Sweet Amalia's Treasures

As part of this package, guests of The Virginia Hotel and Beach Plum Farm Cottages will tour Sweet Amalia, an acclaimed local oyster farm. On the storied banks of the Delaware Bay, they'll receive a shucking lesson and a tasting. And to round out their stay in Cape May, they'll enjoy a world-class dinner in The Ebbitt Room, incorporating tide-to-table oyster recipes from Chef Jason Hanin.

“This is a great opportunity for foodies who want to see where their meal is coming from-or for anyone seeking a little adventure,” says Carly Marinaro, Guest Experience Manager for Cape Resorts. “It's a different, hands-on way to vacation.”

Oysters are, in many ways, superheroes of the sea. Each briny bivalve filters pollutants from approximately 50 gallons of salt water per day, keeping the ocean and its bays clean for fishing and recreating. Oyster reefs also serve to dampen wave energy, meaning they protect homes and, ahem, favorite vacation spots from storms and rising seas.

But even superheroes have their kryptonite.

At one time, the oyster capital of the world could be found in Port Norris, 23 miles northwest of Cape May, as the gull flies. Every day, wooden oyster schooners harvested enough from the Delaware Bay to fill 130 freight cars. But disaster struck in the 1950s when the MSX parasite devastated this population. South Jersey's oysters, once hawked on the streets of Philadelphia as commonly as hot dogs and pretzels are today, became the stuff of legend.

But now, thanks largely to the work of passionate marine scientists, the mighty mollusk is enjoying a stellar revival.

One of these scientists is Lisa Calvo. For three decades, most recently with Rutgers University, she studied shellfish pathology, helping to develop oysters resistant to disease. As a side hustle, she launched Sweet Amalia Oyster Farm, named for her daughter, who, as a toddler, would slurp oysters straight off the reef. The project began as a learning laboratory for studying aquaculture so that Calvo might better assist other farmers, but, a couple of years ago, it became her full-time occupation. Now, on a six-acre, intertidal plot located off of Route 47, Calvo and her team harvest over 300,000 oysters per season.

“It's a gritty, dirty, muddy job, and perhaps you have to be just a little bit crazy to do it,” she says. “But there's also a romance to this work. Oysters are such a special food- associated with celebrations and special occasions-and they tap into a captivating call to the sea so many of us feel. You won't get all this from an eggplant.”

People who visit Sweet Amalia will learn about the ecology of the Delaware Bay and the important role oysters play in maintaining this delicate ecology. They will also get an insider's look at the process of raising oysters from seed: Calvo sources babies from a hatchery, when 20,000 or so fit in the palm of her hand. Then, she transfers them to mesh bags attached to racks located 15 inches above the bay floor. While it takes at least two years to reach market size, the oysters grow at different rates- “much like fourth graders”- which means Calvo spends her days sorting, rearranging, cleaning (so they don't get bogged down in mud) and harvesting them.

Guests can also expect a lesson in “merroir,” the idea that oysters raised in different places will have different flavor profiles-much like the “terroir” applied to wine. Due largely to the salinity level of the Delaware Bay, Sweet Amalia oysters are, aptly, a little bit sweet and only moderately briny. They are also plump and meaty with a buttery texture. In other words: a great deal more accessible than what oysterphobes may imagine.

“There are always a few naysayers, and we end up converting them,” Calvo says, adding that “connecting with your food only enhances appreciation for the product. As people become more experiential in their dining, it's a really fun and exciting time to be farming.”

For those who truly can't stomach the shellfish, a visit to the farm presents equally compelling draws: the sight of prehistoric horseshoe crabs coming ashore to mate, the sound of divebombing ospreys as they hunt for fish, the rejuvenating feel of salt water on your skin. So many little things that aren't, turns out, all that little after all. “This,” Marinaro says, “is a hidden part of Cape May.”