Cleveland Clambakes Are a Can’t-Miss Fall Tradition

The smell hits first — briny and buttery, a whisper of the Atlantic riding Lake Erie’s breeze. On a sunny Sunday in early fall, I follow that scent through Cleveland with my brother, Dale, a retired commercial fisherman who’s chased swordfish off Nova Scotia and through the islands of the Atlantic. He’s come along to lend his sea-seasoned perspective to a tradition we somehow missed growing up just outside the city: the Cleveland clambake.

We’ve heard the rumor — that Cleveland’s appetite for clams outpaces anywhere else when the weather cools. Turns out, it’s true. “We essentially keep the clammers in business in the fall,” says Tom McIntyre, second-generation owner of Kate’s Fish at Cleveland’s West Side Market. “They send more clams to Cleveland than anywhere else in the world.”

Dozens of restaurants and community gatherings carry on the ritual each year, making Cleveland the nation’s fall clambake capital.

A Great Lakes take on a coastal classic

Cleveland’s version of the New England clambake comes with a variation — a side of chicken. The traditional spread includes a dozen hard-shell clams, a roasted half-chicken, corn on the cob, a potato (sweet or regular), coleslaw, chowder, and a roll. Some places add sausage or kielbasa for good measure. The result feels as Midwestern as it does maritime: hearty, social, and built to feed a crowd.

The party is the point. It’s less about delicate plating and more about steam, chatter, and the comfort of coming together over shared butter.

A Friday night frenzy in Westlake

Our first stop is Salty Mary’s Oyster Bar & Tavern in Westlake, Ohio, a cozy spot where owner Julie Novak holds Friday-night clambakes throughout September and October. Her eyes widen as she recalls a recent rush. “This past Friday around eight o’clock, we had to alert social media that we’d run out,” she says.

People start calling in August to reserve seats. “It’s like fish fries during Lent or Browns games on Sunday — it’s one of those Cleveland traditions,” Novak says. “It’s comforting to come back to something every year.”

Her clambakes stick to the Cleveland formula: chowder, clams, corn, potatoes, chicken, and bread. And for Novak, it’s as much about atmosphere as flavor. “We wanted a place where you don’t have to dress up to get good seafood,” she says, sitting beneath a chandelier made of oyster shells. “It’s casual but still special.”

Dale approves of the spread — and offers a bit of advice from his fishing days. “You should try a Bloody Mary with Clamato juice,” he tells Novak. “It tastes like the ocean.” She smiles. “Noted.”

The epicenter at the West Side Market

To understand why this seaside ritual thrives hundreds of miles from the ocean, we visit Kate’s Fish inside Cleveland’s century-old West Side Market. As the historic building’s iron rafters echo with the sound of vendors and shoppers, McIntyre is elbow-deep in orders. “We go from selling about a thousand clams a week to 10,000 in September and October,” he says.

His clams — littlenecks, middlenecks, and topnecks — come from small-boat harvesters in Rhode Island and Connecticut. “It’s a very sustainable method of fishing,” he continues. “They rake the clams by hand, no bycatch, no damage to the ocean floor. They haul them up, sort them, grab a beer, get paid in cash, and we get them the next day.”

The logistics that once made Cleveland’s clambake possible are now part of its folklore. In the 1800s, as rail travel expanded, chilled seafood could reach the city just as the weather cooled. “It started out practical,” McIntyre says, “and it turned into a fall tradition.”

For the home cook, Kate’s offers fresh clams and rental steamers. McIntyre’s only tip? “Grill the chicken instead of steaming it,” he advises. “Steamed chicken’s kind of weird.”

One big party at All Saints

At All Saints Public House, a century-old neighborhood bar a few blocks from Lake Erie, chef Jared Bazil runs his clambake like a community holiday. “We do one clambake every season,” he says. “That’s why we make it one big event.”

Bazil’s patio fills for a single sold-out seating — one wave of plates, everyone eating together. He steams the clams right on the street at the patio entrance, so the first thing guests catch is the warm scent of seafood. His Cleveland addition: smoky kielbasa from a local butcher, a nod to the city’s Eastern European roots. He also says his New England clam chowder – thick and loaded with clams – is the best in the city.

“Back in the day, the Rockefellers used to throw big parties for their staff this time of year,” Bazil says. “That’s part of how it started — clams were just the social food.”

When I ask how he eats his clams, he laughs. “I like to take them all out and put them in the butter. Depends on how much you like butter. As you can tell, I like my butter.” Dale grins in solidarity.

An upscale view at the Alley Cat

Our final stop is Alley Cat Oyster Bar, perched along the Cuyahoga River in the Flats East Bank. With its patio views and breezy atmosphere, it brings a touch of polish to the city’s rustic clambake tradition.

Their late-October event reads like a four-course celebration: New England clam chowder, baked sweet potatoes, cheddar biscuits, a dozen steamed middlenecks with roasted chicken and corn, and a Key lime pie topped with toasted coconut. “Typically, a clambake is more casual,” says sous chef Dave Jedlinski. “We’re trying to make it more of an upscale experience.”

The river traffic adds its own rhythm: yachts and fishing boats gliding past, water slapping against the pilings. As Dale and I watched the light shimmer off the water, we thought how fitting it was that Cleveland’s fall ritual still carries a trace of the sea — proof that this city noted for the Cleveland Browns’ boisterous “Dawg Pound” also has plenty of salty souls.