Delicious History

I wrote this article in 2005 and ended up publishing a radically different version instead. The later version appeared in a 2006 issue of Forum magazine, published by the Florida Humanities Council. I originally wrote the piece that appears below, which chronicles the troubled final years of the Seabreeze restaurant and the hard work of Robert and Helen Richards, the last owners.

Forum wanted a nostalgic piece about the old idyllic days at the Seabreeze, and I obliged. But this piece is the one that actually supplies new information. The great old memories of the place are already featured nicely in the Seabreeze by the Bay Cookbook, which i co-wrote with Helen. She and Robert are wonderful once in a lifetime people to meet, and I treasure them as friends.

This piece attempts to conjure the feelings of loss: for the community, for Florida fishermen, for places like the Seabreeze. (rant deleted)

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The salt water of Tampa Bay laps gently against a seawall at Palmetto Beach. A rusty hulk rises from the water some thirty feet into the air. Below, a vacant building stands by the shore, with little evidence that a cultural and culinary landmark once thrived here.

Eighty years ago, Victor Licata opened the Seabreeze Restaurant on the site, blending his beloved Italian cooking with Cuban and Cracker influences. The Seabreeze culled a blue collar clientele from the workers of nearby industrial facilities. The Licata family arguably invented the deviled crab, a spicy croquette of crab and tomato sauce. Today, his restaurant is defunct, and a fishing family lost its livelihood. The price of doing business in Florida has climbed too high for most fishermen.

Robert Richards and Helen Chattin grew up in Palmetto on the outskirts of Tampa. They went out crabbing one night as a first date. Helen shone the light and held the tub for their catch. During the 1950s and 60s, young folks ate, drank, and fell in love in the Seabreeze’s crushed shell parking lot. A temple of American drive in culture, the restaurant’s good times and savory aromas drifted over the waters of the bay. If the Licatas didn’t mind offering illegal liquor, Bolita tickets, and friendly women with their food, Robert never paid much attention. “That was their business,” he said.

Robert and Helen married in 1954. He worked as a roofer and boilermaker, but saltwater flowed in his veins, and he longed to spend his working years on Tampa Bay. One day when Robert admired a tub full of live shrimp and learned they were caught in the bay, inspiration struck. “I got the bug then,” he said of his desire to become a commercial fisherman.

After a few part-time shrimping seasons, Tony and George Licata—Victor’s sons—told Robert that they needed soft shell crabs for their Seabreeze Restaurant. The men had been friends for many years, so Robert agreed to help and built a seafood market beside the restaurant. By 1970, Robert went deep into debt to build a fleet of shrimp trawlers, and the fresh seafood attracted crowds of customers.

Only a family passionate about fishing could persist in such a career. For many years, Robert and Helen adhered to the same exhausting routine. Robert shrimped all night, Helen woke before dawn to make him breakfast and take the kids to school before putting in a day at the market. When she returned home with the kids, Robert woke, ate supper and returned to the shrimp fleet. While he set out for the night, Helen put the kids to bed and rested while she could. By 1980, the couple built a strong business and brought more family into the operation.

Today, such a business is nearly impossible to start on the coast of Florida. Historically, the state’s business and political leaders valued profits over sustainability, and people like the Richards paid the price. Tampa’s sewage, dumped into the bay after being treated with a cocktail of bacteria-killing chemicals, disrupted sea life (Rich in bacteria, untreated or partially treated sewage produced bumper crops of shrimp). Planes dusted the bay with deadly poison meant to exterminate nearby red ants. A regular series of chemical spills from phosphate plants and incinerators took a deadly toll on the bay’s ecology, bleaching sea grass and seafood alike. Just last year, a phosphate company’s gypsum stack collapsed into the bay, perpetuating one of Tampa’s less savory traditions. Robert estimates the late 1980s as being a low point for the health of Tampa Bay.

The Richards maintain that overfishing was never a problem. Net bans missed the real problem entirely. Pollution rendered many fish infertile. Legislation favored tourist sports fishermen over commercial fishing. Of politicians and their new laws, Robert said, “They abolished the commercial fishing industry.” Sporting anglers blamed their lack of catch on the fishing industry, “even though the shrimp boats were not catching any of the fish that they caught,” Helen said.

New pressure came from inland. Industrial farm-raised seafood, treated with preservatives and plumping agents, filled the seafood cases of supermarkets, bypassing local fishermen and markets alike.  In 1990, a new crisis struck. George Licata announced he would sell the Seabreeze, and the Richards would lose their base of operations. The Richards feverishly searched for a new home for their fleet and market. “We looked everywhere,” Robert said, among “the dwindling space that’s available on the gulf coast.” Waterfront development occupied all the land. The remaining spaces commanded too high a price for consideration.

Once again, the Richards risked all for their chosen profession and bought the Seabreeze. They passed the market and fleet to their eldest son Jimmy. This preserved their beloved fishing business, but also made them restaurateurs, which they knew little about. George Licata promised to teach them the ropes of the Seabreeze after a vacation. He died of cancer soon after. Upon taking over the Seabreeze, the couple endured “much worse of a grind,” according to Helen. When asked if they considered selling out, Robert laughed and said, “As soon as we bought it!”

It soon became apparent that neither the restaurant nor the market could prosper on their own. At the market, young Jimmy Richards struggled, “as hard as he tried he couldn’t make a go of it,” Robert said, “even though we had five boats then.” Many prospective customers preferred the convenience of supermarket seafood, however expensive or lacking in quality. “As production declined in the seafood industry,” Robert explained, “instead of selling a lot of the products wholesale, our son would bring it to the restaurant, process it there and sell it at a profit.”

Robert and Helen welcomed the reliably fresh seafood. New laws prohibited them from buying product from fishermen without expensive permits. The Richards became wary of unscrupulous wholesalers who marketed questionable product at premium prices. “Robert had to watch it all the time,” Helen said of their wholesale purchases. Jimmy’s fresh seafood allowed the Seabreeze to maintain quality without raising prices.

The Richards family squeaked by despite mounting pressure. Helen remembered, “We had a tiger by the tail, you couldn’t turn it loose.” A legal battle over property with the Tampa Port Authority—still in litigation today—exacerbated the problems. Robert suffered a serious heart attack.

By 2002, Robert and Helen reached the end of their rope. They “couldn’t stand it another day. We weren’t staying afloat anymore.” They sold the property to International Ship Repair, searched Florida’s gulf coast for new property, but found nothing suitable. The fishing industry is so weak that they cannot find buyers for their trawlers.

Robert showed understandable frustration when he recalled that commercial fishermen could not catch mullet under a foot long. “Now that the fishing industry’s all but gone, sports fishermen are allowed to catch those little finger mullet to use for bait. You can throw a bait net and catch two or three hundred sometimes. But we weren’t allowed to catch them and sell them for food.”

Despite those hardships in the past, the Richards enjoy their lives in retirement. They might even be able to forget the disappearance of their livelihood if they could find buyers for their remaining fleet. Selling three shrimp trawlers to Florida’s vanishing fishermen is no easy task.

I’m in the final throes of writing and editing the Columbia Spanish Restaurant’s Centennial history and cookbook, but it isn’t all solitary toil. I tried out a few of the restaurant’s recipes at a recent cookout, and the results were impressive. For a simple gathering, I chose to make the Mojito Chicken and Rice and Corn, with grilled asparagus on the side.

For the rice, simply cook onions in a little bacon fat and add the corn and rice. Use the liquid from the canned corn with broth.  When the rice is finished, add the crumbled bacon and stir. I made the mistake of trying to stretch the recipe a bit by adding 50% more rice. While it was tasty, I will follow the recipe next time.

The chicken’s marinade is mojo with plenty of lime juice and fresh mint added. While the chicken got started on the grill, I made the simple glaze of sugar, water, mint, lime, and rum by boiling and thickening it. The sweet, fragrant, and sour mixture heightens the grilled chicken flavor admirably. It is easy to see why the dish is a popular special at the Columbia restaurant.  I gave the cooked chicken a final brush with the glaze before serving. The grilled chicken has a caramelized mojito crust.

I finally got a grilling basket for fish and vegetables. It sure helps with the asparagus. The bottom of the basket sheltered the veggies from the harshest heat and I toss them as if they were in a pan, making it much easier to cook them la dente.

Wake up your chicken with the Columbia Spanish Restaurant’s great recipe. My centennial history of the restaurant (kind of like the Sopranos, except with less bullets and more food) is due out in Summer/Fall 2009, to be published by the University Press of Florida. I’ll leave it at that tonight and discuss it in more depth another time.

This article is a slightly altered version of my piece that ran in Cigar City’s July/August issue, “Go West”. The editor suggested that I write something about Boliche Boulevard, which inspired the culinary crawl documented below. I’ve also included the photos I chose to accompany the article: a friend snmapped one or two of them.

A Culinary Crawl Down Boliche Boulevard

For many years, Columbus Avenue has been fondly known as “Boliche Boulevard” because so many Latin restaurants could be found there. The namesake dish is an accurate mascot for Tampa’s Latin comfort food. A beef eye round roast stuffed with chorizo and topped with tomato based gravy, boliche is a common blue-plate special, the Cuban equivalent of meat loaf or brisket. I recently took a trip down Columbus to appraise its status as Boliche Boulevard. Beginning at its intersection with Dale Mabry, I drove east in search of good food.

You won’t find any fancy bistros on this chow trail, where Cuban cuisine is the norm. Tampa’s Cuban culinary scene remains frozen in the pre-Castro days of the 1950s. Cuban exiles have largely been cut off from developments on their mother island. Culinary change in Cuba itself has been slowed by shortages and Communism’s suppression of the restaurant scene through regulations. Tampa’s Cuban cafeterias specialize in comfort food like the “meats and threes” of the Deep South. The old style food reminds one of a time before Castro, the Cold War, and the U.S. trade embargo.

Tampa’s Cuban community celebrates its cuisine daily in humble diners and cafes on Boliche Boulevard. Three standbys uphold old-fashioned Boliche Boulevard: Arco Iris, La Teresita, and the Lincoln. Arco Iris is my current favorite, although that is subject to change. La Teresita’s counter is tough to beat, especially when dining solo, because no one there eats alone. It is also open all night on weekends, a great plus for the dancing and drinking crowd. La Teresita is the Cubano version of the greasy spoon. The Lincoln’s Spanish bean soup is among the best in town, although I’ve heard the food was better under previous ownership. With Arco Iris, which boasts the highest quality food, all three restaurants provide a comforting, predictable experience. The food in these places will rarely surprise or disappoint you. They are the old guard.

Intent on having Boliche on the boulevard, I enjoyed a tender and flavorful roast at Arco Iris.  But first, I delved into a bowl of Caldo Gallego, a Galician soup of white beans, turnip greens, and abundant pork fat.  Yes, that floating mass in the bowl is a hunk of pork fat.  And don’t forget the Cuban toast.  Enjoy!

Some Cuban favorites in Tampa: black bean soup, morro rice, Spanish bean soup, fried plantains, Cuban roast pork, and boliche.  Arco Iris does Cuban diners proud.

Further down the street, you will find Snack City, a humble little place that has one secret weapon: Alfredo Naranjo’s wonderful ice cream. His vibrant tropical flavors cater to a variety of immigrants. His coconut, mamey, and guava flavors satisfy the local Cubans. Mexicans love the strawberry. Several Thai restaurants serve Alfredo’s wonderful ginger ice cream for dessert. Colombians love the guanabana, or soursop. Indians treasure the mango, cashew/raisin, and kesar pista, a curious blend of saffron and pistachio.

Although Snack City is known especially for ice cream, it serves full meals as well. My favorite is the Cubana frita, a hamburger with ketchup, onions, and loaded with potato sticks. A burger and fries in a bun.

Colombian food, with its penchant for beef, seems right at home on Boliche Boulevard. Down the street at the intersection of Howard, Antojitos is one of many relatively new Colombian restaurants in Tampa. Antojitos serves up huge platefuls of steak, fried fish, and a fried pork chop as big as your head.

You’ll notice the hot case at the counter, brimming with all kinds of exotic-looking treats. The chorizo is juicy and larger than its dried Spanish cousin. The dark blood sausage is mild and flecked with rice. Arepas are a Colombian snacking mainstay, an unleavened corn cake often topped with farmer’s cheese. The white farmer’s cheese is thick and mild and the arepa crisp. The corn-crusted empanadas score big points, especially loaded with aji, a thin green salsa with a spicy heat but no burn. The aji seems to compliment most of the food, especially the fried and grilled items.

Cold drinks, in turn, balance aji’s insistent heat. Colombians love fruit we don’t even have names for. Fruit nectar shakes come in 15 flavors such as pineapple, mango, papaya, and tamarind. I especially like to order flavors I’ve never heard of. A curuba milkshake is a favorite, as is blended lulo and ice.

On a cruise down Columbus, you might want some lighter fare than the chicharrones (fried pork skin) down the street. If so, get thee to Grass Roots Organic Restaurant, where the food is radically different from the nearby Latin eateries, and no less earnest. This haven for vegetarian, vegan, and raw diets relies on fresh vegetables and inventive seasoning.

This is no simple beans and rice kitchen. Instead, Grass Roots seems to have thought deeply about how to make such healthy food a little fun, too. The zucchini “spaghetti” is actually a highly stylized salad. The zucchini is shredded into long, thick noodle shapes. The “alfredo” sauce is an intriguing paste derived from cashews and spices, with a nice pinch of black pepper. The “meatballs” were crumbly veggie matter that tasted more nutty than meaty. The shredded house salad sports a smooth mango dressing. The falafel and veggie burgers are tasty, satisfying, and quite healthy. Veggie drinks include a variety of natural juices, fruits and vegetables, including seaweed.

For those who cannot go without meat and dairy, there is one more essential stop on Boliche Boulevard. At 60 years old this year, Brocato’s is the oldest restaurant along our chow trail, and it wins a loyal following with massive sandwiches, stuffed potatoes, and some of the best deviled crabs in the Tampa Bay area. Just north of Columbus east of 50^th Street, hard hats, blue collars, and hungry locals crowd the dining room and counters on weekdays. Truly a Tampa institution, Brocato’s has expanded several times to accommodate its growing clientele. There is an outdoor dining room and shaded picnic tables for al fresco dining, nice alternatives to the loud, cramped, and crowded dining room during lunch rushes.

The regular sized sandwiches are too much for most, and for a couple dollars more, the large is truly massive, even for this ravenous writer. The Italian sub above is a well stuffed, well pressed feast for three. The Cuban sandwich is impressive and generously laden with meat, but not overstuffed. The roast pork sandwich is a real winner, and the meatball is hard to resist. The chicken parmesan sandwich is also massive, with a two layers of fried chicken cutlets with the sauce and cheese.

There are a variety of other great sandwiches, and a few entrees, but the devil crabs stand out among the region’s best. So many other devil crabs are greasy dough balls with questionable seafood content. Moist and not the least bit doughy, accented with tiny pieces of onions and bell peppers, you will probably find a bit of crab shell in Brocato’s croquette, and take comfort in it. They are worthy successors to the old Seabreeze’s legendary devil crabs. Don’t forget the stuffed potatoes, they are too good to be ignored, stuffed with a real picadillo, not plain ground beef. The olives are especially appreciated.

By my estimation, Boliche Boulevard still lives up to its name quite well. It reveals a Tampa in constant flux, where various ethnic roots and lifestyles vibrantly mingle and coexist. One can taste that diversity and goodwill on a culinary crawl down Columbus Avenue.

I’m happy to get some of my history-related writing up here, as there has been so much about home cooking. My Creative Loafing article came out in their annual Food Issue in June. Click here and tell me what you think.