[table for two]

Come Hungry:
Buoy 32 stays afloat with creatively prepared seafood

By: Rosa Bianca

It was a Friday evening, after an extremely rough work week, when the need to be treated to a new culinary experience arose. I wanted to be comforted from the missed deadlines of the week and the workload that unfortunately awaited my Saturday afternoon. I was over it; I was finished with the frustrations of late assignments, broken e-mails and the slew of excuses that inevitably followed. I needed escape—I needed a culinary escape, perhaps seafood with close friends and good conversation.

Upon a phone call to my favorite couple in town—with whom I’m always the third wheel they don’t mind dragging along—we decided to trek away from our downtown haunts and head across the Wrightsville Bridge to taste the praises we’d been hearing about Buoy 32. We drove through the now-defunct M.O.I. parking lot toward our destination.

“It’s so sad to see that building empty,” Lila said of the bright orange structure that proved a local staple for so many years. It was obvious she was awash in memories of family breakfasts, lunches and dinners. As we pulled into the parking lot of the old Crabdaddy’s location, we were happy to have missed the dinner rush. Lila, Henry and prefer to dine at the 9pm hour when most of Wilmington is digesting its food or sipping on after-dinner ports.

The space was rather casual, as the bright green, yellow and blue walls seemed more appropos for a Florida oyster bar (perhaps with the slogan “We have crabs!” plastered along the wall, as noted by Henry). The only essence of the restaurant that seemed “upscale,” which was the word described to me upon a local cohort’s suggestion to “eat at the best new restaurant in town,” were white paper tablecloths that the casually-dressed servers changed with every setting, and the prices on the menu, which topped off in the mid-twenties. The fresh daisies on each table and tea-light candles added an airy essence, while gadgets from boat horns to pulleys seemed a bit kitchy. But what I’ve learned from such decor is it can’t be judged too harshly if the food proves exquisite.

We were seated promptly with a smile and an assurance that our waitress would be around shortly for our drink orders. As we situated ourselves in the booth, we perused the one-page menu, each of our eyes practically watering from some of the descriptions: “chile mango glaze,” “black vinegar buttersauce and wasabi,” “spinach andouille cream sauce...”

“Oh,” Lila interrupted our hungry silence, “we have to start with the Tuna Tempura Lollipops!”

“I was thinking the same thing,” I noted, mentally tasting the black vinegar buttersauce and wasabi that was served alongside of it.

“What are you getting?” She asked the inevitable question we all try and answer differently, as to get a better sampling of a restaurant’s menu when we first patronize it. Our forks seemingly jump from one plate to the next upon our meals’ arrivals.

“I am thinking the pan-seared black grouper with spicy shrimp and tomato white-wine sauce over mushroom risotto,” I answered.
“Me, too,” she said. “But the seafood combo sounds just as great. What are you getting, hon’?” she asked of her ever-doting husband.
“The crab-stuffed flounder,” he batted without a second thought.

“It’s actually one of our more popular items,” the waitress chimed in, arriving with our drinks. “We used to only serve it as a special, but since our customers kept asking for it, we added it to the menu.”
“Great, that’s what I’ll have,” Henry retorted, “and a Caesar salad, too.”

“And we’ll have the iceburg wedge with blue cheese, please. We’re just going to split it,” Lila requested, pointing to me. She continued to order the pan-seared grouper, while I decided upon the seafood combo—one that didn’t follow the usual seafood combo rule of containing everything fried. The scallop and shrimp skewers were served grilled, alongside a lump crab cake.

“What kind of potato would you like with that?” the waitress asked.
“Oh, can I get the creamy cauliflower instead?” I requested, to an affirmative for only a slight upcharge, and off she headed to the kitchen with our orders, only to return shortly thereafter with our appetizer.

“Wow!” Henry stated, eyes wide with anticipation. The Tuna Tempura Lollipops were one of the most fun appetizers we had ever seen: tempura fried squares of tuna, perfectly cooked inside, still at a medium rare, and drizzled with a red chile sauce and bright green wasabi pellets, as well as a cool, creamy buttersauce for dipping. We each picked up a stick (luckily three were served) and bit into it them with grave approval.

“They taste as good as they look,” I said. “There is a perfect balance between the heat and sweet, savory flavors.” True to Japanese tempura breading, it wasn’t heavy, allowing the fresh flavor of the fish to remain at the forefront.

Before we could lick the last of the buttersauce, rich yet not as heavy as melted butter that’s often served with peel ‘n’ eat ‘em shrimp, the waitress came back with drink refills and a basket of homemade biscuits.

“Jackpot!” I said. What I have learned from Southern living is that everything tastes better with a homemade biscuit: breakfast, lunch or dinner. Lila and Henry agreed, spreading the last of the cinnamon butter onto the flaky dough.

“This may be the best biscuit I have ever put in my mouth,” Lila announced. They were quite wonderful, but I have to admit they still weren’t my great grandmother’s recipe. Then again, no one’s biscuits ever match hers—an unfair comparison on all levels. However, I justified them as coming close.

Our salads then arrived, the iceberg wedge split in half for me and Lila, a perk for service considering we didn’t even ask the chef to do so. The roquefort dressing was pungent, as it should be, meshing perfectly with the salty crumbles of bacon, the fresh cucumbers and thinly sliced red onion. It cooled off our palates after the indulgence of the piquant lollipops.

I was slowly getting full, regretting the idea of not being able to finish a sure-to-be-decadent meal that awaited me. Yet once the steaming bowl of skewers, crab cake, creamy cauliflower and perfectly cooked asparagus reached the table, my stomach made room. It was a vision of succulence, as were Lila’s and Henry’s.

“You have to let me taste a scallop,” she announced, peering at my dish while her fork punctured the flaky grouper, allowing for a sweet aroma to permeate the table.

“I will as long as you share,” I responded. And so our game of musical forks began. It was concurred upon all three of us that the scallops were near to perfection, as was the lump crab cake, which seemed completely devoid of breading. It was fresh and sweet, something worth going to Buoy 32 for on its own accord. But for folks who need more of a reason to visit, the crab-stuffed flounder provides such. Served with a lemon buerre blanc sauce that I could have easily drank through a straw, it had the best light texture for a warm summer evening. It wasn’t heavy, nor was it too tart. Served with smashed potatoes and green garlic emulsion, Henry, too, couldn’t have been happier, announcing he thought his meal was the best.

I personally thought Lila’s would have it beat. After having tasted the pan-seared grouper, the initial flavor was a bit more piscine than I had anticipated; yet, it wasn’t so that I found the dish unappetizing. “I am used to a milder flavor of grouper,” I noted to Lila.

“Yeah, but the tomato-and-white-wine sauce is so good with it. It pairs nicely with the risotto, too,” she assured of the tangy and light drizzle. She was right; but stacked against my own meal, I thought both Lila’s and Henry’s came in second. With the creamy cauliflower literally melting in my mouth beside of every pop of a non-spongy scallop (restaurants often fail miserably at cooking them correctly), I was trying to relish it to the last drop. Yet it was a futile attempt. I passed the plate over to Henry to finish off, which he did without hesitancy, having a deeply-rooted love for creamed cauliflower. “I will definitely be ordering this next time,” he announced, a slight eye flutter accompanying his adoration for the side item.

“Can I interest anyone in dessert?” the waitress asked, joining us one last time. “We have a Godiva chocolate cake, with white and dark chocolate; a strawberry shortcake, layered with strawberry, cheesecake and white cake; and a key lime pie.”

Unanimously, we answered, “Strawberry shortcake and coffee.” And unanimously we all concurred it was a perfect ending to our almost-perfect meals. “I love that the cheesecake layer is so slight, just enough to add a sweet and buttery flavor,” Lila said.

“It’s unassuming, at first, but there are so many layers with every bite,” Henry added.

I usually don’t even like cheesecake, but they were right: There was a perfect amount here spread on the top layer. My only qualm was for the cake to be a bit more moist—but it was only a minor quip, something that didn’t detriment its enjoyment.

“Overall, I’d say, this is one of the best meals I have had in Wilmington in a really long time,” Henry noted. He was right. We were trolling through our lists of bests, and when it came down to it, the casual ambience of Buoy 32 gets kicked up a notch after the first bite of seafood. “It’s nice to go into a seafood restaurant and not be bombarded with fried everything,” Henry added. “It doesn’t make sense: Take a perfectly delicious piece of fish, bread it and throw it into a vat of oil. Where’s the flavor?”

It’s a question most won’t be searching to answer at Buoy 32. Come hungry. Come to indulge.