Oyster: The Great Wager

One of the greatest memories of food from my early life comes from the beautiful island of Nantucket.
My childhood friend Doug had invited me with his family to Nantucket, the wonderfully historical whaling island off the coast of Massachusetts when I was 10 years old. They annually rented a house for the month of July to soak up the beautiful beach culture, where they rode their bikes from one side of the island to the other as the beaches filled, adorning themselves with tourists. As the sun began to grow lazy in the western sky they would stroll to the wharf where ubiquitous fishing boats constantly weaved in and out of the inlet, back from their day on the open seas. The bewilderment of the incessantly swarming seagulls over each fish laden boat matches the amazement of the onlooking children that take great notice and excitement as these local fishermen butcher the day’s harvest.
While preparing for the trip, my mother told me the tales of her childhood, and her family who like Doug’s rented a house there every summer. While there, we daily hustled to the beach, neglected to lather ourselves in sun tan lotion and slowly encroached upon the waters of the Atlantic Ocean as our bodies loosened to the seemingly frost-bitingly cold water. We enjoyed that week during the summer before our fifth grade year of school with innocence and resolve in hopes of sucking every bit of joy out of our time spent on that island. The cottages, cobblestone roads and Inns are forever imprinted in my mind, the echo of sea shells in my ears, and the taste of my first oyster on my tongue.


We made the short walk into town whose streets are lined with ancient cobblestone, equally archaic buildings that date back to the mid 17th century as we talked about the wonderful trip that was drawing to an end, and how this paradise was everything but that centuries ago when the locals survived by whaling these cold, north Atlantic waters. The island itself has the ability to transform you into an ironically new and distant world, especially walking down wondrous Main Street where, like the days of old, the hotbed of activity occurs. There was a particular restaurant we were in search for on this breezy summer day as our sunburnt bodies hobbled down the various corridors of Nantucket. The sun was still high in the sky, but as tourists began crowding the downtown area, the sun escaped behind the island, descending towards Boston, a few miles west. We arrived at our destination, one of the island’s most acclaimed oyster bars that I later discovered was also religiously frequented by my mother and her family an entire generation in the past. I look back at my childhood Christmases when her sole contribution to the dinner table was undoubtedly Oyster Casserole, and I can’t help but think that her inspiration stemmed from that beaten up, brick building where the floors are bruised, stained, and in dire need of a polish. It probably looks no different now then when I was there some twenty years ago, or even when my mother was there as a child. It all seems to work, and is in fact a part of the reason why you love this place so much. That and of course the oysters…


“Gang, it looks like there is gonna be a hell of a wait – they told me close to an hour. Don’t worry Christopher that is to be expected. We come here every year and it gets better every time, I promise,” This, Doug’s father jolted at us with sheer excitement while directing it at me, the lone newcomer to the group. “So what do y’all want to drink? We can get some drinks and a couple appetizers to munch on while we wait.”

He returned a couple of moments later with a bottle of black cherry soda for Doug and myself, and a couple of beers for he and his wife. He was followed by a waitress carrying a Last Supper size platter which had, at the time, unidentifiable and grotesquely foreign objects. He had ordered a seafood platter with clams, mussels, and of all things freshly shucked raw oysters that were still nestled in their half shells, and everything was locally harvested – something I had no appreciation for at the time. We gathered around as he dared all of us to dig in and enjoy the wonderful foods that were born of the ice cold water in which we were swimming a mere couple of hours ago. Mussels were a piece of cake, and despite the occasional bit of sand that also created among these very waters some thousands of years ago, the clams were palatable. This was at a time in my life when I was slightly over weight, and called the “Vacuum Cleaner” by my family because of my tendency to devour anything in sight within reason. I was absurdly famished and knew I wouldn’t be eating for atleast another hour since we were still deep on the wait list, and as the mussels and clams slowly vanished I grew nervous. The oysters were looking me dead in the eyes, and I could barely stand to look at them. They were slimy, and had the appearance of some unknown and internal human infection.
“Come on guys, who wants to try an oyster – I promise these little buggers are good… much better than they look. ”
I kept telling myself, “nope – not gonna do it”, and I have the feeling Doug, in his mind was vomiting as well at the sheer thought of attempting to digest the mollusks that sat fat and juicy on the platter in front of us.
“No, thank you though Dr. Murphy – I think I am gonna stick to the Mussels and Clams, they look delicious though,” I responded with obvious sarcasm.
“Comeeeee onnnnn Christopher! Give them a try. I promise you will like them. You can go home to your mom and dad, as a proud, self-respecting young man, and brag about the adventures you had in Nantucket, and how you have found the love of your life – the oyster!”
“Dad – they look disgusting! You couldn’t pay me 10 bucks to eat one of those creatures,” Doug chimed in agreeing with me, trying to divert the pressure from me, seeing as I was quiet and unable to deter the attention.
“Okay I tell ya what. How about this – I will give 25 dollars to the first one to eat an oyster, but you have to keep it down. None of this running off to the bathroom business. Deal?”
Most of the negative thoughts escaped my mind at this point as Dr. Murphy began waving money in our faces, and for me, 25 bucks was quite appealing. I thought for a couple of moments before responding.
With skepticism I blurted, “Okay, I will do it! Just one though right?”
“Just one.”
I grabbed some saltine crackers, severed the package and readied my cracker for the slimy mollusk that to my knowledge was still alive. I motioned for a cocktail fork, which Dr. Murphy handed over, I stuck it into the oyster and like a construction crane, dropped it on top of my cracker, where it rested – sitting plump, intoxicating the air with the smell of the sea. Dr. Murphy squeezed a slice of lemon over the oyster, issuing acid downward in all directions as a seed escaped from the flesh of the citrus, landing on the oyster I which I was soon to be paid handsomely for eating. I childishly flicked the seed towards Doug, and smiled nervously, attempting to grasp the challenge ahead. A crowd gathered who were ease dropping and looking on with excitement as I painted a dab of cocktail sauce over the top of my prey, readying myself for the dare. I smiled again, before closing my eyes, and tilted my head back. I opened my mouth and slid the oyster,then cracker into my mouth. I chewed the cracker as the oyster slid down my throat - the texture was outrageously foreign to me, and it indeed tasted like the water in which I was splashing earlier that day. I swallowed the oyster, chewed the cocktail basted cracker and upon completion threw my hands in the air claiming victory and motioned for my winnings. I grinned emphatically at Doug and his dad, and the crowd of people who were all clapping.
I paused for a couple of moments after eating the mollusk as I mentally digested what had just happened. “That was great!”


So, Dr. Murphy forked over the $25 and I immediately wandered inside, found a waitress and purchased two dozen more oysters for us and the onlookers who had been cheering me on. That night I ate oysters until my belly was full, and by the time our table was ready I had probably consumed two dozen by myself, and was no longer hungry, but that didn’t matter because I ordered more for dinner. Our meal finished and we wandered home, laughing about my new love for oysters, and how I ironically was paid to try something that I ended up falling in love with. Of that trip, the memory of Nantucket is beginning to fade, but that island will, like I said before, be forever imprinted on my mind. My first experience with an oyster, however, is a memory that is still very vivid. It is a memory that I will cherish, and not a single meal I have where oysters are present is finished without the tides of Nantucket crashing against my mind. Oh, to be an innocent ten year old again, who would try just about anything for some cold hard cash.