It’s the middle of a sunny early-fall afternoon, and the Rose Kennedy Greenway in Downtown Boston is packed with folks walking to and from Chinatown, Faneuil Hall, the North End, and the Seaport. My fiancé and I are wading through the crowded greenway toward a clam chowder kiosk in the iconic Boston food hall Quincy Market—one of a dozen stops I’ll make over the next week as I attempt to find Boston’s best bowl of clam chowder.

I grew up near the coast, on Boston’s North Shore, which means I grew up eating more than my fair share of clam chowder. Some versions were thin; some were thick. Sometimes the clams were tender and sweet and a little briny; sometimes they were tough and hard to chew. My clam chowder–eating was perfunctory and instinctual, the routine behavior of a [serious voice] native New Englander. And it was anything but thoughtful.

That is, until I was asked to define just what exactly makes a good traditional New England clam chowder, and find the top takes on the dish in Boston.

When we arrive at the market, it’s elbow-to-elbow inside—the hall is packed with tourists and newly minted empty nesters whose children have, just hours before, matriculated to one of Boston’s many universities. My fiancé and I amble through the crowd and toward Boston Chowda Co., where diners can order a reasonably sized cup of clam chowder, or a fishbowl’s worth of the stuff, served in a hollowed-out boule. We order the smallest size and find a square foot of counter space to eat on.

The chowder is pleasantly thick and salty, spicy and clammy. The clams are plentiful and tender; the potatoes are velvety, medium-sized chunks; and the base is creamy without feeling like something you might put in your coffee. This is a perfectly good version of New England clam chowder...but is it traditional?