Summer shacks (continued)

Nor is the sense of family pride at stake in the operation. According to ol’ Chubby’s grandson Steve Woodman, during high season, as many as 35 family members may wind up on the payroll — third and fourth generations all, catering not only to tourists but to locals who are often themselves third- and fourth-generation regulars, and "who come in three, four times a week." It’s with them in mind, says Woodman, that "we try not to change the way we do things. We have a tradition to uphold, which my grandfather started . . . We have expanded, we’ve improved [the place], but we’ve always tried to make it look like it was before. It has always been eat in the rough — you come and wait in line, you place your order, you sit at the picnic tables where we keep boxes of salt. It’s a loud atmosphere, there’s a lot of commotion going on, and if the customers don’t bring their children, we have enough of our own running around." And they’re all slurping steamers, lapping chowder — "made the way it’s been made for years upon years upon years," notes Woodman, "not filled with starches or thickening agents" — and, of course, chowing down on fried clams: "On a busy day, we could go through 50 gallons." Good news for purists: While the demand for clams in recent years has far outstripped native supply, forcing North Shore operators to import the goods from (egad!) Maine, this summer "there seems to be a little more availability." Add to that windfall, says Woodman, the facts that 1) they dip those soft-shell babies first in milk, then in corn flour — "it’s lighter than a mixture of flour and cornmeal"; 2) they still cook them in lard; and 3) "we’re continually making sure that the vats and so forth are clean — we dump ’em throughout the day, even if it means getting rid of stuff that even has life in it" — and you’ve got one mean fried clam, whether in a roll, in a box, or on a platter.

Still, Woodman’s has a few serious area rivals for foodies’ affection. In town, there’s Essex Seafood — which could be called the anti-Woodman’s, being smaller (the dining area seats about 50) and quieter, with a homey look suited as much to a diner on an Iowa back road as to the coastal fishhouse Essex is. The fried clams come in a boat or roll (with fries or rings) or on a plate (with both). "We buy them direct from the clammers and shuck them right on the premises," says Howie Lane, who’s been running the joint for the past nine years. Then they’re coated in evaporated milk and dredged in the classic flour-cornmeal mixture prior to frying — and dished up for 17 clams (and 95 cents). At Essex Seafood, which also houses a market, lobster is an almost equal draw, served not only boiled with corn and as a roll but also fried ($18.95). Says Lane, "The lobster’s shucked out and the meat’s battered just like the clams. It’s a big seller."

J.T. Farnham’s also has its champions, thanks not least to the view from its picnic tables, lined up alongside the salt marshes. And then there’s the Clam Box of Ipswich. That places like this can still exist is, in a word, heartwarming. Dating back to 1938, during the golden age of roadside architecture, the Clam Box is actually shaped like a giant open take-out container — albeit one dotted with red-and-white-striped awnings instead of grease stains. The interior, too, is delightfully corny, as the service-window-lined foyer leads to a dining room bright with primary colors and chock full of seaside-themed tchotchkes: plastic lobsters caught in nets, seashell mobiles, anchors, life buoys, you name it. And while it’s a madhouse midsummer, off-season the Clam Box has got a bit of the vibe of a retirement-community center — the booths occupied by the sort of quiet old couples you can’t help but wonder if you’ll be half of someday, who notice when you’re wrestling with the ketchup and venture over to show you how to tap the bottle just so for steady flow. The surprisingly laid-back counter help, too, is all smiles. And so will you be, when you dig into a platter piled high with fried clams, two sides, and a soft white dinner roll you need like a hole in the head ($17.25). The clams’ coating is as light and crunchy as it comes this side of tempura, so as to let their paradoxical, almost mushroom-like earthiness shine (or rather squirt) through. Sweet-pickle-studded tartar sauce adds balance, as does the simplest of coleslaws (both are homemade). Actually, the onion rings, too, are notable for the sweetness of their interiors, the batter being unobtrusively crisp instead of flagrantly doughy. You, however, will be flagrantly doughy if you eat it all in one sitting, so ask for a to-go container — and then savor the endearing irony when you’re handed not a clam box but an extra paper plate to serve as a makeshift lid.

Now, with the belly room you’ve saved, you can hit the Ipswich Clambake Lobster & Seafood (formerly known as Route 1A Seafood Market), about a quarter-mile down the road, and grab a lobster roll ($8.50) from the clean, bright store. Smaller and cheaper than the standard version, it makes for a luxurious snack, as the plain but soft (read: fresh — sadly not the universal it should be) bun is stuffed with goodly chunks of lobster, mixed with just enough mayo to keep them moist but not enough to overpower them — some of the meatiest, most flavorful morsels you may have had in recent memory. Michelle Pepin, who owns the store with her husband, Tom, explains that "local lobstermen deliver to us when they’re in season, mostly in the summer months," but otherwise Maine and Canadian lobsters, no slouches themselves, are stored in on-site tanks. Added bonus: The Pepins also sell refrigerated homemade soups to go — Michelle especially recommends the lobster bisque ($9.99/quart), scallop-corn chowder ($4.99/pint), and Tom’s own bouillabaisse ($11.95/quart) — so you can relive the joys of your jaunt at home.

Of course, the North Shore isn’t the only place to get your shack on. We’d be woefully remiss to omit the beloved hang that is Kelly’s Roast Beef. The Revere Beach original has been a boulevard attraction for more than 50 years, its beacon a now-retro sign depicting a rotund chef gleefully hacking away at a fat pink roast, whose slices float down to top a bun above the roof of the corner stand. Behind the service window, a slew of teens mills about, mirroring the gaggle loitering on the sidewalk, as they’ve undoubtedly done for decades. And as other foodies have done for decades, you need only to approach the window and order up a storm, then cross the street to gorge on your treats under the beachside pavilions. Unexpectedly, Kelly’s clam chowder ($3.75/cup) is the real — and really good — thing: The broth is milky, not gluey; the chopped clams are chewy and copious; and the seasoning is just right. More expectedly, the roast-beef sandwich is also the genuine article. At $5.25, a small is huge; a large ($6.25), we can only imagine, is Flintstonian. It starts with a fresh sesame-seed bun, toasted with butter and touched with juices from meat that’s delicately sliced and flavored — though piled in such a heap that neither barbecue sauce nor horseradish (nor other condiment of choice) can overwhelm it in any given bite. What you can’t finish you’d better toss to the gulls, or risk a re-enactment of Hitchcock. (Then again, even swooping birds might not deter you from the also venerable Bianchi’s, where, along with pizza, the wonderfully impossible-to-defend boardwalk indulgence that is fried dough beckons at $3 a pop.)

In the other direction, literally and figuratively, is West Concord’s Twin Seafood. Set within an expensively quaint shopping district just beyond the commuter-rail depot, it’s a quiet little fish market that’ll tempt your inner yuppie rather than re-awaken your dormant adolescent. Next to the retail display case is the short-order counter, fronted by a handful of tables; above it, a posted menu lists all the usual fried suspects, while a board notes daily specials that make for nifty changes of pace from X platters and Y rolls. Creamy haddock chowder ($2.50–$8.95) is a bit fish-deficient, but the flavor carries; grilled fish sandwiches ($6.95) consist of a sizable fillet (six to seven ounces) of your choice — swordfish, escolar, or bluefish, for example — served on an untoasted but nice, hard-topped roll with mayo, lettuce, and tomato, plus a side of fries. Even neater, you can get the kinds of goodies usually reserved for cocktail parties to enjoy all by yourself out at either of Twin’s two picnic tables: Lobster puffs come 10 for $9.95, crab Rangoon 10 for $7.99, and coconut shrimp six for $5.95. It’s junk food at its most gourmet.