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Chicano Confidential
Towards an Existential Meaning of Mariscos Mejicanos
By Sonny Boy Arias
All photographs by Sonny Boy
All photographs by Sonny Boy
Pescado Dos: No, ese, why?
Pescado Uno: Because they have an innate drive to do so, just like condors when they look at whales or humans to see if they are ready to eat. Humans sense something that few people know that is that it takes three days for us to truly die. That’s why they look into our eyes as we lie on ice in the Pescaderia; ice is water and helps to keep us alive.
Pescado Dos: I was talking to the clams and they said that every week a mother and her six year-old son come and buy up five pounds because the kid eats three pounds of clams in one sitting; hijole, and he is not gordito. She says he loves clams so much he finishes his plate and then stands on the table to search for more in the hoya. The cholito is now diving into oysters. Can you imagine that, a six year-old kid with an appetite for clams and oysters? What’s next?
Pescado Uno: Wow, dude! Hey, bato, I just heard a really scary story from the crabs. They said a man buys 10 pounds of live crabs for his two sons who in turn place them in tin cans and then drop cherry bombs inside and proceed to sit on the cans when they explode; that’s really messed up, man. They do this because the explosion helps separate the crab meat from the bone. Pobre crabs.
Pescado Dos: The chinos come by every Sunday to buy Chilean Sea Bass. They come in with their little pots of arroz de vapor and they eat the whole damn fish and leave only the whole damn skeleton. Hey, I saw a guy walk by with a bowl of fish caldo; man, it looked really good, with a pile of cilantro on top, it made me hungry.
Pescado Uno: What do you mean a bowl of fish made you hungry? Don’t talk like that about your family and cousins, bato, cuz you never know when we have to group together, form a school, and defend ourselves from bigger fish.
Pescado Dos: Don’t get your chones in a bunch, dude, I get it. It’s one thing to shame family in public, but again it’s not cool to eat them; that’s simply not acceptable.
Just as human beings socially construct their realities in daily life so, too, do fish and other animals. Cannibalism and the mere presence of dead species of similar type is dreadful; it’s a basic principle agreed upon tacitly in the animal kingdom.
Just the other day I was about to enter my favorite fish house, “7 Mares,” and the owner Manuel was using pinzas (tweezers) to pick crisp blackened dead ants from all sides of his homemade backyard smoker barbeque pit, the same one we used to barbecue cabrito (baby goat) every Friday when the boys got together to put down some Modelos near the main entrance of the King Ranch. I didn’t think much about what he was doing at the time until I started watching Manuel rebuild the fire with mesquite wood. Manuel used his oyster shucking knife to cut open bags of mesquite charcoal he bought from our friend, Paco. Curiously enough, the mesquite wood was always covered in ants so when he lit up the barbecue he would char dozens of ants. He gathered the blackened dead ants and formed a ring around the bags of mesquite as a technique for thwarting more ants.
Paco’s business became so popular he started growing mesquite trees in people’s yards in South Texas. I had 16 mesquite trees he planted in my yard in Kingsville before I bought the house. Once halfway through a level 5 hurricane, Paco came by my house to salvage eight of the mesquite trees that had fallen over. I thought, man, this guy is on the ball; it’s no wonder he drives around in a $79,000 King Ranch edition pick-up truck. As it turns out Paco had planted the 16 mesquite trees in my yard many years ago and half of them were gene splice–made to grow faster. Well, they grew faster all right, but they were also a weaker strain that couldn’t withstand the hurricane like the natural-born mesquite trees.
On another trip to 7 Mares, I noticed a trail of ants in-and-around the many bags of mesquite charcoal and I thought to myself I had an ant problem; I had fire ants, army ants, flying ants, cutter ants and with 16 mesquite trees, I had mesquite ants. I don’t know why but some ants are naturally attracted to mesquite wood. Suddenly something struck me and I had to ask myself, “How is it that Paco keeps the ants away from his mesquite charcoal bags if all the ants want to do is get into the bags?”
I mean mesquite ants are relentless and he wasn’t gathering charred dead ants like Manuel and making a giant circle of blackened ants around his warehouse to keep them out; I guess that would be absurd, but it might work. So working on a hunch I took some pieces of Paco’s mesquite charcoal to the Chemistry Department at Texas A&M University-Kingsville and had the composition of the charcoal checked out by their new mass spectrometer; you see, it can measure the masses and relative concentrations of atoms and molecules in the mesquite wood.
Subconsciously, I was thinking about the dozens of charred ants Manuel was saving in a box and I thought about the mass spectrometer because it is used for carbon dating and for detecting traces of contaminants and/or toxins. And sure enough, the mass spectrometer detected traces of pesticide in the mesquite wood; this is why the mesquite ants were staying away. Problem is, the bags Paco used to pack his mesquite wood all said “100% natural.”
I thought, “We live in a very politically correct world and if the environmentalists and the ‘health police’ put two and two together, Paco will most likely get sued.” Simply stated, “los consumidores quieren saber más acerca de los mesquite que compran.”
When I brought this to Paco’s attention I could see that he was genuinely at awe. I could see it in his face; he came to the realization that his charcoal was not in fact “100% Natural” as advertised. A discussion about the legalities of the situation ensued; his mesquite wood was emitting toxic gases into any and all food barbecued and this fact, once realized by the State’s food and drug administration authorities, could put him out of business. Now every time I see mesquite wood in a bag I look to see if it says “100% Natural” like this one from Sonora Charcoal.
Interesting to note is that the super-hot plasma created by barbecuing oysters, mussels and clams actually generates a low level of electricity in a process known as magneto-hydrodynamics – this is not unusual as your average human generates around 4 ohms of electricity just being alive. My theory is that it’s the plasma that impacts the human brain in such a positive manner that it acts as a natural stimulate; that’s why people recommend eating oysters in order to increase one’s sex drive. Hijole! Imagine powering up your electric chain-saw to cut down mesquite trees with electricity generated by hot plasma from a bunch of shell fish?
Now when you add salsa de molcajete you ramp-up the impact of the plasma—this is why Chicanos created the oyster shooter with tequila; retomo la cuestión de las biotoxinas marinas en los mariscos. Just kidding, that would take another page or two. I try not to think about the toxins (like mercury) found in fish. I think people choose their poison and devise self-justifying rationales for eating what they do.
For example, if you understood where steak really came from and how certain growth enzymes are passed to humans you probably would choose never to eat steak again, I haven’t had a steak in over 40 years; three years ago I tried, but I gagged. I eat fish, lots and lots of fish fully realizing that it, too, has toxins and enzymes from things it absorbs in the ocean, even enzymes derived from the cancer causing B-enzyme used to make plastic. Fish are my poison of choice! I call this my existential dread.
Even in absolute isolation I would come up with a self-justifying rationale for eating fish, maybe it’s because I relate more to fish than to cows. Psychologically speaking, I smother the idea of toxins found in fish withsalsa de molcajete roja/verde. But again I can’t just smother a steak in the same way as I can’t completely isolate the steak from where it emanated – a cow eating man-made enzymes created by the Monsanto Corporation, yuk! I can be alone with fish, just like when I scuba dive, I talk to and listen to fish: for nearly two decades I trained a fish, giving it verbal orders, but I just can’t be alone with a senseless cow. There is a nothingness to cows and other animals that don’t have a self (social psychologically speaking).
I think fish have a self, much like dogs; they are self-aware; elephants and cows on the other hand don’t have a self. I would argue that a shark has a self (an awareness of its being). It’s very subtle, however, that’s how it has been able to be around in the same form for millions of years. In the evolution of living things, god passed on a piece of his self to selected plants and animals in a living spirit, and in so doing he made marijuana to enlighten our minds just as he made jalapeños and oysters to kickstart our enzymes. For these consumption principles approach the lives of Mejicanos directly and get at the meaning of a good life, human condition and existence. Said differently, eat chiles! Don’t fill yourself with the emptiness of the nought–the nought in this case being meat.
What Mejicanos have come to know is that chiles are literally a stimulant to living life. Eating meat is what Kierkegaard would refer to as “sickness unto death,” a slow suicidal choice, slow, yet suicidal nonetheless. There is, I would argue, a direct relationship between existence, identity, salsa, god and eating fish. To borrow from the logic of Descartes, “I eat fish therefore I am.” How else can I put it except maybe to add, “I eat fish smothered in salsa de molcajete made with much amor by my esposa.”
It’s the way Mejicanos eat fish that is so theologically telling; it is part of our culture to link hot food to our human condition and by linking existentialist concepts, we can avoid becoming a confused or disturbed person in society because of this way of thinking. In other words, even when chiles become too hot we eat more….I did and didn’t mean to get all philosophical on you, but this is the whole point.
When I lived in South Texas near the Gulf of Mexico, I loved to gather un-shucked oysters and grill them with compound butter barbecued on a grate with mesquite wood–como los ostricultores y criadores de mariscos. I would put on my wetsuit and dive in and gather as much as I wanted not thinking about medidas para compensar la sustitución de las poblaciones de mariscos. Now I live in Northern Califas and I gather un-shucked oysters from Tomales Bay just north of San Francisco. Of course if I don’t want to spend the time gathering oysters I simply go to Hog Island Bay Oysters and take my bottle of Tabasco, homemade tortillas and salsa.
Every barbecue I went to in Tejas people used mesquite charcoal. I have to admit I became somewhat addicted to the savory outcomes of these barbecues. One thing I could never figure out is how the camp cooks at the King Ranch could get the beans (frijoles borrachos) and the camp bread (pan de campo) to capture the savory mesquite wood taste, I mean they didn’t add mesquite to the inside of the pots or trays; they simply cooked with it from the outside and the smoke would sneak in, ummmmm!
In the time I lived in South Texas I saw a change in the dietary habits of people as they began to shy away from meat. Here we were in the middle of the King Ranch, the largest supplier of beef (Santa Gertrudis cows) to the McDonald’s Corporation and with the exception of eating fish, people were turning into vegetarians. Now that I think about it, it makes sense because we were so close to a large body of water in Baffin Bay as well as the Gulf of Mexico.
My neighbor was a vegetarian and every Saturday he would make it a point to come over and try to recruit us to the 7th Day Adventist Church by barbecuing scallops. I have to admit they were the best scallops I had ever tasted; problem is they weren’t really scallops: they were portions of soy dipped in scallop oil. Well coming to this realization didn’t disappoint me and it did get me to think about the people of the 7th Day Adventist Church as a little more crafty then I had given them credit for; besides, Manuel was serving up and passing shark plugs dipped in scallop oil as scallops at 7 Mares and people loved them. Que viva el Tiburon!
Do you live to eat or do you eat to live? Man, when it comes to mariscos estilo Mejicano I don’t care I just love all things fish. My grandfather Tata Ritchie use to make cazuela de mariscos siete mares about once per week in his makeshift kitchen in the garage and add fish heads, too. He didn’t make other types of fish soups like clam chowder, must not be a Mexican thing. [Back east in Washington, D.C., the best clam chowder in the world is served up at The Willard Hotel; check it out, and be sure to add Tabasco.] Tata Ritchie and I would wonder about the yard collecting nopales in order for him to cook up with camarones. Tata Ritchie would
He set up a man cave with picnic tables and a bright yellow canary he would prompt to sing once the food was ready. All of the cups, plates and utensils were stamped with U.S. Navy emblems because he bought them at the Goodwill store. He would take the remains of the fish and bury them under each of his Yucateco trees. He said that was the secret to growing beautiful trees. Most of the time he added a lot of fresh-cut green jalapenos, red cayenne peppers, and red tabasco peppers; I was raised eating mariscos.
Tata Ritchie taught me how to catch crabs with a string and safety pin on the rocks at the Silver Strand. Tata Ritchie would say, “De momento los mariscos–y los huevos no faltaban en las rocas y en la playa.” He also taught me how to spear fish in Glorietta Bay on the west side of Chicano Park. It is a little known fact but along the edge of Chicano Park in the sea grass of the deep water bay are scallops galore; it is the perfect growing environment: there are snails, algae, worms and scallops. Scientists attribute the clean-up of the bay near Chicano Park to the scallops because it used to be a dump site for gas and oil trucks.
I never developed a need for pole-fishing, but I did grow up near the ocean and never met anyone else that could spear fish. As a child we frequented Pepe’s Chinese Restaurant in Tijuana every Friday night after getting haircuts and losing money at the dog races at Caliente Race Track. Pepe always had specials on shark fin soup and turtle soup; of course, back in the day it was legal so I developed a taste. Pepe use to kid my father and try to get him to buy Olive Ridley turtle eggs from Nayarit, stating they have a Viagra-like effect.
My father would always order an abalone steak and smother it with salsa de molcajete roja; there really wasn’t anything like it on earth with the exception of maybe calamari steak. By the way, everything in the ocean eats calamari. In my late teens, I became a scuba diver and would spearfish, mostly whiting, scallops (tesoros del mar), and bonita and bring them back to my grandfather’s makeshift kitchen. He would always smile in a big way, thanking me with a shit-eating grin.
Sonny Boy Arias is a stone-cold, very self-aware Chicano and a dedicated contributor to Somos en escrito via his column, Chicano Confidential. Copyright © Arts and Sciences World Press, 2017.