Oysters at Christmas

Описание: By Polly Waller
2025

My maternal grandmother, Maud Outler Towles, loved oysters, especially fried oysters.

It was sometime in the 1980s and Grandma was getting on up in age, still living on her own, but things were changing. Grandpa was ailing and under those circumstances she couldn’t procure and fry up her own oysters like she used to, yet she still craved them when the weather got cold. So Mama got the bright idea for the Ferrell family to take Grandma out for oysters on Christmas Eve.

We drove up in the parking lot of Roy Deal’s that evening only to find the whole place dark. Everyone but us knew they closed at Christmas. Grandma was always polite, and a lady, but she kinda grumped up when that went down.

But Mama was determined. She knew Grandma’s heart was set. We drove around town looking for a place to eat. It did not go well. The only place we could find open that served oysters was “Walker’s Truck-o-Tel.” The atmosphere in the air when we pulled up in the parking lot of the truck stop was not merry.

I can’t recall exactly which family members were there that night but I do remember when we walked in the door just past 8:00 PM on Christmas Eve, Papa told the guy at the counter, “There are 6 1/2 of us.” So I’m thinking Grandma, Mama, Papa, my oldest sister Peggy, her husband Charles, me and little Hogun. By that time, my middle sister Pam had moved to Seattle and Aunt Janie’s crew were over at their Edward’s cousins house merrily drinking egg nog and probably singing Christmas carols.

We sat down in the mostly empty dining room of the truck stop, they gave us a menu to pass around and we made the best of it. The bad news was, there was only ONE order of oysters left. Of course, that went to Grandma. No one complained about that, even her. As we all ordered, the availability of seafood entrees dwindled. By the time Papa ordered last, they were down to burgers, and that’s what he got.

We waited a good while before they brought Grandma’s oysters out and set them in front of her, piping hot with sides of fries, slaw and hush puppies. She sat there politely, waiting for the waitress to bring our food before she began to eat. Mama did a quick inquiry at the counter, and came back and told Grandma, “You better eat while it’s hot. They are having to cook one plate at a time. The waitress and the cook are the same person.” Maud Towles did not want to eat until we had our food. She just didn’t. That was not her way. But neither did she want a nice plate of crispy, hot oysters to go to waste, so she ate, but not before passing me a hushpuppy, which she knew I wanted. By that time I’d have danced on the table for a hushpuppy. We were all starving.

The sounds coming from Grandma assured us the food was good and then some minutes later, here came Peggy’s plate, then mine, then the rest of them, one by one, spaced about ten minutes apart.

It took two hours for us all to eat and by the time we walked out it was very late, little Hogun had passed out, and we were full as ticks. But we did have to stand around in the cold of the truck stop parking lot and brag over the dinner. It was all fresh, excellently prepared and one of the best plates of fried oysters Maud Towles had ever eaten in a restaurant. She said it herself and told Mama as we were walking away, “I’d like to come back here.”

The End