The almost-full moon was rising over Miami last night when I headed to The Dutch with my writer pal Lynne Barrett. Maybe it was the moon, maybe it was the 80-degree South Beach breezes, or maybe it was the effects of the craft cocktails we imbibed at the Living Room Bar in the W hotel, but when I saw OYSTERS on the menu…I just had to order some.
Our choices: Blue Point, CT; Browne’s Point, ME; Totten Inlet, WA; Wellfleet, MA.
We avoided the Blue Points and ordered two each of the others, making a perfect half dozen served in an ice-filled white ceramic bowl with lemon, mignonette, and cocktail sauce—with hots on the side.
We avoided the Blue Points and ordered two each of the others, making a perfect half dozen served in an ice-filled white ceramic bowl with lemon, mignonette, and cocktail sauce—with hots on the side.
I sampled West Coast first. The small bivalves from Puget Sound were less buttery than I expected from a left coast oyster; nicely salty, strongly flavored with a taste of algae. Yum.
Lynne’s favorites were the Browne’s Points, saying they had “a multiplicity of flavor and are much richer” than the other two. Me? I could taste the funky, silty, murky influence of the Damariscotta River, their harvest region. I liked their plumpness and sweetness, but my personal preference leans to a little more brine.
For me, the hometown favorite wins. I know, I know, I’m biased toward Wellfleets, but what can I say? They taste like “home.” As I picked up the shell last night, I nearly shouted, “Someone I know could have grown this oyster!”
Lynne’s favorites were the Browne’s Points, saying they had “a multiplicity of flavor and are much richer” than the other two. Me? I could taste the funky, silty, murky influence of the Damariscotta River, their harvest region. I liked their plumpness and sweetness, but my personal preference leans to a little more brine.
For me, the hometown favorite wins. I know, I know, I’m biased toward Wellfleets, but what can I say? They taste like “home.” As I picked up the shell last night, I nearly shouted, “Someone I know could have grown this oyster!”
Lynne spent part of her childhood eating oysters in Cape Porpoise, near Kennebunkport, Maine. (Perhaps her own bias?) “I think how cheap and abundant things were when I was a kid. We were buying oysters and clams by the bucket. We had gobs of them.”
In Wellfleet, I have similar memories of getting oysters from the flats, and of digging for clams with my cousins at dead low tide on Mayo Beach. We’d squeal trying to avoid stepping on periwinkles, and imagine being swallowed by quicksand as our feet sunk deep into black muck. After an hour or so, we’d gather our heavy buckets and head home tired, salty, and ready for a feast.
In Wellfleet, I have similar memories of getting oysters from the flats, and of digging for clams with my cousins at dead low tide on Mayo Beach. We’d squeal trying to avoid stepping on periwinkles, and imagine being swallowed by quicksand as our feet sunk deep into black muck. After an hour or so, we’d gather our heavy buckets and head home tired, salty, and ready for a feast.
After the oysters on the half shell, we sampled “Little Oyster Sandwiches” made with fried Blue Points served on tiny buttery sesame-studded rolls. With a shot of The Dutch’s bottled “Hot Sauce” (tasting suspiciously like Sriracha) they were a perfect mix of crunchy-buttery-spicy wonderment.
Thanks, Lynne, for a fab evening, and thanks to The Dutch for offering such tasty bivalves.
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