A farewell to clam strips

Well, after nearly a century of offering hungering wayfarers a mediocre dining experience, the last Howard Johnson's restaurant - the Lake George, NY location - has closed.

The once-beloved roadside chain was born on the South Shore, where founder Howard D. Johnson opened an ice cream shop in Quincy [Massachusetts] more than 90 years ago. In the decades after World War II, HoJo’s transformed into an American empire that operated nearly 1,000 locations with orange roofs by the 1960s and 1970s. It made appearances in “2001: A Space Odyssey” and “Mad Men.”

But the success of HoJo’s was later eclipsed by McDonald’s and other fast-food chains. Marriott bought the hotel arm of Howard Johnson’s in 1985, while the restaurant franchises soldiered on. By 2015, only three locations — in Lake Placid,N.Y.; Bangor, Maine; and Lake George — remained. One by one, they have closed. (Source: Boston Globe)

While I'm every bit as nostalgic for a lost past as any other old geezer, I can't say that I'm sorry.

I may have eaten there more often - the memories may have been flushed from the Big Data storage that is my mind - but I do have two recollections of eating at a HoJo's.

In 1963, my Aunt Kay was getting married. My Uncle Bob was schedule to get married the week after. My family was heading out to Chicago for a two-fer.

My mother flew there with the two little kids; the Big Three drove out with my father. 

After a brutally hot day spent in our unairconditioned car, largely on the NY State Thruway, we spent the night at a HoJo's hotel/restaurant combo in - if my 60 year recall is correct - Ashtabula, Ohio. (Alternate possibility: Erie, PA. We stopped in one town on the way out, the other on the way back. My money's on Ashtabula on the way out, Erie on the way back, as my father would wanted to get more of the trip behind him on Day One.)

I don't remember where we ate dinner, but we had breakfast in the HoJo restaurant. I had a cheese Danish and orange juice.

My dining out experience was limited. So was my hotel/motel experience. Both were as near to non-existent as is possible. 

Both the hotel - the squinchy little mini-wrapped bar of Ivory Soap; the AC; the pool - and the restaurant - cheese Danish! - both seemed incredibly posh and exotic to me. 

It turned out to be quite a trip for fine dining.

On Day Two, my father just wanted to blast through the final 400 miles to Chicago. So, other than for an occasional bio break at a highway filling station, we didn't stop at all. Lunch was a giant bag of circus peanuts and some Pepsis - neither of which my mother would have allowed. What a treat! 

A day or so before Kay's wedding, my mother took me and my sister Kath to lunch in downtown Chicago at the Kungsholm Restaurant. We all got dressed up - white gloves and all - and took the El in town. 

I had fruit cup with sherbet, served in an iced aluminum ice cream dish, and Danish potted beef. 

Even I, not in the least an epicure, could tell that, next to the Kungsholm, that HoJo's in Ashtabula had been nothing much to write a postcard home about. Still, that cheese Danish...

The trip to Chicago was memorable for many other reasons, most notable that, although Kay's wedding did happen, Bob's was mysteriously called off. (He did end up marrying Susie a couple of years later.) 

My second time eating in a HoJo's, which also coincided with a motel stay, was in the mid-1970's. 

My boyfriend and I were on a winter camping trip in the Catoctin Mountains, and after a couple of days in a mountain cabin where the indoor temperature barely made it above 40, we decamped to Chambersburg, PA, for an overnight respite at HoJo's. 

Never have a bed, hot shower, and indoor toilet been more warm and comfy. Never have a hot dog on a buttered bun and a hot fudge sundae tasted better.

And those are the two recalls I have of eating at a Howard Johnson's.

But I do know that their restaurants were famous for two things: ice cream and clam strips.

I never had their clam strips. 

What a travesty!

As any true clam-eater knows, whole belly clams are the only fried clam worth eating. Succulent, flavorful, a bit briny. I haven't had a clam roll yet this season, but as I type this, my mouth is watering and, in my mind, I'm at Sullivan's on Castle Island in South Boston, ordering a clam roll. 

Clam strips: chewy, bland. Okay if you like fried rubber bands, I guess. Made from slicing up a quahog, a giant, rubbery clam that, once out of its shell, could nearly bounce. 

It's amazing to me that a New Englander - which the eponymous Howard Johnson was - came up with the idea of a clam strip, but apparently they were a lot more palatable to the average American taste than the whole belly clam. Apparently, to the average American, that belly was a bit to close to an actual creature for comfort. 

Not that the demise of the last HoJo's restaurant means the demise of clam strips. They're still available. But personally, I'm choosing to believe that the world has seen the last of the clam strip. 

Meanwhile, HoJo's hotels, now owned by Wyndham, soldier on. 

Wonder if the one in Ashtabula is still around?