My family doesn't really do Christmas traditions—we don't eat turkey on Christmas Day, and we never, ever watch the Queen's Speech, on account of being fervent republicans.
But we do have one tradition: Eating oysters. This can take place at any point during the festive period, but it is always at the same venue, Bibendum in the old Michelin House building on the Fulham Road. We always order a selection of rocks and natives, and they're never enough, so then we order some more.
This year, the parents and I headed to Bibendum (one of Sir Terence Conran's longest serving restaurants—I'd stayed at his latest project, The Boundary in Shoreditch, the previous week) after observing some other rocks, carved ones, at the Royal Academy's excellent Wild Thing exhibition.
The oysters were the usual saucers of fresh briny deliciousness—much tastier than the dozen I'd shared a couple of weeks before at New York's new West Village Mermaid Oyster Bar—but the highlight, as always, was watching my Dad's impressive oyster eating technique.
He treats each oyster, big or small, as a self-contained meal, and lavishes it with attention. Not content with just one condiment—tabasco, lemon juice or vinegar and shallots--he fills each shell with all three. When the oyster has been deposited on his palette you know about it, and everyone else at Bibendum does too, because he sighs loudly. And then he scrapes any remaining muscly morsel from the bottom of the shell.
One thing's for sure: Those oysters did not die in vain. How do you eat yours?
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