FOOD FROM THE SEA

Yesterday, I was reminded of another reason I am grateful to live near the sea – seafood. A retired Sea-Bee on the Hueneme pier gave me one of several small dolphin (no, not flipper – the mahi-mahi, dorado kind) he had caught, which resulted in a delightful fish stew. And got me thinking back on some the ocean’s bounty I’ve enjoyed.

Before we moved to Watch Hill, RI and began the coastal life I only knew seafood as swordfish, one of Mom’s favorites. Living on the coast provided an abundance and variety of seafood. For us, it was lobster, lobster and more lobster. My Dad befriended Al Chermansky, a lobsterman who lived just across Col Willie Cove from us. I didn’t know it at the time, but “Al the Pal” had built his own boat. The laudable aspect is offset by the fact that Al failed to return his undersized catch to the sea. But, the sea’s loss was our gain. We’d get bushel baskets of “shorts” and one-armed bandits for a few dollars/bushel.

I well recall begging Mom for a hamburger or chicken alternative to the endless shellfish. There were times the kitchen was transformed into a mini lobster processing plant, yielding lobster stew, salad, sandwiches, omelets and casseroles. At holiday gatherings, the larger family seemed to relish the little monsters. My grandmother, Dale, was the supreme Queen of lobster consumption. While most just consumed the claws and tail, she dissected the claw joints, legs and even some the green goo inside the body. The carcasses found their way to her garden compost pile in Wormwood Hil, CT. Bath and Small Point, Maine, however were my pinnacles for “lobstah”. With lobsters on every license plate and the company of my good friend Fred Drake, they just seemed to taste better Down East.

Watch Hill did offer other sea treats. In the fall, most of the local community spent early mornings casting into the surf for striped bass and bluefish. I mostly remember being cold, miserable and coming home empty handed. But, on occasion, fish would land on the beach as fast as folks could cast. And there were clams, dug from the sand of Napatree Point. Steamers were a hard earned treat. Of course, my lust for fried clams has been a life-long passion. There was a clam bar in Mystic, CT near the Seaport where I volunteered, that I visited at least once every day and still makes my mouth yearn.

Even more than fried clams, New England Clam Chowdah has been my passion. At any and every opportunity, I sample the local chowder. I’ve even tried the non-dairy Rhode Island variety, which Down-Easters claim is simply due to the lack of cows in the small state. My Mom made a good chowder, though she often added corn. Honors for best chowder go to Hogate’s Restaurant in Washington, DC and (surprisingly) the US Navy for a memorable chowder I had as a Boy Scout aboard a destroyer in Narragansett Bay. Worst are those that add thickeners and the Manhattan variety, which isn’t even chowder at all, but clam soup.

While I grew up in New England, the only “New England Clambake” I ever enjoyed was during a National Science Foundation summer program at Brown Univ. NSF took us on some great weekend outings, including the Newport Folk Festival. The clambake weekend was cold and windy, but very tasty. A big hole in the beach filled with fire, rocks, seaweed, seafood, corn and potatoes makes for a satisfying feast.

In Florida, snapper and grouper came from drift fishing on the Blue Heron fleet. I never caught any fish off the old Juno Pier, but there was a small shack on the beach end that sold fish cheap. Aside: though the Palm Beach area is home to some awesome sport fishing, I went out several times and never hooked a big one. A sport fishing charter out of Marsh Harbor, Bahamas with PG Randall was even worse than zero, resulting in one of the greenest sea-sick faces I’ve ever seen. Florida was also where I saw my first Caribbean lobster – shocked that the thing had no claws. Many trips to the Bahamas and Virgin Islands always included a lobster tail or two.

During law school in Washington, DC, my seafood taste turned to oysters. Prominent in memory were the suburban Maryland Lion’s Clubs who hosted and Oyster Feast in the spring and the Oyster Roast and Turkey Shoot in the fall. In addition to fresh Chesapeake oysters served every way you can imagine, the turkey shoot provided an outlet for locals to show off their firearms and shooting prowess. In the early days, they filled a field with real (domesticated) turkeys, but in my day a turkey shaped target was towed across the field.

Of all the seaside places I’ve lived, San Blas, Nayarit Mexico was clearly seafood paradise. Oysters were harvested by boys from the rocks around the island, using nothing more than masks and flat bars, and thrown into a net slung in an inner tube. When the net was full, they’d sit on the beach with lemons and hot sauce and shuck a dozen for about a dollar. Cheaper and fresher oysters cannot be found on this planet. Occasionally, my friend Pata found langosta (lobster) in the rocks and would part with them for a price. Shrimp were farmed locally in huge ponds and were plentiful, but not so tasty. But the Azules Grandes, the huge – I’m talkin’ 14” head to tail - blue shrimp that were caught off the coast, were fabulous but sparse. The staple fish was dorado (dolphin/mahi-mahi). I could buy a big fish from the small boats on the beach for $5, bring it to Tony’s Restaurant, where Tony would turn it into a wonderful fish finger meal. And a good fried fish dinner could be had at any of the palm covered (armadas) restaurants along the beach.

You’d think that Puerto Rico, being an island and all, would abound in seafood, but about all I ever found was fish and lobster empanadillas – seafood wrapped in dough and deep fried. The ones served next door at the Hotel Cofresi were OK, but Kaplash, south of Rincon near the Mayaguez airport, had the hands down best.

The California coast offered salmon. A fishing trip out of Santa Cruz with Katalina and sister Darcy proved my sister’s fishing prowess, providing two huge salmon that packed Katalina’s freezer. At Esalen, Tom Brenner took the Maintenance crew on a couple of salmon outings in Monterey Bay, which resulted in more sea-sickness than fish.

Since then, seafood has been a little sparse for me. Which is why yesterday’s little dolphin was such a precious reminder of the sea and its bounty – and my love for both.