Food Feature: Architecture on the beach

Florida is all theme parks. The theme of Palm Beach is Wealth. The theme of South Beach is Sex. The theme of Orlando is Theme Parks. On the Panhandle along Route 30A, in an area popularly known as the Redneck Riviera, the theme used to be Rustic Beach Colony. Generations of Southerners have vacationed in the weathered bungalows of communities along this dazzling stretch of coast, like Grayton Beach and Seagrove Beach.

Then, in 1981, a visionary developer and pair of architects began an experiment. They would create a new town, just behind the dunes. It would have the scale and heart of an old town, a mix of commercial and residential uses, and an intimate grid of streets. Its houses would be fresh takes on the ubiquitous Florida “cracker shack,” the region’s vernacular dwelling.

They would have a coherent look and scale — and picket fences, and front porches. Tucked safely behind the houses, a network of sandy footpaths would lead to the beach. Thus was born the now-famous town of Seaside — and the planning concept known as “the New Urbanism.”

A nostalgic but highly designed cottage colony was right on target for the Southeast, where historic house styles are exalted, and interior decorating is pursued with the zeal of a blood sport. The go-go economy of the last two decades didn’t hurt, either. Seaside was a phenomenal success, and is virtually built out now.

Seaside’s original houses do resemble the modest cracker shack. And virtually all use traditional materials like clapboard siding and tin roofs, and heat-busting elements like deep overhangs, and open foundations through which air can circulate. But the houses got bigger and more fabulous. People were inspired by the vision of the place. And architects — including some of the most prominent, like Aldo Rossi, Scott Merrill, Leon Krier and Steven Holl — grabbed the town’s stringent design codes, and stretched them as far as they would go. As a result, the theme of Seaside is Architectural Exuberance. The variety and ingenuity of the houses is kaleidoscopic, almost dizzying. Yet every building still fits perfectly, complementing its neighbors in looks and scale.

So now there are two reasons to travel down Highway 30A: spectacular beaches with fine, singing, white sand and clear aqua water — and a living museum of marvelous design.

You could spend days just ambling around Seaside, taking it all in. When you do, don’t worry about letting your jaw drop. Because of its architecture — and its restaurants, shops and galleries — Seaside is now a tourist attraction in its own right, drawing constant throngs.

The New Urbanism has spawned dozens of developments around the country. And Seaside spawned two similar communities, nearby. WaterColor, right next door, also reflects traditional Southern styles. Just getting started, the development promises to settle agreeably into the sandy terrain of scrub oak and palmetto, salt marsh and lagoon.

But where Seaside goes wild in color and form, WaterColor is subdued. In place of Seaside’s tomato reds and raspberry purples, soaring roofs and towers, WaterColor uses a restrained palette, and more uniformly traditional building elements. Thus WaterColor’s theme is Seaside With the Brakes on.

Down the road is Rosemary Beach. It shares a similar town concept, but its style is an unclassifiable mix of European and vaguely Caribbean motifs.

The parking problem gets out of hand at Seaside. At Rosemary Beach, this problem was solved by raising the houses over brick or stucco ground levels which conceal garages. Thus, the feel is heavier, more vertical and urban: no picket fences here.

Above, houses have the look of Swiss chalets, or the thick-walled cottages of Bermuda, or the bourgeois town houses of Curacao and Amsterdam. They’re painted dark, earthy colors. Some have hugely oversized brackets supporting balconies. Others have wildly curving gables. Many have gaslights or other flourishes recalling Olde Europe. It’s all internally consistent, and rather beautiful — but otherworldly, and hardly rooted in this sunny, sandy place. Its theme is that all-time holiday-fantasy favorite, Somewhere Else.

Rosemary Beach doesn’t recapitulate the indigenous design of Florida — but then neither did Palm Beach, which was built in the Mediterranean Revival mode, or Miami Beach, which was meant to resemble the machines of the early 20th century. That didn’t keep either of those resorts from achieving success.

Even the old, non-planned communities along Highway 30A, like Grayton Beach and Seagrove Beach, have been infected by the new design. They still have some funky old houses to rent (for less than you’ll pay at Seaside and its progeny). But virtually every new structure built there in the last decade mimics the ice-cream colors and Southern vernacular style called to mind by Seaside.

Tired of architecture touring? There’s always the beach. The wildest, most gorgeous stretch of it — with windswept, sea oat covered dunes, velvety salt marshes, and placid lagoons ideal for canoeing, is found at little Grayton State Park. But even on the beach, the design impulse shows up. On Seaside’s strand, there’s almost always an informal competition to construct the most architectonic sand castle.

After sunning and shopping, wining and dining, you may need a little intellectual stimulation. Sundog Books in Seaside is an indie bookseller of rare quality for a beach town. And the Seaside Institute is equally unusual. It sponsors an ongoing calendar of concerts and arts events, residencies for artists and writers — and of course, programs with an architectural slant, like walking tours and conferences on planning, design and environmental issues. It’s even held an “archi-camp” for kids. Great design: On Florida 30A, you can’t get away from it, even when you’re on vacation.??