speedie wrote: Fri May 24, 2024 2:08 am I will eat the fuck out of raw oysters, raw fish, lobsters, mussels, Roe, caviar, et al, but man, I don't like either Uni or Eel.

A long, long time ago, almost 30 years, I ended up living on Corsica quite accidently, at a small marine biology research station from the University of Liege that had begun to double from May through September as a diving center with lodging and food in a sort of private partnership with some Parisian entreprenuer. During the tourist season, I ran around all day, picking up guests from the airport, scrubbing toliets and cleaning rooms, helping the cook prepare and serve meals, throwing new divers into the water from the pier for their "baptême", eventually getting thrust into the role of running the lodging part on my own when my mentor, the director's wife, had a nervous breakdown and left for Belgium. In the off-season, I worked on fixing up the place and repairing the long gravel access road after torrential-rain washouts with our old Algerian caretaker, Ahmed, learning his own unique pidgin, like becoming the second speaker of this fairly rudimentary language mash-up, while he scolded me for my driving, or not wearing a belt, and lectured me on the "five qualities of rock".

iembalm wrote: Fri May 24, 2024 10:48 am This is a Luca Guadagnino movie.

Gramsci wrote: Fri May 24, 2024 11:07 am I ate Sea Urchin Spaghetti in Malta... delicious

jimmy spako wrote: Fri May 24, 2024 7:10 am A long, long time ago, almost 30 years, I ended up living on Corsica quite accidently, at a small marine biology research station from the University of Liege that had begun to double from May through September as a diving center with lodging and food in a sort of private partnership with some Parisian entreprenuer. During the tourist season, I ran around all day, picking up guests from the airport, scrubbing toliets and cleaning rooms, helping the cook prepare and serve meals, throwing new divers into the water from the pier for their "baptême", eventually getting thrust into the role of running the lodging part on my own when my mentor, the director's wife, had a nervous breakdown and left for Belgium. In the off-season, I worked on fixing up the place and repairing the long gravel access road after torrential-rain washouts with our old Algerian caretaker, Ahmed, learning his own unique pidgin, like becoming the second speaker of this fairly rudimentary language mash-up, while he scolded me for my driving, or not wearing a belt, and lectured me on the "five qualities of rock".

Every once in a while, maybe it was a semi-annual Sunday tradition before and after the tourist season, at least that is how I remember it, a couple of us would go out on a dive and gather large bags of urchins, then come back and share them over white wine with the rest of the crew, a special indulgence.

This was not crap.

Like many things, I would probably feel very differently today and balk at harvesting these beings for what little they have to give, of ambiguous culinary value to boot. But as a ritual back then it was pretty special.