French oyster knife review

The three French oyster knives up for review- one deglon, one from E. Dehillerin, and one a generic knife.

So, followers of the "Chesapeake Oysters" page may have seen the photo above recently, taken during my trip to Paris. Of course, as an 'ostreaphile' (or oyster connoisseur), I can't help myself- when I travel, oysters mysteriously seem to get included on my itinerary- whether it's consuming them by the dozen or peppering raw bar staff with questions about their products. Oyster related tools are another fun thing I like to explore. For every culture that loves oysters, they have usually developed regional ways of opening, serving and eating shellfish. That also means cool and creative oyster knives (which also make easy to pack, functional souvenirs to impress your friends with later).

A quick survey on facebook indicated that most people thought the blue knife to be the sturdiest-looking, with the black knife following closely behind. The wooden-handled knife from Paris' classic chef-supply store, Dehillerin, was viewed by one skeptical reader as "a trip to the emergency room," so, not a great vote of confidence there.

So, once home from Paris, I was excited to get a couple dozen oysters and try them out. After a few attempts (and no trips to the hospital, thankfully), here's the results:

The pretty, petite Deglon was a winner.

First was the Deglon. I used it at the hinge and was first struck by how petite the knife was. Both the blade and the handle were quite small- much smaller than my regular go-to oyster knives. However, it felt sturdy and worked well to deftly open the oyster, with almost no tearing to the oyster's meat. I wasn't worried about the tip breaking or anything, and I felt that it would stand up to a good amount of use. Overall, it was a great little knife, and the handle is a little sexy, too.

The extra-sharp generic knife was not bad.

Next, I tried the generic shucking knife. Like the Deglon, it was much smaller than the typical American shucking knives I tend to use- the handle was smaller and the blade was shorter (and much more pointy!). Unlike the Deglon, it did feel insubstantial and as one commenter pointed out, the fragile-looking pointiness of the blade made me a little nervous to attack the hinge with my customary gusto. So, before I went for it, I made sure my shucking glove was ready. The result was okay. It was a decent, clean shuck with no damage to the oyster, but it took longer than usual. I considered doing the French side-shuck, but that's not my favored approach so I scrapped it. Overall, this was an adequate knife. Not a disaster, and certainly it worked well enough, but I wasn't in love. It wasn't oyster art.

The lovely and useless Dehellerin.

Finally, I got to the final knife of the evening- the shucking knife from the iconic E. Dehillerin cooking store. It is actually made for the store as its store-brand staple, so I had high hopes for this beautifully crafted oyster knife. However, those hopes were dashed as I attempted to shuck my first oyster. The blade runs all the way through the handle, yet it still felt like I was going to break it at any moment at the hinge. Figuring it was user error, I headed around to the side, French-style. That produced the oyster you see above- a blendered, destroyed mess. The knife felt insubstantial and frankly didn't navigate the interior of the oyster shell well at all. It's a shame since the knife is so pretty, but perhaps we can find some use for it at my house paring apples or something.

The final verdict? The Deglon was the hands-down winner. It was inexpensive, sturdy, and fun to use, and felt different enough from my American-made knives that it warranted its 'souvenir' status. Even better is that you don't have to go to France to get one! You can buy one
here on Amazon for the very reasonable price of $13, which is approximately $870 less than a round-trip flight to Paris (although then you miss out on savoring the amazing French oysters, which in my mind, are truly a priceless life experience).

Oyster middens- the ghost of oysters past

Oyster midden overlooking the Chester River.Image by author.

Throughout the Chesapeake, where the mixture of salt and fresh water is just right, thin wafers are tumbled by the tide. Faded remnants of once robust oyster beds, these are middens- oyster shell beaches testament to the Chesapeake's past oyster populations. Made up of discarded oyster shells, middens still exist where often no oysters thrive today. Beach glass and pebbles are mixed into the softly crumbling oyster shells, and often beachcombers will find arrowheads or pottery and other detritus from the people that came down to the shore, ate oysters here, and left. Middens can be hundreds or even thousands of years old. Some are colonial, many are pre-colonization remnants of Indian winter camps. All are ghosts of a sort, haunting our contemporary landscape with reminders of the winter feasts savored, centuries ago.

A midden on Eastern Neck Island. Image by author.

A Virginia midden- mussels, oyster shells, and reeds. Image by author.

I love middens, but then again, I love to feel like I am cheek-to-jowl with the past. The experience of almost-tangible time travel is addictive. Middens powerfully convey that feeling, existing along Chesapeake tributaries too fresh, too sedimented, or too degraded to support the delicate balance of an oyster colony. HERE, they say, is what this Bay used to be like. You could fill your belly on an oyster bar where today there's a marina, a road, an empty stretch of cornfield, the terminus to an overgrown trail. Oyster middens convey a subsistence past where today only a convenience culture persists. Like old paint peeling off a wall, middens reveal history hidden just below the surface- faded, but persistent, and beautiful.

Weird oyster stuff- oyster trade cards

Louis Grebb trading card, 1888.

Oysters- wet, maybe a little mucosal- don't seem like exactly the most appetizing food to promote, right?  Au contraire! Oyster packers and the lithographers working for them during Baltimore's golden era of oystering came up with endlessly creative solutions to solve the oyster's little 'image problem.' From humorous cartoons like the snooty oyster bar patron on Grebb's trade card above, to beautiful ladies, babies and puppies, pretty much any strategy was used to move Baltimore oysters.

Hitchcock oysters trading card, late 19th century.

These trade cards were used like a combination of a modern business card and a flyer. Used by tradesmen, they were handed out widely to restaurants, grocers, and oyster bars as a way to promote their brands. Usually, the reverse side would have particulars about the cost of oysters in bulk or the name and contact information of the brand representative.

Grebb Oyster trade card, 1888.

Oyster packers had more than one kind of oysters to sell- steamed (bulk), canned, or oysters in the shell. Often, processors switched to packing fruits or vegetables in the summer when oysters were out of season, so Louis Grebb is offering both.

Baltimore Cove Oysters, late 19th century

These oyster trade cards utilized the new printing technique of lithography, and evolved at the same time as their far more famous relative, baseball trade cards. Several lithography firms were working in Baltimore by this era, the most famous of which was A. Hoen and Company- a lithographer that printed maps, tobacco labels, sheet music, posters, and oyster trade cards during the end of the the 19th century. A. Hoen's lithographic style, and that of many of their competitors, was greatly influenced by the style of political or satirical cartoons popular in magazines during the late 19th century. However, that meant that often oyster trade cards included imagery considered humorous by the Victorians that today reads as inappropriate or just racist.

J. Ludington and Co Oyster trade card, late 19th century.

Like oyster cans, brightly printed, lively trade cards are highly collectible today. Fans value their whimsical graphics but also their glimpse into a part of the Chesapeake's bygone Oyster Boom, when a bushel of oysters cost $3,  the Bay's seemingly endless oyster bounty supportedalmost 20% of the city's population, and the wonders of marketing were transforming oysters from quotidian part of the diet to Chesapeake brain food.

J.T. Stone and Company trade card, late 19th century