That name, Flex Mussels. My first thought: Are things that bad in California that Arnold Schwarzenegger has opened a restaurant? But then I read on, picked up on the Prince Edward Island provenance and the back story, restaurateur and island hugger Bobby Shapiro’s romance with the mussel. Shapiro is a name I remember from the 80s when Hoexter’s Market and Uzie’s – side by side on the Upper East Side sharing a kitchen – sizzled on the late-night circuit.
Could Prince Edward Island become the next Hampton? Bobby and his wife Laura are ready with two spots for grub there already.
What we’re seeing now in Shapiro’s old Zocalo space in that quadrant of the city he knows best is an urbanized summer vacation. Walls paved with views of PEI and upside down mussel pots shading lights at the bar where oyster man John Bil chats and shucks.
I’m off to a grumpy start. With the wall-mounted counter packed with diners and the bar at capacity in a narrow el, there’s really no space to wait – even after all six of us have arrived. Wherever we move we’re blocking the flow. There’s a six-top out back marked with our name but no one willing to vacate it. The bears in our group are getting testy. We’re hitting the brain-set between I’m hungry, I’m entitled and I’m out of here.
And then it’s over. We’re seated at a small bare round, the better, I suppose, to hear ourselves over the din, instantly defanged and amused by the motto on the menu: “Find the shortest, simplest way between Earth, the hands and the mouth.” My life’s précis this past 40 years.
Lobster roll and seafood entrees (from $20 to $32) try to hook us, but wait, aren’t we here for mussels, 23 variations from $16 to $23, definitely the choice for dedicated penny-pinchers.
First we’re warming up with starters. Ava and I share “Burnt Fingers” – crispy fried calamari, shrimp and battered oysters with a spicy dipping cream – passing it around. And everyone reciprocates with tastes of unremarkable pepper smoked salmon, perfectly acceptable crab cake and spoonfuls of the amazing chowder of the day – floating mussels, white fish and bacon with touches of sweet red pepper, corn and a swirl of chive oil.
We’ve studied the 23 options, not to miss a doozy. The list is a roll call of geography and history in bivalves, from the classic with wine and garlic to the Spartan with kalamata olive, the South Pacific with kaffir lime and lemongrass and the Perigord of black truffle and champagne.
The delivery is dramatic: half a dozen huge aluminum stock pots, the covers removed and piled in the center, to collect the shells. Inside I see a mountain of gaping black shells, needing to be pushed aside, to drag sweet perfectly cooked little critters through my chosen Bombay sauce, a puddle spiced with curry, mango puree, cinnamon, star anise and garlic. Ava is upset. Tasting around – the Spanish number with chorizo, the lobster-dotted Bisque, a San Daniele creation with prosciutto and caramelized onion – she likes everyone’s mussels better than her own Negril choice with peppers, jerk spices, lime and beer. But soon she is cooing and slurping and moaning.
“I thought you didn’t like yours,” I ask helping myself to yet another French fry – good but not great. “It took a while,” Ava confesses. “But now I’m totally into it.”
For the full beach shack experience, we decide the Flex donuts are a must, though at four for $9 I consider them priced for the city. I like to end dinner with a hit or three of something sweet. Two lemon cream-filled balls and a pair of salted caramel in sugared dough dipped into vanilla sauce do the trick.
174 East 82nd Street between Lexington and Third Avenues. 212 717 7772