Connor and the Oysters or "Give me oysters and beer, for dinner every day of the year..." *

Upon arrival in Hilton Head Island the third week of June, I was put in charge of daily dinner suggestions.  Generally indecisive, and usually willing to roll with the punches, as well as drink choices, I took this honorary role willingly, as food, especially in southern U.S. regions, is of extreme personal interest.  As we traveled southward, my sister’s oldest son, Connor, texted somewhat regularly, as he and his family were meeting us on the island.  One message in particular caught my eye.  He needed to try oysters, with Uncle Brian, at Captain Woody’s, a Hilton Head institute for laid back bar drinking in a restaurant that serves grouper melt sandwiches and he-crab soup that keeps locals and Midwestern tourists like me coming back for more.

My nephew’s request continued when we rendezvoused at Plantation Club Villas in Sea Pines.  Now, I am definitely no oyster expert.  I probably couldn’t differentiate between a Blue Point and an Apalachicola, but if I’m in an Atlantic or Gulf Coast beach town, give me oysters!  It doesn’t bother me too much if the month has an ‘r’ in it or not.  If they come from local waters, by God, give me oysters. 

So, my first dinner command, upon our second night, was Captain Woody’s, in its new larger location on Target Road.  Finding out our wait would be an hour and a half, Patrick, my brother-in-law, courageously volunteered to help me man the restaurant buzzer in the vicinity of the outdoor bar, cooled by large rotating fans on the ceiling.  The plan was simple, and put into action.  Everyone else would commute to Coligny for shop browsing, and I would order oysters while waiting, happy hour prices still intact.  G.G. would bring Connor back to the restaurant ahead of the rest at the designated hour.

Time of reckoning.  A simple dozen on the half shell.  I told my nephew this is how it would go down.  First, a squeeze of lemon on the 12 gifts from the sea.  Oyster 1, forked from the shell, straight to the mouth and down the hatch.  Neat.  Oyster 2, a dab of cocktail sauce and hint of horseradish on the bivalve.  Oyster 3, placed center of a saltine, with cocktail sauce, eaten as a one-bite open faced sandwich.

“From here, nephew, you’re on your own.  Do what you will.  Eat as many as you want, in the manner that pleases you most.  I’ve done what I can.”

I cannot tell you the guidelines or expectations of Uncles or Godfathers, but if one duty states introducing said young, impressionable mind to ocean dwelling delicacies, sign me up.  Please.

*In case you were wondering, Jimmy Buffett penned the end of the sentence with “…and I’ll feel fine.” in his classic song, Tin Cup Chalice, from 1974’s album A1A.