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

  

Camarão e Carvão - Portugal's Algarve

My family and I traveled across the pond again for spring break, this time destined for the beautiful beaches, stunning cliffs, and seaside towns of Southern Portugal.  Yes, we're those bougie parents who've flown our toddlers to Europe two years in a row now.  Honestly though, when looking at the prices for a trip to the Virgin Islands or a Jersey shore house for a week, the cost is almost identical these days.  My father-in-law was very helpful with the finances, too.  And with a couple of White House man babies currently laying waste to everything, who knows what the future holds.  Best to travel abroad while we still can, or sadly, even scope out some new places to live.  As such, this was a very appropriately timed vacation.  Mentally, physically, and emotionally, we were all in desperate need of a get-away.

Portugal Food Map

The Iberian Peninsula has long been famed for its cuisine, most notably its seafood delicacies and delights.  Valencian paella, Galician pulpo, Basques pil-pil, Lisboan bacalhau.  However, as I've sort of just done, these foods often end up all lumped together as one for those who are unfamiliar.  In the States, we typically get "Chinese" food, when in reality there's Cantonese, Hakka, Sichuan, Hunan, etc.  It's the same with Mexican, Indian, and many others.  Subcultural dishes from specific areas are packaged into pan-national presentations.  Even more, there are several dishes that have crossed those political borders, leading to further confusion.  Think of all the Salvadorian restaurants selling tacos or Korean restaurants making sushi.  I've found this to be true of Iberian cuisine too.  Countless Portuguese eateries around the States have patrons asking "where's the tapas?"  There's even a TripAdvisor thread dedicated to the best paella in Lisbon.  This isn't always a bad thing, though.  Traditional or "authentic" food has its much needed place, but cultural exchange and culinary "fusion" have created some incredible dishes too.  Either way, my goal for Southern Portugal was simple: find the best seafood bites I could in the limited I had.  Vamos! 😜

I immediately noticed that many towns in the Faro District offer a lot of Spanish style cuisine, likely in reaction to a burgeoning tourist industry and unacquainted clientele.  The industry was likely a major economic lifeline for many in the midst of the country's recent financial crisis, but it was a little weird to see so many tapas bars.  Don't get me wrong, there was ample representation of local, quality cuisine.  But it kind of reminded me of New England clam chowder's popularity at San Francisco's Fisherman's Wharf or cheesesteaks in Miami's South Beach.  Give the tourists what they're asking for, I suppose.  And, ironically enough, one of these establishments was my very first stop.  Good food is good food, right?  

Restaurante Mimar - Tapas & Wine

Restaurante Mimar is located in the heart of Old Town Lagos amidst the foot-traffic-only streets.  In my pre-trip Googling and research, this place kept coming up as one of the best seafood spots in the area.  It surprised me to find such a quality establishment pocketed amongst the mediocre gelatos and over-priced baubles of tourist town.  However, this place was legit.  The staff was incredibly attentive and accommodating of our party of seven.  Olives, bread, and butter hit the table almost immediately upon sitting down, followed very shortly by apple juices and fries for our testy toddlers.  The menu was an eclectic mix of regional and global cuisine.  Portuguese presunto, bacalhau with roasted potatoes, and piri piri chicken for the traditional;  BBQ ribs, tuna tataki, and salmon gravlax for the more internationally inspired.  Everything coming out of the kitchen to our neighboring tables looked great.  

We basically ordered the entire menu, and I have to say everything was phenomenal.  As pictured above, I focused in on the roasted octopus, bulhão pato clams, garlic prawns, and perch ceviche.  The octopus was tasty, though could have used a little more char for flavor and texture.  The ceviche was classic - bright, well-seasoned, and flavorful.  And the prawns, well, you'll see a theme through this whole trip.  The bulhão pato clams, however, were the best.  Clams sautéed in olive oil, wine, garlic and cilantro - delightful.  And while simple, the dish is deeply emblematic of Portuguese culture and cuisine, even being named after the 19th century Portuguese poet and epicurean Raimundo António.  More interestingly, the dish is viewed as a bar snack or nibble rather than part of a meal.  Just like we have buffalo wings at all of our bars or brew pubs, the Portuguese have bulhão pato clams at all of their tascas or cervejarias.  It felt like every other storefront on our late evening strolls through Lagos had locals clinking beer glasses and crushing clams.  I highly recommend both Mimar and the clams, and I'm pretty sure my son would agree.

Restaurante Camilo

It was my niece's turn to choose dinner for the next stop.  She said "I'd like us all to dress up nice and go to a fancy restaurant."  I can't imagine much else that would have better fit the bill.  South of downtown, family-owned Restaurante Camilo sits atop the picturesque cliffs of Praia de Camilo overlooking the Lagos harbor.  They've been serving up Atlantic seafood in traditional, Southern Portuguese styles for over 40 years.  Several dishes even need to be ordered a day ahead of dining to ensure they've got the appropriate seafood on hand.  Most notable was their fresh fish and shellfish display right at the entrance.  You know an establishment's going to be quality if they're confident enough to display their seafood on ice, front and center for the curious and scrutinizing diners.  And while a bit higher-brow and more expensive than all else I'd researched, this place did not disappoint.  They were even kind enough to accommodate our morning-of-request for one of the aforementioned dishes.  

   I'd considered a number of classics from the menu: charcoal grilled sea bream, piri-piri chicken, seafood caldeirada.  I ended up pre-ordering an Algarvian icon: cataplana.  Named after the copper vessel in which it's cooked and served, cataplana is essentially a seafood stew with tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, white wine and olive oil.  Not to offend any Portuguese, but think cioppino or seafood pan roast.   Little is known of the dish's origins.  Most believe it stems from Moorish and North African influence with the tagine, cooking food through a hermetic steam process.  The Algarve has also been long known for its copper artisans, so the creation of the cataplana was a logical next step.  Separately, I've read the cataplana's origins stem from collusion amongst fisherman, restauranteurs, and the Portuguese Ministry of Tourism.  To utilize undesirable or close-to-spoiling cuts of fish, throw them all in a fancy pot with some heavy seasoning and sell it at an incredible markup to none-the-wiser tourists.  Fine by me, as long as it tastes good.  Nothing's wrong with fin-to-tale, economical cooking.  Either way, it was delicious.  Cuts of bone-in monkfish, sole, and cod collars are always more flavorful.  Pair that with a deep, savory garlic and tomato broth with some clams and you can't go wrong.  Oh, and of course we had the prawns.  Massive, charcoal grilled scarlet prawns topped with garlic butter in this instance. 

 Marisqueira O Perceve

I managed to sneak away for a few hours during the kids' nap time for some exploring.  Aside from my 2-year-old daughter, nobody in my family is really a raw seafood fan.  So, this was the perfect opportunity to check out a Portuguese raw bar.  As I headed to Marisqueira O Perceve, things immediately began to feel less touristy.  Cobblestone footpaths and decorative lintels quickly gave way for contemporary high-rises and petrol stations.  While still close to the downtown harbor, O Perceve felt much closer to where the locals live and go about their days.  The restaurant is even seated at the base of an apartment complex.  When I arrived, there was a table of five middle-aged Lagosians each with their own personal seafood platters and bottles of vinho verde.  Five diners, five seafood feasts, and five bottles of wine.  If that's your standard Wednesday afternoon in Lagos, count me in. 

This was the first restaurant I'd visited where the staff didn't speak much English, which was actually quite refreshing.  With a little Google translate, Portuñol, and menu pointing, I ordered a brown crab, percebes, and a few Ostra Select oysters.  I honestly hadn't done my proper diligence here and thought Portuguese oyster farming and harvesting was focused more in the Northern part of the country, specifically the Ria de Aveiro region just south of Porto.  Poor oyster nerd form.  Turns out the Algarve has an oyster culture dating back centuries.  Most have been historically exported to France, but the boom in oyster popularity the last few decades has seen more small farms pop up and sell domestically.  The Ostra Selects from Ria de Alvor were crisp and snappy with a mild brininess and fruity cucumber notes.  Very tasty, as was the crab, and of course, prawns...again. 

The percebes, however, stole the show.  Also known as gooseneck barnacles, percebes are a stationary, clustering crustacean that reside primarily on the rocky intertidal zones of the Eastern Atlantic from Morocco to France.  You may be familiar with their close cousin that can be found on coastal California and Oregon.  They're incredibly dangerous to harvest as it often requires rappelling off cliffs into the crashing waves.  Concurrently, they cost a pretty penny but are well worth it.  Sweet and briny, they're a brilliant marriage of lobster and clam in flavor with a firm texture like squid.  Being so rare in the States, if you ever see them on a menu, I advise you give them a try regardless of cost.  Check out the medieval misconception that lead to their gooseneck name sometime, too. 

Tasca da Lota

Last stop came exclusively from Lagos insights and recommendations.  Throughout the week, I'd asked some other vacationers, vendors, and expats where the best seafood was.  One place kept coming up over and over again, and that was Tasca da Lota.  Located right between the Lagos train station and the commercial fisherman port, Tasca da Lota loosely translates to "fish market tavern."  They specialize in "peixe no carvão" or charcoal grilled fish, something I'd seen on a number of menus but had yet to try.  And man, the place had serious vibes.  No reservations, so we literally lined up across from the harbor's rusty crab traps and shrimp pots to wait to be seated.  The queue quickly became a diverse mix of local teens, German expats, Lagosian bikers, Korean tourists, and more.  Fresh seafood was prominently displayed for inspection and selection.  The sweet, smoky smell of charcoal spread across the mess hall style dining room.  Busy, no-fuss servers sternly inquired "what would you like" before moving on to the next dozen tables.  It reminded me of the robatayaki stalls near Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo; the right place to be. 

Swordfish, sea bream, tuna belly, cod steaks, scabbard fish, sea bass.  Unfortunately, we were a few weeks shy of sardine season.  But this place pretty much had it all, straight from the docks less than fifteen meters away.  After a thorough review of the fresh fish on ice, I landed on the sarda or Spanish mackerel.  The churrasqueiro promptly cleaned, split, and heavily seasoned the whole fish, placing it directly on the smoking grill in the open air kitchen.  A few minutes later, the mackerel arrived at my table paired with a mixed salad and salt boiled potatoes.  Straightforward yet perfect, and what I came to understand as quintessentially Algarvian.  Great ingredients simply prepared.  Same for the prawns we had at Tasca da Lota, and literally every other restaurant.  Fresh, head on, simply sautéed, poached, or grilled, and mostly served in or with garlic butter.  Each just as delightful as the last. 

Mercado Municipal de Lagos
 

Each restaurant I'd visited was special in it's own unique way.  Wonderful experiences.  However, our villa in Praia da Luz was equipped with a full kitchen and outdoor grill, and nothing beats a home-cooked meal.  The thing that excited me most about Algarvian cuisine was its embrace of open fire.  Every restaurant had at least a few grehlada dishes, and in many instances, focused on charcoal grilling.  Sardinhas na brasa are in integral part of any Portuguese cookout.  The other exciting part of Algarvian cuisine was its use of local, seasonal ingredients.  And nothing quite inspired like a few walks through the Mercado Municpal de Lagos.  Three stories of farm fresh vegetables, butchers, and small boat Atlantic seafood.  I decided our penultimate Portuguese meal would be a whole fish, charcoal grilled, with some farmers market produce. 

An entire floor of the market is entirely fishmongers.  I thought Tasca da Lota had it all, but this place truly did.  Octopus, croaker, john dory, gurnard, mackerel, skate, squid, sea bass, mullet, monkfish, pigfish, one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, and of course, prawns.  I was immediately drawn to a beautiful, four pound galinha do mar or red scorpionfish.  While quite dangerous due to its venomous spines and barbs, it's incredibly delicious from a diet of primarily crustaceans and mollusks.  With a quick exchange of some Euros and a "para a churrasco, por favor," my fishmonger proceeded to prep and split the whole fish for the grill.  I grabbed some early spring leeks, broccolini, a jar of piri piri, and a few salsichas frescas.  Later that evening, we fired up the carvão and enjoyed a few beverages while casually grilling.  Paired with some local rice and a sauce of cilantro, parsley, garlic, and olive oil, it was the perfect family meal to cap off our Algarvian vacation.  

Though, I suppose we were missing the prawns 😂.

Abraços,

The SF Oyster Nerd

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