LA Oysters DOA

Not coming to a table near you (image from Salon)

The great food writer Francis Lam in Salon reports on the death of an industry and a way of life.

Humans, the better ones anyway, can understand the enormity of a problem — in this case, say, the death of the Louisiana Gulf Coast — and empathize with those affected by tragedy. But it doesn’t, it can’t, hit home until it affects you personally in some way.

I love New Orleans. I love oysters. I particularly love oysters in New Orleans. And even as I’ve been outraged-to-11 at BP; At the callous indifference they showed long before the tragedy. The all ’round ineptitude and helplessness. The early pictures from a problem that’s just going to get much, much, much worse. Somehow, selfishly, this little sliver of news shakes me just a little bit more.

It’s death, in a way. For the families whose livelihoods have been stolen. For the people who live in and love to experience a city that transcends (for those who truly love it) plastic beads and flashed tits (but it’s about those too, of course).

I was JUST sitting at Casamento’s less than two months ago, enjoying an oyster loaf, a couple dozen more raw oysters, Abita and good conversation with friends. Suddenly, that experience has transformed from a standing date when I’m in town, to a wistful, nostalgic memory of a time that will never return. At the end of summer, when, normally, Casamento’s should re-open, I can’t imagine it will. Felix’s down in the Quarter, it’ll be shuttered. That local joint your friend in Mid-City knows. Done.

It’s not the oysters, per se. And it’s not about me or my feelings — those are the things that are spurring me to write this. It’s the ritual. The tradition. The location. They are simply an ingredient in a recipe that includes horseradish, lemon, Tabasco, friends, humidity, hangovers and beer, served up with jokes and crackers by people who’ve been cracking hideous bivalves for longer than you’ve known how to write. And it’s become instantly anachronistic.

Beyond jail terms and penalties for the people whose shoddy workmanship, legislation, turned heads, bribes, ineptitude, greed, cut corners and general incompetence all contributed to this endless disaster, I would like to see one additional punishment: They have to pay for, and eat, every last polluted oyster in the Gulf.

UPDATE: It’s unthinkable, isn’t it? I can’t believe I live in a moment in time where there will be no Gulf oysters in New Orleans. I’d envision there would be no New Orleans before I’d envision this.