Philadelphia Weekly

Ah, the perils of the shore. Sticky traffic. Gas money. Ozone depletion. And that's before you're even out of Philly. Once there, you've got to brave near-sighted bubbes rear-ending you in Margate, senior week and super troopers plate-profiling in North Wildwood. Excuse me, Wildwood Crest.

But we still go. I always go. Because after that first gulp of salty air when you cross the bridge into your favorite beach haven, it all just feels so ... worth it. Polluting the earth sucks, sure, but being stuck back in the hot sticky city sucks more.

If 50 miles of vehicular emissions has you feeling guilty, dining at a restaurant that recycles and uses a water-and-energy-efficient Ecolab dishwashing system may help quell your eco-anxiety. Like when the Catholic Church auctioned off indulgences, eating at seaside BYOB Gertrude's is an easy, pleasant way to save your carbon soul. Salivate for salvation, I say.

After 18 years at the well-regarded Water's Edge in Cape May and beating pancreatic cancer, chef/owner Neil R. Elsohn and his wife Karen wanted to downsize. So they found an empty 24-seat storefront in Ventnor and renovated with nontoxic sage green paint and recycled table bases. Jersey seascapes hang on clothespins, a makeshift art gallery for local photog Geoffrey Agrons.

Gertrude's opened in April, and I barely squeezed in the Wednesday night before Memorial Day weekend. One waitress had the whole floor, and I was warned things might go slow. Juggling nine tables at once, she did a better job than the three servers on a return visit when I needed to ask for more bread twice.

People all shades of green can get down with Gertrude's regional American menu--printed on recycled paper, natch. Kissed by Floribbean and Southwestern flavors, it certainly isn't shy. Ancho chilies. Chipotles. Jalape�os. Scallions. Lime. Lots and lots of cilantro, which I love but a lot of people don't.

Controlled, confident seasoning--like in a classic Jamaican jerk shrimp with grilled pineapple, or penne with tasso ham, crab meat and lime cream that's bright and interesting despite being soupy--is the refreshingly brazen style of a man who's veered from the mainstream most of his life. But unchecked, the food sometimes tastes and looks busy.

Drizzled with preserved ginger caramel, the blackened scallops taste a bit like ocean-flavored candy. Crusted in cashews, the flaky roasted grouper is also a shade too sweet with brown-sugared baked beans and bananas sauteed in dark rum, lime and coconut milk.

According to Elsohn, a "fish- eating vegetarian" who taught yoga in the '60s, ingredients are "local whenever we can, organic whenever we can." Right now, that's only about 25 percent, which seems to me a halfassed commitment given that even the most remote restaurant in Bumblefuck could be 100 percent organic if they really wanted to in these Michael Pollan-ated times. Normally I wouldn't even care, but since Gertrude's casts itself in an ultra-green limelight, I can't help feeling a bit duped.

All of the fish is wild-caught--a suitably green practice--except the organic farm-raised yellowfin tuna, a lovely grilled steak paired with crab-and-corn salsa and nutty, healthy quinoa. The field greens salad with pistachio-crusted Coach Farms goat cheese is perfect for the stubbornly boring eater in your life.

Though he barely eats the stuff, steak is Elsohn's forte. Splashed with sinus-clearing horseradish bearnaise, the applewood-smoked bacon-wrapped filet mignon would make any carnivore swoon, but the real piece-de-resistance is the cowboy steak, heralded with sex noises from the bejeweled pleated-khaki crowd every time one emerges from the kitchen.

Before I know it, I'm moaning along in the ecstasy of the grilled, bone-in, 23-day dry-aged certified Angus, 24-to-28-ounce, chili-powder-and-brown-sugar-rubbed, Tabasco-butter-glazed, goat-cheese-ancho-chili-and-oven-dried-tomato-stuffed $54 steak. The beef would still be amazing without all that hoo-ha, but honestly I can't imagine it any other way.

Digging through the layers of flavor and texture is joyous work: first the charred, crusty edges; a lush rainbow of fat; forking my way toward the soft, bloody center; each smoky bite ending in a swift, sneaky tingle of spice. It tastes so absolutely like summertime.

I'd gladly swap out dessert--decent boxed tarts and house-made strawberry shortcake that, ironically, needs sugar--for another steak.

Odd that Gertrude's quest is to be green but it's the carnivore's delight that hits its mark. Though there are kinks to work out, that cowboy is righteous enough to make even the most pious planeteer steer down the shore.