Mussels…Part II
Earlier, a posting on the subject of the mussel queried why this delicious shellfish appeared to be relegated to “second class” status in Chile, at least on the more fashionable home dining tables and restaurants in that country, and virtually ignored in writings of Chile’s leading poet, Pablo Neruda. That posting elicited some interesting comments from readers, an objection (correction) to my use of a specific scientific term, and some additional opinion about the perceived status of the mussel, all of which broadens and deepens our understanding of this tightly enclosed mollusk.First, the correction: I referred to the barnacles attaching to the shell of the mussel as a “parasitic” relationship. While barnacles do in fact in certain circumstances become parasitic to themselves and other organisms, that apparently is never the case when they attach to mussels. So, while barnacles as they grow may weigh down the mussel to which they are attached, and surely make them outwardly ugly and less appetizing to the eager consumer, they do no real harm to the mussel. In this case they are not parasites, just fellow travelers.
My wife, Ximena, after I posted “What’s Wrong with Mussels, Neruda?” reminded me that just before departing Chile this year in April, as we brought to a close our annual three-month adventure in Chile, we lunched at a new upscale restaurant in Santiago named Coquinaria, and they served a delicious sauté of mussels. I would order this meal again and again as long as they continue to prepare them a well as they did the day we ate there. I had stated I did not know of a good restaurant that featured or consistently offered mussels, but the Coquinaria is definitely one to be noted.
Also, I received a tentative endorsement from a respected commentator on Chilean food (Blog: Eating Chilean) of my suggestion that Chileans clearly discriminate against mussels when it comes to serving them at their best home table, for guests. Citing his Chilean wife’s reference to the mussel as “too common” (“muy ordinario”) to be served to important guests at an evening meal at home, he pretty much confirms the lowly status of mussels in formal Chilean dining.
And one of the readers of my blog, clearly one of the more intellectual readers, in an attempt to get Neruda off the hook, suggested that maybe Neruda was really a “closet mussel lover”, inclined to keep this as his little secret. She suggested that having exposed in his poetry so much about so many other things, he felt the need to keep private at least one personal craving: A love of mussels!! Well, I suppose that is possible, but I am not so quick to give Neruda a pass, especially since in the interim I found another famous Chilean writer who shows absolutely no qualms about extolling the virtues of the mussel: Isabel Allende.
As you might suspect, Allende gives away her feelings about the mussel in her typical clear and categorical way, in her tasty book “Aphrodite”. Specified as a memoir of the senses, or “erotic meanderings” (in her own words), this collection of writings about food and love includes, early on, reference to the key role mussels play as the final ingredient to be added in the preparation of “Panchita’s Curanto en Olla”. Panchita is Allende’s mother, and a “Curanto en Olla” is a kitchen-prepared version of the traditional mixture of seafood, pork, potatoes, and chicken, steamed in a hole in the ground layered on a bed of hot rocks and covered with wet seaweed. Similar in many ways to the traditional clambake in the USA, this concoction, “Curanto”, originates on the Island of Chiloe, and is served there and in several seafood restaurants in Puerto Montt and better yet in the neighboring seaside village of Pelluco. When you don’t have a hole in the ground filled with hot rocks, you can cook the whole thing in a large pot (hence, “Olla”), in the home.
Allende’s next reference to mussels again ignites my dismay that Neruda made no similar connection, when she states while describing the mussel, “In shape they recall female genitals; in Italy they are called cozza, one of several names for a very ugly woman.” Knowing Neruda, you have to wonder how he missed this.
Allende details several recipes in “Aphrodite” she claims are actually Panchita’s, that rely heavily on mussels: Mussels in marinara sauce, mussel chowder (“caldillo”), and as an important ingredient in fish soup and paella. Her recipe for seafood in cocktail sauce again emphasizes her view that “Mussels are visually very good…..appetizing, and easy to make”. But then, she adds to our suspicions about the status of mussels: “In Chile they are thought of as the oyster of the poor.” So again, there seems to be something “classist” about the treatment of mussels in Chile. They seem to be so similar to oysters in taste, but different in the way they are perceived. Is this based only on appearance? Or maybe they are so much cheaper than oysters that they have less appeal?
My interest in mussels is now even greater than before. My early disappointment with Neruda’s indifference has been counterbalanced by Allende’s more extensive attention to the virtues of mussels. There is much more we need to know about the Chilean mussel, its role in history and gastronomical potential in future diets in Chile and internationally. My search for important information about the Chilean mussel probably has been too narrowly focused up to now. Recently, while reading the Ancient Forest International book on “Chile’s Native Forests”, by Ken Wilcox, my interest was piqued by a reference to “...the Chonos people, a nomadic canoe culture of the northern fiords of Chilean Patagonia who greeted with compassion the plunderer of the new World. Their culture of dalcas, sealskins, fire, MUSSELS (emphasis mine), mushrooms, huts, harpoons, and the telling of tales around remote hot springs is lost forever.”
The Chonos were early shell gatherers in southeast Chiloe, who became culturally extinct by the late 18th century. Evidence of their customs and living habits are found in kitchen middens near Quellon at the southernmost end of the Pan-American Highway, in the Huildad Fjord, Yaldad Fjord and Compu sites. Maybe if we knew more about the Chonos, their culture, and their relationship with mussels we would understand better how mussels are perceived in modern Chile, and why.
So, I conclude this with the same proposition with which consultants like I often conclude our reports: We need more information! We will do more research on mussels, and the people who harvest, prepare, and eat them. To do so we must spend more time in Santiago’s restaurants, Chilean dining rooms, coastal fishing villages, seafood “picadas” throughout the country, and now, it would seem, southern Chiloe where the Chonos lived. I have just become aware, as I delve into the topic of the Chonos, of a new Chilean winery marketing under the name “Chono”. Based in Isla de Maipo, near Santiago, it is producing reportedly excellent Carmenere, Cabernet Sauvignon, and lately Syrah wine. We must research this discovery also. Maybe they make a wine that pairs especially well with a plate of Panchita’s “curanto en olla”.
I’ll need some ad honorem research assistants.
Written in McLean, Virginia, on July 17, 2010
