In which I fall for the hard sell

I try to rein in my biases, keep an open mind. It’s not always easy. Some fish are downright ugly, slimy, or strange. Not to mention dirty. I mean, just look at those shells, encrusted with rock, sand, weeds, and whatnot. It took an impassioned appeal from my suki to make me glance their way. “I know they look straight out of a horror movie,” she said, “but I assure you they’re good.”

“Char.”

“Sige na, ser; I wanna go home.”

To be completely honest, it was that last part that clinched the deal. It was getting dark fast, after all, and those snails (that’s what they turned out to be) only cost ₱50. Taktakon, she called them. Dolphin shells.

Back home, I quizzed the help if she knew what they were. “Of course,” she said. “Those there are taktakon, these others gubâ-gubâ, and this one here is a stray amongpong.”

“You mean they’re mixed?”

“Of course.”

Of course. I poured the lot into a basin, added some water, covered it with another basin, and shook the hell out of those shells. Or at least the dirt. It took a while and several changes of water; there was so much grit and bits of rock I was afraid of clogging the sink. Once those shells were (relatively) clean, I put them in a pot of salted water and boiled. Then I took a taktakon and tapped it against the sink. It didn’t slide right out like my suki promised it would (taktak means “to shake [something] out of). I boiled the snails for another three minutes.

I shouldn’t have. Deciding on a different tack, I took another dolphin shell, gave it a single forceful downward jerk, like I was flicking snot off my hand. Whoa! The meat flew right out of its casing! A-mazing! Sadly, it had been overcooked. Same with the gubâ-gubâ, (rock or murex snails), which I had to pry out with a safety pin. Still they were good stir-fried with spices and oyster sauce, I almost forgave my suki. Or hadn’t I already? Really, I can be such a patsy.