In Praise of Oysters and Martinis

The most gloriously hedonistic summer day-drinking combo.

It recently came to my attention that not everyone is familiar with the exquisite pleasure of pairing martinis and oysters.

Mentions of the combination have raised a few eyebrows during conversations lately. And the thought of having the two together, outdoors, during the daytime, is apparently downright offensive to some.

Those people need to acquaint themselves with the languid decadence of lazing in the warm embrace of the sun, its heat counteracted by the icy coldness of a crisp martini alternated with the cool slickness of a plump oyster: sip, slurp, sip, slurp. “I could stay like this forever,” you think to yourself, but of course you can’t; the anticipated fleetingness of the pleasure only intensifies the enjoyment.

Martinis, of course, are everywhere these days, having been the de facto “drink of the season” for the past several seasons. And if you haven’t yet been turned on to oysters, I’m probably not going to be the one to convince you that you’re missing out.

But martinis and oysters, together? I’m given to understand it’s not yet a popular combo. Oysters in the summer? People tell me it’s not supposed to be done. And martinis for day drinking? Okay, sure, fine, I do kind of get why I’ve had people look at me like I’m crazy for that.

It’s transgressive on a few levels, I know. Let me argue my case.

I’ll start with the whole oysters-in-summer thing.

Some will say oyster season doesn’t begin until early autumn. Many of those people were raised on the notion that oysters are only to be eaten in months ending in the letter “r.” Perhaps there was something to that once, prior to the days of refrigeration, when it had to do with food safety. I’ve asked an oysterman about the “r”-month myth, and he says he somewhat agrees, for a different reason: Oysters are plumpest in the autumn, he says, because they’ve had the summer to gorge themselves on food after fasting all winter. Tmyk, right?

However, I’d argue that summer is in fact the best season for eating oysters, perhaps for no reason other than that I find them most pleasurable then. It’s afternoon-drinking season, drinking-in-the-sun season, drinking outside and, when living the best of lives, drinking-on-a-boat season—all activities that are improved by oysters, I’d say.

Historically, the classic drink pairing with oysters has been muscadet, a French white wine from the western end of the Loire Valley.

But let me point something out: The tasting notes most commonly noted for muscadet are lean, dry, crisp, often slightly saline. 

These are all characteristics you’d attribute to a great martini, no?

Thus, my philosophy: Martinis make the best liquid accompaniments to oysters.

So then let me argue in reverse order, since I know I probably don’t have to convince you of the martini’s virtues.

For the past few years, the ubiquitous pairing with a martini at the most fashionable spots has been what’s called a “caviar bump,” a dollop of low-grade roe often plopped onto the back of your hand to be licked off in one go.

Now, I like caviar as much as (and probably considerably more than) the next girl, but this trend doesn’t have any draw for me, not least because I know that at my local Ukranian supermarket I can get an entire tin of black roe for about as much as bars charge for a single spoonful. Sure, the sea-brininess of the roe goes well with the cold crispness of a martini (it’s a very short step from the centuries-old Russian pairing of freezer-cold vodka with caviar, after all), but I’d argue there’s a better sea-derived pairing for a martini. You got it: oysters.

Oysters give you more bang for your buck: You get a dozen delicious slurps as opposed to the caviar bump’s one, for about the same price. With oysters, your gustatory pleasure lasts for far longer than the few seconds it takes to lick a spoonful of roe off your hand. Not to mention, the mollusks’ greater mass in your stomach may help to blunt the effects of the super-strength cocktail, which maybe isn’t the effect the scenester party girls want with their midnight martinis, but it’s a benefit when day-drinking.

Ah, right, day-drinking. On a practical level, having a mid-afternoon martini is, of course, ridiculous. To those who ask, Isn’t a martini a little boozy for the outdoor day-drinking you’re talking about? I say: You’re not wrong. If you’re drinking martinis all afternoon long, from noon until night, you’re bound to run into some trouble. The obvious solution is to have one martini, maybe two at the very most, then switch to something lower-octane.

But you’ve already made a decadent decision. If you opt for a martini or two over, say, an Aperol spritz or whatever your lower-proof day-drink of choice might be, you’re really committing to taking the rest of the day off from any obligations—no work, no chores, no errands. You’ve made the indulgent choice to devote your day to sipping in the sun. And that, my friends, is where the true hedonism of this combination lies.

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Places where you can find both good oysters and a truly solid martini (plus outdoor space) are remarkably few and far-between. These are the spots on my personal Brooklyn-based heavy rotation.

Grand Army

You may have noted I’m a huge fan of this bar; there’s a decent chance you’ll find me at an outdoor table on any given sunny weekend afternoon. Oysters are one of Grand Army’s happy-hour (on weekends, 2 to 4 pm) offerings: a half-dozen for $13 You don’t get to choose your variety as you would elsewhere, but they’re generally the lightly briny Baby Brielles from Long Island. Get the bread, too, a massive hunk of crusty sourdough served with a swirl of spiced butter.

The drink pairing: The bar’s menu changes seasonally, but for a long time the Mayor of Talkeetna, leftover from the cats-themed menu of 2021 and basically an Alaska riff with the addition of carrot eau de vie, had been on the “greatest hits” section of the menu and it was my go-to. It’s gone now, but replaced by something nearly as good: the Backwoods Barbie, the martini riff on the current “Grand Ole Army” menu, accented with touches of cucumber and melon. (I ordinarily despise cucumber as a flavor, but it somehow works here.) You can’t go wrong with any of the other cocktails, either. To wrap things up with a dessert-ish touch, go for the Rhinestone Cowboy: white rum, cachaca, amontillado sherry, strawberry, banana, served over pebble ice.

Bonus: The city’s cutest dogs seem to all live nearby, and there’s a constant parade of them past the bar. Many will stop to get petted.

Maison Premiere

The back garden of Maison Premiere, a bar theatrically decorated in the style of New Orleans by way of Paris, is perhaps the most beautiful space in all of Brooklyn: all white wrought iron and lush foliage and fairy lights. As for oysters, ask your server what’s good (I was partial to the recommended Eld Inlets on a recent visit), but add on a few Duxburys if they have them: they’re massive, slopping over the edge of the tray and prompting nearby tables to ask “What are those?” Here, too, you’ll want to add the bread: slices of sourdough served with “seaweed butter,” which tastes as though it were infused with a touch of anchovy oil.

The house martini here is called the Old King Cole Martini, and you can opt to have it made tableside if you desire the spectacle of it (after all, that’s probably part of why it costs 25 dollars), but I suggest you let the pros do their thing at the actual bar. It’s served with both olives and a twist and is truly fantastic. A second one might knock you off your chair, though, so go ahead and switch to something lower-octane, like the house adonis or sherry cobbler, both photogenically garnished.

Pilot

It’s a boat, a century-old former racing schooner. She has a sister boat, Grand Banks, off the west side of Manhattan, but Pilot is smaller and more intimate, with a better view. Belly up to the oyster bar, the most prime seats in my opinion, and you can talk with the shuckers and find out what’s looking particularly good that day. (If they have Kushiis or Shibumis, go for those.) Add on a serving of fries. Maybe two.

As for the martinis… Well, let’s just say your nautical mileage may vary. They certainly won’t be as good as what you can get at Grand Army or Maison Premiere, and on a bad day they might not even crack the top 50% of what you can get any other place in NYC. But that’s mitigated by the fact that—let me repeat—you’re on a boat, and any drink consumed on a boat is automatically 50% more delicious than it would be if consumed on land. (It’s science, folks.) Have one (the house martini is vodka, olive, but if you’re feeling daring you can specify your own preferred version and then see what you get), then switch to the house spritz with rose wine, lemon, and strawberry—or, if you’re wondering what the blue drink is that everyone’s taking photos of, it’s the Permanent Vacation, a pina colada-ish drink with blue curacao.

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The Sidecar

Last time I was at Pilot, a few weeks ago, I noticed two similarly sized boats moored right behind her: one a fireboat, the other another tall-masted schooner. A quick google search of the boats’ names while I was waiting for my martini told me they’d both recently been purchased by the Crew folks, the restaurant group that owns Pilot and Grand Banks and a couple of other spots around town. Seems there are two new bar/restaurant boats in the works!