Thursday, September 9, 2010
Ok, you've heard it oh so many times from me, but I love oysters. Simply adore them. Could eat them every day for the rest of my life and be satisfied. They are my absolute favorite food. Pure, clean, unadulterated, sexy, slippery oysters. I think you get the picture.
My trip to Oregon would have fallen short had I not made it to the coast. I'm an ocean girl--it's where I feel the most at home, so I was thankful that on my second-to-last day in Oregon we made it out to the coast and Ecola State Park (see the final scene of the Goonies). There was crashing waves, wind blowing sand everywhere, a delicious picnic complete with my famous chicken, more Rogue beer, and salty air. It was rough and rugged, just like I'd imagined it.
But then came the oysters. Oh, these oysters were something else. I had tried a West Coast oyster when I visited Fish in New York City early in the summer, and although it was fabulous, these oysters took it to a whole new level.
We cruised down the coast in search of a spot that was supposed to be fantastic. With our eyes peeled for looming piles of oyster shells--the telltale signs of a good oyster joint--we began to wonder if we'd missed it. So we stopped at a little shop and went inside to ask. As soon as we told a local we were looking for a spot that was supposed to be great and had big piles of oyster shells outside, his eyes lit up and he became animated, telling us to just continue down the road for five minutes. Sweet.
And then there it was. A little shack-like looking building on the side of the road with multiple piles of oyster shells. It turns out that it was a restaurant of the Pacific Seafood company. We went inside and ordered a dozen to share between us. It was a very nondescript restaurant--bare white walls, a seafood counter of fresh fish and shellfish, and simple tables with everyday people enjoying very basic meals.
The oysters--I'm pretty sure they were Kumamotos--were huge. A little lady behind the counter cracked into them with ease, revealing the gleaming, glistening, silvery gems inside. The taste put them right up at the top of my favorite oysters list.
They were superbly sensual and creamy, each one a little piece of decadent heaven. Oysters are supposed to be aphrodisiacs, but I've never experienced something like this before. One word: Phenomenal. Simply phenomenal.
Although I'm a northeasterner, I think the Pacific ocean may be where it's at when it comes to oysters. Like so many other things about Oregon I just couldn't get enough--and these sexy, succulent oysters are definitely worth the trip.