One food I still love, come hell or high hormone levels, is oysters. So I was pretty pleased to see several packs of them hitting the reduced shelves in Tesco around half six yesterday evening.
(That, for those not already in the know, is the best time to bargain shop in the local branch of that particular store: it’s the time of day when the price reductions are almost at max…and the in-store staff haven’t yet had time to cream off the best of the buys).
Were these OK? Daft question: of course they’re going to say yes. But they were, and I swiftly stuffed a dozen of the delicious shellfish in my trolley. 50p for £6 of oysters: sorted!
Folks at home were not so impressed: oysters appear to be a marmite taste. Love ‘em or hate ‘em. I love them: the rest of the house doesn’t (although the boy volunteered to try one).
How nice that Tesco should have such a delicacy on offer.
This morning a slightly more cynical thought poked its way into my brain. Oysters. The day after Valentine’s day. Of course.
That marmite factor again. Everyone KNOWS their aphrodisiac properties, no matter how mythical they are in real life. So store buyers will inevitably stock up on the critters come Feb 13/14. But they are possibly the grocery equivalent of red suspenders: a good idea in theory; appalling in practice.
Cause if your nearest and dearest doesn’t actually like the thing – doesn’t, in fact, have track history when it comes to slurping down the admittedly icky things – then far from romantic gesture, I can see the purchase of oysters as having quite the opposite to the intended effect.
On the one hand, facing some squeamish princess with the challenge of not looking like a party-pooper, pretending to be impressed, whilst doing her utmost to refrain from gagging. On t’other, leaving her beau facing an expensive and mostly uneaten and unwelcome delicacy. Argument before bedtime? Yep – so not exactly the most romantic way to celebrate the day.