In Search Of...

When I was in Manila, my friend Chantale introduced me to one of her work colleagues who was a native of New Zealand. He was kind enough to spend a little bit of time talking to me about what to see and do in his home country. Then I asked him, what should I be sure to eat? He paused, carefully considering his answer, and finally said, "Bluff oysters. Eat Bluff oysters." I adore oysters, so this prospect thrilled me.

When I got to New Zealand, I was careful to check a map to see where Bluff was and kept this in mind as each day's direction unfolded. However, I didn't think I'd get to that part of the country -- it was not easily accessible by bus and a bit far from the usual points of interest. But I found myself headed in that direction after my friend Jenny's whirlwind tour of the South Island had ended and I had a week left on the rental car.

In Invercargill, a city just north of Bluff, I began the hunt. I asked in the grocery store, they sent me to a local seafood wholesaler. I went to the wholesaler's, but it was closed, being Sunday. I went to the information center and asked. At this point I learned that while that time of year was usually the start of the season; it had been delayed. But they directed me to a particular restaurant, saying that they had Bluff oysters year round, keeping them alive in some sort of tank. I went to the restaurant -- closed! At this point I had worked myself into a desirous froth, determined to sample these ocean delights. So even though I knew that the season had not yet begun, I drove the 40 or so kilometers to Bluff, reasoning that surely someone down there was also keeping them in a tank.

I arrive in Bluff, which is a very, very small town and no oysters are to be found anywhere. Disappointed (but no less determined) I drove out of Bluff and continued on my way into the Catlins, eyes ever open. No Bluff oysters anywhere.

Days later, I am driving from the Catlins north to Dunedin with a fun German hitchhiker in the passenger seat. We had spent the day exploring the coastal highlights and were on a less interesting, but necessary, stretch of road. It was as we tooled through a small town that I saw the sign (just give me a sign, lord!).

I quickly drove around the block and we went in. The oysters were frozen and served fried rather than raw, but I decided to order them anyway, and the hitchiker insisted on paying (I guess I got him invested in my serach). And while this was not the culinary climax I had hoped for, I imagined what they might have been like in their fresh, raw, slurped out of the shell incarnation and was happy in my fantasy.