Oyster

What could be more fun than popping open oysters on the grill or on the coals of a fire? Large oysters work best for the grill. Or you can nestle them in a skillet lined with rock salt. In either case, the cooking skill needed to make mouth-watering oysters is minimal. The basic rule: Don’t overcook the oysters! here, they’re served with an Indian-spiced barbecue sauce that’s cooked over the fire for added flavor.

Fresh briny oysters out of a jar satisfy our periodic oyster craving without the hassle of shucking. To cheat, swap the half shell for a casserole dish and dress the oysters with smoky shallots, butter, and lemon. A few minutes under the broiler and you’ve got a seaside party anywhere, anytime. Slurp them up with saltines. Cold beer, sparkling wine, and dry white wine are what we’re drinking.

These days quality hardwood-smoked salmon and trout in convenient Cryovac packages are easy to find. What we never expected was that even canned tuna, a product that has required little contemplation beyond water- versus oil-packed, would go through a major transformation with the new retort vacuum-packed foil pouch. No can opener, no draining, and new flavors to play with. A pouch or two of hickory-smoked tuna works for this spread. When we say any fish, we mean any fish or any shellfish, like smoked oysters or clams. We usually use a frozen pack of R. B.’s patio-smoked, fresh-caught Rhode Island bluefish courtesy of his friend and neighbor Chappy Pierce. Vary the ratio of seafood to cream cheese to your liking. If things taste fishy, add lemon juice. Serve the spread mounded in a bowl garnished with capers and lemon slices. We prefer plain water crackers for serving.

After the fast demise of Sybaris, it was Taranto that grew up, the city most splendid of Magna Graecia. And it was there that oysters were first cultivated, for the coddling, I suppose, of true sybaritic cravings. Taranto was and is quite perfectly situated for the business, sitting, rather like an island, between the mar piccolo—the little sea—a coastal lagoon fed by both fresh and sea water and the mar grande—the big sea—part of the Gulf of Taranto in the Ionian Sea. And it is this very shifting in the salinity of the waters around Taranto that builds up the sweetest, fattest oysters. Nothing better can be done to a fine oyster than to slip it down one’s throat, chasing it with sips of some crisp, icy white wine. But here follows a recipe for barely roasting oysters that, if not ennobling them, at the least takes nothing from their own natural goodness.

Sausage in a gumbo usually means smoked sausage. Sometimes Louisiana smoked ham, called tasso, is also added or is used in place of the sausage. A roux (a mixture of flour and fat) is the traditional thickener, usually augmented with filé powder (ground dried sassafras leaves) or okra. In keeping with today’s taste for lighter fare, I swap the smoked sausage and/or ham for my homemade sausage and eliminate the roux. The okra alone does the thickening, and the step of soaking the okra pods in a salt-and-vinegar bath before adding them to the pot ensures they won’t be overly viscous. It is important to use dried herbs and canned tomatoes to produce the distinguishing flavors of this dish from a cuisine built around preserved goods. Make sure the okra is fresh, however. I like to use shrimp in the shell because they enrich the broth. That does make for somewhat messy eating, however. If you want to save your guests the trouble of peeling their own shrimp, remove the shells and simmer them in 1 cup of the broth, then strain the liquid into the pot when adding the remainder of the broth. Shell-on shrimp are easy enough to devein, if it’s necessary to do so, by simply cutting through the shell along the back of each shrimp with a sharp paring knife.

Shellfish lovers drool over the drunken-sweet richness of the sea infusing every inch of this dish. You can use clams, shrimp, and scallops as we do or substitute your own favorites—mussels, oysters, or even some firm-fleshed fish. Just be sure to serve the pan roast with a spoon and plenty of good bread to sop up all the tasty sauce.

We never went hungry as kids. And we have no inherent fear of the next Great Depression or anxiety about canned food. Still, we always want more. Wanting and eating four of the Swedish shrimp-egg things you can buy in the restaurant at IKEA is a good example of that. Another good example is how we would have piled more stuff on this modest toast if we could have fit it: a can of sardines from Bretagne, maybe, or quails stuffed with crab hiding in the corner. Our first reaction on seeing this photo was, “Shit, we forgot clams.” There are thirty items here, and if we do another book, we will put in sixty, we promise (just so we don’t run out of food). Disclaimer: In no way do we aspire or pretend to serve authentic Scandinavian food. This is just our view projected onto a classic. The closest we have been to Scandinavia is Fred Heimlich-maneuvering a Dane who choked on the biggest oyster ever eaten raw. And it was a weird experience because it was like they kissed; they were shy around each other for the rest of the evening. In the list that follows, an asterisk means a recipe is included. If there’s no *, it means the item is straightforward and you can figure it out. We suggest serving the items on rye bread or a baguette sliced lengthwise and buttered. You then eat your open-faced sandwich with a fork and knife. Or, you can do as we do: add condiments and eat it like a military strategist, portioning, placing, moving, and rationing. Regarding yields: the smorgasbord is more of a concept than a straightforward recipe. The smorgasbord shown here serves 4 to 6, and includes every single thing listed. You don’t have to follow our lead (though we would be pleased). Typically we put 4 or 5 proteins and 4 or 5 condiments on the average smorgasbord. Following this rule, each of the small recipes serves four.

This is more of an appetizer than a cocktail. What’s the reason behind the size? Hunger, gluttony, and insecurity are but a few. Serve in a large glass or a Mason jar.

We cannot not dedicate this recipe to the New Dynasty restaurant in Montreal’s Chinatown. Every Joe Beef cook has woken up at least once with an odd burn in his or her gut from the MSG and a soy sauce stain on his or her mouth after eating there. At New Dynasty, the tables are covered and the lights are really bright, not unlike Dexter’s murder rooms! The kitchen serves until 5:00 A.M., and the boss is patient with drunks who are loud and drunks who fall asleep at the table (that is, Peter Meehan). Here you can find every sea crawler you dare to eat: eel, jellyfish (served with cold chicken), huge live crabs, winkles, hacked-up crispy lobster, razor clams, and more. Inevitably, we start a meal at New Dynasty with the big Vancouver oysters, steamed with black bean sauce, one or two each, and a hefty pour of cold beer from a teapot. For this recipe, we use Gigas oysters from our friend Victor McLaggan of Cortes Island, British Columbia. They are as big as my feet and a bitch to open, but they have huge meats that can be overcooked without much sorrow. This is a case, unlike real life, where it’s easy to feel inept with a big one. If possible, ask your fish guy to open the oysters. If you can’t get these big oysters where you live, use smaller shucked oysters and bake them in ramekins. You’ll probably have sauce left over, so store it in the fridge and use it on chicken, duck, or anything else that sounds good.

When we started Joe Beef, the town was suffering from a weird vibe, a kind of up-the-ante feeling with regard to food: people went out to eat like college kids drink beer. If someone was doing testicles, you could count on someone else to pair them with pizza. Feet were kept on chickens, and heads and eyeballs were served as sides. There was no end in sight, much less vegetables. To put a damper on the frenzied quest for more, we thought that maybe the next ingredient should be inedible: not gold shavings, but what about an old radio? Doesn’t “oysters on the radio” sound good? When we ran out of radios, we used bags of sugar, erotic novels, or old album covers. The oysters themselves are simple: plump specimens topped with crisp bacon, chives, potatoes, eggs, cream, and some bread crumbs. Serve yours on any inedible ingredient of choice.

It’s easy to overwhelm oysters with a topping that’s too bold or too rich, but chef Rick Moonen knows just when to stop. His hors d’oeuvre, served at the 2008 Workshop, elevates the oysters’ briny flavor, and frankly, it’s just fun to eat. Each oyster makes a tangy splash in your mouth, with cool, warm, brisk, and sweet elements in perfect balance.

SWEET, SALTY OYSTERS AND SPICY SAUSAGE are the stars of this classic American stuffing. This is great for Thanksgiving and perfect with most meat or poultry dishes.

WHETHER YOU FRY THEM, SAUTÉ THEM, OR EAT THEM RAW, fresh oysters are simply sublime. Our local favorites are the tiny Olympia oyster (the only oyster native to the Pacific Northwest), plump Pacific oysters, European Flat oysters, and petite Kumamotos. The large Pacific oysters are the best for frying. Coated in cornmeal, they make a savory sandwich, but fried oysters also make an impressive appetizer. One tip: Use two hands while battering the oysters—one hand to dip in the flour and one to dunk in the egg and cornmeal—so you don’t end up with two messy hands.