Something for Saturday

My Aunt Fran used to bring these to Family Thanksgiving.  I loved them and I miss her.

From Paula Deae's web site.  Check out her recipe here

Scalloped Oysters  - Fran Dawson's

"BE SURE TO CHECK THE OYSTERS FOR BITS OF SHELL OR PEARLS" Fran

1  pint   Oysters in their liquor 1  stick  Butter

1  qt  Cracker crumbs          Black pepper

Procedure

1   Melt butter in skillet.  Add crackers and stir well. (do not brown)

2   Add crackers.

3   Stir well, do not brown.

4   In  baking pan, alternate layers of  crackers and oysters, ending with cracker crumbs.

5   Pour rich milk or ½ & ½ over all to make it quite moist.

6   Bake until puffed and golden.

Yield: 8" x 12"

Oven Temperature: 350°F

Cooking Time: 40 minutes

Source: Fran Cole Dawson

Addendum :  I got this e-mail from a friend - I thought it was worth adding:

Your Aunt Fran's receipt for Scalped Arsters is pretty much the standard—and delicious—recipe for such things.

When I lived on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, a place that has pursued  and eaten arsters (their pronunciation) since the 1650s, I learned a thing or two about these delectable little lovelies. First of all, my arsterman, Neal Lindsay, brought me a pint of arsters every Saturday morning during season.  Usually they didn't have a chance to get scalped or into a stew, since they were so flat-out delicious raw.

However, the watermen at Rock Hall, which has been a fishing settle-ment since the 17th century, taught me the Eastern Shore method of making Scalped Arsters.

It's the same as your Aunt Fran's, with an astonishing addition: really sharp cheese, preferably ancient cheddar.

Proceed exactly the way as your receipt does, but add a thin layer of finely-shredded sharp cheese just above the arsters as you layer them up.  Then END with a layer of cheese on top.

There is nothing better in this life.  NOTHING.

Even my brother's French family from Brittany, where a cooked artster is probably illegal, and most certainly immoral, gobbled this down, licked their beaks, and looked around for more.  Upon returning to France and reporting on having eaten cooked arsters, some of their closest friends fainted dead away at the very thought of such an affront to God, man, and seafood.


OH—and using a quart rather than a pint of lovely selects sure can't hurt.