Slow Food Festival.
Bruny Island "Get Shucked Oyster Farm" Stall.
“He was a bold man that first ate an oyster”
(Johnathon Swift, listed as a cliché In “Polite Conversation”)
Yes, he was bold, that man, but he was also a bloody legend! If it weren't for him (or her) we'd not be able to sample these plump, lusious and, let's face it.. deeply sexual delights.
Yesterday, Furry and I trooped of to the Melbourne Slow Food Festival, and we arrived early enough that the crowds were still thin. Our first port-of -call was the Get Shucked Oyster Farm
stall from Tasmania's Bruny Island.
There was a lovely young man behing the jump shucking oysters for Africa! His knife skills rivaled Bourdain's!
Now, for those of you who are already afficionados of the raw oyster, I ask you to bear with me. For those of you who have never tasted them, here's what they are like:
Sweet salty morsels bursting with a taste of salt wind by the beach on a summer day all wrapped up in a icy cold buttery salty fleshy plump labia.
On the half shell.
With a squeeze of lemon.
There are oysters and then there are BRUNY ISLAND oysters. And like Cold Duck Spumante and Verve Cliquot. there is a vast range of difference.
THESE are the real deal, the real McCoy.
And sitting on the banks of the Yarra, listening to the sussuration of the oars of the Wesley rowers, under the shade of an iconic Plane tree, eating these delights from their shells, pressing their plump bodies against the roof of my mouth and pretty much experiencing the ultimate taste orgasm, it was all I could do not to rip my bodice asunder and allow Furry to ravish me.
Instead, I opted for hurling back into the gathering fray and try something else.