Few things in life could induce me to languish on a hot summer sidewalk at 4:45 p.m., breathing automobile exhaust and waiting for the doors of a restaurant to swing open. One of those rarities is the Shigoku oyster I scored at Uchi Houston last week: a single West Coast bivalve nested in a deeply cupped, fluted shell. Glinting on top was a miniature snowdrift of yuzu-and-shallot ice; a tiny green bud (the tip of an onion scape) peeked out, shy as a crocus.
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