Wednesday night, over a few drinks in a warmly lit room, I sat talking with two old friends I have known since childhood, chatting and reminiscing about life. Before long, our conversation was affected by the setting around us and all talk turned to the sea and the shore. Being the Long Island babies that we are, we mused over the strange, invisible but unbreakable bond that all Long Islanders seem to have with the ocean. It’s something we’ve all noticed about ourselves; how even now, living in a vibrant city full of fabulous 
and plentiful diversions, we find ourselves drawn away from it during spare weekend hours. We continue to make the trip home just to hop in the car, roll down the windows, and drive down the long, flat stretch of sun-bleached road to the beach, the dune grass rising high around us and the air growing sticky and thick with the scent of salt inside our nostrils.
and plentiful diversions, we find ourselves drawn away from it during spare weekend hours. We continue to make the trip home just to hop in the car, roll down the windows, and drive down the long, flat stretch of sun-bleached road to the beach, the dune grass rising high around us and the air growing sticky and thick with the scent of salt inside our nostrils.–
This call of the ocean seems inherent to native Long Islanders; those of us who have lived “inland” for extended periods of time may have experienced the undefinable tug in the back of your mind (and stomach) when you go too long without seeing the water. I’m not sure if people who didn’t grow up near the ocean experience this; I tried to explain to a passing coworker once that the idea of living in a land-locked state makes me extremely claustrophobic, and their response was merely an incredulous expression. But there’s just something about being near the water that feels right, feels like going home.
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The Mermaid Oyster Bar, nestled in a small space on the shady Macdougal Street in the South Village, is an ode to such salt-water sentiments. The Mermaid is a seafood restaurant which is not willing to be anything else, or less. In fact, my roommate (who needs a name and will be henceforth referred to as Cara, at her own request) does not eat seafood, and had considered joining us for dinner but decided to pass because there was nothing on the menu that appealed to her. But isn’t that absolutely delightful; that this seafood restaurant actually has only seafood on the menu? How obvious, how pure, how rarely encountered. For me, this set the right tone for the meal before I even entered the restaurant.–
Once I did enter, I felt as thought I was settling in to a lovely shore house I had rented on a peaceful coastline somewhere for vacation. The ambience of the restaurant was lively, but the decor was muted and soothing, with white washed walls and wainscoting the color of sand, and clean, metallic tables and chairs that caught the light and reminded me of a crashing wave. The walls were adorned with clusters of framed black and white and sepia photographs, all of a beach theme.
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This was only the second time I had ever eaten oysters; the first was at The Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station, where the first oyster I ever consumed was literally the size of my two hands cupped together. I had to cut it up to even swallow it, and let me tell you, you do not want to know what the inside of an oyster looks like. Better just to slurp it down and not think twice about it. One of my friends who joined me tonight was an experienced oyster eater; the other had never had oysters before. As a compromise, we asked our waitress to bring us a little of everything to get a real taste of the sea, and she smilingly obliged.
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Our round tray of oysters arrived, each shell nestled on a bed of ice, with three sparkling glasses of crisp and tart Sauvignon Blanc to accompany it. Honestly, a big part of me feels like the Sauvignon Blanc is the best part of eating oysters. Granted, my experience is limited, but if you gave me oysters and told me I could have no Sauv Blanc with them, I would be very upset. But back to the oysters. The icy tray also included several lemon wedges, a small bowl of tartar sauce with horseradish on top, and another small bowl full of vinegar and carrots (curious, but delicious).–
We worked our way around the plate from smallest to largest, making our way from the 
pacific northwest with cucumbery Fanny Bay oysters from Vancouver and Totten Virginica oysters from Washington state, over to the east coast with salty Island Creeks from Massachusets, and finished off with the Blue Point “Naked Cowboy” oysters from our very own Long Island Sound!! Oysters go so well paired with acidic flavors, and topping them with the vinegar carrots was a tangy twist that really enhanced the salty, slippery sensation of the oyster; I highly recommend trying it this way.
pacific northwest with cucumbery Fanny Bay oysters from Vancouver and Totten Virginica oysters from Washington state, over to the east coast with salty Island Creeks from Massachusets, and finished off with the Blue Point “Naked Cowboy” oysters from our very own Long Island Sound!! Oysters go so well paired with acidic flavors, and topping them with the vinegar carrots was a tangy twist that really enhanced the salty, slippery sensation of the oyster; I highly recommend trying it this way.–
After the oysters had disappeared and my friend and I seriously considered stealing the remaining shells for an interior decorating project (oyster shells are just so damn pretty), we worked our way through the rest of the wine. I sort of fell in love with our waitress when she returned to take our dinner orders; as soon as we asked for her opinion on dishes and questions about the menu, her eyes lit up and a huge smile broke across her face as she literally rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet in excitement. You could tell that this was an individual who truly loved everything about the food she was bringing us; she described the craftsmanship of the buccatini that was served with little neck clams with exquisite detail, and I’m pretty sure her mouth started watering when she recommended to us the lobster salad sandwich, such was the vigor with which she described it.
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Our table wound up laden with the lobster fra diavolo, whole grilled brook trout, and “nearly famous lobster sandwich,” all of which we made sure to sample. The fra diavolo, which on friend enjoyed, was a heaping bowl of thick spaghetti, rustic roasted tomatoes, and thick chunks of lobster meat. I’d never tried fra diavola of any sort before, but was shocked when the first bite send an electric current of heat through my mouth; it was extremely spicy! On second glance, I noticed the bright red flakes of hot pepper nestled between the strands of pasta, and relished the burn on my tongue.–
The lobster sandwich is nearly famous for very good reason; I’d liken this to a lobster roll, but even better because it is served on crispy, buttered slices of griddled brioche, and who doesn’t like brioche (or bread and butter, for that matter). The lobster salad itself was simple – creamy, sweet, and very fresh, full of big juicy pieces of lobster meat and topped with a dusting of chopped scallions. This dish really brought me back to my college days in Maryland because it came with a heaping side of Old Bay smothered french fries. These fries were amazing. I thought last week’s fries at Shorty’s .32 were unbeatable. I was wrong. These fries should teach a seminar to other fries on how to do their job of being a french fry better. They were that good.–
Finally, on to my entrée. I had the grilled trout. Now, to be fair I probably should have read the menu better and duly noted that it read “whole grilled trout;” if I had, I probably would have been better prepared for the fish that arrived before me, laying on its side, scales on, head on, one eyeball staring right at me. It took me a second to get past that. But once I conducted a brief examination and noticed that this fish was deboned and stuffed with lemon and spinach, I surrendered to the soft, flakey meat that lay beneath the scaly skin. I wish I could say that I ate the skin, but after one bitter, charred bite I had to peel it off and stick with the main event. But the fish was moist and cooked to perfection, delicately infused with citrus and the grilled flavor of the crispy skin. The fennel and greens salad that came with this was neither a hit nor a miss; it was largely ignored in the face of the show-stealing trout which needed immediate consumption.–
And when the meal ended, the waitress informed us that sadly, there was no dessert menu. But, The Mermaid did the classy, right thing I would never even think of doing in bringing each diner a small espresso cup, filled to the brim with a bitter-sweet, dark chocolate custard with a tiny dollop of whipped cream on top – just the right amount of sweetness to satisfy a sweet tooth at the end of this savory meal.
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In the end, this meal reminded me of a perfect day at the beach. The trout is that moment, early in the morning, when the sun has just come up and the sky is still pink and gray and the beach is empty and fresh, with promise in the air. The oysters are the first time you let your feet touch the water, not sure how cold it will be, as the salty splashes spray up in your face and your feet sink into the sand. The lobster salad is decadence; it’s when you rub oil all over your body, sit back in your beach chair, and bask in the sun fantasizing about the great tan you’ll have by the day’s end. And the fra diavola… the fra diavola is the adventure of the ocean; it’s jumping in the Atlantic just after sunset, when the sea is gray and churning, and you can’t tell exactly which direction the waves are coming from. You’re not sure just what to expect, but in the end, it leaves you breathless.
Give the water a few minutes to adjust to the temperature and salt and reach a steady simmer. Meanwhile, crack your eggs into small, separate bowls.
