The odor hits first — briny and buttery, a whisper of the Atlantic using Lake Erie’s breeze. On a sunny Sunday in early fall, I observe that scent via Cleveland with my brother, Dale, a retired business fisherman who’s chased swordfish off Nova Scotia and thru the islands of the Atlantic. He’s come alongside to lend his sea-seasoned perspective to a practice we in some way missed rising up simply exterior the town: the Cleveland clambake.
We’ve heard the rumor — that Cleveland’s urge for food for clams outpaces wherever else when the climate cools. Turns out, it’s true. “We essentially keep the clammers in business in the fall,” says Tom McIntyre, second-generation proprietor of Kate’s Fish at Cleveland’s West Side Market. “They send more clams to Cleveland than anywhere else in the world.”
Dozens of eating places and group gatherings keep it up the ritual every year, making Cleveland the nation’s fall clambake capital.
A Great Lakes tackle a coastal basic
Wendy Pramik
Cleveland’s model of the New England clambake comes with a variation — a facet of hen. The conventional unfold features a dozen hard-shell clams, a roasted half-chicken, corn on the cob, a potato (candy or common), coleslaw, chowder, and a roll. Some locations add sausage or kielbasa for good measure. The outcome feels as Midwestern because it does maritime: hearty, social, and constructed to feed a crowd.
The get together is the purpose. It’s much less about delicate plating and extra about steam, chatter, and the consolation of coming collectively over shared butter.
A Friday evening frenzy in Westlake
Wendy Pramik
Our first cease is Salty Mary’s Oyster Bar & Tavern in Westlake, Ohio, a comfy spot the place proprietor Julie Novak holds Friday-night clambakes all through September and October. Her eyes widen as she recollects a current rush. “This past Friday around eight o’clock, we had to alert social media that we’d run out,” she says.
People begin calling in August to order seats. “It’s like fish fries during Lent or Browns games on Sunday — it’s one of those Cleveland traditions,” Novak says. “It’s comforting to come back to something every year.”
Her clambakes keep on with the Cleveland components: chowder, clams, corn, potatoes, hen, and bread. And for Novak, it’s as a lot about environment as taste. “We wanted a place where you don’t have to dress up to get good seafood,” she says, sitting beneath a chandelier manufactured from oyster shells. “It’s casual but still special.”
Dale approves of the unfold — and affords a bit of recommendation from his fishing days. “You should try a Bloody Mary with Clamato juice,” he tells Novak. “It tastes like the ocean.” She smiles. “Noted.”
The epicenter on the West Side Market
To perceive why this seaside ritual thrives a whole bunch of miles from the ocean, we go to Kate’s Fish inside Cleveland’s century-old West Side Market. As the historic constructing’s iron rafters echo with the sound of distributors and consumers, McIntyre is elbow-deep in orders. “We go from selling about a thousand clams a week to 10,000 in September and October,” he says.
His clams — littlenecks, middlenecks, and topnecks — come from small-boat harvesters in Rhode Island and Connecticut. “It’s a very sustainable method of fishing,” he continues. “They rake the clams by hand, no bycatch, no damage to the ocean floor. They haul them up, sort them, grab a beer, get paid in cash, and we get them the next day.”
The logistics that when made Cleveland’s clambake attainable at the moment are a part of its folklore. In the 1800s, as rail journey expanded, chilled seafood might attain the town simply because the climate cooled. “It started out practical,” McIntyre says, “and it turned into a fall tradition.”
For the house prepare dinner, Kate’s affords contemporary clams and rental steamers. McIntyre’s solely tip? “Grill the chicken instead of steaming it,” he advises. “Steamed chicken’s kind of weird.”
One huge get together at All Saints
Wendy Pramik
At All Saints Public Housea century-old neighborhood bar a number of blocks from Lake Erie, chef Jared Bazil runs his clambake like a group vacation. “We do one clambake every season,” he says. “That’s why we make it one big event.”
Bazil’s patio fills for a single sold-out seating — one wave of plates, everybody consuming collectively. He steams the clams proper on the road on the patio entrance, so the very first thing visitors catch is the nice and cozy scent of seafood. His Cleveland addition: smoky kielbasa from an area butcher, a nod to the town’s Eastern European roots. He additionally says his New England clam chowder – thick and loaded with clams – is the most effective within the metropolis.
“Back in the day, the Rockefellers used to throw big parties for their staff this time of year,” Bazil says. “That’s part of how it started — clams were just the social food.”
When I ask how he eats his clams, he laughs. “I like to take them all out and put them in the butter. Depends on how much you like butter. As you can tell, I like my butter.” Dale grins in solidarity.
An upscale view on the Alley Cat
Our last cease is Alley Cat Oyster Barperched alongside the Cuyahoga River within the Flats East Bank. With its patio views and breezy environment, it brings a contact of polish to the town’s rustic clambake custom.
Their late-October occasion reads like a four-course celebration: New England clam chowder, baked candy potatoes, cheddar biscuits, a dozen steamed middlenecks with roasted hen and corn, and a Key lime pie topped with toasted coconut. “Typically, a clambake is more casual,” says sous chef Dave Jedlinski. “We’re trying to make it more of an upscale experience.”
The river visitors provides its personal rhythm: yachts and fishing boats gliding previous, water slapping in opposition to the pilings. As Dale and I watched the sunshine shimmer off the water, we thought how becoming it was that Cleveland’s fall ritual nonetheless carries a hint of the ocean — proof that this metropolis famous for the Cleveland Browns’ boisterous “Dawg Pound” additionally has loads of salty souls.
