I believe I first had them in Brussels, at one of those wonderful noisy, bulging little brasseries where the big deal thing to order is a three-tiered cold seafood meal for two that comes with everything from a whole lobster to a pile of little cockles and darning hook thingies to pick them with. Of course a dozen oysters were included, several varieties. Prior to that meal I did not eat raw oysters, but these were a revelation, so tiny and so good, and of them all I remember only my favorite, the Belons, by name. And I remember that several weeks later I was in Paris, on my way to somewhere for dinner--it was December and already dark--and I walked past a little oyster market/cafe wherein all the oysters were stacked about in folded-down burlap bags, which of course couldn't have looked more appealing, and the sight stopped me dead with desire. So to hell with the time, I took a seat and ordered a dozen Belons and a little carafe of white wine which a bent-over old woman served with a little plate of brown bread and excellent butter. It was raining out and I sat just under the eaves where, if I moved a knee one inch to the left I would catch raindrops, which somehow reinforced the feeling that I was living on the edge and playing it safe at the same time which was not a bad metaphor for my life at the time.
And so it is that oysters have always represented something beyond mere food for me, and Belons most of all. I have never seen them here in the U.S. but were I to, I would again be rendered helpless, would have to drop whatever I was doing and take a seat and let life happen to me.
Last edited by Jenise
on Fri Apr 28, 2006 1:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
My wine shopping and I have never had a problem. Just a perpetual race between the bankruptcy court and Hell.--Rogov