Traveling Feast

New England Trip #6

Seafood is clearly central to the regional identity of New England and lobster appears to be king.  Growing up in Montana we had Rocky Mountain Oysters readily available, but not a lot of fresh lobster.  Even in Seattle with its myriad of fresh fish and seafood options, lobster stayed far from center stage; appearing only occasionally on a menu and the often as part of a surf-n-turf paring listed at “market price.”

My budget usually means I don’t even both to ask what “market price” might be.

Truthfully, I’d never even heard of a lobster roll until I set foot in Connecticut, but it became evident immediately that any trip to New England that didn’t include a lobster roll was woefully incomplete.

A little reading informed me that much of New England serves up lobster rolls cold with the lobster tosses with a little mayo: a lobster salad sandwich if you will.  Yet Connecticut prides itself on its hot lobster rolls that are nothing but lobster drenched in melted butter on a bun.  No mayo, no diced celery for crunch, no nothing but lobster, butter, and bread.

The more I read the more I realized that the best lobster rolls probably were not to be found in sit-down, white-linen, big-check establishments.  Instead I realized the best would probably be found at some small seafood shack near the shore where you ordered at a window and ate at a picnic table or at least on a plastic chair.

Zagat’s probably lists a high-end spot willing to put a lobster roll on the menu, but I turned instead to Yelp and Road Food to find the perfect spot for a stellar example of ye olde lobster roll.  Road Food came through for me with a promising hole-in-the-wall recommendation in Old Saybrook, CT.

Johnny Ad’s also serves up hot dogs that have taken home awards, but I refused to be distracted from my objective: a great HOT lobster roll ($15.50).  A clear birch beer was a bonus.

The purist clam pizza might be a learned craving.  The hot lobster roll?  Not so much.  It took all of a bite for me to decide this could easily become an obsession.

Johnny’s has been open since 1957 which suggests that a number of locals probably agree since you certainly don’t head to Johnny’s for ambiance.

Following a Road Food tip from Michael Stern, we were on the lookout for Mo’s on our way up the Oregon Coast.  I believe the original Mo’s was in Newport, but we saw a sign for one earlier… in Florence… and turned off to find the Florence Mo’s set on pilings in the river.  A ramp led out from land to the front door.

Chowder seemed to be the specialty of the house… clam chowder and a variation that added a scoop of freshly cooked shrimp.  This variation is listed as “slumgullion.”

My sources suggest that the name ’slumgullion’ first appeared in California during the Gold Rush to describe a dish made from leftovers – most often a stew.  Mo’s version stretches this definition a bit since there appeared to be no leftovers in sight, but I’d do the same just so I could use the word regularly.  Which would you rather yell to the kitchen crew a hundred times a day: SLUMGULLION or CHOWDER WITH SHRIMP?

Mo’s now has six locations along the Oregon Coast – as far north as Cannon Beach.

We hit the road today – heading south and east from Spokane.  The destination today was Boise ID, and two days ago I stumbled across praise of a Mexican seafood spot in… of all places… a bedroom community of Boise called Caldwell.  The praise sounded credible, and so we skipped both the chain restaurants near our Boise Towne Center hotel and the upscale tourist spots in downtown for Tacos y Mariscos El Compa in Caldwell.  320 North Kimball Street in Caldwell to be exact: a good twenty miles east.

The signature ceviche on the menu, the Tostada Mixta ($4.99), was stunning with crab, shrimp, octopus, and fish all marinated raw in lemon juice and tasting impossibly fresh in the middle of Idaho.  The ceviche alone is reason for Tacos y Mariscos El Compa to develop a cult following, but also on the menu is a $2.50 taco de pescado (fish taco) that literally might be the best fish taco I’ve ever tasted.

I’ve never had a great Philly cheesesteak more the 50 miles from Philadelphia, and I assumed that the only credible location to find real fish tacos would be in Baja, San Diego, or LA.  Add to that list Boise.  Go figure.