42nd Street Oyster Bar has always been an ITB landmark. I’ve always been a big fan of this place as a pre-bang or pre-bar destination. Girls love the “atmosphere” and every guy knows that oysters are the shit because they’re an aphrodisiac, which makes girls wanna hook up (even more than normal).
Trust me, I know good (average) seafood from having eaten at the Sanitary Fish Market & Restaurant and Dockside at least 100 times (I’ve got the t-shirts to prove it). So I obviously have no problem paying more than I should for food that is overhyped, as long as I’m at an ITB approved establishment. What I won’t stand for, however, is the possibility of dying; yes dying, after eating dinner at a restaurant.
“Wednesday evening, I started feeling really bad. All of a sudden, I got so violently ill, we had to go to the emergency room,” said Fields, whose eyes were still red from the illness a week later.
“I felt so bad I thought maybe this could be the end,” he added.
“By this afternoon, the county had roughly 40 reports of sickness, mostly diarrhea and vomiting, from customers who had eaten there in roughly the past week, said Andre Pierce, Wake County’s director of environmental health and safety.
Reports from the popular eatery on West Jones Street are being evaluated, and anyone with similar symptoms should call (919) 856-7400.”
Diarrhea and vomiting, think about how badly that would go over once I got on the Felson’s dance floor. I would actually have to use the bathroom stalls for their intended purpose.
“The common thread has been that people have eaten steamed oysters, and we’ve isolated it down to all of those steamed oysters coming out of Louisiana,” Hurley (the owner) said.
Well there’s the problem. Everyone knows it’s safer, and classier, to eat oysters from North Carolina, where you don’t have to worry about freshwater influx, septic tank overflow, and the remnants of the second worst natural disaster in the history of America (Hurricane Fran was the first, I was without power for TWO whole days). It’s much cooler to have an oyster roast at your own house, where you can ensure that the oysters are from Morehead, or at least somewhere in North Carolina.
At first I thought maybe a busload of outsiders, who aren’t used to fine (average at best) dining, ate at 42nd Street and got sick because their palate wasn’t adjusted to such amazing oysters and chicken fingers. I wouldn’t normally care about the well-being of others, but this really hit home on Monday, when I got a call from Mary Caldwell Hovington.
Mary Caldwell H.: “I feel really sick, I’ve been throwing up all morning.”
WNF IV: “Gross. You pregnant again?”
Mary Caldwell H.: “No! Why do guys always automatically assume a girl is pregnant if they say they’re sick?”
WNF IV: “Because they usually are pregnant….”
Mary Caldwell H.: “Well, I’m not pregnant. I think I have food poisoning, I ate some oysters at 42nd Street last night.”
WNF IV: “Oysters? Those are an aphrodisiac, you know. You are totally pregnant. Who was the lucky (now unlucky) guy?”
Mary Caldwell H.: “I’m NOT pregnant, I was out with a girlfriend.”
WNF IV: “Oh, well you probably have food poisoning then. Everyone that’s eaten at 42nd Street has gotten sick, I think it’s some sort of oyster flu. They get their oysters from Louisiana so they’re probably still contaminated by all that Katrina shit.”
Mary Caldwell H.: “I’ve gotta go, I feel sick.”
WNF IV: “Name it after me if it’s a boy.”
So I just wanted to get the message out to those of you who may be in town for the holidays. I know 42nd Street is always on the list of places to dine if you haven’t been home in a while. Be careful, because you might get sick, or almost die.