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Washington Virginicas are left over from an old oystering tradition. They were first transplanted to Washington after the native Olympias died out in the late 1800s. The Olympias were eventually replaced by the faster-growing Pacific oyster, aka Crassostrea gigas, a Japanese transplant. But a few Virginicas remained.
Jon Rowley is the man who made the TIV famous. The tall, muscular, white-haired Rowley is a former Alaska fisherman who has been called the P.T. Barnum of the oyster industry. He's the guy who coined the term "Great American Oyster Renaissance." He's also the guy who thought there was something unique about Copper River salmon and started bringing the fish to market unfrozen in 1983. When he talks about seafood, people listen.
I met Rowley on the front porch of Fairview Grange Hall on Washington's Olympic Peninsula a couple of years ago while he was shucking oysters for a holiday party. His little washtub oyster bar had Pacific oysters and tiny Kumamoto oysters, but the ones he was keen on talking about were the Totten Inlet Virginicas. "They are Eastern oysters that are born and raised in Washington State," he would explain to the partygoers who came over to check out the oysters. And then he'd say, "They are my nominee for best oyster on the planet." It's hard to resist a come-on like that. But they delivered on the promise. Every TIV was a large, meaty specimen with the opaque, creamy-beige color that indicates a very sweet oyster.
In April 2008, the East Coast Shellfish Growers Association held a blind tasting of Virginicas. Oysters from 19 different appellations on the East, West, and Gulf coasts were judged. The Duxbury oyster from Massachusetts won the overall category. But the TIV was judged the best-tasting Virginica oyster.
"TIVs are one of our most popular oysters," Sandy Ingber says. "We go through around 1,800 regular-size and 250 extra-large ones every week." While the local Blue Points are selling for $1.75 each at Grand Central Oyster Bar, the regular three-and-a-quarter-inch TIVs are going for $2.95 each, and the four-to-five-inch "Titan"-size TIVs are selling for $3.50. Most oyster connoisseurs insist they are worth every penny.
I got some TIVs by mail order and did a tasting in my backyard in Houston. I shucked some TIVs, some five-inch Texas oysters, and some three-inch Apalachicola oysters, and asked Gulf oyster dealer Jim Gossen to join me in tasting all three. I knew which was which, but he didn't.
First he pulled a refractometer out of his pocket and tested all three for salinity. The TIV had the highest saline content at close to 50 parts per thousand, versus about 45 parts per thousand for the other two. Then Gossen ate all three. He liked the TIV the best. So did I. It wasn't just saltier; it was also sweeter.
It seemed odd to see TIVs and Gulf oysters side by side. Outside of Rodney's, you seldom find them both in the same oyster bar. There are two oyster cultures in America. In Houston, where I live, the two cultures overlap. Gulf oysters sell for an average of $7 to $12 a dozen in old-fashioned oyster saloons. These oysters are the product of an oyster-fishing industry that goes back many generations. Meanwhile, gourmet oysters like TIVs, Duxburys, and Malpeques go for $2 to $3 apiece in upscale seafood restaurants. These oysters are produced by a new generation of cultivators who are reviving the oyster industry in areas where oyster fishing long ago died out.
If you ask the shucker in a Gulf Coast oyster saloon about gourmet oysters, he'll laugh at how much money those rich suckers are paying for their itty-bitty oysters. And if you ask the shucker in an upscale oyster bar about Gulf oysters, he'll tell you they are lethal. If you eat oysters, you have probably already been pressured into taking sides.
John Finger is the founder of Hog Island Oyster Company on Tomales Bay, just north of San Francisco. A thin, wiry guy in a gray hoodie, the trained marine biologist has a rack-and-bag oyster farming operation planted close to the mouth of the bay, where the salinity is highest.
"Gulf oyster fishermen are a bunch of cowboys," Finger said during a tour. "They don't care what happens to the oysters after they leave their docks. Oyster farmers have a different mentality; they are more nurturing." You hear a lot of these kinds of sentiments from oyster farmers, and they are understandable. Gulf oystermen are exploiting a public resource, while oyster farmers are caring for a crop.
Hog Island Oysters uses state-of-the-art Stanley racks. The racks have swivels that allow the sacks of oysters to flip back and forth as the tide goes in and out, giving the oysters a more regular shape. To guard against contamination, the oysters are purified with an expensive UV filtering system. The company, which produces several species of oysters as well as other shellfish, is helping to restore the Olympia oyster to its native habitat. The operation is on a par with the best in the world, and Hog Island is one of the most famous oyster brand names in the country.
After our tour, I joined a group of friends for lunch in Hog Island's idyllic picnic grove. It was a gorgeous afternoon, and we sat at a table overlooking the calm blue waters of Tomales Bay, shucking our own oysters and drinking wine. Some of the diners eating lunch nearby had decorated their tables with linen, flower arrangements, and expensive-looking crystal. It was one of the most memorable oyster lunches I've ever had.
One year later, I had another memorable oyster lunch with fellow members of the Southern Foodways Alliance at 13 Mile Oyster Company, where we hunkered down at picnic tables overlooking the muddy waters of Apalachicola Bay on Florida's Gulf Coast. Apalachicola is the premier oyster appellation on the Gulf. The rapid flow of the nutrient-rich Apalachicola River creates an ideal oyster-growing environment. While Virginica oysters take two to three years to reach a three-inch size in other parts of the country, Apalachicola oysters grow to maturity in an average of 18 months.
