Living on the West Coast, hopping on a seaplane isn't novel to me. Taking flight from a canal off the Mississippi to survey the expansive Southern Louisiana wetlands from a trembling six-seater - this is new. As once-lush cypress swamps, saltwater marshes and water-access-only bayou communities flash underneath us, our pilot explains how, in the wake of hurricanes, erosion and climate change, the state is reclaiming its coastline.
In the midst of this intriguing eco tour, I'll admit: my mouth is watering. Our destination is Little Moon Oyster Ranch, almost out to the Gulf of Mexico near Grand Isle. We're an hour's flight from New Orleans, and if you've sampled a Gulf oyster there, erase the memory of what was probably a throat-gagging, flabby beast. Last night, at the Purple Grackle Bar within Chemin à la Mer at the Four Seasons New Orleans, I'd sampled delectable deep-shelled, plump and mineral-sweet Little Moons: new generation cultivated bivalves raised in offshore farms. Who would pass up a chance to taste these babies fresh from the shell, shucked by the Instagram-famous @OysterDaddy?
Ryan Anderson, an oyster farmer from Maryland, established Little Moon Oyster Ranch after Hurricane Ida. He's one of several entrepreneurs creating sustainable food chains in this ecologically vulnerable spot. We boat up to the site, where Anderson is submerged to the waist, wading among rows of cages suspended in shallow water, showing us tiny oyster larvae and restaurant-ready older siblings, pointing out the distinct shell swirl that indicates a cultivated bivalve in these parts.
“Oysters are a lot like wine in the way the taste changes with the environment,” Anderson says, as he grills some on our boat, in the shell with garlic butter. How much each farmer tumbles or agitates the cages influences the oyster's shape and taste, for instance. “I call it merroir,” he says, with a wink to the French influence in Cajun country.
As we slurp fresh-shucked oysters with hot sauce on saltines, Anderson and his fellow farmers debunk myths. “My perfect oyster is day four or five out of the water,” he says, explaining that they become sweeter over time. The rule to avoid eating oysters in months without “r” might be true of wild ones stewing in summer waters, but cultivated farms like these carefully monitor water composition for safe year-round consumption. In warm months, “these oysters get buttery like a soft-boiled egg,” raves our boat captain, Kurt Curole from Bayside Oysters.
Chef Donald Link, a Louisiana native who runs a mini-empire in New Orleans (Chemin à la Mer, Herbsaint, Cochon, Pêche and others), had primed me for this oyster excursion. Dining with our small group the night before at Chemin, Link told wild tales about hunting, fishing and making boudin in the southern Louisiana bayou. He carries the legacy of generations of Southern and Cajun cooking but turns out refined food, like an impossibly luxuriant and rich roux-less dark gumbo. From rabbit croquettes or a grits cake enriched with parmesan and marsala to a thick côte de boeuf from North Carolina, his food is Southern charm on a plate.
I knew yesterday's feasting would be hard to top, despite having reservations tonight at Emeril's. I've had great meals at the TV-famous chef's NOLA restaurants, but I was hungering for something novel. From the moment we arrive at The Wine Bar at Emeril's (opened next door in November 2023), met with perfectly chilled Emeril's Reserve Martinis (complete with a bump of house-brand caviar perched on a potato chip), it is apparent the restaurant has new game.
This story has been edited and condensed for clarity. Read the original version in the Spring/Summer 2024 edition of driver magazine.
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