Charcoal Oysters

"Grilled" Oysters from Hog Island

Summertime is in full swing here in the Mid-Atlantic.  Balmy days, warm nights, Jersey shore trips, raucous community pools.  Wawa's Hoagiefest is going hard and Rita's Water Ice lines are around the block.  Neighborhood kids are playing barefoot wiffle ball while parents exchange garden fresh tomatoes.  There's an indescribable yet very tangible joy that runs through the whole region this time of year.  I really missed it while living on the West Coast.  Sure, there were equally if not more beautiful days and seasons in California.  That's why it's such a desirable, and expensive, place to live.  But you need those contrasting, bitterly cold winter months to feel that true jubilation for the summer ones.  And of all the things I love about an East Coast summer, one of my favorites has to be the backyard barbecues that are ripping hot on a daily basis.

The summer, however, is a bit of a peculiar time for oysters.  Historically, they've been a seasonal food, reserved for harvest and consumption in late fall through early spring.  You know, the old "only eat oysters in months that have an 'R'" adage.  It's still largely observed in many parts of the Gulf Coast and Southeastern US.  And there are a few sound reasons for this longstanding practice:

• 

  Funny Book No. 6

  Oysters, once out of the water, must be kept cold or they'll spoil.  Refrigerated shipping and storage are relatively new.  We've eaten oysters for millennia, but properly chilled storage year-round is less than 100 years old.  As such, fresh oysters could only be safely harvested, shipped, stored, and consumed in colder months for most of our history.
  
  
• The warmer waters of summer breed more dangerous bacteria and algal blooms.  Oysters are filter feeders, so if anything harmful is in the ecosystem, they're one of the first species to pick it up.  Before regulatory oversight and water quality monitoring, oysters in the summer were harvested and consumed at one's own risk.
  
  
• Like many species, oysters procreate seasonally.  The warmer waters of May and June signal oysters that it's time to breed.  Throughout history, most societies knew that maintaining sustainable harvests of any wild food meant leaving it alone while it was reproducing.  And before oyster farming became the standard it is today, people were mostly reliant on wild reefs for their oyster fix.       

Fortunately, most of these concerns no longer apply.  Oysters are safely chilled and shipped or stored all around the world.  You can even express overnight them with ice packs directly from oyster farmers.  Government agencies diligently monitor water quality at shellfish farming and harvesting grounds, so no need for that Penicillin mignonette.  It's more likely you'll get ill from tainted lettuces or compromised lunch meats.  And nowadays, roughly 95% of the oysters we consume in North America are bred and farmed.  Wild oyster restoration is still desperately needed for a host of other reasons, but eating oysters year-round no longer threatens their wild populations.  The "months with R" dogma still persists, and many in the oyster industry are doing their best to dispel it.  Prominent publications annually shed some light on the topic, oyster festivals are common now during summer months, and official National Oyster Day is even in August.

Triploid & Spawny Oyster via Fukui NA

However, the one thing that remains is the quality of oysters in the summer months.  Don't get me wrong, I'll crush a dozen raw oysters any time of the year.  But they are undeniably better during the winter.  Oysters store up glycogen reserves so they can basically hibernate during the cold months.  This makes them rich, plump, and full of flavor.  Come late spring or summer, they've either converted their remaining reserves to gamete for procreation, creating a slightly creamier oyster, or they've exhausted those reserves, leading to a leaner, less flavorful oyster.  They're fine, just not the best quality, like a grocery store tomato in January.  Farmers have worked around this a bit by breeding triploid oysters, but triploids' long term viability is in question.  So with summer oysters, I say there's only one thing to do - supplement with flavor and fire!

Drago's' "Charbroiled" Oysters

During the warmer months, my favorite way to cook oysters is outdoors over charcoal.  However, the question that bothered me: what is that called?  If you go by arguably the most famous iteration of oysters over charcoal, Drago's in Louisiana, it's charbroiled.  You also see this version referred to as chargrilled, and the same is true in most establishments across the South.  Elsewhere in the US, on most menus or in most recipes, they're simply called grilled oysters.  The disclaimer here is that they may be fired over coals, wood, or gas.  In some instances, they're BBQ or barbecued oysters.  Now, we're all adults here and know the difference between grilling and "proper BBQ," so I'm not opening that can of beans (Get it?  Because beans go well with BBQ.  Worms don't go well with BBQ).  I like smoked oysters, but I don't think anyone would classify them as American pitmaster fare.  Across the pond, what we call a broiler the British call a grill.  What we call a grill (or a BBQ in some areas), they exclusively call a BBQ.  What do they call their oysters cooked over charcoal?  There's also W.C. Bradley Co. with their trademarked line of products named Char-Broil® or Charbroil®.  And those are mostly outdoor grills and BBQs.   So I am confusion.

The reality is that regardless of all the regional parlance and differing nomenclature, the methodology is essentially the same.  Shuck oysters, add fats with seasonings, place the oysters on a metal grate with fire below, cook.  So, in a nod to Josh Niland, I'm just going with "Charcoal Oysters" and calling it a day.  

Charcoal Oysters

I'm a big fan of the vegetable-forward

"Grilled" Oysters at Greystone

movement we've seen in cooking over the last decade.  It's not vegetarian or vegan, but rather a celebration of seasonal produce with sustainability in mind.  Peak quality vegetables are the focus of main dishes and often supplemented with animal proteins; it's a complete inversion of the classic meat-main-vegetable-side.  Stewed chickpeas with spicy sausage, roasted carrots with beef tallow, grilled asparagus with crispy chicken skin.  The BLT, a tomato sandwich seasoned with bacon, is the OG of vegetable-forward dishes.  Vegetable focused cooking is also a direction we'd all benefit moving towards.  Edge practices aside, vegetable production is more environmentally friendly and sustainable than animal production.  Vegetable consumption, writ large, is also healthier than animal protein consumption.  Despite all the snake oil supplements and paleo meal plans influencers are constantly throwing in our faces, we all know in our heart of hearts that a good diet isn't too complicated.  Michael Pollan's "Eat Food.  Not too much.  Mostly plants." summed it up pretty well 20 years ago.  

I carried this logic over to my charcoal oyster project.  Oysters, after all, are arguably one the most sustainable farmed items around, more so than some vegetables.  Seasoning with animal proteins is also delicious.  Traditional chargrilled oysters are composed of a garlic and herb compound butter with lemon and topped with parmesan cheese.  This is the Drago's classic.  Other notable versions include Cajun butter, classic BBQ sauce, and chipotle bourbon.  I wanted to push the limits of traditional.  As Julia Child used to say, "fat gives things flavor," so with oysters in the cooler and coals smokin' hot, let's get it! 

Mexican Chorizo & Cilantro

I say it time and time again: salty pig parts and shellfish is a brilliant pairing.  And few dishes are more representative of that than grilled oysters with chorizo.  I've also made this exact dish dozens of times.  So much that I'm almost annoyed by how frequently friends and family request it at get-togethers.  However, I figured it best to start with a sure-fire hit in my charcoal oyster and animal seasoning experiment.  Build a little confidence.  I rendered some chorizo on low heat to extract as much fat and flavor as possible.  Then I mixed in a little cilantro once slightly cooled and set it aside for topping oysters.  What's the saying?  "Sometimes simple is simply the best."  Feels appropriate for this dish. 

Beef Bone Marrow & Parsley

Bone marrow is a pretty polarizing food.  There are those who think it's disgusting and refuse to try it.  Then there are those who have tried it and love it, because, well, it's delicious.  Rich, beefy, and unctuous in all the right ways.  This one felt like a no brainer.  I purged some canoe cut beef marrow bones in salt water overnight to remove any particulate.  Next, I rinsed, lightly seasoned, and roasted them for 20 minutes.  Once cooked, I mixed half of the marrow into some crispy garlic sauteed in butter.  When cooled, I added in a little parsley and set it aside for topping oysters.  The other half of the marrow was a nice lunchtime treat spread over toasted sourdough.   

Schmaltz & Thyme

Schmaltz is the Yiddish word for rendered poultry fat, typically chicken.  It's got a fascinating history, being widely adopted by Central and Eastern European Jews through a combination of Kosher diets, limited resources, and land discrimination.  Another example of some of the best foods coming from hardship.  It's also known as liquid gold, and is the not-so-secret secret behind much Ashkenazi cooking.  Put it in pretty much anything and it's going to taste great.  I bought six bone-in chicken thighs and butchered out the bones and skin for stock and rendering.  The thigh meat was repurposed for a chicken adobo taco Tuesday, much to my kids' delight.  After reducing, I sieved the stock into a jar and the glistening, liquidy-gold chicken fat separated to the surface.  Once chilled, I scraped off the layer of schmaltz, mixed in some thyme, and set it aside for topping oysters. 

Virgin Coconut Oil & Lemon Balm

I know.  It sounds more like a skincare product than grilled oyster topping.  However, there's a movement known as ostroveganism or bivalveganism, and I wanted to make a charcoal oyster that met this criteria.  The idea is that some bivalves, like mussels, clams, and oysters, don't have central nervous systems, and therefore are neither sentient nor feel pain, satisfying one of the primary tenets of veganism.  Sure, they feed, react to stimuli, even move in some instances.  However, there's a growing subset of vegans that argue this is more akin to a plant's existence than an animal's.  There are also supporting considerations around the health benefits of oysters, as well as their positive environmental impact.  The concept has been around since the '70s, but it's caught fire over the last decade.  There's even a self-proclaimed vegan & vegetarian restaurant in DC that serves an oyster course.  Dietary practices are profoundly personal, so whatever makes people happy is ok in my book.  To make this ostrovegan charcoal oyster, the most flavorful plant-based fat I could think of was virgin coconut oil.  I lightly warmed a little on the stove, added some fresh tamarind and lemon balm, and set it aside for topping oysters. 

L to R: Chorizo, Schmaltz, Bone Marrow, Coconut Oil

With all four flavorful fats ready to go, I fired up the charcoal and started shucking away on a sunny Saturday afternoon.  The funny thing about the Wellfleet oysters I'd got from Hill's Quality Seafood is that they were all perfect.  Rich, plump, and tasty; not your typical summer oysters.  Don't worry, I enjoyed a few raw before prepping a dozen for the grill.  With charcoal oysters, there's one simple rule - do not overcook them!  As soon as the liquor bubbles and the oysters start to curl at the edges, they're done.  Just a few minutes to incorporate all the toppings but not lose the natural juicy and snappy texture of fresh oysters.  Another tricky thing about cooking oysters over charcoal is their concave, oddly shaped bottom shells.  When placed on a grill grate, some will always tilt or list, leading to oyster liquor and fats spilling over the sides onto the coals.  Many chefs roast or oven-broil their oysters on a bed of rock salt for this very reason.  However, even if you lose a little bit of flavorful liquid, each one of those drips leads to an aromatic flame up.  The oysters really aren't on the grill long enough to impart a ton of charcoal flavor, so I welcome each little smokey kiss they can get.     

Starting at 12 o'clock and going clockwise:
Schmaltz, Chorizo, Coconut Oil, Bone Marrow

After a few minutes over the coals, I had my dozen charcoal oysters ready to go.  The chorizo & cilantro topped with pickled jalapeño was great, as I'd expected.  I added a little pickled garlic to the bone marrow & parsley to cut through the richness, which also turned out great.  The ostrovegan coconut oil & lemon balm definitely surprised, though.  The tamarind became a little too tacky, but that blooming aroma of coconut oil is tough to beat, especially when finished with a fresh red chile.  It felt like I was taking a bite of a grilled seafood feast on a beach in the Bahamas.  However, hands down, the schmaltz & thyme was the best, blowing the other three out of the water.  Topped with some brunoised nectarine, because summer stone fruit is amazing, it was the perfect balance of briny, sweet, slightly acidic, and deeply savory.  I wasn't terribly surprised.  Like I said, put chicken fat on anything and it's going to taste great.

Chargrilled, charbroiled, grilled, barbecued, or whatever you want to call them, oysters over charcoal are shuckin' delicious.  I hope y'all have a wonderful summer and get more than a few chances to throw some seafood on the grill.  Just don't forget the schmaltz. 

 

Cheers,

The SF Oyster Nerd

  

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