During my 20 years in the Houston area, I spent some of my most memorable times in Galveston and on the Bolivar Peninsula. It was mostly the latter, as my economic circumstances usually dictated that my time on the island be confined to that required to make the trip down Broadway to Seawall Boulevard, thence on to the Bolivar Ferry landing.

I did, however, spend plenty of time prowling the Seawall, watching the tourists cavort and eating local seafood whenever time and budget permitted. Just as in any seaside town, if you watch where the locals go to eat, you'll find not only the best prices, but the best food, as well.

One restaurant that broke that rule was Gaido's, long famous for the giant blue crab mounted above the door and the old-school white linen tablecloths and decidedly upscale service and menu. At a casual glance, you could be forgiven for thinking this was the sort of place designed to relieve well-heeled tourists of their excess coinage, and a fair amount of that does go on, but one meal would show that tourists aren't the only reason the place has been in business since 1911.

In December, I made my first trip back to my much-loved island since Hurricane Ike savaged the area. Coming in on Broadway, the main road connecting the Galveston Causeway to the east side of the island, there was a good bit of damage still to be seen. Smitty's, the bait camp where I'd stopped to buy shrimp for my frequent largely unsuccessful fishing expeditions, was surrounded by piles of debris but still seemingly in business. The fast-food joints and convenience stores that dotted the street almost all bore some scars, and some were still closed. As we'll discuss next week, however, I was by far not seeing the worst of it.

My father and older son, Alex, were along for the trip, the object of which was to give Alex his first ride on the Bolivar Ferry. I'd spent many happy times as a child and adult feeding Cheetos to the seagulls from the back of the ferry as it chugged across Galveston Bay, watching pods of dolphins chase the boat and watching the tankers line up to proceed up the Houston Ship Channel.

As the ferry left the landing and made its turn into the bay, I saw a hint that Ike's wrath had not been confined to a few ripped-off roofs. At Seawolf Park, the USS Stewart, a destroyer escort decommissioned after WWII and donated to the park in 1972, had been heaved out of its berth and sat at a roughly 30-degree angle on solid ground, with a pleasure boat crushed underneath it. What looked like a large piece of the conning tower of the Cavalla, the submarine berthed alongside the Stewart, sat on the dock. The two vessels had always been constants, landmarks that defined my arrival to and departure from the island on the ferry.

We made the trip over and back. Alex, big for a 3-year-old but still only 3, decided the big flock of hungry gulls was a bit intimidating and chose to watch me feed the gulls from the upper deck with his grandfather. I did my "Cheeto from the lips" trick, where I hold a long cheese puff between my teeth and let a gull take it, and generally showed off the way fathers have done for sons since time began.

It was lunchtime when we made it back to the island landing. I had decided against driving down the peninsula, having seen pictures of the Ike damage and not wanting to be another vulture gawking at the destruction wrought on people I'd known, broken bread with and spent many fine hours entertaining. It didn't take much urging to convince Dad that Gaido's was a good spot for our meal. We made our way down Seawall Boulevard, past RVs and big trailers sporting the names of various reconstruction and remodeling companies, and parked in the half-full streetside lot.

Inside the restaurant, which was closed briefly after Ike but still fed thousands of meals to rescue and relief workers in the parking lot, it was as if nothing had changed. The decor, nautical without that overwhelming kitschiness endemic in chain joints, was still intact. The white-shirted waitstaff, linen tablecloths and leather dining-table chairs were all still there. Within these walls, Ike had never happened.

In the last few years, some of the Houston-area restaurant critics have on occasion savaged Gaido's for culinary missteps and a serious straying from the "local seafood" philosophy that made it an island icon. To be honest, some of the criticism was deserved. However, post-Ike, it seems as if some of the old magic has come back to the kitchen. My dad ordered a platter of Gulf oysters prepared in a variety of ways including my old favorite, Oysters Rockefeller, which is one of those culinary dinosaurs rarely seen on today's trend-obsessed menus.

I started with an order of crab cakes that were made the way I make my own: loads of crabmeat with just enough breading to hold them together and a light touch of seasoning. They were meltingly delicious, especially with a little drawn butter for dipping. For an entree, I went for blackened snapper, which combines two of my favorite things in the world: red snapper and Cajun spice. Many times, ordering a blackened dish means you'll be served a wretchedly overcooked lump of fish that's been seasoned within an inch of its life. That was not the case here. The fish was perfectly flaky and tender and the seasoning crust had real bite without being overpowering.

Hearing someone at an adjoining table asking about soft-shell crabs, I immediately flagged our server and asked her if there were any available. Before long, I was tucking into two perfectly fried soft-shells which left me so full I thought I'd require assistance to leave the premises. Gaido's desserts are all made in-house, but they'll have to wait for next time.

To be fair, the restaurant was nearly empty when we arrived, but anyone who's been in the business knows it's just as easy to get poorly done food and slipshod service at slack times, when the kitchen staff is trimmed back and frequently the more-experienced waitstaff take off for the day. I'm going to give my old haunt the benefit of the doubt here and say that once again the giant blue crab is presiding over Galveston's finest seafood.

The experiences in this week's column took place entirely on the East End and Seawall area of Galveston. Next week, we'll come in from the west and explore territory previously unknown to your humble scribe, the fabled West End and Bluewater Highway.