The Tainan Oyster Masquerade: Part 2

The glory of the oyster, as it was meant to be eaten, was not truly experienced until the second adventure. This time we specified not only that we wanted raw oysters, but also how we wished them to be prepared. This did the trick. We were presented with first one, and then another five or six orders of beautiful plump oysters, served in their shells, and arranged in hypnotic circles on the plate. They were served with lemon wedges and wasabi in separate dishes. I stuck with the lemon, as after eating one, I felt that I could not be satisfied more with any alteration of the flavour. I’m not saying that this was a perfect oyster, but at the time it felt like it. I felt the power and beauty of the ocean as I ate these oysters. I felt the primal lust of consuming a raw animal in its entirety. I felt the calming affects of its texture and the absolute fullness of its taste. From the eye to the hand to the tongue to the throat to the stomach, and deeper into the body and brain. As with all of our greatest experiences with food, this experience was not merely culinary but also spiritual.

We followed up our five or so plates of these oysters with pitchers of draft at the former German consulate, and then with several cans of Asahi at roadside. This led to a spur of the moment foot-race with Kinger at a local school.

We then made a late evening visit to one of the wholesale oyster vender that can be found around the city. Displayed on the floor was a massive tangle of mud and shells that could hardly be described as appetizing or aesthetically pleasing. Our representative seafood expert, Ron Rose, pointed out that the intriguing mess before us displayed a notable lack of small crabs and other sea life that should have been crawling about, and therefore indicated a lack of health in the ocean’s ecosystem. We were unperturbed by this warning though, and proceeded to purchase a large styrofoam cooler of unshucked oysters on ice.

We hauled our booty over to an empty parking lot and set about devouring it in a bacchanalian frenzy. It was pure oyster lust. Oyster upon oyster was shucked and devoured with growing speed and abandon. As each oyster was consumed, the desire for more increased. The natural neurotoxins from these still living oysters began having their effect and our civilized bearings melted away. Our faces, hands and clothes were covered with oyster juice, an astonishing pile of shells rose before us like a newly formed volcanic island. Revolting sucking sounds echoed down the streets. We had become primal beings linked to our Neanderthal cousins in the pure joy of consuming life, raw and whole.

Our Scottish representative, Collin, normally known for bouts of drunken insanity, was strangely disgusted by the carnage we had wrought and only wished for it all to end. I was happy to ignore his feminine pleas for decency, but the others catered to his whims and decided enough was enough. When we finally called it quits, Kinger had sliced open his finger on a shell and was bleeding profusely. I barely noticed as I rolled about, bloated yet energized from the thirty or so oyster souls sloshing about in my stomach. I can recall few moments in my life as happy as this one.

We deposited the remaining cache of oysters beside a homeless man sleeping at a neighbouring temple and headed back to Taichung. We imagined that our Tainan oyster adventure had finally come to a stupendously successful end. How wrong we were. The final chapter of this saga was not to begin until two days later on the other side of the island…

The Tainan Oyster Masquerade: Part 1

If you ask most Taiwanese where to head for a relaxing weekend of fine seafood and ocean scenery, it is unlikely their first answer will be Tainan. For those who have not visited in recent years the mention of Tainan’s beaches is more likely to bring up connotations of washed up detritus and industrial despoilment, than places to be enjoyed for their natural beauty. And while this makeover is still a work in progress, one has an opportunity to enjoy the city, before it undergoes the inevitable tourist oriented transformation of Kenting.

As part of the national government’s long overdue attempt to remarket Taiwan as a destination for international tourism, Tainan has received massive grants to upgrade its public spaces and build upon its historical and natural assets. They have done well, creating an environment replete with beautifully landscaped, pedestrian-oriented districts that enhance the historic architecture and present a wealth of opportunities for pleasant street-side eating.

Despite the hungry donkey’s long tenure in Taiwan we have spent little time in this fine city, and we in no way claim to be experts in the subtleties of Tainan cuisine. It should also be stated that one of our meals was in fact a disastrous insult (this nightmare will be recounted in gory detail in the first installment of the Angry Donkey). But aside from this one wrong turn, our brief culinary adventures in the city were a resounding success.

In this first installment on the cuisine of Tainan, we will focus on a single ingredient. It is to be found in great abundance in the city. It requires no cooking and is best enjoyed with as little meddling as possible. The flavour of this food cannot be enhanced by elaborately concocted sauces. When it is contaminated in such a manner, it draws more attention to the ego of the chef than to the subtle potency of its God-given essence. For as Anatole France so wisely posited:

"What can be more foolish than to think that all this rare fabric of heaven and earth could come by chance, when all the skill of art is not able to make an oyster! "

Darwin clearly never had the pleasure of a raw oyster. Yes my friends, the oyster, sent straight from heaven in all of its glory. Debatably a superior organism to man, and most definitely a superior organism to the donkey!

Our first experience with the Tainan oyster was an admitted failure on our part. Knowing that we live in a culture whose enjoyment of the oyster is largely limited to battered and deep-fried with basil, or sautéed into a ketchup-drowned omelette, we should have been painstakingly specific in our instructions to the cook. Specifying the word “raw” was clearly not sufficient. When our oysters emerged from the back of the restaurant they were indeed raw, but the shells were nowhere to be seen. The oysters had been torn from their natural casings and laid on a bed of ice. Serving a raw oyster without its shell can only be likened to serving a raw wiener with its skin peeled off. Or perhaps returning a child to its mother with its eyes and limbs removed. It’s a heinous crime and an assault on the senses.

Half of the enjoyment of eating a raw oyster is with the experience of the shell. It’s rough, encrusted outing casing and its exquisitely smooth and delicate inner surface. These contrasts are experienced through both vision and touch—by the eye as it sits on the plate; by the hand as it is raised to the lips; and by the tongue just before the moment of consumption.

This aesthetic depredation was mirrored in the taste of the flesh. Not only does the shell serve as an object of contemplation, it also acts as a vessel for the essential juices that bring with them the higher-toned, sublime flavours of the oyster—they are the very soul of the oyster. The foolishness of discarding this nectar cannot be overstated.

Being deprived of the shell along with the essential juices of the oysters, we were left with only a pale shadow of what an oyster can be—limpid, slimy things clinging to ice-cubes, presented with wasabi on the side, and consumed with chopsticks. The entire experience was less than satisfying and should be taken as a warning for others looking for the glory of the oyster in Tainan. Specify not only raw but also in the shell. If you don’t know how to say this in Chinese, look it up.