My First Oyster

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Trust Me You Will Love Them

By Bobby Lax: Tofino, British Columbia

They are not for everyone.  Oysters are slimy, awkwardly chewy, salty, creamy during spawning and if eaten raw, pretty much still alive. 

If you have ever had a bad one you probably would have immediately spit it out hoping to never experience such a blitzkrieg on your senses again. 

If oysters are for you though, their consumption alone is cause for celebration.  Your mouth will rejoice in their delicacy and brininess. 

This is followed by the body buzz only an oyster so naturally provides.  Life is richer when they are near.

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The Shell Game

Written by: Dee Hobsbawn Smith     Published by: Swerve Magazine (04/29/05)

The transition from hand to mouth, from living to lunch, became too much for one oyster lover.

I met the most famous bivalve the summer we lived like Gypsies. We were already used to packing up and moving every year or two from air force base to air force base. This time, when we arrived on Vancouver Island from northern Alberta, our parents pitched a tent on Kin Beach, outside of Comox, while we awaited our new house. For five kids, it was paradise. The tent was snugged in a quiet little dell, fronted by a stand of Douglas firs, behind the high-tide driftwood and the blanket of kelp that washed up against the logs. Digging through the damp seaweed, avoiding washed-up starfish and sand dollars and scuttling tiny crabs to extricate a piece of bull kelp was an act of bravery for new coastal dwellers. Chasing brothers, snapping the kelp like a whip, was pure pleasure. Read More »


Go on, you know you want it

Your first oyster is a rite of passage comparable to your first sexual experience, says Lisa Hilton. She should know - she did both one year on holiday in France. Now a confirmed addict, she trawls Paris in search of salty, sensuous pleasures.

During a memorable summer in Agde, in the South of France, I lost my virginity and ate my first oyster. One experience left me feeling mysteriously adult, sensually alive in a way I never had before, full of the promise of the future. The other involved a tent and a Dutch bloke who worked in a record shop in Rotterdam. Perhaps it was no accident that the two events coincided, since the association between oysters and sex has been so hackneyed as to become an embarrassing cliché.

A friend tells me he cringes when ordering them on a date as it seems shamingly obvious, but since the cliche exists it seems best to get it over with briskly (rather like losing one's virginity).

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