Ersters

Perhaps a large part of my New Orleans trip was fueled by echoes of Billie Holiday's songs, one of the renditions of which went, "you say oysters, I say ersters, oh let's call the whole thing off."

So I went looking for ersters, and my friends went looking for cheese and wine, and so between us all we settled on Bacchanal. Beyond the doubtful kitchen we found a backyard garden littered with casual patio chairs and campfires and lit torches and the heavy chatter of conversation filling the night air. We chose a table and I went to patiently wait in line for my oysters. To my surprise, they were completely free, except for the big red plastic bucket on the counter that said, "Don't forget to tip the shucker." The shucker seemed to know everyone on the line except me, and he chatted to everyone while shucking the fresh oysters. His customers would come up to him and say, "Whassup Johnny?" The waiter took my order and asked for my name.
"Teez"
"Cheese?"
"Teez. T-E-E-Z."
"Okay, just wait out back at your table until we come out and mispronounce your name."

I liked my ersters even before they came.