Aw, Shucks!

Yep, it happened again.

A few times every year, Kathy gets a jones for fresh oysters on the half shell. The other weekend, when we were strolling past a bistro on the downtown Sonoma Plaza, K skidded to a stop in front of the posted menu. It featured raw oysters, and she was almost prepared to drop over 30 clams to share a dozen with me.

Figuring that that sum would buy another bottle of wine for the cellar, she wisely decided that that may not have been the most prudent use of funds. As last week’s post noted, we moved on to another tasting room. Or two.

But the next week, Kath was jonesin’, man, and the ‘Nam flashback of Seattle-area seafood was, well, not “seared” into, because that’s not how we like our bivalves, but certainly on-the-half shell-shocking our brains.

Not sure if you remember, but here in CoCo County, far East Bay, any retail seafood available is “previously frozen for quality.” We’re not in the Pacific Northwest anymore.

Last Christmas, when Kathy and I needed to scratch our mollusk itch, we drove the 16 miles from Oakley to the eastern end of our BART rail line to arrive, an hour later, into San Fran for a bacchanalian feed of raw oysters from, among other West Coast beds, California’s Tomales Bay. Expensive, but a perfect week-before-Christmas sojourn. Get thee behind me, Heat Miser!

And then, the week before Labor Day, Kath suggests that, for oysters, we go to the source. She hits Google Maps and the next thing I know, we’re on the road to Tomales Bay Oyster Company on California Highway 1.

Tomales Bay is very much like Puget Sound in WA state: People think that they’re at the Pacific Ocean, but there’s an entire western land mass jutting out to protect you from, oh, I don’t know: sneaker waves, tsunamis, salmon attacks?

Very reminiscent of the two-lane highway, twisty-turny roads that Kathy and I have encountered on WA’s Olympic Peninsula, Napa-to-Sonoma’s Oakville Grade or Highway 128, and yes, the route to oysters.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am here to tell you that Tomales Bay Oyster Co. was the coolest joint. I can not begin to describe the oyster experience, but that will not stop me from trying.

OK, first, cash only. Kathy and I made sure to arm ourselves with five 20s from the Oakley ATM. We left the house at 9 a.m., expecting a 2-hour drive west toward Bodega Bay because the facility opens at 11 a.m. I guess not on holidays. We arrived at 11:02, were able to get a picnic table, and watched as folks arriving 30 minutes later were asking if we’d be leaving soon, and, if so, would we let them know.

Look, I know that the last paragraph sounds pathetic, but you have to know how we, as first-timers, dug this. Frankly, I have never seen Kathy so happy. She kept repeating how cool everybody was. Almost every picnic table was positioned in front of a BBQ grill. The head of a family of eight came over to tell us that they were done with it, and that we could use it. The guys beside us had a case of Ashanti beer and one bottle of Chablis, but they forget the corkscrew. It was not until I remarked, “Wow, you guys have the right idea,” that he said that he saw that we had an opener. He was not even going to ask to borrow our corkscrew, until we actually offered.

Check it: K, upon arrival, does recon: find one table, hold, find one better. And that’s what happened, and that’s why other folks wanted our table. Now, you all can see the photo and check the bayside vibe at Tomales Bay Oyster Co. I can not explain it, but can this be a Labor Day tradition?

Just gotta say, Kathy had the sense to get me to pack the picnic basket with a couple of plates and wine tumblers, oyster shucking knives and gloves. To dine, and I say “dine” because that is what Kathy and I did this midday, is one of the coolest things that we have ever done together. She packed a separate insulated bag with cubbies for a couple of bottles of crisp Muscadet Sur Lie, and we made short order of them and a mesh bag of 50 Tomales Bay bivalves. The whole scene was very busy, packed and high energy, but the whole crowd was very civilized and friendly. Oysters, wine and a well-behaved crowd: Heaven.

Another highlight of the day occurred on the highway. That section of Highway 1 in Marin zigs and zags pretty severely, with only one lane in each direction. Some bozo in the car behind is riding our tail. Although we were obeying the speed limit, we, and the several cars ahead of us, obviously was making him impatient. We watched in shock as this doorknob proceeds to cross the double-yellow lines to pass every vehicle, one by one. Kathy and I were aghast, and uncharitably wished that we’d see him in the ditch up ahead.

We needn’t have wished for an injury: The only cop we saw on our road trip that day had already pulled Passing Pete over, about a mile up the road.