I In a past life, I was a substitute teacher. I’d tell the kids fun facts about myself, a rarely successful attempt to get them to think of me as human so they wouldn’t throw markers at me. I’d grown up in a desert, I’d inform them. I love ice hockey. My favorite animals are oysters. Once, a tiny sixth grader raised his hand. “Do you eat oysters?” “I do!” I said. He gazed at me with dawning horror. “Why would you eat your favorite animal?” “Well,” I stammered. “They don’t have brains.” His lip trembled. I knew abruptly that I would not be able to avoid the airborne markers. I had become a flesh-eating monster.
After a landlocked lifetime, oysters were my way into feeling connected to and more curious about the ocean. They’re part of why I leapt in feet-first after moving to San Diego last year, snorkeling and swimming and beachcombing—and, on my 25th birthday, touring the Carlsbad Aquafarm to see how oysters are grown.
T
he aquafarm was founded in the 1950s. The researchers who helped establish it tried a handful of species—lobsters, abalones, urchins—before realizing that
bivalves like mussels thrived in the area. The farm added oysters to its lineup in 1990 and opened for tours (which include a stroll around the facility, plus a shucking lesson and six oysters to eat) just two years ago. The farm works in partnership with the nearby desalination plant. The plant pulls in 500 million gallons of seawater a day, bringing nutrients to the shellfish and helping them grow more quickly— Carlsbad’s oysters reach market size in about a year instead of the more typical 18 months at other farms. Meanwhile, the shellfish munch algae and other particles, helping the desalination plant work more efficiently. The aquafarm’s five acres yield about 2 million pounds of oysters and mussels per year. “If this were a grassland and we were raising cattle, we’d only have enough food to raise half a cow here,” says Matt Steinke, the farm’s general manager. (That’s about 180 pounds of beef.) Gruesome image of a bisected cow grazing its way to marketable chubbiness aside, the comparison contextualizes just how many resources go toward putting animal products on our tables. More than 67 percent of the country’s crops are used to feed the livestock we rely on for meat, dairy, and eggs. By contrast, an oyster farmer needs only to establish their crops in a place where water flows, and the creatures will grow fat and happy—and the water around them cleaner, by far, than it was before.
As filter- feeders, each tiny creature filters about 50 gallons of water a day, clearing it of sediment and contaminants.
I
t’s easy to explain why I eat oysters—they’re delicious. Often unfairly maligned as “slimy,”
their texture, to me, is more akin to a soft fruit, tender with a slight bite. A raw oyster hits the tongue with a burst of salt before mellowing out into a fresh almost-sweetness. They’re also marvelously healthy, rich in vitamins B12 and D, iron, magnesium, phosphorus, zinc, copper, and other micronutrients. Explaining why they’re my favorite animals takes longer. Like I should have stuck to telling my students, I’m a child of the desert, raised amid sagebrush and rattlers. I became fascinated with oysters after learning about their potential as bioremediative powerhouses. As filter-feeders, each tiny creature filters about 50 gallons of water a day, clearing it of sediment and contaminants.
Farmed in saltier water, Carlsbad’s oysters taste brinier than those from the rain-soaked Pacific Northwest.
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