Last night we stopped by an unusual tasting at Brooklyn Brewery pairing oysters and beer. Garrett Oliver, Brooklyn's brewmaster, said that in all of the hundreds of beer tastings that he'd hosted, he'd never done one with oysters before. That put a current of fear in the air—the fear of oysters tasting really weird when mixed with a mouthful of beer. But we persevered, driven on by our insatiable curiosity and increasing inebriation. And our courage was rewarded. The oysters, provided by the family-owned W&T Seafood, were good, and served without any garnish except for the beer. That brought out some oyster flavors we never tasted before, as well as a strange oyster beer buzz, through which we dictated the following tasting notes to our assistants:

1. Brooklyn Radius and Totten Inlet Virginica: This was the easiest pairing: the beer was a dry, spicy Belgian farmhouse variety. The oysters were mild and deep shelled. A good pair for that summer night at a seaside farmhouse in Belgium, just you and the moonlight and a bucket for the shells, staring out into the ocean thinking: this is much classier than mussels and fries.

2. Brooklyn Local #2 and Kumamoto: This was a dark 9% brew that tasted like burnt candy. The oysters were buttery and meaty, deeply cupped in their shells. A nice match for after you've sold that photo sharing company to Facebook and moved to that island in the bay 100 miles north of Seattle, alone, with nothing but a case of dark beer and your thoughts. You are alone, yes, but you are not lonely. You eat another oyster and think, "I'll never go back." You snap a picture of your oyster shell and click "Valencia." You stare moodily off into the darkness.

3. Brooklyn Sorachi Ace and Olympia Ostria Lurida: This beer tasted strongly of dill and lemongrass, which was unusual. The oysters tasted strongly of copper. Like that time you woke up in that bar in East Portland. There's blood spilled on the floor— everyone's staring at you. What for? Until you realize the blood is probably yours. Where did it come from? Was it the fixie bike kill, again? Why are all these oyster shells in your pants? Sirens in the distance.

4. Brooklyn Dry Irish Stout and Wellfleet Virginica: The factory closed, probably for good, and you're back at the bar on Shankill Road. You've already had too many but you order another stout; it tastes of flint and tobacco and heartache. A woman comes in with a basket of oysters. They're salty and you look up at the dirty mirror across the room and see a man silently sobbing. It's minutes before you recognize your own face.

5. Brooklyn Local 1 and Wild Goose Virginica: It's the middle of the summer and you're out back on the deck of that share in the Springs. She's against the railing, her back to you. The sun is setting. She's been standing like that a lot lately. Maybe you're too old to be coming out here—and maybe she's too young. You don't know and ignorance is bliss. The beer tastes like rum. The oysters are almost gone—the last one tastes like sea spray and the first twinge of impending regret.

6. Mary's Maple Porter and Montauk Pearl Virginica: You told her you were working that weekend, but really you just got on the first train you saw at Penn Station. You transferred again—maybe at Jamaica. It's already dark when you arrive. The whole town is closed up. It's early April, too early for the tourists. But the market is still open. These oysters are the only thing still in stock. Their liquor tastes like brine and you take another swig of this porter, which despite the label isn't sweet at all. Like life, you think. You should probably call her.

Final judgement: Stick with the lighter, milder tasting beers, and the more typical Montauk Pearls. Anything else is really too heavy for a snack.