Spiky sea urchins may be a bather’s bane, but their freshly gathered roe tops my list of favorite foods.
Urchin roe tastes unmistakably of the sea and has a unique sweetness that can’t be duplicated or satisfactorily described in words. If you love seafood and have access to fresh sea urchins, put aside any trepidation about their prickly spines and jump at the opportunity to enjoy their wonderful flavor.
On the island, urchins are best gathered in February, March, and April. In these months, the sea is cold by Aegean standards and the coral urchin roe, the edible part adhering to the inside of their domed shell, is plump and ripe. Urchin roe is especially prized as a superb and permissible treat during the long Lenten fast.
We’ve enjoyed several springs on the island, but we’re usually here at summer’s end. The days are still hot, gardens are abundant, and the sea is warm. We wait with the parched land for the change of seasons and the fall rains. It’s not prime sea urchin time, so it takes three times as many to make a satisfactory serving. No matter, we still gather enough urchins to remind our taste buds of their exquisite flavor.
Last night the winds were calm, the moon was full, and cousins Giorgos and Tzani invited us on a nighttime urchin expedition.
Our destination was a small church overlooking the sea. On arrival, the men changed into wading gear. Armed with a “louks” (λουξ - a bright kerosene lantern), and “kalamis” (καλάμι – a long bamboo pole split on the end and spread to form two springy fingers that can be pressed over the sea urchins’ spines to pluck them from the water), they entered the sea.
Tzani and I spread out a picnic dinner on the church veranda: perfectly ripe cherry tomatoes, slices of homemade cheese, olives, anchovies, fried peppers, fresh bread, homemade wine, and ouzo. Tzani confided she’d brought extra food in case the men had no luck. We chatted in the moonlight, catching up on the year’s happenings.
We watched the bright lantern light slowly move in the shallows along the rocky fingers that reach out to sea from the church. Men’s voices and snippets of conversation rolled over the water, “be careful, a ledge here…”, ”it's slippery there...”, “that’s a big one…”, “bah, that one’s no good…”, “Wait… Wait… don’t move! An octopus… its legal! Got it.” “Bravo Kapetanio!”
After an hour or so, the men were back, puffed with pride and their catch: two tubs full of urchins, two octopus (about which I will write later), and an incidental cuttlefish. The extra food that Tzani tucked into the picnic bags wasn’t needed last night; the men had been lucky and there were plenty of sea urchins to open.
On the still warm night, under a full moon, with a sky full of twinkling stars and lights from distant jets ferrying strangers across the world, we set upon a meal superior to any served at the finest four-star restaurants.
Opening Sea Urchins - Step 1
Opening Sea Urchins - Step 2
Opening Sea Urchins - Step 3 (Sping-gathered Urchin)
There are several ways to open urchins. The simplest is to plunge one tine of a dinner fork through the shell near the urchin’s mouth and work the fork around in a circle, like an army-issue can-opener. When the circle is complete, the entire bottom falls away.
The urchin’s insides, mostly partially digested seaweed, are usually shaken-out and discarded, though some like to sip the liquid inside the shell. Any remaining membranes are carefully teased away with the back of the fork.
Some people prefer to use an old knife or specially designed urchin-opening scissors to get to the roe, but a simple fork works just fine. If, like me, you have soft hands and don’t want to risk being impaled by urchin spines, wear a sturdy glove on the hand holding the urchin.
Most islanders drizzle opened urchins with few drops of olive oil and a squeeze of lemon or dash of vinegar. Then, with the spiny delight upturned in one hand, they take a square of freshly cut bread in the other and in one swift swirling motion mop up all the savory goodness and pop it into their mouth. I prefer sea urchin roe plain, so lift out each little tongue of colorful roe with a teaspoon, the better to enjoy sea urchins’ unadulterated flavor.
In Greek seafood tavernas, one can sometimes order fresh sea urchin salad (Αχινοσαλάτα), a plate of sea urchin roe dressed with a dash of oil and unobtrusive squeeze of lemon. If you close your eyes when you place a bite of sea urchin salad on your tongue, you can spirit yourself to the veranda of a tiny countryside church, with moonlight sparkling off dark waters, and savor one of the world’s most delicate and complex flavors.
Sea Urchin Salad (Αχινοσαλάτα) at Logia tis Ploris seafood taverna in Athens
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