The star of the raw bar. Photo by Jennifer Harington Brizzi
Pearl of the sea: the oyster
This column originally ran November 16, 2006, in the column "Ravenous" in the Woodstock Times, the Saugerties Times and the Kingston Times, etc.
"The oyster's a confusing suitor
It's masc., and fem., and even neuter.
But whether husband, pal or wife
It leads a painless sort of life.
I'd like to be an oyster, say,
In August, June, July or May."
--Ogden Nash
“Oysters are the most tender and delicate of all seafoods. They stay in bed all day and night. They never work or take any exercise, are stupendous drinkers and wait for their meals to come to them.”
—Hector Bolitho, The Glorious Oyster (Horizon Press, 1961)
Whether or not you’d like to be an oyster, their lifestyle does seem simple. Once they find their spot in the sea they just sit around flapping their shells, changing their gender once in a while, as Mr. Nash tells us above about the oyster’s hermaphroditic nature. It begins life as a male, ends as a woman and switches back and forth a few times during its long life.
The oyster is considered a prime aphrodisiac, the sexiest and most orgiastic of foods, and the National Oyster Growers Association once posted signs that read, “Eat oysters—love longer.” And maybe the oyster’s high zinc and magnesium content provide some sort of aphrodisiac effect, but the mollusk’s own sex life fails to excite, with that inconstant sexual identity, and they never go near their own lovers, but merely make love from a distance, midstream.
But the joy the oyster gives us is another story; it is like no other food. Whether you chew it raw, sweet and briny off a cool shell, or slurp it simmered gently into a simple creamy stew, or bite it fried fast and crispy, the oyster is the king of its own realm, exotic fancy fare that evokes passion, luxury and wondrous tastes in an infinite variety, according to the type of oyster it is and the particular bed it has lain in.
There are three main kinds of oyster, each with its subsets, differing in size, taste, texture, saltiness and softness or firmness. Various varieties can be described as flinty, fruity, nutty, sweet, buttery, briny or metallic. The three broad categories are the salty Atlantic (such as the Wellfleet, the Malpeque and the Blue Point), the Pacific with its creamy mineral essence and the diminutive Olympia from Washington State’s Puget Sound.
I wish I had a huge platter of 24 different varieties to taste and tell you the nuances of each, but alas, I cannot even say which is my personal favorite, as it’s been far too long since I had them on the half shell. But I love them that way and I love them fried just right and I love them other ways, too. There are different camps in the world of oyster love. Some only eat them raw, never cooked; others find them revolting raw and won’t go near them. Late seafood man Alan Davidson knew what he liked. In Mediterranean Seafood (Penguin, 1972) he wrote, “[I]n my belief they are best eaten as they are, and to do otherwise is mistaken and even blameworthy.” Woody Allen disagrees: “I will not eat [raw] oysters. I want my food dead—not sick, not wounded—dead,” he said. Roy Blount, Jr., agrees. “I prefer my oysters fried; That way I know my oysters died,” he said.
But all is not harmony in the raw camp either. People can’t agree on whether they should be completely naked and unadorned or slathered with ketchup. Epicure James Beard was firm about his opinion. “[I]f you do not like the natural flavor of oysters and find that you must cover them with quantities of red cocktail sauce, then perhaps you shouldn’t be eating them.” On my own raw oysters, which I’ll keep eating, thank you very much, I do like a dab of a cocktail sauce made of chili sauce, Tabasco sauce, lemon juice and plenty of horseradish. Then there’s the sauce mignonette that the French swear by: crushed peppercorns, minced shallot and white wine vinegar.
For some folks, oysters on the half shell evoke sunny lazy days in France or on Long Island or elsewhere—we each have our own prized oyster memories—mine was a trip to New Orleans ten years ago where they were so mild, sweet, fresh and cheap that my husband and I had a dozen each every single day. I imagine the abundance these days is less, though, since Katrina roughed up all those Delta oyster beds.
In the cooked camp there’s my favorite, fried oysters. A classic American fry is to dip them in egg and cream and then cracker crumbs and fry them in butter, but I remember some years ago in a Chinatown restaurant they were humongous yet crispy, maybe fried in rice flour. Late food guy Howard Mitcham said they should be coated in a fine masa harina or corn flour rather than coarser cornmeal, which doesn’t fully cook in oysters’ short cooking time. We just used flour for our first meal at a beach house in North Carolina this summer, with a batch of pre-shucked oysters we picked up on the way in. Perfection.
Almost as divine as fried oysters is simple oyster stew, just oysters warmed with their liquor and milk or cream. Our own Native people roasted oysters over coals. The Hangtown Fry of the frontier days was a last meal request that combined three favorite foods in an omelet with oysters and bacon. In the early 1800s oysters were so abundant they were considered a lowly dish for the working class. Later disease and pollution made them rare and gave them delicacy status.
In South Carolina they throw community oyster roasts like we do chicken barbecues. The late James Beard liked to add oysters to chicken pie or put them in a stuffing with breadcrumbs, butter, onions and “loads of tarragon.” In Illinois they make oyster balls with chopped ones mixed with mashed potato, mustard, Tabasco and almonds, served with tartar sauce and cucumber salad—this sounds like a must-try. Then there are all those fancy oyster broils like Casino with green pepper and bacon, Rockefeller with spinach or watercress, mornay (cheesy béchamel) and Pernod, Roffignac with shrimp, mushrooms and red wine, or Bienville with shrimp, mushrooms, wine, cream and toasted crumbs.
Oysters go with artichokes beautifully in soups and gumbos. Oysters and bread are a perfect pair, too, whether as buttery crumbs or the classic oyster loaf or oyster po’ boy. There’s oyster pie vol au vent, a Cajun/Creole creation with bacon, butter, mushrooms, lemon and cognac. There’s the classic carpetbag steak cut and stuffed with fried oysters, and there’s Thomas Keller’s “oysters and pearls” from his French Laundry restaurant where he nestles the bivalves in a bed of gilded tapioca.
Now that we’re well into those months with R’s in them, when there are more oysters around, it’s time to indulge. That R’s-only ruling is no longer true with modern refrigeration, although in the summer some kinds are less sweet due to spawning. But be safe; don’t eat any that are broken, that look or smell questionable, or that are not tightly closed. Those with possible liver disease, diabetes, cancer, stomach problems or autoimmune diseases should not eat them raw, experts say, because of the risk of the deadly Vibrio vulnificus.
Opening your own oysters can be scary and intimidating. Scrub the shells, protect your hands with a thick glove or dish towel, and use an oyster shucker or church key, something dull. At the hinge, find the weakest point where the shell gives slightly then jam it in and twist. Then cut the muscles that hold it to the shell, without losing the precious juice. Watch a pro do it or consult a seafood cookbook; the first one or two will be a little tricky but you will get the hang of it before you finish the first dozen. Try them in other forms, like grilled or in Chinese oyster sauce, delicious on vegetables. It doesn’t really taste oyster-y but is sweet and full of umami. Or try the smoked ones in their little sardine cans--lovely and vastly underrated—try them.
Start your own Öyster Cult. “Oysters are a miracle,” Howard Mitcham said, and indeed they are.
This column originally ran November 16, 2006, in the column "Ravenous" in the Woodstock Times, the Saugerties Times and the Kingston Times, etc.
"The oyster's a confusing suitor
It's masc., and fem., and even neuter.
But whether husband, pal or wife
It leads a painless sort of life.
I'd like to be an oyster, say,
In August, June, July or May."
--Ogden Nash
“Oysters are the most tender and delicate of all seafoods. They stay in bed all day and night. They never work or take any exercise, are stupendous drinkers and wait for their meals to come to them.”
—Hector Bolitho, The Glorious Oyster (Horizon Press, 1961)
Whether or not you’d like to be an oyster, their lifestyle does seem simple. Once they find their spot in the sea they just sit around flapping their shells, changing their gender once in a while, as Mr. Nash tells us above about the oyster’s hermaphroditic nature. It begins life as a male, ends as a woman and switches back and forth a few times during its long life.
The oyster is considered a prime aphrodisiac, the sexiest and most orgiastic of foods, and the National Oyster Growers Association once posted signs that read, “Eat oysters—love longer.” And maybe the oyster’s high zinc and magnesium content provide some sort of aphrodisiac effect, but the mollusk’s own sex life fails to excite, with that inconstant sexual identity, and they never go near their own lovers, but merely make love from a distance, midstream.
But the joy the oyster gives us is another story; it is like no other food. Whether you chew it raw, sweet and briny off a cool shell, or slurp it simmered gently into a simple creamy stew, or bite it fried fast and crispy, the oyster is the king of its own realm, exotic fancy fare that evokes passion, luxury and wondrous tastes in an infinite variety, according to the type of oyster it is and the particular bed it has lain in.
There are three main kinds of oyster, each with its subsets, differing in size, taste, texture, saltiness and softness or firmness. Various varieties can be described as flinty, fruity, nutty, sweet, buttery, briny or metallic. The three broad categories are the salty Atlantic (such as the Wellfleet, the Malpeque and the Blue Point), the Pacific with its creamy mineral essence and the diminutive Olympia from Washington State’s Puget Sound.
I wish I had a huge platter of 24 different varieties to taste and tell you the nuances of each, but alas, I cannot even say which is my personal favorite, as it’s been far too long since I had them on the half shell. But I love them that way and I love them fried just right and I love them other ways, too. There are different camps in the world of oyster love. Some only eat them raw, never cooked; others find them revolting raw and won’t go near them. Late seafood man Alan Davidson knew what he liked. In Mediterranean Seafood (Penguin, 1972) he wrote, “[I]n my belief they are best eaten as they are, and to do otherwise is mistaken and even blameworthy.” Woody Allen disagrees: “I will not eat [raw] oysters. I want my food dead—not sick, not wounded—dead,” he said. Roy Blount, Jr., agrees. “I prefer my oysters fried; That way I know my oysters died,” he said.
But all is not harmony in the raw camp either. People can’t agree on whether they should be completely naked and unadorned or slathered with ketchup. Epicure James Beard was firm about his opinion. “[I]f you do not like the natural flavor of oysters and find that you must cover them with quantities of red cocktail sauce, then perhaps you shouldn’t be eating them.” On my own raw oysters, which I’ll keep eating, thank you very much, I do like a dab of a cocktail sauce made of chili sauce, Tabasco sauce, lemon juice and plenty of horseradish. Then there’s the sauce mignonette that the French swear by: crushed peppercorns, minced shallot and white wine vinegar.
For some folks, oysters on the half shell evoke sunny lazy days in France or on Long Island or elsewhere—we each have our own prized oyster memories—mine was a trip to New Orleans ten years ago where they were so mild, sweet, fresh and cheap that my husband and I had a dozen each every single day. I imagine the abundance these days is less, though, since Katrina roughed up all those Delta oyster beds.
In the cooked camp there’s my favorite, fried oysters. A classic American fry is to dip them in egg and cream and then cracker crumbs and fry them in butter, but I remember some years ago in a Chinatown restaurant they were humongous yet crispy, maybe fried in rice flour. Late food guy Howard Mitcham said they should be coated in a fine masa harina or corn flour rather than coarser cornmeal, which doesn’t fully cook in oysters’ short cooking time. We just used flour for our first meal at a beach house in North Carolina this summer, with a batch of pre-shucked oysters we picked up on the way in. Perfection.
Almost as divine as fried oysters is simple oyster stew, just oysters warmed with their liquor and milk or cream. Our own Native people roasted oysters over coals. The Hangtown Fry of the frontier days was a last meal request that combined three favorite foods in an omelet with oysters and bacon. In the early 1800s oysters were so abundant they were considered a lowly dish for the working class. Later disease and pollution made them rare and gave them delicacy status.
In South Carolina they throw community oyster roasts like we do chicken barbecues. The late James Beard liked to add oysters to chicken pie or put them in a stuffing with breadcrumbs, butter, onions and “loads of tarragon.” In Illinois they make oyster balls with chopped ones mixed with mashed potato, mustard, Tabasco and almonds, served with tartar sauce and cucumber salad—this sounds like a must-try. Then there are all those fancy oyster broils like Casino with green pepper and bacon, Rockefeller with spinach or watercress, mornay (cheesy béchamel) and Pernod, Roffignac with shrimp, mushrooms and red wine, or Bienville with shrimp, mushrooms, wine, cream and toasted crumbs.
Oysters go with artichokes beautifully in soups and gumbos. Oysters and bread are a perfect pair, too, whether as buttery crumbs or the classic oyster loaf or oyster po’ boy. There’s oyster pie vol au vent, a Cajun/Creole creation with bacon, butter, mushrooms, lemon and cognac. There’s the classic carpetbag steak cut and stuffed with fried oysters, and there’s Thomas Keller’s “oysters and pearls” from his French Laundry restaurant where he nestles the bivalves in a bed of gilded tapioca.
Now that we’re well into those months with R’s in them, when there are more oysters around, it’s time to indulge. That R’s-only ruling is no longer true with modern refrigeration, although in the summer some kinds are less sweet due to spawning. But be safe; don’t eat any that are broken, that look or smell questionable, or that are not tightly closed. Those with possible liver disease, diabetes, cancer, stomach problems or autoimmune diseases should not eat them raw, experts say, because of the risk of the deadly Vibrio vulnificus.
Opening your own oysters can be scary and intimidating. Scrub the shells, protect your hands with a thick glove or dish towel, and use an oyster shucker or church key, something dull. At the hinge, find the weakest point where the shell gives slightly then jam it in and twist. Then cut the muscles that hold it to the shell, without losing the precious juice. Watch a pro do it or consult a seafood cookbook; the first one or two will be a little tricky but you will get the hang of it before you finish the first dozen. Try them in other forms, like grilled or in Chinese oyster sauce, delicious on vegetables. It doesn’t really taste oyster-y but is sweet and full of umami. Or try the smoked ones in their little sardine cans--lovely and vastly underrated—try them.
Start your own Öyster Cult. “Oysters are a miracle,” Howard Mitcham said, and indeed they are.
