I never thought I'd taste a better Jersey oyster than the one I ate plain a few years ago while standing thigh-deep in the Delaware Bay. Plucked from the cold fishery waters where it was growing and shucked on the spot by an oysterman, that plump Cape May Salt slid down my throat with a sweet-yet-briny liquor that left a magic glow.
Now that I've been to Blackfish Avalon, though, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to slurp another Cape May Salt without hoping for a carbonated froth of Meyer lemon and a dice of pickled watermelon on top. That fizzy cloud of citrus, whipped to a high-tech mousse with xanthan gum and CO2, had a tart effervescence that set the mollusk to brisk attention. Then it melted away like lemony sea foam when I took a bite, leaving the heightened taste of oyster framed by a subtle crunch of sweet-and-sour watermelon.