Yesterday, Sarah and I went to the Riverside Oyster Festival, which turned out to be far less grand than its name suggests. Considering I'd heard about this thing two weeks ago and could barely contain myself in anticipation of going, it was hugely disappointing. I'd envisioned rows of vendors with canvas-roofed carts and grease-splattered aprons, dishing out oysters prepared in all manner of "county fair" styles: fried oysters, oyster po'boys, um, oyster sushi... yeah, okay, so maybe my imagination was pushing the boundaries of reality with oyster sushi, which I've only seen on the specials menu in some Japanese restaurants. But you get the idea.
To my supreme dismay, once we arrived at Riverside Park (at 103rd Street, all the way on the West Side of Manhattan), we found that there was only a solitary stand serving only raw oysters. And the "festival" consisted of a whole bunch of people sitting around by the Hudson Beach area of the park, eating raw oysters and cocktail sauce off a plastic plate and ignoring a boorish, grooveless band in the vein of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones playing on a stage in the corner. [Pop culture tip for the clueless: the last time the Mighty Mighty Bosstones were popular, Bill Clinton was still President.] If you were curious what the scenic Hudson "Beach" looks like, here's helpful photograph:
To be fair, everyone knows Manhattan is hardly the first place you'd go in search of a beach. And at least the raw oysters were excellent (harvested in Maine, shucked right here in New York, cold and sweet, and requiring nary a hint of lemon juice or cocktail sauce). But there's a lesson in my disappointment: when in New York, you could attend hundreds of entertaining, unique and well-organized cultural events, or you could go to next year's Riverside Oyster Festival. And sometimes, until you're actually standing on that sand-swept patch of concrete and squinting past the four-lane highway at the rather arresting coast of New Jersey, you just can't tell the difference.
To my supreme dismay, once we arrived at Riverside Park (at 103rd Street, all the way on the West Side of Manhattan), we found that there was only a solitary stand serving only raw oysters. And the "festival" consisted of a whole bunch of people sitting around by the Hudson Beach area of the park, eating raw oysters and cocktail sauce off a plastic plate and ignoring a boorish, grooveless band in the vein of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones playing on a stage in the corner. [Pop culture tip for the clueless: the last time the Mighty Mighty Bosstones were popular, Bill Clinton was still President.] If you were curious what the scenic Hudson "Beach" looks like, here's helpful photograph:
To be fair, everyone knows Manhattan is hardly the first place you'd go in search of a beach. And at least the raw oysters were excellent (harvested in Maine, shucked right here in New York, cold and sweet, and requiring nary a hint of lemon juice or cocktail sauce). But there's a lesson in my disappointment: when in New York, you could attend hundreds of entertaining, unique and well-organized cultural events, or you could go to next year's Riverside Oyster Festival. And sometimes, until you're actually standing on that sand-swept patch of concrete and squinting past the four-lane highway at the rather arresting coast of New Jersey, you just can't tell the difference.
1 comment:
That's so sad. So much potential for oyster yumminess. Maybe you'll have more success finding good eats at the International Pickle Day celebrations on the lower east side this Sunday. http://www.lowereastsideny.com/
Btw, you have me wanting to try "roo" meat. Let me know if you want to go sometime.
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