No. 35: Carlsbad Aquafarm Oysters at Slapfish

If Slapfish only served these oysters and nothing else, it would already justify the restaurant's existence. And co-owners Andrew Gruel and Jethro Naude know how special these babies are. Gruel–who was a program manager of the Aquarium of the Pacific's sustainable-seafood initiative–is an advocate who puts his product where his principles are. The sustainably produced Carlsbads have their own special blackboard, and Slapfish offers them with no adornment save for some slaw and a tequila-spiked cocktail sauce you hardly need. When you order a mix-and-match half-dozen, the paper baskets are marked to indicate which are which. 

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The oysters are called a Luna when they're young; there's a pronounced brininess at the front and a boldly metallic, almost brassy finish at the end. The Blond, a more mature mollusk, is sweeter and slurps cleaner, less saltily. And then there's the Del Sol, for which they take the Blond for a two-hour immersion in fresh water to bring out the sweetness even more. Each is diminutive–the quivering, shimmering meat not bigger than a throat lozenge, cupped in a deeply welled ivory shell that's its own nature-formed spoon. You let one slide down your throat, and then close your eyes in ecstasy: The chemistry of its liquor and the electric presence of its flesh short-circuits the pleasure centers of your brain the split second the cold, sexy thing wiggles on your tongue. This, I thought, is as perfect a piece of seafood as I've ever had–better than the Olympia oysters I ate a few years ago in Seattle.

The list so far:

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