Philadelphia Hoagies & Seafood

Italian Hoagie from Pastificio Deli in South Philly

I love seafood.  Love it.  I'm coming up on 15 years of writing this blog, and I hope my passion for seafood and oysters has been aptly communicated in that time.  However, my absolute favorite meal is an Italian hoagie.  You may know it as a sub, a grinder, a wedge, just an Italian, or any number of other names.  Y'all are my heroes, but to me, it's a hoagie.  It's the thing I missed the most while living in San Francisco.  Since returning to Philadelphia, I've been making up for lost time, eating some of the best sandwiches in America.  Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of great sandwiches in the Bay Area and all over the country.  Pastrami on rye in New York, Cubanos in Miami, Po' boys in New Orleans, Italian Beefs in Chicago.  I still believe the fish sandwich is due its proper time in the national spotlight.  However, no place does sandwiches quite like the City of Brotherly Love.  I'll admit I'm biased towards many of the region's culinary creations.  But maybe there's a reason Philadelphia is consistently named the best sandwich city in the States.  And maybe there's a reason the hoagie, not the cheesesteak, is the Official Sandwich of Philadelphia.  And maybe, just maybe, that's because the Philadelphia Italian hoagie is the best sandwich in the country.  Yep, shots fired.  Come at me.

With such a bold claim, it's only appropriate for a little more detail.  Surely you've come across the classic Americanized Italian sandwich in one form or another.  Deli meats like ham, prosciutto, capicola, and salami piled on bread, most often a torpedo or sub roll, paired with cheese, lettuce, tomato, and onion.  It's typically dressed with some sort of condiment.  Oil and vinegar, pepper relish, Italian dressing, and for the blasphemers, mustard or mayo.  They're made all over the world.  Subway is the largest fast food chain on the planet with over 37,000 stores in 100 countries, serving its Spicy Italian or Italian BMT in most locations.  Unfortunately, Subway's v-cut quality days of the '90s are long gone, and now it's so shit even Steph Curry couldn't save it.  But respect for spreading sub familiarity far and wide.

Subway's "Hotshot Italiano"
Not sure if it is, but sounds kind of racist

Identifying the point of origin for the Italian-American sandwich is a fool's errand.  Countless regions across every state in the Northeast have their claimants, and they're possibly all right.  Placing meat on bread with fixins isn't exactly rocket surgery.  It's likely a few of them did this autonomously with some Old World culinary reference.  Philadelphia and the surrounding counties have their own competing candidates in DiCoztanza's, Emil's, and others.  What's largely agreed upon is that industrialization and urbanization of the late 19th and early 20th century shifted the way people in the US ate.  For decades prior, the US workforce was primarily agrarian.  Farmers grew a lot of their own food and could pause for meals throughout the day.  However, as the workforce shifted to manufacturing, laborers needed to purchase their food and often entire meals.  At the same time, Italian immigrants began opening Italian grocers in cities all across the Eastern Seaboard.  These markets sold bread, cheese, and antipasto.  With these naturally paired items on hand and busy laborers demanding economical meals on the go, it's no wonder the Italian sandwich gradually, perhaps even independently, rose to prominence in nearly every city in the Eastern US. 

A History of Philadelphia Sandwiches

Beyond being the best, the only real difference between the Philadelphia hoagie and other regional iterations is titular.  There are slight ingredient and execution differences between the sub, zep, spuckie, grinder, hero, etc., even hoagie to hoagie.  However, none are more notable than the name variations themselves.  While the etymology of "submarine sandwich," as it's most commonly known nationally, is relatively straightforward (emphasis on the relatively), the origins of the term "hoagie" are a bit more hazy.  No single resource I've found breaks this down better than Mike Madaio's A History of Philadelphia Sandwiches.  The majority of the following came directly from his chapter on hoagies, and I highly recommend purchasing the book to read in its entirety.    

There are a number of theories around the hoagie, many of which don't hold much weight when scrutinized.  However, two things seem certain.  One, the word is not as old as we'd like to believe.  It doesn't appear in text until 1946, and even then it's sporadic until the '50s.  Two, it's derived from the word "hoggie," "hoggy," or "hogie," as written references to the sandwich with these names began in 1940.  These simple points actually rule out a number of mainstream theories.

Philadelphia Hoagie Guide by Hawk Krall

1. It's named after the famous musician and actor Hoagy Carmichael.  The homophonic relationship is undeniable.  However, Carmichael's celebrity wasn't truly at its peak until the late '40s and early '50s, making the connection unlikely.  More evidential, we know hoagie stems from hoggie, and Hoagy's got nothing to do with hoggies.  
   
   
2. It comes from early 20th century street vendors called hokey pokey men.  At the start of the 20th century, street vendors known as hokey pokey men were regular fixtures in Western cities including London, Liverpool, New York and, of course, Philadelphia.  Some claim these vendors sold Italian sandwiches, which became knowns as hokeys and eventually hoagies.  However, records show hokey pokey men were almost exclusively known for selling ice cream, no more, no less.  And again, hoagie came from hoggie, making the connection even less plausible.    
   
   
3. It stems from a phrase meaning poverty-stricken - "one the hoke."  Philadelphia grocers, particularly during the Great Depression, would hand out leftover bread, meat scraps, and veggies to locals down on their luck.  Being in dire financial straits was colloquially known as being "on the hoke."  The resulting sandwich became known as a hokie and eventually a hoagie.  I like this one, especially due to its impetus from kindness and parallels to the po'boy.  However, yet again, there is no written record of the sandwich being called a hokie, and "on the hoke" certainly didn't lead to hoggie.
   
   
4. It's named after shipyard laborers or their meals at Hog Island.  Probably the most popular theory.  In 1917, the U.S. Government contracted a shipyard at Hog Island (the modern PHI airport) as part of the WWI effort.  It was the largest shipyard in the world at the time, employing thousands.  Either the laborers themselves or the sandwiches they ate became known as hoggies, eventually leading to hoagies.  Finally, a theory with hoggie to hoagie.  However, the Hog Island shipyard was shuttered in 1921, and we don't see hoggie in writing until 1940.  It's possible it stemmed from here, but unlikely given the time gap.  That would be like us not having written record of McGriddles until 2023.  

Unfortunately, the most plausible story is far from the most enchanting.  In the late '20s, jazz musician Al De Palma saw people eating large Italian sandwiches around Philadelphia.  Stunned by the size and heft of the sandwiches, he thought "man, you'd need to be a hog to eat one of those."  A decade later in the midst of the Great Depression and unable to find work as a musician, De Palma opened a sandwich shop.  Italian sandwiches were already common place by then.  The rise of the supermarket forced many local grocers to shift, and sandwich making was an accessible, low-cost startup.  We still see the legacy of this shift today with the ubiquity of corner hoagie shops all over the region.  De Palma of course sold Italian sandwiches; however, he decided to label his as hoggies.  Within a few years, his sandwiches were the talk of the town.  Hoggie worked its way into the Philadelphia lexicon, becoming the standard designation for Italian sandwiches, and De Palma became the self-proclaimed King of Hoggies.  And if you're at all familiar with the Philadelphia accent, it's no shock that the hoggie quickly became the hoagie we enjoy today. 

 

Al De Palma and his hoggie assembly line - Philadelphia Inquirer

So, why is the once-hoggie-now-hoagie better than any other regional Italian sandwich?  There's no secret sauce, ingredient, or technique to a Philadelphia hoagie.  The components are much the same as any other.  In reality, it's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Upon moving here a few decades ago, now-celebrated Philadelphia food critic Craig LaBan lamented that there was no great pizza.  He soon realized it wasn't from a lack of talent or resources, but rather that everyone was focused on making great sandwiches.  Philadelphians are fanatics about their sandwiches, and local purveyors respond in kind with the best ingredients, craft, and understanding of tradition.  With such a foundation, it's not hard to produce the best sandwich in the country.

Niland's Seafood Muffuletta

Hoagie history and veneration is fun, but making an Italian hoagie with seafood was the true goal of this post.  "Seafood hoagies" exist, such as the Little Fish's floagie or Honeysuckle Provisions' Friday fish hoagie.  Po'boys are arguably seafood hoagies.  But I wanted to go full ham, literally, using all seafood charcuterie.  Cured or preserved fish served in sandwich format is nothing new.  Lox, pickled herring, smoked trout, whitefish salad, and canned tuna are longstanding sandwich staples.  Nobody would classify those as deli meats, though.  Japanese items like surimi and kamoboko come closer in style and texture, but are rarely seen utilized in sandwich format.  However, over the last few years, the preserved seafood landscape has dipped into classic sliced meats.  Swordfish bacon, salmon pastrami, lobster lunch meat.  Josh Niland, notable Australian chef of "#FishAsMeat" fame, even makes a muffuletta consisting of albacore tuna 'nduja, ocean trout salami, and kingfish mortadella.  Dude's already a legend in my mind, but this struck a new chord.  With plenty of fishpiration, I set off on my seafood hoagie adventure.  Wooooo!  Gonna make some aquatic cold cuts!

A point of contention in the Philadelphia area is exactly what meats make up the proper Italian hoagie.  There's a wide array of Italian and Italian-American cold cuts, all of which have likely made their way onto a hoagie at some point.  The one thing that seems to be loosely agreed upon is that an Italian hoagie requires three different meats.  Within those meats, I believe the best results are achieved with a complimentary diversity.  There is some crossover and interchangeability here, but a good guide is:

• A classic cooked and / or cured meat like Italian ham, capicola / coppa / gabagool, or prosciutto cotto.  This comprises the bulk of the sandwich, adding heft and meatiness.  It should be in a 2 to 1 to 1 ratio with the other cuts.
• A fermented and / or supplemental cured meat, such as genoa salami, pepperoni, soppressata, speck, or prosciutto di parma.  This contributes tooth and texture, as well as additional flavor in tang and spice.
• An emulsified or fatty meat, like mortadella, bologna, cotechino, even 'nduja or lardo.  This brings a richness and body to the sandwich, as well as an extra layer of savory depth.   

Great.  I understood the assignment.  Time to make the oceanic equivalents.

 
Spicy Tuna Ham

Tuna Loin ready for Smoker (L) 
Brine Mixture (R) 

I like spicy, and love a hoagie with hot capicola or peppered ham. I wanted the base of my seafood hoagie to bring the heft and heat, so I decided on brined, heavily spiced, cold smoked tuna.  Hot smoking a fish cooks it, giving it that flaky texture like smoked salmon or trout dips.  Cold smoking a fish, however, preserves it while maintaining the raw texture, like lox or gravlax.  A spicy, Niland style cold smoked tuna loin would be quite similar in taste and texture to an Italian ham.  I started by brining a two pound yellowfin tuna loin in a concentrated mix of kosher salt, brown sugar, red pepper flakes, coriander, paprika, black peppercorns and pink salt #1.  After twelve hours, I removed the loin, rinsed, patted dry, and covered it in more red pepper, black pepper, and paprika.  Lastly, I tied it off and placed it back in the fridge for twelve hours of drying and pellicle development.

We've got a decent amount of culinary oddities in our household, or unitaskers as they're commonly known.  Pasta machine, sausage grinder, vacuum sealer, food dehydrator, seltzer carbonator, even a deli slicer, as you'll see shortly.  However, we have yet to buy a smoker.  Since I couldn't justify the $500+ price tag for this project, plus the $130+ cold smoker adapter, I ended up MacGyvering one.  Repurposing two cardboard boxes, a wooden dowel, a hot plate, a handheld mini fan, and some flexible duct piping, I made my very own, fully functional cold smoker.  I'm far from cheap, but all in, this maybe cost me $30.  Not bad compared to the price of a commercial smoker.  Funnily enough, I also think it's the only time I've ever used duct tape on actual duct work.
   

Homemade Cold Smoker

I smoked the tuna loin for a little over four hours with a mixture of smoke chip samples on hand that I'd been wanting to use for ages.  Cherry, oak, apple, and hickory.  It needed pretty minimal maintenance, only refreshing the wood chips every hour or so.  Once finished, I set it aside to wait patiently for its cold cut partners.  The family wasn't too thrilled with the smokey scented fridge it created, but hoagie greatness requires sacrifice, right?

Octopus Salami

I get it.  We all know they're smart, especially if you've seen My Octopus Teacher.  I hope someone is reading this and condemning my use of octopus.  And while sitting on this perceived moral high ground, maybe they're sipping a Starbucks frappuccino made from child labor coffee beans.  Perhaps they're enjoying some avocado toast that's literally decimating entire water supplies in Chile.  Even better, they're reading this on an iPhone.  Many of our personal choices can have regrettable implications around the world, often without our realizing.

When it comes to food, I don't value one life more than the other based our contemporary understanding of what constitutes intelligence.  Recent research has shown trees and fungi communicate with each other.  All life is precious and deserving of our respect, regardless of how cute or smart we think it is.  At the same time, some life must end to nourish others.  For me, the importance is in the sustainable production and humane treatment of our food.  This goes from peas to pork and everything in between (the latter is also supposedly quite clever).  As long as the octopus was responsibly and ethically harvested, it's kosher in my book.   And it's ok if we disagree.  Don't eat my octopus salami, enjoy your iPhone, and we can still be friends. 

Beginnings of Octopus Salami

I didn't have the time or equipment to make actual cured and fermented octopus salami.  However, cooked octopus texture on its own would provide a nice contrasting bite, similar to a salami, and I knew I could achieve the salami flavor with the same seasonings.  A classic octopus carpaccio technique would work great.  I poached a whole Atlantic octopus in red wine, garlic, onions, paprika, peppercorns and fennel seeds for two hours.  Once fully cooked, I pulled the octopus to chill and broke it down.  The goal was to compress the octopus together in a ham press, forming a sliceable roll.  I also reduced the poaching liquid to a cup, allowed it to cool, and mixed in some gelatin.  Adding the concentrated stock to the salami would add flavor, and the gelatin would aid in keeping it all together.  I layered it all into the press, adding plenty of fennel seeds and black peppercorns intermittently to replicate that Genoa style.  Finally, into the fridge it went to set overnight. 

Steelhead Mortadella    

Steelhead Mortadella Ingredients

Last up was the rich and fatty component.  Habitual James Beard nominee Beau Schooler out of Juneau makes some pretty cool shit with local, seasonal salmon.  Salmon wings, shiny smoked salmon, salmon pepperoni, kelp cured salmon roe, compressed melon lox. Given the abundance of Alaskan seafood he uses with a focus on Italian technique, I figured he might provide some inspiration.  Sure enough, his salmon and scallop mortadella was the perfect fit for my hoagie.

Unfortunately, it was the middle of winter, when no Pacific wild-caught salmon is available fresh.  I could have gone for frozen sockeye, but I needed something a little fattier.  I'm also not a fan of most Atlantic farmed salmon, for a variety of reasons.  Then I remembered one of my previous winter projects where I used a locally farmed steelhead trout for a Fish Wellington.  It had a decent amount of fat and would work great for my mortadella.  Mixing in a few sea scallops would add to the richness as well.

Any mortadella starts with emulsifying meat, almost into a paste, with seasonings and binders.  While certainly not the most appetizing to prepare, many commonplace foods we love are emulsified meats.  Hot dogs, gyros, pepperoni, scrapple and pork roll for my Mid-Atlantic homies, and even chicken nuggets.  Contrary to the idiom, the world would be a better place if we all understood how the proverbial sausage was made.  Just think of that iPhone.  Anyway, I thoroughly blended the steelhead and a few sea scallops with salt, sugar, black pepper, coriander, garlic powder and egg whites.  Once a smooth forcemeat texture, I piped it all into a cook bag for steaming.  I also layered in whole pistachios and a few whole sea scallops to replicate that classic mortadella with fatback.  All bagged up, into the ham press and simmering water it went to steam to an internal temperature of 135°.  After about thirty minutes, it was fully cooked and ready for the fridge to chill and set. 

The SF Oyster Nerd Seafood Hoagie

The next day all three nautical deli meats were ready to go. They came out exactly as I'd hoped, especially when shaved on the deli slicer.  The tuna ham was smokey, spicy, and a perfect meaty cold cut texture.  The octopus salami was toothsome, savory, and had sharp, fragrant notes of fennel seed and black peppercorn, just like Genoa salami.  And the steelhead mortadella was rich, unctuous, and garlic forward with a slight scallopy sweetness.  Time for hoagie assembly.    

A great hoagie starts with great bread.  Which bread is best is another local point of contention, but "it's all about the bread" is commonly heard when talking about Philadelphia sandwiches.  Madaio's book has an entire chapter dedicated to just bread.  For my sandwich, I'd wanted to get a famous Sarcone's Bakery hoagie roll, but the 2 hour round trip for a loaf was a tough sell to the wife.  Liscio's Bakery seeded pan blind loaf has become a regional standard, with award winning Primo Hoagies even using them.  They're readily available at several retail stores in the area, and I prefer sesame seeded hoagie rolls.  They add pleasant toasted nuttiness. 

Seafood Hoagie Assembly

In terms of fixins and condiments, the world is your hoagie, except for mustard and mayo.  I believe you'd get your ass kicked asking for that.  The usual suspects are lettuce, tomato, and onion.  The lettuce is always finely shredded, and has affectionately become known as "shredduce" by some.  Careful, though.  Say shredduce in some parts of Philly and you'd get your ass kicked again.  The tomato should be sliced translucently thin and lightly salted to extract some moisture and flavor.  The onions must be sliced paper thin as well, and should be briefly marinated in oil, vinegar, and Italian seasoning.  This removes some of the piquant raw onion flavor that can overwhelm a hoagie.  Some form of pickled or roasted pepper often turns the topping trio into a quartet.  I always go for pepperoncinis as they've got a slight acidic heat, but not enough to blow out the whole hoagie.  For cheese, provolone is most common, but you know how it goes with cheese and seafood in Italian cuisine.  I'd considered shaving some bottarga on as a seafood surrogate for the cheese, but didn't get any in time.  Finally, the whole hoagie gets a liberal dousing of oil and vinegar, and hefty shake of Italian herbs and spices.

The SF Oyster Nerd Seafood Hoagie, Philly Style

The end result, absolute seafood hoagie bliss.  No joke, it actually worked.  I wish my home deli slicer could have gone thinner on the cuts, but beyond that, it was incredible.  I was seriously blown away.  Like most of you, I too was skeptical at the start of this project.  My culinary compadre, who's usually on board with most of my whacky ideas, called me "sick in the head" when I bounced this one off him.  But I knew I could make the parts well, and this surprisingly ended up as a genuine "the sum is greater than the parts" situation.  A slightly crunchy, toasty roll into savory layers of smokey tuna, rich mortadella, and briny octopus, all cut by bright, tart, and heavily seasoned fixins.  I even brought half to my die-hard-all-things-Philly neighbor to try and he was equally blown away.  I'm considering that proof of concept.  Watch out, Greater Philadelphia Area.  The SF Oyster Nerd Seafood Hoagie just might be coming to a pop-up near you.

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd

Deep Fried Oysters

I got a deep fryer for Christmas this past year.  It's not exactly a clean operation, but it's certainly easier than pouring a 1/2 gallon of canola oil in your dutch oven, turning the burner to medium-high, and hoping for the perfect, southern style fried chicken.  I've wasted plenty of time flicking AP flour into hot oil and thinking "sure, that seems about right."  The tempature is always accurate, there's an easy-to-use fry basket (no diving into scalding oil with a slotted spoon), and it's a self-contained, splatter-free operation.  Don't worry, it's not easy or clean enough to make fish'n'chips a daily staple in your diet.  All you cardiologists out there can rest easy. 

I have, however, been frying all sorts of fun stuff.  Cornish game hens, sand dabs, mezcal tapatio hot wings, mixed tempura, Milky Ways, Indiana style pork loin sandwiches.  There's an endless amount of things that could always be made better with a crispy, golden crust.  I'll be honest, though, spilling the meager $8.95 for Yen's Kitchen's General Tso's chicken is certainly more time and effort efficient than prepping, dredging, frying, and worse, cleaning up after making it at home for yourself.  Leaving it to the pros is often more reasonable, but there is something rewarding about making your own "take out" food at home, from time to time. 

Naturally, fried oysters eventually came to mind.  Simple enough approach, no?  Cornmeal dredge mixed with an Emeril's Essense of sorts and served alongside a remoulade or flavored aioli, right?  Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of the classic fried oyster.  The Walrus and The Carpenter's are hands down in my top five of cooked, or "quality added," oysters.  But hey, why not have a little fun and explore the possibility of oysters fried in different ways.  As I near 30 years of age I find myself in very different circumstances on a warm Saturday evening than I had less than a decade ago.  Eight years past it was tequila shots, Natty Light, beer pong, and power hour Kanye mix tapes.  Now, it's canola oil, buttermilk, AP flour, and a macro lens.  Oh, and Tecate, the West Coast version of Natty Light.  Never forget where you came from.

So, with three dozen wrist-breaking Hog Island Sweetwater mediums shucked and ready to go, let the frying begin. 

Be wary of the self-proclaimed oyster 'ficianado who says "I only like the small ones"

Potato Starch Fried Oysters (Kaki Karage)

Chicken karage is a dish of fairly high repute these days.  Savory, flavor-filled chicken thighs soaked in a soy mirin marinade, dredged in potato starch and deep fried.  The dredge is the key.  Potato starch is a curious thing in the canola crisped world.  It only requires a light dusting and straight in to the oil.  It has a certain stickiness to it, requiring a chopstick separation of individual pieces once dropped, but beyond that it is all one can hope for in a fried product.  It's a clean, club-handless prep, absorbs very little oil, and stays crispy for days.  If you've ever wondered why that Korean or Japanese fried chicken you love is so good, potato starch is often the answer.

As a huge fan of potato starch frying, oysters karage was one of the first things to come to mind.  I actually had made them before for my buddy's Vice Munchies video on the life of an oyster shucker.  Best to start out with a tried and true winner.

They turned out great.  Served alongside a spicy, bright yuzukosho aioli and garnished with quick fried keffir lime leaves and scallions, the oysters karage were as tasty as we remembered.  I over coated a few, which led to a crispy outside but a little potato starch stickiness remained under the crust.  A lesson well learned.  Always dredge lightly when doing karage. The crispy keffir lime leaves were a nice find, though.  Seriously, they taste exactly like Froot Loops when fried.  Unfortunately, I couldn't come up with a clever spin on the "follow your nose" slogan.  Ideas?

 Chicken-Fried Oysters

Put "chicken-fried" next to anything on a menu and it's going to sell.  Yet there are so many different and well respected approaches to the arguably national dish.  Without running the thesis deserving gamut that defines chicken-fried, I'll give you my understanding of the traditional.  

1) Marinate product in seasoned buttermilk for an extended period of time.

2) Strain product and dredge in seasoned AP flour.

3) Dip product in a mix of egg and buttermilk.

4) Dredge product, once more, in seasoned AP flour.

5) Fry

That's the exact process we did.  Three hours or so in seasoned buttermilk, the three tier dredge process, and right into rippin' hot oil.

They ended up with a pleasantly crunchy, craggily exterior and a fluffy interior that lead into the briny oyster.  They did "die" quickly, though, as several fried foods do, and lost that desired crunch.  I think the high moisture content of oysters softens the breading quickly.  Be sure to serve them immediately out of the fryer.  Topped with chives and served alongside a maple bourbon cayenne sauce, they could easily be an excuse to get out of Sunday morning church.  "Sorry, mom.  I really want to go but I have to prep the chicken-fried oysters everyone loves to have for brunch."  Oh, and topped with bacon bits, which obviously makes everything better.

Buffalo Oysters

I always get really excited when I see something "buffalo" flavored.  Spicy Buffalo Wheat Thins, Blazin' Buffalo & Ranch Doritos, Frank's Red Hot Buffalo sunflower seeds.  A big part of me really wants these products to be good and hopes they are, as the buffalo wing flavor is so incredible.  Every time I see a new one, I have to buy it.  However, they always end up tasting awful.  And yet, like a vicious buffalo seasoned Groundhog Day, I keep buying them, optimistically thinking "this one just might be good."  I now know why people call "hope" a four letter word.

I find the same to be true of buffalo style seafood.  Shrimp and oysters seem to be the most common.  Often simply breaded and tossed in buffalo sauce, they both come out okay, but never smack me as amazing.  To figure out a solution to this problem, I think we need to go back to what makes the actual hot wing so good in the first place.

What's everyone's favorite part of the bird?  Let's be honest, your most base instincts never say "go straight for the white breast meat" while the Thanksgiving turkey is being carved.  That skin that falls right off, however, is awfully convenient, and, in your heart of hearts, the most delicious bite of the whole meal.  It's true of all poultry.  From the decadent peking duck to the humble buffalo wing, rich crispy skin is the common denominator of deliciousness.

So, why not bring chicken skin and oyster together?

Hog Island Sweetwaters wrapped in chicken thigh skin

This was by far the craziest and most ambitious of fries.  Would the skin stay on?  Will the oyster over cook before the skin gets crispy?  Will the "franken-oysters" even taste good?  

I also decided to make my own ranch to go with them, seeing as I already had buttermilk and several different herbs for garnish.  All ranch really is is thickened buttermilk with seasoning and herbs.  I figured, why not throw it all in a mason jar and shake the shit out of it, just like homemade butter is made from cream?  Maybe throw an egg and oil in to help?  How hipsterly cool would it be to say "Hey, guys, I made my own ranch dressing.  Did it all by hand in a mason jar.  No big deal.  Also, do you know any typewriters that have Helvetica? I want to write a blog about writing a blog on a typewriter.  So meta."

But yea, turns out that doesn't work.  I was an idiot for thinking buttermilk would thicken.  It is, after all, the left over product from when the butter has already separated from the cream.  Hence, buttermilk.  Oh, and oil and egg yolks don't emulsify into mayo when shaken in a mason jar, either.  Duly noted.  I did end up busting out the Cuisinart to make mayo, added buttermilk, herbs, and seasoning: it was homemade ranch, but was certainly no Hidden Valley. 

With oysters wrapped, ranch made, and a butter, vinegar, Frank's Red Hot sauce simmering in a bowl, it was go time.

Surprisingly, the oysters and skin stayed together in the fryer.  No toothpick needed, they just stuck to one another.  After about 4 minutes, the skin crisped up and into the bowl they went for coating.

Were they good?  The most memorable quote of the night by far was after the first bite:  "Rizzi...I've gone too far..."  Understandably, it was just me and my buddy, and we had already downed several beers and had a dozen fried oysters each.  And chicken thigh skin is significantly fattier than chicken drumette skin.  Though it appeared to be crisped up, the skin still held a world of rich poultry fat waiting to burst on the first bite.  I can say the first one was delicious, but anymore than that and you could feel the butter, ranch, and chicken skin slowing your heart.

At the end of the day, any excuse to break out both my shucker and deep fryer is a good time.  Not all my fried oyster ideas came out perfectly, but they were certainly fun to make and insightful into the abounding possibilities of deep fried shellfish.  Though I do claim to be an oyster purist, I think Julie Andrews should have thrown "fried oysters" between "raindrops on roses" and "warm woolen mittens," cause they're certainly one of my favorite things. 

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd