I ventured out with the ever-mysterious Antonio to the traveling oyster shack, dubbed the “Oyster Overlord.”
We hopped on a train from Sabae Station, expecting serenity… but fate, dear reader, had other plans. Two women nearby shattered the peace, gleefully discussing their recent bout with food poisoning: “It hit me from both ends!”
My soul recoiled. My appetite wavered. Couldn’t they whisper like normal human beings? The horror!
We arrived at Fukui Station. The oyster shack line didn’t look catastrophic, so we made a pit stop at OUR BREWING for a little liquid courage. Prices at the shack? Rising like the tides, year after year. At OUR BREWING, I ordered the elegantly named “Our White.”
Then, the line. Oh, the line. So close, and yet so immobile. My toes turned to ice blocks. The oyster gates mocked us. “Soon,” they whispered. But not soon enough.
After a solid 30 minutes of shivering sacrifice, we were let in. Praise be!
One tray of oysters: 880 yen. The pearls of the sea, priced like small treasures.
The staff gave us the sacred rule: grill for three minutes per side. But Antonio, rebel that he is, suggested 2 minutes 30 seconds. Risky? Perhaps. But culinary greatness rarely comes from playing it safe.
These Miyagi oysters? Gigantic. The sea must’ve been generous this year.
Just as I was devouring my first bite, a LINE message popped up from my wife: “Make sure you cook those oysters well. Norovirus is going around.”
NOOOO! A second omen, right after the train incident. Two flags raised. Anxiety unlocked.
I immediately extended the grilling time. I was not about to become another gastric casualty.
Also, is it just me or is the shack colder this year? Probably the ventilation. Even the dinosaur outside looked like it regretted not bringing a coat.
To be continued… The next shop awaits!
“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.” – Ernest Hemingway
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