The Jersey City Independent "

There is a prelude to autumn in the air this morning, a slight chill at the edge of the breeze. It is not yet the characteristic fall bite that pierces flimsy clothing, just the exuberant front end of a post-summer gust which travels freely now that the oppressive humidity has lifted. It is accompanying the muted light of a rainy dawn, scooting through the cracked window and energizing my companion and I at this ungodly, unreasonable hour of the morning. The rain itself is lifting as the sky lightens, revealing a promise of sun, a tease of pure blue sky.

I do not have the presence of mind to celebrate this potential blessing, or to take in the changing scenery as we glide off the Parkway. Today I am consumed by something greater. Today, I have clams on the brain.

“Did you know that the largest clam on record was 4’6” across and weighed over 500 pounds?” I ask Ramon from the passenger seat.

“You could make a lot of chowder out of that clam.”

Perhaps it would be more truthful to say we have clam chowders on the brain, for today we have but one goal – to cast our vote in the annual Ocean County celebration known as Chowderfest.

Hosted in the borough of Beach Haven on Long Beach Island, Chowderfest is a citywide celebration of soup, clams, and community. Since the event’s inception in 1989 it has grown in popularity (attracting crowds upward of 15,000) and become the definitive occasion marking the end of summer in this coastal area. Traditionally held on the weekend straddling September and October, Chowderfest is an opportunity for local cooks and businesses to showcase their best red or white chowder, competing for bragging rights and fan worship alone. Music plays, brews are poured, soup is sipped, and the attendees, rather than a panel of judges, decide the winner.

The clouds part completely as we ride through town, blasting sun through our windows and reflecting bright light off the white tents which now seem to glow on the near horizon. As we pass the line of beach-town businesses, green turfed mini-golf courses, and unpretentious eateries, the tents call to us. “Here!” they seem to shout. “The clams are here!”

And so is the rest of town. The tents have been erected at the ball field on Taylor Avenue, on the bay side of the island. At 11:30 am lines already snake from both entrances as eager chowder fans await their opportunity to sip the day away. From the line you can glimpse snippets of some back of house activity – stirring and pouring, soup transference from huge stock pots into smaller containers, the odd chef or assistant (most of whom look like they haven’t slept in days) squatting on boxes for a quick break from the frenzy. The theme of this year’s Chowderfest is “Clam Stock,” a 60s-inspired play on words that is the basis for the hippie inspired booth decorations (costumed purveyors also compete for best décor) and tie-dyed commemorative t-shirts; few sights are as ironic as an exhausted line cook forced into a dashiki and love beads.

Upon entering we are handed two plastic poker chips, one red, one white. Each counts as a ballot for Best Chowder in the designated sub-category, and allows for anonymous voting at the end of sampling. The tents, which make Chowderfest a rain or shine event, are arranged in two parallel lines on opposite perimeters of the field, one for the white chowders, and one for the reds. Between the two is a grassy common area, used for conversation, congregation, and, more frequently, general chowder-oriented debate. At the other end of the field, beer, pastries, funnel cakes, ice cream, and clams on the half shell are sold. This year’s 16 chowder competitors all eagerly beckon attendees to their little piece of canopy.

Chowderfest is a phenomenon in this area, evident in the amount of homemade or screen-printed accessories created to pay homage to the humble bi-valve. There are clam hats, tiny flags, and various hand lettered t-shirts utilizing all forms of pun and wordplay: “Happy as a clam,” “The best damn clams,” etc. Our personal favorite, “Jam out with your clam out,” was not available for purchase at the gift table.

The most interesting accessory to Chowderfest, however, is the chowder paddle, a unique utensil used to carry multiple chowder samples (which are portioned at each station into thousands of individual plastic soufflé cups) at once. It is a particularly useful tool for families, or for those whose judging technique dictates they taste all samples side-by-side immediately without pausing. The paddles, which are sold on site, are shaped and colored like clams, with five or more soufflé cup-sized holes at the far edge and a large hole for grasping. Some patrons carry paddles from past festivals, while others brought what appear to be handmade and decorated versions from home. Others implement more frugal alternatives to the paddles: empty egg cartons, old muffin tins, shallow boxes. You have to respect this level of useful creativity.

Ramon and I make our way to the whites first, armed with two frothy cold beers as a palate cleanser – like sorbet, only better. There are eight competitors on this side: The Chicken or the Egg, Howard’s Seafood, Country Kettle Chowda, The Bayside Diner, The California Grill, Creevy’s on Atlantis, The Plantation, and Arcadia Nursing & Rehabilitation Center. We make our way from spot to spot, scribbling notes and debating the pros and cons of each little taste. Howard’s is good but too salty; the Plantation has a beautifully buttery finish but has too few “chunks of stuff” in it. Country Kettle Chowda, the reigning champion and multiple award-winner, has a great flavor – an even balance of clams and cream, nothing too fishy – but the consistency of the broth, which has a mildly gelatinous quality hinting at clam custard, turns us off. California Grill puts in a solid showing that results in a return for seconds, and Arcadia Nursing actually holds up OK … like a cup of really excellent canned soup. Notes on The Bayside Diner speak for themselves: “This is just wrong.”

Our personal pick, the one that received the coveted white-chip ballot, was Creevy’s. Visually appealing, a pure white with a hint of buttery yellow, it was a near perfect blend of every ingredient, boasting a satisfying mouth feel and tender clams.

On the opposite side, Stefano’s Seafood, Bistro 14, Surf City Bake Shop, Panzone’s, Sea Oaks Golf Club, Sweet Vidalia, The Boathouse Restaurant, and the Greenhouse Café battled for best red. Panzone’s turned in a soup that would go great with a slice of white pizza, while Steffano’s doled out portions of savory goodness that were just slightly over salted. Sweet Vidalia served a delicious variation that included (what else?) sweet Vidalia onions – a great bowl of soup, but not characteristic enough of Manhattan red to win a chowder competition. The low point was Sea Oaks Golf Club, which Ramon aptly described as a “mouthful of hot Clamato.”

Bistro 14 produced an exceptionally good soup with quality ingredients, but our personal winner was the Greenhouse Café. Again visually appealing, Greenhouse gave us a savory red-orange broth with a slight kick at the end, a proper ratio of veggies, the most tender clams, and balanced flavors that blended together rather than fought for attention. Repeat winners with almost a dozen awards since 1991, Greenhouse knows its chowder. Their informal representative Gus let us in on the secret: “We only use happy clams.” Indeed.

In the end, neither of our picks took the grand prize. Creevy’s didn’t place at all in the white competition, with Country Kettle Chowda again taking the title. Greenhouse Café took 2nd place in the reds, but it was Stefano’s who took home the Grand Prize.

Of course, judging any meal item is difficult, because the reality of food is that everyone has their own opinion of what is good — and what is not. And while in the world of flavor it is often unfair to make any individual an expert that speaks for the masses, the downfall of the popular vote is that some people just don’t know good food when they taste it. This may be why former titleholders display trophies and awards alongside their soup, and why some indecisive tasters may break ties by voting for former champions.

The event itself is a dose of social Xanax – looking across the crowds I couldn’t help but notice that every face of every age was grinning. This is a piece of Rockwell-esque Americana, a throwback to the cliché of a “simpler time.” It is the world my father, a simple farm-boy from small town New Jersey, misses: polite crowds of thousands exchanging the lost phrases of “please” and “thank you,” complete strangers amicably discussing soup and life, smiling families mulling about, young couples holding hands. As Ramon and I share warm elephant-ear pastries coated in cinnamon and sugar, we watch small children sway on an ancient swing at the edge of the water, a lone seagull devouring a fresh crab on the sand nearby. This is the New Jersey you want to throw at every smarmy naysayer, the Sopranos-educated idiots who apply the industrial Turnpike landscape to the entire state.

In the end, in a place like this, the winners and losers almost don’t matter. At the risk of sounding idealistic, Chowderfest does a greater service than exposing brilliant broths. It takes a mixed mass of thousands – kids, couples, hippies both reformed and unrepentant, yuppies, townies, tourists, and more, and bonds them with a great unifier: food. Filling bellies is nice; satisfying the soul, even briefly, is without measure.

On the Web:
Chowderfest

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