Oysters are a delicacy you either like or don’t like. I can almost hear the simultaneous “yuck” and “yum” comments. I’m on the yum side.
Growing up the family Thanksgiving dinner was at our house. In preparation to make stuffing from scratch, all year long we would put the crusts of bread in a pan in the lower cupboard. The night before Thanksgiving we would turn them into crumbs in the grinder that we attached to the table. It was my priviledge to turn the hand crank. Some of the crumbs were set aside so Mom could make scalloped oysters. When she would open the container of oysters, I never minded the fishy smell, but the slimyness got to me; I usually left the room. That traditional dish was probably the most expensive and least fought over on the adult table.
I’m not positive when my taste changed, but now I order them whenever I can. I am fortunate to have been able to enjoy them out on Cape Cod and in Boston, Massachusetts; at an ocean front restaurant on the New Jersey coast; on Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco; on the Oregon coast near Cannon Beach; in Seattle; and at local clam bakes in upstate New York. The discussion between my husband and myself is whether we are going to share or not. Usually, it’s not. I like them with a bit of cocktail sauce.
According to my sources, over two billion pounds of oysters are consumed each year. The east coast ones are smaller, milder and saltier. The ones from the west coast are creamier and sweeter.
I’m sure you have heard that oysters are a natural aphrodesiac. From my experience I couldn’t attest to that. Since it is also National Underwear Day, maybe it would be an idea to have some oysters and see if you are more anxiouos to strip down to your underwear. Just a thought.