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| - As I have mentioned before, I am a fool for oysters, particularly of the deep-fried kind. Having reiterated that for the umpteenth time, when my ever-watchful mother mentioned to me that an oyster-specialty restaurant had opened minutes from Century III Mall, I knew I had to clear a space in my schedule to have lunch or dinner there, even if it was a chain that had just recently made inroads up North.
Carefully made to look authentic and non-corporate, odd, olden decor is at the fore. Lifesavers and worn signs with homespun sayings inhabit the walls of the dining room, which was strangely dark and calm just before the Sunday church/Steeler crowd rush.
Kay and I became wonderfully acquainted with our adorable, sharp, attentive, and effervescent server Nikki (a.k.a. Nicole K) as we in partook in mollusks that were cooked in hot fat and over naked flames.
6 Char-Grilled Oysters began our late-morning Gulf Coast feast, peppered butter, parmesan, and romano topping each igneous half-shell. Slippery oysters evanesced in my mouth with no elasticity or grit detected, the dairy products imparting their rich flavors upon them along with that of the raw fire, the seawater essence never losing out.
Next came a helping of their 3/4-of-a-century-old trademark: Fried oysters accompanied by a saucerful of a creamy, crunchy, and thus, model cole slaw and a behemoth of a flawless baked potato "loaded" with all the trademark fixings.
If I had to concoct a couple of complaints, it would be that there was nothing to dip the fried oysters in (an aioli or remoulade would have been apropos) and that I almost felt that the serving was stingy. It seemed unfair that the pile of slimy, juicy, humid bivalves encased in crunchy breading wasn't more substantial. Perhaps selfishness and gluttony and are to blame for my minor disenchantment.
My ravenous stomach would be remedied (enabled?) by Kay, however, as she couldn't complete her J.O. Broiled Seafood Platter. Fish, shrimp, scallops, clams arrived on a silver-coated SHIELD Helicarrier of a tray. Every piece of sea creature was supple, bleeding with flavor, exuberantly spiced with that staple of oceanfront kitchens: Old Bay.
With a pocket of room left for a sweet finale, we both ordered the BTYM Chocolate Cake. BYTM stands for "Better Than Your Mama's," a challenge if there ever was one. Iced with a buttercream frosting that roofs a fudge-sodden interior, the cake is served warm with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce. Eh, I'd wager on my Mama on any given day on any given dish, but this game would have me chewing my nails and perspiring. Think of it as a heated Oakmont Bakery birthday cake with ice cream sans the candle and corny singalong.
J. Oliver Wintzell, the franchise's founder, was surely an interesting fellow if his proudly displayed words of wisdom tell us anything about him. He's left quite a legacy, one gastronauts of the Pittsburgh area can now experience for themselves. Nothing smacked of flash-frozen or processed trash. Everything tasted fresh and hand-made. No "flair" or caffeinated, contrived enthusiasm was encountered. Rather, only down-to-earth folk work here and work very hard to please you while exuding a quiet confidence that they'll be filling every table and booth very soon.
Thanks be to J.O.W. and the Alabama town that produced him. Long John Silver is about to walk the plank. His days of piracy and fast-food fraud are through.
P.S. The service was smooth overall. Whatever bugs this Wintzell's had when it first went live were gone by the time we got around to visiting.
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