Postcards from Paris: {She Sells Seashells}

The months with the letter -R- are here, and once I noticed what season it was I immediately started strolling the quartier to see where the closest Fruits de la Mer restaurant is located to chez moi.
It's true that December is the essential month to indulge for Parisians, but the craving has started for me just as the go-ahead has been passed.
If someone had asked how long I've fancied this unusually slimey delicacy it didn't start until almost 2 years ago. It was perhaps around the time I was preparing to move to Paris. When a Savannah friend described an afternoon she had shucking oysters and eating them on the half-shell. The experience in fact seemed rather elegant. For me, eating oysters is more about the tradition of it all. Consuming something that doesn't appear at all very satisfying might take some convincing and coercing. Jonathan Swift was quoted once saying, "He was a bold man that first ate an oyster."
But ultimately, a nutritious bite from the sea, with a shell to keep, is something I look forward to.
It's the shell that lures me in. Almost any shell could do that to me. I can pick up a shell and be distracted while concentrating on the small details; he colors, the natural patterns, the textures, and with some the sound they make while holding up to one's ear. I may have mentioned the process of unwrapping our shell collection at the shop, how the lingering scent of salty sea permeates the register area, but it gives anyone unwrapping the excuse to look at the details firsthand.
There may be a good oyster-joint nearby, but I sort of wish I could spend another moment in the shop to take a gander at the shells.
Also, for those who are not yet convinced of oysters, please take a look at this:
o  y  s  t  e  r  s

1 comment:

Meriwether said...

love you reba,