As in oysters, that is. While I was bouncing around today I ran across one of those Oyster How-To guides and it reminded me of the ones we had last Saturday. We were a bit early for a dinner reservation, but around the corner was a bar and grill that announced "Oysters!" on their signboard and we stopped in.

If you're like me, you know that there's something very romantic about leaning close to the maitre d' and murmuring, "We'd just like to sit at the bar and have a few oysters and a glass or two of wine, if that's all right." You get that knowing look, the whimsical smile that says, "Ah, a pair of lovers," and an elegant escort to the seat of operations.

In this case, it was a black marble bar counter where we sat gaily on leather seats. Since dinner was still ahead of us, two glasses of a French sancerre seemed a sensible choice, and this one was crisply redolent of grapefruit. In a few minutes a dozen bluepoints arrived, served on a bed of crushed ice, and they were excellent—better than any we'd had on our last trip to New Orleans—and the wine was a perfect match.

If you want to try making this dish at home, we have a few pointers beyond those mentioned in the link above.

1. Use an oyster knife unless you like blood on your shellfish.

2. Be firm and decisive as you go for the "open." Hesitate and they'll resist.

3. Open carefully so as to reserve the oyster water, which is the best part.

4. A little catsup mixed with horseradish and tabasco makes an impromptu sauce.

Should the fates grace you with top-notch specimens in perfect freshness, chances are a half-dozen or so will delight you with a pleasant tingling sensation somewhere below the belt and a marvelous giddiness that makes you want to laugh with the joy of being alive. Oysters on the half-shell are one of the good things in life.

Brush of the Predator

This morning my e-mail contained an amusing variation on the Nigerian 419 scam. Usually, these things come from a Mbeke or Mustafa or someone who claims to be a middle-level African apparachik with absconded funds and for some reason they need your help to launder the cash. This one was different:

I am Mrs. Nobi Savimbi a widow and National of Angola, I was married to late Mr. Jonas Savimbi a left-wing leader of UNITA Movement and a strong opposition to the government of Angola, led by President dos Santos.

I really need your advice and corporation so that the money can be invested in your company or any viable property in your country as my safety is no longer guarantee in Angola.

6:28:43 PM       

Lots of venality, ill-comportment, and pure evil in this morning's medley. Let's take a look at some bad people, bad ideas, and badness from a philosophical perspective and see if we can draw some useful conclusions.

Bad Boys

I've never expected baseball players to be anything but tobacco-chewing ruffians who get paid to hit a leather ball with a stick. It seems a bit much to ask them to be role models, but considering how richly they are remunerated, you'd expect them to behave a bit better than David Wells, who plays for the Yankees. Wells was in Manhattan court yesterday testifying in the trial of Rocco Graziosa, a Yonkers barkeep who knocked out two of Wells's front teeth in an altercation they had on September 7. Of course, most people know you don't eat at a place called "Mom's," you don't play cards with a guy called "Doc," and you don't start fights with an Italian named "Rocco." It's just common sense.

Wells said Graziosa unleashed a stream of insults and baited him when he ordered an egg-white omelet and waffles.

"Why don't you order a cheeseburger, you fat f---?" Graziosa asked, according to Wells.

Wells: Yeah.
Operator: Police operator 139, what is the emergency?
Wells: Um, my emergency is I just got offended. I'm on 86th and Third. Uh, actually 86th and First. I'm on—
Operator: Sir—
Wells: Gra—Gracie's, Gracie's f--- diner, on 86th and First, all right?
Operator: 86th and First?
Wells: Yeah.
Operator: That's First Ave.?
Wells: Yeah, sorry.
Operator: Okay, but that's in Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens or Manhattan?
Wells: Yes, somebody now, now -
Operator: Sir, sir, sir—
Wells: No, f-- the b--s--.
Operator: Where are you at?
Wells: I just got my, I just got offended.
Operator: Are you in Manhattan?
Wells: Yes, I am, sir.
Operator: Now what do you mean you've been offended?
Wells: You know, send the goddamn f-- cops—
Operator: Hello, sir—
Wells: I, I just—(unintelligible speech)
Operator: What is going on over there?
Wells: Send the f-- cop. Nine m--f-- one one.
Operator: What's going on over there?
Wells: Just now—
Operator: What's going on?
Wells: I just got; I just got my teeth knocked in, all right.
Operator: Okay. You need an ambulance?
Wells: Nope. But I need assistance. You know what, don't f-- make me—
Operator: Who, uh, do you know who hit you?
Wells: Yeah, I know who hit me. He's in, he's eating dinner.
Operator: He's inside right now.
Wells: You know what—(unintelligible speech) This is f-- b--s--. Send the, send the goddamn cop right now—
Operator: Hello, sir, sir, stop cursing—
Wells: Nine one one.
Operator: Can you describe him?
Wells: 86th and First. Send the cop, please.
Operator: Can you describe him, sir.
Wells: Yeah, he's a f--, he's a mula-, he's a f-- Italian, little squatty m--f--, all right.
Operator: Okay. What's your name?
Wells: David Wells.
Operator: What's the phone number?
Wells: I don't know, I'm on the corner.

Bad Sports

When I think about people who should be running around practicing the arts of urban warfare, assault with weapons, and general mayhem, the Iranians are usually the last ones who come to mind. Which is why I find it disturbing that the new craze in Tehran is paintball.

As you know, the game of paintball involves sneaking up on an unwary foe, pointing your weapon at him or her, and then opening fire. In the Iranian version, you play in an arena with sand, caves, rivers, and there's an advanced upper level with ledges, sniper's nests, everything you need to get ready for a trip to the minimarket in Beirut. Admittedly, there isn't a whole to do when you live under Iranian Sharia rule.

Public dancing and singing are prohibited, Western films can only be watched on private video players at home, and for women, wearing lipstick or revealing hair in public can still bring out vigilantes' wrath.

"Look at the faces—that's the real reason we do it," says Matrix founder Nikpour, pointing toward the electrified fighters as they reloaded and cleaned up between games. "It is real positive energy, with all the bad going out, and all the good going in."

If you have time, read this story over at the London Times on the nature of evil. The article asks the question of whether murderers are automatically evil or are they just mentally ill. Heading up the scientific response is Dr. Gwen Adshead, a psychiatrist at a London trauma clinic, who sees a lot of bad things every day.

"I prefer to use the word (evil) as an adjective, not a noun," Adshead says. "Rather than an entity out there, it is a state of mind . . . and everybody has the capacity to get into an evil state of mind."

10:31:52 AM