The regional table / Massachusetts
Ipswich Fried Clams
A clam strip is a surf clam with the belly cut away. This is the other thing entirely: the whole animal, neck and belly together, in a coat thin enough to see the clam through.
The document is Section II of The Fisheries and Fishery Industries of the United States, George Brown Goode, Government Printing Office, 1887 — the geographical review of the fisheries for the year 1880, with the Massachusetts entries written by William A. Wilcox of Boston. His Ipswich page, 136, describes the flats the dish is named for: they run from Rowley on the north to Essex on the south, ten miles long by half a mile wide, and in 1880 they were worked for bait. Seventy-five men dug from March to June of 1879 and fifty more from November to March. Clams went at a dollar a barrel in the shell, or by the water-bucketful at fifty cents for the cod boats, and five hundred barrels were salted down for bait that season against the several thousand barrels of earlier years. A close season had just been declared, no digging from 15 May to 15 October, permits issued by the selectmen to residents only, a dollar a bushel in fines for anyone caught and his tools confiscated. Then Wilcox adds the sentence this recipe hangs on: "It must be added, however, that a demand for clams formerly not in existence has lately sprung up; this is to supply clams as food in Boston and other neighboring cities." Forty barrels a week in the shell went to Salem through the summer of 1879, and sixty barrels plus two hundred and eighty gallons of shucked meat weekly to Boston that winter. The eating clam was the new thing on these flats, and it was new in 1880.
Essex, the next town south, carries a famous origin claim: that the fried clam was invented at a roadside stand there in 1916. It is the claim of the house that makes it, and no document opened for this article supports it. What the printed record does hold is older. Mrs D. A. Lincoln of the Boston Cooking School, copyright 1883, gives a fritter batter on page 107 of Mrs Lincoln's Boston Cook Book and then writes, under Clam Fritters: "Clams in the shell should be steamed and dressed. Drain, and dip each whole clam into the batter." That is a whole clam, fried in deep fat, in a Boston cookbook thirty-three years early. By then it was restaurant food too. A Brooklyn Eagle squib reprinted in the Georgia papers in June 1881 sets two young women down "to a dish of fried clams in a Fulton-street restaurant", and a Thomasville paper of March 1880 has a man eating fried clams in a saloon on the corner. The loudest silence is Fannie Farmer: the 1896 Boston Cooking-School Cook Book, full of clam bouillon, clam chowder, clam consomme and a Clam and Chicken Frappe, has no fried clam in it at all, only Clam Fritters of chopped meat dropped by the spoonful. So the quantities below are worked out for this page. What the documents settle is the clam, the flats and the century; the corn flour is mine.
Why this version works
The belly is the whole point. Fish and Wildlife Service Circular 110, The Soft-Shell Clam Industry of Maine, 1961, defines it without sentiment: between the gills lies the visceral mass, "the so-called belly or stomach", holding the digestive and reproductive organs. That is where a clam tastes of the sea rather than of protein. Cut it off and you have removed the flavour and kept the chew.
Evaporated milk does the sticking. It is thicker than fresh milk and its lactose has already taken some heat, so it clings where milk runs off and it colours in a minute of frying instead of three. Three minutes at frying heat is a dead clam. Buttermilk works and tastes sharper; water does not work at all.
Short fry, small batches, hot fat. Sixty to ninety seconds at 350°F and out. Clams are mostly water: a dozen of them dropped at once take the fat down thirty degrees, and everything after that is absorption rather than frying. Fry four ounces at a time and let the fat come back up between batches.
Corn flour, not cornmeal and not batter. Finely milled corn flour goes on as a coat, not a jacket. Cornmeal is gritty and falls off in the fat; a poured batter seals the clam into a doughnut and steams the belly until it bursts. The coat should be thin enough that you can still see the shape of the neck through it.