PASSIONATE RATIONS

Someone recently told me you shouldn’t eat oysters in months with an “r.”  Perhaps this is true in New England (my current home), but not in the Pacific Northwest.

No.

There, at Elliot’s Oyster House (Pier 56, Seattle), they celebrate Oyster New Year on November 3.  True, oysters are seasonal, but the best of the Northwest, according to Dave (our knowledgeable waiter), show themselves in the gray days of fall.  The Pacific Northwest is the largest oyster-producing region in the world:  over sixty varieties, four species.

Unfortunately, it was August 7 when I showed up in Dave’s section of tables, ready, willing and able to avail myself of my travel exception to the vegetarian rule.

Still, a full nine types of August oysters were being offered.  And the two I tasted proved to be fine specimens.  Of course, I’ve always been an oyster fan.

Like the grapes that flavor the wine, oysters take on the characteristics of their growing environments.  Oysters grown in estuaries, for example, will tend to have less salinity due to the fluctuating mix of fresh and sea water.  Alaskan oysters, in contrast, are much brinier, the result of growth suspended in cold nutrient-rich bay water.  Different species vary in size and potency of flavor.

We chose to partake of two types of Pacific Oyster:  (1) Suzukis from the intertidal beaches of Hood Canal, Washington, and (2) Penn Cove Selects from the inland beaches of Whidbey Island, Washington.

The question arose regarding whether one should swallow them whole (as I have seen so many do, liberally dolloped with horseradish sauce) or chew.  Dave, ever attentive, said it was really up to the taster, but that he would chew his unadorned, in order to experience the fullness of flavor and texture each oyster has to offer.

I decided to follow Dave’s advice, using the unique and refreshing balsamic sorbet proffered with the oysters only as palate cleaner.

Let me pause here to offer my praise to the oyster gods for the silky-soft texture of the oyster.  The feel of the slippery-slick skin as it slides from its shell and onto your tongue, brine gushing over your lips and running down your chin, truly is one of life’s most sensual pleasures.

Sigh.

The Penn Coves were larger than the Suzukis.  They were mildly salty and tasted of the sea, bringing to mind images of gossamer seaweed undulating with the tide.

The Suzukis were much brinier, tasting of a day at the beach.  Memories of my years living in Washington state came rolling back.  I could smell the surf.  Their delicate size made these easy to imbibe.

Both were excellent, but my preference was for the Penn Coves, where the sea overpowered the salt and gave way to the complexity of flavors that is the ocean.

Of course, they may taste completely different next season.  And, so, I, like the tide, inexorably will have to return….

New Year’s anyone?