The wrong oyster company

I was nervous about how well I would be able to handle a drive up the windy roads of Highway One up to Marin and how my stomach would manage raw oysters after a night of drinking and dancing and a morning with a pounding headache. But Jeanne and Ross were coming from Modesto to get oysters with Scott and me, and I couldn’t disappoint them by saying that I was too hungover to make the trip. So, I sucked it up. I showered and had some coffee (I refrained from the aspirin since the last time I took it after a night of drinking left me with an afternoon of vomiting). The four of us packed up our snacks, drinks, and oyster tools and made our way across the Golden Gate Bridge and north to Marin.

Scott sat shot-gun as I was behind the wheel, trying to steer us safely in a car that wasn’t mine and trying to concentrate on not being queasy. Jeanne, Ross, and Scott all tried to grasp on to something as I weaved around the tight corners. I swore to them that I am a good driver while squealing, “Whee...where’s the road?”

We made our first stop at Point Reyes Station, heading straight for the Cowgirl Creamery. We picked up some cheese (a wheel of the creamily smooth Mt. Tam and a wedge of a goat cheese), some more drinks (an Orangina for me), and some steamed artichokes with a lemon mayonnaise sauce. After a photo-opp with a miniature-sized blue Datsun pickup truck, we were back on the road.

The drive didn’t look familiar to me but Scott said we were going the right way. After driving for a few more minutes and being very convinced that the path we were on was not the usual path I take to get oysters, we pulled over and referenced the map. Scott showed me where he was directing us and I showed him where I thought we were going. Our locations were on opposite sides of the Tomales Bay. We were both thinking of oyster farms on a bay but we were thinking of different bays and different farms. Oh, well. We decided to go to Scott’s oyster farm since we wouldn’t have to journey around a body of water to get there. We turned off Sir Francis Drake and headed onto a very narrow dirt path, casting clouds of dust along our way. I wondered where Scott was taking us but soon enough we found a parking lot and made our way out of the car.

This looked nothing like the Tomales Bay Oyster Company nor the Hog Island one. I wasn’t sure what to do but the sign told us that we were at Drakes Bay Oyster Company, certified by Marin Organic. After scoping out the place and our different oyster options, we ordered four dozen small oysters and took them to go. We got back into the car and drove to what somehow got referred to the “end of the world.” On the map, this “end of the world” spot appeared to be the western most point of California, but we could’ve been wrong.

When we finally got there though, it did seem like we were on the edge of the earth, or at least of California’s western coast. We unloaded the trunk, made a little hike up towards the lighthouse, and set up shop on one of the two picnic tables. We unpacked our picnic amongst the tourists who had come to enjoy the view on this ridiculously gorgeous and warm day. I felt bad that were drinking beers, gorging on creamy cheeses and crusty bread, and eating oysters as the people around us were huffing and puffing after a climb to the lighthouse, but I didn’t feel bad enough to offer them any of our food and drink. And, it was beautiful out there, dining with the entire Pacific Ocean in view and with the warm sun on my face. I couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon, even if I still was hungover.