San Leon
It looks as if Mother Nature planted cloud seeds recently; columns of billowing white seem to sprout from the earth. They are everywhere! 360 degrees of puffy white things reach up and into the intensely blue sky and take my breath away. Beautiful to behold, I wonder what they portend? My mother would have called them thunderheads; rather ominous I think. But Michael, undeterred by what the weather might bring, continues north toward San Leon, Gilhooley’s—and lunch.
Much to my dismay the highway connecting Houston to Galveston is busy—overly busy. But I know that sooner rather than later, there will be a cut-off to quieter Highway 146 leading past the huffing puffing steam stacks in the industrial port of Texas City to FM 517 and the stubby little peninsula, jutting into Galveston Bay where we will find San Leon.
Signs of the oyster centric industry in San Leon
I wonder if the residents would be upset if they heard me call San Leon down market? To me, down market is not a bad thing. A little ragged at the edges, a bit tattered. A bit torn. San Leon is a place I love, humble and unpretentious. It is a wonderful kaleidoscope of what small-town coastal Texas used to be.
The bay in San Leon looking past Texas City to Galveston.
Gilhooley’s
Amazingly, despite its neighbor to the north—the glitzy, touristy Kemah with its boardwalk, carnival atmosphere, and plethora of dining options—tiny little San Leon is home to three of the best seafood restaurants around. My rule—perhaps everyone’s rule—is that if you drive to San Leon, you must eat oysters. And our eatery of choice, ever since we discovered it, always was, and is still, Gilhooley’s.
The parking lot at Gilhooley’s
Gilhooley’s, like San Leon, is a little tattered, a little torn, without a pretentious bone in its wooden body. Before you walk in, a sign is tacked onto the fence enclosing this enclave for bivalve lovers letting you know this is only a place for two-legged adults. No pets. No kids. And no disruptions. I appreciate that. But I know someone—a local—who laments these rules. With tiny tots in tow, he must settle for takeout. When he complained to friends that work at Gilhooley’s, their advice was, “Get a babysitter.”
Since our aim was for a late lunch and no dinner, and because it is a Wednesday in late September, and because the thermometer reaches way past the ninety-degree mark when we arrive, most seafood lovers have come and gone. A few hearty souls remain, sitting at the outside bar, in the shade—with a fan.
We walk past the temptation of a cool drink on a hot day and open the door to suitably cold, refrigerated air. I don my summer poncho—that Michael told me I wouldn’t need, but I knew I would—so I can enjoy our late lunch in comfort. Apparently, I’m the only cold-natured soul in the building.
We choose a table for four, tucked away behind a split rail fence with a patio view. A bedraggled Halloween witch (a little early I think) hangs from the ceiling beside us. We don’t need to look at the menu—we know exactly what we want—but we open it up anyway, just to see what we are missing. And we are missing a lot. There are five pages with a wide variety of choices.
A peek into the interior of Gilhooley’s Restaurant and Oyster Bar
Gilhooley’s Oysters
Oysters are the first thing on the menu, and there are eight different preparations (not including fried), which list raw oysters and a sampler plate of their six different types of grilled oysters. We are stuck in a rut—always ordering Oysters Gilhooley, grilled on the half shell with garlic butter and parmesan cheese. And just because we can, we also order a cup of shrimp gumbo. I remind myself that I need to make this at home again—it’s been a while.
When our server arrives, we order the requisite beer. Then, when she asks if I want my Dos Equis dressed, I give her a blank stare, which elicits the response, “Salt and lime.”
Of course.
Spicy Shrimp Gumbo and Oyster’s Gilhooley
I receive both my menu choices, only slightly before Michael. The Oysters Gilhooley are hot off the grill, with the butter still bubbling in the shell. I ignore the shrimp gumbo and take a bite of the garlicky buttery, parmesan encrusted oysters. The oysters are, of course, still GREAT! Michael and I clink together our bottles of beer, take a sip and get serious about digging into our humble feast.
To learn more about San Leon and Gilhooley’s, click the following link.
Page 2 and 3 of the 6 page Gilhooley’s Menu
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