As have many other parts along the East Coast, the coastal regions of New York City just aren’t what they used to be in terms of biodiversity in general and oyster populations in particular. Oyster reefs used to cover hundreds of square miles off the shore before Europeans settled in the area, but they’re now pitiable shadow of their former selves. Worse still, when the oysters go, water quality suffers (thanks to the oyster’s prodigious water-filtering capabilities.)

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As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to feel happy, and to make plans.

Oysters lead a pretty cushy life. Most oysters on the U.S. market — and many of the clams and mussels, too — are farm-raised. They’re grown in estuaries, those incredibly productive zones where nutrient-rich fresh and salt water meet and mingle. Oysters feed at their leisure, filtering up to eight gallons of salt water per hour to collect food; they simply relax and waits for the tide to bring the next serving.

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