Up until last week, I thought that “Gulf” was its own species of large, tough, briny oysters from the Gulf coast. I’ve learned to love eating raw oysters in the past couple of decades, but Gulf have always been the ones I prefer served char grilled, a specialty in places like Felix’s or Acme in New Orleans. 

So last week when my BFF and I decided to make the most of a mild, spring evening in San Antonio’s Pearl on the patio at Southerleigh for some oysters and rosé, I was hesitant when the server suggested we get the “Curated Gulf Oysters” on the half shell from the menu.

Yes, I was in Texas, but since I was technically on vacation, I didn’t want to wrangle any part of my supper. Also, I no longer trust the word “curated.” It’s become another way to describe simply making a choice about something, synonymous with small quantities of things. I “curated” my wardrobe is now another way of saying “I stopped wearing jeans.” 

However, the curated Gulf oysters were served with Barbecue Mignonette and homemade horseradish sauce. I had to know.

Within a few minutes, the first glasses of rosé were poured and a dainty plate of oysters arrived. None of them resembled the chewy, slimy Gulf bivalves I thought I knew. These had light gray and dusty pink shells with frilly edges which cradled delicate bits of meat that were practically see-through. The flesh was smaller and firmer than east coast oysters, and not as rich as west coast ones. 

The flavors were a revelation. There were three different varieties. Unfortunately these were not listed on the menu, though I do remember that one was Lavaca Bay, a wild-harvested species from Texas with a mild, somewhat citrusy flavor. Another was Point aux Pins, a somewhat brinier species grown near Grand Bay, Alabama. The other was something sweet and almost peachy. I wish I knew what they were. We were too distracted by the surprise of eating them to remember to ask our server. But here’s a good source for future reference.

I tasted the barbecue mignonette and the horseradish separately and decided these little gems were too good for sauce. I happily ate the saltines (I think they were homemade) with the condiments as we awaited our next plates of Smoked Fish Croquette, Tomato & Tuna Tartare, and roasted carrots with hot honey. 

If that all sounds impossibly disciplined and healthy for a dinner in San Antonio, I should mention that a week later I am still working off the Margaritas and plates of guacamole, fresh tortillas, barbacoa, chorizo, and refried beans I ate for other meals, also the fantastic, well balanced cocktails and cheese fundido burger with homemade tater tots at Bar Loretta. (Yes, it’s a smash burger with a layer of fried cheese and hot pepper sauce.) My photo does not do it justice.

Back in Brooklyn, we’re in the last few hours of False Spring, leading up to another chilly spell before the pollening. I’m going to be on the lookout for those oyster varieties next time I can enjoy them again. Now my mind’s as open as the Blackland Prairie.

Be kind to one another, y’all!

—A