Rollin' out the dough.
Ready to bake. I threw in some chicken for good measure.
Now for the mollusks. I, like most sensible people, are consumed with interest and intrigue for oysters, especially ones on the half shell. As much as I would love to dine at any of the popular NYC seafood restaurants, I thought I would save some dozens of dollars and shuck the guys myself.
I got these guys at Citarella on 9th St. and 6th Ave (Ave. de las Americas) They have a great seafood counter with nice guys who can discuss the finer points of razor clams in broken English. They said, "You are going to open these yourself?" and I said, "Yes, sir!"
The only other time I have attempted opening oysters was about four years ago, when I bought one out of curiosity and after not being able to wedge it open with a blunt knife, thought I could kind of smash it open with a metal meat tenderizer. I embarrassedly slid the smithereens into the garbage. Here goes my second time.
TA-DA!
Some of those fuckers are much harder to open than others. Think more finesse than brutish strength and you'll be fine. You gotta wiggle around the knife, being careful not to stab yourself, twisting it now and then until you hear a dull pop and the oyster liquor starts to seep out. I think the most difficult thing was keep the silt and mud out of the oyster cavity--even if you wash and scrub them really well, it's hard to remove all the grit. Also, severing the muscle that attaches the oyster to the interior ivory shell takes practice. I certainly mangled a few but that didn't make them taste any less delicious.
I thought I was a lemon-squirt purist; however, I dabbed on a little Tapatio every other oyster--LA style. Jared and Captain Sensible do not indulge.
They did gobble up the pot pie and broccolis though.
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