One of my least favorite phrases is “I’ll course it all out for you.” I have been burned by this promise more times than I can count, usually resulting in hot and cold dishes colliding or a salad landing 10 seconds before the entrée. I am, temperamentally, closer to Sally Albright than I would like to admit. “I just want it the way I want it.” I love a long dinner where the drinks match the dish and food is timed appropriately. So, it is significant when I say that at Fish Shop, the phrase actually delivered.

Located on a bustling stretch of East Sixth, Fish Shop is the first solo concept from Justin Huffman and Nicole Rossi. Prior to opening their own place, the two were fixtures at Justine’s Brasserie – Huffman in the kitchen and Rossi running the floor – before Huffman spent the pandemic sourcing fish directly from coastal fisheries. The space they have built together manages a difficult trick: It feels like a cross between a high-energy party and a reliable neighborhood joint.

I’ll admit, I walked in with a healthy dose of skepticism. I’d seen the kerfuffle between the owner and a local influencer when they first opened, and I’d pored through the Reddit threads where posters were convinced the five-star reviews were paid. That kind of digital noise makes me wary. But if 20 years covering this industry has taught me anything, it’s that a Reddit thread cannot shuck an oyster or balance a daiquiri.

On weekends, the place fills early. By 6:30pm, a couple without reservations was turned away and told to try again closer to 9pm. Lunch is another story. Midday, the room relaxes. You can walk in, grab a martini, and be back at work without feeling rushed. 

Credit: Fish Shop

Fish Shop’s design is well-considered without trying too hard, with brown leather banquettes, globe lights, and embroidered fish on the curtains. A bell rings when a Guinness pours, which sounds gimmicky until it becomes part of the soundtrack. The most charming touch is Rossi’s vintage dishware collection; every order of peel-and-eat shrimp arrives on a different thrifted find, keeping things playful. The room is loud but not obtrusive, forcing you to lean into your date and laugh a little louder over cocktails.

The drink program is bright and balanced. The Martini Rossi is the standout – briny and unctuous, a word I loathe but is apropos here – using botanical gin and Cocchi Americano. The Regal Daiquiri is perfectly tart, though I noticed a lag in the second round during the Saturday rush. The Salty Dog is simple and classic, while the Quiet Storm, made with vodka, St-Germain, pineapple, and bubbles, stays fruity without veering sweet.

Don’t sleep on the specials. They rotate constantly and celebrate the freshest catch. A recent bluefin tuna crudo version arrived with orange blossom crème fraîche and green tomatoes, balancing fat and acid. It was served atop sourdough “lavash” that tasted like seasoned pizza crust, though the cracker was structurally difficult to navigate. One eager bite sent a dollop of crème fraîche directly onto my shirt.

The raw bar shines. The house-cultivated farmed Gulf oysters are bright and clean, dressed with Thai chile and puffed rice that briefly startled my husband into thinking it was shell. Peel-and-eat shrimp arrive split for easy peeling. While the cocktail sauce is smoky and thick, the Louie sauce – with citrus zest and a whisper of apricot brandy – is the star. Save some for fries.

Then there is the Caesar Salad à la Zuni (honoring the famed San Fran restaurant), one of the best versions I’ve had in a long time. Anchovy-forward but balanced with creamy dressing, tangy pepper, and super crispy romaine, it arrives dusted in a snow of parmesan. It needs more croutons, but that’s a minor quibble.

Credit: Fish Shop

A mid-meal transition brought clean plates, a small detail that many modern spots have sadly forgotten. We need to talk about the prices, though. The lobster toast ($31.65) is beautifully seasoned, featuring sweet lobster and caviar on buttery brioche, but it is undeniably small. It remains firmly in the shareable appetizer category. The lobster is good enough that it doesn’t really need the caviar to shine – perhaps losing the expensive garnish might bring the price down to a more reasonable level for a few bites of toast. Similarly, the Normandy mussels, in cider, apple cream, and butter broth ($32.85), require an add-on of frites ($9) or sourdough ($12.50) to feel like a whole dish. Transporting me briefly to a French sidewalk, the broth is the best part, and leaving it unmopped would be a mistake.

The “secret” menu darling is the Filet-O-Fish, a rockfish sandwich that puts its McDonald’s inspiration to shame with a remarkably crunchy crust and acidic slaw. We also tried Le Beef Burger, a wagyu quarter-pounder with American cheese and a “secret sauce” of mayo, tomato jam, pickles, and mustard. The flavor was excellent, though the meat could have rested another minute to save the bun from a dampening fate. Fries hit a pleasant middle ground: not too thick, not shoestring; crisp, salty, with some skin left on. 

Dessert is low-key. The affogato is straightforward but needs a more generous scoop of gelato to stand up to the espresso. I never made it to a tempting honey pie; the martinis had done their job. The check comes with a “Fortune Teller” cellophane fish, a kitschy novelty that curls in your palm and fits the seaside theme.

I was born and raised in Austin – yep, a “unicorn” – and I’ve spent 20 years writing about, marketing, and occasionally crying in the walk-ins of this city’s eateries. I mention this because I believe restaurants are a city’s backbone, places where culture mixes and meals become memories. Pointing out misses is not about tearing anyone down. Small things make or break a place.

Fish Shop already understands many of those things. The service is friendly and helpful, and the food is delicious. While the internet was fighting over drama, the kitchen was proving that, despite the high price of entry, the quality of hospitality here is very real. On a loud Saturday night, with cold martinis and steady pacing, I stopped managing the evening and let it unfold. On the way out, the Guinness bell rang again, cutting through the Saturday night hum. It felt like a neighborhood place found its anchor.

This article appears in February 20 • 2026.

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