bivalves and the beach
Last weekend, we planned a trip up to Point Reyes for oysters. Well, not so much planned as discussed the idea over drinks on Thursday night with the conversation ending affirmatively. On Friday, a Google calendar event was created with start and end times on Sunday. On Sunday morning, half an hour before the proposed start time, we texted our friend, who had assumed the status of event organizers because: a) he had been to eat oysters in Point Reyes before and we all considered him an expert on the subject, b) he had a Zipcar membership and had volunteered to drive, and c) he had set up the calendar event, to confirm. He was running late, but we were good to go. At this point, all I knew was our day would involve oysters and a beach.
Just before noon, we all pilled into the swanky Zipcar. "All" consisted of five people and a small dog. We bough snacks (first things first) at Trader Joe's before navigating (i.e., Google mapping) our way to the Golden Gate and through Marin County. Some motion sickness ensued, but was tempered by ginger chews and playing the front-seat-of-the-car version of musical chairs at the stops that were required to locate ourselves when we lost cell coverage.
Oysters were procured. A spot on the beach was claimed. The spot was adjacent to a group of people listening to Van Morrison followed by Tom Petty. Their conversation was at once asinine and entertaining (e.g., "Imagine if Tom Petty cruised by on a boat playing this song. Wouldn't you just have to run down to the water's edge and dance? You'd just have to. How cool would that be?").
We ate oysters. Kevin and I learned how to shuck (a skill which I'm contemplating adding to my resume). Amidst the perceived lack of planning, the event organizer had brought a charcoal grill and all the ingredients for a yummy horseradish sauce. Soda cans served as wine glasses. A lid to a container was a cutting board for shallots (which were added to some of the larger oysters, along with some thyme and wine, before putting them on the grill just long enough to cook ever so slightly). We ate more oysters. We lounged in the late-day sun before packing up and heading home, back over the Golden Gate with the last remnants of sunlight highlighting the horizon. A great day.
The necessary postscript to this story is that if you told me ten years ago that I'd get excited and derive enjoyment from eating loads of oysters in one sitting, I would've call you crazy. Everything about oysters made me cringe: the mucousy texture, the fact that they're consumed raw and alive, the risk of food poisoning. But, I've gotten past the texture issue by sticking to the smaller ones (the really big ones are still gag-inducing to some extent) and I've gotten to a point where I'm not willing to sacrifice amazing eats for a fear of food poisoning. Some risks are worth it, especially those with relatively low probabilities. Admittedly, the alive factor was the last hurdle. I got past that by not thinking too much about it (which is exactly how most people are able to stomach eating meat, right?) until I read this really interesting article in the New York Times. Now, I can think about it without it affecting my appetite. The sustainability argument is an added bonus. In any case, I'm doubtful that any vegans will be jumping on the oyster bandwagon anytime soon. If they do, oysters might be the gateway substance of the meat and animal products realm. It's a slippery slope.
