What we order, every time, is a half dozen of the native Galway flat (Ostrea edulis) when the season is open, September through April. These are the round, coppery, almost mineral oysters that built the reputation of Clarinbridge. They are slower-growing than the Pacific rock, only four to five a year cropped per square metre, and they taste of the bay they came out of. Deborah likes them with brown bread, a wedge of lemon, and nothing else. No mignonette, no Tabasco. The oyster is the dish.
Out of season, between May and August, the kitchen serves the Pacific (Crassostrea gigas) from the same waters. We come anyway. A pint of Guinness, the half dozen, brown soda bread baked that morning, the tide moving fifteen feet below the window. This is the room we send every American visitor to before they leave the west.