Casanova’s Canapes

Circa 2003 and I decided on Bay of Bombay for my initiation. Warm wood on the floor and ceiling, soft green chairs to sink into and ancient nautical equipment egging one on. It was these environs that birthed The Oyster Club at the restaurant, two years ago. It now boasts of about 165 members who meet every month. And seduced by wine and jazz, they proceed to demolish the spread at the oyster bar.

The eatery does offer cooked oysters, like the traditional Rockefeller (with spinach and cheese) found at New York’s Grand Central Station oyster bar. The local specialty is Golden Bombay Oysters fried with Madras curry powder. But any self-respecting oyster-worshipper downs it raw, dressed only with a dash of lime. Bay of Bombay accompanies theirs with a range of condiments: jalepenos,

capers, onion-vinegar, red wine-onion, vinegar-chilli, Tabasco sauce. But armed with owner Ashok Shetty’s judicious tips — and boosted by the spirits of

oyster lovers before me — I decide to be bold and opt for the ‘bare’ truth.

The restaurant flies in its supply of natural oysters from Kerala, everyday. Unlike the cultivated ones, these have pale, shallow bottom-shells. Celebrated everywhere from Japan to USA, France to Australia, oysters from each water taste different. The slightest change in tide and location affects the size, shape and quality. And the flavour lies in the stored glycogen. It’s rich in minerals — zinc, in particular, is credited with the aphrodisiacal legends.

While Shetty doesn’t give this much credence, he eggs me on with his description of the perfect oyster: fresh, plump and melting, “just like tender coconut malai.” Many believe in avoiding them in months without an ‘r’ (May-August), on grounds of breeding, supposed toxins or superstitions. And though Shetty insists he eats them all year round, the winter months are the best. They’re ideal appetisers to pave your way into dinner. But he knows a 62-year-old lady who make a complete meal of oysters — a full three dozen of them.

Inspired, I bravely ask for a plate. The closed oysters can’t be stored for more than four days. While the meat’s attached to the flatter belly, it’s the domed lid that holds the liquid. So to keep the meat submerged, they’re kept upside down, carefully wrapped in sea-dipped gunny bags. They’re usually ‘shucked’ or opened with a knife inserted into an opening between the shells. But the Kerala variety proves to be tough and Bay of Bombay uses a screwdriver!

An attendant strides in with the complete paraphernalia of oyster plate and condiments. The oysters lie in a bed of ice. Some insolently wear their spiny cream’n’green caps to the table. Others are cleaved, the tender meat trembling in their juices against the pale shell. The light twinkling off the surface reflects in my eyes. Till Shetty tosses off a warning: never go for oysters that Nature has opened, as they’re dead. My nonchalant air does a nose-dive and I let out a mental yelp, “So they’re alive now?!” But once shucked, they should be consumed immediately, so it’s too late to turn turtle. Reassuring me that the lime’s acidity ‘cooks’ the rawness off the meat, he pushes the plate forward.

So with steel-grinned bravado I lift the cool hard shell and dash in the lime, determined to plunge in au natural. Once the meat is detached with the tiny fork, it’s raised to the mouth and then… slurp, crunch, ummm. The plump, tender, juicy meat fills one with a lingering taste of the sea. Licking lips and wiping fingers, I’m ready to jump back in, this time with condiments. The chilli-vinegar gives it an added tartness, the capers lends a sweeter edge. But it’s the first dive, with the pure flavour of the oyster’s meat, that leaves a lasting impression. I know I’ll be back — I’ve found my pearl.