, melons are available year round thanks to global supply chains.  But, in the Mid-Atlantic, melons are best local and in the late summer months.  When in season, few things can beat a cool, sweet slice of melon on a warm, balmy day.  So, with a few dozen oysters and a mélange of melons, let's get our mel-on!

Oysters & Melon Caviar

Oysters topped with caviar is a classic pairing, and oysters and caviar actually share a similar history.  In the 19th century, oysters were abundant and cheap in Europe and North America.  While consumed by all classes, they often had a distinction as a poor man's food.  Charles Dickens famously wrote "poverty and oysters always seem to go together."  At the same time, caviar-producing sturgeon were incredibly abundant across the East Coast.  Exhausted sturgeon populations had already made caviar a prized luxury in Europe, but it was readily available and cheap in the States.  The US was even the world's leading caviar exporter in the mid-1800s.  However, due to its perishability, the US had more caviar than it could either consume or ship across the Atlantic — so much that it was literally handed out as a free bar snack, just like peanuts or popcorn.  Over-fishing and clever marketing of the early 20th century made oysters and caviar the culinary status symbols they are today.  However, for a few decades in America, oysters and caviar were foods for the masses, enjoyed by all.

          

To turn my melons into caviar for an oyster accoutrement, my mind immediately went molecular gastronomy and spherification.  You know, those pretty little popping pearls of cranberry juice or gin & tonic you see on Top Chef?  However, time is the real luxury when you've got young kids, and science is hard.  So I pivoted and got the most adorable little melon baller available, making my oysters & melon caviar a much more approachable project.  I shucked half a dozen Mystic oysters from Connecticut, plated on some ice, and proceeded to ball various melons.  Korean melon, watermelon, canary melon, honeydew melon, all from various local markets, and of course the Tuscan cantaloupe from our garden. 

In hindsight, I should have tried each oyster with a single melon variety to get a solid sense of which worked best.  Look at all those pretty colors, though.  We're all victims of the Instagramification of our cuisine, I suppose.  I also think this oyster & melon caviar preparation would be much better with Pacific oysters and their fruity, vegetal notes.  However, I can confidently say that the Korean melon was far and away the best pairing.  Its crisp texture and more-tart-than-sweet flavor, almost like a cucumber and Asian pear hybrid, contrasted perfectly with the supple and briny oysters.  I'd love to try it at as a mignonette, maybe with some shallots and champagne vinegar, or bird's eye chiles and yuzu juice.  Either way, this is certainly not the last time I'll be enjoying Korean melon and oysters together.   

 

Oyster & Honeydew Aguachile

2026 has been a year of Mexican marisco dishes for me.  Pescado a la Veracruzana, tostadas de atún, vuelve la vida, caldo de camarón.  Plenty more on this to come in my next blog post, but they've been a recurring theme this year.  It could be from seeing several viral videos like these, or maybe my missing the Bay Area.  Occam's razor would suggest I’m obsessed simply because Mexican seafood preparations are delicious, and therefore deserving of obsession.  Whatever the case may be, they are indeed delightful.

Being top of mind all year, the very first dish I thought of for this project was an oyster & honeydew aguachile.  Again, much more to come on aguachile in that upcoming post, but it's essentially the Sinaloan cousin of ceviche.  Hot peppers like serrano and chiltepín are mixed with cucumber, cilantro, garlic, lime juice and water into a thin, verdant sauce, then poured over raw shrimp or fish and served with crispy tortillas or saltines.  Adding in some honeydew sweetness while maintaining the sauce's green vibrancy, and bringing in a few oysters, seemed like an obvious oysters & melons dish.  I started by curing some Goose Point oysters and Mexican brown shrimp in lime juice to firm up their texture a bit.  I then blended garlic, cucumber, cilantro, honeydew melon, and homegrown jalapeños in lime juice with a little water and passed it through a sieve.



After about 15 minutes of the lime juice cure, it was time to plate.  I laid out the shrimp and oysters, added some cubed honeydew, poured over the aguachile sauce, and garnished with sliced red onion, cilantro, and cucumber.  My favorite Mexican ceviche, aguachile, or coctel accompaniment is saltines, so I had to throw a few on the side.  Overall, it tasted great.  A bright, herbaceous, spicy sauce with toothsome bites of shrimp and oyster and a cooling crunch from the cucumber and red onion.  In terms of a classic aguachile, spot on.  Unfortunately, the honeydew was overpowered by the citrus and spice.  I had put A LOT of honeydew in there, too, but it was still barely noticeable.  I wouldn't have even known it was in there if it weren't for the cubed melon.  Solid 8 out of 10 for a standard aguachile, but I need to go back to the drawing board on the melon pairing.  Perhaps for next year's oyster & gardening post.

Gul Subak Naengmyeon (굴수박냉면) 

Few cultures around the world take their melons as seriously as the Japanese.  They grow luxury, high-end melons that often go for $100 to $200 for a single fruit.  Just this year, a pair of Yubari melons from Hokkaido sold for nearly $40,000 at auction.  As soon as I started this project, I knew I'd be looking to the East for inspiration.  I ended up in South Korea where they make a summer dish called subak naengmyeon.  Buckwheat noodles are cooked, chilled, and tossed in a sweet & spicy watermelon-gochuchang broth.  They're then served cold in a hollowed-out watermelon and topped with sliced cucumber and a jammy, soft-boiled egg.  Perfect for my oysters & melons coup de grâce dish.
  

Yes, that's an Aerogarden in the background,
still trying to sprout some oyster leaf seeds. 

A large oyster, when lightly poached or steamed, can be a great substitute for a boiled egg in many dishes, whether for dietary adjustments or just a fun riff.  I've had some success with it in the past, most notably as a Scotch egg oyster.  I started my Gul Subak Naengmyeon (Oyster & Watermelon Cold Noodles) by boiling Kikkokin buckweat noodles and chilling them in an ice bath, and poaching an XL Goose Point oyster.  At the same time, I hollowed out a baby watermelon half and set it to the side.  I blended the removed melon with rice vinegar, gochujang, and Korean oyster sauce for the noodle dressing.  I also sliced up, purged, and pan-fried some bitter melon to add to the noodles.  I only used a little, so the rest was set aside for a school night stir-fry.  The slightly astringent melon would contrast well with the sweet and spicy noodles.  But really, I just wanted to add more melon, so I could say melon more, even though bitter melon isn't a true melon.

Once all the components were ready, I dressed the noodles and bitter melon and plated them in the baby watermelon half.  I then added the oyster on top and garnished with scallion, sesame seeds, and a few heavy shakes of gochugaru.  The result — quite the showstopper, I don't mind saying.  And the flavor —  🤯.  Slightly chewy, al dente noodles swimming in an all-things-flavor broth.  It was sweet, spicy, savory, refreshing, and tangy in every bite.  The bitter melon brought a great, contrasting crunch, and the oyster on top provided an umami-rich pop.  I'm genuinely surprised we don't see subak naengmyeon on menus in the States more.  It's delicious.  I also have to apologize to my mom.  Growing up, I always watched her salt her watermelon before eating it.  We all looked at her like she was batshit crazy.  But after this dish, I get it.  Watermelon pairs wonderfully with salty and savory, especially in the form of cold noodles with some oysters.  Sorry, mom, you were right all along.    

For a last minute pivot, I was pretty happy with my dishes pairing oysters & melons.  A few tasty bites, some fun learnings, and plenty of leftover melons to enjoy after the project.  No joke, we've been eating melon for breakfast, lunch, snack, and dinner the last week or so.  The boy and I went fishing at the Jersey shore recently, and sure enough, he landed a 20 inch keeper.  Summer flounder is delicious, and particularly delicious when served crudo with cantaloupe, watermelon and a spicy gochujang & lime sauce.  I hope you get the chance to eat some peak-season melons and seafood in the last few days of summer, too.

Cheers,
The SF Oyster Nerd

  

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

  

Oyster Ice Cream

There are lots of popular culinary combinations or dishes that, when first mentioned, likely seemed senseless or even disgusting.  Breakfast sausage with maple syrup, pepperoni pizza dipped in ranch, peanut butter & jelly.  Now, they're as American as apple pie (topped with cheddar cheese, of course).  Odd pairings or preparations like these span the globe and history, too.  Prosciutto & melon, chicken & waffles, cold beef & buckwheat noodles, watermelon & feta salad, a bloody caesar's mix of tomato & clam juices.  Surf & turf was once the focus of aspersive eyes, and I bet many unfamiliar still question the centuries old combination of chocolate & chile pepper in mole negro.  Hell, even salted caramel ice cream was bizarre and relatively novel in the early 2000's mainstream.  Now it's arguably one of the most popular flavors around.

Oyster Ice Cream from Oysome
via In a Halfshell

Oysters have been going through a renaissance of sorts in the last few decades.  So, when you hear "oyster ice cream," you might think it's some whacky hipster invention that's pushed the oyster revival a bit too far.  "Oyster ice cream?!?  The leftist woke mind virus is destroying this country!  What's next?!?  Men dressed as women eating salmon sorbet in girls' bathrooms?!?"  Just jokes - much like our current president and administration.  However, the reality is quite the opposite.  Oyster ice cream has a deep, rich history in the United States.

Ice cream, in one form or another, has been around for millenia.  Unfortunately, like so many foods, its beginnings are full of myth, lore, and hotly contested debate.  Evidence of Persians, Greeks, Egyptians, Chinese, and Romans mixing fruit, milk, rice, or honey with snow goes back thousands of years.  Ice cream, like so many historic creations that are often misattributed elsewhere, was likely invented in China.  There are records from the Tang Dynasty (618 - 907 A.D) of milk being cooked with flour and spices, frozen, and served as a sweet treat for the elite.  Whether by the Silk Road, Marco Polo, or other means, this practice made its way to Europe over the next few centuries.  It eventually started being refined to versions we'd be more familiar with today.  This mostly happened in the royal courts or aristocratic houses of Italy and France in the 16th and 17th centuries, and gradually spread to nobility across Europe.  For most of history, ice cream has been a labor and resource intensive product, thus enjoyed primarily by the rich.  Such was the case in ice cream making its way to the Americas, with the first recorded instance being at a dinner held by Maryland's Colonial Governor in 1744.

19th Century Oyster & Ice Cream Vendors

Oyster ice cream, on the other had, doesn't have much formal record until the 19th century.  But that doesn't stop the myth and lore, yet again.  Some say it was George Washington's favorite, as well as First Lady Dolly Madison's.  Others say Mark Twain loved it so much he wrote about it in Tom Sawyer.  There are even claims that it was served at the First Thanksgiving, which is down right comedic to think.  None of this is true, or at least there's no record to verify.  However, it is true that a relative of Thomas Jefferson named Mary Randolph wrote the first recorded recipe for oyster ice cream in 1824's The Virginia Housewife.  The book was so popular that it was republished twenty times before the Civil War, arguably making Randolph one of America's first celebrity chefs.  The Virginia Housewife is also recognized as America's very first Southern cookbook.  Contemporary chefs still praise her innovation to this day. 

      Now, there has been a lot of analysis and opinion about Mary Randolph, her cookbook, and Antebellum cuisine in general.  That deep discussion is admittedly beyond the scope of my arm-chair historical research.  However, there are two things I find quite curious about Mary Randolph and the earliest record of oyster ice cream.

First, it feels a bit inappropriate to credit Randolph with oyster ice cream in any capacity, or even much Southern cuisine in general.  Sure, she recorded it, codified it, hosted dinner parties with it, maybe even cooked a bit at her luxurious boarding house.  But coming from one of early America's most prominent and affluent Southern families, I think we can be honest and say that Mary primarily had slaves cook for her and her guests.  Her book even presupposes that the reader has a staff of cooks and servants.  "We have no right to expect slaves or hired servants to be more attentive to our interests than we ourselves are; nor can it be supposed that persons of ordinary capacity will perform their duties with punctuality or exactness, unless they know they are subject to frequent inspection."  This is a direct quote from The Virginia Housewife.  

18th century portrait often mistakenly
identified as Hercules Posey

This is an upsetting and uncomfortable paradox we run into when trying to celebrate Antebellum history, culture, and cuisine.  I certainly romanticize hearth baked peach cobbler or sweet tea on the porch as much as anyone.  But the reality is that most of this rich culinary history stems from enslaved chefs.  We know much of Martha Washington's celebrated cookery comes straight from her and George's slave, Hercules Posey.  We also know Thomas Jefferson's slave, James Hemings, was culinarily trained in Paris and influenced much of Mary Randolph's record.  Affluent women of the day were subjugated too, largely powerless beyond homemaking.  So it feels a bit weird to knock Mary Randolph, Martha Washington, or other women of the day.  But that subjugation pales in comparison to that experienced by the enslaved in America, often at the hands of those same homemaking women.  What I do know is that credit is due to the African American slaves who largely shaped Southern cuisine, and that just might include oyster ice cream.

Second, the original oyster ice cream wasn't exactly what we think of when it comes to ice cream.  Mary Randolph's recipe is simply "make a rich oyster soup, strain it, freeze it."  Her recipe for oyster soup included onions, ham, salt, pepper, and thyme.  Safe to say it wasn't the dulcet delight we know ice cream to be today.   At the time, ice cream had a broader culinary application than it generally does now, and savory variations were quite common.  Parmesan, asparagus, artichoke, spinach, and cucumber ice creams are all well documented from the Colonial and Victorian eras.  Randoph's book even has a calf's hoof ice cream recipe.  Ice cream was still a pretty new concept, and thus, experimental.  It was often served as a palate cleanser or mid-course at opulent dinners, as well as a sweet dessert.  Chefs making dill pickle or everything bagel ice cream today might think they're breaking the mold, but there's already a few hundred years of precedent.

Mary Randolph's Oyster Ice Cream Recipe from The Virginia Housewife - 1824

Japanese Oyster Ice Cream via TokyoTreat

That said, I'm an American kid of the 90's and to me, ice cream is a sweet treat or dessert.  I'm as adventurous as the next guy, often more, particularly when trying out historic seafood recipes.   Candidly though, icey oyster stew didn't sound like my cup of tea, or scoop of ice cream, rather.  However, I could see a sweet oyster ice cream working.  Salty and sweet pair well, and there are several ice cream examples in salted caramel, vanilla in pretzel cones, even olive oil ice cream topped with fleur de sel.  Sweet oyster ice cream is also nothing new.  Vanilla soft serve paired with deep fried oysters has taken Japan by storm over the last decade.  There are also some establishments Stateside who've been making it for the last few years.  For my own homemade version, I largely took my inspiration from Oysome out of Ireland.
 
SF Oyster Nerd Oyster Ice Cream

I picked up some stewing oysters in their liquor from Hill's Quality Seafood, as well as some heavy cream and sweetened condensed milk from Whole Paycheck.  They've always got that rich, bougie heavy cream in a glass bottle.  You know, the kind that reminds you of the pastoral 1950s when milkmen delivered weekly to your front porch, past your white picket fence and tire swing.  Another paradoxical time to romanticize.  I'm not terribly keen on $11 a pint cream, but when making a mostly cream based soup, it's 100% worth it.  A great oyster stew is simple with few ingredients - oysters, oyster liquor, and cream.  A little salt, a little pepper, maybe an herb.  That's it.  Chef Mark Franz taught me that, literally while spoon-feeding me his version in front of a dozen patrons dining at Waterbar's oyster bar.  Dude is a legend, and truly dgaf.  I once watched him take a bite out of a white Alba truffle like it was an apple.

Anyway, I brought equal parts oyster liquor and cream to a simmer with salt and pepper to taste and a bit of thyme.  I then added the dozen stewing oysters to cook and infuse more oyster flavor.  Once the oysters were cooked and the taste was right, I strained everything and set the soup to the side to chill.  Don't worry, the oysters didn't go to waste.  They were a nice lunch when mixed with some chives and topped on some Ritz crackers.  I then mixed two parts oyster soup with one part whole milk and one part sweetened condensed milk.  Your boy doesn't have have a fancy ice cream churner on hand or a stockpile of liquid nitrogen in the basement, so I couldn't make a classic style ice cream.  However, my niece went through a smoothie / sorbet craze a few years ago, and I was able to borrow her Ninja Creami.  As such, I loosely followed some suggested recipes and ended up on a 2-1-1 ratio of oyster soup, whole milk, and condensed milk.  The mixture then went into the freezer to set for 24 hours before getting Ninja Creamified into ice cream.

While waiting, I figured I'd make some oyster appropriate toppings for my ice cream.  First thought was the classic pairing of oysters and citrus.  Raw oysters are almost always served with lemons or limes, as their sharp acidity compliments oysters' rich brininess.  Luckily, I had a bag of limes on hand, and decided to make candied lime rinds.  I peeled the limes, taking as little pith with the rinds as possible.  I sliced the peels thin, blanched them for 30 minutes or so to remove some bitterness, then cooked them down in some simple syrup for another 30 minutes.  Strained and cooled, I tossed them in some sugar and voila - candied limes.  Another classic pairing is oysters and stout, specifically Guinness.  It goes back centuries in Ireland, as both oysters and Guinness were widely available to the working class, and is still celebrated across the globe today.  Stout's roasty bitterness goes well with oysters' salty minerality.  There's even an oyster & Guinness flavored potato chip.  So, I decided to make a Guinness caramel sauce.  I reduced a can of Guinness by half on medium heat, then added in brown sugar and vanilla extract.  Ten minutes later, I removed it from the heat and whisked in heavy cream and butter.  Then, jarred and into the fridge to chill it went.

The next day, it was time to churn.  I have to say the Ninja Creami is a breeze to use.  I simply took out the frozen oyster cream base, plugged it into the machine, and selected "Ice Cream" mode.  Two minutes later, I had a rich, smooth, oyster ice cream.  The texture was spot on.  How did it taste, though?  I tried it straight up to start.  Imagine a sea wave hit your vanilla ice cream cone, then you took a lick.  It's like that, but a bit gamier. Not for the faint of oceanic heart, as it definitely had notes of savory low tide.  But if you like oyster stuffing, scalloped oysters, even oysters Rockefeller, this is a novel taste I think you'd enjoy.  The interesting thing was that the oyster flavor mellowed with time.  It was pretty intense when I ate it on day one, but more and more muted on each following day.  My neighbor tried it on day five and said it was very faintly oyster flavored. 



However, when I added the toppings to the oyster ice cream on day one, it really came to life.  The buttery, briny ice cream was cut by the roasty, slightly bitter Guinness caramel, and the candied lime rinds added an acidic brightness with a crystalized, sugary crunch.  Together, it was an indulgent, peculiar, and overall pleasant bite.  Definitely not a two scoop or milk shake type of ice cream, but a curiosity I was happy I'd explored.  Who knows, with some more trial and error, you may just see The SF Oyster Nerd's Oyster Ice Cream in a market near you soon 😜.    

Cheers,
The SF Oyster Nerd