For years, Dick and I would arrive in New Orleans, drop our bags at our French Quarter hotel, and immediately head for the St. Charles streetcar. Riding to the Garden District, our first destination was always Pascal’s Manale for bivalves by the dozen at Pascal’s hallowed marble oyster bar. Don’t know which is more legendary: Jim Blanchard’s National Committee for Monetary Reform’s awesome conferences or the funky bar scene at Pascal’s. We’ve not been back to New Orleans since Katrina hit and miss both Jim Blanchard (the original gold evangelical) and Pascal’s oysters. But I’m happy to report that the Island Creek Oysters from Duxbury, Massachusetts, are as salty-sweet and complex as any we’ve had. Heavenly comes to mind.
The Specialist: Oyster Evangelists Rise Up
By William R. Snyder –WSJ
For almost a generation, raw oyster consumption carried a stigma of serious stomach pain. Bad weather, red tides, dirty water and improper handling made eating oysters seem about as wise as betting your life savings on a trifecta at Santa Anita.
