By Emily Codik
By Valeria Nekhim
By Hannah Sentenac
By Valeria Nekhim
By Carla Torres
By Emily Codik
By Carina Ost
By Laine Doss
The Old Cutler Oyster Co. & Raw Bar (O.C.'s to its many fans) may be the most delayed comeback story in the annals of Hurricane Andrew lore. The family-style seafood restaurant was a five-year-old storefront in the Old Cutler Towne Center before being leveled by the big wind. When Doc Graham's Taproom & Eatery took over the spot and rebuilt it, O.C.'s looked to be permanently gone. But this past June the restaurant finally appeased the demon of oyster demand by reopening -- nearly three years later -- in Cutler Ridge.
The long hiatus apparently hasn't affected the business's popularity. Big as a cave and twice as chilly, the place was packed when I visited, but our party was seated immediately. (With so much square footage, you'd be hard-pressed not to find a chair.) The dining room features glass-topped tables framing nautical charts, mounted fish, maritime artwork, and big-screen televisions -- which in the end held our attention better than the meal.
The motto here is "Where the Cape meets the Keys," and that's appropriate enough. Menu items cover the Eastern seaboard, from New England clam chowder to cioppino "Key West Style." Raw oysters in warm-water summer months, however, are not appropriate, so we ordered the house specialty in fried form. (The back of O.C.'s menu kindly includes an oyster warning for those who suffer from liver, blood, or immune disorders.) A dozen oysters were shelled, dipped in batter, and deep-fried to a likable crunch, though their small size prevented them from achieving that buttery texture usually associated with cooked oysters. Scattered on a platter with lemon for garnish, they languished in a gray funk. Absolution was found in a particularly good cocktail sauce -- heavy on the horseradish -- and a flavorful tartar sauce. French fries and homemade cole slaw can be added to the order for an extra buck.
Steamed with beer and spices, the peel-and-eat shrimp, are offered in four different styles: chilled, Cajun, garlic, and Southwestern. We tried a quarter-pound (a half-pound order is also an option) of the Southwestern style, which was served in a bowl, drenched with a cilantro-chili butter. The freshness of these medium-size shrimp was evident, but the herb-spice mixture added little flavor. And the long bath in butter robbed the shrimp of their natural sweetness while pumping their cholesterol content off the charts. (It also made them as slippery as wet boat shoes.)
The Buffalo wings were sadly disappointing. We requested a batch of ten, medium-spicy, with a dish of hot sauce on the side. The sauce never appeared, and the blue cheese dressing for the accompanying celery sticks showed up only after we asked twice. The light spray of sauce on the wings was tangy and peppery, but the poultry itself was cold and tough.
Nostalgia for the teenage gastronomic mayhem of White Castle hamburgers prompted us to sample the Castle-style burgers. A pair was served with chips for $1.95. These were fun but hardly a bargain. Sliced as thin as luncheon meat and draped with a piece of American cheese the size and shape of a butter pat, the square meat was more ghost than flesh.
One of the starters caught our attention. A scoop of "locally smoked" fish spread, chunky with moist flakes of white and dark fish, had a deliciously mild and sweet flavor. The sesame flatbread that accompanied it, however, could have been more plentiful. We liked the spread so much we asked our server to tell us what was in it. She couldn't. She said she'd ask the kitchen. She didn't. Nor could she tell us the name of the bakery that supplied the desserts. Requests for water, napkins, and utensils were either ignored or delayed in fulfillment. She covered herself with lots of personality -- chatting amiably, calling us "dear," patting us on the back and shoulder until even the most girl-loving guy in my party shuddered when she approached. And while we appreciated the continuous exculpations that the kitchen was overwhelmed, it became clear that our server's timing was off when our entrees appeared before our appetizers were half-finished.
Poor timing could also account for the unpleasantly tepid temperature of a pound of Alaskan crab legs. The flesh was sweet, and it separated easily from the shell, but the real treats here, as with the other main courses, were the side dishes served with it. Parsley potatoes, perfectly cooked, were wonderful, and the creamy cole slaw could hold its own against that found in the best delicatessens.
A platter of "country-style" pork ribs was big and meaty. First marinated then grilled, the ribs were tough enough to require a predator's determined effort. Herby and good, the Italian dressing animated the accompanying house salad (a prototypical mix of lettuces and zucchini, cucumber, carrot, and tomato). And the barbecue sauce was consistent with our findings to that point: O.C.'s may fall down in several areas of food preparation, but its sauces, condiments, and dressings are all pleasantly perky.
A dish of cracked conch was tender enough, but the menu description didn't prepare us for another Buffalo-style dish. Breaded and fried conch was doused with the same pepper sauce we'd sampled on the chicken wings. Here, though, it overwhelmed the mild nature of the mollusk.