Oyster Stew

Sarah Jackson

Christmas Eve for my family used to mean one thing--eating oyster stew at Grandma Dupree's house. Every Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember, my mother's side of the family met at my great-grandma's house for dinner and present exchange. The men of the family, headed by my grandpa, would cook the stew on Grandma's front porch in the freezing cold. Every year, someone would be brave enough to step up and try a raw oyster, and I myself have been that person before.

Once the men brought the huge pot inside with the steaming hot stew, everyone would quickly get their bowl of oyster stew and wait for my grandpa to inaudibly mumble the blessing. I would always put so many oyster crackers in my stew that it could basically be called crackers with a side of oyster stew. Eating oyster stew was something that brought my family together; it was something we could depend on every year.

When my great-grandma died in 2004, our family was put in a tailspin. With Grandma Dupree's house no longer being a meeting place, our family quit getting together for three years straight and the oyster stew tradition died. Just this past Christmas in 2007, my grandpa started cooking oyster stew again on Christmas Eve at his house.

Although it isn't the same as it used to be, the oyster stew now brings me back to a time when my great-grandma was alive and allows me to remember all the happy times I had with her. Every time I sip the warm broth, I am back at Grandma Dupree's house on Christmas Eve, eagerly looking through the window for a sight of Santa's sleigh.