Fred Howard Beach and The Sponge Docks, Tarpon Springs
There we were, blithely letting our days waste away and ignorant to the fact that something we only recently became aware of—and subsequently came to adore—was being wiped from the face of the earth. The German Restaurant in Holiday would be closing for good in only several weeks. A final pilgrimage must be made. We decided to incorporate the visit into an overnight stay in Tarpon Springs with a stop for beach fun at Fred Howard Park.
The inspiration
Though we had other options closer to home, we really liked the food we had at The German Restaurant. I had yet to even publish my tale of experience from our first trip. (I delayed because I had failed to take pictures of the meal.) The food was well prepared, had a fantastic flavor, and the setting was quaint and comfy. It was like eating dinner at Grandmother’s house. So I emailed a reservation request for two weeks from then and set to making arrangements for a stay in Tarpon Springs.
We had first visited Tarpon Springs while in Florida last November to house hunt and job interview. Our brief stroll up and down the Sponge Docks left us with the impression of a lively fishing town with a decent tourist trade that offered much to do, see, and eat. We ate some delicious baklava. I found a source for delicious soft, molasses-rich Australian licorice. We promised ourselves a return to get the full experience once we moved to Florida. This occasion seemed the right opportunity to do so while waking The German Restaurant.
The plan
Lodging
I searched AirBnB for a low-price single room close to the action. One was available with private entrance and a twenty-minute walk to the docks. Next, I set to finding places to eat.
Food
Tarpon Springs is largely settled by Greek immigrants who relocated here to participate in the burgeoning natural sponge trade fueled by the abundant natural sponges in the Gulf of Mexico. The town is a well-considered destination for those seeking authentic Greek cuisine.
As I was to soon learn, however, this supply and subsequent demand resulted in many less than quality offerings. Since customers have varying tastes and thousands of people aired their opinions online, sorting through and interpreting the reviews at Tripadvisor proved a monumental task.
I narrowed my option to two based on reading the two-, three-, and four-star reviews, parsing the prose, and considering proximity, atmosphere, and most importantly, which places rated highest for grilled octopus and moussaka. Since my wife is on a lifetime search for a moussaka to match the most delicious one we ever had (on our honeymoon in…England) she must order it every time we dine Hellenic.
I decided on Dimitri’s On the Water with Costa’s as a backup and The Original Momma Maria’s as a third. Reviewers for Dimitri’s rated their octopus as flavorful and tender, the view as splendid and the service as precise, polite and pleasant. Of course, It had its detractors but most of those I interpreted as doubtful. We’d take our chances and since the prices were reasonable enough it would be of low risk. Hey, if the food was junk, we’d push it away, pay our bill, and go find cocktails and music.
Activities
We had already scouted Fred Howard Beach so I knew it had almost what we were looking for if the waves were a bit too calm. The restaurant was picked for Wednesday night and I dog-eared a few options for breakfast. We had the room booked, and The German Restaurant confirmed our reservation for Thursday night. We were set. Whee.
And we’re off
Breakfast
Wednesday morning we set out under sunny clear skies and made our way to the Gulf coast. A cruised down US 19 (which interestingly connects the Gulf of Mexico with Lake Erie—might make for a neat ride to Pittsburgh) led us past Tarpon Springs to arrive at Flapjacks for breakfast
When in a place called Flapjacks, you get the flapjacks. As such, I ordered the 2+2+2: buttermilk flapjacks with two eggs over medium, and two sausage patties. Christa said nuts to my arbitrary rules and opted for french toast instead as a result of disappointing experiences with pancakes lately. She added bacon and her usual two eggs, scrambled.
My eggs were cooked perfectly. Golden lace-fringed, stark and firm whites with a perfect, creamy, medium-cooked yolk. I regret not getting toast to dip, but with pancakes, toast seemed like a carb overload. However, dipping pancake into the yolk wasn’t as satisfying as crispy buttered rye toast. Christa’s eggs were light and fluffy, rich yellow, and pan scrambled.
Christa said her french toast was good and a taste proved that it was. The thick slices of Texas toast were battered and grilled to a nice brown and gold. They had a soft texture, though not as custard-like as I prefer on the inside.
Flipped over flapjacks
But the pancakes were the highlight. They weren’t blow-your-mind flapjacks and looked pretty average stacked with a plastic cup of syrup on their plate without so much as a dusting of superfluous powdered sugar. They were simply the best pancakes I’ve had in a very long time.
Listed on the menu under “Gourmet Pancakes” the buttermilk flapjacks at Flapjacks fit the bill. They were fluffy, yet moist and delicate with an enjoyable flavor distinct from other cakes. I picked up on a hint of almond (which Christa didn’t mind at all and she despises artificial almond flavoring) and a subtle sweetness that made syrup unnecessary.
But pancakes without syrup are pointless, so I applied a protective layer of soft whipped butter (bonus points for not being chilled to a rock) and poured on a conservative dose. It wasn’t maple, but it didn’t have to be, the cakes were the star.
The whole shebang was a treat to eat and never turned to that mushy syrup-logged inedible state typical of inferior griddle cakes. Each bite was fluffy, and flavorful with the pleasant finish of sweet delicate cake. A stack of six layered with buttercream and enrobed in ganache would make a fine dessert.
The sausage patties and bacon were tasty, each cooked well with a crispy exterior and tender insides. The bacon was crisp-tender, the sausage juicy inside, nicely browned on the outside. The service was great, the coffee was hot, and the food stuck to the ribs. Now, off to get beach snacks and drinks.
Beach
We found our way to Fred Howard Park for our day on the beach. Other than a few walks along the shore now and then, we had not had a proper beach day in a few years.
A drive across the Fred Howard Causeway got us from Fred Howard Park to the beach. The islet speck of sand sat protected by Anclote Key and Three Rooker Island. Parking this Wednesday morning was plentiful and $5 got us all day if we wanted it. A guy who changed his mind about staying offered us his parking pass which I immediately handed to a young lady desperately trying to feed worn bills into the parking kiosk and then swiped my card. It’s a cashless society.
With chairs slung over our shoulders and snacks and bevs in hand, Christa and I trudged through the sand for a spot at the shore. We avoided a child-heavy section and found a quiet spot, parked our chairs, surreptitiously slipped a 3 Daughters St. Pete Beach Blonde Ale ($10.99/sixer at the nearby Racetrack gas station) into my koozie and settled into a mid-morning session of reading, swimming, and burning.
I basted myself with sunscreen on the beach, forgetting to do so at home. My immediate sweating from the broiling June sun probably prevented it from taking hold. The gulf washed the protective barrier from every inch of skin not plush with hair. I should have obeyed my inkling to throw my shirt on after toweling off but failed to. I’m nothing if not a scofflaw. As I lay reading I soon turned a lovely shade of zinfandel before my timer popped. Christa returned from a walk with Kona Ices and the $4 snow-cones cooled us off while coloring our tongues blue and red. One more swim.
I’d return to Fred Howard Beach. The scenery and calm waters were enticing for kayaking and though we wanted something with a little more troughs and valleys, it was idyllic. We dried off with a final broil on our towels followed by packing up and heading for the Airbnb.
Abode
Our kind host met us with a “There’s my beach bums,” and gave us the full tour, offering anything we might need. We thanked her and after getting our things away, I set to cooling off in the shower followed by a nap before dinner. The solar furnace can really sap your energy. We woke and began our walk to the docks.
Board and Bored
Into town
The B&B location seemed to be a bit further from the sponge docks than I had figured, but the walk was only twenty minutes according to the map app. I didn’t time it and the beating sun can alter perceptions. We crossed over Pinellas Avenue onto Dodecanese Boulevard, the main street of the Sponge Docks that run along the Anclote River to the Tarpon Bayou.
Dinner was delish
As we neared Dimitri’s On the Water I still had some lingering doubts. What if I hadn’t interpreted the reviews correctly? What if we were missing something better? If the moussaka sucked, would Christa ever forgive me? As we approached the door, I figured what the hell. It’s just food.
The atmosphere was classy and quiet, the view of the river and docks through the wall of large windows was enjoyable, the service was excellent, and the food was fantastic, though the moussaka fell short. Overall, we had a pleasant experience and would return, if not for want of trying many other restaurants in the area.
If you stick with the basics you won’t be disappointed. The octopus was tender and savory with chargrilled flavor and fresh lemon. The feta and saganaki were delicious and plentiful, the olives rich and fruity. We were satisfied. To stop short of stuffing ourselves, we boxed up the second half of feta and olives and left room for ice cream.
You can read my full review when I figure out what I did with it.
The Docks – part 1
We paid up and slipped out the back door that opened onto the docks. The scorching sun hit us as soon as we left the shade of the awning and the stream of conditioned air that escaped with us vaporized. For the first time, my sunburned shoulders throbbed as the late day rays baked my dark blue shirt. This was going to be a miserable walk. It was only 5:30; almost four hours of radiant sun remained. Putting on my happy face, we made our way up the river side of the street snapping pics and taking in the scene we hadn’t seen since November.
Most of the shops on Dodecanese Blvd. are across the street facing the docks. From our vantage, many stores seemed to be closed with no lights coming through the windows. This was the closest place we’d found in Florida to a boardwalk and I was hoping to find some ice cream, french fry stands, arcades, and maybe a few eclectic shops. But other than the sponge shops and sit down restaurants, everything looked shuttered for the day.
A sweet spot
We came to the little strip mall that housed the candy shop. Inside, the banks of candy and cases of truffles and fudge tried their best to attract us, but it was the licorice I was after. I found the bags of the Australian stuff among other imported varieties.
One option was a double-salt licorice from Finland that featured ammonium chloride instead of sodium chloride (table salt). While an interesting proposition, I don’t like the taste of ammonia and barely tolerate it in some cheeses. Assuredly, I had yet to come to the point in my life where I needed to try it in candy.
If someone offered me a piece, I’d give it a go, but the candy shop doesn’t offer samples of this one. Likely to avoid the waste—if you like it, you know it; you don’t need a sample. So, I grabbed a bag of the Aussie and we were on our way.
Dessert in the desert
Ice cream was calling to us. We realized that there was a parlor in this very row of shops but it was closed. At 5:30. On a Wednesday. Okay. A small aquarium that anchored the strip was also closed. No big deal as we’re not really aquarium folks, but still, it seemed odd.
Where do tourists go for fun around here after a day on the beach? Besides, there had to be more than one ice cream parlor in Tarpon Springs Sponge Docks. Almost every place we passed was closed but it made no difference. Regardless, we would come to realize that there was very little of interest to us.
We made our way down the scorching sidewalk past the Hellas restaurant and its bakery with cases full of pastries. In case we can’t find ice cream, we’ll have to consider this as an alternative; they do have good baklava.
Guests still swelled the restaurants and the hawkers were still barking. They hyped their restaurants from the doorways and street corners and offered discounts on meals as well as boat tours. The two distinct businesses seemed to be owned by the same people.
We turned into the Sponge Exchange Shopping Village which seemed to be the most modern complex on the boulevard. The outdoor mall’s courtyard featured an open-air bar that was dead as Dillinger. We were the only ones around.
This town…is coming like a ghost town.
A sandwich board indicated there was ice cream somewhere in this maze and a wander about finally landed us on the doorstep to find they served Hershey’s ice cream. Beggars can be choosers thus Christa opted out and I was inclined to agree.
We passed another greek pastry shop called Taste of Greece, which we suspected on our first trip to be a disguised annex of Hellas with a smaller selection. After a look around we decided to head back up to Hellas to choose from a wider variety.
Our find
At Hellas Bakery we looked over the overwhelming library of pastries from Italian tortes to French eclairs and treats with Greek names that we couldn’t interpret. I didn’t want to put out the clerk by asking “What’s that? What’s that? What’s that?” all evening, so I chose a cannoli cake and a tiramisu. The clerk asked if I wanted the tiramisu in the cake form or the cup variety. I chose the former, should have gone with the latter traditional version. Christa agreed.
I took the tray to a table and we dug into the delicious looking treats. The cannoli cake was okay, but the cake itself was a dry grocery store-like sponge and the whipped icing was bland. A buttercream would have made it better. The mascarpone (if it was indeed mascarpone) filling was tasty and the chocolate chips rounded out the picture. I was expecting thin flats of cannoli pastry layered with filling and maybe a topping of whipped cream, sort of like a Napoleon. This was not that, but that’s my fault for assuming.
The same meh went for the tiramisu cake. It was a coffee scented buttercream between thin layers of devil’s food sponge cake with a frosting of whipped cream and a dusting of cocoa powder. I just typed digital letters more delicious than that actual composition of tangible ingredients. There was no custard and mascarpone. There was no rum and espresso soaked cake—sad for the sponge cake that was dry and could have benefited from the moisture.
I mistakenly assumed the tiramisu cake would be a twist on the traditional version elevating it to kick ass heights. I was wrong. It was a twist on the traditional version that brought it down to grocery store bakery depths. Christa summed up the sponge cake aptly when she described as having a Zingers or Hostess cake texture. It seemed synthetic.
We wiped up our crumbs and left Hellas disappointed. But I can attest from our first visit that they make great baklava. Maybe just stay away from anything with a grand facade of whipped cream and chocolate. It’s like flying into a cloud only to strike a mountaintop.
Calling it a night
We continued on Dodecanese Blvd. and were growing sick with the odor of perfumed soaps. It’s everywhere along the shops. At some point in the tourist history of Tarpon Springs, a sinister idea was born. Someone must have considered the connection of sponges to bathing and decided that the selling of soaps was the perfect merging of the local industry with consumer interests. Consequently, practically every shop, no matter their primary product, carried soap in some form or another. And the odor was an overwhelming olfactory assault.
All the shops we visited seem to carry the same mass-produced bricks of fat, lye, and miasmic scents. And shea butter. They all had the same tubs of shea butter. Likely all imported from the same source portioned and repackaged for retail in the shops.
I suspect, the more I observed on the following day, that most of these shops are owned by the same umbrella company. Like some sort of small-town tourist syndicate.
Ah, this was just the discomfort of my sunburn jading my vision. A long day in the sun, driving, and walking had us weary. Best to skip the waterfront cocktails and get some rest. We’d go back to our room, get a good night’s sleep, and take on the next day with refreshed eyes.
Thanks for reading part one! Click here for part two.