Oyster Lust

Last week we had a transcendent experience with oysters. We're tooling around the backroads of Geoje, the island on the southeastern tip of Korea, with the Geoje Central Rotary Club. We stop at a rustic restaurant by the shore. Three foot-deep kettles of steaming oysters arrive at our tables.



I didn't think I liked oysters. Unlike Duwayno, who grew up in Virginia eating seafood of all kinds, the only osyter I'd ever had was a slimy little thing at a wanna-be swanky restaurant in Indy. Truth is, I may not eat an oyster again, unless I'm in Korea. These little darlings were delicate slips of protien curled into a shell crusted with all the minerals in the ocean. Pry one open, and out comes a modest-looking morsel that's dense with mojo. Rich and light. Elegant yet undressed. Ancient and fresh.

We dip the oysters in a small dish of liquid butter and sea salt, or a little pepper sauce, or wrap it in a pale lettuce leaf grown just yards from the restaurant window. The oysters are served with a zen little platter of carrots, cukes, and a few quail eggs.



I fall in love with the freckled eggs and pocket a few for breakfast.



Duwayno and Dottie are on a oyster high. Dottie tries three times to stop eating them, declaring a given oyster to be her last -- then she starts up again. Duwayno looks like a new man (after mumbling something about cheeseburgers earlier in the day). When we find out each kettle of three dozen oysters costs the equivalent of $15, we eat some more.



Thanks to the Geoje Central Rotary Club for treating us to a meal for the ages.