a&e features
Corbett Joan O’Toole still fighting for self-determination, respect for disabled people
Author and activist on coming out, intersectionality, and a lifetime of advocacy
(Editor’s Note: One in four people in America has a disability, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Queer and disabled people have long been a vital part of the LGBTQ community. Take two of the many queer history icons who were disabled: Michelangelo is believed to have been autistic. Marsha P. Johnson, who played a heroic role in the Stonewall Uprising, had physical and psychiatric disabilities. Today, Deaf-Blind fantasy writer Elsa Sjunneson, actor and bilateral amputee Eric Graise and Kathy Martinez, a blind, Latinx lesbian who was Assistant Secretary of Labor for Disability Employment Policy for the Obama administration, are only a few of the numerous queer and disabled people in the LGBTQ community. Yet, the stories of this vital segment of the queer community have rarely been told. In its series “Queer, Crip and Here,” the Blade will tell some of these long unheard stories.)
Corbett Joan O’Toole, 71, a queer, disabled elder and a Ford Foundation 2022 Disability Futures Fellow, knew one thing for sure growing up in Boston: She didn’t want to be a nurse.
O’Toole has had a physical disability since she was 12 months old. “I sometimes joke that my becoming disabled was my birthday present when I turned one year old,” she said in a phone interview with the Blade.
O’Toole has used a wheelchair since she was 30. Before that, she walked with crutches and leg braces.
As a child, she’d had surgery, O’Toole said. “I saw what nurses did,” she added. “Men told them what to do. I knew nursing wasn’t for me.”
Even as a child, O’Toole could tell that male employers had the same attitude toward secretaries. “Sitting in an office all day didn’t seem like fun,” she said, “The only other thing a white woman in my generation could be when they grew up was to be a teacher.”
“I decided to be a teacher,” O’Toole added, “where I’d have my own classroom and no man would be telling me what to do.”
When she was young, O’Toole led, by her account, a sheltered life. She didn’t know then that she was queer. “I didn’t know if I met any queer people,” O’Toole said, “but I always knew that I liked strong women. I thought they were interesting.”
And, O’Toole, like many kids and teens with disabilities then (and, even often, now) knew that little was expected of disabled people. That disabled lives weren’t highly valued. “I was in school all the time with nondisabled kids,” O’Toole said.
Nearly everything was inaccessible then from libraries to courthouses to movie theaters. The Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 (ADA) wouldn’t be passed until decades later. “You were expected to adapt even if things were inaccessible,” O’Toole said.
If you couldn’t make it in an inaccessible world, the attitude was “you don’t have to be here,” O’Toole said.
O’Toole didn’t meet other disabled people except during the summer, when she’d spend a month at a camp for disabled kids. The director and staff were nondisabled, O’Toole said. But at camp, she got to hang out with 90 other disabled kids. O’Toole got to interact with people like herself – disabled kids living vibrant lives. “We explored nature,” she said, “we collected blueberries. Made pancakes.”
There, O’Toole developed her life-long love of sports. As an adult, she has played competitive wheelchair basketball and power soccer. At her childhood summer camp, “We did archery,” O’Toole said, “and played baseball.”
At a time when sexism was the norm, O’Toole got to do things that girls usually couldn’t do at camp. “We went fishing,” she said, “We used power tools in a woodshop,” she said, “It was empowering!”
At camp, if the kids wanted to do something, they’d figure out a way to make it accessible – to make it work, O’Toole added.
O’Toole, author of “Fading Scars: My Queer Disability History,” a groundbreaking book that was a Lambda Literary Award finalist, graduated in 1973 from Fitchburg State University with a bachelor’s degree in education and her teaching credentials. The summer after graduation, she moved with a friend to Berkeley, Calif.
O’Toole was eager to go to California. It would get her out of the cold of New England, where getting around in ice and snow if you’re using crutches or a wheelchair is difficult. “It sounded like fun,” she said. “I’d be in a part of the country where it’s a Mediterranean climate – it’s spring or summer. No snow.”
The move to California was transformative for O’Toole.
There, people thought about disability accessibility. She met queer people and disabled people as well as many nondisabled and disabled lesbians.
“At 23, I came out,” O’Toole said, “I met a woman in a women’s workshop.”
She got to know Kitty Cone, an out disabled lesbian and disability rights movement leader. (Cone died in 2015.) She connected O’Toole to the burgeoning independent living movement. “She brought me to the Center for Independent Living in Berkeley and to the disabled lesbian community,” O’Toole said.
The independent living movement believes in self-determination and self-respect for disabled people. It fights disability-based discrimination and views disability from a cultural and social, rather than a medical perspective. Independent living centers are community-based, non-profit organizations, organized and controlled by disabled people. They provide advocacy, information and other services.
“The Berkeley CIL had a lot of lesbians who were nondisabled,” O’Toole said, “we are the wives of every movement.”
O’Toole came to California at a pivotal moment in disability history – at the beginning of the modern disability rights movement. She quickly became a vital part of that history.
O’Toole, along with Cone and Judith Heumann, the disability rights movement founder who died last month, was a leader in a 1977 nearly month-long occupation by disabled protesters and their allies of a San Francisco federal building known as the “504 sit-in.” As a result of the protest, the Carter administration signed the ‘504′ regulations, which prohibited schools, hospitals, and other entities receiving federal funds from discriminating against disabled people. These regulations were the precursor to the ADA.
“Berkeley became like Mecca,” O’Toole, who is featured in the Oscar-nominated documentary “Crip Camp,” said. “Disabled people came to Berkeley from all over the world.”
In the years since the 1970s, O’Toole’s life has contained more multitudes than even Walt Whitman could have fathomed.
She is a single mom. Her daughter, whom she adopted, has a physical disability. O’Toole was a founder of the Axis Dance Company, an acclaimed ensemble of disabled and nondisabled performers. Currently, she’s working on a novel and traveling in a self-built camper van.
But things haven’t always been easy for O’Toole. Like many disabled parents, especially those who are disabled and queer, she’s encountered prejudice.
O’Toole’s daughter is now 30. Raising her daughter, O’Toole often feared that because she was a single mother, disabled and queer, she’d lose custody of her physically disabled child. It was fraught, O’Toole said, because of the bias against queer and disabled people being parents.
“The courts – the social service system – are all too happy to take your kids away,” O’Toole said.
O’Toole had to fight to get her daughter the services and education she needed.
“Because I was a lesbian, I had to constantly be in the closet,” she said, “our of fear that they’d take my child away if I was out.”
Her lovers, if they were around school system staff, would have to pretend to “just be my friends,” O’Toole said.
For decades, long before intersectionality was a fashionable buzzword, O’Toole, who is white, has thought about the intersection of class, queerness, race, and disability.
“I grew up in a working class neighborhood,” O’Toole said. “My Dad was a firefighter. I was taught a lot about class.”
“But there was a lot of racism embedded in my world,” she added.
It wasn’t until she went to Berkeley and became part of the lesbian community that she was “in rooms with lesbians of color,” O’Toole said.
White women need to listen better to women of color, she said. “We need to follow their lead.”
O’Toole couldn’t believe how much she didn’t know about what women of color experienced. Take just one thing: “I didn’t know that parking tickets could turn into jail sentences,” she said.
“I have to do the work,” O’Toole added, “it’s not their job to educate me. It’s my racism that’s blocking me from the truth.”
Despite all of the difficulties, O’Toole is hopeful. People are resilient. They love and care for each other, she said. “What are you doing to spread hope,” O’Toole asked.
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a&e features
Looking back at 50 years of Pride in D.C
Washington Blade’s unique archives chronicle highs, lows of our movement
To celebrate the 50th anniversary of LGBTQ Pride in Washington, D.C., the Washington Blade team combed our archives and put together a glossy magazine showcasing five decades of celebrations in the city. Below is a sampling of images from the magazine but be sure to find a print copy starting this week.
The magazine is being distributed now and is complimentary. You can find copies at LGBTQ bars and restaurants across the city. Or visit the Blade booth at the Pride festival on June 7 and 8 where we will distribute copies.
Thank you to our advertisers and sponsors, whose support has enabled us to distribute the magazine free of charge. And thanks to our dedicated team at the Blade, especially Photo Editor Michael Key, who spent many hours searching the archives for the best images, many of which are unique to the Blade and cannot be found elsewhere. And thanks to our dynamic production team of Meaghan Juba, who designed the magazine, and Phil Rockstroh who managed the process. Stephen Rutgers and Brian Pitts handled sales and marketing and staff writers Lou Chibbaro Jr., Christopher Kane, Michael K. Lavers, Joe Reberkenny along with freelancer and former Blade staffer Joey DiGuglielmo wrote the essays.
The magazine represents more than 50 years of hard work by countless reporters, editors, advertising sales reps, photographers, and other media professionals who have brought you the Washington Blade since 1969.
We hope you enjoy the magazine and keep it as a reminder of all the many ups and downs our local LGBTQ community has experienced over the past 50 years.
I hope you will consider supporting our vital mission by becoming a Blade member today. At a time when reliable, accurate LGBTQ news is more essential than ever, your contribution helps make it possible. With a monthly gift starting at just $7, you’ll ensure that the Blade remains a trusted, free resource for the community — now and for years to come. Click here to help fund LGBTQ journalism.
a&e features
In stressful times, escape to Rehoboth Beach
Here’s what’s new in D.C.’s favorite beach town for 2025
At last, after an uncharacteristically cold and snowy winter, another Rehoboth Beach season is upon us. I have been going to Rehoboth Beach since 1984, and it was the first place I went where people only knew me as a gay man. It was the year I came out. It was a summer community back then. Today it really is an exciting year-round community. But it’s still the summer season when Rehoboth shines, and when the businesses make most of their money.
The summer brings out tens of thousands of tourists, from day-trippers, to those with second homes at the beach. Everyone comes to the beach for the sun and sand, food, and drink. Some like to relax, others to party, and you can do both in Rehoboth Beach, Del.
Stop by CAMP Rehoboth, the LGBTQ community center on Baltimore Avenue, to get the latest updates on what is happening. CAMP sponsors Sunfestival each Labor Day weekend, and a huge block party on Baltimore Avenue in October. They train the Rehoboth Beach police on how to work with the LGBTQ community, and have all kinds of special and regularly scheduled events. Pick up a copy of their publication, Letters, which is distributed around town.
I asked Kim Leisey, CAMP’s executive director, for her thoughts, and she said, “CAMP Rehoboth looks forward to welcoming our friends and visitors to Rehoboth Beach. We are a safe space for our community and will be sponsoring social opportunities, art receptions, concerts, and art exhibits, throughout the summer. If you are planning a wedding, shower, reception, or business meeting, our beautiful atrium is available for rental. We look forward to a summer of solidarity and fun.” While at CAMP stop in the courtyard at a favorite place of mine, Lori’s Oy Vey! Café, and tryher famous chicken salad.
There’s something for everyone at the beach, from walking the boardwalk and eating Thrasher’s fries, to visiting Funland, or playing a game of miniature golf. Or head to some of the world-class restaurants like Drift, Eden, Blue Moon, or Back Porch.
Some random bits on the summer 2025 season. Prices are going up like everywhere else. Your parking meter will cost you $4 an hour. Meters are in effect May 15-Sept. 15. Parking permits for all the non-metered spaces in town are also expensive. Transferable permits are $365,non-transferable $295, or after Aug. 1 if you only come for the end of summer, it’s $165. Detailed information is available on the town’s website.
Rehoboth lost one of its best restaurant this off-season, JAM, but Freddie’s Beach Bar and Restaurant is open for its fourth season. Owner Freddie Lutz told the Blade, “We are looking forward to a fabulous season. Freddie’s has a dance floor and is the only music video bar in town.” There is also live entertainment, karaoke, and Freddie’s Follies drag show Friday nights.
My favorite happy hour bar is Aqua Grill, which has reopened for the season. I recommend taking advantage of their great Tuesday Taco night, and Thursday burger night. Then there is The Pines and Top of the Pines. Bob Suppies of Second Block Hospitality told me, “Come, relax, and play. We are ready! I have been spending summers here since the mid-90’s, and Rehoboth Beach seems to age like a fine wine. Between the new, and favorite restaurants opening back up, the shops bursting with incredible finds, and all the great LGBTQ+ bars to entertain everyone, nowhere beats the Delaware beaches this summer.”
Head down the block on Baltimore Avenue and you get to La Fable restaurant. Go all the way to the beach and you will see the new lifeguard station, which is slated to open later this month. Also, demolition of the old hotel and north boardwalk Grotto Pizza has happened. The site will become a new four-story, 60-room hotel, with ground level retail space.
Then join me at my favorite morning place at the beach, The Coffee Mill, in the mews between Rehoboth and Baltimore Avenues, open every morning at 7 a.m. Owners Mel and Bob also have the Mill Creamery, the ice cream parlor in the mews, and Brashhh! on 1st street, where Mel sells his own clothing line, called FEARLESS! Then there is the ever-popular Purple Parrot, celebrating its 26th year, now with new owners Tyler Townsend and Drew Mitchell, who welcome you to their iconic place. It has only gotten better. If you head farther down Rehoboth Avenue you will find the Summer House with its upscale Libation Room, and a nice garden looking out on Rehoboth Avenue. Also on Rehoboth Avenue is Gidget’s Gadgets owned by the fabulous Steve Fallon. With the renewed interest in vinyl records you may want to stop in at Extended Play.
Then there is the always busy and fun, Diego’s Bar and Nightclub. Joe Zuber of Diego’s told the Blade, “Get ready for a great gay ole time in Rehoboth Beach. Plenty of entertainment, dancing and fun as we seem to be the next Stonewall generation with this newest administration. Each election brings its concerns about how our gay community will be affected. Come to Rehoboth Beach to escape this summer season!”
If you are in town for Sunday happy hour, make sure to stop there to hear the talented Pamala Stanley who is celebrating her 20th season entertaining in Rehoboth.And on Mondays, Stanley plays Broadway and other classics on the piano at Diego’s.
If you are looking for culture Rehoboth has some of that as well. There is the Clear Space Theatre on Baltimore Avenue. Rumors abound that Clear Space will move out of town. But I can’t believe the commissioners and mayor would be dumb enough to let that happen. This year’s shows include “Spring Awakening,” “Buyer + Cellar,” “Hairspray,” “Beautiful: The Carole King Musical,” and “RENT.”Tickets sell fast so I suggest you book early and they are available online. Then mark your calendars for Saturday, July 19 for Rehoboth Beach Pride 2025 at the Rehoboth Beach Convention Center.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention some of the other fine restaurants and clubs in town. Just a reminder, during season you often need dinner reservations. Come to the beach often enough, and you can try them all: Café Azafran, Dos Locos, Goolee’s Grille, Rigby’s, Frank and Louie’s, Above the Dunes, Mariachi, and Henlopen City Oyster House, and Red, White & Basil. And take a short drive to Dewey for breakfast or lunch at the Starboard; popular bartender Doug Moore (winner of the Blade’s Best Rehoboth-Area Bartender 2024 award) holds court at one of the inside bars, which has become a de facto gay bar on Saturdays.
One major development in the local dining scene last summer was the purchase of the Big Fish Restaurant Group by Baltimore-based Atlas Restaurant Group. Nearly a year later, not much has changed at the many Big Fish restaurants, although many locals are hoping for a renovation of Obie’s along with a gay night at the ocean-front bar/restaurant.
These are only a few of the fantastic places to eat and drink at the beach. Remember, book your reservations for hotels and restaurants, early. Rehoboth is a happening place and gets very busy.
We are living in stressful times. A visit to Rehoboth is a nice way to escape them for a while. Take the time to destress, enjoy the sun and sand. Take a stroll on the boardwalk and listen to the sound of the ocean, and people having fun. Enjoy good times, good food, good friends, and remember that life can still be good. Recharge your batteries for the rest of the year, by enjoying some summer fun in Rehoboth Beach.
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Down to shuck!
Oyster farmers Jordan Nally and fiancé Jimmy Kane on caring for Delaware’s waters — and sharing something special with customers
Although I didn’t come out to my family until my 20s, they should have seen the signs. During one of our annual trips to Indian Shores Beach in Florida, my parents splurged on a Polynesian dining adventure at the only tourist spot in town – Tiki Gardens. While waiting for our table, my sisters found a saltwater tank lined with oysters. For what felt like a fortune to an eight-year-old, a fisherman would shuck a pair and sift through the contents. Dressed in my floral Hawaiian shirt, my excitement turned to desperation when both of my sisters’ oysters revealed pearls. After much begging, my father reluctantly paid to have the small, oddly shaped gems mounted in rings. Watching my sisters flaunt their new jewelry, I seethed with envy and secretly vowed to return one day to claim my own treasure from the sea.
Nearly 50 years later, I’m a full-time resident of Rehoboth Beach, Del. It’s the Atlantic Ocean, not the Gulf of Mexico, but it’s close enough to Florida for me. As a local in a small coastal town, I’m keenly interested in how entrepreneurs are capitalizing on the growing tourism industry with innovative business ideas, so when I stumble across an Instagram page featuring two gay oyster farmers, Jordan Nally and his fiancé Jimmy Kane operating just a few miles away on Rehoboth Bay, my curiosity is piqued. After liking all the posts on the page, I slip into their DMs and ask whether we can meet for an interview. I’m delighted and a little nervous when they agree and invite me out on the boat to tour the farm and talk shellfish. Since everything I know about oysters came from a restaurant menu, I did some research.
Less than a week later, I arrive at the marina on Collins Avenue in Dewey on a picture-perfect morning in early May. Nally is waiting by his pickup truck, casually chatting up a couple of tourists. He’s a Delaware native and looks every bit like an oyster farmer in a long-sleeve, sweat-wicking shirt, PVC-coated shorts, and a branded baseball cap for sun protection. That’s all the more surprising given that Nally spent more than a decade working for JPMorgan Chase and had run for election to the Delaware House of Representatives in 2020.
As a good reporter, I’ve done my research: I know that the Inland Bays (made up of Rehoboth, Indian River, and Little Assawoman Bays) were once prolific oyster producers, with peak annual harvests reaching up to two million bushels. However, by the mid-20th century, overharvesting and a parasitic fungus drastically reduced the oyster populations. By 1960, the annual harvest had plummeted to just 49,000 bushels, marking a low point for the industry. In 2013, former Gov. Jack Markell signed legislation, and the commercial shellfish industry was reborn.
As we unload the flatbed of his EV pickup truck and transport the contents to the waiting boat, a retrofitted pontoon, “The Mullet,” Nally fills me in on his origin story. He came up with the idea to dive into aquaculture while he was quarantined in a hotel in Vermont with nothing but a TV and a local magazine with a cover story on oyster farming. He pitched the idea to his partner Jimmy Kane over the phone, and together they started planning how to make it happen. Nally jokes that what began as a fun “COVID project” quickly bloomed into a thriving business: “Some people did sourdough starter, but we decided to start an oyster farm.”
Although Kane is always there to lend a helping hand, Nally is the one who’s usually out tending the farm. Still, Nally stresses that Kane plays a critical support role: “He’s in charge of merchandising, running sales at the market, and grounding me when I have too many wild ideas.”
In April 2023, the couple planted their first batch of “oyster babies,” provided by the hatchery at the University of Delaware. At the time, they were still living full time in Wilmington, so the first year on the farm meant long drives, managing their day jobs from the car, launching the boat, and working for hours out on the bay before heading back home. Eventually, the capital investment and 14-hour days paid off; now, just two years later, they have 50 floating bags, each holding about 2,000 oysters.
Out on the open water, we see a half-dozen other oyster farms off in the distance. Despite the great weather, we’re the only boat on the bay. Standing confidently at the helm with his eyes fixed on the horizon, Nally gives me a quick biology tutorial on how oysters make it from the bay to the bar. Growers trigger spawning by adjusting water conditions to mimic spring, then feed the larvae specialized algae. After two to three weeks, the larvae develop an “eyespot” and are transferred to grow-out areas on the seabed or suspended bags. Oysters generally reach market size in 18 to 36 months, but the ideal conditions in Rehoboth Bay cut that time down to less than six months.
Nally opens the throttle and, in less time than I expected, we reach the place where the magic happens – the acre of water designated for Nancy James Oysters. Unconventional and bordering on camp, the couple came up with the moniker to honor their late parents. When I ask Nally to explain why they’ve stuck with the venture, his answer, like the name of their business, is personal: “Every single day, we learn something new. And every single oyster reminds us why we started: to grow sustainably, care deeply for our waters, and share something truly special with our customers.”
As we arrive at the oyster farm, Nally cuts the engines and explains the innovative farming technique Nancy James uses to grow its oysters; picture a series of mesh bags, buoyed by floats, and attached to a main line stretching across a tract of water and anchored at both ends. Growing oysters at the water’s surface allows Nally and Kane to capitalize on natural currents and food availability, resulting in faster growth rates and enhanced flavor profiles. The only downside to this growing technique is that the guys never find pearls because the insides of their oysters are cleaner than those of the bottom dwellers.
The farm is directly across from Bird Island, and the cacophony of 10,000 birds is even louder than the whirring sound from the propellers. After anchoring the boat, Nally casually strips down to his bathing suit and surf shoes and jumps into the 60-degree water without a second thought. It’s the ultimate cold plunge, but if he feels the cold, he doesn’t show it; there’s too much work to do.
“You ready to get dirty?”
The waters of Rehoboth Bay may be pristine, but Nally’s question and smirking grin reinforce the message that oyster farming is a messy business. The first order of the day is to change out the older bags to address biofouling — the attachment of seaweed and algae that can affect the health and inhibit growth of new oysters. Nally selects three gnarly bags and hauls them over to the boat. I pull one onto the deck. Once he’s back on board, we empty the first bag onto the cleaning table, and I feel my stomach lurch. Mixed in with small crabs and tiny shrimp, the oysters are covered in muck. Suddenly, I’m glad to be wearing a pair of rubber gloves.
Following instructions, I start sorting; chefs prefer smaller oysters with well-shaped shells. Trying not to get distracted by Nally’s stories and the ravenous flock of waiting sea birds floating above me, I count out four batches of 100 oysters for same-day delivery. Nally and Kane care about how their oysters taste and look. The boat has a portable generator, sump pump, and pressure washer to clean the shells thoroughly. Always ready to quote DNREC requirements scripture and verse, Nally explains that he has to use approved water, and the easiest way is to clean them with water from where they’re growing.
When I ask if it’s hard to comply with the federal and state requirements, like logging the exact time oysters go in and come out of the water, Nally shrugs and offers a surprisingly pragmatic answer: “Everyone on the bay is aware of safety and works together to comply. If anyone gets sick from shellfish, they don’t care where it came from; it will affect all of us. When you are eating oysters in Delaware that came from Delaware, I feel really confident about safety.”
After harvesting and storing the oysters on ice, Nally checks the currents and wind direction before jumping back into the water; he regularly inspects the bags, floats, securing lines, and clips to ensure everything is in working order. As the oysters grow, Nally and Kane move them into bags with progressively larger mesh sizes and mark each with color-coded zip ties to indicate their growth stage. As they mature, the oysters are thinned out and spread across more bags to prevent overcrowding. It’s hard work, but at the end of the day, the two men are proud of what they’ve built together.
Nally explains that the warm temperatures, sandy bottoms, and high salinity of Rehoboth Bay are ideal. Still, not all farm sites are created equal: “The water here tastes different than the water on that side of the bay. It’s the fetch you’re getting from waves, all the swell, and the current. We have a really strong current on this side, and that side doesn’t, so they’re not as salty.”
Although Rehoboth Bay is known for its shallow depths and typically calm waters, aquafarming is still risky. Nally recalled a harrowing incident last winter when his lines got tangled in the boat’s propeller. Rough weather and a hefty chop made it hard to keep the boat steady. Determined to free the line, he put on his wetsuit and plunged into the frigid water. As a safety measure, he shared his location via iPhone with Kane and told him that if the location stopped moving, Nally was in the water and Kane should call the Coast Guard.
On another occasion, Nally slipped on a wet deck and hit his head — an accident reminiscent of what happened to poor Jennifer Coolidge in “White Lotus.” Fortunately, he fell into the boat rather than overboard. He takes no chances now, wearing a special life vest that automatically inflates if he falls into the bay.
Nally and Kane are the only local farmers offering premium catering services, bringing the freshest oysters and top-notch shuckers to events such as weddings and birthday parties. Nancy James Oysters can also be enjoyed at local restaurants, including Drift Seafood & Raw Bar and Lewes Oyster House. You can find them in person at the Bethany Farmers Market and the Historic Lewes Farmers Market. This summer, the couple will be shucking oysters live every Sunday afternoon at Aqua Bar & Grill. Oysters are always available for purchase online at nancyjamesoysters.com.
It’s another beautiful day when I make the short trip to town and park just outside Drift on Baltimore Avenue. Grabbing an empty seat at the outside bar window, I order without looking at the menu (at Drift, ask for the “Rehoboth Rose” oyster). In less time than it takes to check my phone, there are a dozen premium oysters in front of me — bedded in a tray of crushed ice, just waiting to be devoured.
Savoring the poetry of the presentation, I lift a shell to my mouth and slurp down the meat in one swallow. The taste is pure Delaware. Tom Wiswell, the former executive chef at Drift, describes it best: “It reminds me of being a kid at Rehoboth Beach and like a wave splashing you in the face. It’s fresh, briny, and salty.”
As I enjoy a swallow of a good glass of Cava and reach for another oyster, I realize why these exotic delicacies were dubbed “white gold.” Nearly a half-century older and wiser than that kid in the Hawaiian shirt at Tiki Gardens, I’ve finally realized that the hidden treasure inside the oyster was never the pearl.
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