feasting

'As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.'

Ernest Hemingway 'A Movable Feast'

I am beginning to be happy and to make plans

A feast of nature and the sea is one of the most cleansing and enlivening of epicurean delight, as it usually is a true hands-on experience, removing the shells, or even gathering from the sea. I vividly remember going clam digging as a small child in the Albemarle Sound on the Outer Banks. Wading into the water and scooping up sand laden with clamshells. It was a sport like none other I had experienced at that early age. When we brought them back to the house and my cousin prepared them, they were far too strange and exotic for my limited palate of those days. I was more intoxicated having had the salt water lapping over my knees and elbows and pluff sand underneath my fingernails, the sun blazing on my towhead and bronzing my face and limbs.

These days, I’m happy to say my tastes have changed and I could devour all the shellfish you could pile onto a platter. In answer to that question, what would you have for you last meal? I’d say a plate of oysters on the half shell, with some lemon, hot sauce and horseradish. That is a feast of the gods.