At the Roadhouse we serve it over Anson Mills grits which are amazing on their own and excellent under the potlikker and fish. At home I do a slightly different version which skips the grits and calls for cooking some really wild, wild rice in the potlikker before you put the fish in. The quality and source of the wild rice is essential; it has to be the real thing—hand-harvested by Native Americans the old fashioned way from lakes and rivers where it truly grows wild—NOT the stuff sold in most stores, which is cultivated, NOT wild and NOT very good. At one point that really wild, wild rice would have likely come from close by, but these days human intervention into the ecosystems has resulted in the rice growing areas receding quite a bit—northern Minnesota is now by far and away the most significant source, though there are also small amounts gathered in the wild in Wisconsin and Michigan and still in good quantities up in Canada.
In terms of the soup, either use some of the already long cooked greens you used to get this going, or add some fresh greens, coarsely chopped, to the pot. If you’re into the bacon bit of it, add another big chunk. The really wild, wild rice will take only about 15-20 minutes (that’s the correct time—the cultivated stuff will take three to four times as long). When the rice is done add the fish and simmer ‘til it’s done. Eat it as is or fry up a couple slices of Roadhouse bread in bacon fat ‘til they’re golden brown, place them at the bottom of the bowl and then ladle the stew over the top. Makes me hungry just writing about it!!

I cook a lot of fish, a) because I like it and b) when one starts with superior seafood, it’s simple and easy and a really great way to make a pretty special meal without spending more than a few minutes cooking. So, with that in mind, fresh fish is what I have for dinner two, three, four times a week. While my childhood fish fascination has stayed strong, I’ve expanded my range of favorites a lot. Lake fish is great, but there are oceans full of other options that my family never really accessed. The main characters in my fish cooking these days are mackerel and bluefish, with a recent big role for branzino (really great stuff from the Mediterranean if you haven’t yet had it). Sometimes though I cook trout, char, whitefish, hake, cod or catfish. I’m big on good scallops, oysters, and clams as well. And when I don’t go with fresh, I’m often enjoying really good tinned stuff—tuna, sardines, and anchovies.

Between cooking fresh fish at home so often and then all the work that’s gone into buying, cooking and serving it in every night for the last six years at the Roadhouse, I realize that I sometimes take good seafood far more for granted than is good for me. When I go to work we have fresh sardines (actually one of my favorites), scallops, striped bass, wolffish, oysters and all sorts of good stuff on the menu pretty regularly. But taking anything for granted is a sure sign of trouble, and I do try to be mindful and appreciative of all I’ve got around me. We’ve come so far in our understanding of how flavorful heirloom, freshly-picked produce can be, of what contributes to the complexity and quality of a fine olive oil, the difference between artisan cheese and what comes from the big factories, or what makes one chocolate great and another just so-so. But there’s seemingly very little discussion that I can remember about what makes better fish taste better.

Here at Zingerman’s we’ve worked to deliver much more than just lip service. From talking to the folks at Foley’s—one of the country’s best seafood houses, and a long standing supplier to us here—there are five things that we’ve come to look for in our fish sellers.

Five Really Reasons We Like Foley’s Fish

1) Shared Values and Strong Relationships

Paul (Saginaw, my co-founding partner) has been working with Foley’s since his days as kitchen manager at the Real Seafood Company over thirty years ago. It’s a relationship he built and enhanced even further when he partnered with Mike Monahan to start Monahan’s Seafood in Kerrytown in 1979. Frank Carollo—managing partner at the Bakehouse for the last seventeen years who taught me how to cook the line in restaurant kitchens back in the 70s—also ordered fish from Foley’s in the years when he was a kitchen manager and then when he joined Mike and Paul as a partner at Monahan’s for a number of years. Alex Young—now chef and managing partner at the Roadhouse—started working with the Foley family not long after that as well. Mike Monahan still brings in a lot from them today, which means that you and I can buy the same Foley fish we serve at the Roadhouse for your own house simply by stopping off at Kerrytown. I probably purchase fish from Monahan’s to cook at home two or three or sometimes four times every week. And there’s another local connection as well since Peter and Laura (Foley) Ramsden, the fourth generation to own and run Foley’s, went to school here in Ann Arbor and were regular Zingerman’s customers while pursuing their studies. Given all that, it won’t come as a surprise that when we were getting ready to open the Roadhouse six years ago, Foley’s was the natural choice to be our primary East Coast fish supplier.

In mid-June of this year, as I was working to prep for my talk for the Portuguese-American Fish Dinner we did at the Roadhouse, I figured I’d call Peter to catch up on things. I’m very glad I did. It’s always inspiring to talk to people who are inspired by what they do, to hear the energy that arises as they get into their passions. And fish at Foley’s is definitely a passion, not just a way to make a profit. I’m sure they have their cynics here and there (as we all do), but most everyone I’ve talked to at Foley’s over the years puts their fish passion out there pretty quickly, forcefully and consistently.

Peter is no exception. We spent a bit of time talking through the history of the company, the basics of what made better fish better, how Foley’s worked in such different ways than the vast majority of fish sellers out in the market. Maybe the most interesting element of the entire conversation was that what he told me was actually almost identical to what his father-in-law and grandfather-in-law had told me thirty years ago, which is a tribute really to everyone at Foley’s. While the world has changed, and they’ve certainly adapted, the basic principles of who they are and what they do have barely changed at all. In that sense the Foley’s folks are very much the same as us really.

2) History, Culture, Passion

As much as one might reasonably argue that business today is totally different than it was a hundred years ago, at many levels I don’t think it’s really changed all that much. Michael Foley took the boat over to Boston from his home in County Tipperary in Ireland back in 1906. He started Foley Fish down by Faneuil Hall, leasing a small retail space and selling fresh fish by the pound or the piece. Within four years Foley’s was considered the foremost fish retailer in the city.
By the time 1920 rolled ‘round, Mr. Foley had begun shipping seafood across the country on refrigerated rail. As the years passed, his son Frank took over. I first met Frank when I went to Boston to visit Foley’s, probably in about 1980, and I remember him coming out to visit Monahan’s any number of times over the years. By the time Alex, Paul, Frank and I got going with the firm, Laura’s dad (and Peter’s father-in-law), Mike (a former Harvard football and rugby star who, the Foley’s folks say, might have been the “tallest fishmonger in history” at 6 foot 4 inches) and her mother Linda had began running the company.
A few years back, in ‘05, Peter and Laura (the two U of M grads) bought out her parents and took over. “Laura and I are the fourth generation,” was one of the first things Peter told me when we talked. “When you have your name on the roof everything changes.” I certainly know that feeling. By the way, notice Peter’s choice of words. Obviously he wasn’t running the business in 1906, and he actually married into the family, so it’s not really even his name on the roof. But he still—as I would, and I think he should—uses the word “we” whenever he talks about the company. For him, and everyone at Foley’s, it’s really about the whole organization doing the right thing to create success for everyone involved, not just for themselves.

3) Direct, Bought on Spec

“What differentiates us from the typical model is that we are a process-to-order seafood house,” said Peter. That probably doesn’t mean much to most of the world that’s never bought and sold seafood. But to anyone “in the industry” who’s buying fish at the high end, it’s huge. Most of the other houses go to the dock and buy what they buy, then bring it back to their plant and put out the price list and hope to sell it. Foley’s works in reverse—first they get our order, then they go to buy, and then bring the newly purchased fish directly back to the plant to clean, cut, filet and ice and then ship it to us. No sitting around and no second grade.

4) Freshness and Handling

Having sold, served, bought and cooked fresh fish for a long, long time now, I’d say the most commonly asked consumer question one hears is pretty certainly some version of, “When did this fish come in?” While the query is quite well intended, it’s pretty much really the wrong question to be asking because when something arrived here in Ann Arbor has little certain connection to when it came out of the water, and none whatsoever to how it was handled en route. By contrast a more effective question to be asking would be something along the lines of, “When was the fish caught?” And, if you wanted to really investigate, you could follow that up with, “How was it kept between the time it came out of the water and when the server brought it to the table?”

Here’s the scoop. Modern day fishing vessels are often out at sea for a few weeks at a time. The thing for us, and for Foley’s, though, is that we totally do NOT want the fish from anything other than what’s brought on board near the end of the trip.

Another important thing to mention is they don’t use middlemen. I“We only ship directly,” Peter said. “There are other processors that will cut anything that’s landed and then ship to a distributor. They buy on speculation and then they sell that way.” By going only direct to their restaurants and retailers, Foley’s has a far higher shot at staying connected and keeping the quality of the product we cook, serve and eat at a very high level. Since, as we know from the wholesaling we do at our own Bakehouse, Creamery and Coffee company, the product the consumer tastes may leave here in great shape but can still be subpar if the people we wholesale to don’t handle it well.

5) Sticking with Sustainability

As much as I’ve known about how Foley’s operates, their focus on sustainability was actually sort of new to me. I mean I wasn’t really shocked or anything—sustainability in seafood is clearly right up Foley’s fish-loving and living-off-of-fish alley. It’s just nice when someone you already feel good about comes through in a way that you hadn’t really thought would be their forte. But, lo and behold, Foley’s turns out to be at the forefront of the work to help restore and sustain seafood stocks in an environmentally and fish friendly way.

“We’re very active with fishery management,” Peter told me. He wasn’t talking with the tone of someone hesitant or unsure of what he was doing. Peter rattled off names and statistics with passion and feeling, pretty clearly coming from a grounded (or maybe “anchored” would be a more appropriate term) place. “We’re on the ground fish advisory panel for New England,” he explained. “We’ve been very active participants in setting policy for conservation. There have been laws in place in New England since 1993 that have been quite successful.”

“With what sort results?” I asked, truly not knowing what the answers were likely to be.

“In many cases, it’s actually been a huge success story. We’re actually not over-fishing anything. We’ve seen a 15-fold jump in scallop population. Haddock has had a 30-fold increase. We’re actually harvesting under quota to stay within the law. The boats are only allowed to fish about 70 days a year. Even though there’s lots of haddock in the water now, they don’t have enough access in those 70 days to get at the allowable levels. Little by little,” he added, “the good news is coming out. Steadier and more affordable pricing and supply.”

The first time I tried an oyster I was probably about 7 years old. I was with my brother, Ethan and my mom at the Roadhouse. My brother had already had an oyster before and liked it. He was probably about 4 at the time. When he had them the first time, I was a little nervous to try them, so I didn’t. But I thought, as we were leaving, if a 4 year old can eat one, so can I. The next time we came here, my brother ordered some oysters and I asked him if I could have one. He said he would give me one but only one. I was nervous and excited at the same time.

When the oysters were served I was taught how to eat them. I saw my brother slurp the oyster down with no problem and then I nervously picked one up and slurped it down slowly. I closed my eyes and then, surprised, I opened them again. I liked them! In fact I loved them! I asked my brother for another one and he said no but my mom made him give me another one. The next time we came here, I ordered a big plate of oysters and I slurped down every last one of them –no problem! Ever since then, I have a plate of oysters almost every time I come here.

When I eat oysters some of the words that come to my mind are:
Soft
Chewy
Fishy
Cold
Salty
Citrus
Fruity
Sweet
Cucumber
Watery
Briny
Delicious!

My favorite kind of oyster is probably Menemnsha. I like Menemnsha oysters because I love meat and their taste reminds me of meat. They are meaty and chewy and the after taste is kind of salty. Some of my other favorites are:
Fanny Bay
Sailor Girl
Sunset Beach
Cortes Island

Some people might think it’s strange that a ten year old kid like me likes oysters but it’s true, they are one of my favorite foods. I think each oyster is different in one way or another some are thin and sour, yet others are meaty and salty. But they all have one thing in common. They are all delicious!
So, give me liberty or give me oysters! Either way I’m a winner.

This has been a steady core menu dish at the Roadhouse since we opened. It’s been on my mind this fall for two reasons. First off, I’ve had a steady stream of really positive customer comments about it of late. The second reason it’s on my mind this holiday season is because Uncle Joe Burroughs passed away this summer.

I’m not sure where to start this story so I’ll just begin it with the opening of the Roadhouse in the fall of ’03 since that’s the first time we served catfish here at Zingerman’s. It’s a classic American dish so it makes sense that we’d put it on the menu and it was pretty popular right off the bat. That said, we knew too that it could be better, so I started asking around about it.

Although I knew her only from her “modern” life in Boulder and from traveling together in Europe, Peggy Markel actually grew up in Alabama. (Unrelated—or at least not directly related—to catfish, she runs a cooking school in Tuscany and food tours in Italy and Morocco. See her website for more on her work—www.peggymarkel.com). And, it turned out that her Dad, Joe Burroughs, has cooked catfish almost every Friday night in the small town of Albertville where Peggy grew up.

“He always wanted his own fried catfish joint. He was famous,” Peggy told me five years ago. “People came from far and wide to our house for some of ‘Uncle Joe’s famous catfish.’ It was a hot ticket. My dad had a barbecue pit in the back yard that he rigged a gas line to. He would heat a deep, oblong cast iron skillet full of Mazola oil. Soon after, those delectable fillets lightly dusted with corn meal from being shaken in a paper sack would be sprinkled with the ‘secret ingredient’, and expertly slipped into the simmering hot oil. We never had enough money to realize his Catfish Café, but we had one anyway, every Friday night at our house with people going crazy over crispy fried catfish, hushlittlepuppydogs (aka, hush puppies), slaw and hot pickled jalapeno peppers that my dad grew and pickled himself from 12 different varieties. This all went down easy with a few beers (home-brewed by my uncle Charlie) from one of the outdoor fridge’s behind the barbecue pit.”

The ‘secret ingredient’ is garlic salt—not something that I use much of in my cooking these days. But, if Peggy’s dad was doing great catfish with that much success for so long it seemed sort of silly not to try it. And, lo and behold, Alex and I tested it and it really does liven up the flavor of the fish. And in honor of Joe, my friendship with Peggy, and his long-standing if unfulfilled desire to open his own restaurant, we named the dish on the menu after him.

As I said, above, Uncle Joe passed away this past summer. While I’m saddened for Peggy and her family, Joe lived a good life. To quote from Peggy’s nice eulogy: “‘Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay, gone are the years of the cotton fields away, gone from this earth to a better place I know, I hear the gentle voices calling…old..black…joe…I’m a comin, I’m a comin for my heart is young and gay..I hear the gentle voices calling…old..black…joe……..’

“This was a song our daddy used to sing to us at bedtime. When I got old enough to understand the words, I registered then and there how sad I would be when that time came around. Life without daddy Joe would be real sad. That time came Saturday, July the 12th, 2008, when at 90 he took his last breath. It is as sad as I always imagined it to be. But I feel better about it than I ever thought I would. To reach 90 having had a good life, no sickness and die in one’s sleep from old age and no regrets is cause for celebration.”

Shifting back from sadness to sunny memories of fish fries, she went on, “I can still remember how proud I was as a kid to learn how to take my fork and go up the spine of a freshly fried fish, still steaming, fillet it and dab it into some homemade ‘goush’: an equal mix of catsup and mayonnaise. It was so good, my sisters and I would turn on Elvis Presley and ‘do the mash potato.’ It became a regular theme.”

I’m sad that I never got down to Albertville to meet Uncle Joe in person. Peggy’s tales will have to suffice. That and the taste of this not particularly fancy, but nevertheless darned good fried whole catfish. If you’re into fish, give it a shot next time you’re in, and make a toast to Uncle Joe. I do every time one of great looking hush puppy and cole slaw laden catfish platters goes out to a table.

If the lobster roll is the “king of clam shack offerings” then I’d have to assume that a fried clam sandwich must be the queen.  I’ll just have to ask Jasper for his take on the royal rankings but when I talk to him next.  But in the mean time, let’s just say that freshly fried clams are worth clamoring for.  Whether on a plate with a few wedges of lemon and cocktail sauce, or better still (being the sandwich lover that I am) in the form of a clam roll.

In one of those easy to quote facts which I don’t really know to be true (but sounds good anyways so . . . ), fried clams were “invented” by one Lawrence Dexter “Chubby” Woodman in the town of Essex, Massachusetts, on July 3, 1916.  Dexter and his wife Bessie opened up their roadside stop a few years before that.   I don’t know that Mr. Woodman wasn’t the first.  It’s just that, as food writer Francine Maroukian pointed out to me last year, breading, frying and putting shellfish into the center of a hearty sandwich was likely a pretty standard way for East Coast eaters to put a little “meat” on the bones of delicious, but not very filling, fresh seafood.  (You have to have 52,000 oysters to provide the nutritional value of one red deer.)  But hey, I’m happy to have Chubby Woodman get the credit—his family is still running the restaurant and from what everyone tells me running it very well. And it’s still famous for its fried clams. If you’re out that way most definitely go.  In the mean time though you might want to stop over at the RH because Alex and the crew are doing a great version of this fried clam sandwich.  I never ever like to challenge old memories and there’s no need to—I’m not going to in any way imply this sandwich would be better than Woodman’s—they’ve been at it for ninety one years.  We’ve just gotten going.  But given that a trip over to Jackson and Maple is a lot quicker and less costly than making your way out to Massachusetts, stop by and give this one a try.

As per what they do at Woodman’s these are soft-shelled Ipswich clams.  Dipped into milk, then flour and cornmeal on a special bun from the Bakehouse, with a bit of shredded lettuce, served, as they do at Woodman’s with onion rings and homemade tartar sauce.

Though I’m usually not big on eating too quickly, I think this is the sort of thing that you don’t actually want to eat with a fair bit of urgency.  There’s something incredibly excellent about that warm buttered bun, the crispness of the thin coating on the clams, the richness of the clam meat and the slight bit of sea salt to accent it.  This is fried chicken for seafood lovers.  Other than folks (like my family who keep kosher) or those who just don’t like/eat clams, it’s kind of hard for me to imagine not liking this sandwich.  Eat it while it’s hot and enjoy a little taste of east coast summer eating here in Ann Arbor.

Clams on the Half Shell

While we use soft shell clams for frying when it comes to eating them raw it’s Cherrystones we want.   We’re bringing them in all summer as part of all this excellent New England activity.   If you’re a raw bar fan, you’ll be into these—briny, fresh, a bit bolder than most oysters they taste of the ocean.  Jasper White says that they’re, “refreshing and sensual, and they are a true appetizer, meaning they stimulate the appetite . . . “.  Alex loves ‘em as well.  His eyes lit up and he smiled big when we started talking about our serving them on the half shell.  Then he shared memories of digging clams with his feet back when he was a kid.  (Hmmm . . . all I got was a pair of clam diggers to wear and a walk on the beach at Lake Michigan.)  Be sure to stop by for a dozen and a cold beer this summer.

Steamed Clams

A big clam fan favorite on the shore—served with butter, broth, bread, and bunch of napkins!

Times change. While I wouldn’t say that lobster’s hard to get these days, it’s not an inexpensive way to eat. And other than lobster boat families who live along Maine coast I can’t imagine too many folks worrying about having to force themselves to face another meal with one of these rather funny looking, great tasting crustaceans.

I have to confess that in truth I’ve never been a huge lobster lover. While back in Maine it might well be served on paper plates and eaten en masse, out here in the Midwest it’s always seemed a bit over the top—fancy white linens and too much shell cracking which mostly seemed to entitle me to dip the already rich meat into rather bland drawn butter. Never went for all those fancy things either like Lobster Thermidor, Newburg or whatever. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing—some of my best friends love lobster, and one them takes great pride in the time she ate seven in one sitting.

The thing that turned me ‘round on this one is the lobster roll. If I can disconnect the dearness of the dish due to today’s dearth of lobsters from the roots rock version of old time east coast lobster eating. . . The lobster roll rocks. Maybe it’s in the stars—I have the same birthday (different year, same date) as the Earl of Sandwich—but it’s often the case that I’m drawn to the seemingly low end sandwich version of something instead of the rather high end, high falutin’ (to me at least) upscale food world version of same. Best I can tell the lobster roll is to Maine what pimento cheeseburgers are to Columbia, South Carolina, oyster po’boys are to New Orleans and Italian beef is to Chicago. It ain’t inexpensive but damn, lobster rolls are really good. Forgetting that it’s sells for something like twenty-five bucks a pop, I’d put the lobster roll at the very top of my list for summer sandwich eating. It’s cool, it’s rich, and it’s really good. And since I don’t think I’m going to make it to Maine this summer so the next best thing I’m going to get is a visit to the Roadhouse to eat Alex’s really good version of this. Lots of fresh lobster meat, a touch of onion, a bit of celery, parsley and a lot of Hellman’s mayonnaise on a really good, special-icious lobster roll (“roll,” as in bread, not the sandwich) made by the Bakehouse. With a nice order fries, some slaw.. . This is one darned good dish.

I’ll leave the last word on this one to Jasper White, writing in his new “Summer Shack Cookbook”: “The lobster roll, the king of clam shack offerings, is an incredibly delicious, with its cool fresh lobster salad and warm crisp, buttery bun. It is humble, but don’t be fooled . . . This dish is like a millionaire driving an old Chevy—understated, but still rich—typical of the New England culture. “

Find out about our upcoming New England Dinner!

While we’ve never really called them out as a headline act, scallops are actually one of the most steadily popular dinners at the Roadhouse—it’s one of those dishes that people come back for over and over again, quietly but consistently eating and enjoying and remarking about how much better these scallops are than what they’re used to finding. Although they’re probably an afterthought to most Midwesterners, there’s no question that scallops are a big part of New England eating, right up there with clams, oysters, fresh fish and lobsters. If you head that way you’ll see—and I hope, eat—lots of them. If you do go, remember when you place your order that in New England the word is pronounced to rhyme with “dollop.”

Although we don’t see them in their shells out here in the Midwest (you have to go to the Coast) scallops are one of the most plentiful and popular of New England seafood. If you do want to go scalloping here’s Cap’n Phil’s advice: “A very handy scoop may be improvised by lashing a French fry basket to the handle of a broom, or you may simply rig a piece of netting on our quahog scratcher. Scallops lie on the surface of the sand or mud in shallow water, or in very neat, little depressions made by flapping their shells. All sorts of esoteric equipment maybe added. Polarized glasses, glass-bottomed looking boxes, floating baskets, and such, but they’re not essential.” If you just want to eat them, come by the Roadhouse and order up.

One of the big, if little discussed, “secrets” to scallop quality is that most commercial versions these days are chemically treated to help them retain—in some cases even gain—moisture. Much as water added ham has become the commercial norm (reducing costs, prices and flavor across the board) so too treated scallops are what most people have been served. By contrast we only offer have what are known in the trade as “dry-pack” scallops—no treating allowed—and we work with a long time supplier to bring only the top of the catch—the freshest scallops we can get. There really is a huge difference, which would explain why we’ve developed so many loyal fans for these over the years.

While the cooks at the Roadhouse will do up an order of scallops up any way you like, personally I go for em done in a hot sauté pan, so that they outside gets slightly caramelized and the inside stays nice and tender and sweetly succulent—succulent is really a good word for great scallops. The outside sears just a touch and the meat in the middle is still really moist and tender and they taste of the sea. I should share too though that the above-mentioned character, Cap’n Phil Schwind, also turned me on to what is actually a great way to prepare them (one that we’re happy to do at the Roadhouse). Of course he had his right on deck when the scallops were being gathered, an opportunity I haven’t yet had. But anyways, he says the “proper” way to prepare scallops is to cook them in hot bacon fat, then sprinkle crisp bits of bacon over top. He says you should accompany that dish with, “. . . hot, black coffee so strong you dare not stir it for fear it will take the plating off the spoon.” I’m not convinced that our coffee is at that level of intensity, though I suspect that, not eating them as he did right on the boat, you might actually opt for a nice glass of wine instead.

I can’t say I’ve seen it in person but I know that there was an episode of the Simpsons where Homer prays and thanks God “for giving us two kinds of Clam Chowder.” This month we’re focusing on New England so we’ll skip over the redder face of what’s commonly called Manhattan clam chowder and focus on the milk-based version we all know and love as New England Clam Chowder.

This is a subject deserving a lot more space than I’ve got here because EVERYONE who makes chowder and everyone who’s studied its history has a different take on it. The Roadhouse recipe (right now, it’s on vacation) has become pretty well a favorite of many folks in town. It’s got a lot of applewood-smoked bacon, which is probably a touch meatier and certainly slightly smokier than older versions that would have likely called for salt pork. For the moment let me just say that we make ours from East Coast Quahogs (pronounced “KO-hog”), the large, hard shelled clams that are native to the area. And that it’s got a really loyal following out at the Roadhouse. If you haven’t had it, ask for a taste next time you’re in!

I guess in the context of this issue of 5 Foods, you could say that crab is to Baltimore what cured ham is to western Spain. It’s really special, really good, and pretty expensive these days, but locals still really eat a lot of it. Unlike say good coffee in Guatemala, which is mostly exported, both ham in Spain and crab in Baltimore are still cherished and eaten most by the people who live in the local communities. I’d never say that what we have here is “better” than what you could get in Baltimore—why argue with a few hundred years of success. But I’ll say that what you get at the RH will be pretty darned close.

The crab cakes are nothing new here really—they’ve been on the menu at the Roadhouse since we opened, and over the last four years have clearly, if actually fairly quietly, become one of the best selling dishes out there. It’s Alex’s recipe and, despite lots of early pressure to make them bigger and cheaper (by using lower grade crab) he’s been very adamant about sticking to the roots of the dish. More power to him for this determination—they’re very good and they’re very much true to the way they’d be back in Maryland.

I don’t say that because of my own experience. Others have made the point. One long time regular in all the ZCoB businesses, former minister, now an attorney, music lover, and a man of strongly held views but few words, is a big RH crab cake fan as well. I was thinking he was from Baltimore but wasn’t sure so I asked. “Hey,” sounding serious, but smiling all the while, “I was born in the same hospital as Cal Ripken.” Ok, that’s serious stuff. “Many a night my father would come back with a huge bag of crabs and throw them down on the table on newspaper for us.” Asked for a comment on the crab cakes, he smiled again and said, “Loose. Very few crumbs.” When it comes to crab cakes, that’s “Balamorean” for “good.”

I’ve been writing a lot on African American foodways for the next newsletter. Baltimore was far from my mind when I started and I certainly hadn’t thought to include crab cakes in my composition. But, Adrian Miller (deputy legislative director to the Governor of Colorado, board member of the Southern Foodways Alliance, writer and a very funny guy) made mention of Chesapeake Bay cookery as being one of the four most important areas of African American foodways made me reconsider. Given the switch by Adrian, I had a belated glimpse into why so many of our best crab cake customers (including a woman whose community work I much admire and appreciate, the recently retired from Peace Neighborhood Center, Rose Martin) are African Americans.

Although it’s not really per se about cooking, check the book, “Crab Cakes” by Pulitzer Prize -winning—and relevant in this context—African American writer, James McPherson. I met him at the Roadhouse about two years ago while he was in town visiting from Iowa where he now lives. But Mr. McPherson is a native Baltimorean and a lover of crab cakes, as witnessed in this excerpt from his memoir: “These are a very special delicacy, made Maryland style. . . . All crab-cakes are good, but Maryland crabcakes have special ingredients, or spices, not found in those crabcakes made according to the recipes of other regions.” Agreed fully. And, I’m happy to report, he was duly impressed with, and very complimentary of, the ZCoB overall, the environment at the Roadhouse, and, in particular, the crab cakes (and the grits as well).

Opinions on the subject run strong, amongst pretty much everyone from the area. To quote baker and cook Mark Furstenberg, “As for crab cakes this is a very important subject not to be trifled with by anyone other than a Baltimorean.” As one, he gets to weigh in. After sharing his views, he ended with, “Everyone in Baltimore has a point of view about crab cakes. Mine, however, is the correct one.” Which seems to be true for everyone in the area! Fortunately I’m not from there so I don’t feel compelled to be correct. I just like eating the crab cakes at the Roadhouse ‘cuz they’re really darned good.

Now, all that said, just offering crab cakes on the menu at the Roadhouse isn’t any big thing really. What’s special here is that they’re made from only the top grade, fresh Maryland lump crab. In “Talking with My Mouth Full,” Bonny Wolf wrote that, “I use only lump crabmeat for crab cakes. This is the crème de la crab—big, white lumps of sweet crab meat. Alex has said this adamantly from the beginning—we use none of the lower grade backfin, “special,” and especially not the inexpensive but not very tasty frozen crab that comes here from Asia that are used in such profusion most places out there. The fresh lump crab costs literally three times as much or more than the low end frozen stuff. And if you use a lot of filler you can drop the cost even further. But the difference in texture and flavor is telling.

Teaching people who aren’t from the Chesapeake what a “good crab cake” is has been a challenge over the years. Out here in the Midwest most people are used to seeing size as the main key to quality, which anyone from Baltimore will tell you it isn’t. The thing is that when you work with the significantly lower in quality, but by far more frequently used, frozen crab that comes in from Asia you can keep costs down and size up. But it’s not the size—it’s the flavor, texture and the quality of the crab (only lump!), along with the use of only a noticeable but never too large a quantity of bread crumbs to bind and coat the crab cakes are critical. Most everyone calls for a bit of Old Bay seasoning and Alex has had that in the recipe from the get go. Mark, Bonny, Alex and most everyone else who’s cooking skills I hold in high regard says that the crab cakes should never be deep-fried, only broiled or pan fried, and we do the latter.

The key of course, in the end, is in the eating. I’ve realized that for us non-Balamoreans, part of the thing is the way we approach the eating. Good Maryland crab cakes aren’t really something you eat a ton of to fill up—you need a few other things to go with them if you want to do that these days. The crab cake dinner on the menu comes with Carolina Gold rice and sautéed spinach. Or order the appetizer and eat it with a bowl of soup or a salad.

I’ve come to look at crab cake eating like I would savor a really great chocolate truffle. You get a small bite to savor of really creamy, rich, full flavor—in this case crab, in the case of the truffle, cacao. While the actual eating doesn’t last long and it doesn’t really fill you up, you have to enjoy it, appreciate the finish, the soft loveliness of it. Give it a try next time you’re out fo

Beausoleil: Grown in the cold waters of Atlantic coast of Neguac, New Brunswick, these tasty bivalves guarantee a trip to the ocean in every bite. Pristine Canadian waters provide a clear and clean brine, with a distinct delicate sweetness that could only come from such a cared for environment. They arrive to us at the Roadhouse in hand made wooden crates, the only of its kind, having been placed lovingly one by one to ensure safe travels. The impeccable taste becomes even sweeter knowing that Beausoleil (beautiful sun) was the name of a fighter during the Acadian resistance that captured seven British ships in attempts to fight the power. There is a taste of revolution in every slurp.

Kusshi: Japanese for ‘ultimate’, the pacific oyster known as the Kusshi revels in unique flavor and superior quality. Raised in the Deep Bay off of the coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia, the Kusshi is hand cultivated to create the perfect bivalve. The Kusshis are tumbled back and forth in large trays to encourage growth in depth, rather that length. The deep cups that come from the tumbling provide not only literal depth, but also of flavor as well. The rich meat is buttery, firm, with hints of cucumber. This is an oyster that truly stands up to its name.

Olympia: The original native all-American oyster, the Olympia is a true treat. Clocking in at about the size of a quarter, this tasty bivalve stands on its own in the flavor arena. Grown in the mineral rich Totten Inlet in Washington, the profile of the Olympia is singular in taste. The mineral rich burst of flavor is present in each bite, tasting of the sea and rain and hard work. Because of their size, Olympias must be harvested by hand, one by one, from the muck. This is the same method used 100 years ago, at the height of Olympia oyster fever. Due to industrialization and pollution, the Olympia went nearly extinct until only a few years ago when the Olympia was revived. The newly cultivated Olympias are as rich as ever, and with roots to boot.

Totten Inlet Virginica: The case of the Totten Inlet Virginica is one of nature versus nurture. Virginica refers to the scientific name of an oyster that grows on the east coast. The Totten Inlet variety comes from taking a species accustomed to the conditions and environment of the east coast, and transplanting them to the west coast. The west coast provides a more constant upheaval of conditions, meaning the organized chaos of the tides coming in and out of the inlets, along with brackish currents (ones that mix fresh and salt water), make for a more fluted shell, and a more varied flavor. The interesting thing about the Totten Inlet Virginica is that it is a particular type of species, imbued a specific profile, however, the tumultuous environment of the Totten Inlet affect the flavor and shape of the oyster. And, it literally absorbs the West’s waterways. The meat is large and briny, typical of east coasters, but it becomes creamy and slightly fruity with the influence of the west. A science experiment you can really sink your teeth into.