Good Southern Living on Tap at The Owl

Owl Tap Room
75 Commerce St.
Apalachicola, FL



Just a few short years ago finding good craft beer in a small Southern town was about as difficult as finding a virgin along Florida State’s sorority row.

Yuengling was about as exotic as it got.

My how things have changed.

For the better.

The Owl Tap Room in the oyster capital of the world, Apalachicola, Florida, is a perfect example.

The beer list spelled out on a big chalk board declares, “Welcome to beer heaven!”

Heaven indeed.

Recently opened as the younger, hipper sister to the frumpy white tablecloth Owl Café next door, the Owl Tap Room sports 15 rotating taps of top notch regional and national craft beers.

And I do mean top notch.

Somebody who knows their beer does the ordering for this place.

Obscure high quality beers from America’s greatest breweries like Ommegang, Bell’s and Southern Tier pour from the taps.

The best beers from Florida and the Southeast are also well represented such as Cigar City in Tampa, Intuition in Jacksonville and Highland in Asheville.

The selection is continually changing as evidenced by the multitude of colorful tap handles hanging from the rafters.

Florida was one of the last states in America to develop a taste for good beer, so finding creative breweries in the Sunshine State can be a challenge.

One of the best is Cigar City. So I was excited to try their High Seas IPA, a flavor I’d never tried before.

Cigar City is famous for its delicious Jai Alai IPA, but this was something different.

Brewed in Ponce, Puerto Rico and then dry hopped with Simcoe hops on its journey back to Tampa in a refrigerated vessel, High Seas IPA has a spicy, fruity snap you’d expect from a top notch IPA.

My Highland Gaelic Ale was a poor choice to follow such a kick-ass brew. There is no way the much more subtle flavors of this ale could match up against a hoppy IPA. But it grew on me as I approached the bottom of the glass.

Next up I had to try Hop House Pale Ale from Ommegang.

Ommegang is a tiny brewery in Cooperstown, New York (home of the Baseball Hall of Fame) that has earned a world renowned reputation. Literally.

Legendary Belgian brewery Duvel was so smitten by the Belgian-style beers being produced by this little Yankee brewery that they bought the damn place.

That’s like Formula One inviting me to race my Toyota Solara in the Monaco Grand Prix.

The Hop House Pale Ale is a hoppy version of a fruity Belgian ale. The Belgian yeast reminds you of the style while the spicy hop finish puts a smile on your face.

Next up I wanted to try the Thomas Creek Porter out of South Carolina but the guy sitting next to me got the last one before the keg blew.

Luckily for me, they replaced it with something even better, Southern Tier 2X IPA, one of my favorite double IPAs from one of my favorite breweries in America. Southern Tier never disappoints.

While my brain could still comprehend what I was drinking, I finished up with pint of Bell’s Smitten Rye, a hoppy pale ale brewed with rye grains, which adds a nice spicy kick.

While clearly beer is the most important item on the menu in the Tap Room, you can also order food.

Good thing too considering all the hops and alcohol flowing through my blood stream.

Of course the reason everyone comes to the tiny town of 3,500 people on the “Forgotten Coast” of Florida is to slurp down fresh Apalachicola oysters.

At the Owl, they proudly serve “13 Mile Brand” oysters.

Most oyster eaters on the Gulf and Atlantic coasts aren’t pretentious enough to fret over oyster brands.

To most southerners, an oyster is an oyster is an oyster.

At most, you might hear them comment about the oyster being “salty” or “fresh”, which varies based on the wind direction and the resulting salinity of the water from which it was plucked.

On the West Coast or at the Grand Central Station Oyster Bar in New York City, you pay four bucks a piece for oysters from specific estuaries and then must commence to pretentiously waxing poetic about the subtle differences.

Here in Apalachicola, if your oyster carries a brand, it will probably be “13 Mile”, which is the only brand sold by The Owl.

13 Mile is the name given to an oyster dock owned for four generations by the Ward family located along Apalachicola Bay which is…you guessed it…

…13 miles from town.

Most days you can catch one of their 13 Mile Brand shrimp boats tied up to the dock downtown.

Maybe I need to become a more pretentious oyster eater because my half dozen raw 13 Mile oysters were some of the biggest, plumpest, most delicious oysters I had in Apalachicola.

Clean, salty and sweet, each slurp was a succulent taste of Apalachicola Bay.

My 13 Mile Brand oysters were like a mini vacation on the half shell.

And at less than a buck a piece, an absolute bargain. After all, if you only have to transport them 13 miles in the back of a refrigerated truck, it dramatically cuts down the transportation costs.

And dramatically ups the freshness.

The fried 13 Mile oysters were excellent too, perfectly prepared to a nice golden crisp. The horseradish dipping sauce was good but unnecessary.

While the menu in the tap room is a bit more modest than in the more formal Owl Café next door, there was a nice selection of options to soak up all that good beer.

I went with the alligator sausage sandwich.

There’s just something fun about eating an animal more dangerous than me.

In the swamp in my backyard I might be at a disadvantage, but here at the Owl Tap Room it was Suit757 at the top of the food chain as I admired the black grill marks on my perfectly charred tube of mashed up gator parts.

The sautéed onions and sauerkraut gave the gator a nice sweet and tangy accent.

Full of beer, oysters and gator, I stumbled out onto Commerce Street a happy man.

I mean I’m always happy after a good meal.

But what put me in an especially good mood was knowing that the craft beer revolution has spread even to this tiny nook of the American South -- one of my favorite destinations of the wide Suit757 map.

A trip to Apalach no longer means a weekend of washing down my oysters with a steady stream of Miller Lite and Yuengling.

In fact, as I crossed the street, I peered into the empty storefront that soon will be “Oyster City Brewing Company”. The folks at the Owl are building their own brew pub!

How cool is that?

Life in the Confederacy just keeps getting better.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Fresh Florida Oysters? There’s No App for That

Bayside Seafood Restaurant
500 East Highway 98
Eastpoint, FL




No doubt about it. The internet is a great tool for finding cool places to eat and drink while cruising America’s back roads.

But sometimes even the Google Maps app on your smart phone isn’t smarter than just plain old dumb luck.

Yep. No matter how high the IQ of your smart phone, just driving through town is the only way to discover a place like Bayside Seafood.

That’s because Bayside Seafood just opened a couple days before I cruised through Eastpoint.

The place literally isn’t even on the Google Map yet.

The NSA still hasn’t confirmed its existence.

In fact, this review you are reading just may be the first and only review of Bayside Seafood you’ll read on the entire World Wide Web -- at least for a few weeks anyway.

Eastpoint is situated at the eastern end of Apalachicola Bay, perhaps the most productive and famous oyster estuary in the world.

While the namesake town of Apalachicola across the John Gorrie Memorial Bridge may get all the glory and bed and breakfast tourists, Eastpoint is the business end of the bay.

The wharf here is lined with all work/no play oyster processing houses and docks.

Refrigerated eighteen wheelers back up and pull out of the loading docks from sunrise to sunset, hauling the Southeast’s best oysters to fancy expense account steak houses in Manhattan and DC to be sold for $40 Oysters Rockefeller appetizers.

Wouldn’t it be cool to find a little shack among all these bustling docks to sit a spell and slurp down some fresh-from-the-bay oysters, long before they end up on some feeding-at-the-federal-taxpayer-trough lobbyist’s expense account?

Oh well. According to Mr. Google, no such place exists in Eastpoint.

But sometimes Mr. Google isn’t quite as up to speed as Suit757.

I couldn’t help but notice the gleaming “Bayside Seafood Restaurant” signs lining both sides of Highway 98.

“Welcome Aboard.”

“Perfect,” I thought as I wheeled my car into a parking spot by the front door.

The signs may be fresh out of the Vista Print boxes, but the building Bayside Seafood occupies has plenty of weathered charm.

Built on pilings anchored to the oyster shell-lined shore, clearly Bayside Seafood is not the first rodeo for this rustic bayfront shack.

But she cleans up well.

Nautical knickknacks and beer signs decorate the freshly painted walls.

Unfortunately the brand new Sweetwater Brewery metal signs do not translate onto the actual beer menu.

The South’s most ubiquitous microbrew, Sweetwater 420, may serve to liven up the décor, but you can’t order one here.

Like many rural joints along the Florida coast, the most exotic brew available was Yuengling, my eternal second choice beer by default.

On this bright sunny but chilly winter afternoon, my oyster eating companion and I bravely chose to be the only people to sit outside on the screened-in porch.

As long as I could feel the February sun on the back of my neck, I could forget about the fact that the temperature was hovering in the upper 50s.

But the sights, sounds and smells of the bay more than compensated for the chill in the air.

Tiny oyster skiffs hardly big enough for two oystermen motored into the wharf laden with bushels of freshly harvested oysters.

Minutes later, they would motor back out into the bay, oyster tongs at the ready.

Oysters don’t get any fresher than this.

I watched the young guy shuck my oysters by hand at the outdoor oyster bar.

If you are adventurous enough to take a bit of a risk, raw oysters are the best way to go.

Freshly shucked from their shells, freshly plucked from Apalachicola Bay, these beauties had the subtle salty flavor of the sea.

If you are particularly concerned about hepatitis, you can opt for the more touristy baked oysters.

Baked oysters are for oyster eaters who don’t like the taste of oysters.

Kinda like how Bud Light Lime is the beer for beer drinkers who don’t like the taste of beer.

That being said, baked oysters can be tasty -- if you don’t overload them with distracting ingredients that camouflage the briny goodness of the oyster itself.

With that in mind, I opted for the more subtle parmesan and butter baked oysters rather than the more exotic concoctions on the menu.

Unfortunately the stringy gobs of melted cheese overwhelmed the flavor of the oyster. I’ve never found cheese to be a good complement to the subtle flavor of oysters.

Oh well. Next time I’ll go with just garlic and butter.

But the most exquisite menu item of all was Bayside’s oyster stew -- an ideal warm-me-up for this winter afternoon.

Thick with fresh, plump oysters, this was the best oyster stew that has ever graced my taste buds.

Thicker, creamier, butterier than most oyster stews, it was decadence in a bowl.

As I paid my tab at the front register I complimented the owner on her stew -- and asked her what set her oyster stew apart from the thin, skim milk-like concoctions most restaurant serve.

“Good fresh oysters,” she said modestly.

True. But I’m pretty sure there is more to it than that.

Coincidently, I bumped into her first cousin the next afternoon at Apalachicola’s venerable Dixie Theatre. In small Southern towns sometimes it seems that everyone is kin to everyone.

I just happened to be raving about the fantastic oyster stew I had across the bay.

“Yeah, that’s my cousin,” she said proudly. “She just opened that place a couple days ago. She’s a great cook.”

I tried to coax the secret from her.

The best I managed to get was, “I think she uses that canned cream,” which I took to mean evaporated milk.

She claimed ignorance beyond that.

I’m still not sure if she was just guarding the family secrets, but there has to be onions, Old Bay and lots and lots of butter in there too.

Oh, and good fresh oysters fresh out of Apalachicola Bay.

That’s what I came to this “Forgotten” corner of the Florida coast to eat.

And guess what? There’s no app for that.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Up the Creek with Kate Upton

Up the Creek
313 Water Street
Apalachicola, FL



They call this the “Forgotten Coast.”

And a trip to the small town of Apalachicola on the Gulf Coast of Florida’s Panhandle will help you understand why.

There are no interstates here. The nearest airport is an hour and a half away.

This is the northwest corner of Florida with more in common culturally, geographically and politically with Alabama than Miami or Orlando.

The tea and Southern drawls are sweeter here.

The Spanish moss hangs thicker here.

And the pace of life is slower here.

Apalachicola’s quaint beauty and rustic isolation is probably why Sports Illustrated chose this town to shoot its 2012 Swimsuit issue with Kate Upton.


Any town good enough for Kate Upton is good enough for me.

Mickey Mouse has his charms, I suppose, but when I travel the backroads of the Sunshine State, it is sugary beaches, cold beer and salty oysters that I’m looking for.

Apalachicola and the “Forgotten Coast” is where I come to find them.

A tiny town of just 3,000 people, Apalachicola is synonymous with oysters.

The Apalachicola River drains out of the farmlands of Georgia and Alabama spilling its contents into Apalachicola Bay where fresh water collides with the salty Gulf of Mexico, creating the ideal brackish cauldron of seawater that oysters crave.

Blessed by geography and God’s grace, this town is perfectly situated to take advantage of the bounty of one of Earth’s perfect oyster estuaries.

90% of the oysters consumed in Florida (and two thirds of the oysters consumed in the Southeast) come from this little bay in the “forgotten” corner of Florida.

As you might expect, Apalach, as the locals call it, has quite a few options for knocking back cold beers and the local delicacies served on a half shell.

Like Apalach itself, Up the Creek benefits greatly from its location.

Rising high into the air hard against the waterfront, Up the Creek is the ideal place to eat oysters in this ideal oyster town.

Fresh Apalachicola oysters always taste good. But they just seem even tastier when you eat them outside on a big porch overlooking the water with an ice cold India Pale Ale in hand.

Since this is the middle of winter -- and as I already explained, this is a world away from the warmth of Miami -- I opted for the heated glassed-in half of the deck.

Somewhat surprising for this remote crevasse of the Deep South, Up the Creek had a very nice selection of craft beer along with the usual ubiquitous mass produced stuff.

On tap were two of my favorite IPAs on earth -- Southern Tier out of Upstate New York and Cigar City Jai Alai out of Tampa.

I alternated between the two, hoping to settle the debate in my mind as to which one I liked best.

Unfortunately the results of my testing were inconclusive as my palette and mind got foggier as the afternoon wore on.

The Cigar City Jai Alai IPA was a little sweeter with a fuller alcohol kick than the Southern Tier but both are top notch facsimiles of the style.

I think. The details are a bit fuzzy.

It was an expensive experiment as Up the Creek charged six bucks a pint -- triple the price of the Bud and Miller Lite taps.

I think these small town places in the rural South are catching on that big city tourists want good beer -- but they are going to charge the hell out of them for it.

Meanwhile the locals snicker as they suck on their two dollar long necks of red white and blue.

Oh well. That’s American entrepreneurship at its best.

I’m certainly not going to fault them for giving me what I want and making a profit off it.

In this case, good beer was just an added bonus because I was here to eat local Apalachicola oysters regardless of beer selection.

Up the Creek didn’t disappoint.

I’ve eaten a lot of oysters in my day, but these were some of the most exquisite.

I ordered them in two ways -- steamed and “Southern Fella”.

The “Southern Fella” were steamed with finely chopped collard greens, butter, parmesan cheese and bacon bits.

They looked like a work of art -- almost too good to eat.

Almost.

Decadent is the only way to describe them.

Unlike oysters baked with goops of melted cheese, these gourmet oysters allowed the toppings to complement the oysters rather than overwhelm them.

I mean, isn’t that the point of eating oysters? To actually taste the oysters?

You are paying a buck a piece for them -- an absolute bargain, by the way, compared to the price you’ll pay for oysters in Portland, Oregon or New York City. You want to make sure you get that taste of the sea you can only get from a freshly shucked oyster.

If I wanted lasagna on the half shell, I’d have gone out for Italian and skipped the oysters altogether.

The parmesan butter and the tender greens enhanced the flavor of the oysters while the bacon lended a smoky crunch.

Bacon enhances the flavor of EVERYTHING!

But as good as the gourmet “Southern Fella” oysters were, I have to say the more simple steamed oysters were even better.

Unencumbered by competing -- though complimentary -- flavors, the succulence of Apalachicola’s famous shellfish shone more brightly with nothing but some butter, parsley and seasoned salt.


I jazzed a couple up with some Ed’s Red Hot Sauce, a local cocktail/hot sauce hybrid made up the road in Port St. Joe.

Like a miracle bra on Kate Upton, it was good…

…but unnecessary.

What made these oysters so extraordinary was the labor and care that went into serving them.

First of all, Up the Creek only serves the freshest, plumpest oysters.

Each and every oyster is shucked by hand, freed from the shell by severing the attaching muscle and left to steam in a bath of butter for the absolute perfect duration of time.

There is no grit or grime or shell fragments to deal with. All the work is done for you. All you have to do is pop the oyster in your mouth and enjoy.

Easy and delicious.

Almost too easy.

I found myself exclaiming the virtues of my oysters to my waiter while ordering up another couple dozen.

“I know what you mean! I’ve been enjoying them my entire life,” said my friendly attentive waiter in a coastal drawl.

I say too easy because the tab for my afternoon of oysters and beer came to nearly seventy bucks.

But worth every penny.

In fact, the next day I came back again.

While the temperature wasn’t any warmer, this time the sun was out.

So I opted for the open air section of the deck facing the bay and the oyster trawlers tied up to the pilings.

I scored the only picnic table in the sun, a crucial coup considering that 60 degrees with a breeze off the bay wasn’t going to work for me in the shade.

If possible, the beer and oysters tasted even better in the sweet salt air with warming sunshine beating down on a bright blue afternoon.


After more of those delicious oysters and a couple more pints of IPA, I decided to explore the Up the Creek menu a bit further.

You think I would pass up the alligator, sausage, shrimp and crab gumbo?

Not a chance.

As good as it sounded -- big chunks of gator and sausage in a spicy crab meat broth warmed me up as the pelicans enviously swooped by searching for their own meal.

I had to try the alligator burger too.

Made with fresh ground up alligator meat and topped with a sweet mayo and a spicy slaw, this was one of the strangest sandwiches I’ve ever eaten.

It’s hard to describe.

The burger had the consistency of a swampy crab cake.


Okay. I know that is not helping much.

Like a gatorey chicken salad? Is that better?

No?

I don’t know.

It was odd. The meat was white, crumbly and surprisingly bland. Most of the flavor came from the tasty condiments. And the dousing I gave it with some tableside “Tiger Sauce”.

Oh, well. At least I can now say I’ve tried an alligator meat burger.

That might be the most I can recommend about it.

The side dish was the highlight -- fried green beans.

Vegetables taste so much better when they are breaded and deep fried. Especially when dipped in Up the Creek’s homemade rémoulade sauce available on the topping bar inside.

As I paid my tab and hit the road for civilization, I realized that this place is the ideal personification of everything an oyster-eating journey to the Forgotten Coast should be.

Up the Creek has the freshest plumpest oysters and the nicest views of this quaint bayside town.

Now I can see why Sports Illustrated chose this place as the backdrop for shooting Kate Upton in her various states of undress.

The American South never looked so good.

I wonder if she’ll ever come back to Apalach.

I know I will.

Hey, Kate, if you want to meet me on the deck at Up the Creek for a few dozen oysters, the t-shirt is on me.

Rating: Bought two shirts! (One for me and one for Kate.)