Hunter-gathering

November 22nd

Appetites whetted by the sea urchin Pierrot had given us on a kayaking trip, me and Lija embarked on our own echinoderm killing spree one weekend. We walked along the railway lines, which is the only way to get to the bay west of Ile Rousse by foot, and stopped at the first pebbly beach. We had asked Rafaël along, but he proved disappointingly squeamish when he realised that we really did intent to stab, crack open and disembowel sea creatures, and went off to read some Spanish novel on a rock.

Undeterred, me and Lija waded in and began the hunt. For obvious spine-related reasons you can’t get a firm grip on a sea urchin, so once they are firmly stuck to a rock it is hard to catch one. Several times I accidentally cracked them open with the knife I was using to prise them off the rocks and their entrails seeped out in a dark cloud and floated around my ankles. We did eventually gather about six of them, and they sat forlornly waving their spines, awaiting their fate.

We had vaguely seen what Pierrot had done to them on the first expedition, but he had tactfully got rid of the guts before giving us the edible parts, so the first urchin was a shock. They have a frightening fanged mouth, and are full of gritty brown slime and mucus the colour of liver. Underneath all that, once they have been rinsed out in the sea, is a surprisingly beautiful five pointed star of bright orange flesh. It has the texture of a smooth mousse, not chewy or grainy at all, and tastes of salty fishiness. We spread them on baguette, and then dried off while reading our books in the sun.