If you love oysters you likely have your own way of describing the experience of eating them. If you don’t like them, you probably have a more vivid description. If you have never eaten a raw oyster but are the sort to give new things a try, a description may do you some good.
I will try to keep this g-rated but it will be hard because the experience of eating a raw oyster is an adult advanced topic. I will also ask your indulgence because I KNOW that this has been written about so much in mundane food writing that it can become cliched.
For me, eating an oyster is a transcendent and inherently frustrating experience. If you are positively inclined toward the family Ostreidae, looking upon their delicate membranes, laid bare, is almost more than one can tolerate in polite company. Their plump bodies repose in pearlescent beds surrounded by an incongruent rough outer shell. The naked and disturbing (revolting?) truth of their morphology creates a rigid tension as it plays against the pleasurable memories of previous oysters.
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