MOLLUSC DREAM

One of the most heartwarming scenes in the corpus of English literature involves the wholesale slaughter of sweet little bivalves. 
It is the most lyric description of a massacre of innocents that you are ever likely to read, and if you are a PETA member you would do well to turn off your computer right now and have a nice soothing cup of chamomile tea. 
Breathe deeply.  Centre yourself.  Chant 'om'.
There, don't you feel better already?

How are your chakras?


If, on the other hand, you are a normal woman, you are licking your lips. 
You wish you were the walrus. 
Oysters!

The only quibble you could have with the poem by Lewis Caroll is that the poor beasts were raw.  You might prefer them steamed with a little ginger and scallion, and some thinly sliced jalapeno for zing.
Had you been there, you would have brought along a suitable vessel and a platter, plus a drizzle of soy sauce.

The most private thing you are willing to admit is that you actually like that place around the corner with the old-timey cliché decor and the nautical maps.  Simple seafood dishes, prepared properly, for the people in the neighborhood.  Nothing fancy.
They do oysters rather well.
They've also got scallops.
And very nice mussels.
Clam chowder too.

But if it were just you by yourself, you would stay home with your big bag of oysters and have a feast.
Followed by a luxurious long bath, because of the juices.
Leave the kitchen as it is, clean up tomorrow.
So what if it's still daylight, time to sleep.

Oysters, unfortunately, give me twinges of gout.
So do all the other molluscs I mentioned, though I love them.
So I'll just have one or two of yours, if I may, and share my seabass. 
We'll also have some other dishes, because it's fun watching a woman eat.
Especially small morsels of incredible richness.
That happy expression, and the smile.
Almost sleepy, as if dreaming.

We'll walk back to your place afterwards, maybe stopping somewhere for a small cup of coffee.
Watch a filled cablecar rumble past along Hyde Street.
Tourists, who didn't have oysters.
And we will gloat.
Goodnight.


Oysters.


You probably look lovely wearing pearls.



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