Seen from a distance, the scene can be bleak: the rust-covered pickup truck pokes its nose out from between the dunes. The awning of the camper is barely standing, a multitude of plastic containers try to be a vegetable garden and a campfire does its job. However, seen from close up, and through an optimistic prism, this little shack that could be considered picturesque is, for me, a dream. It is my little house on wheels, my refuge, my garden, a place where I can cook without being within four walls, without hearing the thunderous roar of an extractor hood. Listening to the sea, camping barefoot, rolling around in the sand… it is my freedom. Seeing the cilantro grow a millimetre a day gives me indescribable happiness, watching the sun dip into the Pacific surprises me every evening, but what I am most excited about is going to my secret cave for a handful of barnacles. I have never let myself be carried away by greed because I know that it is my only guaranteed source of protein.
One day, on my way back from the cave, my face disfigured with happiness, I met our only camping neighbors, who had not been able (or dared) to visit our run-down little ranch. Before even introducing myself, I proudly showed them my prized catch, shaking my bucket, grabbed a handful and took it out so they could see it more closely. They took a step back and their faces oscillated between smiles, stupor, disgust and sorrow (in that exact order). They could not understand how that unidentified and uninviting-looking marine product could generate so much happiness in a human being. They were confused by this extravagant feast. They said they looked like dinosaur fingers and I told them that dinosaur fingers were delicious. Days later, when we had more confidence, they confessed to me openly: “We were worried, we thought you were hungry.” On the next expedition to the cave I made sure to snatch an extra handful for the locals and it was then that they understood that not only were we not starving, but that we were eating better than they were. That’s how prejudices are with food.
My stash of barnacles was not close by. I had to walk more than six kilometres to get there. On my way back and forth I always heard the voice of my best friend (a great Asturian cook) saying: “Sea water, water boil barnacles, add, water boil, barnacles take out.” A simple and perfect recipe. A mantra. But sometimes I wondered why I had never eaten barnacles in any other way.
Two years later and for the first time I have ventured into this recipe which I promise you is a delight. With homemade mayonnaise it is surely unbeatable, but in the kitchen of a shipwreck, what there is is the best. Welcome “gazpachuelo de percebes”.
#Barnacle #Gazpachuelo #Recipe
