You realize you’ve left the version of the coast that everyone talks about at a certain point along Lankford Highway, after the pine stands open up into salt marsh. There is no traffic. There are no valet stands. Just a few satellite dishes from the NASA facility on Wallops Island protruding over the trees, and spartina grass bending in the wind. That’s typically the first indication that Chincoteague isn’t making a lot of effort to be located.
The ponies are well-known. That was accomplished decades ago by the Misty books, and every July, the pony swim continues to attract large crowds. However, if you speak with someone who has actually spent a few days on the island, the topic of food almost always comes up. Specifically, they talk about oysters that are sold out of someone’s garage on a folding table with a cooler and a handwritten sign. The oysters are pulled from water that is cold enough to keep them tight and briny.
It’s difficult to ignore how informal the entire process seems. There isn’t a $40 tasting menu describing the merroir or a seafood “experience” being prepared for you. Locals view Captain Zack’s pickup-only shack as a daily chore rather than a destination. The oysters are served either steamed or fried in a thin layer of cornmeal, and for some reason, that simplicity is the whole point.
Oysters are abundant in many towns, but what makes Chincoteague unique is the water’s specificity. Here, islanders will confidently tell you that they can tell the difference between an oyster from the bayside and one from the sea. In the words of a longtime local, “biting into a seaside oyster is like biting the ocean.” That’s not language used in marketing. That’s a person with opinions after consuming her body weight in shellfish.
The flounder scenario is a tale unto itself. While many towns make grand claims, Chincoteague has the geography to support its claim to be the Flounder Capital of the World. Baitfish and crab are concentrated in tidal flats that flounder use as a feeding ground due to the narrow channels between the island and Assateague, which function almost like a funnel. The migration occurs in the spring, and by early summer, a single boat cruising the Assateague Channel may come across several authentic keepers and dozens of throwbacks. Watching a sport that hasn’t really changed in a century—guides still discuss “the drift” in the same way their grandfathers did—is satisfying.
All of this has a layer of history that comes through in peculiar and endearing ways. A rare example of dissent in a seceding state, Chincoteague islanders voted overwhelmingly to remain loyal to the Union during the Civil War. According to legend, General Winfield Scott celebrated with a plate of Chincoteague oysters at a hotel in Washington after learning that Confederate vessels near Cockle Creek had been routed. That might be embellished. Perhaps not. In any case, it illustrates how long this location has been known for its delicious shellfish—long before anyone considered listing it on a travel guide.
The duration of the secret is still unknown. For years, travel writers have been subtly recommending Chincoteague to readers; Forbes published an article speculating that it could take the place of the Hamptons, and Garden & Gun has praised the island, but not much has changed. No large hotel chains. No chain restaurants lining the boardwalk. Only fishing piers where crabs can still be caught with a string and a chicken neck, farmers markets selling clams by the bushel, and water that somehow smells better than it sounds—like salt and rotting marsh grass.
The feeling that you’ve stumbled upon something that hasn’t yet been polished for tourists may be the true attraction, though, rather than just the seafood. It’s unclear if that will continue. For the time being, Chincoteague continues to be just that—an island that provides good food without making a big deal out of it.
