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‘My only saving grace was that oysters and champagne come hand in hand’ … Claire
and her boyfriend, Chris. Photograph: Courtesy of Clare Finney
View image in fullscreen
‘My only saving grace was that oysters and champagne come hand in hand’ … Claire
and her boyfriend, Chris. Photograph: Courtesy of Clare Finney
A moment that changed meFood



A MOMENT THAT CHANGED ME: I PUT PEOPLE-PLEASING ASIDE – AND TOLD MY NEW
BOYFRIEND THE TRUTH

I had gulped down oysters despite my deep dislike of them for years. Suddenly I
knew the pretence had to end


Clare Finney
Wed 14 Aug 2024 07.00 BST
Share



I’ve always considered oysters to be wildly overrated. You can be allergic to
them, of course, but to be a food writer who hates oysters is like being an
author who despises Dickens. They are part of the culinary canon. So I learned
the lingua franca of foodies and, if necessary, could even keep a straight face
while knocking one back. “So fresh!” I would marvel at the sight of the mollusc,
which always looked to me like something straight out of a giant’s nostril.
“Tastes of the sea!” I’d exclaim, internally railing at the absurdity of the
expression. When was the last time anyone deliberately swallowed seawater?

My only saving grace was that oysters and champagne often come hand in hand; I
was usually only seconds away from washing away the offending flavour with
something delicious. I’d add a squeeze of lemon, a dash of tabasco, and gulp
straight down without chewing, followed by a glug of champagne to disguise the
taste.



By the time I met Chris, I’d got faking oysters down to a fine art, although I
still felt like the child in The Emperor’s New Clothes, itching to call people
out on what seemed to me like pretension. That said, I had come to enjoy the
ritual: the platter mounded with sparkling shavings of ice, the crowning with
lemon, even the loosening of the mollusc from its pearly white shell. I just
refused to believe anyone really enjoyed the oysters themselves.

View image in fullscreen
‘Better, deeper, connections with others are usually rooted in truthfulness.’
Photograph: Orlando Gili

It was on our third date that Chris suggested oysters. We weren’t celebrating,
we weren’t at a seafood restaurant; we’d gone to a small Portuguese bar that
just happened to have oysters that evening, and he fancied sharing some.

I am not an epiphany person – I tend to think damascene moments are actually an
accumulation of experiences crystallised into one by rose-tinted specs – but I
do remember feeling I was at a fork in the road as I studied my menu and
considered my reaction. I could lie, as I usually did – but it felt as if I’d be
doing him and our budding relationship a disservice. I would be relegating him
to the same status as past dates with whom I’d kept up my charade, and while it
was early days, I thought he deserved more honesty. Potentially, I’d be signing
myself up to a lifetime of “liking oysters”, of staring down bulbous bivalves in
gnarly shells and having to swallow at least three, if not six, with enthusiasm.

Chris’s appreciation for oysters appeared to be sincere. There was no champagne
(I clocked, heart sinking) and he had always seemed genuine. So I came clean,
and told him to tell no one, but I didn’t like oysters very much; I only really
ate them to prove my culinary credentials.

He laughed – at the absurdity of my facade and my embarrassment in admitting to
it – and asked what other things I’d eaten just to pass as a “foodie”. I
hesitated before reeling off my classified list, which included (but is not
limited to) natural wine, most blue cheeses, aged red wine, caviar, sushi rice,
whipped feta, whipped tofu – and long lunches. It was cathartic and revealing; I
thought I’d left my people-pleasing days at school, but this disclosure
demonstrated to me just how often I’d been the person I believed others want or
expect me to be, rather than being my true self. It’s a skill that can be useful
in journalism, but obstructive in dating.

A moment that changed me: I quit my PhD – and left my severe impostor syndrome
behind
Read more

The conversation was irreverent and fun – as our conversations have continued to
be for more than two years now – but it was instructive, too. It taught me that
better, deeper, connections with others are usually rooted in truthfulness.

In the end, we ordered the oysters. We largely agreed on the rest of my
classified list, but he was and is determined to find an oyster I like, and I’ve
signed up to that journey – not to impress anyone, but because they are
something he loves, and loves to share. To that end, we have developed our own
ritual: cheers-ing our respective shells and then assessing whether this one
might be the oyster for me.

A few oysters have come close, but for now what I love most is the metaphor
these molluscs, suddenly shucked of their shells, have inadvertently created:
realising how much richer life is if people like and accept you for being you,
rather than for being someone who likes oysters.

 * Hungry Heart by Clare Finney is published by Quarto Publishing (9.99). To
   support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com.
   Delivery charges may apply.

Explore more on these topics
 * Food
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