Seaside is an insect frozen in 1950s amber. Although many Oregon beach communities have gentrified and yuppified, Seaside retains some of that cheesy, gritty, carnival-like appeal of a mid-century ocean resort: the mad bells of an arcade, the rumble of electrified bumper cars, the sticky saltwater taffy that welds your molars together. From the independent shops that line the downtown center, to the promenade where harried families stretch their legs, Seaside possesses a certain, undefinable nostalgic feel.

You can still hear the scattering dice echoes of crap games in alleys passed and smell the prohibition-era hooch that seeped into wooden floors of old speakeasies.

Progress has overtaken the waterfront, which now stands in the sun-blocking shadows of multistory resort hotels, but plunge into the center of the town and you can still find nostalgic jewels.

The Crabby Oyster belongs in that select company. A traditional seafood shack, the Crabby Oyster delivers an oyster burger with old-school charm. The restaurant is a medium-sized joint, decorated in along understated Polynesian lines. Small surfboards hang from the ceilings, offering a stable base for the overhead lights. Black fishnets line the green walls, and drape the doorways. A sign proudly suggests that “Salt Air is Best,” although the desiccated starfish that shares the slogan’s picture frame hints that saltwater is the superior medium.

The featured dish is the Oyster Po’ Boy. Boasting a tourist-trap price of $16, the burger comes with complimentary fries. Five thumb-sized oysters line up on a hoagie roll. I’m not certain where the dividing line between hoagie and hot-dog bun lays, but this soft roll strays dangerously close to that division.

The burger cleaves fairly close to the conventional, spreading lettuce, tomato, and lemon aioli across the bun. Is lemon aioli—a mixture of lemon juice, garlic, and mayonnaise—really a leap forward from traditional tartar sauce? I remain unconvinced. The french fries are unexceptional—industrial standard, deep fried to a mushy, soggy consistency.

The deep fryer also appears to have been turned loose on the oysters. This was carefully done, and they retain a savory, juicy flavor. As I sink my teeth into the burger, these juices quickly soak the bun, and the floppy roll proves inadequate for the task. A substrate failure. By the end of the meal, I am eating my burger with a fork.

The Crabby Oyster gets the official nod. It is a nostalgic blast from the last century, and although its burger is overpriced and the french fries lamentable, it is still an enjoyable venue.

The Verdict: Recommended. If you happen to be in Seaside, this is a serviceable oyster burger.

If you are enjoying this series, why not subscribe to Richard's monthly newsletter, What's New in Old News? The Peripatetic Historian is on the road, roaming the world and compiling fresh adventures. Don't miss out. Click here to join the legions of above-average readers who have already subscribed.