Wanna come up to my place and shuck some oysters?

"The time has come", the writer said,  "to blog of many things:
Of hams -- and clams -- and yuletide feasts,
of briny little beasts -- and kings."

A minor casualty of the global economic cooling in 2011 was the elimination of the Christmas ham, formerly  provided to all clergy and staff members of the Preston Hollow Presbyterian.  The pork barrel resources were redirected toward scholarships and charities, which is truly fine by us.  But that beg's the questions; what shall we now have for our Christmas Day dinner? 

I said "oysters". 
And I was mildly surprised to find consenting nods among my grown up kids.  Then Grant added, "Yeah, but with Christmas candy".

Amidst the holiday shopping, a scouting expedition was organized to find a place in fact to procure our oysters for Christmas Day.  Eureka!  The tony Central Market store had fresh Texas oysters for 79 cents each.  Another bit of scouting on the internet suggested grilled oysters, plopping dollops of herb butter between their valves as they sprang open upon the grill.  Done deal.

Fearing fierce crowds and Christmas Eve closures, I was dispatched to shop for Christmas dinner on the 23rd.  I put on my pork-pie hat and waded into the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of foodies and high falutin' fancy pants shoppers at Central Market.  I drew Number 89 from the "take a number" dispenser at the fishmonger's counter and waited my turn.  Finally, the digital "Now Serving" display lit up with "89", and I jumped up and shouted "I am Number 89! It's me! I am a Winner!! I am a Winner!!  The tousling crowd around me quickly parted to let this overly enthusiastic -- and possibly unbalanced, guy with a beard pass through.  The fishmonger appreciated my zeal for his wares and gladly served me with Christmas cheer.  I told him I wanted 32 of his very best Texas Oysters, make sure they are closed down nice and tight, as I do not want to see them smile until I have them on the grill and ready to load with herb butter.

I backed away from the seafood counter with two bulging bags of bivalves place on another bag of ice.  I stopped to add a bottle of Italian red wine on my way to the see the cashier girl at the front.

Now a funny thing happened on my way to the cashier girl.  I had a couple of fine ladies stop me and coyly inquire what I was going to do with those oysters?  Each of the gals attentively smiled at me as I lustily explained my plans to grill then in the backyard, gently warming them until I coaxed their shells parted, then slip in some butter and herbs, serve with artichokes and chase with a robust Italian red.  They oooh-ed and aaawed as I described my culinary prowess.  They giggled and exchanged looks with one another, and then the blond cooed as she asked me to tell her where I lived. 

I tipped my brim and offered them but a grin in retreat; for aye and alas my hungry girls, I've me own lass and it she alone who handles my oyster treats; to make sure their coats are brushed, their faces washed, their shoes are clean and neat-- and this is quite an odd feat, because, as you know, they haven't any feet.

My Lass scrubbing and shucking my Oysters
In the Christmas Kitchen

The sun was shinning on Christmas Day and all was smooth and bright. 

The grill was heating, the table set,

Yet we would not have dinner without a fight.

The space above the flames was just big enough to hold all of the mollusks upon grill, with no room to spare.  I returned after a few minutes to check and see if the oysters were "smiling", having loosened their abductor muscles enough to slip in the herb butter.  As I approached the grill packed with oyster shells all in a row, I heard hissing and popping and then a crack rang out as a jagged piece of calcareous shrapnel  shot over my left shoulder.  I backed off, regrouped, and charged the steaming meal once again, only to be met with another volley, this time flying more or less skyward and landing on the patio.  I decided we were done here, and scooped the briny little beast onto a tray before they were splintered and set asunder.

Once we asked a blessing upon our meal, we tucked in, but found many of the oyster did not live up to what would be expected with a moniker of "Texas Oyster".  They were rather small, Vermont-sized I'd say.  As we derisively say in these parts; "All hat - no cattle".  These were often revealed to be "All shell - no mollusk."  The meal with artichokes, my fresh baked focaccia bread was good, but less than the stellar I had imagined.

I am not sure I'll serve oysters again on Christmas.  But if I am ever called upon to give advice on how to pick up chicks: I have this unique perspective, some ladies can't resist an a man walking around showing off his bulging bag of oysters.  Hey sweetheart, how about you come up to my place and shuck my oysters.  It should work great.

Merry Christmas.

The Walrus and The Carpenter

Lewis Carroll

(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might:

He did his very best to make

The billows smooth and bright--

And this was odd, because it was

The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,

Because she thought the sun

Had got no business to be there

After the day was done--

"It's very rude of him," she said,

"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,

The sands were dry as dry.

You could not see a cloud, because

No cloud was in the sky:

No birds were flying overhead--

There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Were walking close at hand;

They wept like anything to see

such quantities of sand:

"If this were only cleared away,"

They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mops

Swept it for half a year.

Do you suppose," the Walrus said,

"That they could get it clear?"

"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,

And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"

The Walrus did beseech.

"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,

Along the briny beach:

We cannot do with more than four,

To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him,

But never a word he said:

The eldest Oyster winked his eye,

And shook his heavy head--

Meaning to say he did not choose

to leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,

All eager for the treat:

Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,

Their shoes were clean and neat--

And this was odd, because, you know,

They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,

And yet another four;

And thick and fast they came at last,

And more, and more, and more--

All hopping through the frothy waves,

And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Walked on a mile or so,

And then they rested on a rock

Conveniently low:

And all the little Oysters stood

And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,

"To talk of many things:

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--

Of cabbages--and kings--

And why the sea is boiling hot--

And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,

"Before we have our chat;

For some of us are out of breath,

And all of us are fat!"

"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.

They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,

"Is what we chiefly need:

Pepper and vinegar besides

Are very good indeed--

Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,

We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,

Turning a little blue.

"After such kindness, that would be

A dismal thing to do!"

"The night is fine," the Walrus said.

"Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come!

And you are very nice!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

"Cut us another slice:

I wish you were not quite so deaf--

I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,

"To play them such a trick,

After we've brought them out so far,

And made them trot so quick!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:

"I deeply sympathize."

With sobs and tears he sorted out

Those of the largest size,

Holding his pocket-handkerchief

Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,

"You've had a pleasant run!

Shall we be trotting home again?'

But answer came there none--

And this was scarcely odd, because

They'd eaten every one.