In Search of the Perfect Fried Clam (Mya arenaria )

(Note: If you're not from New England you can move on. Nothing to see here. This topic will have no meaning for you.)

What is it about a fried clam?

Is it the taste or the chewy consistency? The salt, the ketchup, or god forbid, the tartar sauce? Or does it just conjure up memories of warm summer Friday nights sitting on a restaurant deck overlooking the water?

Everyone has their pilgrimage to their hamburger, pizza or hot dog Mecca, but mine is the fried clam quest for the ages.

It started several years ago when I had some clams somewhere and thought they were pretty tasty. I said to myself and then uttered to the bride, “I wonder where Clam Nirvana is? Might we be living in the vicinity of Fried Clam “Heaven?"

There was only one way to find out and that was to search for The Perfect Fried Clam.

Now much like my standards in a wife, my standards for fried clams are very high. The perfect clam must embody not only the exact degree of chewiness but it also must be cooked to perfection to allow the unique flavor to exude from the delectable taste treat. It must have a light, golden color which ensures that the frying oil is fresh. If it's not a light golden brown in color, it loses any chance at the crown before it even gets near my mouth. And it goes without saying (but I will say it) it has to be crispy.

So let me some up: chewy, light, golden brown in color and crispy. And I don't want to have to pay through the porthole for a plate. That last fact leaves out about every restaurant within 20 miles of Boston of any chance of grabbing the gonfalon. That's a lot to ask, trying to put the Halley's Comet of Clams in the right spot at the right time and, I might add, for the right price. Some kick-ass french fries and coleslaw wouldn't hurt the overall winner's chances either.

(Note dear reader there is no mention of clam strips. Clam strips are to fried clams what a sparkler is to the space shuttle.)

History tells us that the fried clam was on the menu of the Parker House restaurant in Boston as far back as 1865. Legend has it that the modern deep-fried, batter-dipped version was credited to Lawrence Henry “Chubby” Woodman of Essex Massachusetts. He is said to have created the first batch on July 3, 1916 in his small roadside restaurant, now Woodman's of Essex. One of his specialties was homemade potato chips, so he had large vats for deep-frying foods. He used the clams which he had collected himself from the mud flats of the Essex River located close to his home.

And so my search began.

What were my chances of finding the Mona Lisa of mollusks? The barbeque of bi-valves? Only time and my MasterCard would tell.

I started the trek at the previously mentioned Woodman's of Essex. Although “Chubby” was no longer coming down for breakfast (or clams) I thought it would be the place to start. What I hadn't counted on was the fact that the frying oil used by “Chubby” back in 1916 appeared to be one and the same as the oil used upon my visit. The dark brown color of the clams upon their presentation immediately disqualified Woodman's as “Clam 1.” Fortunately also in Essex is a restaurant called The Village. The $28.95 price tag for a clam plate made these clams to rich for everyone other than the Sultan of Brunei. They were good but mortgaging the house for dinner won't get the job done. I've heard that Farnham's in Essex has excellent clams, but alas, poor reader, your humble blogger did not make it there to check out the end product.

On to Ipswich. The Clam Box has a reputation for having outstanding clams and I looked forward to battle testing their clam plate. The only problem with the Clam Box is that you need to get there about 9 AM on a Monday in order to eat on Friday and miss the line that seemingly extends to Sheboygan. I like clams but I'm not waiting for the next Pope to be elected to eat them. Soon we had tried the Sea Witch, the Agawam Diner, Dube's and others to no avail. We even tried a Fried Clam Po Boy in Washington, DC. Kudos to the cook for an ingenious methodology for eating clams: sub roll, secret sauce, lettuce and tomato, but the Fried Clam Po Boy was a horse of a different gear ratio compared to a New England clam plate. But heck, if they can't pass a congressional budget in three years how could I expect them to make a world class clam plate?

I was beginning to know how the physicists in charge of the Manhattan project in World War II were feeling when the bride and I happened to leisurely stop by the Land & Sea Restaurant in Peabody, MA. My expectations were low since Peabody is known mainly for shopping centers and drive by shootings and the list of gastronomic home runs is a short one, as in zero.

But, mirabile dictu, the Land & Sea was it. Golden brown clams piled high and cooked to perfection. French fries to die for and cole slaw, although not my very best favorite, that didn't suck. All for $16.95. Little did it matter that I practically had to wrestle the lady behind the counter to get three more little cups of ketchup to go with my world class clams. Go figure, the clams are plentiful on the plate but the ketchup is treated like plutonium. In order to confuse the woman behind the counter, I was about to send the bride back for three more little cups of ketchup (you can never have enough ketchup) but she (the bride) patently refused my wishes.

And there you have it, Clam 1, the Alpha Clam, the connoisseur of Clams, Clams Correcto: the Land & Sea in Peabody.

My life is complete.

See you there on Friday night.

Until next time........