The Man and the Oyster

[The Challenge: Write down the thoughts of the first man to eat an oyster.]

This blog was written by both myself (the beginning) and Richard (the end) because conveniently, it was his first oyster tasting this week.

We'd gone to dinner and I had been warned beforehand to break down my walls when it comes to food. People could call me picky, in fact, people did call me picky. They tell me I was brought up wrong or some people say that I don't know what I'm missing and I've even been told that I'm boring, but honestly, I just don't see the point of forcing myself to like something I'm pretty sure I'm not going to like. Does that make me safe? Probably but I know woman like a guy who knows what he wants and what he likes, or that's what they seem to say.

Sitting across from her I can tell she is excited by the spark in her eyes and if that wasn’t a good enough give-away then by her clapping of hands as she orders an entire platter of oysters... I've been talked into trying one, but now that she's ordered an entire platter of six I really hope she doesn't force me to eat more than I can... chew.
Oysters; I've never thought to try them simply because I don't like the taste of most fish, cooked fish is good but shell fish?? You do know that in the bible it even states we shouldn't eat anything that doesn’t have scales on it, you do, don't you? Well, I've tried shellfish before and it all tastes the same - like sea water, so I'm not a hundred percent sure why I agreed to this.

The conversation has started on a high with the knowledge that I'm going to be branching out this evening and I don't half mind because it distracts me about thinking of what I'm going to be doing when the first course arrives.... which arrives too quickly. Before I've had a chance to absorb the smell of the chicken wings placed in front of me, she starts talking me through the steps she's taking at getting the oyster ready - lemon juice, Tabasco sauce, black pepper and then all I can think is:

Slime. Very slimy. She starts pouring out the liquid that is referred to as sea water… Sure. I bet it’s oyster tears! On goes copious amounts of lemon juice and pepper. Is she trying to hide the real taste of the oyster? I think so! Sneaky woman. Because I am a newbie the smallest oyster is chosen to be sacrificed as the first oyster to be consumed in my ritual to more resplendent food. In goes the tiny fork to pry the meat away from the shell. I think the oyster is feeling the same as I do. It clings to the shell, trying to stay safe. Unfortunately for both of us the meat pops off the shell and starts heading towards my mouth. In it goes. First thought is yum, lemon juice and pepper. That thought mutates into a kind of wonderment. What on earth is in my mouth? It’s not chicken, it’s not meat. I am ordered to chew, but the slimy little bugger does not like being squished between my teeth. I eventually get the hang of chewing it and I admit, not bad. Only then does the lemon juice and pepper start dissipating and all I am left with is this thing that doesn’t taste like meat, does not like being chewed, and honestly, I would rather be eating anything else on the table. The tablecloth looks quite appealing… Hmm, cotton. 

All right, it wasn’t that bad. I swallow the heap of tentacle off cuts and get ready for the after taste. The more the after taste hits me the more my chicken wings are starting to want to be eaten. The after taste is definitely worse than the chewing phase.

Conclusion? Something that tries to cling onto its shell so hard, even after death seems like a creature that I am more than willing to not eat. I did it though, I ate my first and probably last oyster. Now, bring me my steak and let the world continue to make sense.