Ino’s Hideaway
Mari Ness brings us a delicious and transformative review.
~ Julian and Fran, September 28, 2025
For September, The Sunday Morning Transport brings you new stories by Cecilia Tan, Brenda Cooper, Jennifer Hudak, and Mari Ness. As always, the first story of the month is free to read.
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Ino’s Hideaway
by Mari Ness
Arguably the most perplexing part of life here in our little coastal community is the distressing lack of seafood restaurants. Steakhouses? You got it, with no less than three choices at last count. Thai? Everyone’s pad thai needs can be amply fulfilled at the Blossom on Main Street. Vietnamese? Absolutely. Italian? Not just one, but two, one boasting an impressive 4.8 Zagat rating. Mexican? Taco Norteno might not be fancy, but we dare you to find better street tacos outside of Mexico. Doughnuts? Bagels? Four separate bakeries meet our needs every morning.
But despite our abundant ocean access and views, seafood, not to be found, forcing seafood lovers to either cook at home (perish the thought) or travel at least two hours to fulfill that fried shrimp craving.
So to say we were thrilled to hear about the plans for Ino’s Hideaway, a new beachside specialty seafood restaurant located right over the ocean (more on this soon), is a bit of an understatement. Especially after we were able to confirm that Ino’s Hideaway would not be owned by any chain restaurants or megacorporations (not that we object to such places in dire emergencies) but would be a locally owned, locally sourced establishment.
And like everyone else, we could not help but be intrigued by all of the urban legends that immediately sprang up around the place. Did the new owners of Ino’s Hideaway really sport tattoos that look exactly like fish scales on their wrists and arms? Were the chefs really wheelchair users? Did a pod of dolphins help install the restaurant’s pilings? Were all the dishes served on mother-of-pearl plates? And—perhaps most important—was the seafood—samples of which were served at the city’s annual Spring into the Sea Festival prior to opening—really and truly out of this world?
We couldn’t wait. So the second we could get our group together—your two local foodies, two out-of-town food critics, a writer in town for a visit, and a marine biologist—we headed out to Sandals Beach to see what we could taste.
First, one bit of truth—Ino’s Hideaway is indeed well out into the ocean, connected to Sandals Beach by a 1000 foot long pier that is, on its own, well worth the visit. We spotted abundant seagulls, pelicans, mullet, and even one stingray on our way out; the owners assured us that the occasional manatee or dolphin also stops by. Be warned, however: the pier has no lighting and no boat access. A full moon provided more than enough light for our mildly inebriated return, but those who don’t see well in the dark might want to consider another restaurant during a new moon.
That lack of boat access probably also explains why the menu is so short on pretty much anything other than fish and various seaweeds—we’ll get to those in a moment, promise. Not that vegans and vegetarians won’t find plenty of things to sample, but if you were hoping for some beef or chicken to accompany your grouper, forget it. Land vegetables, too, are in relatively short supply—we caught a few tomatoes and potatoes here and there, along with spinach and other green veggies—but most dishes, from soups through dessert, are served without grains, fruits, or land vegetables.
Though all this said, Ino’s Hideaway does provide apple pie and flourless chocolate cake in its dessert selection—though, as you’ll see, we recommend another selection.
And speaking of restaurant access, the owners warned us that during king tides or particularly rough seas, salt water cannot just splash, but slightly start to lap over portions of the pier. So, again, nervous diners should probably plan to come during low tide—and for lunch. The owners tell us that they do have plans to set up boat access at the end of the pier, next to the restaurant, which should quell some concerns—but that bright lights on these boats will be severely discouraged. “We like the stars,” they said.
Ino’s Hideaway does not take reservations, and is already so popular that we had to wait a good forty-five minutes to be served—time we spent looking for dolphins. Once a table opened, however, we were warmly greeted by owner Iache, whose neck and arms display an astonishing set of shimmering iridescent tattoos that look almost exactly like fish scales, and who personally escorted us to our table, right next to a window with a spectacular ocean view and right above one of Ino’s Hideaway’s glass bottom floor panels—allowing us a perfect view of colorful fish, seaweed, and what our marine biologist friend swiftly identified as staghorn and finger corals.
Those glass bottom floor panels offer the only hint of expense in what is otherwise an almost aggressively informal environment: the tables are made of driftwood; seats are made of netting; and the walls are covered with other bits and pieces evidently rescued from the sea. We frankly felt a touch overdressed in jeans and T-shirts, especially since other diners were wearing swimsuits and wetsuits. Then again, after watching the skin of many of those wetsuit diners turn faintly green over the course of the evening, we could not help but congratulate ourselves on our sensible clothing choices.
Guided by the expert waitstaff, who are able to detail each and every dish, as well as explain precisely where and how the seafood was fished, we began with a lobster chowder—the last time potatoes would appear on our table. Hearty, with just a touch of sweetness, the generous cups lulled all of us, we agreed, into a sense of relaxation, so deep that we could barely focus on anything other than the sounds of the ocean just outside and below.
That deep sense of relaxation was probably why we agreed without hesitation to share and sample four appetizers at the table, at the suggestion of waitstaff. The freshly shucked raw oysters garnered no complaint, despite a lack of cocktail sauce or lemon—fulfilling the waitstaff’s promise that the oysters could stand alone. The fresh jellyfish, on the other hand—tastefully arranged on a large plate to resemble six different phases of the moon—most definitely needed some sort of sauce, we thought, or at the very least a touch of lime juice. And although we have no reason to think that this dish was anything other than carefully prepared, we do feel ethically required to note that at least two of us felt ourselves feeling somewhat squishy, for lack of a better term, after eating the crescent moon pieces, with our writer friend somewhat drastically illustrating the feeling by pushing a finger deeply into an arm.
Fortunately, still lulled into contentment by the lobster chowder, we were able to distract ourselves with the next two appetizers: a spicy kelp salad and what was described to us as a sponge salad. The zing of the kelp salad was strong enough to almost make us feel that something was brushing up against our arms, while remaining crisp enough to make our mouths feel freshly washed. The sponge salad, it must be admitted, gave us a few qualms: the bright orange color reminded more than one of us of some unfortunate encounters with fire sponge on snorkeling trips, and our marine biologist friend warned us that sponges, as a species, tend to gather all sorts of questionable materials into their structures, and also contain sharp silicates that could injure our throats. This all sounded exciting, as was the actual dish: crunchy but bright tasting, somehow able to conjure up the memories of snorkeling just above a coral reef.
After a pause for some white wine and kelp liqueur—an odd mix of sand and vodka—it was time for the main courses. Our marine biologist friend, concerned about ethical sourcing, chose the littleneck clams after consulting with the waitstaff, who were able to provide what some of us felt was an excess of information about the fishing methods. The resulting dish, the friend confirmed, was quite tasty, and paired well with the suggested white wine.
The rest of us were eager to try the house specialty dishes—if not quite adventurous enough to try the chef’s swordfish dish, which, the waitstaff warned us, leaves diners feeling as if their very throats have been opened to new possibilities. Instead we opted to try the seared scallops, the Atlantic salmon, the locally sourced spiny lobster, and the locally sourced mullet—sharing nibbles from each plate. We also tried sides of spiced sea cucumber, kelp noodles, and seaweed chips fried up with sesame oil.
The results—sublime. Just one taste of the mullet wrapped in a local seaweed and grilled to perfection made us feel as if we were swimming in warm salty water—delightfully refreshed. The seared scallops had a bite to them that reminded us of accidentally touching stony corals and feeling a sting zip up through your skin—only this shock provided as much pleasure as pain. When we bit into the Atlantic salmon, we could actually feel the ocean rushing past our skin at high speed; a second bite made us feel the floor rise and fall below us, as if we were soaring on the waves. Yes, it was that good. The spiny lobster did require some effort to eat, served as it was with the shell intact, but was well worth the effort: we almost felt like shedding our skins, leaping into the ocean, and starting life anew after the first sweet bite. We didn’t, because we had the rest of the side dishes—and dessert—to get through first.
The side dishes were equally impressive. We can’t tell you what spices were in the sea cucumber; all we can tell you is that the texture upon our tongues was perfect—smooth, slippery, without a touch of sliminess, yet easily sliding down our throats. The kelp noodles, cooked al dente, made an admirable substitute for pasta—we might even recommend serving the seaweed-wrapped mullet over them.
And we were so impressed with the seaweed chips—crunchy, tasty, with just a hint of salt, a welcome change from potato chips—that we requested a recipe. Sadly, Ino’s Hideaway is keeping its recipes secret—for now—but we plan to do a few experiments at home to see if we can replicate the flavor and texture. If so, we’ve found our new favorite snack.
By this time, some of us were looking a bit colorful, but full as we were, we could not pass up dessert. Our marine biologist friend opted for the apple pie, which was everything such a pastry should be: flaky, sweet, tart, and delicately spiced, though the vanilla ice cream that topped the pie was, alas, not homemade, and rather bland—perhaps to be expected from a kitchen that clearly steers clear of items gathered from the land. The rest of us opted to try the signature Ino’s Foaming Pie, which promised an otherworldly experience.
We can confidently say it did not disappoint.
From its initial presentation on a mother-of-pearl dish to the final bite we scraped from the plate, every second of this dessert was a marvel. The dish arrived at our table still foaming, creating delightful miniature waves. Unable to let it settle, we dug in with polished wooden spoons—carved, we were told, from local driftwood. Sweet and salty and light as air, the foam melted into our mouths and brought us visions of colorful coral reefs swaying in the salt reef. We could not resist digging all the way down to the flaky kelp crust, even as colors swirled before our eyes.
A few of us even swore that we could hear the sounds of mermaids singing, though it is only fair to note that our marine biologist friend—possibly distracted by the apple pie—heard no such sounds.
That night, we all—except for the marine biologist—dreamed of swimming in the deep cold of the ocean. And most of us—again, except for the marine biologist—found that our skin turned a bit scaly over the next few days, almost certainly a reaction to either the seaweed chips or the foaming pie. But we all agreed that this was a minor price to pay for a dinner like this, even considering the enormous tab the tattooed waitstaff left, smiling, on our table.
Public parking for Ino’s Hideaway is available next to Sandals Beach, at a cost of $10 per hour from November through April; $8 per hour May through October. No boat access is available. Ino’s Hideaway does not accept reservations; prices range from $to$$. The restaurant is fully wheelchair accessible, but be prepared for a long push along the pier.
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Thank you for joining our journey this week.
Other work by Mari Ness appears in a number of zines and anthologies, including Reactor, Clarkesworld, Uncanny, Lightspeed, Nightmare, Apex, Strange Horizons, Baffling, and Haven Spec, and has been short-listed for the Hugo and Canopus Awards. For more, visit https://marikness.wordpress.com/, or follow @mariness.bsky.social.
“Ino’s Hideaway,” © Mari Ness, 2025.
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Delightful! <3