I’ve always considered oysters to be wildly overrated. You can be allergic to them, of course, but to be a food writer who hates oysters is like being an author who despises Dickens. They are part of the culinary canon. So I learned the lingua franca of foodies and, if necessary, could even keep a straight face while knocking one back. “So fresh!” I would marvel at the sight of the mollusc, which always looked to me like something straight out of a giant’s nostril. “Tastes of the sea!” I’d exclaim, internally railing at the absurdity of the expression. When was the last time anyone deliberately swallowed seawater?
My only saving grace was that oysters and champagne often come hand in hand; I was usually only seconds away from washing away the offending flavour with something delicious. I’d add a squeeze of lemon, a dash of tabasco, and gulp straight down without chewing, followed by a glug of champagne to disguise the taste.
