The Melting Teapot

Part 3 of My Tale: The Walrus & The Carpenter Picnic

My friend Jan and I headed for the Seattle waterfront, where we’d be catching our bus.  After a drink and appetizers at Elliot’s, we walked outside to find a young man dressed like a clam, waiting in front of a large tour bus.

Nervously-excited-me actually asked if we were in the right place (everyone laughed and rolled their eyes).

We boarded a comfortable bus, filled to the brim with chefs, food journalists, tour guides, bloggers, and a few lucky “foodies.”  Behind me was the friendly Kevin Davis, chef/owner of Seattle’s acclaimed Steelhead Diner, who was excited to talk about the new restaurant he’s opening soon (Blueacres).  Across the aisle from us was Oyster Bill, a recognizable face from regional farmer’s markets, where he sells oysters, clams, and mussels.  Behind him was food journalistic (former PI Food Critic) Leslie Kelly, with her engaging grin beneath her signature spectacles.  Later in the evening, I met a man who gives Seattle Food Tours, a woman who sets up vacations throughout the Puget Sound, and a budding chef practicing his shucking techniques.

Jon Rowley prepared us for our adventure by talking about oysters and giving a bit of his own history and background with Taylor Shellfish Farms. He talked about his time as a young man in France, and how he wanted to experience what Ernest Hemingway wrote of:

"As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans."

After an hour-and-a-half of oyster stories and video clips from an episode of Dirty Jobs (featuring Taylor Shellfish Farms), we turned off the highway and on to dark roads with an occasional house light.  Finally, we had arrived at Totten Inlet!

It was dark outside, but when our eyes adjusted the moon was shining through a mild mist to provide plenty of light.  We didn’t really need our flashlights or headlamps.  The temperature was downright balmy for January – about 50 degrees.  Other than our excitedly chattering group, all was quiet and still. There was no rain, no cold wind, and not even the sound of lapping water.  We were in a sheltered cove, on a gloriously beautiful night.

We walked down a slight incline and out along the beach and then into the wetter, muddier oyster beds. We made our way toward lanterns hanging on tripods and a nice welcoming fire, to find several tables with smiling people ready to shuck and answer questions.

On four tables were big flat boxes filled with ice, behind which the shuckers were already shucking one type of oyster per table: Olympias, Pacifics, Virginicas, and Kumamotos.  Each has its own profile, some are more aggressive and even a bit wild or peaty.  Others are light and airy, sweeter than you might expect.

On another table was a promising number of wine glasses, and yet another where wine was being poured. Cedergreen’s sauvignon blanc stood out from the rest, and the amiable winemaker pouring us his wine was nice to chat with.  His wine was sharp, crisp, and not overly grapefruit or cat pee in nature.  It was a nice pairing with the oysters. . . and after a bit I was even pouring a splash of his wine on top of my raw oyster before slurping it down.

The process worked like this – someone shucks an oyster (or you do it yourself), you grab it off the ice right after, then toss the leftover shell down on the ground (to be reclaimed by the ocean when the tide returned).  These are not slimy or fishy, but soft and light like the best ever sashimi.  You taste a mouth full of freshness, hints of seaweed, saline, and a sense of the “ocean.”  Glorious!  This is what mermaids eat.

Of course, they wouldn't be wearing muddy boots like all of us were.

The oysters were wonderful, absolutely gloriously fresh, and amazingly salty, leaving your lips coated with a thin layer of brine. One of the people behind a table told me that this year the oysters have been saltier than usual, but evidently they are always a bit saltier when eating right next to the ocean.

We could eat the oysters raw (which is what most of us did), or anyone could take an opened shell over to the fire and balance it on one of the rocks lining the blaze. . . then wait for the oyster to cook into smoky, luscious goodness. We were encouraged to sniff the fresh oysters, think about the aroma like we might a fine wine, and to chew and contemplate the flavor.

One of the shuckers took time to teach me how to shuck.  Here’s the very first oyster I opened all by myself!

This and the others I shucked on my own were the best-tasting of the night (at least to me).

A very nice woman then took me out to find oysters on the beach, helping me learn to identify the different types.  I wandered on the beach for a while, enjoying the quiet away from the crowd, and looking off at the vague shadows of a few boats in the water. At my feet were thousands of oysters in the mud, as well as a few very large starfish.

There were a couple of hours of my clutzy self stumbling around over big oysters, getting happily muddy and eating more oysters than ever before (maybe 25. . . maybe 30. . . but I gave up counting after the first 10 or so).  Near the end, I was amazed to hear my voice saying something I’d never said before. . . “I’ve had enough oysters.”

However, there was still one more treat waiting for us back by the bus – hot oyster stew, made by the famous Xinh of Xinh’s Clam & Oyster House.   The incredible stew was a steaming cup full of cream, butter, fresh herbs, and so many oysters that your spoon stood straight up.  It killed me to not be able to eat the whole thing, but I was stuffed after half a bowl.  

I grabbed a bottle of water as we boarded the bus, trying to soothe my salted lips and throat.  Although I was fighting off the urge to sleep, it was fun to eavesdrop on the chefs and food workers. For several of them, this was an inspirational evening, and they were chatting about other similar events and those experiences that made them want to be chefs.  I overheard stories about the foods that changed their lives, and the points at which they knew this was what they wanted to do.  Much as I am a dedicated foodie, what they took from our night was a deeper, more intense understanding than mine.

It was 1:30 am when I, my boots, and my pack stuffed with unneeded scarves and gloves, tumbled in the front door at home.  I basically dropped everything at the door, on the steps, and along the path to the bedroom.   The next day when I looked down at the pile of clothes I’d tossed down before crawling into bed, I realized they were covered in mud.  The bottoms of my leggings were pretty much coated below the knees, and splatters stretched from my knees all the way on up the front of my shirt.  My coat smelled of wood smoke and oysters.

It made me smile to see the mud and smell the smoke – what a night.  What a memory.

Thank you Jon Rowley.  Thank you Taylor Shellfish Farms.  Thank you Xinh.  Thank you to all of the other people who rode that bus with me.  What a beautiful evening we shared.

Previous related posts:  O Frabjous Day and Tomorrow is Oyster Day