I love those
tiny manageable three-dollar oysters. They're clean and super briny and I eat them plain with a squeeze of lemon. Gulf oysters, on the other hand, looked unwieldy. A creamy color seemed off-putting. I imagined them smelling of funky river beds and feet. And I couldn't have been more wrong.
S&D Oyster Company was as jumping as Frankie's Saturday afternoon. I figured it was time to lose my Gulf-oyster virginity. The restaurant was serving oysters from Galveston Bay, and a woman working the front claimed they'd shucked near 3,000 that day. Turnover is always good in the oyster business. It keeps things fresh.
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I ordered a measly half dozen and watched my waiter mix ketchup, lemon and Worcestershire with an obscene amount of horseradish. I asked him how a Southerner ate an oyster and listened as he prescribed a saltine cracker, an oyster and a big dollop of cocktail sauce.
The verdict? I'm a fan. Blanketed in saltine, horseradish and ketchup flavors, I couldn't even taste the oyster I was eating. I tried my second just like I had them before, slurped right from the shells with only a drop or two of lemon, and I never looked back, slurping my way through the rest of my plate amidst the yellow walls, hex floor tiles and neon beer signs at S&D. If they had a good bar to post up at, I'd have my new oyster haunt. But at least I have a new oyster.