“I weep for you,” the Walrus said:

“I deeply sympathize.”

With sobs and tears he sorted out

Those of the largest size,

Holding his pocket-handkerchiefs

Before his streaming eyes.

“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,

“You’ve had a pleasant run!

Shall we be trotting home again?”

But answer came there none—

And this was scarcely odd, because

They’d eaten every one.

…Indeed eaten every one. Sgulp!

Hama Hama. Kumamoto. Penn Cove.  Those were the ones who made the fateful leap into my belly. Almost painfully cold, kinda made your teeth squeal and your molars zing. Sgulpy, milky, meaty and slippery, these ones were ever so munchy munchable.  So good, they were ordered to the 3rd power.

As far as small plates goes, they got it going on. Fried oysters (seemingly southern style in the fryage) with a thick creamy cilantro aioli.  Pork Belly over lentils and greens. Alright Seattle, enough with the Pork Belly. Except you, Carpenter. These were THICK smokey SLABS of MEATY GREASY SWINE. Mmmm. And, salty. Fried brussel sprouts. Crispy buttery and cruciferously wicked. Steak tartare with a farm egg and crostini. At first I thought, who the hell would order steak tartare from an oyster bar. At last, I realized: smart people. It was as if the egg was a a silky olive oil custard creme and the taboo minced steak was lusciously mustardy and made my stomach butterfly with infatuation at this pinnacle moment: my life’s very first bite of raw cow flesh. Romantic, I am.

I love this place. did i mention that yet?

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