At dawn along the Gulf Coast of Florida, the winter sky and placid water are stitched together in a seamless canvass of pink and blue. It is cold and still. No dolphins or jumping mullet, no spotted trout or lady fish. No shark or cobia slicing the water with their dorsal fins. No Macedonian armies of fiddler crabs charging across the sand. Nobody is home. The snowy egret stands motionless in the shallows, poised to strike, expectant, then flies off into the sunrise, hungry still.
But teeming below the surface are millions of young shrimp. Spawned at sea during the summer, they are carried into our brackish estuaries when the temperatures drop. This is their winter home where they feed on plankton and diatoms, their translucent bodies skittering over the ocean floor, long tentacles probing, flipping off the bottom with their tails, diving into the mud to escape predators.
Approximately 4,000 species of shrimp range from the tropics to the arctic, but only a few are commercially fished. Most of the wild shrimp caught in the
Who doesn’t like shrimp? Fried, steamed, boiled in beer, in pasta or pilaf, served with sauces and dips, a shrimp is a succulent morsel of pure protein. So delicious, so healthful. Four ounces of shrimp contains 23 grams of protein, nearly fifty percent of your daily requirement at only 120 calories. Plus shrimp are a good source of vitamins D and B12, calcium, iodine, and omega-3 fatty acids. Shrimp are easy to serve, shelled and deveined for you in frozen pouches, ready for salads or crepes or pasta.
However, as marvelous as shrimp are—and a staple of every kitchen—nothing is like fresh wild shrimp straight off the shrimp trawlers or from your own net. The taste is a revelation, soft and buttery like scallops, slightly salty, slightly sweet.
To eat a fresh wild shrimp is to know
I wanted to know everything about this indigenous food, which meant I had to go out and catch me some.
Clayton Lewis, a local fisherman who runs St. Teresa Clam Company in Alligator Harbor—maybe you saw him on Discovery Channel’s “Dirty Jobs”—volunteered to show me how to throw a cast net. The cast net is circular, twelve feet in diameter. First loop your hand through the handle of the casting rope, then coil the rope in your left hand. Shake out the net from the center, holding it high over your head. Drape the bottom over your left arm and gather the edge of the net on your right shoulder as if making a pleat. Twist your body clockwise, squatting a little. Then, on the count of three, spin and uncoil, tossing the net into a floating lily pad over the water. Hold onto the rope! After the net sinks to the bottom, drag it in. You should have netted a dozen or so shrimp.
Clayton performed this pirouette with exquisite grace, considering his 300 pound frame, like a trucker dancing the swing, his net spinning toward the sun, unfurling, resting on the water in a perfect circle. My attempt was less artful, more like a wad of chewing gum, but finally I got the knack. We tossed the shrimp on ice to take home to clean.
The pink shrimp I caught were handsome fellas, with ten-inch long antennae, and fuzzy insect legs, pearly pink bodies, bulbous eyes, and armor-plated tails. They were so adorable I hated to eat them, but I was determined not to be squeamish—if these little critters gave up their lives to feed me, I ought to respect them enough to kill them myself.
I sipped from my glass of Mad Housewife to bolster my courage.
It may seem rather horrible, but this is the way it is done. You wedge your thumbnail under the shrimp’s head and flip it off. Clayton with his sausage-like fingers managed this easily, but it took me a few tries. Then you slip off the outer shell, rinse, and toss into a pile. It takes some time, but it’s worth it. Count on cleaning about ten shrimp per person. Deveining isn’t necessary, but for larger shrimp you might want to pull it out, grabbing the vein with the edge of your knife.
Then it is time to cook. The magic happens.
Like a blushing sunrise, the shrimp turn from pearly gray to rosy pink. Grilled or sautéed, it doesn’t matter, the revelation is the same—buttery, soft, delicious. This is how food is meant to be eaten, not fast food gulped down in a mad rush to pick up the kids from soccer practice, but slow food, food that tells you a story of the land and its people, whispering tales of Apalachee Indians, and the Greek sponge divers who came here a hundred years ago and steamed their shrimp on the sandy beaches.
Savor slowly with a glass of Mad Housewife Chardonnay. Savor and listen.
Grilled Shrimp in Three Sauces with Zucchini pancakes
By marinading the shrimp in three different sauces you can make an elegant dish that explodes with flavor. Serve with linguine, or try these simple pancakes.
Serves four:
1-1/2 pounds large shrimp, peeled and deveined, with tails
spicy fish rub (or Jamaican jerk seasoning)
1 lime
¼ cup anise liquor or Sambuca
2 tablespoons anise or fennel seed, or fresh tarragon
¼ cup basil pesto
1. Divide shrimp into three bowls. Marinade one bowl in lime juice and spicy fish rub. A second with Sambuca and anise or fennel seed, or tarragon. A third with basil pesto. Let shrimp sit for an hour.
2. Skewer shrimp, keeping like flavors together. Grill for 2 minutes per side.
3. Take shrimp off skewers, douse with the respective marinades, and fan out on warm plates.
For pancakes:
2 medium zucchini grated
1 package Jiffy corn bread mix
1 egg
1/3 cup milk
1 tablespoon butter
Mix cornbread mix per directions and add grated zucchini. Fry batter in butter making small 3-inch pancakes, and serve warm with the shrimp. Serve with Mad Housewife Chardonnay.
I am just leaving my first long trip to Florida and this is the perfect way to take some Florida home with me. I worry that I won't be able to find good shrimp in the Midwest, but I love your recipe ideas! Your writing is exquisite.
Thanks.
Posted by: Kristi | March 03, 2010 at 05:46 AM