Peeling Prawns

Every once and a while, an event occurs in the kitchen which seems to capture the attention of the whole staff. Perhaps the quiet silence is broken by the offensive clatter of falling hotel pans – this is often when Brian the butcher flies out of the back room with too much in his hands. Perhaps the pastry chef drops off a pot of fresh chocolate trimmings at the dish sink! Perhaps Ross has brought a special guest (maybe even a celebrity!) behind the scenes. Plausible scenarios are plenteous.

Today’s event occurred around the mind-numbing task of peeling prawns. I have written before about the massive nature of a “prawn delivery.” They only seem to arrive 4...5…sometimes 6 crates at a time! When the big bins filled with squirming plastic blue bags arrive there is a collective eyebrow raising and no one makes eye-contact with the sous chef for about 10 to 15 minutes. (Somehow they have all been duped into thinking this is the strategy for escaping prawn duty.) I, however, have no hope! “Prawn peeler” may as well be listed in my formal job description here and it will certainly hold some place of subtle prestige in my future resume.

So at about 4:30 PM I set my hands to the ruthless task of ripping heads and pinching claws off the crisp pink tails, still flexing with life.

Each blue bag hosts about four Kilograms of piled prawns. Distinguishing prawn heads from prawn tails from an entirely non-prawn species of crustacean is virtually impossible until you start picking your way through the pile. My first discovery was a small starfish…”Ha!” I thought. “Poor little guy -- definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Not a minute later I flung a live baby crab into a nearby plastic bin and marveled as the little blue fellow started scurrying around. As the moments wore on, I began accumulating quite the aquarium of miniature bay-bottom friends … five starfish, two baby lemon sole, two baby haddock, a few baby crustacean too small to kill, three crabs, some green prawn roe and one long, skinny mystery fish with googley eyes and tiny grey teeth. I decided he was a baby eel.

Peeling in the back, I began debating whether or not to show off my new collection of sea creatures to the other lads. My debate was cut short when Hugo, our French pastry chef, shot into the back room to grab a sheet of parchment. “What you have here? These have soft shells, no?” And grabbing one of the baby crabs, he began waving his hands proclaiming, “You know these crabs? You eat the shell … so f*cking lovely!”* A few moments later a small group arrived, anxious to blend sauces, shop shallots and finish a variety of small tasks for service. I held out my tray of sea friends proudly and offered them the dinner special – Seafood Pupu Platter. Josh peered into my bin, exclaimed, “Deadly!” and came running back with his mobile phone camera moments later. Sous chef Peter was a bit more subdued, “Yeh, you’d have yourself a nice little meal there … in about three years time.” Mark lined up the crabs and tried to get them racing and Aaron suggested we call Mourne Seafood and see if they wanted to charge us for the “extras.”

All throughout the evening members of the staff popped their heads in to view my aquarium, making the mundane a definite memory.

*For the record, these were not soft shell crabs, but I agree, those are quite lovely.