Fare Inside a West Omaha Fish Market Goes Down Easy

By Nichole Aksamit, Omaha World-Herald, Neb.

Feb. 22–I’m originally from the so-called “land of 10,000 lakes,” which means I grew up helping catch, clean, cook and devour all sorts of freshwater fish.

I ate most of my walleye, bass, Northern pike, crappie and sunfish the way everyone should: the same day it was pulled from the water.

That’s probably why I’ve been slow to get to know the saltwater varieties, whose freshness becomes more suspect the farther you are from the sea. And, even though I’ve had cooked oysters, I’d never tried them raw — until I met a friend for a late Saturday supper at Shucks Fish House & Oyster Bar.

If you’re a raw-oyster virgin in the middle of the country, there is probably no better place to get acquainted.

This unassuming oyster bar, launched in an alcove inside Absolutely Fresh Seafood’s west Omaha fish market in 2006, doesn’t take anything too seriously — except, perhaps, the seafood.

It’s got a beach-house feel (weathered wood on the walls, harborlike lanterns over the bar, a smattering of booths and black-metal-framed chairs that juh-juh-juh across the gray-blue concrete floors), “Little Mermaid” accents (papier-mache lobsters and sea gulls), and an “aw, shucks” sensibility.

And it’s usually packed, with brown-paper-covered tables spilling out into the fish market. What to wear? A tweed-patched jacket works just as well as a hoodie. And PJs, I’ve been assured, are fine.

So, you might guess, the oysters don’t come on silver platters or with a highfalutin mignonette sauce. They also don’t cost a fortune.

We had the “roundabout” — a dozen of the day’s raw-oyster offerings, freshly shucked and served on an ice-filled aluminum tray that looked like the lid of Oscar’s garbage can. Wedges of lemon demarcated that day’s five varieties, which circled a pile of wrapped saltine crackers, a plastic cup of horseradish and two plastic forks.

The first, the blue points from New England, were a little smaller than the others. Some slightly slimy sea-something dangled from the rough bottom shells. My date and I clacked our shells together in a toast.

I tipped one back and felt the lump of iridescent meat rush in with a liquid that was not exactly salty but tasted of the sea. I imagined the coasts of Maine and a flinty-eyed Yankee fisherman hauling up his nets.

I chewed just a little, unleashing a bit of gaminess before I swallowed.

The Chesapeake oysters from Virginia were slightly brinier and a lot meatier, with a smooth, silky flesh. I blushed.

The third, from the Gulf of Mexico, exploded with a flavor that made me think of New Orleans: boozy and dirty in a good way. Then I wondered if I were tasting the aftereffects of Katrina. Perhaps in oysters, as in life, hardship breeds character.

The Canadian ospreys were really salty and exploding with flavor. Colder and firmer than the others, they evoked ice-covered waters.

The last, the salutes from Prince Edward Island, were my favorites. They had just enough salt, just enough sweet meat and a resounding flavor.

Our hot meal arrived a little before we finished the oysters.

The restaurant was out of the crispy basa and petrale sole — two of its four fish specials that night. So we settled for the haddock: lightly pan-seared, finished in an oven perhaps, kissed with lemon and salt and pepper, a moist, clean-tasting fillet of mild white fish.

It was served with serviceable seasoned rice and excellent vegetables. The yellow squash and zucchini slices were nicely seasoned, carefully steamed and sauteed, mixed with little French green beans and a brunoise of tomato and garlic.

The fish and chips were tasty, too. The fish of the day was cod chunks, lightly battered and fried to a rich, caramel brown. They were served with tartar sauce, coleslaw and a little pile of hashed-potato “baby cakes” — like seasoned Tater Tots that had been run over by a military tank.

Meals came either in little paper-lined baskets or on black plastic foam plates. And the lack of table frills was reflected in our bill: $48 for two (with tax, tip and our $17 oyster splurge).

Service was casual but informed, with a you-bet attitude and swift delivery.

At a weekday lunch, we started with the underwhelming shrimp ceviche: a plate of tortilla chips and a bowl of tiny, slightly rubbery, tailless shrimp in an exceptionally sweet marinade.

I wanted more acid, more heat and bigger, fresher, rarer shrimp. These tasted like the cooked sort that go directly from the freezer into a cream cheese spread.

Soups were more satisfying. The San Francisco cioppino was a flavorful hodgepodge of medium-sized shrimp, clams, some stringy white fish and a steamed-open mussel, all in a slightly sweet tomato broth with delayed notes of heat.

The mahogany-brown gumbo was topped with rice and a light dusting of file powder, the spice made from dried and ground sassafras leaves. Okra, shrimp, green pepper and andouille sausage lay beneath the surface. Though it was runnier than the stewlike gumbo I crave, the soup had the appropriately nutty flavor of a deep, dark, butter-and-flour roux. And a bit of grilled bread served on the side helped sop it up.

The Baja fish taco special involved two flour tortillas grilled to a desirable char, filled with a vinegary coleslaw and bits of lightly breaded cod and drizzled with a sour cream sauce. They were served with standard refried beans and yellow rice and much-needed salsa. They weren’t bad.

But the shrimp po’ boy was terrific — moister and better than those I had in New Orleans ages ago. The huge plump shrimp were de-tailed, nicely breaded and plentiful. They nestled in romaine lettuce and a lightly spiced remoulade on a toasted hoagie roll.

I later learned that our sandwich lacked Shucks’ usual muffaletta (spiced olive) relish. But we had unwittingly remedied that by adding a little hot sauce. I liked the blend of textures, and the shrimp were truly succulent.

Our bill with tax and tip was about $40, including one appetizer, two soups and two entrees.

The wine list isn’t huge, but there’s a much larger and more interesting selection in the attached market. For the retail price plus a $5 corking fee, you can have with your meal any of those bottles, including some pretty good champagne.

That’s not to imply that Shucks is the ideal spot for a proposal. But the place has its charms.

It’s like a rough-around-the-edges fellow I know: He has absolutely no airs. He couldn’t care less about appearances. And yet he’s funny, interesting, honest, sweet when it matters and — given what’s under that craggy shell — quite the catch.

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