Another Marie Claire tip for feeling rich in bed, was to sup on champagne and chow down on some oysters. Ahh oysters, those little love molluscs that look like someone phlegmed up in a shell, and taste…well… like someone phlegmed up in a shell.
A few years ago, I attempted a romantic evening with oysters and Husband. I envisaged a wondrous evening; we would stare deep into each others eyes, declaring our love followed by lots of romping.
Having never bought oysters before, I toddled off down to Waitrose and sought out the advice of one of the staff there on how to get started. The staff member, which I now know to be a completely unreliable asset to that particular Waitrose, told me that before swallowing the oyster – I had to bite it first to kill it. If I didn’t do this, it would be alive in my stomach and have a little party in my gut.
This sounded fairly barbaric, but never the less I was hell bent on harnessing the aphrodisiac powers of these little creatures - and subsequently having a great old time with Husband that night in the bedroom.
Husband isn’t the biggest fan of shellfish on the best of days, so I was apprehensive to say the least when presented with the two slimy snot-like molluscs. I knew I had to lead by example and knocked one back, biting down on it first before I swallowed to make sure it wasn’t going to set up home in my tummy and breed.
Husband, grasping the shell looked unconvinced at my strained “mmmm” pat your tummy, yummy face. He put the shell to his lips and tipped the oyster in. Then came the romantic bit, the aphrodisiac bit, the bit that made Husband irresistible. He started to choke on the oyster, his taste buds and throat rejecting the salty snotty flesh. Running to the sink, he manager to perform his own mini Heimlich and flobbed the oyster back up into the sink. Where it slid around, in its own little puddle of salt water and spit.
This my friends, is not sexy. My libido, along with Husband’s did not kick into overdrive, rather recoil and beg for mercy. When I read out to Husband that oysters and champagne featured this month, neither of us were jumping for joy.
So we compromised. Using the saffron butter recipe from the Marie Claire September Issue, I fried off the oysters with some added chilli and ginger for good measure. Both husband and I managed to get them down with little fuss, made easier with a champagne chaser.
I must say, I did feel fruity that evening. But then I don’t know how much of that was down to the alcohol rather than the oysters. I don’t think oysters will be a regular addition to our menu - raw or fried. Husband knows that all he needs to do is have clean ears and haircut and I go to jelly, though if he turned up with a bottle of champagne more often, that certainly wouldn’t be a bad thing!
