Seafood Boil — Restaurant in North Brunswick Township

Whew, buddy. Let me tell y’all somethin’.

I rolled up to this little seafood boil joint tucked inside a Jersey strip mall with my hopes sky-high and my stomach louder than a Baptist choir on Sunday. I been missin’ home somethin’ awful—born and raised down in Bayou La Batre, Alabama, where seafood’s caught, cleaned, and cooked before you can say “gumbo.” So yeah, I had some expectations.

Soon as I cracked that bag open, I started judgin’. Shrimp looked a lil’ soft. The crab legs weren’t steamin’ like I’m used to. And Lord, the seasoning hit me like a truck—garlicky, salty, spicy—like they was tryin’ to make up for somethin’. I sat there mumblin’ to myself, “This right here? This ain’t Southern. This is supermarket seafood with a side of regret.”

But then I kept eatin’. Outta pure spite at first, if I’m honest.

Then somethin’ happened.

That corn? Sweet as a kiss on the porch swing. Potatoes cooked just right, buttery soft with a lil’ tang of spice. And them shrimp—yeah they might’ve been frozen once, but they soaked up that flavor real nice, and they had me suckin’ my fingers before I even realized I was enjoyin’ myself.

I leaned back in that plastic chair, licked the Cajun off my knuckles, and thought, “Now hold on… maybe this ain’t half bad.”

Maybe I came in wantin’ Mama’s cookin’ and left with somethin’ different—but still dang good. These folks ain’t tryin’ to fool nobody. They know where they are. And for bein’ in a strip mall a thousand miles from the Gulf, they’re doin’ God’s work with what they got.

By the time I threw away my gloves and wiped the sweat off my brow, I was smilin’. That seasoning that had me mad at first? Kinda grew on me. The price? Well shoot, it filled me up real good, and I left feelin’ like I got my money’s worth.

So yeah—I came in grumpy, and I walked out a fan. I’ll be back, and next time I ain’t gonna fuss none. Might even bring my...

A lot of delicious seafood, reasonably priced, in what seems like an impossibly-small plastic bag. My major complaint, though, is that hardly any of the black mussels opened up. When I called a few days later to complain (my mistake that we waited), the Supervisor/Manager/Owner explained that this happens all of the time and sometimes the mussels, which come to them frozen and a bit old, she admitted(!), get cooked in a big pot, in such a way that they don’t have space to open. I then explained that, even when I buy them frozen and cook them myself, nearly every mussel opens up and can be eaten, that I had taken a picture of the closed mussels, that my wife, a nurse from England, knows one should not eat the dead mussels that didn’t open up, etc. No matter since “there is nothing that we can do; perhaps if you had told us that night (a few days before), we could have, but let us know the next time that this is important to you,” yada, yada, yada. Anyway, we tried to call ahead and on Mother’s Day, as she instructed us to do (this time to order the delicious green mussels instead as a part of our next 2nd meal), but we either got a busy signal, or no one picked up, so we gave up and ate elsewhere. Most of the black mussels should open up when fully cooked and, at any rate, I don’t feel confident forcing them open, not to mention working so hard, just to eat the food I paid for. Not even my nurse wife could convince the Supervisor/Manager/Owner to make any real/tangible allowance for what happened, even though we are...

“More like SeaFOOD POISONING.” I don’t even know where to start, but I’ll try — just like the kitchen apparently tried to cook the food. Walked into this place hoping for a casual seafood boil with friends, walked out with regret, indigestion, and a deep distrust of shellfish. First of all, the smell hit me before the door even closed behind me. Not the delicious, buttery garlic aroma you'd expect — no, this was more of a "low tide meets mop water" vibe. Should’ve been my first warning. We ordered the classic combo boil. What we got looked like someone dumped a freezer bag into a bucket of oily swamp water and sprinkled a vague memory of Old Bay over it. The shrimp were mushy, the crab legs were so overcooked they crumbled like sadness in my hands, and the corn was... gray? Why was the corn gray?? The “butter sauce” tasted like melted margarine mixed with regret and possibly battery acid. Everything was drowning in it. Even the potatoes looked ashamed. Service? The waiter seemed actively mad we were there. I swear he sighed every time we asked for anything — including napkins, which we needed because they gave us one (1) damp towelette for a whole table. After 45 minutes of waiting for refills, we gave up and drank warm water from the bathroom sink. A fitting end. If you’re into expensive disappointment and gastrointestinal roulette, this is the place for you. Otherwise, do yourself a favor: boil your own socks at home. It’ll taste better and...