Yes, Chef: On behalf of bivalves
If there was ever something that might elevate an outdoor, winter-time eating tradition to the same stratosphere as those in warmer months, it just might be slurping down freshly shucked oysters off a pan of chipped ice with frosty mignonette on the side.
Perched on the harbor of Greenport, New York and looking out over the serene Peconic River, Little Creek Oyster Farm & Market offers an ideal locale for such a tradition. The restaurant is hidden off Front Street and tucked in behind Ralph’s Famous Italian Ice. Its back patio opens to a small boat dock along the waterfront promenade with a handful of wooden picnic tables, two high-tops, and a pair of cozy, gas fire pits. Little imagination is required to picture oneself knocking back whatever comes out of the two outdoor shucking pits during the halcyon days of late summer on Long Island. Perhaps more is required to bask in the hypothetical glory of wool pea-coats, knitted beanies, and thermal long-stockings in late-November.
It makes sense that so many of us abandon our outdoor cooking and eating once the temperature dips below 50º. Managing the temperature of an open air, wood fire pit is difficult in the best of weather and requires constant attention–a prospect made more difficult with each teeth-rattling gust of arctic wind. Grills (gas, charcoal, or electric) and smokers alike fight back against their environment, but they too require more hands-on care than in the spring, summer, or even fall. Faced with wintertime conditions, we often default to our stoves and ovens, opting for the likes of braises, roasts, and bakes.
I’ve long enjoyed oysters, though I wouldn’t make any claims about being particularly knowledgeable about them. Many were, to me, delicious. That was enough. It didn’t matter whether they were raw, grilled, or served Rockerfeller. If they were where I was, down the hatch they went. The first time I gave them any thought beyond, “yes, I want them” was in 2014 when a group of friends and I dined at the Hog Island Oysters oyster farm on Tomales Bay in Marin County north of San Francisco. That lunch was a perfect example of why everyone, especially those who live in cities, must make an effort to visit the places their foods actually come from. Like I said, I’d never given oysters much thought. For all I knew, they were foraged by deep sea divers with the assistance of rare, almost supernatural jelly fish that hunted their scent much like truffle dogs. At least that would have explained how much I had to pay them. Of course, that is not how oysters make their way to our dining tables.
The cultivation of oyster beds can be traced back to Roman times and here on America’s eastern seaboard, the oyster business played a foundational role in the development of our cuisine–and still does today. There is the story of Thomas Downing and his Manhattan oyster business that set the stage for the role of oysters in fine dining. Today, oyster beds are being used to fight back against the destruction of our estuaries in the Chesapeake Bay and here in the New York City harbor, as well. I’m not qualified to call oysters the most sustainable protein source for us to be eating, but I’m confident it’d make the shortlist. What I do know is that, as I’ve increasingly focused on the where as much as the what when I sit down to eat, oysters have become a staple in my diet.
While Long Island may be most famous for its Bluepoint oysters–coming in with mild salinity and a bouncy texture–but they’re far from the region’s most revered. At Little Creek, we were floored by the quality of the Mermaid Makeouts and Oysterponds in particular. Both showcasing a beautiful balance of brine and sweetness, it was the almost meaty-like texture of each that was most succulent: just toothsome enough to be substantial but still plenty gulpable. For those inclined towards grilled bivalves, the chipotle barbecue sauce offered up a delectable smoky-aromatic and flavor punch that, when combined with the oyster’s brine, had me yearning for a copita of mezcal. While the pancetta portion of the pesto-pancetta topping hit a high-note with a similar, if a bit toned-down, note of smoke and salt, the oily nature of the pesto completely washed out any textural or flavor components of the oyster underneath. It would not be a preparation we ordered again.
While servers ran out draft pours of hazy IPAs, bottles of Sancerre, and mugs of Hot Toddies out to their patio diners, I found myself once again yearning for mezcal…or Scotch. Too often we ignore the possibilities of pairing high-proof, craft spirits with our food, particularly ingredients that have become ubiquitously associated with fine dining like oysters have. Sure, it’s not rare to spot a dirty martini or two alongside a dozen on the half shell at your local expense account steakhouse. But a conscious pairing, meant to both challenge and inspire the diner? It’s just far too rare. And as the leaves turn and layers add up for those brave enough to grab a patio high-top at Little Creek’s patio? Nothing would warm the soul quite like that.
