I once took a summer job managing retail inventory for a kitchen accessories brand. It involved visiting small-town Walmarts in South Carolina to ensure ladles, spatulas and other siliconized widgetry were properly displayed. Yes, it was easy. It was also boring enough to engender a side quest: a tasting tour of fish camps.
Before heading to the parking lot, I would ask the fattest sandlapper in blue to point me to the local catfishery. Over time the best of these revealed commonalities. The parking lots were dirt, the seafood fried and piping-hot; rough-cut bubbas rubbed elbows with little old ladies, and hushpuppies were treated like holy sacrament. In these towns church came twice a week, and Friday was for the worship of hot oil and cornmeal. Praise the lord and pass the sweet tea and cole slaw.
Hooked Fish Camp in Sanford is the latest concept (don’t call it a restaurant) from local restaurant group F&D. Although its polish and pavement are a world away from my Palmetto State fry shacks, our arrival did feel similarly biblical. Adjacent Seminole Towne Center is suffering through a “de-malling” process. The restaurants that ring its dusty bones feel like concessions at an end-of-times theme park.
Hooked’s dining room and crowd was more on-genre, relaxed and appropriately diverse. Black, white, brown, a woman in a Gucci bucket hat, Jan. 6 cheerleaders, a biker in his cut on a barstool, golf-shirted suburbanites with Swiftie kids. They slurped chowder, bobbed heads to “Dixie Chicken” and smiled when friendly waitstaff peppered them with performative “y’all”s.
The menu is broad homage: The Carolinas find form in hushpuppies, catfish and flounder; there’s chowder and rolls from New England; fish dip and grouper rep the Sunshine State. Apps include various oyster preps and F&D’s trademark, occasionally super iron-skillet mussels, but we christened our visit with lump crab spinach dip ($15.49). Ordering it felt very when-in-suburban-Rome. Served scorchingly hot, slick with spinach and studded with crab, every Old Bay-seasoned chipful was a treat. Fish dip ($11) was equally enjoyed — a smoky scoop of mixed fish trimmings with minimal binder, house-pickled jalapeños and onions.
Fish camp in three words: Fry, don’t lie. Order a fried platter and challenge the cook to flounder; a fish with zero wiggle room between “done right” and “grease sponge full of shredded flesh.” The kitchen aced it — our flounder filets were faintly translucent, thin ends properly curled. Likewise, shrimp were crisp and spot-on. The rest of the Big Daddy Seafood Platter ($30) — clam strips, oysters, fries — was forgettable even if desecrated greens burned their way into memory with a smokiness that was less pork than overheated brake pad.
Blackened grouper and shrimp ($28) arrived unblackened but with tasty sweet-spicy cornbread, crisp green beans and a moreish dirty rice with sausage. The seafood was fresh, simple and properly cooked. Lump crab cakes ($32) were less successful; too few lumps, too much filler and with a remoulade that failed to invigorate. Among various handhelds we opted for a flavorful, abundant buttered Maine lobster roll ($39). It’s the best of three $39 rolls we’ve had in recent months — the biggest fish in a small, expensive pond.
For dessert, a slice of Key lime pie ($10) delivered the perfect amount of pucker-up balanced by delicious graham-cracker crumb. The summation? Hooked is clearly fish-camp fantasy, more suited to an airport than a riverbank. It’s also a quality catch for Sanford. It’s fun, well-run and offers such a broad range of capably prepared seastuff it’s easy to find something that’ll satisfy — like shooting fish in a (cracker) barrel.
Hooked Fish Camp, 550 Towne Center Circle, Sanford, 321-248-9169, hookedfishcamp.com.
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This article appears in Oct. 21-27, 2026.
