The late Joseph Mitchell, the New Yorker writer who lovingly confected a reverie of a bygone New York in numerous stories about various city characters – buildings as well as people – once crafted a briny remembrance of a time when New Yorkers devoured oysters as voraciously as they now pursue sushi.

Mitchell’s 1951 story “The Bottom of the Harbor” detailed the days when oysters abounded in – brace yourself – New York Harbor. Some years as much as one-third of the oyster production was shipped to Billingsgate, the London fish market, so great was the production back in the 1800s. Staten Island’s richest men were its oyster barons.

Today, of course, New Yorkers wouldn’t touch a harbor-grown oyster with a 10-foot tong. But the tradition of oyster fancying persists. Indeed for an oyster lover, New York is, improbably, the place to be. North America’s great oysters arrive daily in New York, especially now, the prime winter season.

Nature could hardly have designed a better shipping package: a hard, nearly unbreakable shell kept clamped shut by the resolve of the oyster itself. It was not mere fancy that had Rolex call its once-revolutionary waterproof watch an “Oyster.” (The story is that Rolex founder, Hans Wilsdorf, had a difficult time prying open an oyster. This, he declared, is how a waterproof watch should be made.)

Precisely because of its ability to be shipped long distances with little apparent change in flavor or quality (as long as it’s kept cold), a great mercantile center such as New York is an oyster lover’s true home. The list of temptations at, say, the Grand Central Oyster Bar – still one of the city’s temples of oyster worship – is swoon-making. Names such as Bras d’Or, Caraquet, Chincoteague, Hog Island, Cuttyhunk, and Pemaquid call out like sirens, each a revelation of place to oyster fanciers in the same way that a wine lover can mentally taste his or her way through a list of Burgundies, each vineyard its own private world of taste.

Of course, it’s hard to imagine oysters without wine. The very purity of its flavor calls for a comparably pure counterpoint. Yes, it’s true that a century ago French oyster lovers drank Sauternes with their oysters. Actually, the pairing of oysters with sweet Sauternes does work – but only for the metallic-tasting French flat oysters called belons and marennes. (It’s the unsuspectedly high acidity of Sauternes, by the way, that performs the trick.)

And yes, it’s true that England and Ireland have a long tradition of pairing the likes of Guinness stout with oysters. Indeed, Guinness once used as its advertising slogan, “Makes the oysters come out of their shells.” That was when oysters were common bar fare, something salty and cheap to make the boys reach for another pint. Frankly, I’ve never thought the combination worked.

Really, dry white wine is the ticket, none better than Muscadet. The westernmost district of France’s Loire Valley, the Muscadet zone is a shell’s throw from the Atlantic Ocean. When classically made – which means no oak – it delivers a bright acidity and an invigorating stony-minerally scent and taste. The grape is unusual. Muscadet is 100% melon de Bourgogne, imported centuries ago, as the name suggests, from Burgundy, where it is no longer found. The synergy between Muscadet and oysters is elegant in the mathematical sense: the oyster making you want more wine, and the wine, in turn, demanding more of its brine perfumed partner.

HERE’S THE DEAL

The Lowdown on Great Muscadet

There’s no sense in mincing words: Most Muscadets are junk. Yields are too high, resulting in thin, screechingly acidic, flavorless wines. Chances are you’ve had such Muscadets and swore them off (as well as swore at them). Do yourself a favor: Shake your taste memory like an Etch-a-Sketch and wipe it clean of your Muscadet memories. Why? Because not only is a great Muscadet really terrific with oysters and other shellfish, it’s also one of the great wine bargains on the shelf today. Even the best are shockingly cheap. Five producers, all locally available, stand out.

DOMAINE DE L’ECU Probably the supreme producer of Muscadet today for this taster. Owner-winemaker Guy Bossard is an adherent to the theories of biodynamics, an extreme form of organic cultivation and winemaking. As with other top Muscadet growers, several different bottlings are offered. Look especially for Expression de Granit and Expression de Orthogneiss, both $16. These, and others, are exceptionally dense and almost painfully delineated in their flavors. They practically beg for additional aging.

DOMAINE LES HAUTES NOELLES Owner-winemaker Serge Batard of Domaine les Hautes Noelles is one of the upstarts of the region. Located in a zone a bit removed from the main action in the Muscadet district called Cotes de Grandlieu, Mr. Batard is fashioning pure, citrus-zingy Mus cadet that makes you practically feel the sea breeze on your face. $9.

CHATEAU DE CHASSELOIR Every year Chateau de Chasseloir turns in an exceptional performance, offering Muscadet of uncommon dimension and density. Here again, notes of lemon peel, citrus, and a faintly briny note are buoyed by considerable fruit density – a rarity in Muscadet. $9.

DOMAINE DE LA PEPIERE Yet another of the star producers in Muscadet, owner-winemaker Marc Ollivier enjoys his greatest fame – and rightly so – from his single vineyard bottling called Clos des Briords. Stony tasting even by Muscadet standards, Clos des Briords is a benchmark bottling ($15). Like all great Muscadets, it can age for years. But really, anything made by Domaine de la Pepiere is worth pursuing, including its basic Muscadet. $9.

DOMAINE LUNEAU-PAPIN A less well-known producer, Luneau-Papin has a devoted following among Muscadet fanciers as it creates Muscadets of uncommon purity. Really, Luneau-Papin is among the very best. Owner-winemaker Pierre Luneau issues several bottlings, all impressive, such as the spicy Clos des Allees and the minerally Clos du Poyet (from 55-year-old vines), among others. $12.

A word about Muscadet vintages: Two vintages are on the shelves: 2002 and 2003. They are significantly different, although each has its admirers. The 2002 vintage is what might be called “classic.” The grapes ripened well, acidity was appropriate, and the individuality of the vineyard sites was able to shine through with no vintage coloration, as audiophiles might say. It’s a textbook-perfect vintage.

The newly arrived 2003 vintage, in contrast, saw a fiery hot August, resulting in some of the ripest grapes Muscadet has seen since famously hot 1976, which is probably the most comparable year to 2003. Muscadet purists submit that the 2003s are too fruity and overly powerful. Pish. The best are beautiful wines with more fruit intensity than we’re likely to see again anytime soon, global warming or no. Nothing wrong with that. By the way, some of the best ’76 Muscadets stood the test of time quite well, thank you.