The first was a sea urchin, a faceless, echinodermatic training ground for animal two. Don't worry, it wasn't a monkey (never eat primate, or you'll get spongiform encephalopathy, aka Mad Cow). It was a shrimp. An ugly, dumb crustacean closer, as Alton Brown often insists, to a cockroach than to us. In a way, though part of it was alive, the part I was eating was thoroughly, thoroughly dead. And yet, I turned in shame from its glossy eyes, its fighting maw, and the premature end to its armored head as I bit into its severed tail.
Quality Seafood
QualitySeafood.net
130 Internatl Boardwalk
Redondo Beach, CA 90277
(310) 374-2383
Quality Seafood is barely visible from the parking lot, an unimpressive lettering job at the end of a long boardwalk of tchotchke shops and bars. As we got closer, as we saw the men in waterproof overalls and the rows of water tanks, I knew we had followed our bad Google directions to the right place. First are the rows of crab and lobster, not just dungeness but spiny and spider. Next are the oysters, maybe 18 types, largely local, and the rows of steamers, clams and mussels. There's the bar for the beer and butter (all but the most minimalist sauces are 50cents-$1), then the area for platters: display cases of fried food and crates of ice and the newly dead. A friendly counterperson helped us choose a whole tilapia for $10, cleaned, mostly, fried up and served with three sides. We went back to the live stuff and from a less friendly but no less helpful counterperson, got 12 oysters, a pound of savory clams and green mussels pressure-cooker steamed in wine sauce, and, of course, a whole live sea urchin.
The first sea urchin he dropped, sparing its life and saving it for a later day's suffering. Ours was a sprightly fellow, all healthy, long, roving spines. He bashed in its oral surface with a serving spoon, pulled out long dark purple insides with his bare fingers, rinsed it quickly with water and plopped it on a styrofoam plate. I really didn't expect it to still be moving. But it was. And after my sister carried it to our table, I really thought it would stop when she removed its first orange ovary. Not yet. I decided I'd wait until it died. Out of respect. But after five minutes I couldn't stand its suffering, and begged my sister to put it out of its misery. She removed the rest of its ovaries and pushed around its insides a bit. She's going to be a doctor. And it kept moving. So, allowing my morals to become secondary to hunger, I took a bite. The sea urchin was sweet and creamy, only salty because of the milky fluid sloshing around in the funk. It was a completely separate thing from uni sushi, which often tastes like river water and is slightly tougher and more orange than this delicate tongue of flesh. It was delicious.
The tilapia was crispy and lightly salted, though the remaining deep fried scales curled into creepy spikes around the tail and fins. The oysters were cleanly shucked, though not a gourmet experience served on a styrofoam tray with packets of Tapatio and lemons. The only disappointment was the steamer plate. Though the savory clams were surprisingly different, flavorful and tender, the sauce was not especially flavorful, and pulling the beards from the green mussels was unpleasant. One bonus was the miniscule crab I found inside one of the clams, each orange appendage jutting up through the clam's membrane. Creepy.
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