Category Archives: Fish, flesh, and fowl

Gloomy Shrimp Post

Mark Bittman linked this article by Jim Carrier on the global shrimp industry. It’s compact and thorough, and it doesn’t give much quarter to any period in shrimp history after about 1910. The 20th-century ocean fisheries delivered better shrimp than the farms, but they weren’t a hell of a lot more sustainable.

The story of the globalized shrimp industry, though, gets into a whole other kind of ugly. The last few paragraphs are shocking:

Shrimp: The Truth | Orion Magazine

TODAY, IF YOU LIVE more than a hundred miles from the Gulf Coast, the shrimp you eat most likely come from a foreign farm. You can tour these farms while standing at your supermarket seafood freezer and reading labels. The top ten importing countries are Thailand, Indonesia, Ecuador, China, Vietnam, Malaysia, Mexico, India, Bangladesh, and Guyana. The wholesale value of their shrimp is $4 billion a year.

Despite that income, citizens in the developing world have protested shrimp farms—and been killed for doing so. The Blues of a Revolution, a book published in 2003 by a consortium of environmental and indigenous groups, described Honduran shrimp farms ringed by barbed wire and watchtowers and armed guards. Between 1992 and 1998, in the Bay of Fonseca near large shrimp farms, “11 fishermen have been found dead by shooting or by machete injuries . . . no one has been brought to justice.”

One story from the book I cannot shake involved Korunamoyee Sardar, a Bangladeshi woman who, on November 7, 1990, joined a protest against a new shrimp farm near Harin Khola. She was shot in the head, cut into pieces, and thrown into a Bangladesh river. A monument stands where she was murdered. It reads: “Life is struggle, struggle is life.”

Red Lobster, which buys 5 percent of the world’s shrimp, is Bangladesh’s biggest U.S. customer. The restaurant did not respond to repeated requests for an interview.

via Shrimp: The Truth | Orion Magazine.

TOS gently

After assiduously combing the extensive Terms of Service at Serious Eats for a minute, I have reached the legal determination that it’s OK to re-post my comment here.

This was in one of their frequent “post a comment, win a cookbook” threads (Cook the Book). The prompt was to write about a favorite childhood food memory. The theme was inspired by, and inspired, sentimental collections of whatever the hell it was that you ate as a child that was so awesome, and you never have it any more, e.g. Wonder Bread French toast with cream in the batter and grape jelly on top.

I wrote this:

I was seven the first time I had the chance to travel outside North America. My dad was Israeli, and my mom’s family was English, so we took a family trip to Israel and England. This was in 1970, just 3 years after the 6-day war had given Israel control of the eastern half of Jerusalem, including the Old City.

I liked what I knew as “Israeli” food OK. I liked English food better. (Hey, I was seven! Double cream!) I liked pastrami sandwiches and bagels and lox. But the revelation of my first trip abroad came when we went to a sit-down restaurant in the Arab quarter.

I was not a “kid’s food” kid. Whenever we traveled, I always ordered the most exciting, novel-sounding thing on the menu, and my parents always let me. (This included the time when I got food poisoning at age 10 after being permitted to order steak tartare in a restaurant in France.) So I asked for the pigeon.

I didn’t expect anything more out of it than novelty and bragging rights. But I thought that roasted pigeon was one of the most delicious, savory, tender things I’d ever tasted.

I still love pigeon, but fresh pigeon is hard to get in the US. I live in New York, where you almost might as well ask for rat. It’s sometimes sold frozen, e.g. at Dean and Deluca, as “squab.” It’s easiest to find in Chinatown, but in my experience is not always cleaned in Chinese groceries. But in some Mediterranean countries you see dovecotes everywhere.

I’m sure that pigeon (that pigeon) was one of the freshest, least intensively farmed servings of poultry I’ve ever eaten. I don’t want to get all wistful about a bygone Palestinian food culture that I know nothing about–for instance, whether it’s actually bygone. All I know is, I really liked that pigeon.

Dovecoat
Dovecote in Greece, by Imira at Flickr
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