Marin County Oyster Crawl

The Bay Area has a long and rich half-shell history.  Native Coast Miwoks survived off hunting and gathering fish, shrimp, and oysters in the various bays and coves for centuries.  Mark Twain raved of the succulent shellfish he enjoyed at the Occidental Hotel in San Francisco, calling it "heaven on the half shell." San Francisco Bay, or San Francisco Estuary, to be more accurate, was one of largest shellfish producers in North America in the late 1800s, providing an abundance of mussels and native Olympia oysters.  As the area grew and native oysters dwindled, Eastern Oysters and Washington Oysters were shipped in and finished in the Bay to meet the growing demand.  And sadly, soon to follow, hydraulic mining, industrial pollution, and over-harvesting quickly led to SF Bay's oystering collapse.  

Yet, while San Francisco Bay could no longer support any bivalve breath at the beginning of the 20th century, Tomales Bay's oyster production began to burgeon.  Modern day oyster harvesting started in Tomales Bay in the 1860s, but didn't fully take off until Tomales Bay Oyster Company, in partnership with the California Department of Fish and Game, introduced the Pacific oyster (Crassostrea Gigas) in the 1930s.  These oysters soon became the Bay Area standard, and are now familiarly known to raw bar enthusiasts as Preston Points, Hog Island Sweetwaters, or Marin Miyagis.  Surprisingly, as large as California is, it does not enjoy many oyster growing areas.  Aside from a few farms in Humboldt Bay, Morro Bay, and off Carlsbad, the main focus of oyster growing in California is in Marin County between Tomales Bay and Drakes Estero.

Luckily, San Francisco is only a scenic hour and half drive away from California's greatest oyster grounds.  Being the oyster junkie I am, I try to make it up there as often as I can. I decided to spend my most recent sunny Monday off traversing the beautiful Tomales coast in search of the best oyster preparations Marin County has to offer.

I immediately knew where to start: Tomales Bay Oyster Company.  Not only do they produce delicious Preston Points, Golden Nuggets, and now their very own Kumamotos, they are also the oldest continually operating oyster farm in California, beginning in 1909.  This, plus the fact that they established the Pacific oyster in the Bay Area.  As it was Monday, I had the picnic area and knowledgeable staff all to myself.  I suppose "industry" weekends do have their perks.

So, with cash in hand and a single 22 oz. Tecate, I set out to purchase a half dozen Kumamotos and a half dozen Golden Nuggets.  There's something great about pulling into the rustic Tomales Bay Oyster Company.  Just tables, grills, and oysters.  No bells and whistles.  Beers, barbeques, and bivalves.  It's all you need.

Each oyster was not only brimming with Tomales Bay's flavorful finest, but a pleasure to shuck.  Any accoutrements other than the beaming sun and salty fresh air would have been nothing short of blasphemy.   I'd had the Golden Nuggets a few times before, but they were especially amazing on this occasion.  Perfectly tide-tumbled (the method of growing), well manicured, deep cupped, plump, and rich.  They started with that familiar Tomales briny punch, but mellowed out into a rich, buttery finish, almost like dipping artichoke leaves in bernaise sauce.  The Kumamotos (Crassoastrea sikamea) were equally as tasty.  They were less salty that their gigas counterparts, but definitely brinier than Kumamotos from Humboldt Bay or Puget Sound.  At four years to market size, it was a complex roller coaster of flavors from bitter herb to that familiar cucumber melon that most Kumos deliver.  Unfortunately, the only place to find the Golden Nuggets and TBOC Kumamotos is at the namesake establishment.  However, the trip is absolutely worth it.

After my raw oyster appetizer, I headed a little more than a mile up Highway 1 to The Marshall Store.  Established overy a century ago, The Marshall Store long served as the general store for Marshall and the surrounding Tomales Bay area.  Now, under the same ownership as TBOC, it's a humble but amazing seafood shanty sitting right on the town of Marshall's boat harbor.

I know that I always talk about being an oyster purist.  No sauces, no lemons, and especially, no cooking.  Raw or bust.  However, I'd be lying if I said I didn't like barbequed oysters just as much as the next guy.  In fact, I don't know anybody that doesn't like them.  "Nope, I don't like barbequed oysters.  I don't like sunshine, sex, or Bob Marley either."  It just doesn't make any sense.  They're delicious.  And at the Marshall Store they're about as good as they get.

There is one simple rule to barbequed oysters and that is DO NOT OVERCOOK them.  As soon as the liquor starts to bubble and the oysters start to curl at the edges, they're done.  Just enough to incorporate all the flavorful toppings but not to the lose the natural juiciness and freshness of the oyster. The Marshall Store certainly knows this rule well.

Classic BBQ Sauce and Garlic Butter; Chorizo Butter and Cilantro; Oysters Rockafeller.

All three styles were delicious, especially the chorizo butter.  Shellfish and salty pig parts never fail to deliver, nor does the view from the Marshall Store while enjoying a cold beer and these tasty bites.

So, with two excellent preparations under my belt, I had one more to go.  Two constitutes a good time, but no less than three equals an "oyster crawl."  There are several places in Marin County offering great preparations of oyster po'boys and hangtown frys, but I knew I was setting out for something special offered at Osteria Stellina in Point Reyes Station.

Run by Chef-Owner Christian Caiazzo, Osteria Stellina offers up hyper-local fair dubbed as "Point Reyes Italian."  The restaurant was inspired by his lengthy travels around Italy where he noticed that each little country-side town had its own unique flavors and styles of cuisine.  To his amazement, this stemmed from the cooks using only local, fresh ingredients from the immediate surrounding farms.  Not because it was trendy or the "in" thing in the food scene, but simply because that was how it's always been.  The cooks' parents used local ingredients, their parents' parents used local ingredients, and so on.  It was just the way things were.  No all white meat Tyson chicken breasts or Chinese grown brocolli on their tables.

In trying to replicate this style of restuarant in the U.S., Chef Caiazzo realized that Marin County was the perfect setting.  All of Osteria Stellina's cheeses, meats, produce, and many libations come from West Marin, demonstrating the seasonal bounty the region has to offer.  And with this as the restaurant's credo, you know they have to use local oysters.

Enter Osteria Stellina's famed Drakes Bay Oyster Pizza.

Oysters on pizza right off the bat doesn't sound like it would work.  Perhaps if you called it a flat bread or something people wouldn't be as taken aback.  However, it is pretty spot on.

Straus Family cream braised leeks, crispy yet toothesome crust, parsley, lemon thyme, and generous portions of slightly warmed Drakes Bay oysters made for a delightful culmination to my Marin County Oyster Crawl.  The buttery cream was perfectly cut by each little salty, herbaceous pop of the oysters.  It was like an oyster chowder with ample amounts of crusty bread for dipping, but already put together for you.

In the end, I realized that Marin County not only grows some of the best oysters in the country, but goes the full nine in serving them up in simple, classic, and innovative ways.  The long and rich half shell history of Northern California has not only endured in Tomales Bay but continues to grow as more and more recognize what a true treasure the area is.  Take a day off work and check it out for yourself. 

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd

The Watershed Project's Living Shoreline

"Oysters are more beautiful than any religion...there's nothing in Christianity or Buddhism that quite matches the sympathetic unselfishness of an oyster" - Saki

Native Oyster from Point Pinole Regional Park

Perhaps a bit dramatic quote to begin a post, but I can say that oysters are the closest thing I have to a religion.  I live, breath, and of course, eat all things oyster.  It first started as a simple matter of taste.  Oysters are delicious.  But the further I delved into the world of oysters, the deeper the rabbit hole went (points for a Lewis Carroll/Walrus & The Carpenter reference? Maybe a little obvious.). 

Oysters have been “unshellfishly” giving to mankind since our beginning.  They have immensely impacted human culture, cuisine, and economy.  Tribes of the Chesapeake relied on them as a staple food source, so much so that “Chesapeake” is derived from an Algonquin word meaning “Great Shellfish.”  Romans notoriously feasted on dozen after dozen at their gluttonous culinary orgies.  Native Americans in Ecuador and Peru used Spondylus, known as spiny oyster shells, as currency.  Early English colonists often built their homes with tabby, a mixture of sand, water, lime, and crushed oyster shells.  Whether denoting wealth with their nacre-covered pebbles adorning the necks of Victorian high society or giving Casanova his famed vivacity, oysters have been on the ends of our forks, close to our pockets, and in our hearts for some time now.

However, the true generosity of the oyster is best demonstrated in what they are naturally made to do: be the ecological lynchpins of the oceans.  A single oyster filters up to 50 gallons of water daily.  They remove harmful phytoplankton from the water, increase oxygen levels, water clarity, and accelarate dentrification.  This allows aquatic plant life such as eel grass to thrive with more sunlight and oxygen.  Several other species such as crabs and smaller fish depend on oyster reefs for habitat, smiliar to coral in the tropics.  The presence of this healthy marine life trickles up to all the larger, predatory fish we are familiar with such as salmon and bass.  Oyster reefs also serve as important breakwater barriers for our shores, preventing waves from washing away vital coastline.  Basically, if you were building a healthy marine ecosystem, an oyster reef would be your foundation.

But, as history has taught us, humans really have a knack for destroying ecosystems, and oyster reefs have been one of the biggest victims.  Worldwide, wild oyster beds are nearly extinct (note that this doesn't mean stop eating them, as most oysters we consume today are farmed or closely monitored at wild harvest).  For us, specifically, the Bay Area once teemed with the native oyster, the Olympia, or Ostrea lurida.  However, when the 49ers arrived, they quickly over fished the native oyster in a matter of decades.  By the early 1900s, Olympia oyster beds were completely decimated.  Mining in the surrounding areas of the SF Bay also lead to silt build up on the ocean floor, covering existing oyster reefs and destroying any feasible substrate for new oysters to grow.  All this, plus the obvious industrial era water pollution that the oysters couldn't stave off led to their demise.   Thus, what you see today is a cloudy, murky, polluted shell of what once was a bountiful, healthy San Francisco Bay. 

Luckily, oyster restoration programs have sprung up all around the country in hopes of revival, including in our very own Bay Area.  The Living Shoreline, run by The Watershed Project, is one of our local oyster restoration programs, and was kind enough to let me tag along on one of their field trips to Point Pinole.

Point Pinole Regional Park Oyster Grounds at Low Tide

  Chris Lim, the program director, has teamed up with a few local high schools to educate kids on the importance of oysters in the Bay.  The students have a few in class lectures followed by a few field trips to the oyster monitoring grounds.  The trip I partook in was measuring the already existing populations of oysters and other sea life.  First, we measured all things water quality.  Temperature, salinity, pH, and my favorite, turbiditiy.  It sounds fancy, but it's just a fun way of saying cloudiness of the water.  It's even more fun when you get to use a "Secchi disc" to measure the "turbidity."  Fucking smart.  

After we assessed all things water, we moved on to the actual Living Shoreline.  The amount of creatures that exist under a single rock was overwhelingly abundant.  Sea lettuce, limpets, hermit crabs, tar spot algae, sufrgrass, stunted tutkish towels, and especially, Olympia oysters.  A single rock turned over unveiled a veritable rain forest of life.  The students would randomly toss a cross section onto the shore and measure what was present.

      

All gnarly sea life was accounted for, and then to be extrapolated in to a larger graph of what the aquatic residents more or less are.  This would provide an accuarate assessment of what the current oyster poplulation of the area is.  Human intervention is to follow with the placement of "reef balls" in the area to encourage more oyster growth.

These oyster ball reefs will provide a comfortable substrate for more oysters to attach to and grow on.  Hopefully, with time, these reef balls will hold more and more oysters, leading to more and more healthy marine life.

Oysters have continued to give and give to both us and the oceans.  They've unselfishly been keystones of our marine environments for millenia.  It's now our responsibility to return them to what they once were.  Perhaps, in a few decades, the San Francisco Bay may once teem again with Olympia oysters and all the bountiful sea life that comes with.

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd

Oyster and Hard Cider Pairings

I was recently watching the Botany of Desire again, since Netflix sucks at updating its streaming service with new material.  Not a major issue as it's a great PBS documentary based on Michael Pollan's book about the co-evolution of plants and people.  He explores the idea that it's been in several plants' best interest to become domesticated and evolve characteristics that humans desire. This, in turn, caused humans to be the "bumblebees" of these plants, spreading their seed around the world and ensuring their successful propagation.  Perhaps you've seen it or even read it (which I shamefully have yet to do).  It's very identifiable seeing as how Pollan  anthropomorphizes the plants, almost claiming they purposefully become more and more desirable.

The apple, for example, was widely cultivated throughout North America in the early 1800's.  These apples were not as we know them today, though.  They were mostly bitter, astringent crab apples, used for making hard cider.  These inedible apples are actually said to make the best cider.  But, every once in a while, a rare seed-to-tree would produce a delectably sweet apple.  By the 1900's, farmers began singling out these trees and grafting them to produce more and more sweet apples.  Today we know them as the Red Delicious, Green Delicious,  Baldwin, etc.  So, we now all enjoy this tasty fruit and the apple has secured its global proliferation.

All good and interesting.  However, what most fascinated me was Pollan's discussion of the 1830's cider scourge in the US.  Cider was the drink of the age, much like wine or beer today.  It was even consumed more than water, since rampant cholera and typhoid epidemics were known to come from contaminated drinking water.  It's popularity grew which lead to saloons and countrysides full of drunkards.  The apple became demonized and was seen as evil, intoxicating the masses.  It only recovered once the grafting of sweet apples became the standard.

The Tree of Intemperance with Hard Cider at its Roots

But, during this time, I think quite a few flagons of cider were downed with quite a few dozen oysters.  They paired so well together, in flavor and in culture.  Both slightly taboo, earmarks of poverty, and akin to debauchery.  I'm sure that Manhattan's Five Points had plenty of Dickensian oyster cellars full of cider and unsavory patrons consuming both.

And the characteristics of a good sparkling cider seem to be the precise qualities one looks for in an oyster drink pairing.  Crisp, tart, dry or semi-dry, slightly acidic, effervescent.  The basic production of them is the same as wine.  Press the apples for their juice and ferment the juice with added or naturally occurring yeast, turning its sugars into alcohol.  This also means that ciders, like wines and oysters, have terroir.  The same apples may be grown in different areas producing different biochemical components in them leading to very different ciders. 

 

So, to explore further, I found myself biking around SF on a chilly Monday looking for some nice ciders.  Considering that I really didn't know much about the drink, I went to Healthy Spirits , a Castro beer/bourbon store with an incredibly knowledgeable staff that has no problem talking spirits for an hour.  Though they have a limited selection, the owner provided me with some great recommendations and information.  I wanted to get a four different ciders, varying in style, region, and level of production to try with four different oysters. 

Ciders

Aspall English Demi-Sec Draft Cider

Pretty widely available cider produced in Suffolk, England since 1728. It did not specify any apple varietal, so I assumed it was a blend.  It was floral, crisp, dry, and very champagne-esque.  It had a decent ripe apple sweetness to it, as well.

Tieton Cider Works - Wild Washington Semi-Dry

Tieton seemed to be one of the other widely available ciders.  It was made out of a blend of apples in the namesake town of Tieton, Washington.  Washington is famous for its apples and oysters, so I had to get one.  In comparison to the other three, this was a very mellow, low-carbonated, smooth cider.  It also had a very muddy, disagreeable after taste.     

West County Cider - Redfield

A smaller production where the owners both grow the apples and make the cider out of Shelburne, Massachusetts.  They also ferment with the natural apple skin yeast and not champagne yeast like most sparkling ciders do.  Being 75% Redfield apple, it had a rose color from the scarlet fleshed variety.  It was grassy on the nose, had a strong barnyard flavor with tartness and an alkaline finish.

N Cider  

I had to get a local cider, right?  Made by Murray Ciders out of Petaluma, California, it's a blend of organic Sonoma County apples and twice fermented, giving it a champagne carbonation.  It was cloudy, had an extremely harsh citrus nose, was astringent, overly tart, and tasted like lemon juice.  In hindsight, I wish I had gone with Murray's Cyder, the company's primary cider.  I even bought a second bottle of N Cider, just to make sure the one I had wasn't oxidized.  But, sure enough, same characteristics.

Oysters

Church Point

This Pacific oyster is intertidal beach grown and partly tumbled by the Sea Fresh Farms cooperative out of Hammersly Inlet, Washington.  It's a medium-cupped, fluted oyster with a very high liquor (oyster juice) content and has a nice artichoke/cucumber finish.  It's also a triploid oyster, meaning it never gets spawny or creamy.

Drakes Bay

Local Pacific oyster bag-to-beach grown by the Lunny Family in Drakes Estero in Point Reyes, California.  I had to use it, not only because it's a great oyster but may not be around much longer because of the damn National Park Service and a misguided Ken Salazar.  Hopefully you're familiar and hopefully the Lunny's litigation fight turns the decision around.  It is very briny, a little creamy and has a great bitter-herb finish.

Effingham  

Another Pacific oyster grown in suspension trays and partly tumbled by Northwest Aquaculture in Barkley Sound, Vancouver Island.  The Effingham is larger, plump, has a cream colored flesh and a subtle watermelon finish.

Village Bay

The only Atlantic oyster in my selection, Village Bays are suspension tray grown in Bedec Bay, New Brunswick.  They are very similar to the famous Beausoleil oyster from the same region.  They're medium sized, snappy, mild with a fresh baked bread aroma and a gamier clam-like finish.

Now, to the pairings.  Two ciders immediately eliminated: Tieton and N Cider.  If it's not a good cider to start with, it's not going to pair well with anything.  Perhaps not dogma, but I tried them and they didn't work.  I was left with four oysters and two ciders.  What immediately became apparent was that a strongly flavored oyster was needed to stand up to the pungency of even the dryer, less tart ciders.  Effinghams and Church Points were completely overwhelmed by both the Aspall and the West County.

Two wonderful pairings did come out of the tasting, though, and they were the Drakes with the Aspall and the Village Bay with the West County.  Quite the opposite of what I had expected, actually.  I imagined the barnyard flavored West County would go nicely with the more vegetal Pacific oyster and the Aspall with the minerally Atlantic oysters.

However, the Aspall and Drakes went great together.  None of the Drakes celebrated qualities were lost while drinking the Aspall.  Slight fruitiness to begin cut by the strong salinity in the Drakes, finished with the refreshing effervescence of another sip.  Certainly a pairing I'd love to enjoy while sitting bayside in San Francisco.

The real magic happened with the Village Bay and West County, though.  The dry, alkaline finish of the West County made me yearn for the mild yet savory hit of a Virginica oyster.  I took in the fresh yeasty aroma of the Village Bay, slurped, and was entranced by the accentuated gaminess that the cider brought out.  The West County made the Village Bay taste more "oystery" in a great way, almost like an Olympia.

Though this experiment had not gone as I had expected in proving that ciders and oysters pair brilliantly, it did confirm that a few ciders and a few stronger oysters do work amazingly in tandem.  In my eyes, this is just the beginning to a long and "fruitful" adventure.

 The Village Bay with the West County Redfield and the Aspall with the Drakes Bay

Naturally, after having drunk nearly three bottles of cider mostly to myself on a Monday afternoon (it's tough doing blog research, man) I got a little audacious.  I figured brunoise some shallots and apples, add equal parts of the Aspall and apple cider vinegar, and you've got yourself a spot-on mignonette.  It proved true.  I had my brother try it for confirmation.  It definitely worked, and it wasn't just the cider talking.

Apple Cider Mignonette

My cider and oyster pairing was an amazing experience.  It lead me to do everything I try to achieve in a post.  Explore and learn about new things, enjoy the process of trying out new ideas, and sharing those ideas and their end results with others.  Hopefully you too get the chance, soon, to try sparkling hard ciders and oysters together.

Cheers,

The SF Oysternerd

Japanese Fugu: 日本のふぐ

Spending two weeks in Japan was quite the trip.  It’s hard to know where to even begin.  Flashing lights that put Vegas to shame, eight story arcades, bullet trains, incomprable politeness, and plutonium powered 1.21 gigawatt toilets.  The differences are indescribable, but the similarities in our shared regard for good food, drink, sport, fashion, literature, etc. are ever prevalent.  We’re all the same at the end of the day with the same appreciation of quality and attention to detail, the latter being especially Japanese.

Unfortunately, to my dismay, it was not exactly Oyster season (poorly planned on my part, but job transitions happen when they happen, giving me two weeks for a vacation).  All of the Japanese Oysters I had were straight spawn bombs, but there were a few nice Australian Rock Oysters I tried, namely the Coffin Bay.

However, out of all the nigiri, kaki, izakayas, ramen, and wagyu, one particular dining experience stood out above all others.  It was the perfect blend of refined product and execution mixed with genuine “mom’n’pop” hospitality.

As soon as a decided I was going to Japan, I knew I was going to find a solid Fugu dinner.  Fugu is the infamous poisonous blowfish that if not prepared correctly, can kill you within 24-48 hours from tetrodotoxin.  You may be familiar with it from the Simpsons Episode, among other media, of course.  Just one drop is enough to kill three people.  The poison lies primarily in the fish’s skin and liver.  One must be properly trained and licensed to serve it.  The final examination actually consists of the trainee preparing his own Fugu and eating all by himself.  Some eat to live, others live to eat, but in Japan, they go as far to eat that which may kill you.

Yet, nowadays, much Fugu is farm-raised and thus not poisonous, seeing as how their poison is derived from the coral and creatures they eat in the wild.  I wanted the proper thing.  So, I did my research, headed to Kyoto, and went to a small place named Fukushin. It’s basically one 70-something-year-old master who’s been preparing Fugu since the 60’s along side his wife.  His son/apprentice is now licensed as well and prepared my meal.

When I walked in on a cloudy Wednesday, I was the only customer.  A bit nerve-wrecking at first, but nothing a few sakes and Asahis couldn’t handle. Keeping in mind that I spoke no Japanese and they knew no English, I did my best to get right into it.

“Tennen Fugu A Course, shite kudasai”

He first pulled out the entire broken down blowfish and presented to me, upon my hand-gestured/written request.  Then, he proceeded to break it down piece-by-piece, setting aside specific pieces for different cooking methods.

Tepi Fugu Kawa: First course was the blowfish subdermis collagen served with finely shredded daikon radish and wakame.  The most incredible thing about this course is that a little bit of the tetrodotoxin from the skin stays in the gelatinous subdermis, making your lips a little numb as you eat it.  Quite the savory, crunchy, and mildly frightening experience all wrapped into one.

Fugu Tesa: Second course was Fugu sashimi, which was the only course the 70-year-old master stepped up for.  Thinly sliced pieces of Fugu loin with pickled daikon and chives meant to be dipped into ponzu.  Honestly, it wasn’t the most memorable portion of the meal.  It makes sense, though, if you think about it.  White meat vs. dark meat.  Which tastes better?  Let’s all try and steer clear of those flavorless filet mignons and all-white-meat chicken breasts and opt for the more flavorful bone-in cuts.

Yakifugu: Third course.  This portion was straight bad ass I don’t mind saying.  A cinder block sized grill was placed directly in front of me with white-hot charcoal searing away.  The kind cook placed one collar and one tailpiece on the grill for my enjoyment.  Salt, pepper, char, and a little lemon was all the accoutrement necessary for these delectable bites.  I felt a little bit embarrassed as I was gnawing on the bones, but I saw their appreciation of how much I was enjoying it.

  
Torafugu Karage: Fourth Course.  Anything deep fried is good, naturally.  But the potato starch breaded Japanese style of deep-frying called karage is especially delightful.  Sweet and succulent bone-in collar and loin cuts with fried shitake mushrooms and shishito peppers are tough to beat.  Aside from the delciousness, it was at this point I accidentally dropped my chopsticks (poor form) on to the table only to be followed by terrified gasps by my hosts.  It took me a few minutes to realize why they were so scared….poisoned!  In the broader sense, yes.  Inebriated by delicious bottles of Asahi lager and sake, but no tetrodotoxin.

Tecchiri Fugu Nabe: Fifth Course.  Claypot Nabe style.  Definitely the heartiest, rib-sticking part of the meal.  Enoki mushroom, tofu, napa cabbage, chewy potato noodles, and the meatier cuts of fugu, all cooked in piping hot dashi broth with pickled ginger on the side.  Rich and well-seasoned.  The best bit was the boiled mochi.  A simple glutinous rice cake boiled in dashi stock ended up being one of the tastiest parts of the meal.

I also invited the lovely family to join me in a friendly libation at the fifth course, as they were so gracious and kind to me.  We all had a few sips of beer and what minimal
conversation could be had broadened.  The most hilarious point was when my server, the son’s wife, managed to ask me where I was from.  I said “California” and she chuckled, paused, and said in her best Austrian accent “I’ll be back.”  Arguably the most adorable part of the entire evening. 

Hirezake and Andes Melon:  Final course. Few people might think fish flavored alcohol sounds good, but believe me, it’s incredible.  Hirezake is the dorsal fin of Fugu grilled super hot and dried for five days.  It’s then placed in hot sake, lit on fire, and capped to seal in the flavor.  Opening any less then thirty seconds later would be blasphemy.  The abounding aromatics stun you upon opening.  This, followed by a delicious and world-renowned Hokkaido melon capped off the evening as the perfect desert. 

People have argued that Fugu is too pricey for too little flavor.  You’re paying for the thrill of the bite, not the taste.  However, when enjoying proper wild Fugu at Fukushin in Kyoto, it’s worth every yen.  Incomparable succulence and service.  The family was even kind enough to give me a gift of a tea cup and Fugu poster when I left.  If you ever find yourself in Kyoto, Fukushin is certainly my main recommendation. It reminded that while food may help to identify race, creed, or culture, its base is blind in good times with great people.

カンパイ,

The SF Oysternerd

Cannery Row

I recently spent a wonderful couple days with my family down in Pebble Beach.  Ironically, none of us golf.  However, that doesn't mean there weren't plenty of things to do, namely a visit to Cannery Row.  Briefly, Cannery Row in Monterey was a massive sardine fishing and canning industry back in the 1940's and 1950's.  At its peak during WWII, companies were canning 250,000 tons of sardines a season, and at its collapse in the mid 1950's a mere 1,000.  Reasons for the collapse are debated, causes being both overfishing and the natural fluctuation of sardine populations.  However, it would be undeniably foolhardy to say humans had nothing to do with it.  Nowadays, Cannery Row is a major tourist destination for its restaurants, Steinbeck history, and most especially, The Monterey Bay Aquarium.

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I especially enjoy the 'juxtaposition' of the vintage canning sign with the high-performance muscle car.  Feel free to mentally punch me for having said that.

Visiting the aquarium was one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had.  Endless exhibits of psychedelic jellyfish, humbly terrifying sharks, and whimsical sea otters.  Tidal pools where you can pet sting rays. Dolphin shows. Model set ups of Edward Rickett's laboratory famed by Steinbeck's namesake novel.  Puffins, star fish, tuna, anemones.  Seeing everything in one day is impossible.

 Turns out taking pictures of moving fish with an iPhone is quite the challenge.  This was the best I got, a small school of anchovies.  Sorry everyone.  Photography is not my specialty.

However, while wandering through the Open Sea exhibit, I couldn't help but over hear a conversation to my right.  I was enjoying massive schools of sardines shoot by, only to be followed by enormous Hammerhead sharks and Pacific Bluefin Tuna.  All of the sudden I hear, "Man, I'd love to eat that."  Here we are, not only looking at this majestic two-decade-old bluefin tuna, but surrounded by demonstrable depletion of fisheries in the Cannery Row history, and all this dick can think is "mmm, Kuro Maguro."  I didn't say anything, seeing as how it would have ruined both mine and his day, but I would have loved to.  It certainly got me thinking, though.    

Our culture is full of all these buzzwords nowadays.  Locavore, grass-fed, free-range, sustainably-grown, and the completely exhausted organic.  No, I’m not going to delve into the entire Michael Pollan industrial food complex discussion, but there is something endemic to our dietary culture that's not good.  It both pains and excites me to see so many inquisitive diners these days (at least in my current hometown of San Francisco…enter reader eye-roll).  “Excuse me, miss.  Is this beef local and grass-fed?  Is this chicken cage-free raised?  Is this gluten-free?  I don’t have celiac’s disease, but Anderson Cooper told me gluten is bad so I don’t want it.  Do you think the chicken had friends?”  Maybe the last one’s a bit Portlandia-esque and unfair.

Yet, I've witnessed these very same customers become giddy as hell when they see Hamachi, Monkfish, or King Crab on a menu.  Put Black Rhino on your menu and people will lose their shit.  "How dare you serve an endangered species."  But put Bluefin Tuna on your menu and people will go ape shit with excitement.  In reality, Black Rhino might be the more responsible choice, given how few breeding Bluefins there are left in the world.  Why does everyone care so much about gavaged ducks, so much that it's banned in California, but nobody seems to care about the ever-dwindling populations of the sea?  People have wholeheartedly fought for legistlation against foie gras production, in which there are still questions of adverse effects on the animal to be debated, yet don't blink twice for entire species of fish being decimated beyond recovery.

It's the panda effect.  If it's cuddly or seems to have a personality, it's worth saving.  Furry means friend, fish means food.  But does veal really deserve our attention so much more than the diseased, concentrated salmon in farms off the Chilean coast?  What if I were to say that octopuses are highly intelligent?  They problem solve, have discernable long-term memories, and have even been observed "playing."  Would you still be comfortable eating your poulpe provencal?  It's a personal choice that each individual has to decide on his or her own.  But it doesn't detract from the point that our oceans are being heavily overfished.

Take the Grand Banks off of Newfoundland and its cod fishery collapse, for example.  In 1968, the total cod catch was 800,000 tons.  By 1975, it was down to 35,000.  The reason for this enormous change was more effective means of fishing leading to larger catches.  With these large catches, no of-age cod were being left in the sea to breed.  In 1992, the Canadian government put a moratorium on cod fishing in the Grand Banks and the cod population has yet to recover.  Many scientists argue that it never will.  Too many fish have been pulled out of the gene pool for it to recover to what it once was.  This same tragedy is happening world wide.  Thousands of boats are pulling 10-times the amount of fish they're allowed by their quota daily out of the sea.  Entire schools of pollock, meaning entire genetic stocks, are being pulled out of the Bering Strait to make those Filet'o'Fish sandwiches.  20 pounds of bycatch (undesirable fish, coral, sea turtles, etc) are caught in shrimp trawlers for every single pound of shrimp.

So why not just eat farmed fish?  Unfortunately, this is not the answer either.  There are many reputable fish farms out there, and particularly Oyster farms that are environmentally friendly and sustainable.  However, many farmed fish such as salmon require a 4 to 1 ratio of feed.  Every pound of salmon that is grown requires 4 pounds of sardines, anchovies, or other fish to be caught and fed to them.  Not exactly sustainable.  Entire regions of mangroves are being destroyed by Malaysian shrimp farming, just so we can have those easy-peel 21-25 IQF prawns.  They dump waste into one area just to move on to the next once it's reached capacity.  The transgressions are endless.

Whatever your moral dietary choices be, there is an undeniable atrocity happening in our oceans.  The ocean is not inexhaustable or ever abundant.  No matter what ethical eating choice you make, there won't be a choice left when it comes to seafood if we keep on pace.  There is a ceiling to what we can take from the sea, and it seems that we're dangerously close to that proverbial point of no return.

So please, choose your seafood responsibly and sustainably.  Nobody's perfect.  I have some Indonesian shrimp in my freezer right now.  But so long as you stay educated, spread the word, and practice what you preach as much as you can, things should get better.  Follow the The Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watchlist for your area.  Eat sardines, local fish, and farmed Oysters.  Follow seasonal guidelines for fish like those provided by TwoXSea.  Frequent and support transparent establishments that provide you with all pertinent seafood information.  Be that asshole who questions where and how your seafood was sourced!   It's the only way to make things change.  Plus, I'd like my little niece and nephew to be able to enjoy the bounty of the sea just as we have.

 

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd

Philadelphia style Hoagies in San Francisco?

Yes, this is an Oyster blog.  No, this post is not on Oysters.  But, I recently found something so incredible that I had to share it with other SF and Bay Area residents.  And you know it's got to be good if it warrants a non-Oyster post. 

Upon moving to San Francisco, there were many culinary treats I thought I would miss from the the Mid-Atlantic.  But, I soon came to realize that a soft pretzel is a soft pretzel, for the most part.  There actually are good cheese steaks out here, despite what some may say.  All the great microbreweries around made me soon forget Yuengling.  And there are so many "micro-chipperies" that Herr's potato chips are easily replaced.  However, the East Coast delight that has simply not been made in the Bay Area is the Philadelphia style Italian Hoagie.  Over the past two years I've been frantically searching for one, taking any and all suggestions.  None have been up to par, until now.

I've paid $10 for my fair share of SF sandwiches, and some are very good.  However, often you just end up with avocado covered nonsense, shabby "house roasted" turkey, and some damn "aioli" that you wish you could forget.  Nothing like the value and quality you receive with an Italian Hoagie.  Also aioli is not technically aioli if it does not have garlic in it.  It means "garlic" and "oil."  Somehow, mayonnaise has become a dirty word and aioli has replaced it, even though 9 times out of 10 it's not actual aioli.  My buddy's been bitching about this for a while and I kind of agree with him.  A bit pedantic, but true.

Anyway, this is one of the few sandwiches I have no qualms paying more than $10 for (but they only charge $10).  The owner of Deli Board, famous for its baked-to-order bread and corned beef sandwiches, has started a pop-up out the back of the store called 1058 Hoagies.

Plenty of places in SF have claimed to make an "italian hoagie."  Sorry guys, it takes a bit more than just putting Boar's Head on an Amoroso's roll.  The bread needs to be soft and toothsome with ends that are almost over-saturated with oil and vinegar.  Properly shredded iceberg lettuce.  Hot peppers and and italian seasoned onions so aromatic passing pedestrians can smell them through the bag.  Tomatoes prepped on an industrial slicer so they're translucently thin.  Only a thin layer of provolone as to not over power but give just the right bite.  And there needs to be so much meat it would make a nun blush.  That's the proper hoagie, and 1058 Hoagies is making a damn good one. 

 

It's an unapologetic monster at 12 inches long.  Size is irrelevant unless quality is there though, and it certainly is.  1058 easily passes all tests.  Great sesame seed fresh baked roll, well seasoned onions, salt & pepper, oil & vinegar, cherry peppers, shredded lettuce adorably known as "shredduce," and the perfect ratio of thinly sliced provolone to generous helpings of capicola, mortadella, and genoa salami (Italian delis' holy trinity).  I have to admit the pictured sandwich is not the Italian Hoagie I speak of, or "the #1" as it's known at 1058.  I couldn't make it home to take a picture before devouring the whole thing like a crazy person on the street and bus (passengers definitely noticed the onions, ha).  However, they were so kind that they gave me a free hoagie, the #10 on their website.  Be it a misfire or just pure generosity, I certainly appreciated it and will be returning soon for a bite into the East Coast's best.

   

They are open on select nights, listed on their schedule on the website (seems to be in sync with Giants home games).  Whether you follow them on Twitter, schedule the dates on your iPhone calender, or camp out on the corner of Russ St. and Folsom St., I highly recommend getting one of these hoagies.  I'm sure you'll see me there.

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd/A Hoagie Junkie

  

Oyster Farming on Tomales Bay

I've eaten thousands of Oysters, killed thousands more, but until this past Sunday, I had only shucked, slurped, and savored.  However, thanks to the Pickleweed Community Oyster Farm and Luc Chamberland, I am now a proud Oyster farmer.  Well, as much as an individual who goes apple-picking for a day is an apple farmer, I suppose.  But we did plant our own Oysters and now have the chance, nay, responsibility of going back up to Tomales Bay every month or so and checking in on their progress.

The farming we're doing is pretty straight forward, almost anachronistic, at least once you have the baby Oysters.  Having seen the hatchery process at Drakes Bay Oyster Company, I can tell you that larval development is anything but simple.  We had the good fortune of being able to skip that part.  The Oysters we planted had been shipped in from another hatchery and were all ready and set to go into the water.  They're actually quite adorable. 

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Once the packages of Oysters were cracked open, we had to count them out, placing 1,000 to a bag.  This was conveniently estimated with a standard measuring cup.

After a solid 45 minutes or so, the hard mesh plastic bags were filled, firmly "riot-tied" shut, and ready to be loaded on to the boat.

This was where the fun part came.  Any excuse to get on a boat, I'm in.  If Oysters are involved, doubly so.  However, I'm the first to admit I'm not the strongest swimmer.  That's why I like fishing; don't go into their environment but take them out and into yours.  Perhaps a little unfair, but it's leisure, not sport to me.

Typically, the farmers go out at lower tide.  In our case, there was a group of other first time farmers that went out before us.  So, when it was our turn to go, the water was a little rougher than usual.  I'm fine with that, but only while on a boat.  I knew we'd be getting in the water.  When we arrived at the actual planting ground, Luc's son, who was our captain, said "whoa, that's actually kind of deep."  Not the most encouraging words from the savvy pro.

However, nothing was keeping me from planting my little bivalve buddies.  I eagerly hopped in the frigid water, only to learn that my right boot in my waders had a hole in it.  Awesome.  We trudged about 40 yards away from the boat and began running into long tethers.  Our trusty captain lunged his hand into the water, pulled up a yellow line, and had us tie our treasure on.

After we finished and my boot was filled with Tomales Bay's finest, Luc's son grabbed a few harvest ready bags and we headed back to the beach.  Living in the city and rarely making it up there, I have to say that spending time on the bay does give you that transcendentalist feeling to just say "fuck it, I'm becoming an Oyster farmer or something."  It is truly beautiful, but I think that whole Haight-Ashbury "concrete doesn't breathe, man" is another converstation.

Instead, what I can tell you is that we returned to the beach, fired up the grill, and cracked open plenty of beers and Oysters.  Hopefully, the end product you see below will genuinely be one of the fruits of my own labor 10 to 18 months from now. 

 

If you live in the area, I highly recommend getting in touch with Luc to become a part of the Pickleweed Community Oyster Farm.  Everyone from school children to stock brokers are involved, and it's very user friendly.  It not only gives the opportunity to frequently go up to Tomales Bay, but the excuse.  "Sorry, honey, can't go to your sister's this weekend.  I have to go and take care of the Oysters."  Just don't forget your sunscreen because damn have my past few days sucked.

Cheers,

The SF Oysternerd