At the ritzy parties on Nantucket there are always raw bars. That means a big old boat brimming with ice, with three salty salty old men (usually including one named Spanky) jabbing blunt knives into the shells and opening the oysters and clams right in front of you. Condiments like horseradish, cocktail sauce, lemons, and the deliciously named mignotte are on the side, old metal baskets sit below waiting for the shells. If I can casually break out of conversations, I station myself in front of the boat, and toss back as many as possible. They taste like the sea contained to me–salty, crisp, ineffably light. Loved this drawing on Joel Holland’s door, seen over on design*sponge.

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