When I was a kid growing up in Gibraltar , I remember swimming from the beaches on the east of the Rock and fishing clams just like these off the seabed right next to the shore. You could stand waist-deep in the translucent shallows and reach down to scoop up handfuls of sand, sifting through it like a miner in the Wild West panning for gold. Or you could dig your feet into the sandy bottom and feel around with your toes to find them. There were small clams like these ones in the photo, elongated ones known as coquinas and larger specimens known as conchas finas, or fine conch.
They’re still there, but I think its fair to say it’s not the same as it used to be. The beaches on the east side of Gibraltar , which faces into the Med, have suffered from land reclamation and development. Stretches of untouched coastline have been filled in with sand and rubble, ready for the next marina development, and there is less and less room to go and sit by the sea. Sandy Bay , my favourite childhood haunt, a sun-scorched playground of dazzling azure in my mind’s eye, is now but a strip of storm-driven pebble and battered concrete, unfriendly, uncomfortable and closed off to the public for safety reasons.
I bought these little babies from the market, six quid for a kilo. Pricey, but worth it. I wasn’t looking for clams but they jumped out at me, literally. I could see them opening and closing in the box on the fishmonger’s stall. Occasionally, one would shoot a jet of water into the air. They were fresh, no doubt about it, and I just had to have them.
The secret to good clams is to make sure there’s no sand inside. You do this by soaking them in water for at least eight hours, preferably longer, changing the water regularly until they’ve spat out any sand they may have swallowed. We’re lucky in Gib because toilets flush with sea water, which means most homes have a saltwater tap for things like cleaning fish. In the absence of this, you can get away with salting some fresh tap water.
Tomorrow, I’ll show you what I did with these.


reading the paper today in Beirut I noticed a headline saying there's only 3500 wild tigers left in this world; your story (and mine) are similar: we remember clear beaches and being able to scoop up clams and sea urchins; and now we have to buy them at a steep price and our beaches are either filled by rubble and concrete or as in the case of Lebanon, refugees camps for people escaping the Israeli bombing their villages in the south on a daily basis.
ReplyDeleteWell, sad as it is, I´d rather concrete and rubble than refugee camps. I can´t imagine how I´d even start getting my head around that situation if I had to deal with it. There´s so much that happens in your home-corner of the world that we barely see.
ReplyDeleteFor what it´s worth, I´d still love to go there and when I think of Lebanon, which I´ve never visited, food is one of the first things that comes to mind. And then I read Taste of Beirut or Fouad Kassab, or read about Kamal Mouzawak, and what can I say? I get that travel itch. Hopefully, finances permitting, one day...
brian
I truly envy those celebrity chefs who get to travel the world to provide us with wondrous programmes about food cultures from far off lands. What I wouldn't give to do their job! I find myself salivating as they get to work and you can almost smell the aroma coming through the screen.
ReplyDeleteYes I often get that travel itch too... yep...one day...maybe