DiMillo's Floating Restaurant

DiMillo's is a national treasure of sorts. A floating restaurant in Maine may sound like an Onion headline, but it's the real-deal in our fair little city. Whether you love or hate the atmosphere, there's no arguing against the charm of watching little old ladies sip sombreros and eat lobster rolls with forks and knives. 

DiMillo's has undergone some changes over the years, and to a variety of effects. There was the period of standard, "seafood and steaks" fare they pushed out during the 1990s, followed by the restaurant's perhaps not so successful attempt to catch up with the fine-dining boom that occurred a decade or so later. Now, the menu sits somewhere in-between. If you want a plate of fried clams, it's there. So too, however, is the "Fiery Calamari Burger," which brings us to DiMillo's take on the quintessential fried haddock sandwich —  the "Atlantic Po Boy."

I'm not going to spell-out what constitutes an "Atlantic Po Boy" at DiMillo's; you'll find that information contained in the above photo. What I will address is the fact that this thing is not great with first impressions. At face value, the sandwich seems like it'd be a jumbled, culturally-confused mess. Last I checked, the preferred vessel for a po boy was a baguette-like french bread, not a "butter grilled Challah roll." Somehow, Japan gets in on the action in the form of "wasabi coleslaw" and "ginger mayo." This is not the DiMillo's of yesteryear and certainly not what I expected walking in.

Regardless of this sandwich's scattered geographical origins, it turned out to be a pretty decent effort. The portion of haddock was mammoth in size and couldn't have been fried more accurately. Unlike the buttered bun at Portland Lobster Company, this one didn't succumb into a state of extreme greasiness or render the sandwich inedible; it actually added a great deal of flavor to the party. Halfway through the meal, though, I had to reference the menu to remember what the hell was going on and what country I was in. While nothing offensive was at play, flavors such as "wasabi" and "ginger" were not discernible, muted to the point where this really just tasted like a typical, albeit enjoyable fried haddock sandwich. I will say, though, that the "quick-pickled onions" added a nice, welcomed acidity. 

As expected, the accompanying fries, pickle and ramekin of ketchup were nothing special and easy to overlook.

There's no getting around the heavy level of kitsch associated with DiMillo's, but you don't show up rolling your eyes. Instead, you walk through the power-operated doors into the ship's gaudy lobby and finally its dimly-lit bar, put on a small buzz (scotch seems appropriate) and revel in the sheer joy shared by those old ladies picking through their lobster rolls. Then, you bite into a haddock sandwich and smile — even if you're just a little bit confused as to why.

The Verdict — A decent, if not culturally-confused effort. (★★★½)

First Look: Fishin' Ships

As I scouted the East End for striper fishing spots tonight, I ended up at the Eastern Promenade, where new food truck Fishin' Ships happened to be parked for the evening. Please note that this post is adjunct to and not a part of the mission of Haddockquest for two reasons —

1. Fishin' Ships serves, well, fish and chips. They do have a "slider" (which technically qualifies as a sandwich) on the menu, but they're still adjunct because...
2. ...no haddock on the menu — at least not tonight. This evening's preparations involved hake, redfish and pollock. 

Guidelines aside, these guys are kindred souls who are devoted to the art of fried fish, and I feel as if their new venture is worth mentioning on this blog. Not unlike what Small Axe Truck is doing with their fried haddock sandwich at the moment, Fishin' Ships co-owners Sam Gorelick and Arvid Brown (both very friendly guys) are putting a modern spin on things and expanding beyond the traditional golden fried fish, fries, tartar and lemon (they do offer this preparation; order "The O.G.").

Menu items include a bacon and scallion-battered fish served with roasted garlic and poblano aioli ("The Pigfish"), a samosa-style curry battered-fish served with curry mayo ("The Blurry Curry") and a handful of other unique takes on the classic pub staple, most of which make use of locally-brewed beer in the batter.

I ended up ordering "The High Thai'd," described on the menu as "a ginger, Thai basil and chili-battered fish made with Bissell Brothers Substance and served with crunchy sweet potato fries, paired with spicy Thai mayo and lime." This thing no doubt strays from tradition, but not far enough to lose sight of what it is — a damned good plate of perfectly-fried fish and chips.

The ginger/basil/chili came through remarkably well and paired nicely with the Thai mayo. The fries were a very nice touch, as well, providing sweet contrast to the saltiness of the fish. A squeeze or two of that lime, and just forget about it.

Let it be known at this very moment that if Fishin' Ships decides to put together their take on a haddock sandwich, it'll no doubt end up on this blog as an official Haddockquest contender. Until then, tie those shoes and seek these folks out. When you do, tell them I say "hello." 

Portland Lobster Company

In all my years of living around here, I've never taken a moment to check out Portland Lobster Company. You certainly can't beat the location, but the ultra-touristy aspects of this place (guided city tours offered out-front) have always been an intense turn-off. I hear they have a good happy hour, though. 

A quick visit to Portland Lobster Company's website shows they were voted "Portland's Best Seafood Restaurant — Again!" by the Portland Phoenix. While nothing that paper publishes should ever be taken without a grain of salt the size of a meteor, it's fair to assume that the BEST.EVER.OMG seafood restaurant in the city might serve a halfway-decent or at least edible haddock sandwich, which turns out to be only slightly accurate.    

Portland Lobster Company's $8.49 "fried fish sandwich" (it just so happened to be haddock this time around, which may or may not stay constant) is served with lettuce, tomato, tartar and lemon on a grilled bun alongside fries and coleslaw. It's the kind of place where you order at the counter, they give you a lobster-shaped vibrating device (clearly), you anxiously wait for it to start rattling and head to the window to pick-up your food, which comes on a bright red tray. Your water (or soda) comes in paper Coca-Cola cups. There are straws, napkins and packets of s+p. Then, you sit by the harbor, stare at boats and hope your food doesn't get snatched up by a rogue seagull. For better or worse, it's that kind of place. 

Onto the sandwich. The first thing I noticed was the portion size of the fish itself, which was generous given the price. I mean, look at that thing — it screams "Maine" and could probably end up in some trendy, "back-to-roots" foodie publication. While the fish was nicely seasoned, however, the fry-job rendered it rather greasy and difficult to enjoy to its full potential. The problems didn't stop there, either. 

I'm going to come right out and say that I could never have imagined a bun could hold the potential to completely destroy whatever it may contain, yet that's exactly what happened here. Normally, "glistening with butter" comes along with positive connotations, but the richness and soggy nature of this bun overpowered every other aspect of the sandwich. It turned my lettuce into a wilted mess, made the already-greasy fish even less palatable and caused the entire sandwich to fall apart as I ate it. This bun, my friends, is a life-ruiner; it ruins people's lives. 

As for the sides, I couldn't get past the excessive salt and dark-tasting oil of the fries and probably ate three of them. The coleslaw was a generic "rainbow blend," but at least it tasted clean and helped to lessen the oily mouthfeel that had succumbed my entire palate. 

(Obligatory Lobster Vibrator Shot)

Let it be known that I'm not out to ruin anyone's good time here. Indeed, I can easily see how beers, music and a football-sized platter of fried clams could make for a great afternoon on Portland Lobster Company's relaxing and picturesque patio, and there's no way I'd turn down an invite from a friend if I had time at the moment. Once again, however, this blog is 100% GRADE-A ALL ABOUT HADDOCK SANDWICHES and nothing more. Unfortunately, this one didn't make the cut. 

The Verdict — Decent portion-size, but greasy, with a bun from hell. (★★)

As always, we'll be back next week with another review. There's still plenty of ground to cover this summer! 

Small Axe Truck

I've been hearing great things about Small Axe Truck for months. Not being one to find myself in the Congress Square Park area during daylight hours very often, my opportunities to stop by have been minimal. Haddockquest has a way of opening-up new doors, however, and recent ramblings over Small Axe's fried haddock sandwich served as the final push towards an initial visit.

Before I launch into this review, let me just say that Small Axe is something quite unique. This may be a food truck, but it's a food truck with veritable table service that has turned Congress Square Park into a beautiful and relaxing al fresco dining space. The menu is unique and decadent, with many ingredients sourced locally (including their haddock, sourced from Salt + Sea). It's hip, yet genuine and well thought-out, embodying everything I love about Portland's dining scene.

Small Axe serves their haddock sandwich on a brioche bun with preserved lemon, Caesar dressing, red onion, tomato and house-made coleslaw (on the sandwich itself), along with a small side of pickles. The haddock itself is beer-battered, which is something I have a very difficult time not appreciating when it comes to fried food of any kind. Those who have been following Haddockquest, however, know that this is surely the least traditional preparation we've encountered so far (3 Buoys and Gilbert's take that category); ordering was both exciting and anxiety-producing. The sandwich is priced at $9. I also enjoyed a cup of their homemade iced green tea, which brought the bill to $12.50.

What we have here is a haddock sandwich that differentiates itself from the competition at first glance with its glistening, buttery brioche bun that stares you square in the eye. The bun at David's may have been that sandwich's only saving grace, but this one puts it and all others encountered thus far to shame.

Next up was the beer batter, which couldn't have been more perfect. Light, exceptionally crispy and featuring a depth of flavor that isn't often seen among its peers, this is a batter that's worth its weight in gold. The preserved lemon was an excellent touch, with the Caesar and homemade slaw also providing great contrast between "fried" and "bright" that made this sandwich utterly crushable. The pickles on the side were not your average bears, either. These were clearly made in-house, featuring a smokey, complex brine that I couldn't get enough of.

It's difficult to find too many faults here, but if there's one thing that needs to be pointed out, it's portion size. Small Axe's haddock filet may have been perfectly fried, but it was simply too small to properly stand-up against everything else that was going on. At times, for example, the acidity of the preserved lemon proved to be too much due to a lack of balance, which could've been cured by a slightly heftier portion of fish. Local haddock doesn't come cheap, though, does it?

All things considered, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think Small Axe was a great addition to Portland's already-strong dining scene. If their haddock sandwich is any indication of the quality of the rest of their food, this humble little truck may be the best on-the-go lunch option in the area right now.

The Verdict — Unique, perfectly-fried and loaded with flavor. A must-try. (★★★★)

David's Restaurant

I have a difficult time with David's. The Monument Square mainstay was one of my first introductions to Portland's dining scene nearly a decade ago, and I remember their "pepper-crusted sushi rare tuna" dish being a veritable epiphany. I was also 22 years old and easily impressed by anything that might remotely be considered fine-dining. Over the years, the occasional visits I've made to the restaurant have been just fine, if not a bit forgettable. Still, I won't forget the initial excitement I got from sitting down to a meal here as a relative young'n, and that's got to count for something.

While my girlfriend and I recently enjoyed a well thought-out tasting menu at the restaurant's 18-seat "restaurant within a restaurant" (David's Opus Ten), there's something about the flagship location that just doesn't do it for me any longer, whether it be the menu, decor or otherwise. Nevertheless, this is a blog about haddock sandwiches (not color schemes), and I've typically found lunch at David's to be better than adequate.

David's serves their haddock sandwich with tartar, lettuce, tomato and red onion on a grilled bun, flanked by french fries and a pickle (pasta salad and fresh fruit are also available as sides, but come on). At $10.25, it's reasonable enough in price given the restaurant's busy downtown location and relative expectations of quality.

When the sandwich arrived, the first thing I noticed was the well-toasted bun. Finally, a well-toasted bun! This has been an issue in past Haddockquest excursions, and I have to say that David's really nailed the vessel aspect of things here. After that, things started to go downhill. The small-ish portion of haddock suffered from a soggy, poorly-seasoned batter that lacked flavor and did nothing to stand up against the bun it was served on. It's a shame, because the fish itself was clearly fresh and had a nice flakiness to it. 

As for accoutrements, the fries on the side served their purpose and didn't go uneaten. The pickle was great. 

So why did I go to David's for a fried haddock sandwich when I could have easily crossed any of the remaining Commercial St. fish shacks off the list? Simply put, I'm trying to cover the entire gamut here. I was hoping, perhaps even expecting to find a more upscale take on this traditional gem of a sandwich at David's, but instead, I was met with disappointment. 

My advice? If you want to give David Turin's food a shot, skip his flagship restaurant (and lunch altogether), save up a few hundred bucks, grab yourself a cute date and do the Spring tasting menu at David's Opus Ten w/ pairings. You won't be disappointed.  

The Verdict — Soggy, lifeless and not worth eating. Avoid. (★★)

Nest week, we'll make yet another attempt to visit Small Axe Truck on a day that they're actually open for business. 

3 Buoys Seafood Shanty & Grille

I walk by 3 Buoys Seafood Shanty & Grille every day of my life. The restaurant sits directly across the street from what may be the sketchiest 7-11 in town (this is highly debatable) and is housed within a structure that last served as a conduit for spicy chicken via Buffalo Wings n' Things. It is with a heavy heart that I say I have avoided 3 Buoys like the plague up until recently. Blame it on preconceived notions, a healthy fear of food poisoning or sheer disinterest — it just hasn't been on my radar.

I may as well get right down to the point here and say that without the pressure of Haddockquest, I may very well have overlooked this not-so-hidden gem of a fried fish spot.

3 Buoys' fried haddock sandwich costs $10.99 and is served with fries and coleslaw. At face value, it'd be easy to dismiss this as being overpriced, especially considering the location and overall look/feel of the place (though it does grow on you more with each gulp of Narragansett Lager). Haddockquest knows no financial boundaries, however, so we pressed on and placed an order, which turned out to be one of the best decisions I've ever made.

There's no word to describe 3 Buoys' haddock sandwich better than "benchmark." Served with lettuce, tomato, tartar & lemon on a traditional (re: flimsy, but whatever) bun, this colossal beast is topped off with three heaping fillets of absolutely perfect, "golden delicious" fried fish. The coleslaw (not pictured) was nothing to write home about to be honest, although the hand-cut fries more than made up for this first-world problem, bursting with flavor and doing that "I'm-gonna-burn-the-shit-out-of-the-roof-of-your-mouth-and-demolish-your-taste-buds" thing that all good fries must do.

What truly sets this sandwich apart from the competition is its portion size. We're basically talking three haddock sandwiches in one here, which made me feel like a complete asshole for doubting the relatively high (for fried fish) price-tag. The guy at the counter (who was an absolute riot of a character and fun to complain about the current boat prices of lobster with) wasn't kidding around when he gave us his word that we wouldn't walk out hungry. Still, we ordered fried clams and a lobster roll to round things off, because this is America. Both were delicious and worth a repeat visit.

I have to say, I didn't walk into 3 Buoys expecting to enjoy anything about the experience, yet the place nailed everything from start to finish. It's far too early in the Haddockquest timeline to declare this the best fried haddock sandwich on the peninsula, but it sets a high bar right out of the gate. 

The Verdict — Dinosaur-sized portions of glistening, golden fried fish. Worth its weight in gold. (★★★★½)

Next week, we'll take to the streets and check out the fried haddock sandwich at Small Axe Food Truck. 

Gilbert's Chowder House

Let me start out by saying that, for whatever reason, Gilbert's Chowder House seemed like the right venue to kick this whole thing off ever since I first came up with the idea. This isn't to say that I'm in love with the place at all. Before the other day, I hadn't stepped through their doors in probably 5+ years, so take that as you may. Still, it's tough to beat the location, and the look/feel of Gilbert's practically screams "haddock sandwich."

The fried haddock sandwich at Gilbert's is $8.95 and is served with potato chips/pickle. I'm going to clarify something right off the bat and say that I absolutely despise potato chips. I never, ever want to eat them. If I get home from a night out and they're the only thing in the house, I'm going to bed hungry. This being said, I'm not of the persuasion to spend $3.25 on an order of frozen french fries, and substitutions go against Haddockquest guidelines. I also hate shitty pickles, but that's another story. 

Note that Gilbert's serves their haddock sandwich "w/cheese," which is a big turnoff for some people. Cheese and fish may be a nauseating combination in most cases, but this fish is fried. If you're going for the gold, you might as well go for the glory at the same time. Personally, I'm into it on some occasions, but sometimes it really just doesn't need to happen. 

Onto the main attraction. Aside from the aforementioned cheese-food (processed American, of course), Gilbert's haddock sandwich comes topped with lettuce and tomato and is served on a slightly-grilled bun alongside the typical squirt bottle filled with yellowing tartar sauce (not pictured). It's about as standard as they come, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. If you're going classic, though, you've got to do it right.

I hate to start things off on a sour note, but Gilbert's does not do it right. The slight char on the bun was too slight, rendering it not much better than its lifeless, prepackaged self. Both the lettuce and tomatoes had seen better days, with the former being wilted and the latter as mealy as I've seen in quite a while. Add the salty-as-hell-yet-somehow-bland "cheese" to the party, and this boat is leaking beyond repair. 

So how was the fish? Not terrible. Crisp, light batter is a must here, and Gilby's made it happen. The haddock had a nice flakiness to it, too, not unlike that "good friend" who always bails at the last minute to stay home and watch cat videos on the Internet because it's raining out. The only reason none of this served as a true saving grace for this sandwich was the portion size of the fish itself. On a fried haddock sandwich this traditional, I want so much fish that I'm reluctantly finishing it and dreading the rest of the evening. This was more of a guppy than a marlin, which made me sad.

All in all, I'm glad I stopped in to give Gilbert's another chance so many years since my last visit, if only to get a sense for what things are like over there these days. As far as haddock sandwiches go, however, I'm quite convinced there are much better options on the peninsula, and I intend to prove it. 

The Verdict — Decent fish, but far from being a memorable fried haddock sandwich. (★★½)

Next week, we'll hopefully take things up a notch (or not, who knows?) with a stop at 3 Buoys Seafood Shanty & Grille.