MOLLUSC MAGIC
George Brown Bay, New Zealand, is an ostreaphile’s wildest dream come true. Sanjay Surana travels to the country to taste some of the best oysters in the world.
Oyster farming in George Brown Bay, New Zealand
From the front window of the de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver propeller plane where I was seated, the view took in the eversprouting waterfront of New Zealand’s capital — the skinny Sky Tower, lofty hotel and office buildings, a sprawling container terminal and the humped Auckland Harbour Bridge. And yet, on this clear morning, the expansive, breathtaking vista wasn’t the highlight of the day. I was, in fact, en-route to something more thrilling, to the cool waters north of the city for the ultimate, freshas-can-be sea-to-table experience.
Our aircraft was part of Auckland Seaplanes’ (aucklandseaplanes.com) small fleet, operating from the city’s central Britomart district. As we climbed above Auckland it became clear how uneven New Zealand’s capital and environs are. “There are 53 volcanoes in the Auckland area,” our pilot Paul Dalley said over the internal headphone system, “this was a volcanic saltwater plain, the only city in the world like this.” We passed over a body of water shaped like a heart, Lake Pupuke, formed by union of two volcanic craters. Dalley banked to the right and we circled the cone of an extinct volcano.
SPECTACULAR VIEW
From the height we were flying, between 500 and 1000 feet above sea level, we were afforded an intimacy of scale unusual for a flight, and could see the windows of houses, the outlines of cars, the ripples on the water below, the shadows of sheep in meadows or people on the beach, the sensual contours of islands shaped like silent green creatures. We passed over Kawau island, one of the largest isles in the Hauraki Gulf, today popular as a weekend getaway and notable for a grand mansion that used to be a governor’s house.
The scenery unspooled as a series of jaw-dropping small islands, compact housing developments, undulating suburbs, beachside batches (the name for seaside homes in New Zealand), and indented coastlines with clear water. Suddenly we spotted a small barge moored in a channel between headlands and Paul flew past, looped round and landed in the water before chugging forward alongside. A lean man with a big smile, large sunglasses, sinewy arms, and short cropped hair pulled the aircraft toward the barge and tied it up. We carefully stepped off the plane and onto the boat.
The barge captain introduced himself as Phil (full name Phil Morris) and his vessel was called the Shuckle Ferry (oysterfarmtours. co.nz). It was a sweet, simple boat, white with pastel-blue trim, a small barbecue area at one end, a large table in the middle, and some cushioned bench seating on the outer edges. What made it unique is that it is the country’s only oyster farm boat tour, less than one year old and, as our flight illustrated, effortlessly accessible from central Auckland.
OYSTER FARMING
Morris untied the plane and soon Dalley departed. From Scotts Landing in the Mahurangi Harbour, where we arrived, Morris shifted the barge to George Brown Bay, named for the bay’s first settler. Here we could see rows of wooden racks in the water, structures that looked like the worn pilings of an old pier. These were the oyster farms and Morris owned six acres of them, a huge adjustment from his previous job working on big yachts around the world. “I came back to New Zealand and wanted to keep working on the water,” he said, and stumbled across an advert in a newspaper selling an oyster farm.
His entry into this new venture was a baptism by fire, but soon he come to know that three types of oysters grow in New Zealand’s waters — Bluff, rock and Pacific. Rock oysters take four years to grow and aren’t allowed to be farmed in the country. They are also notoriously laborious to harvest, done by rolling the rocks where they grow on the shore. Bluff oysters only grow in the country’s extreme south. Pacific oysters first came to New Zealand in the
1970s, travelling on a barge from Japan laden with parts for the Auckland Harbour Bridge, and prospered in the nutrient-rich, clean waters here. They take a little over one year to grow to full size and these are the oysters that Morris, like all 13 farmers in this bay, grows on the timber frames. Morris showed us a section of rack that he kept on the boat for didactic purposes, pointing out the nascent oyster growths, called spat, on the wooden sides.
“Each February the oysters spawn,” he said, “releasing larva into the water. They get fertilised, swim around for a few weeks. We put sticks in the water to get the spat to stick onto them, near the freshwater streams and also the Mahurangi River, or Jade River, which drains here. We then keep them there for four months and by June the water temperature drops, the fish leave, and we move the sticks into the deeper part of the water for a year to grow. This is a good catchment area, we gets lots of run off from the land and there are lots of nutrients like phytoplankton,” he said, looking round at the nearby rolling hills, grasslands, forests.
The oysters find any space on the stick they can, like a commuter squeezing into a rush-hour train, and often grow clumped and fused together. Morris spoke of his admiration for oysters’ hardiness. “If they get a dent in them, they can still recover. And if after a year we take the sticks out and any oysters are small, we put them back in to let them grow more. Did you know that rock oysters can live out of the water for three weeks?”
Morris was also attracted to the sustainability of the business. “We catch them naturally on reusable timber sticks and grow them without adding food, they naturally filter the water up to 50 litres per day and sequester nitrogen and CO2 from the atmosphere. The farms also provide critical ecosystems by creating structure and habitat for other species like crabs, fish and provide a food source for other fish and marine life.” Once the oysters are harvested, the shells can be used for garden paths or chicken coops, though Morris composts his.
Oysters lovers can order Morris’ oysters by direct purchase (he sells them via the Facebook page of his other business, Matakana River Tours, NZ$10 for one dozen), or on the boat as we did. He waded into the 14-degree water to collect a crate of oysters he’d harvested earlier in the day. As he sloshed back through the shallows, bounty in hand, the size of his haul became evident, a huge mound of craggy oysters glinting in the lunchtime sun. Onboard he gave us a shucking lesson. “You can put them in the freezer for an hour, take them out, and the shells pop open.” But there was no fridge here, so the only option was a knife and some careful manipulation. “Make sure you cover your hand with the towels, the edges of the oysters are sharp. The flat bit of the oyster is where it grows on the stick. Place that part on the table. Many
people think the best way to shuck is at the bottom of the oyster, at the hinge and make a deep cut. But I say to go to 3pm on the oyster, find where the top of the shell meets the bottom and then push the knife in there and wiggle it. There is an abductor muscle there and it will make the shell pop up. You’ll see a little brine seep out, then you know you have it.”
He offered a demonstration, making it look as easy as falling off a bike, but when we tried, plenty of oyster shards ended up on the table and the towels, and the oysters remained firmly shut.
But slowly we got the knack of it. Once open, the oysters shone like silky prizes, their plump flesh full of vitality, glossy with brine. Morris had set up the table with a few condiments — halves of lemon, wasabi, red wine vinegar with chopped onion — and soon the group was slurping down the oysters as though liberated from a multi-day fast, the bivalves’ salty taste tempered by a sweet finish. Each mouthful was evenly spaced because each oyster had to be shucked before consumption and we paired the riches with a New Zealand white wine. Morris grabbed a handful of the oysters and put them on the small barbecue grill, soon serving them with garlic butter.
“People are interested in where their food comes from,” he beamed, this feast squarely part of that dynamic. “From June until the end of the year is the best time to eat oysters here. In October and November they are very fat and meaty, creamy and plump. Eating an oyster is like kissing a mermaid,” he said grinning, the line clearly as much for his amusement as ours. The whole experience, pared down to its most basic elements, allowing the raw food to shine, was unforgettable for its simple authenticity and natural, clean flavours.
After a belly full of oysters — one of the group gulped down an astonishing 30 — the five of us sat on the barge in quiet contentment, sipping on wine, gazing into the still waters, drinking in the pristine, verdant scenery. The quiet was broken by a whirring noise and I looked up to see the seaplane returning. Within minutes we were back onboard the aircraft, Paul greeting us with a warm welcome. He prepared for take-off with the ditty, “Tally ho, off we go” and from the air we waved goodbye to Morris, his form slowly blending into the white of the Shuckle Ferry. The afternoon rays lent the sea beautiful colours, turquoise and cobalt ceding to jagged coastlines. Soon we approached the harbour and as we descended near Auckland Harbour Bridge, I could see the tilt of sailboats plying the waters and the city skyline looming ever larger. It had been a remarkable afternoon and, as our stomachs e could testify, a filling one too.