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Daddy’s Cajun Kitchen and Seafood Market is located at 1808 Padre Blvd.
South Padre Island, TX 78597.
SOUTH PADRE ISLAND — Got shrimp?
Daddy’s does.
And fried gator, crawfish etouffee, blackened fish tacos and lots more.
I step into Daddy’s Cajun Kitchen and Seafood Market on a Tuesday afternoon. A couple of alligators standing upright in their cute shirts greet me; a bobcat sits perched above the dining room; and a sailfish rushes up the side of a wall.
A delightful collage of personalities from places close to home and far away has filled the dining area, which spreads into a patchwork of smaller sections that extend upstairs. This restaurant is as busy during its Tuesday lunch crowd as you might expect to see on a Saturday in any other eating establishment around the Valley. South Padre, as many of you know, moves at a very different rhythm than what we find elsewhere in the Valley, and it’s always a refreshing change, although a somewhat crowded one.
The crowds from places like Brownsville, Guadalajara, Colorado, Wisconsin and Florida create this very different rhythm and bring the tourist dollars and the energy so necessary for places like Daddy’s.
“Na-na-na-na,” says a young mother to a baby in a high a chair as a fork clatters to the spotless floor.
“Bueno,” says the young mother as the phone dings.
A family with two small boys and a teenage daughter finishes its lunch, which was a very good one as indicated by all the plates and trays completely vacated of their contents and the contented faces of the family. A man with the beard speaks to his wife while the boys fidget in their seats eager for the beach, the water park or the alligator sanctuary.
South Padre has a very different rhythm and the same is true for its attractions and restaurants like Daddy’s. I look over the very different kind of menu and consider the calamari, the blackened red snapper and the grilled mahi-mahi, and my eyes finally land on the oysters Rockefeller.
This restaurant is as busy during its Tuesday lunch crowd as you might expect to see on a Saturday in any other eating establishment around the Valley. South Padre, as many of you know, moves at a very different rhythm than what we find elsewhere in the Valley, and it’s always a refreshing change, although a somewhat crowded one.
When I see oysters Rockefeller or even hear the mention of oysters Rockefeller, I always remember that as being the first meal I ever had on my first visit to Saltillo, Mexico more than 20 years ago. This is something ironic and playful to consider as beyond that first meal my favorite eating places in Saltillo have been the taco stands around Plaza Acuna in the centro historico. I had driven to Saltillo, knowing nothing of the town or how Mexican colonial cities are laid out, and I believe I stayed in a Holiday Inn somewhere in the newer urban areas of the city.
But today I’m not in Mexico. I’m at Daddy’s on South Padre Island, and I think I’ll have oysters Rockefeller. The prompt and attentive waitress takes my order, and I drink slowly the large glass of ice water before me.
I try to imagine where the families around me are from. The young mother, her husband and the baby I think are from Mexico. From their attire, their refined manner and the woman’s accent, I think they come from some distance beyond the border, perhaps Monterrey, Puebla or Mexico City. The young family with the restless boys and the teenage daughter I speculate must be from Colorado, Arizona or the Oregon Coast.
But who knows? I know they came from somewhere, obviously. It’s fun to create stories about them for the sake of wonder and intrigue.
My oysters Rockefeller arrives, and it’s a delicious fare that I move through slowly to absorb the moment. I try to guess what’s in it, but then realize I’m intellectualizing too much. The thought of the what and the how is intruding into the passion of the experience.
I take my leave now and pay the bill — this place isn’t cheap but it’s worth the price for what you can take with you in memory — and I step into the warm and windy city of South Padre Island. As I step outside, I see a massive alligator on the sidewalk staring at me with gaping jaws. Upon closer observation, I am relieved to discover that it poses as much danger as the pink purslane in the tiled planters along the walkway.
South Padre certainly loves its gators and so does Daddy’s.
The following Saturday I return at roughly the same time as my Tuesday visit, and I expect to find it packed. Instead, it’s less crowded than Tuesday. I am somewhat perplexed by this, as the main drag through South Padre is itself packed with slow moving traffic, and the sun is hot and bright and a light breeze tosses the flags and the palm trees.
I take a seat — I like being able to choose my own table — and my waitress with a red shirt and the bold words, “Who’s your daddy?” brings my menu and a tall glass of water.
This is a fun place. I look over the menu again. It’s a very entertaining menu listing blue crab at market price, Freddy’s Mixup — snow crab, shrimp, sausage — and the 20-piece seafood botana.
I had thought I would like the fried gator after enjoying fried garfish at Captain Bob’s in Brownsville, but then I see something I hadn’t previously observed: shrimp fondue.
The last time I can remember having fondue was at an office party in Panama in the 1980s. Southern Command Network and Southern Command News shared the same building, not always amicably I might add, but we often attend our social functions together. Al Goldman — or Goldberg — in the network side was very cordial and accepting of everyone, and one night he made a delicious fondue for a function.
I can only remember that I liked it. The listing here at Daddy’s describes a shrimp fondue with sauteed shrimp topped with spinach, mushrooms, sausage and a homemade cream sauce made of three cheeses.
I’ll take it.
I take a seat — I like being able to choose my own table — and my waitress with a red shirt and the bold words, “Who’s your daddy?” brings my menu and a tall glass of water.
My waitress with the broad smile and the playful shirt takes my order, and I have time to reflect again while sipping my ice water.
My small square table sits next to a low brick wall, and on the other side of that wall sits a young couple. She’s a lovely African American woman with a colorful band about her head and her gentleman friend appears to be Hispanic. Their demeanor indicates they’re local, or perhaps they’ve traveled from San Antonio, Austin or Houston. But I think they’re from Texas.
She places her face warmly against his neck, caresses him and says something softly in his ear. There are smiles, endearing eyes and quite conversation only they can understand. He checks something in his pocket and speaks to her about nothing in particular. Sometimes the nothings in these conversations are the somethings that make things sweet even in times of sorrow. This is a charming and fabulous moment of intimacy refreshing in its authenticity amid all the chaos of these conflictive times.
My waitress brings my fondue along with warm garlic bread. I dip pieces of the bread into the fondue and bring up mouthfuls of melted cheese, shrimp, mushrooms, and morsels small enough for me have the full effect of their flavor.
The young couple stands to leave, and the young man who has something like a baby face rises tall over the table, a massive and muscular fellow. The two walk casually away from their table and through the restaurant, hand in hand while he leads a small brown dog with its tail bobbing in the air.
The world with all its ruinous appetites can still be a fine place and worth fighting for, as Hemingway once stated.
