Mar. 5, 2021
Abalone consumption, conservation, and cultural history
Kien-k’ang • For at least four centuries, abalones were considered a good option for a gift to your host, especially around the new year.
Until 1884, when the abalone diving industry introduced diving suits, the mollusks commanded a serious premium—affordable only to the wealthy, who often ordered these from suppliers months or even years in advance for private consumption and gifting. Abalone were ideal gifts because they were valuable, useful, yet not imposing on the recipient: unlike a painting, an abalone does not need to be framed and displayed. Vulgarity was to be avoided at all costs, and the connotation of the abalone—a precious gem from the hostile depths of the sea—made it a sensually scarce object.
Abalone did not always live in the shallowest waters, and fatalities from asphyxiation were not unknown. Diving was a profession with no apparent gender boundaries, though men typically took care of the commercial aspect of the business.
Coasts rich in abalone changed hands infrequently, and many miles along the coast were held by the so-called “serjeanty”—suppliers who promised a certain number of catches to the royal court in exchange for the right to exploit the rest for profit. Some argue that the serjeanty had a primitive conservatory effect, since the serjeants (right-holders) had to ensure they did not overfish and render next year’s obligations impossible to discharge, which carried a hefty fine or loss of the right. Those in private hands were often guarded jealously, as was knowledge as to abalone’s habitat in a privately-operated fishery.
Receipts from 1854 show that wealthy gentlemen paid upwards of €3 per abalone of the desirable size—that is two weeks’ salary for a factory worker. However, the way the price varied with weight differed from the same today. First r., those over 661 g when dried, was twice as valuable in weight compared to a second r., which was similar to a third r. Fourth r. to sixth r. were worth less than a tenth of the category before, and those under sixth were practically worthless.
This is probably attributed to the gifting practices of the day, when only a first r. was considered an acceptable gift for a new year. The first r. abalone was heavily favoured not only because it was the largest traditional category in the industry, but the way it was used in cuisine.
Before 1880, Sieuxerrian service demanded large plates be laid out and shared between multiple diners; in this tradition, large items can be theatrically separated by skillful servants, and the guests could then help themselves to the portions. A first r. abalone, which came to about 60 oz, could be split into ten or more steaks. Smaller abalone were evidently deemed unfit for this purpose, or at least at the best table, and were more often consumed at servants’ tables at a similarly festive occasion.
When Letnian service became popular around 1890, the association of the shareable abalone had become a staple at new year’s parties in the wealthiest households. Even though the new service style should permit smaller abalone to be served individually, that did not readily occur until the 1910s.
It was also during this time that first r. abalone showed signs of overfishing, causing prices to soar, as they so continue today. In 1857, about one in fifty abalone landed was first r., and fishers wondered why the proportion was so low, even at a virgin fishery.
Thanks to modern research, we know that the average abalone does not reach first r. size regardless of age; instead, growth typically stopped around two-thirds of that size. Even amongst the largest abalone by shell size, those making the magic number were unusually heavy individuals.
19th-century drivers frequently took measuring sticks to ensure that their catches were larger than a certain length, but—alas—length does not guarantee weight. According to statistics on the relationship between shell length and meat weight, the shell of an abalone with a 50% chance of reaching first r. would be in excess of 13 inches—considerably larger than the world record.
While the introduction of diving suits to the industry opened a new section of the ocean to fisheries, the relief in supply was only temporary. Around 1910, gift-grade abalone supply had largely dried up anywhere in Themiclesia. The discharge of industrial waste into rivers, which then emptied into the ocean may also altered the acidity of the water around estuaries, which, as we understand today, adversely affects the potential for maximal growth.
The 19 abalone serjeanties faltered during this period. Ten re-negotiated their leases from the crown, while five were constantly in default.
Nevertheless, one guest at the 1902 new year’s banquet of the royal court recalled that each guest sat at a six-foot long, three-foot deep table and was surrounded by dishes that would feed twenty guests, and one “giant shellfish” per guest. The distinguished place of the abalone was ascertained when noted as the only animal to be served whole; all other things had been cooked and reshaped extensively.
The habits for preparing abalone changed after new recipes appeared in 1898, traced to Menghe. In addition to a strong fish stock based on scallops, dried fish, and shark spines (for gelatinous content), fried and roasted meats found their way into the soup base. Pigs’ trotters replaced shark spine. Previously, a meat base (which existed) was thought inappropriate for seafood. According to contemporaries, the change permitted smaller abalone to acquire the same depth of flavour thought to be exclusive to larger ones.
Because the royal pantry’s records have been recently released for research purposes, we can see that the serjeanties continued to supply abalone to the royal court until 1931, when the coastlines were all sold to private owners, some being the original serjeanty holders. Each holder was required to furnish 20 first r., 100 second r., and 500 third r. to the royal court as of 1900; comparing this to the catch records, about one quarter of the catches—mainly the big ones—went to the royal pantry.
The change in serving habits strongly nudged things in favour of smaller abalone, with tenth- to sixth r. being the most popular around 1910. The new service style encouraged hosts to provide one for each diner. Given the long menus popular of the era, a shareable-size abalone would be too large for a single diner. A tenth r. came out to be about 6 oz, and sixth r. to 10 oz; first, second, and third r. would be about 70, 35, and 23 oz each.
Another, perhaps unintentional, benefit of the small abalone was swiftness of preparation. A fully-dried first r. took upwards of 20 days to rehydrate, and often more to allow water to compromise a large abalone’s tougher muscle fibres, palliating it for the palate. It would need bathing in steam and brine to stave off mildew as it hydrated, and cooking it took another eight to ten days. A tenth r. required three days to acquire enough suppleness for cooking. For a dinner party with a date set in stone for months, the former process was not problematic, but for emerging hotels and dining-rooms that served walk-in customers, the latter was more manageable.
In 1911, the first Dayashinese abalone arrived in Themiclesia, to critical acclaim due to their immensely flavourful and texturally attractive centre. Their introduction instituted a new dimension for the quality of abalone. While dining fashion had hitherto dictated the relative prices of abalone, it was purely on the grounds of size; now, a small abalone could entirely out-value one in a more fashionable size if it had the correct texture.
The consumption of abalone intensified over the 20s and reached a local maximum in 1930, when hardly a single restaurant went without serving something made out of abalone. Merely 50 years ago, it had been the preserve of the wealthy, but now the mollusk was conquering the less haughty market of the working class, for whom eating out for pleasure was no longer an unthinkable luxury.
Ostensibly this change in habits is connected to improving working wages in urban areas, but the abalone and restaurant industry was equally responsible for meeting the demand for the product. The first sub-twentieth r. abalones were commercially harvested around 1880, mostly as substitutes for shellfish, but by 1920 they dominated the landed quantities. A twentieth r. came up to around 3.5 oz, not quite satisfactory, but nothing, other than perhaps presentation, prohibited serving multiples abalone on the same plate.
In public houses of the 20s, abalone was served as a canape, albeit a somewhat pricey one, or as a main course. Descriptions of these products usually turned up with multiple abalone, of uneven size, as a single order. This was then covered in gravy, which could even be a beef gravy and not the reduced braising liquid, which was the canonically-correct way to dress an abalone. There is good reason to doubt the quality of the ingredients used to prepare abalone in some establishments, but it rated as highly as the best cuts of meat according to menu prices: beef steaks were, in fact, a proletarian dish in Themiclesia in the 1920s. The popularity of previously-unmarketable small abalone gave a new lease of life on fisheries that were exhausted of their large abalone.
The commercial viability of small abalone ironically created a race to the bottom. More abalone were being harvested well prior to the maximum or even mature size, which in turn meant that course-size abalone (10 to 6 r.) were now threatened and the gift-size abalone of the 1800s are driven to commercial extinction. It seems mathematics dictated that harvesting a bunch of smaller abalone was more profitable than waiting for a few of them to mature to great size… and most of them to die to predation and disease.
In 1947, the Emperor decided to reward the Yumebito, an alliance of Dayashinese soldiers who took personal action against infiltrators seeking to undermine ethnic relations in war. All 27 of them received a royal-sized chest full of expensive small items and foods, a first r. abalone amongst them. For their part in saving the Emperor’s life, he rewarded them with not only delectable food but a place at his court—now welcome to dine with the Emperor at public meals.
After the war, the vagaries of dining habits again changed the desirability of abalones. While a twelve-course meal would have been nothing unusual at a reputable dining room in 1920, the economies of the war and interruption of fashionable life instigated a new appeal for less formal, regimented meals. The foremost consequence was the reduction of the number of courses, which therefore meant each course had to become larger to satisfy the diner. Thus, the preferred abalone for a main course bumped up from tenth r. to sixth r. and even fifth r.
There was but one problem: Themiclesian abalone production was in freefall after decades of overfishing, which then encouraged importing foreign abalones.
Kien-k’ang • For at least four centuries, abalones were considered a good option for a gift to your host, especially around the new year.
Until 1884, when the abalone diving industry introduced diving suits, the mollusks commanded a serious premium—affordable only to the wealthy, who often ordered these from suppliers months or even years in advance for private consumption and gifting. Abalone were ideal gifts because they were valuable, useful, yet not imposing on the recipient: unlike a painting, an abalone does not need to be framed and displayed. Vulgarity was to be avoided at all costs, and the connotation of the abalone—a precious gem from the hostile depths of the sea—made it a sensually scarce object.
Abalone did not always live in the shallowest waters, and fatalities from asphyxiation were not unknown. Diving was a profession with no apparent gender boundaries, though men typically took care of the commercial aspect of the business.
Coasts rich in abalone changed hands infrequently, and many miles along the coast were held by the so-called “serjeanty”—suppliers who promised a certain number of catches to the royal court in exchange for the right to exploit the rest for profit. Some argue that the serjeanty had a primitive conservatory effect, since the serjeants (right-holders) had to ensure they did not overfish and render next year’s obligations impossible to discharge, which carried a hefty fine or loss of the right. Those in private hands were often guarded jealously, as was knowledge as to abalone’s habitat in a privately-operated fishery.
Receipts from 1854 show that wealthy gentlemen paid upwards of €3 per abalone of the desirable size—that is two weeks’ salary for a factory worker. However, the way the price varied with weight differed from the same today. First r., those over 661 g when dried, was twice as valuable in weight compared to a second r., which was similar to a third r. Fourth r. to sixth r. were worth less than a tenth of the category before, and those under sixth were practically worthless.
This is probably attributed to the gifting practices of the day, when only a first r. was considered an acceptable gift for a new year. The first r. abalone was heavily favoured not only because it was the largest traditional category in the industry, but the way it was used in cuisine.
Before 1880, Sieuxerrian service demanded large plates be laid out and shared between multiple diners; in this tradition, large items can be theatrically separated by skillful servants, and the guests could then help themselves to the portions. A first r. abalone, which came to about 60 oz, could be split into ten or more steaks. Smaller abalone were evidently deemed unfit for this purpose, or at least at the best table, and were more often consumed at servants’ tables at a similarly festive occasion.
When Letnian service became popular around 1890, the association of the shareable abalone had become a staple at new year’s parties in the wealthiest households. Even though the new service style should permit smaller abalone to be served individually, that did not readily occur until the 1910s.
It was also during this time that first r. abalone showed signs of overfishing, causing prices to soar, as they so continue today. In 1857, about one in fifty abalone landed was first r., and fishers wondered why the proportion was so low, even at a virgin fishery.
Thanks to modern research, we know that the average abalone does not reach first r. size regardless of age; instead, growth typically stopped around two-thirds of that size. Even amongst the largest abalone by shell size, those making the magic number were unusually heavy individuals.
19th-century drivers frequently took measuring sticks to ensure that their catches were larger than a certain length, but—alas—length does not guarantee weight. According to statistics on the relationship between shell length and meat weight, the shell of an abalone with a 50% chance of reaching first r. would be in excess of 13 inches—considerably larger than the world record.
While the introduction of diving suits to the industry opened a new section of the ocean to fisheries, the relief in supply was only temporary. Around 1910, gift-grade abalone supply had largely dried up anywhere in Themiclesia. The discharge of industrial waste into rivers, which then emptied into the ocean may also altered the acidity of the water around estuaries, which, as we understand today, adversely affects the potential for maximal growth.
The 19 abalone serjeanties faltered during this period. Ten re-negotiated their leases from the crown, while five were constantly in default.
Nevertheless, one guest at the 1902 new year’s banquet of the royal court recalled that each guest sat at a six-foot long, three-foot deep table and was surrounded by dishes that would feed twenty guests, and one “giant shellfish” per guest. The distinguished place of the abalone was ascertained when noted as the only animal to be served whole; all other things had been cooked and reshaped extensively.
The habits for preparing abalone changed after new recipes appeared in 1898, traced to Menghe. In addition to a strong fish stock based on scallops, dried fish, and shark spines (for gelatinous content), fried and roasted meats found their way into the soup base. Pigs’ trotters replaced shark spine. Previously, a meat base (which existed) was thought inappropriate for seafood. According to contemporaries, the change permitted smaller abalone to acquire the same depth of flavour thought to be exclusive to larger ones.
Because the royal pantry’s records have been recently released for research purposes, we can see that the serjeanties continued to supply abalone to the royal court until 1931, when the coastlines were all sold to private owners, some being the original serjeanty holders. Each holder was required to furnish 20 first r., 100 second r., and 500 third r. to the royal court as of 1900; comparing this to the catch records, about one quarter of the catches—mainly the big ones—went to the royal pantry.
The change in serving habits strongly nudged things in favour of smaller abalone, with tenth- to sixth r. being the most popular around 1910. The new service style encouraged hosts to provide one for each diner. Given the long menus popular of the era, a shareable-size abalone would be too large for a single diner. A tenth r. came out to be about 6 oz, and sixth r. to 10 oz; first, second, and third r. would be about 70, 35, and 23 oz each.
Another, perhaps unintentional, benefit of the small abalone was swiftness of preparation. A fully-dried first r. took upwards of 20 days to rehydrate, and often more to allow water to compromise a large abalone’s tougher muscle fibres, palliating it for the palate. It would need bathing in steam and brine to stave off mildew as it hydrated, and cooking it took another eight to ten days. A tenth r. required three days to acquire enough suppleness for cooking. For a dinner party with a date set in stone for months, the former process was not problematic, but for emerging hotels and dining-rooms that served walk-in customers, the latter was more manageable.
In 1911, the first Dayashinese abalone arrived in Themiclesia, to critical acclaim due to their immensely flavourful and texturally attractive centre. Their introduction instituted a new dimension for the quality of abalone. While dining fashion had hitherto dictated the relative prices of abalone, it was purely on the grounds of size; now, a small abalone could entirely out-value one in a more fashionable size if it had the correct texture.
The consumption of abalone intensified over the 20s and reached a local maximum in 1930, when hardly a single restaurant went without serving something made out of abalone. Merely 50 years ago, it had been the preserve of the wealthy, but now the mollusk was conquering the less haughty market of the working class, for whom eating out for pleasure was no longer an unthinkable luxury.
Ostensibly this change in habits is connected to improving working wages in urban areas, but the abalone and restaurant industry was equally responsible for meeting the demand for the product. The first sub-twentieth r. abalones were commercially harvested around 1880, mostly as substitutes for shellfish, but by 1920 they dominated the landed quantities. A twentieth r. came up to around 3.5 oz, not quite satisfactory, but nothing, other than perhaps presentation, prohibited serving multiples abalone on the same plate.
In public houses of the 20s, abalone was served as a canape, albeit a somewhat pricey one, or as a main course. Descriptions of these products usually turned up with multiple abalone, of uneven size, as a single order. This was then covered in gravy, which could even be a beef gravy and not the reduced braising liquid, which was the canonically-correct way to dress an abalone. There is good reason to doubt the quality of the ingredients used to prepare abalone in some establishments, but it rated as highly as the best cuts of meat according to menu prices: beef steaks were, in fact, a proletarian dish in Themiclesia in the 1920s. The popularity of previously-unmarketable small abalone gave a new lease of life on fisheries that were exhausted of their large abalone.
The commercial viability of small abalone ironically created a race to the bottom. More abalone were being harvested well prior to the maximum or even mature size, which in turn meant that course-size abalone (10 to 6 r.) were now threatened and the gift-size abalone of the 1800s are driven to commercial extinction. It seems mathematics dictated that harvesting a bunch of smaller abalone was more profitable than waiting for a few of them to mature to great size… and most of them to die to predation and disease.
In 1947, the Emperor decided to reward the Yumebito, an alliance of Dayashinese soldiers who took personal action against infiltrators seeking to undermine ethnic relations in war. All 27 of them received a royal-sized chest full of expensive small items and foods, a first r. abalone amongst them. For their part in saving the Emperor’s life, he rewarded them with not only delectable food but a place at his court—now welcome to dine with the Emperor at public meals.
After the war, the vagaries of dining habits again changed the desirability of abalones. While a twelve-course meal would have been nothing unusual at a reputable dining room in 1920, the economies of the war and interruption of fashionable life instigated a new appeal for less formal, regimented meals. The foremost consequence was the reduction of the number of courses, which therefore meant each course had to become larger to satisfy the diner. Thus, the preferred abalone for a main course bumped up from tenth r. to sixth r. and even fifth r.
There was but one problem: Themiclesian abalone production was in freefall after decades of overfishing, which then encouraged importing foreign abalones.
