Surf and Turf, or an Ode to the Oyster

Hank's Oyster Bar
1624 Q St NW
Washington DC 20009
202-462-4265

Let me just state categorically, that I love eating raw oysters. I love holding the half-shell to my mouth, positioning my oyster fork just thusly, in rude anticipation of a moment of intense enjoyment. I love swallowing them without chewing, unadorned of any dressing, and slurping their juices down. I love the smell and the taste of the sea – never mind that I sometimes find grit in my mouth. It is one of the great pleasures and rituals of dining, and one I find I must perform every once so often.

It is quite convenient, then, to have Hank’s Oyster Bar just a few blocks down from where I live in DC. It is a cute little place with decent food – not amazing – with just enough flaws to render it human, which in turn makes it all the more enticing. More importantly, they have good oysters, the selection of which changes daily. Hank’s is also one of only two establishments on 17th St where the food is anywhere near acceptable, which – coupled with the delightful hostess Maya – might explain why I am there so often. The delicious irony of it all (pardon the pun), is that the other place on 17th St that is halfway decent is Komi, which in my humble opinion is the best restaurant in DC bar none, and a pearl amidst the swirling cesspool of gastronomic mediocrity that is Dupont Circle’s most famous street.

So Hank’s it was, where Natalia, Clayton and I went last night to get our (or rather just mine) oyster fix. They did not have Blue Points, but they did have Kumamotos; and I got a half dozen of those, which were gone in as many seconds. I lie, actually. We did pause, in recognition of the efforts of the oyster-shucker working tirelessly at the back to give us this day our wonderful oysters. And then we went right back at them.

For dinner, Clayton ordered a steak, which I, at least on the inside, frowned upon. I mean, everybody – apart from Clayton, apparently – knows the seventeenth cardinal rule of dining out: that seafood at a steakhouse is always decent, but steak at a seafood place can never be good. But I exercised what little restraint I was born with and held my tongue; the moment was far too genial for my caustic comments. I never did try the steak, so I cannot say for sure – but Clayton seemed to enjoy it. Although he is from Texas. And with that, I rest my case.

Perhaps the best thing you can do with seafood, I think, is to use Old Bay on it. I do not know what goes into it, and I do not want to know. What I do know, though, is that it is delicious. It’s almost cheating, even. We tried the Old Bay French fries and the Old Bay shrimp – and all I will say is that one can always tell when food is good whenever it makes you drop your fork along with whatever Old World sensibilities you were brought up to have, and ravage it with your bare hands.

Hank’s Oyster Bar is a wonderful little place – something or other about it always effuses you and fills you with love for your common man. Or perhaps that’s really the numerous rounds of beers talking. Whatever the case, it is the kind of restaurant that you see couples on first dates at – and your first instinct is not to feel sorry for their awkwardness, but happy for their courage. We departed late into the night – with big hugs all round – and stumbled home with silly smiles on our faces.