Oysters

         The dark blue walls are lined halfway up with espresso-colored batten boards. The painted portion is littered with old fishing memorabilia: vintage fishing rods, antique bait cans, and small recreations of sea creatures. The orange booth I am sitting in is worn down to the seams from years of people sliding in and out throughout the hot summer days. In front of me, my hands stick to the varnish of the wood table that has become tacky after repeated cleaning each day. From my spot, I have a perfect view of the metal kitchen doors and bar entrance swinging open and shut throughout the busy evening shuffle.

Light casts down on the sticky table through a large wood-paned window to my right. Outside, tables and chairs line the sidewalk and patio surrounding the restaurant. Whether or not this is truly allowed goes undiscussed, as they do whatever they can to accommodate the booming summer crowd. Both inside and outside, there is not an open chair in sight. As a result, the volume is immense, both inside and out. Regardless of how loud you speak or someone speaks to you, their voice is overshadowed by the cacophony they are surrounded by.

While people decorate every table, they are accompanied by piles of plates. Some are full, and others are wiped clean. With the sun having yet to set completely, the white ceramic center of the plate reflects the blinding glare, creating a sharp contrast with the nautical dark-blue rim. Inside, the warm overhead lighting highlights each blue edge, allowing the white center to fall into the darkness behind whatever meal was on the plate.

Though every plate looks practically identical, it is not the only food-bearing vessel leaving through the metal kitchen doors. For every two ceramic plates that appear from the kitchen, so does one large, round metal tray. At least a foot in diameter and two inches tall, the tray hides its contents from the newcomers it passes by. Only those familiar with the location know what it really holds.

Oysters. Still in their shell, they are arranged meticulously to fill every space on the platter. Interlocking with one another, they remain still as they proceed to their final destination in the restaurant. Resting on a base of ice, they are accompanied only by small lemon wedges and various sauces in miniature dishes. Each intricate oyster shell is prepared meticulously to ensure that it is fresh for the people who will receive it.

After being placed carefully, and often with one hand, in the center of the table, the members of the party are able to begin their meal. In a circle, they remove each oyster one by one, allowing the person to the side to finish before taking their own. Carefully but not warily, they slurp the oyster from the shell, placing the empty casing on the plate in front of them. This process is repeated until the contents of the large metal tray are depleted, leaving behind only ice and lemon remnants.

I have never seen more oysters in my life than I do on these summer nights. However, people here are captivated by them. Regardless of the day of the week or the weather, people will be found enjoying a tray of oysters with those they are close with. As the night passes, hundreds of empty shells return through the metal doors to the kitchen where they were initially prepared.

While each night I watch people enjoy this beach-town delicacy, I have never participated myself. In fact, this is never something I could see myself indulging in. As a wary fan of seafood, the slimy center and misshapen shells of oysters have never been something I find appealing, a statement that I do not see changing anytime soon. Yet, I remain captivated by the hold that it has on people.

It does make me wonder, however, if people really gravitate towards these mollusks for their appearance and taste. Or, is it the situation they find themselves in when they eat them that they find appealing? As they slowly make their way through the meal, the majority of their time is spent in conversation with those around them, watching the reaction as each person eats their chosen oyster. Maybe it is the people that make people consistently gravitate towards the food, knowing that it is lasting memories that are more important than complete culinary enjoyment.