Not just any oyster pizza. Oyster pizza from Osteria Stellina in Point Reyes Station. Drakes Bay Farm oysters with Strauss cream braised leeks, lemon thyme and parsley. On a thin (and I am certain, quite perfect) crust.
Here’s the deal. My mom and dad have been married 55 years. They are old enough to have earned their “wise” cards. I am old enough to sit up straight and listen.
Mom has been saying lately that she sees friends who have stayed within their comfort zones their whole lives, and now their worlds are narrow and small and not very interesting. She has been saying that when you add your spouses’ comfort zone to your own, and you only do only things you both enjoy, then the small, narrow, not very interesting place constricts even more. She thinks the answer (or one of the answers, since even Jan admits that marriage is complex) is to venture out and try what the other person enjoys, even if it involves a little discomfort for you.
I get that. Not that I am old, or set in my ways or anything.
So Sunday night we drove Alex back to camp, which is near Point Reyes. We dropped her off and drove over the hill, past Marshall and Tomales Bay and the hills and the fog and into Point Reyes Station to Osteria Stellina.
Home of the Oyster Pizza. Which I thought sounded yummy. Steve thought it sounded gross. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted it, but I knew that it was a shared deal. And he was pretty disgusted by the idea.
I mentioned it about five times.
I could tell his mind was on lamb shanks.
We arrived at 7:00. I pronounced this a very good idea. We perused the menu. The oyster pizza was there, third down on the right. I asked our waiter about the pizza. He was enthusiastic and encouraging. Steve shook his head. I confirmed there was no tomato sauce or sausage or anything to confuse the palate.
Steve hesitated. I kind of begged. He may have winced.
And then he gave in and ordered the oyster pizza for two, please.
And it was delicious. Succulent, flavorful, surprising, spicy in just the right way, fun, and very, very yummy.
Driving home, as the full moon peeked over the hills, I said, “I am glad the oyster pizza thing worked out…I could have been wrong.” (And yes I do recognize that is a poor excuse for a thank you.)
He said, “Generally you’re right about things like that.”
This morning I said, “Thank you for eating the oyster pizza. I owe you one.”