More than Stone Ponies in Asbury Park

Late September in Jersey. A chance glance at a billboard in Rutherford. It reads: Asbury Oyster Festival. Never heard of it but what the hell? Oysters, perhaps a few sausage sandwiches, a zeppole or 5, the relics of Bruce Springsteen's beloved town. Why not?

The weather kicked up a fuss by drizzling till 3ish. But by then the football games were mostly over, the sun peeked between watery clouds and people were ready for oyster time. I came for oysters on the half shell, but they weren't stationed at the bottom of Cookman Ave on which the festival was held so we worked our way past the stalls: oyster stew, obligatory sausage & pepper sandwiches, cigar stands, Stone Pony t-shirts. It was interesting to see the resurgence of an art and food revival on this main strip. Quite a few furniture galleries, kitschy home good stores with unique items. And of course the restaurants.

We popped into the local megabar to evade the rain and catch a play or two of the Jets and/or Giants game. The Brickwall is a cavernous family destination with oodles of kid friendly seating and a proper bar for the diehard sports fans. We snacked on beef and American cheese sliders, wilted hot peppers and fries. With the rain dying down we struck out for oyster gold. Instead we found a decently meaty lobster roll with the properly toasted & buttered bun and washed it down with a cup of beer, champagne for me as I still cherished the hope of a half shelled beauty. We passed up a oyster po' boy stand, which I later regretted. Finally, in what appeared to be the center of town we spied heavy oyster activity: friend oyster and clams, chowder and hallejah! oysters on the half shell.

Perhaps I built myself up for disappointment, or as proper research later proved, I didn't have the variety best suited to my taste. Apparently I'm a brine hound and the ones served were watery, wussified oysters most probably Beausoleils from PEI. Gimme a Wellfleet anyday. To wash down our disappointment we popped into a small joint that would fit in easily in the West Village. The Harrison boasted $5 martinis, I had a Champagne and green apple DeKuyper which chased down a very delectable crabcake and a surprisingly sweet shrimp cake.

The bar scene was hopping at The Harrison, boasting an attractive 40 something crowd. We chatted with Linda and Ted, a local couple who generously shared their historical knowledge of Asbury and the beach towns of Jersey. Didn't hurt that they were educated foodies and prone to dropping restaurant names. One caught my ear - Langosta Lounge directly on the boardwalk. But before heading seaward I had to make a stop.

Springsteem immortalized an Asbury fortune teller by the name of Madame Marie in his 1988 hit 4th of July with the ever classic line: "Did you hear the cops finally busted Madame Marie for tellin' fortunes better than they do." I knew she had passed away last year but I didn't know her legacy was carried on by her granddaughter Sabrina. As diligent pupil of the metaphysical arts I just had to pay her a visit. On first impression she looks like a young girl with a very pretty face, but upon closer contact you can see her tired eyes. I've heard the expression; Insight has a price. Sabrina's living proof. She read my palm and although I would have liked to talk more (I know, so unusual) the throng of eager patrons awaiting their fortunes prevented me from a deeper reading.

Just before sunset we walked to the boardwalk, past deserted decaying Asbury shrines, past the Stone Pony. Dogs frolicked on the beach with owners determined to prolong the season. Joggers, bikers, yuppy parents with kiddies in tow all traversed the newly rebuilt boardwalk. With the exception of a few odd looking characters, perhaps remnants of the city's practice to dump the mentally disabled into decrepit B&Bs as halfway houses, the boardwalk could have resided in a posher town.

Then to the much anticipated Langosta Lounge. Locals swoon over the audaciously funky menu executed under the hands of chef Marilyn Schlossbach. She appears to be a local culinary hero and with good reason. Undoubtedly seafood themed, Langosta manages to merge a funky bar scene with serious dining. Decor-wise it reminds me a bit of the old Live Bait on 23rd Street, without the annoying model influences. The cuisine is a tasting menu of port of calls: Asian, Mexican, Spanish, Caribbean. The owners obviously like to travel and bring back the best flavor concepts to their kitchen. We start with a handful of fried olives and a salad of grilled sweet, red veined vidalia onions and yellow peppers over baby arugula with a chipolte, agave vinaigrette and sprinkled with pistachio nuts.

I drink a vodka martini and for the first time this summer I find the size of the olive not an indicator of it's brininess. Matter of fact these are a bit squishy and watery, as if they've been sitting in ice water for a few days. The Pinot Noir stands well on it's own with great expectations that it will shine when paired with our entree, Lobster Enchiladas. You have the option of mole or a fiery Diablo sauce. We opt for fire power and get it in aces. Luckily the fat sweet chunks of lobster counterpoint the heat, as does the black rice and beans. Dessert is a melty chocolate cake with baffling blue whipped cream and a candle for my friend's birthday. We wind down with exceptional coffee in a graciously large mug before heading out of town.

In all, Asbury overshadowed the Oyster festival, luring me with it's engagingly adult population and gems of culinary delight. I shall be back.