It struck me, as I sat down to type out this essay, that the year is almost over. I knew this, of course, as did anyone who can read a calendar: December is the last month of the year, there are thirty-one days in December1 — the math dictates that, by the 20th or so of the month, we’re nearing the end of the line. It didn’t really hit me in actuality, however, until I was trying to figure out how the heck I was going to close out another year of CWD.
As I ran through ideas, knowing, intuitively, naturally, that oysters2 would play a role, I kept coming back to the idea of resolutions. It’s cliche, of course, to associate resolutions with the New Year3, but there is a certain je ne sais quoi to look to the coming year as a blank slate, an opportunity to resolve yourself to self-improvement.
This year, this last year, has been a long a year4, even if it only felt that way for the final quarter. Perhaps it’s coming out of this weird, post-pandemic haze, where time and years blurred — but this year has felt distinct. That’s a good thing. It allows for reflection, for refinement — for resolution. Even I’ve succumbed to convention and mapped out a few resolutions for myself5.
In general, though, one wakes up on January 1 and says: “This year, will be my year. I resolve I’ll really get in shape; read more books; pick up a new language; quit drinking; write more fiction; do the Wordle everyday; call more often; cook more offal; buy only locally produced food; relish the time I have with myself and others.”
Consider, though, for a moment, the oyster. In his seminal book, The Glorious Oyster, Hector Bolitho writes that “oysters are the most tender and delicate of all seafoods. They stay in bed all day and night. They never work or take exercise, are stupendous drinkers, and wait for their meals to come to them.” An oyster, when you really ponder it, is antithetical to resolutions. No self-improvement, no climbing the ladder — an oyster is placid, latent, waits, is harvested, is eaten, is discarded. Stagnant — a word of which
have debated the connotation — is perhaps fitting.But wait! An oyster isn’t stagnant. In their languishing, they filter the water which passes through them, cleaning bays, estuaries, tidal rivers. When you slurp an oyster, you get a potent cocktail of nutrients and minerals, many of which you’d otherwise not find in a typical diet. Oyster shells, discarded, are returned to the water, where they form the backbone for new oyster growth, creating marine habitat for a new generation of bivalves, of fish, crustaceans, sea life. Yes, the delicate oyster, even without resolve, still manages to play its part in the world6.
Like last year, Papa CWD and I enjoyed some oysters to cap off the holiday season. This year we enjoyed about four dozen from the Barnegat Oyster Collective, which is a conglomeration of oyster farms in and around Barnegat Bay, NJ. The oysters were delicious, as to be expected — but, shockingly, we didn’t have them all raw. Instead, we switched it up for a third of them and roasted them over the grill.
So with that in mind, let’s make roasted oysters. This recipe is slightly adapted from the one
contributed to Matt Moore’s Serial Griller. They’re simple, delicious, and as much as my oyster purist heart pains to admit it, I’ll probably make them again.Here’s how we do it.
In a small bowl, mix together7 a stick of softened butter, a few dashes of Worcestershire sauce, half a lemon’s worth of juice8 , and healthy twist of cracked pepper. Put in the fridge to firm up while you shuck anywhere from 6 to 144 oysters, eating one out of every three raw. While you’re eating shucking oysters, heat up your grill to hot. When you have an appropriate amount of oysters, place a dollop of the compound butter on each and shower with parmigiano cheese.
Place the prepared oysters on the grill and cover, cooking for five minutes until the cheese and oyster juices are bubbling. Enjoy hot.
There you go, roasted oysters. It’s hard to go wrong with any combination of butter, seasoning, and cheese on top of an oyster. Normally I’m a raw only kinda guy when it comes to oysters — I don’t even really use any toppings anymore — but I’ll admit these were a really pleasant change of pace. Give it a shot the next time you get the chance.
With that, I’ll leave you to your weekends — the final weekend of 2023. Your last chance to walk barefoot outside, to gaze upon the sunrise, to make the world a better place in 2023. Relish the opportunity of endings, of beginning. And, this next year, let’s resolve to be more like the humble oyster — improving the lives of otherwise without even trying.
Happy New Year — we’ll see you again next week.
The 31st itself being Grandfather CWD’s birthday — so, a preemptive happy birthday!
Those who have been with us for at least the last twelve months might remember “On Shucking,” which closed out last year’s newsletter, as the start of “CWD 2.0.” It’s still one of my favorite posts.
The fitness industry looks to January to make or break their years, I suppose.
on the other hand, would tell you just to start your resolutions now.See Part IV of the Thanksgiving Primer for more.
One: to step outside barefoot each sunrise in January; two: to record each book I read and each day I hunt or fish in small annual calendar. Thank you to
for the inspiration for the latter.Hume wrote, scathingly, that “the life of man is of no greater importance to the universe than an oyster” — but perhaps he wasn’t quite making the point he thought he was.
This is easier done in a food processor, but where’s the fun in that?
You could also use, as we did, this Meyer Lemon Vinegar from Acid League.
Happy New Year Wise One!
I do Wordle every day, and I also do Connections every day, thanks to Aunt Robin.
I love you, and wish for a glorious, healthy, fun-filled, prosperous, enjoyable, stress-free 2024 for all!