In the United States, the pickings are slim for international oysters. Other than Canada, only Mexico, Chile, and New Zealand have live shellfish trade agreements with the United States. No farmer in Chile currently has the economic muscle to fly oysters north. With any luck, that will change soon, because Chile has some unusual oysters that would be greeted with gusto in America. Meanwhile, Mexico and New Zealand are both shipping a growing supply of excellent oysters to our shores.
Of course, zealous ostreaphiles won’t settle for waiting to see what oysters come to America. They will go to the oysters. While such explorations are beyond the scope of this book, it’s worth noting that the current oystermania is not just a North American phenomenon. In addition to the countries mentioned above, Brazil, Ireland, France, Spain, China, Japan,Thailand, and Australia all have healthy oyster industries.
Oyster aquaculture in Japan. (Photo courtesy NOAA)
THE INTERNATIONAL OYSTERS TO KNOW
BAHIA FALSA
Who would have thought Mexico could grow such pretty little oysters? Striped with purple and green, these cuties resemble Kumamotos in their petite size and deep cups. Not in flavor, though. Bahia Falsas start with supreme, almost overwhelming salt, as can come only from an oyster living where it virtually never rains and the water is higher in salinity than the open ocean. The salt then gives over to sweetness and an unmistakable finish of watermelon rind. This is a surprisingly powerful oyster in a little package, and it screams out for a Corona and lime.
Mexico’s regulatory standards do not exactly inspire confidence in most American oyster eaters—if you can’t drink the water, why the hell would you eat the oysters?—but fear not, these babies aren’t coming from a Mexico City sewer. They are raised off the coast of San Quintin, in Baja California, an undeveloped area of vacation homes and sportfishing tourism. An oyster industry has thrived here for twenty-five years, taking advantage of clean waters carpeted with eelgrass—a good sign of water quality. Bahia Falsa means “false bay,” but it sure looks like a real bay, and a pretty good one. The original name, bestowed by wishful-thinking Portuguese explorers in the 1600s, was Bay of Eleven Thousand Virgins. It was meant to honor Saint Ursula, a sixth-century Roman martyr, and her eleven thousand handmaidens. (If the thought of eleven thousand virgin handmaidens sounds unlikely, give yourself points for paying attention. The original Latin inscription read: “XI M. V.” For centuries this was read as “11 mille virgos.” By the time somebody realized the M stood for “martyred,” not “mille,” it was too late. Christopher Columbus named the Virgin Islands in the Caribbean after the same story.)
COROMANDEL
It’s a little demoralizing when a foreign oyster beats all your home team oysters, but that’s what happened to me one day at the Grand Central Oyster Bar. After tasting perhaps fifteen different Pacific oysters, I identified a clear winner—the Coromandel. It was brinier than most Pacifics, crisper than any of the others except the Summer Ice, and bright with citrus aromas. And that’s after being flown ten thousand miles from New Zealand! One can only imagine how good they are in Coromandel, a spur off New Zealand’s North Island once known for its hippie enclave and now for its oysters and mussels. It’s well worth sampling a Coromandel to take note of what flavors a whole different hemisphere can impart in an oyster.
EL CARDON
Another Mexican oyster from Bahia Falsa. El Cardons come a bit bigger than Bahia Falsas, with viridian outer shells and stunning mother-of-pearl interiors shimmering with green and purple. Like Bahia Falsas, the salt is extreme and the finish clearly watermelon rind. The adductor muscles can be unpleasantly chewy, which may be an argument for keeping Baja oysters small.
KUMAMOTO (BAJA)
Kumos from Baja are appearing more and more frequently at raw bars, and they’re always good, as well as being more affordable than your California and Washington State Kumos. Sweet and melonlike, they are grown by Mark Reynolds, a “disillusioned banker” now trying his hand at oysters in the pristine waters of Laguna Manuela, near Ense-nada. Baja, with its sparse populace and total lack of industry, makes for great shellfish farming; a Baja Kumo grows to market size in a year, instead of the four years it takes a northwest Kumo. In addition to oysters, Reynolds is playing around with abalone and a scallop known as mana de lyon. Reynolds has a funny challenge: The Baja region produces high-quality oysters and has high labor costs (due to the lack of local workers). Yet, because it’s Mexico, the perception is just the opposite. Thus far, Baja Kumos are a bit lower priced than most, making them a steal.