The thin strip of land between the Santa Cruz Mountains and the sea just south of San Francisco comes as a surprise, not because of its majestic cliffs and intrepid surfers but for its cultivation of every square inch of arable land. The fields between the foothills and the undulating ribbon of Highway 1 are intensively planted, as is the acreage atop the cliffs. The most notorious crop is artichokes, and the temperate microclimate permits year-round growth.
Of the small agricultural towns in this region, inland a mile or so from the beach communities, Pescadero reigns supreme, not only for its funky main street, but for Duarte’s, a rural tavern founded in 1894 by Portuguese immigrants. It offers some of the best rustic fare in northern California, so much so that it received a James Beard Award in 2003. Artichokes are heavily featured, including delicious puréed soups and stuffed roast ’chokes, along with gussied-up bar food like steaks and burgers. There’s plenty of seafood (which you would expect in a town called Pescadero, Portuguese for “fisherman”), and in a nod to the culinary heritage of the founders, a grilled linguiça sausage. But for me it was all about Duarte’s fabled abalone sandwich.
I’ve been accustomed to eating abalone doled out in little shreds in Chinese restaurants, often costing an arm and a leg. Even in a $20 bowl of abalone soup, I often had trouble identifying the great sea snail, or telling exactly what it tasted like. Those premium Cantonese dishes were probably made with wild abalone, an endangered species worldwide that is only now beginning to recover, according to Seafood Watch, the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s sustainable seafood guide.
But abalone cultivation has become relatively common along the California coast, where there are currently 13 active farms, and eating farmed abalone is perfectly fine, according to Seafood Watch, which certifies that, “Abalone farming is a highly regulated, well-managed industry.”
Made with farm-raised red abalone, Duarte’s sandwich is a thing of beauty, deposited on thin slices of a crusty white loaf smeared with tartar sauce and sided with good fries and a wedge of lemon. The lightly breaded abalone steaks are tender, mildly flavored, and plentiful. Duarte’s may hold some kind of record for “most abalone served at one sitting.”
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