Eating an oyster is like taking a spiritual log flume ride. The thrill of the plunge takes place within, not outside, the body. An über-plump Island Creek oyster at Area 31, misted with a light sheen of golden balsamic vinegar and olive oil and dotted with specks of alligator peppercorns, slides down the throat with euphoric ease; its pungent, briny flavor flabbergasted me with a post-splashdown awe. Then, with wicked exhilaration — the way a child might feel while climbing back to the top of the chute for the next descent — I peered at the remaining two oysters on the... More >>>