Last night, The Daughter and The Boyfriend arrived bearing a dozen oysters. The Boyfriend had ordered some oysters for himself and The Daughter for their new year’s eve dinner (winning massive brownie points from The Daughter). In festive spirit, the generous oyster company threw in an extra dozen, six from Loch Ryan in South West Scotland, and six from West Mersea in Essex. We were the lucky beneficiaries.
So, while The Daughter and The Boyfriend cleaned and opened the oysters (and nearly lost thumbs in the process), The Husband prepared the next course (clam chowder) and I did the main course (duck).
The oysters were beautifully presented and we sat down to eat. Before a morsel had been eaten, or a drop of wine drunk (honestly), I skillfully managed to catch the open bottle of red wine (a present) with my hand and send the contents artistically over the recently painted white walls. The spatters turned a delightful purply-blue. Luckily, the bottle was righted before too much of its contents were lost to the impromptu art installation and an excellent dinner was had by all.
I dibbed out of the oyster course, as I’m a bit squeamish about eating live things in shells. But the shells were duly kept so I could recapture the moment this morning.