“You don’t care for oysters?” asked Oblonsky, as he drained his glass. Even the Tatar waiter, who had drawn the cork and poured the foaming wine into tall thin wine glasses, straightened his tie and glanced at Oblonsky with an obvious smile of pleasure. ![]() Levin did eat his oysters, though he would have preferred bread and cheese. “Not too bad,” he repeated, glancing with soft glittering eyes at Levin, then at the Tatar waiter. “Not too bad,” he said, lifting the quivering oysters from their pearly shells with a little silver fork, and swallowing them one after another. ![]() Oblonsky opened his starched napkin and tucked it into his waistcoat, settled his arms comfortably, and began on the oysters. “The Tatar waiter rushed off, his coat tails flying in five minutes he returned with a plate covered with oysters in their pearly shells, and a bottle. Fisher identifies three types of oyster eaters: “loose-minded sports” (who will jump at any opportunity at all), those who like them raw (the most extreme of whom can’t even abide a tiny drop of lemon juice on their oysters), and those who like them cooked. In Consider the Oyster, the inimitable M.F.K. ![]() It must be kept safe from pollution, parasites, and marine predators in order to preserve it for human consumption - the pinnacle of which is the raw, living oyster (with all due respect to the many who adore their oysters cooked). There was a time when oysters flourished, when they were enjoyed in staggering quantities by rich and poor alike, but these days, the oyster is a luxury.
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