How To Make the Best Fried Clams Ever
And why you should
In most of the United States, meaning anywhere west of I-95 and south of Delaware, fried clams are rarely a religious experience. That’s because they’re not fried clams — not really. They’re fried clam strips: chewy little ribbons of the pink “foot” of the Atlantic surf clam.
A real fried clam — whose rich history and iconic status I recount in my new book about American food — is a belly clam. A belly clam, aka the soft-shell clam or Mya arenaria, is New England thing, a favored food of Mass-holes and Mainers.
They are worth traveling to the Northeastern tip of the country for, in my opinion. Like the fat fried Gulf Coast oysters I grew up eating with my family in Louisiana, a fried whole belly clam has presence. Clam bellies are nutty and briny and sweet, they are juicy and squirt-ey, and they possess an earthy funk that is a gift from the mud they call home. This is accentuated when they’re fried in lard, as the old-fashioned recipes — there’s a good one at the end of this page — often recommend.
I didn’t include this recipe in my book for what I thought was a good reason: Soft-shell clams are essentially an endangered species.
