Over the 14 years I’ve lived in Naples, The Turtle Club has been among our first stops when we’ve had houseguests. Sometimes, we sat inside, enveloped by AC and still pampered with views of inky blue and fiery orange sunsets. Most of the time, we took our chances with a table outside—the independently owned Vanderbilt Beach Resort restaurant is one of the few in town with tables on the sand.
It was there that I appropriately saw my first and only turtle hatching: a hundred little black crawlers marching out of the sand into the warm Gulf waters. The arresting site also presented one of my first meals in town. I’d just moved from a snowy New York and was sitting there, sun shining on my spaghetti-strapped back, sandals long kicked off, with my feet playfully running through the finest powder under my table. I’ll never forget that meal: shrimp and crab Napoleon, a bestseller at lunch. If you could create something to define ‘refreshing,’ those delicate layers of fork-tender crabmeat and tiny bites of sweet Gulf shrimp lounging in a pool of smoked tomato vinaigrette (a playful nod to cocktail sauce) would be it. Moments like these earned The Turtle Club their reputation for consistently delectable Gulf cuisine and gracious hospitality, both for locals and with recognition from afar (the restaurant was recently named one of 17 ‘legendary’ Florida restaurants by Southern Living).
Photography by Brian Tietz
Turtle Club outdoor dining
turtle club outside dining tables
When the news broke of the stalwart falling victim to Hurricane Ian’s wrathful storm surge in September 2022, regulars ventured onto the beach with owners Mick Moore and Peter Tierney to survey the wreckage: walls washed away, furniture pushed 50 feet back, the insides needing gutting. “We had longtime guests come and cry with us, seeing what it was like—and then offering to pitch in to help,” Mick recalls. “That was incredibly meaningful to us.”
Nineteen months later, the excitement surrounding the reopening was expected, but the all-out fandemonium surprised even Peter. He incredulously recounts how an online contest guaranteeing three winners a $200 gift card and reservation reopening week garnered 65,000 entries in just two weeks. Today, even in summer, tables remain booked about a month out.
Back when I ‘discovered’ it, The Turtle Club had gained a steady following since its sleepy start in 1998 when co-owner Peter, a Johnson & Wales University grad, was working as the GM of the Edgewater Beach Hotel and itching to start his own restaurant. Michael J. Moore, the second-generation owner of the Vanderbilt Beach Resort, took a chance on the young dreamer. In 2004, Mike’s son Mick, a Dartmouth grad, left practicing law full-time at Roetzel & Andress to join. He, Peter and Mike remain partners, with Mick and Peter running the day-to-day.
Peter’s idea to transform some picnic tables and a shuffleboard court into a full-fledged restaurant took time—but the experience and ensuing success paved the way for the stratospheric rise of Peter Tierney, the restaurateur, and what would become his brand of refined Southern coastal cuisine. With his cousin Dr. Edward “Bud” Negley, Peter went on to own The Bay House (which they later sold); Bellasera Resort and its two cosmopolitan stunners, The Claw Bar and The London Club; and, most recently, The Syren Oyster & Cocktail Bar.
Photography by Brian Tietz
Turtle Club inside dining room
The Turtle Club name was born when Peter and Mike unearthed a dusty old beauty of a loggerhead shell from a storage room at the resort; the barnacled carapace is still an aesthetic centerpiece hanging in the entrance to the dining room. In developing the type of place he’d want to frequent, Peter—who still works with all his chefs, including The Turtle Club’s Dylan Evans—created the seafood-centric menu, which remains unchanged. “I always say ‘Tradition over trend.’ We want to build places that excite the senses for a long time,” he says.
Peter and Mick joke the pitchforks can and do come out if a cherished menu item is removed (they once got 300 emails when they gave the Seafood Sampler a rest in light of rising fish costs)—or even the slightest bit altered (the duo heard about it when they ran out of Pernod for the Oysters Turtlefeller and swapped for anisette). Experimentations are reserved for and elegantly explored in the nightly specials menu, where Dylan and Peter’s love for Asian flavors often makes its way into whatever the boats bring in that day.
Photography by Brian Tietz
The Turtle club crab and shrimp napoleon
The Turtle Club reopened in May. While the space is refreshed, longtime favorites remain, including star starters like the writer's favorite crab and shrimp Napoleon.
The team employed equal restraint when rebuilding the 26-year institution after Ian. “We were very thoughtful in what the restaurant meant to people,” Peter says. “I think, ‘What a great honor to have created something like this, and why the hell do you want to mess with it?’” He recalls the nearby senior care residents who come in three or four times a week for lunch and write home to children about memorable meals, the family who had their father’s ashes sprinkled on the beach in front of the man’s favorite restaurant, the many anniversary dinners. “We’ve had so many proposals,” Mick adds.
Satisfying demand, the team refreshed the space but kept the bones. In daylight, there are the obvious charms, but there’s something extraordinary in the hour right after sunset. The glow of gas-lit torches illuminating the path to the beach, the gleam of each table light, a milky cast from the moon above—it all creates a sense of intimacy in the wild, wide-open expanse.
Photography by Brian Tietz
Turtle Club refreshing beverage
Reservations remain booked about a month out, with locals eager to reclaim their spots at one of the sole restaurants in town where you can dine—and sip refreshing drinks like the Cucumber Cooler—directly on the sand.