Oysters and Champagne

The first time we walked down to the Stockel farmers market we were a little awed by the casual champagne-and-oysters crowd. What was this alternate universe we’d stepped into where people faire les course pour acheter cheese, saucisses, fruits and veggies from across Europe, then take a pause for this elegant hedonistic repas?

“Want some champagne and oysters??” I asked Chris.

“No.” He didn’t hesitate.

We’d see them week after week—standing at the cocktail tables, chatting with friends or alone, glasses sparkling on white tablecloths for a moment or two of simple pleasure.

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“I don’t want to have champagne and oysters every week,” I said a little enviously, “but I would like to do it sometime…”

“Sure,” Chris agreed. With Hannah and Justin—that would be fun. Meanwhile, every time we went, I’d look to see whether the tables were out. COVID saw a market with no oysters for months and months, even after the other stalls reopened. Then a couple months ago when restaurants reopened the white tablecloths and champagne flutes returned.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” Chris asked.

“Nothing big—we’ve had a busy week and we’re going to be busy next week…. Want to have champagne and oysters at the farmers market?”

“Sure! That will give the kids and me a chance to do some birthday shopping too.”

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Chris is squeamish. He would never never NEVER seek out oysters for personal enrichment or enjoyment. But he gamely ordered us a half dozen along with two flutes and brought them over to our table with a classic I-Regret-Everything face. My favorite. We gave the kids some money so they could go buy late blackberries and stared at the freshly-shucked plate in front of us.

The nice Americans (they live close by! We have mutual friends!) at the next table struck up a conversation and gave us some tips—“people either love them or hate them!” With their encouragement we downed the whole plate in no time. I’ve had oysters a few times—in Florida with Hannah and Justin, at farmers market in Honfleur where Chris wouldn’t join me, at restaurants. This time was different. Ice cold and salty, it tasted like getting clobbered by an ocean wave, without the water up my nose. Amazing. Now we know what everyone else seems to have figured out a long time ago. Actually I’m not sure whether Chris is in the love it or hate it camp. I’m decided of course.

Turns out I DO want to have oysters and champagne every week!