Pearl Oyster Bar

[John Whiting]

Pearl Oyster Bar is quintessentially American in cuisine, ambience and social milieu. This is the review I wrote after visiting it in April 2001:

Pearl Oyster Bar

“Come for lunch,” says Time Out’s Annual New York Eating and Drinking Guide, “when sunlight floods the narrow space. . . .When you . . . stare out at tree-lined Cornelia Street and tip back yet another succulent oyster, you’ll realize that it’s moments like this that tether you to this frantic city.” But it’s six in the evening and I’m tethered to New York for a scant week. Mary is too jet-lagged to be hungry, so this first night’s the time to brave the crowds and wait for one of the 24 bar stools.

The Pearl Oyster Bar, according to its chef-owner Rebecca Charles, is “a sliver of the Maine coast in Greenwich Village.” Sliver is right. There’s one lone table in the window and two rows of stools – one with backs, facing the bar, and the other, backless and viewless, along a narrow ledge of marble with a blank wall, inches away, for company. The diners plus the hopefuls pack the space and the sidewalk outside as tightly as the cod that once populated New England’s waters. Age-wise most of them are mere codlings – they could be my grandchildren.

I’m in luck, the hostess tells me. Only half an hour’s wait for a single. That leaves me free to stroll around the Village and pick up a Village Voice. A few blocks’ observation satisfies me that I saw it all in San Francisco’s North Beach half a century ago, and the items of interest in the Voice’s present incarnation, minus the interminable pages of sleazy ads, would slip easily into my watch pocket with room left over for Big Ben. And so, gratefully, back to the Pearl.

The space now available consists of three wall-facing stools. A waiting couple whose turn has also come up asks me which end I’d like – or, straight-faced, would I prefer the middle? Cool. I end up furthest from the door, with just enough space for my book bag on the floor at my feet and my coat draped over the stool for me to sit on. Just like the army – take what comes and forget what doesn’t.

A quick perusal of the menu reveals the famous “lobster roll”, which, according to Time Out, “rivals the one in your favorite dockside joint in Maine”. Waiting briefly for my order to arrive, I listen to the boy next to me telling his girl friend about the half-dozen small yachts he’s in the process of rebuilding. He could buy me out and not even make a ripple in his cash flow.

On my other side a huge bucket of steamer clams arrives. It was listed on the blackboard behind me but not on the menu. I shouldn’t have ordered so impulsively: steamers are one of life’s great experiences and totally unavailable in all of Europe.

My first course consists of half-a-dozen little neck clams on the half shell in a bed of rock salt. Delicious but, compared with the steamers, a mere amuse-gueule. The freshly-made cocktail sauce which accompanies them, however, is a triumph of spicy tomato-y glop – if they serve shrimp cocktails in Plato’s Heaven, this must be the key ingredient.

My lobster roll arrives. It proves to be a generous quantity of excellent lobster meat, but smothered in mayonnaise and piled onto the sort of bun you get wrapped around a hot dog. What a waste! Next to it is a spiky fright wig of ultra-thin shoestring potatoes, a tasty exercise in conveying a maximum of crisp fat in a minimum of starch. The waiter asks if I’d like ketchup with my fries. No thanks – but could I have some more of that cocktail sauce? He looks surprised but brings me another cupful. Who would choose the commercially bottled stuff over this scarlet ambrosia? I could eat it with a spoon.

Meanwhile, a whole boiled lobster, together with a serious array of surgeon’s implements, is brought to the girl on my left. She stares at it and asks her companion plaintively, “What do I do with it?” “Honey, let me show you,” I want to cry out, but slurp up my sloppy lobster roll instead.

One of the two dessert choices is a praline parfait. That’s a fancy name for an ice cream sundae. It’s just like what I used to have at the soda fountain in Adams Pharmacy on Commercial Street in Provincetown, more than half a century ago. Who says nostalgia ain’t what it used to be?

Fast turn-around here. After opening at six, most of the tables continue to empty on the hour throughout the evening. Without feeling rushed, I’ve finished my coffee and am back on the street within fifty minutes, a couple of pounds heavier but fifty dollars lighter. With added sales tax of 8 ¼ % and an acceptable tipping level of 15-20%, not to mention eyebrow-lifting prices for beer and wine, eating out in New York is not as cheap as it may look on the menu in the window.

So what have I learned? Pearl’s Oyster Bar is one of the most universally recommended eating places in New York – where chefs go on their night off. The ingredients are ocean-fresh, the preparation simple, the presentation unpretentious. But there are certain conditions that ultra-popular restaurants must now fulfil. A whole generation of factory-farmed kids has reached maturity; and so, just as classical music must be sold to them as though it were pop, real restaurants are increasingly obliged to serve a few dishes which ape the reassuring fast food on which the moppets are weaned in early childhood and which will then see its addicts to the grave. “[Pearl’s] fried fish sandwich is the best!” proclaims a young New York chef. “And their home-made tartar sauce is unbelieveable.”

A few days later my theory is confirmed by our very helpful, informed and sophisticated young waiter at Gramercy Tavern. When we tell him that we’re going to lunch at Gramercy’s sister-restaurant, the Union Square Café, he recommends their tuna burger. In The Union Square Café Cookbook, the founder/owner Danny Meyer writes,

“This is one of our menu’s most successful children. . . . One day our friend Pierre Franey asked if we had ever considered doing tuna burgers. [Franey’s distinguished career culminated remuneratively in his appointment as executive chef for Howard Johnson’s – JW] We worked up a recipe which has been a signature dish ever since. The tuna burger is so popular that we actually now have to cut into our fillet mignon supply to meet the demand.”

It’s a shame that this pop art product should interfere in any way with the café’s otherwise distinguished cuisine. The MacTuna Deluxe turns out to be a pan-seared mixture of ground tuna, garlic and Dijon mustard on a brioche hamburger bun, with a glaze of ginger, garlic, teriyaki sauce, honey, mustard and white wine vinegar, topped with a generous portion of shaved pickled ginger. The burger’s lid is rakishly askew and there’s a sort of classy cole slaw on the side. The top quality tuna screams in agony at having been thus desecrated and the pickled ginger sings a drunken chorus of If You Knew Sushi Like I Knew Sushi. The cole slaw remains silent, like the p in swimming.

©2001 John Whiting

[jaybee]

Thanks, John, for reprinting your review of Pearl Oyster Bar. I "discovered" Swan's Oyster Depot on Polk St. in San Francisco a number of years ago and fell head over heels for the place. Why, oh why, I said to myself, can't we have such a place in New York. I was delighted when I read about two such places--Pearl and Mary's. As I will be with someone, and would like to sit comfotably and chat while we eat, I'll probably choose Mary's and leave Pearl for a solo occasion.

I wonder if one can ask for "light" mayo on the lobster roll?

[John Whiting]

Perhaps unfairly, I respond differently to an informal seafood establishment spread out on an ample hillside overlooking a New England harbor as opposed to shoehorned into a giraffe's coffin in the middle of Greenwich Village. For me, the pinched ambience affects the generosity of the flavors. I'll wait til I'm back in Bar Harbor.

[wingding]

Pearl is my favorite lunch place in N.Y., bar none,and I usually go for the Lobster roll,a glass of white wine,and the atmosphere....it is consistent,and always wonderful.

[jaybee]

The clock chimed twelve as a relaxed pair of eGulletiers tentatively entered an empty small room at 18 Corneila Street with the name PEARL on the window. Could this be the famous Pearl, the first come first served, ("giraffe's coffin" as described by Whiting), ever popular seafood place that has reached almost cult status? Jaybee and Nina W staked out the prime corner seats at the bar and considered the advice given by the redoubtable AHR. salt-crusted shrimp, chowder, steamers and lobster roll it would be.

To drink? Tangy, cold Paulaner Pilsner on draft.

The shrimp--three fat, moist, crunchy specimens, served with a tomato and cucumber salad with a mayo/mustard dressing. Great first taste. The chowder--spectacular. Creamy, rich but not overly so, full of celery, chunks of al dente potato and chewy clams. I could've eaten three bowls-full.

The steamers appear in a small galvanized steel bucket. Plump, fresh and juicy. No sand, no grit. Just sweet clam taste. Dipping water and melted butter on the side.

Lobster roll (one for two) is a pile of sweet, fresh-tasting lobster meat in a light mayonnaise sauce on a typical, if unimpressive bun. Maine has nicer views, but not a significantly better lobster roll. Cripsp, salty shoestring potatoes are piled high beside the roll.

The beer goes down smoothly with each bite.

By now, the empty place is full. Not a seat to be had. Service is friendly, attentive and prompt. The food tastes good. The conrner seats allows Nina and I to slyly eavesdrop on Mario Batali, sitting next to us, as he discusses plans for his new pizza restaurant.

Dessert? Nina bets the chocolate mousse is good. It's better than good. Light, creamy and airy, with a dollop of whipped cream, two spoons make it disappear fast.

About one-thirty, a happy Jaybee and Nina W move away from the bar to give our seats to a waiting couple. The "Giraffe's Coffin" on Cornelia Street is an intimate, friendly and comfortable place to eat a delicious lunch. Rebecca Charles is a gracious and friendly host, who appreciates my compliments. Rebecca says she was inspired by Swan's Oyster Depot in San Francisco. I'm glad she was.

[Fat Guy]

I've recently developed an interest in this place and its owner (read: I have an assignment to write about them).

Please say lots of insightful things.

[La Niña]

jaybee and I lunched there together - I think it was in September. I enjoyed the food and the place very much. Batali was sitting at the counter shmoozing, so we heard an earfull about the delays in Otto's opening.

[wingding]

I've been going to Pearl since it opened.The lobster roll and the chowder are my favorite comfort food.I love the feel of the place,especially for lunch.It's a place for simple food,done consistently and well...I had a favorite experience there a while back.After a bruising day at work,I decided to treat myself to dinner at the bar.After I sat down,a couple came in,seemed to know a lot of people there,and then pulled an Emmy award out of a plastic bag!.As it turned out,they were the producers of the Sopranos...We ended up having a great conversation,and it was a good meal,and a happy experience.That's the kind of place Pearl is.

[ahr]

I’ve been to Pearl about a dozen times and to its sister/competitor, Mary’s Fish Camp, twice, though to neither within the past six months. Even when crowded, Pearl is the more rustic and genteel of the two, and Mary’s the more… industrial. While I prefer Pearl’s smoky chowder, most of the other items are a tossup, including the famous lobster roll, which will be better at whichever restaurant that day has refrigerated the lobster more briefly. It may be imagination or projection, but I think that the Pearl experience has been more perfect on those occasions when the proprietress herself was in the house.

I’ve also overheard restaurateur talk, including a meeting among an investor, his accountant, and the chef of his soon-to-open restaurant. We got to chatting, and I was shown a prototype menu – uninspiring and typo-ridden, clearly not Otto’s. I never did try the place, nor do I know its name or fate.

I can hardly imagine a more pleasant lunch than a lazy, protracted weekday afternoon at the Pearl counter, working through chowder, steamers, lobster roll (with those shoestring fries), maybe some grilled shrimp, and a bottle of wine. The bread’s good too, though I’m rarely served any – maybe it’s what I order, or maybe just my Atkins aura. There’s also a nice, gooey sundae. I’ve never been to either Pearl or Mary’s for dinner; in fact, I’ve ordered a proper entrée only once: a grilled fish at Mary’s that was distressingly over-peppered.

Three paragraphs beginning with “I.” Well, you wanted personal observations.

Edit (a minor ironic addition): Mary's Fish Camp is on Charles Street.

Edited January 15, 2003 by ahr (log)

[jaybee]

Rebecca makes you feel like a guest, not a customer. Pearl (her grandmother's name) is the sort of place one can adopt as "their own."

And the food causes cravings for more at unpredictable times.

[Suvir Saran]

When is Rebeccas book coming out?

Is it out already??

[Fat Guy]

April. But if you're nice I'll let you read the galleys.

[Suvir Saran]

April. But if you're nice I'll let you read the galleys.

I thought I was very nice.

Galleys please.

[Stephanie]

I went to Pearl last month on a lousy, rainy day for a late lunch, and I had my lobster roll personally served by Rebecca. I haven't had Mary's version, but this was so decadently rich and wonderful.

Unfortunately, about an hour or so earlier I'd had one of Jacques Torres' hot chocolates (the regular kind), and the combination of so much rich food did not make my stomach very happy. I guess I'll have to have my next lobster roll under different circumstances.

[Fat Guy]

What's the whole story on the Pearl/Mary's split?

[Wilfrid]

I expect you know this already, but Jonathan Gold wrote a fairly detailed piece about the two places, including discussing the split, in Gourmet last year.

[Fat Guy]

Does anybody have this piece? I'd like to read it.

[lxt]

I don’t generally enjoy climbing up into a high bar chair, being squeezed by other folks and catching curious looks from my communal neighbors taking a peek at my plate. Pearl is an exception. Their slightly peppery, thin and smoky clam chowder with finely diced potatoes, medium-sized chunks of soft and sweet clams and small bits of bacon, and a warm lobster roll on a toasted and sweet bun nicely saturated with butter always gave me a pleasant twinge. This time, my expectations weren’t fully met, though I still prefer Pearl to Mary’s.

The clam chowder was thick, less smoky than usual and just a little bland, where one couldn’t feel the ocean delivered by the briny and tangy clam juice. The lobster in the lobster roll was too cold, but the chunks of the lobster were bound by the mayo nicely. The bun was not toasted enough and the inside became soggy quickly. The shoestring potatoes accompanying the lobster roll looked like a haystack and were superb, maintaining the satisfying balance of softness and crunchiness.

Fried oysters were so heavily breaded that one had to launch an expedition to find the oyster meat in the crumbs of the “Amazon.” The steamed clams were big and sweet but so mushy that holding one by the neck would force the belly first to separate from the neck, looking like a giant eye, and then quickly engage in the process of disintegration. The clam broth, which I generally like to sip at the end, mixing it with the left-over butter, was not as intense as I would prefer. The soggy strawberry-rhubarb pie wasn’t worth breaking my diet.

Better luck next time.

[Pan]

Oh well.

Thanks for posting about your experience.

[juuceman]

sounds better than m recent meal at mary's.. soft shell crabs were too heavily battered and cooked in the butter.. lobster roll was watery.. fries were good.. worst part was, they'd taken the chowder off the menu and replaced it with a conch chowder..

[gaf]

Chinese in Cleveland New York City Entry #16

Those who search for the chimera of authenticity find some restaurants that just don’t belong. The image of the place in which they are found argues against their presence. Can there be superb Chinese in Cleveland, fajitas in Fargo, or tandoori in Tampa. The debate over the possibility (according to Ed Levine) that the best pizza in America can be found in Phoenix at Chris Bianco’s Pizzeria Bianco is a case in point. To the extent that food is about ingredients and talent, no place should have a particular claim to greatness (unless, as some say, there is something in the water). But eating is also about an appreciative community of diners – and about imagination.

This came to mind at dinner at Rebecca Charles’ Pearl Oyster Bar in the West Village. Much (although not all) of the food served at Pearl might be found any number of lobster shacks along the Maine coast. Indeed, the last lobster roll I ate was from The Clam Shack in the village of Kennebunkport, consumed by the Atlantic on a perfect summer afternoon.

As quaint as the village of Greenwich may sometimes be, it has no ocean spray. The smells, memorable though they may be, are not those of salty sea air. But aren’t New Yorkers as entitled to a finely made lobster roll as Down Easters, or Cheeseheads for that matter?

The Pearl Oyster Bar is a tight space, simple and spare as any Mainer would recognize. The back room where we were seated is rather cramped and we felt somewhat rushed at this very popular restaurant (its 27 Zagat rating is undeserved, but not its popularity).

I began with a lovely plate of Prince Edward Island mussels in cream, wine, parsley, and mustard. The mussels were plump and pumpkin-orange; in their blacks shells mussels are the perfect Halloween cuisine. This was a fine starter, and a generous one. While one might find bivalves up the Maine coast, such elegance and subtly is not to be had at a coastal shack.

The lobster roll was exemplary, even if it carried a New York price tag ($22, about double my last roll). The lobster was buttery and fresh. The crispy shoestring potatoes were just fine, not as meaty as Maine fried potatoes, but not New York anorexic either. To claim that the Pearl’s roll was superior would be misleading, and, as much as I enjoyed my dining partners, I would choose to have my lobster accompanied by blowing sea foam.

Dessert was a superior blueberry crumble pie with vanilla ice cream. The ice cream was pleasant, and the blueberries with its crumb topping were sweet and slightly acidic, a most enjoyable close to a lobster meal. If I had my choice I would pick lowbush blueberries and eat them au naturel (the berries, of course).

However, choice is the issue. Perhaps we should force Iowans, New Mexicans, or Virginians only to eat locally produced foods, foods with a stamp of authenticity, and ban invasive cuisines. As a tourist, this is precisely my strategy for choosing a restaurant.

Yet, New York without Pearl’s and without Cajun, Tex-Mex, and California smoothies would be a lesser place for locals and guests alike (Barbeque is another issue). I welcome that Pearl’s brings a downeast flavor to the Village while knowing its place, keeping diners free from faux foam.

Pearl Oyster Bar

18 Cornelia Street

Manhattan (West Village)

212-691-8211

My Webpage: Vealcheeks