Ok, I admit it. I’m a Long Island beach partisan. I grew up 10 minutes from the ocean and as far as I’m concerned, the Island has great beaches, so why go any further? (OK, maybe the Cape has higher dunes.)

But today, I gave in, and followed my Philly-born hubby to “down shore.” Yes, this is a bewildering phrase. When I first heard it, I thought it was all one word: “downsure,” something like, “damn sure.” It turns out, what he was really saying was he wanted to go, “down to the shore.” Still perplexed –was this a lake shore? a pond shore? a river shore?–I asked for further elucidation. Turns out he meant the SEA shore. Oh. It’s what the rest of the world calls the BEACH.

Whatever. My early experiences Down Shore were in Margate, a town or two down from Atlantic City; Margate quickly became known to our family as, “Gold Chain Beach.” You couldn’t see the sand, not to mention the ocean, because of the blinding light bouncing off all the bling. Not to mention the wall-to-wall oiled bodies and coffee klatches of yentas who would circle their beach chairs in a tight knot and scream “Hilda!” or whatever all bloody day long.

That was it for me with the Down Shore until today. Off we went to Spring Lake, which I had read (though I didn’t believe it) was a charming Victorian town. Turned out to be true! The place has tons of rambling Victorians and a cute little boardwalk along a wide-expanse of family- friendly beach.

From there we traveled along the beach road to Belmar and Klein’s a fish restaurant cum market, which has an outdoor patio overlooking a kind of ugly industrial river. The bluefish I ordered made up for the depressing view, though my hubby’s fried clams turned out be all rubbery legs.

Then it was on to Ocean Grove, as spectacular a collection of beach-side Victorians as I’ve ever seen. Block after block of them, festooned with porches trimmed with curlicues and cut-outs and all kinds of nifty paint jobs. Plus, there’s an incredible Methodist meeting hall. The place was founded by Methodists; thus the meeting hall and some other church buildings.

After that, we kept ambling up the beach (uh, shore). The weather had turned nasty by the time we came to Asbury Park where there appears to be a revival of sorts going on. I take it, from the local throw away newspaper, that the place has a large gay population; they’re fixing up the old Victorians. The beach seemed fine though it’s hidden behind a gargantuan stone retaining wall.

The culinary piece de resistance of the day was homemade chocolate Italian ice, served like soft-serve ice cream in a nice swirl, topped by chocolate sprinkles, which we got from Strollo’s Light House in Long Branch. It was rich and chocolaty and a real treat since my allergy to milk makes chocolate ice cream off limits. If you miss the Lighthouse, fear not. There’s an Italian ice place in every burg along the shore. There, I said it!

Klein’s Fish Market
708 River Road
Belmar, NJ
732 681 1177

Strollo’s Lighthouse
65 New Ocean Avenue
Long Branch, NJ
732-222-1222

Related posts:

1. Jersey Shore Photos
2. New Jersey: The Jefferson Diner
3. New Jersey: Some Road Food Suggestions