Breaking Oysters; or, Screwdrivers In The Kitchen

Last week, our Local Catch Monterey Bay share consisted of a big bag of oysters from Tomales Bay. I've had oysters before, with saltines and beer primarily, but I've never had to deal with the shell. Oyster-shucking sounds dramatic, and apparently you can get a specialized tool, but a screwdriver was also recommended.

I know, that surprised me too, but I do have a screwdriver, and I don't have an oyster-shucker. Before now, the only association I made in my mind between the kitchen and screwdrivers involved vodka and orange juice--those were some dangerous DIY projects, let me tell you, but also quite entertaining.

Marina was out of town, so I invited her sister and brother-in-law over. Marina's sister doesn't like oysters, but he was enthusiastic. We discussed the options for preparing the oysters. The first consensus we reached was that beer was a vital staple. Actually, that was probably always implied.

It was too dark to fire up the grill, so that left the options of baking them or eating them raw; neither of us felt brave enough to try them raw, although that would have given us an option for introducing vodka into the equation after all.

So baking it was. I washed off the oysters, checking to make sure none of the oysters were already open, which would be a sign of poor health and a reason to discard it. The oysters had rough, asymmetrical shells with two distinct halves, a cup and a flatter lid. They looked rather daunting to my inexperienced eye.



Once the oven reached the required temperature, I slid the baking sheets in. Before long, I was puzzled by a loud pop. Did the baking sheet explode? Was the house under assault? Fortunately, no. When I looked in the oven, I discovered the source of the sound was the oysters actually popping open, like magic!

It was quite impressive.



Not all of the oysters popped fully, and I wasn't quite sure how to wield the screwdriver. However, I soon found the knack; I would slip the tip of the flathead screwdriver in the seam that appeared between the shells, and they would actually part quite easily. The shells, after baking, felt a little more delicate, a little flakier.

I will say there was a bit of mental disconnect when comparing the pile of discarded shells with the much smaller pile of oyster meat, but no matter.



As the meat was small, we supplemented the meal with pasta. For the oysters, I made a sauce of garlic, melted butter, and lemon juice. I was worried I heated the sauce for too long, as it almost seared the garlic pieces, but it turned out deliciously. I also had bought a bottle of cocktail sauce, but I think the butter sauce was my favorite.

The oysters themselves were delicious, and the kitchen retained the seafood smell for hours, which made me happy. Marina's brother-in-law wants to try mussels next, so we may actually branch out into seafood experimentation beyond the Local Catch adventures. That would be wild, just like the ocean from which we get the seafood, so very appropriate.