Preamble
It’s been the rainiest late summer I can remember in years — one gray day rolling into the next — and it’s had me thinking about all the moods the shore actually has, not just the one we put on postcards.
There’s the day everyone pictures: blue sky, cotton-ball clouds, a stretch on the beach broken up by a walk down to the inlet to watch the boats — the party boats heading out for the afternoon, the real fishermen already coming back in with their haul because they were out on the water hours before any of us made it to our beach chairs.
But there are moody days too — surf rough and crashing, tide pushed all the way in, the sea reminding you it’s more powerful than it lets on most of the time. It’s taught me that lesson more than once.
Either way, the boats keep coming in, and what they bring home is the whole reason for tonight’s table.
Farm Stand Report
Something’s shifting out there. The summer tables are thinning — less corn, less of everything that made July and August feel endless — and in its place, the mums are starting to show up. Not blooming yet, most of them. Just green and stubborn and waiting, tucked in tight rows, but you can tell they’re about to burst — burgundy, rust, pumpkin-orange, that deep goldenrod yellow, and then the purples, which somehow come in more shades than seems necessary. Wine, lavender, something almost plum.
It’s an in-between week at the stand. Too early for the real fall lineup — no pumpkins yet, no gourds, nothing that says Thanksgiving or Christmas is on its way — but too late to pretend summer’s still in charge. The last of it is hanging on: a few tomatoes, some stubborn zucchini, whatever didn’t get harvested last week. Everything else is just... waiting. Same as the rest of us, if I’m honest, standing in that stretch between one season and the next, not quite ready to let go and not quite ready to jump in either.
Weekend Menu
This weekend’s table follows the boats in. Friday keeps it light and briny — clams and a smoky bluefish spread meant for grazing. Saturday sits you down properly, bisque first, then bluefish with a bright tomato-basil relish standing in for summer’s last real heat. And Sunday closes it out with the dish of the issue — scallops seared golden over sweet corn puree, finished with a little something sweet to send you into the week.
Friday: Broiled Clams Oreganata · Smoked Bluefish & Chive Spread with crackers and crostini
Saturday: Herbed Shellfish Bisque · Blackened Bluefish with Fresh Tomato & Basil Relish · Chilled Cucumber-Dill Relish · crusty bread
Sunday: Pan-Seared Cape May Scallops over Sweet Corn Puree (Featured Recipe) · Blueberry, Fig & Port Gelato
Featured Recipe: Pan-Seared Cape May Scallops over Sweet Corn Puree
Serves 4
For the corn puree:
4 ears fresh sweet corn, kernels cut off (about 3 cups)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
¼ cup heavy cream
Salt and pepper, to taste
For the scallops:
1 ½ lbs dry sea scallops (about 16-20), side muscle removed
Salt, to taste
2 tablespoons neutral oil (grapeseed or avocado)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Fresh chives, for garnish
Lemon wedge, for serving
Directions:
Make the puree first. Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat, add the corn kernels, and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender — about 8 minutes. Transfer to a blender with the cream, blend until smooth, then pass through a fine mesh strainer for that velvety texture. Season with salt and pepper, keep warm.
While the corn cooks, prep the scallops: pat them completely dry with paper towels and let them sit uncovered on a paper-towel-lined plate for 15-20 minutes before cooking. A great sear starts before the pan ever gets hot — dry scallops are the whole secret.
Season scallops with salt right before cooking, not before.
Heat a heavy stainless or cast-iron skillet over high heat until very hot. Add the oil, then carefully place scallops in the pan, leaving space between each one — don’t crowd the pan.
Sear undisturbed for about 2 minutes more or less, until a deep golden crust forms. Flip, add the butter to the pan, and baste for another 1-2 minutes until just opaque in the center.
Spoon the warm corn puree onto plates, top with scallops, garnish with chives, and serve with a lemon wedge.
Notes: Buy the driest scallops you can find (ask your fishmonger — “dry-packed” is the term) for the best sear. Wet-packed scallops will steam instead of crisp, no matter how hot the pan is.
Shoppable List
4 ears fresh sweet corn
Heavy cream
Unsalted butter
1 ½ lbs dry sea scallops
Fresh chives
Lemons
Littleneck or cherrystone clams
Fresh bluefish fillets
Cream cheese
Horseradish
Heirloom tomatoes
Fresh basil
Cucumbers
Fresh dill
Shellfish stock or bones (for bisque)
Heavy cream (bisque)
White wine
Blueberries
Fresh figs
Ruby port
Sliced almonds
Crusty bread, crackers, and crostini
Curious what’s in my kitchen? Shop Nonna’s Favorites →
Cookbook Tie-In
Craving more late-summer, produce-forward cooking? The Blackened Bluefish’s tomato-basil relish is a cousin to the recipes in Red, Ripe & Ready — grab your copy in the shop.
Nonna’s Notebook
There’s a rhythm to the inlet in late afternoon, and if you’ve never stood there for it, you’re missing something.
The boats start coming in low — that’s how you know they had a good day. You watch them round the bend past the jetty, engines slowing, and by the time they nose up to the dock the gulls already know before anyone else does. They circle first. They’re never wrong.
At the fish market at the base of the bridge, this is the whole show. No performance to the place — just a pebble lot, an ice case, and men in waders hauling coolers straight off the boats and through the back door. Bluefish, mostly, this time of year. Silver-blue and still stiff with cold seawater, laid out on beds of chipped ice before you’ve even parked the car.
That’s the part I think about — how short the distance really is. Hours, not days, between the water and the case. You can still smell the ocean on it. The fishermen are sometimes still standing right there, telling you what the water was doing that morning, which spot gave it up easy and which one made them work for it.
There’s no dressing that up and no need to. Fresh bluefish off an afternoon boat doesn’t need a story. It just needs a hot pan and someone who knows not to overcook it.
That’s tonight’s fish. Caught this morning, cooked tonight, gone by dessert.
Around the House: Setting the Scene for a Seafood Night
You don’t need much to make a seafood dinner feel like an occasion — you just need to lean into what’s already true about it. This is a hands-on meal. Let it look like one.
Skip the fancy tablecloth. A strip of brown kraft paper or a plain linen runner down the center of the table does more work than you’d think — and it means cleanup is a matter of rolling it up and tossing it. If you want to go full shore-town, butcher paper taped down at the corners is completely fair game.
Citrus does double duty as decoration and function — scatter halved lemons and limes right on the table, not just in a bowl. They look good, and they’re already there when someone wants an extra squeeze over their fish.
Mismatched glassware works in your favor here. Mason jars for water, a few thrifted juice glasses for wine — it reads as relaxed on purpose, not like you forgot to buy a matching set.
And the one non-negotiable: napkins, plenty of them, within arm’s reach of every seat. Cloth if you’re feeling it, a deep stack of good paper if you’re not. Nobody should have to ask.
Low candles, nothing fussy — a few tapers or a cluster of votives down the runner once the sun starts to go down. That’s it. That’s the whole trick: let the food be the centerpiece, and get out of its way.
Rotating Feature: The Seafood Night Playlist
Every dinner has a soundtrack whether you plan for one or not, so you may as well pick it on purpose. This one’s built for golden hour into evening — something with a little salt air in it, nothing that demands attention, just enough to fill the space between courses and conversation.
Think coastal, unhurried, a little nostalgic:
Brown Eyed Girl — Van Morrison
Cecilia — Simon & Garfunkel
Kokomo — The Beach Boys
Sittin’ On the Dock of the Bay — Otis Redding
La Vie en Rose — Édith Piaf (or the Louis Armstrong version, if you want it warmer)
Banana Pancakes — Jack Johnson
Sway — Dean Martin
Corcovado (Quiet Nights) — Stan Getz & João Gilberto
The through-line is easy: nothing that asks you to stop and listen, everything that makes you want to linger a little longer at the table. Start it low when the first course goes out, let it carry you through dessert.
Worth Knowing
There’s a trick to a great scallop sear, and it has nothing to do with the pan being hot enough — it’s almost always about moisture. Before scallops ever touch heat, pat them completely dry and let them sit uncovered in the fridge for 15-20 minutes; any surface water left behind steams instead of searing, and you’ll end up with a gray, sad scallop instead of a golden one. Pull off the small tough side muscle if it’s still attached — it won’t sear evenly and toughens up. Salt right before cooking, not ahead of time, since salt pulls moisture out the longer it sits. Use a hot stainless or cast-iron pan, not nonstick, give the scallops room to breathe, and once they’re in the pan — leave them alone. No shaking, no nudging. About two minutes a side is usually enough to get a real crust. Dry scallops are the whole secret.
Weekend Kitchen Planner
Friday: Shuck or scrub clams if needed, prep breadcrumb topping for oreganata. Make the bluefish spread and chill.
Saturday: Make bisque base ahead if possible (reheats well). Mix tomato-basil relish early so flavors meld. Prep cucumber-dill relish just before serving so it stays crisp.
Sunday: Make corn puree first, keep warm. Pat scallops dry early and let them sit uncovered in the fridge until ready to sear. Make the gelato compote a day ahead if you can — it needs time to chill fully.
Worth Keeping
“There’s no dressing up fresh bluefish off an afternoon boat — it just needs a hot pan and someone who knows not to overcook it.”
Before You Go
Funny thing about a good weekend — it rarely needs a reason. Set the table, scatter some lemons, put a little music on, and suddenly a few pounds of bluefish and some clams from the dock have turned into a whole occasion. Nobody asked what we were celebrating. Nobody needed to.
That’s the part I keep coming back to: keep it simple, keep the people close, and just about anything can become the reason to gather. A Tuesday. A Wednesday. A weeknight with nothing on the calendar. Doesn’t matter. Pull up a chair, pour something cold, and let the evening do the rest.
See you next Friday. Bring your appetite.
— The Jersey Nonna