Oysters

You have to commit your most valuable asset in order to truly enjoy oysters; you must set aside your time. You can’t rush eating oysters. The time leading up to, during and then afterwards should be anticipated, savored then relished. You need to slow down to appreciate the experience.

When I think of oysters, I think of platters of plump, fresh, cold, glistening morsels resting in half shells on cracked ice with lemon, mignonette sauce and maybe some Tabasco.

You can certainly cook oysters, if you want. In fact one of my most memorable meals was in South Carolina at an outdoor restaurant near the water. The women sat at one picnic bench, the men at another as washbasin after washbasin of steaming oysters made their way to our plates. Washed down with ice-cold pitchers of beer the oysters were excellent. But separating the men and women and eating on picnic tables out in the open isn’t the ideal way to eat oysters.

When I think of eating oysters I think of cold weather, nighttime and candles. This is when oysters are at their peak. For me, eating oysters is intimate, it’s cause for quiet voices, laughter and shared secrets. You shouldn’t eat oysters alone.

Once, we received an invitation to celebrate a very cold New Year’s Eve at a friend’s house. I brought three-dozen oysters, a shucking knife and a block of ice. At one point after a few glasses of Champaign I started shucking and arranging the oysters on platters of chipped ice. We had exhausted all available counter and refrigerator space so I took advantage of the freezing weather and carried the finished plates outside to a table on the deck. Distracted by some very good music and slow dancing, I lost track of the oysters. When I remembered and brought them inside they were just this side of frosted. We let them set for a few minutes and to this day, they are still the best I’ve eaten.

In the city we go to Blue Ribbon, a downtown restaurant and raw bar with a consistent, exceptional selection. Their offerings usually include bluepoints, Malpeques and Wellfleets. They fly in Olympias from the Northwest and sometimes exotics. Every once and a while we’re fortunate enough to set aside an evening in deep fall or winter to spend a long night at Blue Ribbon, eating oysters, drinking vodka martinis or montrachet and reacquainting ourselves with our hearts.