Foot Loose and Belly Free: SeaPak Wild Caught Clam Strips (Ep 85)
The story: SeaPak began in 1948 as the Sea Island Packing Company on St. Simons Island, Georgia, and pioneered individual quick freezing for shrimp. Rich Products Corporation purchased SeaPak in 1976. The clam strip itself was invented by a picky Ipswich, Massachusetts clam digger who only wanted the "foot" of the clam, and an exclusive decades-long supply deal with a growing roadside chain called Howard Johnson's.
Plus: A giant moose tracks disaster. Cauliflower wings and the mystery of the bay leaf. Mango varietals and the hunt for a proper Kent. An international frozen food report from Italy. And a clamshack sunset that got Max feeling nostalgic.
In the closing segment: the second half of a two-part regional food review, this time testing how New England the Bros really are—fluffernutters, whoopie pies, and a soda that isn’t winning any fan awards.
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FROST BITES
The Mysterious Mango. Max's mango frustration turns out to be a known industry problem. Tommy Atkins—the fibrous, tart variety that dominates most grocery store bins—was specifically bred in the 1950s for shelf life, shipping durability, and disease resistance. It was originally rejected by Florida's mango-growing community for having mediocre flavor. Kent, the variety Max was hunting for, is prized for the opposite reasons: smooth, low-fiber flesh and a sweeter, juicier profile, but a shorter shelf life. Max isn’t bad at picking fruit; the supply chain just hates flavor.
The Sodium Sitch. When sodium tripolyphosphate (STPP) popped up on the label, we guessed it might be a seafood thing. It is, more or less. STPP is a common additive in frozen shrimp, scallops, and other seafood, used to help the product retain moisture and hold a firmer, glossier texture through freezing and thawing. While the FDA considers it totally safe, there's a catch: water weighs a lot. That extra moisture means you're literally paying seafood prices for extra water—worth knowing the next time a package feels suspiciously plump.
Boston's Sweetest Disaster. Darren name-dropped the Great Molasses Flood before running away from the topic, but it’s too absurd to gloss over. On January 15, 1919, a burst molasses storage tank in Boston's North End sent a wave of molasses over two million gallons strong, reportedly 25 feet high and moving at 35 mph, through the neighborhood. Twenty-one people died and roughly 150 were injured, and cleanup reportedly took weeks. For decades after, locals swore that on hot, humid summer days, the entire neighborhood still smelled like a stale IHOP.
Confectioner's Row. The Necco Wafers chat barely did Cambridge's sugar-fueled past justice. From 1927 to 2003, the New England Confectionery Company operated out of a massive complex on Massachusetts Ave right next to MIT—complete with a water tower painted like an oversized roll of chalky Necco Wafers. For almost a century, generations of Cambridge residents and students associated that stretch of the city with the smell of peppermint and chocolate drifting through the air. Production eventually moved out to Revere, Mass., officially ending the era of Cambridge smelling like a Willy Wonka fever dream.
YOUR COLD CUTS
Bellies or strips? Or are you not a clam eater at all? Are you old enough to have eaten at a Howard Johnson’s?Did you score higher than the Bros on the New England foods quiz? Prove it.
Hit us up on the Let's Chill page and let us know!
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