In the beginning, God created oysters, a chance to eat a mouthful of what tastes like the heavens and oceans combined. 

On a subsequent day, man invented heating up a pot of oil and dunking breaded oysters in, waiting until they got golden brown, and eating them with tartar sauce.

Island fisherman John Conlon likes them fried. 

Sure, an oyster on the halfshell is delicious in its simplicity. Conlon likes them that way too. But one of the nice things about fried oysters is that the biggest specimens, which would otherwise be called gaggers, get to shine. The meatier oysters can be unpleasant to swallow raw, but are perfect for frying and eating in a few bites. 

Conlon showed us how to find and fry these big oysters, because all God’s children deserve their moment.

On a serene day in late December 2024 – 40 degrees, icy blue sky, “not a puff of wind” – Conlon parked his truck on Beach Road in Edgartown and headed toward Sengekontacket Pond in search of those big beauties. 

Conlon has been fishing since he was four years old. While on vacation with his family in Brant Rock, Massachusetts, he cast out a line, caught a fish, and thought to himself, “I’m a fisherman.” From this declaration – a statement that would manifest in both vocation and, some might say, in personal essence – came much bounty. Conlon moved to the Island from suburban New York around 1970 and was picked up hitchhiking by Island jack-of-all-trades Chris Osmers. The two got along swimmingly and went fishing that night and just about every night after that.

“That was the best summer ever,” Conlon said, “until the next summer, which was the best summer ever.” Fishing is and has always been his main gig: he’s been fishing commercially for conch, scup, tuna, scallop, oysters, and other shellfish for decades.

That December day, Conlon was fishing recreationally for oysters that the Edgartown Shellfish Department had planted for any town resident with a permit to harvest. The town plants oysters in Sengekontacket in part for nitrogen remediation – an adult oyster can filter as much as fifty gallons of water per day. Oyster season is open year-round in Edgartown, although Sengekontacket is sometimes closed for a few days at a time due to rainfall levels – the excess water can introduce contaminants into the pond, making oysters unsafe to eat. Pond closures are indicated by a red flag on the Beach Road bridges. 

With no red flags in sight, Conlon approached the pond in green neoprene waders and a classic orange fisherman’s jacket. There was a scratch rake in his hand, and a floating basket tied around his waist with a blue cord. He waded into the water and started pulling up oysters almost immediately. 

“This one has a nice cup shape,” he said, holding out an oyster that was about four inches long. The bottom shell was rounded, indicating plenty of space for the belly inside. 

Oysters need to be at least three inches long to keep. On this day, that wasn’t a problem. Conlon measured five- and six-inchers with his metal gauge. Oysters that size “have a real meat you can chew on.”

With another scoop of the scratch rake, Conlon pulled up a massive oyster. It was about eight inches long. He grabbed it with a gloved hand and held it up to the light to admire its shape. 

When you go oystering, the goal is to come home with oyster meat, but that isn’t the only part of the experience Conlon enjoys. “I like everything else about it,” he said. “Like today, it’s so comfortable. Even though it’s cold you don’t really notice it. And the sun. A lot of times when it’s coldest, you get that beautiful, beautiful sun.” He looked at an oyster in his hand. “God bless the town for doing this.”

A couple of other tips from Conlon for those looking for the more mature, especially fry-able bivalves: if you see a patch of codium, a dark seaweed also called dead man’s fingers, check to see if it’s growing on an oyster. If it is, that oyster is probably older and therefore larger. Finding a group of oysters together (a “village” as Conlon called it) might indicate smaller shells, since their food resources will be shared between them. And, once you’ve hauled in the half-bushel allowed per family per week, Conlon recommends shucking them at least a few hours before frying, so they can spit out some water. 

At his house that evening, after doing the shuck-and-wait, Conlon and his daughter Bridget Conlon got the canola oil heated on the stove. Glistening tan and gray lumps of meat were dredged in flour, then egg, then breadcrumbs, and plunked in the oil. 

When are they done? “It’s the color,” Conlon said. You know the one.

Conlon predicted folks would eat about nine large fried oysters each, which he served with tartar sauce, mashed potatoes, and lima beans. But Ethan Bass, Conlon’s son in law, blew that number out of the water. 

“I think I had about twenty,” he said. 

So ignore the people who turn their nose up at the biggest oyster. Maybe even ignore the passage in Leviticus where it says that anything in the ocean without fins or scales is detestable. Large oysters are perfect for frying. Conlon has plenty of golden-brown evidence to prove it.