fried oysters at the restaurant come in a flock of six, on a plate with some greens and remoulade sauce. the size of the oysters we get varies from day to day, and if they’re too small, we’ll give the customer seven or eight to make up for it. a few weeks ago, a ten-year-old girl at one of my patio tables ordered the fried oysters for dinner. they came out extra-large, so she cut each one in half before she ate it. when i went out to check on the table, the girl’s mom waved me over and pointed at the girl’s plate.
mom: i think there’s something wrong with her oysters.
mom: yeah. they all have this greenish stuff in the middle. see?
me: oh, wow.
mom: can you find out what it is?
me: of course. let me check with the manager.
i took the plate inside and showed it to the owner, who was managing that day.
me: one of my tables outside found all this green stuff in their oysters. see?
him: oh, that’s the stomach of the oyster.
him: the stomach of the oyster. that’s why you should always eat them whole, otherwise you have to see it.
him: yeah. tell your table i said never bite into an oyster.
yesterday, the oysters were really tiny, so tiny that they weren’t going to look good no matter how many there were. i said as much when rené, one of the cooks, handed me a plate of ten of them.
me: man, those fried oysters look like ass.
rené: like what?
me: like nalgas.
rené: don’t say that, you’re gonna make me hungry.