“there was a death, the death of childhood / there at the Union Oyster House / for I was fifteen / and eating oysters / and the child was defeated. / The woman won.” -- From Anne Sexton, "Oysters"
Blog Like Crazy #2:
My hair smells like oyster smoke. I didn't know that there was such a thing, till I marinated in the scent for about seven hours today as a judge for the Fifth Annual Oyster Cook Off at The Hangout. I ate 50 oysters, or at least lost count around that time.
I judged oysters along side a marine biologist who showed me the different parts of the oyster, explaining where the flavor comes from, showing how they attach to the shell. I've loved them since I was in my early 20s, eating them by the tray full on beaches near Sarasota.
It was a glorious and sunny day -- an unseasonable warmth in November and a prefect time to sit and watch the trays of oysters being delivered to the judges' table. Most of the day I sat there and listened to stories about the mollusks, from the fourth generation oyster man to the chefs who talked about preparing them with mustard greens.
I get suspicious when people say they don't eat oysters (unless it's for medical reasons). If they wrinkle their nose at the mere mention, I wonder. They're these little creatures whose flavor tells the story of where they are from. What's not to love about that?
Next stop: picking up copies of "Sex, Death and Oysters" by Robb Walsh and A Geography of Oysters by Rowan Jacobsen, both recommended to me by the marine biologist. Can I include something about the world being a ...
No, I'll stop there.