By: Paul Brewer

Oyster farm in Florida. PHOTO: Max Bressan

I used to go to Florida once, twice a year. First to promote shoes, then later to slang surfboards and even later clothes. We’d drive the whole east coast, or sometimes we’d just stay in Orlando at the trade show booth and hope the customers came to us. Like a lot of people’s travels, my memories of Florida are anchored by food and drink. Admittedly, the drink part muddles the food-memory part, but that’s how it goes.

In landlocked Orlando, I’ve had both tremendous sushi as well as cringeworthy Greek spreads at joints where it’s obligatory to throw paper napkins in the air (an obligatory opa! Is the worst kind of opa!). I’ve had greasy hot wings in Jacksonville, unbelievable Cuban food at 3 a.m. in Miami and Waffle House just about everywhere. I’m no Bourdain, but Florida has more than enough great food, grimy joints and interesting characters to make any visitor who’s got a half-curious mind feel like they’ve seen some shit. The state has led to three valuable lessons: always skip the offer to drink 3 a.m. Red Label in the hotel room, be careful who you smile at and just eat the damn oyster. And while the first two lessons kept me out of trouble, the last, the one about the oyster, is the lesson that I remember most.

Up around Pensacola, the oysters are the call. Well, the Bushwhackers too, but really the oysters. Now, these aren’t the four bucks a pop, artisanal accoutrement, martini on the side oysters I spend too much money on in San Diego. These are super fresh, probably from the bays right there. These are served with an icy Coors Light and some Florida charm.

I’m sure most joints will prepare them however you’d like, but Oysters Rockefeller always reminds me of warm horse boogers covered in cheese, and the oysters served with cocktail sauce/horseradish/hot sauce do a great job of hiding flavor (some say, many spices and sauce and heat were originally created to cover up rancidity, but now they’re so ubiquitous we accept they’re just something you have to put on expensive things like oysters).

Good ingredients can stand on their own, making dinner prep and life in general easier.

Oyster farmer with his haul. PHOTO: Tupat

A good oyster tastes like whatever ocean it came from, and that’s one of the best tastes ever, so no need to cover it up with extra flavor. When I need a quick dinner, an easy dinner, I grab a heavy dozen oysters. I suggest a lemon, if you want your oceany oysters lemon-flavored. You can keep the whole dinner down home and simple with some Coors Light, or shake up that aforementioned gin martini if you want to take it uptown. Maybe a salad (a Caesar!) on the side. And buy the oysters unshucked and open them yourself at home, because you’re an able-bodied big kid and, besides, carrying pre-shucked oysters home on the passenger seat is a messy nightmare. All you need is a knife and some pressure and a wiggle, you’ll be on your way to a great evening. Fresh, crisp, clean — just eat the damn oyster. It’s a Florida lesson worth remembering.