Cadiz’s Men of Salt
Driving south from my home base in Jerez, I naturally like to put some flamenco on the radio. Flamenco is that uniquely Spanish art form where, encapsulated within the syncopated rhythms, electrifying guitar, lyrics, melismatic wails and cries, is the history of Andalusia itself: Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Jews, Muslims and Gypsies, who all contributed their mark to that musical cazuela that is today Spain’s greatest musical asset. And I have that spicy mélange of flavours in my ears and on my mind today, en route to visit the Esteros just outside Cádiz, which to my surprise is a cultural phenomenon handed down through the centuries by the same people.
Cádiz the city is colloquially referred to as la tacita de plata, “the little silver cup”, a reference perhaps to its stately and regal appearance set on the Atlantic, or the vast wealth of silver and gold that flowed through here for well over a century when Spain was at its colonial power peak. But just beyond the isthmus are the tidal marshes which no one would ever deign to refer to lovingly, being scrubby, seemingly empty patches of humid refuse, on a tidal plain not good for much of anything, or at least that is what I had always thought over the years I’ve spent living in the area, until meeting up with this gang of salt miners and bottom feeder fish farmers.
At first blush that probably sounds unappetizing, and I recall for years any reference I heard of pescado de estero was usually somewhat disparaging. “Fish from the salt pans”, like a cut above krab but below Chicken of the Sea Tuna. The extensive network of salt pans and water channels outside Cádiz yield local fish varieties which up until recently were considered unmarketable and therefore a throwaway food for peasants and foragers. But once you start delving further into the subject the story gets interesting.
The channels and salt pans in reference were first formed by the crafty Phoenicians some three thousand years ago, who recognized that the suffocating, dry Levante winds that blow regularly up from Africa in the intense summer heat were perfect conditions for evaporating sea water to yield salt, and the resulting prosperity from these precious salt pans grew, providing abundance up until the invention of refrigeration the past century when salt, a natural conservative, was no longer in demand and lost considerable value. The ebb and flow of tides of the Atlantic washing into these man made canals and pans brought the unbirthed bounties of the sea with them: fish eggs, crabs and other crustaceans, and tiny fish specimens swept into the pans. Later, since pre-Roman times, fishermen have plucked this harvest from the pans in the fall when they’ve reached maturity, in a unique fishing ritual called the despesque.
And that’s what I’m here to witness. Three Michelin-star titan and local hero Angel León years ago recognized the value of the healthy fat fish extracted from the despesques, confecting immensely creative dishes such as trompe de l’oeil charcuterie that looks like its pork counterparts, or rice cooked in plankton sauce. Leon is a revered figure in the Spanish fine dining scene today. But on this occasion I’m a few km away from his famed restaurant, in the company of a multi-generational mix of spirited young biologists out of university, along with some older family members who have lived near and off these Esteros. They’ve joined forces in the past year or so to provide a singular experience, showing how fish and shellfish are still cultivated from these pans, using the same techniques introduced by the Phoenicians.
We see the canal system, how they’ve created locks to control incoming tidal waters and channel them properly. We see how nets have been placed in strategic areas where the resourceful fishermen know the fish and crustaceans are lurking. Those nets are not to catch the fish, but to protect their future harvest from the plunging beaks of the cranes, avocets, spoonbills and herons that fly freely above this watery plantation and wade amongst the seaweed. We see the nasas, the ingenious circular fishing nets laid out as tubes designed to allow crustaceans to enter, only to find themselves get caught up and unable to back out; and we see how the larger nets are woven, set to catch Lisas and Doradas, local varieties of sea bass caught wild and loaded with healthy omega fats. We meet “er-Machaca”, a man whose face and crinkled eyes belie years of hardy living among the Esteros, who gathers what he refers to as salado, the scrubby growth along the canals which makes excellent firewood and whose salt laden leaves provide the seasoning to the grilled fish we’ve just seen removed from the salt pans, laid out on the ground on the embers of the fire, and then eaten with our bare hands from a terra-cotta tile… just like in the old days.
It’s a remarkable and delicious day out from Cádiz or Jerez delving into these ancient traditions that thankfully are finding a market among lovers of quirky “farm to table” foodie experiences.
Sebastian’s Spain trips are low-sodium but high in nutritious value. Get in touch, to start planning your travels, seasoned to taste.
