On a Friday evening that was supposed to be uneventful, my friend Waterman JP stopped by and asked if I wanted to ride down to a super secret spot where he goes oystering. Always up for an adventure, particularly when it entails
This super secret oyster place is so secret, I am not allowed to reveal its name or location, but to get there you drive below the Blah Blah and before you get to Yadda Yadda you turn left and drive to a place he calls the Blahblah Blah.
(Step right up, folks! In the center ring we have the most ridiculous sentence ever written by a person who, in spite of herself, wrote a book not long ago--a book that was actually published!)
|This might be the most graceful cedar tree I've ever met.|
But back to shellfish.
Waterman JP tells me that he breads and freezes the spectacular oysters he retrieves from this super secret place, which means even in the summer/warmer months he can indulge in the delicacy whenever he wants.
(There's an old saying that says you should never eat fresh oysters in a month without an "r" in it, which tends to rule out the summer months. Whether there's truth to that or not, I have no idea. But it's usually a good idea not to tempt fate when your name is Chesapeake Bay Woman, who once got so sick off crabs that she was begging to die. Luckily nobody was listening. Is anyone still reading?)
My father whips up The Best Batch of fried oysters I've ever had anywhere. The secret is in the breading (of fresh, local oysters) and he has that process down pat.
Waterman JP, however, says he can whip up a mean batch of fried oysters himself.
I'm thinking there needs to be a taste test. Soon. And I'll be the judge.
In the mean time, thanks, JP, for another educational and entertaining evening.
Now. When are you gonna fry me up a batch of oysters?