Monday, August 16, 2010

The First Oyster

I actually remember my first oyster. I was 4. My father loved the outdoors. His favorites hobbies were golf and fishing and eating. His Cajun heritage was reflected in his personality, and his love of food. He built a huge bar-be-que out of old brick- it even had a chimney on it. He could smoke food, grill food and roast food on the outdoor project.

I was game to eat anything. Except liver. And oysters. But my dad would bring home a sack of oysters and shuck them in the back yard. I'd watch him eat them. And he'd always say "I know you really want one of these...I know you do". And I'd shake my head.

But by the time I was 4, I was feeling pretty left out. Everyone else seemed to love those grey, squishy looking things. I couldn't bear to even touch them. They were, well, yucky to touch, dicey to smell and really ugly to look at. But I finally couldn't take the teasing. And the worst was that there were other kids in the neighborhood who did eat them.

I remember my dad first letting me taste the juice left in the shell- cold and salty. That wasn't so bad after all. Then he gave me a cracker with ketchup and horseradish. That was pretty good, too. So he picked a small one, freed its foot from the shell, and then slid it into my mouth with the admonition that I didn't need to chew it.

It sat in my mouth for a few seconds while I tried to decide if I should gag it out, or swallow it. And while it sat there, the marvelous taste of the fresh gulf oyster began to change my mind. And I gave it two chews and swallowed. I probably ate another dozen. My dad was delighted. He couldn't help himself.

Since that day, I have had thousands of oysters. Trust me- raw, fried, pan fried, Italian, etc.

There is only one way I won't eat them, and that is in gumbo. I like the flavor they give, but I'll fish them out before we eat. They get too rubbery.

But the day of the BP oil spill, I sat stunned into silence watching the oil pour out over the precious oyster beds. What would life be for a New Orleans child without raw oysters from the coast of Louisiana? Who knows.