Yes, Blue Points, that most abused of oyster appellations. But not just any Blue Points. After a century of exile, real Blue Points are once again growing in their ancestral home—Long Island’s Great South Bay. Thank Chris Quartuccio, who used to make his living diving for wild oysters in Long Island Sound. A huge set of wild oysters in the sound in the mid-90s led to record harvests—Quartuccio once collected 2,300 oysters in ninety minutes. These oysters were, fairly enough, sold as Blue Points, and they can be pretty good. The largest source of Long Island Sound Blue Points–Connecticut’s legendary Tallmadge Brothers, run by the Bloom family–has been supplying reliably briny Blue Points for years. But the name has been undercut by boring and bland “New Jersey Bluepoints,” “Virginia Bluepoints,” and other pretenders. Recently, Quartuccio decided to restore the Blue Point to greatness. He purchased a unique facility near the Fire Island inlet in Great South Bay—a one-hundred-foot, free-standing dock built right into the bay, with a chipper-looking cottage right on top. The oysters grow in trays around the dock and deliver the full-salt assault that made Blue Points famous in the 1820s, along with fascinating pine and anise notes most apparent in spring. Delivered straight to Manhattan restaurants, they are the genuine article.

Bluepoint headquarters, with Fire Island in the background

“I must call your attention to a gross injustice you commit on p. 253 by taking ‘all the blame’ (meaning the glory) for the oysterini. Rowan, the oysterini is MY invention! I invented it in 1960 at a party with colleagues from the Goddard Space Flight Center (from which my small company held a contract in space biology). The livebation was an instant success, and the Goddard gang promptly named it the ‘Levini.’ However, being a modest man, ‘with much to be modest about,’ I renamed it the ‘Oysterini.’ The Oysterini remained popular, but really hit high gear in 1976 at a party at JPL celebrating the safe landing of the Viking Mission to Mars (on which I had a life detection experiment). At that party, the Viking Chief Scientist produced a pint of shucked oysters from his back pocket and the Oysterinis rolled! Now, you can imagine how disturbed I am at your usurpation of my rightful claim. As Dustin Hoffman said in Wag the Dog, ‘I demand the credit!’ Please fess up in your next edition!”

Let the record hereby state: Dr. Gil Levin, the Oysterini is all yours.

And here is the recipe, for everyone intrigued by this irresistible concoction:

Oystertini

Nothing goes with raw oysters like a martini. Bombay Sapphire gin, a splash of Noilly Pratt vermouth, and a twist of lemon peel, all so cold that ice crystals flirt with existence at the surface. Drink one with a dozen Fanny Bay oysters and feel yourself slide into a crystalline realm of confused bliss. I have to thank Greg Hinton, director of Elliott’s Oyster Bar, for turning me on to this particular bliss, but I’ll take all the blame for this next outré innovation: throw an oyster in the gin! The oyster not only does the work of the olive, providing texture and salt and visual interest, but also covers for the vermouth with its liquor—a variation on the “dirty martini.” In the name of sanity, a small, dainty oyster is the way to go here. It will look a bit like a lab experiment floating in formaldehyde, which isn’t so far from the truth. I like to use a lemon twist, but do what you want—we’ve obviously left tradition far, far behind.
2 ounces gin
1 raw oyster, liquor reserved
1 strip of lemon peel

1. Pour the gin and oyster liquor into a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake well and let sit for 30 seconds, or longer for a weaker drink.

2. Run the lemon peel around the rim of a martini glass. Strain the gin into the glass, then twist the peel over the glass to release a drop of lemon oil.

3. Drop in the oyster and serve.

Serves 1