Tag Archives: Alabama farming

Murder Point: Here We Rest

Lane Zirlott thinks he has the best oyster in Alabama. And I agree.

Lane Zirlott thinks he has the best oyster on the Gulf of Mexico. And I agree.

Lane Zirlott thinks he has the best oyster in the United States. And I’m inclined to agree on that, too (although I’ve not had them all).

Lane Zirlott thinks he might have the best oyster. Period. Full stop. And I’m not going to argue.

Lane Zirlott

Lane Zirlott thinks being on the water, being an oyster farmer, is his destiny. And after sitting in his office in his shop at Bayou La Batre for a while, listening to him tell the origin story of his family business, Murder Point Oysters, I think he is a man who could sell anything he believes in – especially if it comes from the saltwaters of Alabama’s Gulf coast. He talks about his love of working on the water, the adventure of “finding something you can’t see.”

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“Here We Rest” was Alabama’s first official state motto. It was adopted during Reconstruction so, of course, the people down in Montgomery decided to change it to something more combative during Jim Crow. Audemus jura nostra defendere is the state motto today – “We Dare Defend Our Rights” (both real and imagined rights, I’m afraid). I prefer “Here We Rest” and have an old habit of saying that phrase whenever I discover something to which I will instantly commit. The first time I tasted Murder Point oysters, I said, “Here We Rest.”

In fact, if I go to a restaurant and see Murder Points among the oyster offerings, I don’t need to look further. If Murder Points aren’t on the menu, I’ll pass. If I’m offered a plate with a variety of oysters, I will stick to the Murder Points, thank you. It’s the first oyster I don’t really want to add anything to. I might use a dab of mignonette and a sprinkle of lemon, but the buttery smooth one-bite oyster is fine just to slurp on its own.

Murder Points have a well-deserved national following now. They even ship them to Canada, which has previously been unheard of for an oyster from the Gulf of Mexico. The Zirlotts are a five-generation shrimping family and their oysters have only been on the market since 2012. When Auburn University’s Dauphin Island Sea Lab offered training to Alabama Gulf coast locals on off-bottom oyster farming, Lane Zirlott’s mother, Rosa, was the only person to attend the first session. She talked her husband, Blake, into taking the course with her. When Lane, who was shrimping full-time, returned from a shrimping trip, his parents encouraged him to explore the oyster aquaculture; the lure of still being on the water but being able to stay home with his wife and kids was all it took to make him a convert. An enthusiastic one.

There’s a well-known local tale about two oystermen a century ago in Alabama’s Myrtle Point who got into a dispute over oyster beds. The dispute accelerated until one of the men murdered the other on his front porch and “Myrtle Point” became popularly known as “Murder Point.” That inspired the Zirlotts to brand their product as “Murder Point Oysters,” with the catchy slogan, “Oysters Worth Killing For.” The oysters’ taste can sell itself, but I think the name and the slogan make it easier to remember and ask for by name.

Lane shares stories about the hustle to get his oysters in restaurants at the beginning, starting in New Orleans. It was a few years after Katrina, the event that changed the food scene in the city. He and his brother would go into the back door of the establishment with oysters and a shank. He said the back door of the restaurant would always be open – for deliveries, smoke breaks, fresh air. They’d give oysters to the kitchen staff – dishwashers, line cooks, sous chefs, pastry, cold station – until the chef would come to see what was going on. The staff would rave about the oysters, and the chef would taste, agree, and order them.

Lane has a scrappy smile and a twinkle in his eyes when he talks about the time in Charleston when the back door wasn’t open and he and his brother went through the front door and made their way to the bar during service. The manager chased them down and caused a scene, accusing them of being unprofessional, ordering them to get out. Lane slammed a bag of Murder Points down at the bar, yelled “Roll Tide” (“We’d just beat Clemson for the second year in a row”), and left. His brother had the presence of mind to slap a business card down with the bag before leaving.

About a year later, at a food and wine event, the chef of that same restaurant sought Lane out and wanted to start ordering Murder Points. “We still talk about that Alabama redneck and his oysters,” the chef said. It was obvious that Lane tells this story often. And with pride.

Lane contends that the Murder Point oyster “changed the perception of a Southern oyster.” Lane often refers to Murder Points as “the oyster of Alabama,” stressing that by discussing “broodstock,” the mature oysters that are used for breeding. While other Alabama oyster growers use broodstock from other states, he says, Murder Point only uses Alabama oysters, including Alabama broodstock. “A true Alabama oyster,” he says, “has to be a Murder Point.” The aquaculture method Murder Point uses to cultivate its oysters forces the oyster to close by bringing it out of the water daily. It builds the bivalve’s muscle and helps develop the deep cup that makes the oyster so appealing to eat raw. Referring to outdated perceptions of what a Gulf oyster is, he says, “don’t let people define you because of where you’re from.” At the end of that course at the Sea Lab, Rosa Zirlott was given 20,000 oysters to farm. Lane told me, before he went back to work, that they have “fourteen million planted today.”

Lane went out to start shipping oysters and TJ Lundy, who left a career in education to work with Murder Point, drove me out to the farm at Sandy Bay, Murder Point’s merroir. Leaving the main road, we traveled down an arrow straight dirt road for seven miles through protected freshwater marshland. I learned that it was the combination of the fresh water of the wooded marshes mixing with the saltwater of the bay that was partly responsible for the creamy buttery aftertaste of the Murder Point oyster.

Each piece is an oyster.

TJ introduced me to marine biologist Eric Stewart, Murder Point’s director of operations and the manager of the hatchery, while we examined the sprawling operation right in front of me and out across the bay. Eric explained the process in the hatchery filled with baby oysters at various stages of being ready to take down to the bay. He showed me buckets filled with what looked like tiny pieces of briny gravel. He took up a handful and separated one out for inspection. It was miniscule, but it was already clearly an oyster. Next he showed me others that were slightly larger and still perfectly shaped. By the time you get Murder Points in a restaurant, they are typically 2.25 to 2.75 inches across. The careful control that the tide tumbling aquaculture provides gives these oysters their reliable consistency and taste. After learning more than I ever thought I’d know about oyster cultivation, TJ took me down to the water and the long pier that provided a view of the operation in the bay and the baskets full of growing oysters.

We left the bay and headed back through the marshlands to the Murder Point store. After my tour, I had plenty of questions for TJ. I commented on how intense and time-consuming the farming of oysters is and that I had no idea until that day. TJ agreed that the people at Murder Point worked hard, but added, “It’s a lot easier to work hard if you’re having fun, too.” We briefly went to the building out back where the staff, including Lane, were busy preparing and packing oysters for a new shipment to go out across North America. And then I headed back through the hardworking fishing village of Bayou La Batre on the way to Birmingham.

Later, on the interstate, I remembered that I didn’t do one thing I always hoped to do if I ever made it down to Murder Point: I didn’t get to eat an oyster straight out of the water in the place where it was born.

Not to worry, though. Next time.

The Portent of Figs

 I almost passed on the downtown Greene Street Market at Nativity this afternoon (www.greenestreetmarket.com). I’m afraid I’m gathering more at my various farmers markets this summer than I have time to deal with. Birmingham’s Pepper Place on Saturday morning, Latham’s on Tuesdays, and Nativity on Thursday afternoon … occasionally, the Alabama Truck Farmers market on the industrial side of Birmingham, a few others here and there.

At the last minute, though, a brief and gentle rain revived me, and I ventured on out to Nativity to see if inspiration would hit. It always does.

My first stop is always the Humble Heart (www.humbleheartfarms.com) booth to stock up on their various goat cheese blends and to check in with the Spells, the proprietors. A running joke for Paul Spell when he sees me is to say, “Sir, would you like to sample some goat cheese?” as if I haven’t been using his product for years now.

“Goat cheese!?!” I exclaimed today, as if I’d never heard of such a thing.

Some snooty Huntsville woman, who was finishing her transaction, looked over at me and said, with a sniff, “I love goat cheese. You should try it some time.”

I smiled, batted my eyes at her, and placed my order as she cluelessly walked away.

I had given up on locally grown kale here in mid-July but one of the growers from southern Tennessee had several fresh bags of Russian kale just perfect for several applications. I had passed a booth with enticing bags of field peas and vowed to return to buy a couple. When I circled around a minute later, there were no peas to be found.

I said, “Didn’t you have peas here a minute ago?”

“Yes,” came the speedy reply. “And a man just bought me out. But I have more in the cooler … if I’d told him I had more, he might have cleaned me out completely!”

Grabbing what I needed, I moved on. I had plenty of peaches and cantaloupe, so I passed those places by.

I was about to leave when I noticed a few small baskets of figs nestled among more prolific produce at a bustling stand toward the back of the market.

It seems a little early for figs, but the fig yield has been sparse for the past few years and maybe my timing is off. I heard myself sigh figs at precisely the moment a woman behind me did the same.

I moved quickly to the stand with mixed emotions.

First, I associate figs with the end of summer and I’m not nearly ready for that. But, also, I didn’t really grow up with figs; they were not a part of my own family’s eating heritage and I was late to that club. It was while working with a theatre in Montgomery that some of the locals and transient actors began to awaken me to the charm of the fig crop. It was there that figs became another of my harbingers of the stages of the summer fruits.

Strawberries. Peaches. Blackberries and Blueberries. Figs. Apples.

Often, when the figs disappear, so has the summer.

I debated whether I was ready to invite portentous figs into my seasonal kitchen. The woman behind me made her move and so I quickly maneuvered to the front of the line. I pointed to the basket I wanted and said, “Aren’t they early?”

Apparently, they are, but they might also have a longer growing season than in the past several years, so my lament for the end of summer might be delayed for several weeks.

The Farmers Market on Finley Avenue

  DSCN0456 Recently, when I didn’t feel motivated to navigate the hordes crowding into the more trendy local farmers’ markets, I headed out to Finley Avenue and Birmingham’s old Alabama Farmers Market (www.alabamafarmersmarket.org), a sprawling complex of open air sheds and rows of warehouses where truck farmers sell their seasonal harvests 24/7 and resident vendors display their agricultural products.

DSCN0449As far back as I can remember that big farmers market has been on Finley Avenue in Birmingham’s westside. The Jefferson County Truck Growers Association formed in 1921 and the Association’s Alabama Farmers Market moved to its Finley Avenue location in 1956.

When I was a child we would take Grandmother Harbison to Finley Avenue where she would stock up on fresh produce for the amazing meals she seemed to always be cooking. She would also can and “put up” for the winter in the big chest freezer down in the basement. Grandmother seemed to always have a large pot of homemade vegetable soup warming on the stove no matter the season. DSCN0450

I am an ardent supporter of local food and community farmers; I might hit three farmers markets over the course of any given week during the warm months. I’m talking about those weekly pop-up markets with farmers selling their wares in avenues of tented stalls for three to five hours.  If you pay attention, you can find such markets almost every day of the week at a church or parking lot near you.

These weekly neighborhood markets have become ubiquitous and popular– which is great — and many have expanded to include artisans and musicians, deejays and demos. I used to feel refreshed after a Saturday morning stroll through Birmingham’s Pepper Place Market but these days I mostly feel stressed and relieved to get away from too many people, too much noise, animals and their people hogging the pathways, and unnecessarily wide baby strollers. The carnival atmosphere begins to distract from the market’s original purpose to get local food to local residents.

So it was a refreshing change to go out to Finley Avenue after too many years away and get back down to just the basics of a farmers market with growers selling off the backs of trucks. The mechanical pea-shellers were cranking out bushels of peas in mere minutes. Some vendors featured rows of canned items with assorted pickles, local honey, chow chow, soups and such.  In August there are abundant mounds of watermelons, cantaloupes, and tomatoes. DSCN0451

The sights, sounds, and aromas took me back to a time when farmers’ markets were less abundant but the shoppers were probably more earnest about their fresh local food. The people who frequented these markets weren’t just seeking out the coolest heirloom tomato (I’m a fan of heirloom tomatoes, too, by the way) but were focused on the values of locally sourced food and finding ways to feed a family in healthy, sustainable, and economical ways.

The originals like Alabama Farmers Market on Finley will be around for a long time. DSCN0457