W. H. Stiles Fish Camp

Great seltzer, forgettable food. I left my oysters on the plate—and that’s nothing like the Peach!

My friend and I arrived around 8 PM to eat. I noticed the exterior-facing doors but assumed the main entrance was inside Ponce City Market, so we headed in—only to be greeted by… nothing. No host, no signage, no “someone will be right with you.” Nothing.
We stood around, trying to figure out where to go. There was no signage indicating that we needed to walk to the back of the restaurant (the side facing the BeltLine) to place an order or find seating.
We got in line behind a couple and questioned whether we were even in the right line—was this just for takeout? Were we supposed to order before sitting down? The couple behind us was wondering the same thing. At that point, I figured we’d just find out when we got to the register.
Turns out, you place your order at the counter, take a number, seat yourself, and they bring the food out to you. Which made me wonder: why was there no signage explaining any of that? A simple note saying 1) order at the counter and 2) both dine-in and takeout go through the same line would’ve saved a lot of confusion.
I also couldn’t help but wonder why none of the kitchen staff thought to point us in the right direction while we stood there clearly confused. But I digress.

My friend ordered a lobster roll, charbroiled oysters, and the strawberry seltzer.
We were both surprised when, as soon as she said “seltzer,” the cashier turned around and made it fresh from the draft spouts behind the register. Now that’s what I call service.
I ordered the shrimp bánh mì, oysters Rockefeller, and a lime mint seltzer.
The bánh mì because anytime I see lemongrass on a food menu, my taste buds start tingling. The oysters because I love oysters, obviously. And the seltzer? I’m always down to try a craft non-alcoholic drink, especially if it’s being touted as a signature item. I’m not usually a seltzer girl, but I’ll try it.
Service was fine, nothing extraordinary, but I’m not holding that against our waiter. By the end of the visit, it was clear he was doing everything: cashier, seltzer maker, server. The restaurant was clearly understaffed, and he was overworked.
We took our number and headed to an outdoor table in the nautical-themed seating area: ship, boat, ocean… you get it. I love Ponce City Market, so sitting outside and people-watching was a bonus.
After watching my host-waiter-cashier-seltzer-maker muddle the mint into my drink, I was excited to give it a taste, and I wasn’t disappointed. The seltzer was crisp, light, and didn’t feel like it would leave me bloated after eating. The lime and mint weren’t distinctly noticeable on their own, but they blended together in a refreshing little symphony—like a lite Sprite without the poison.

We were mid-conversation when my bánh mì appeared out of nowhere. We were both surprised: how did the entrée arrive before the appetizer?
I usually like to wait until everyone has their food, but since my main came out before my starter, there was no telling when the rest would show up. So I went ahead and dug in.
The bánh mì looked good, with plump, well-cooked shrimp. It came with a side of Utz crab chips.
I don’t like shoving an entire sandwich into my mouth, so I looked to cut it in half, except I wasn’t given any cutlery. I ended up breaking it apart by hand, trying not to get too messy since I was only given one napkin… and there was no wait service to ask for more.
When I took the first bite, I couldn’t tell if I liked it. And for me, that’s an automatic fail—when something’s good, I know it’s good.
The taste leaned a little too homemade. It’s hard to explain, but it reminded me of something I could’ve made myself after Googling a shrimp bánh mì recipe. And that’s no shade—I can cook. But restaurant food should have a certain finesse to it: layers, boldness, something that sets it apart. This didn’t have that. Not bad, just… not elevated.
The Utz crab chips were a fantastic pairing. They added an unexpected dimension that actually complemented the bánh mì—especially when eaten in the same bite. The more I ate, the more I enjoyed it, but with the understanding that I’d probably never order this dish again.
Half of that’s on me. I don’t really like the logistics of a shrimp sandwich. Either you commit to biting into a whole shrimp, or you take a half-bite and end up with pieces sliding out. I had two or three lonely little shrimp pieces on my plate by the time I was done.
Meanwhile, my friend’s lobster roll and oysters arrived, still no sign of my oysters. One bite in, she said the lobster roll wasn’t better than the one at our favorite oyster bar. Good, but not great. That seemed to be the theme of the night.

She liked her oysters, which only made me wonder where mine were, until they finally showed up.

The first one looked like it was missing the topping altogether. I tried it anyway. Didn’t love the mouthfeel, but I stayed open and went in for another.

What I tasted could best be described as a baked oyster topped with a thin layer of New England clam chowder. There was no crust. When cheese is charbroiled, it crusts. So… where was the crust?

Personally, I’ve never met an oyster I didn’t like. Raw, charbroiled, fried—I love them all. Until today.

One of the oysters was so big I had to bite into it. And when I did, the topping slid right off—a hallmark sign that it wasn’t cooked long enough for the topping to bind. I hated the texture and decided that was my last bite. 

My friend offered me the rest of her oysters after realizing you’re not supposed to reheat them. I tasted one; better, but still not great. I got a little spinach, a lot of breadcrumb, and again, no sign of that signature cheese crust you expect on a properly baked oyster.

I had originally planned to take mine to go. I hate wasting food, but I couldn’t see myself enjoying them any more later than I did at the table. I left my oysters, and the ones my friend offered me, on the plate.

As we wrapped up, my friend said, “I’d come back.”

I looked at her and said, “No you wouldn’t.”

Not when we’ve had better lobster rolls elsewhere for the same price. Not when we usually go through multiple plates of oysters and could barely finish one here.

She agreed.

Then I corrected myself. I would return. For the seltzer. I was genuinely pleased with it. It sparkled, while everything else fell flat.