Craving a Captain's Platter

My son Tyler called with important news from Baton Rouge, where his band was playing a gig.

“Dad,” he said, “I just had the best seafood dinner of my life. The ‘Captain’s Platter’.”

He went on to describe it, but he didn’t have to. Fried gulf shrimp. Fried gulf oysters. Fried scallops. Fried fish, probably gulf snapper. French fries. Cole slaw. Lots of lemon.

“Damn,” I said, in complete admiration, which, of course, incorporated resentment. “Reminds me of the best lunch I ever had.”

“Yeah, I knew it would,” he said.

That was in 1978, and Tyler wasn’t there. He was only two at the time. But I have told him about it often enough. Monsieur’s No. 2, a dark, high-ceiling, shotgun space in downtown Shreveport, LA. A dozen oysters on the half-shell, shucked right there at the bar. A platter of fried gulf shrimp. An oyster po’ boy, which is the one item I would take to a deserted island with me. Fries, slaw, and pints of beer.

I couldn’t finish it today. Oh, the dozen on the half-shell, sure. And the oyster po’ boy, without a doubt: fried oysters on a soft French roll with shredded lettuce and cocktail sauce. But I might manage only three or four of the shrimp, just a couple of fries, a bite of slaw. A glass of red wine instead of beer. We have to listen to our bodies as we grow older.

Which brings me to my problem. Since Tyler hung up, I have been craving a Captain’s Platter. In Baton Rouge, you can find one on every street corner. In San Diego, the market for fried seafood is less demanding. I did have a nice plate of fried calamari at the Fish Market last week. They started calling calamari the “poor man’s abalone” 25 years ago when abalone, which may be the best bite of food you will ever put in your mouth, became so scarce that it went to $35 on local menus and then disappeared altogether. It was back on the menu last week at the Fish Market, but the price now is $69.50.

Do you know how many Captain’s Platters you could buy in Baton Rouge for $69.50?