I once went to an oyster bar on the Sunshine Coast of BC for a taste of these sea creatures, slurping them raw off the shell. Even with hot-sauce and a squeeze of lemon, I winced and shuddered. No thanks, they're wasted on me.
Our Saskatchewan Oyster Bar is something else all together, and I'm not talking about the famous prairie oysters that ranchers serve at their branding and castrating events, which are even worse than the ocean variety.
Ours usually happen on a gentle Sunday morning when a group of friends head northwest of Swift Current on our bicycles to the small village of Success. Always to the same sunny spot by an abandoned building, which Stew talks about buying someday.
Our friend Dave S. makes a short, but thoughtful sermon reminding us to appreciate our strong legs, the fresh air and our comradeship, then we peel the lids off our tin cans of smoked oysters, being careful not to break the ring. If we forget the toothpicks, Dave C. will whittle thin twigs to keep the oil off our fingers, and with a plastic airplane-size bottle of wine each, for good cheer, we enjoy cheese and crackers, maybe olives and chocolate, in our private oyster bar in this secluded corner of the prairie.
The broken deck provides adequate seating for two. Ticks and mosquitoes have never been a problem for others lounging on the grass.
Dangers are rare but not unheard of. A detour demanded by masked highwaymen meant a few kilometers of gravel road for us, which our narrow tires really dislike. A polite argument ensued, the marauders relented and let us sneak by on the shoulder, safely keeping our distance from their construction artillery and tanks.
It's April! The snow is melting, the sunshine is warming the earth, the Oyster Bar season of 2021 will be happening soon.
Everyone's welcome, even without a neon green jacket. Social distancing is no problem. Pump up your tires, grab your helmet and bring your canned oysters. Success is close at hand.
