Homely Salted Fiddler Crab Paste

Do the villagers still cherish salted fiddler crab paste?

Whenever “mắm” (fermented or salted paste/ sauce) is mentioned, mắm tôm (shrimp paste) and mắm ruốc (acetes paste) quickly come to mind for Vietnamese urbanites. Meanwhile, those living in the mudflat areas are reminded of the distinctive taste of mắm cáy and mắm còng (salted fiddler crab paste).

Northern Vietnam’s Fiddler Crab Paste: Mắm Cáy

Cáy is a small, purple fiddler crab that loves burrowing in coastal areas and low-lying riverbanks. About half the size of a hand, it boasts a pair of claws that are impressively large compared to its body and eight hairy legs. Cáy has exceptionally sensitive hearing and darts away at the slightest movement as fast as the wind. This characteristic gave rise to the Vietnamese idiom “skittish as cáy” describing people who are easily scared and timid.

In the early morning, the sedge plants, as tall as a person’s head, swayed gently along the riverbank in the light breeze. Footsteps approached, starting softly in the distance and growing louder. The soft creak of bamboo trap doors and the rustling of cáy in buckets and green net bags on the muddy ground filled the air, mingled with the earthy scent. 

The flickering lights of the catchers dotted the vast alluvial land, like lost stars seen from afar. As the sky brightened, they returned home, their buckets and bags brimming with cáy. Some latecomers used fishing rods or shovels to dig out the burrows of the agile fiddler crabs.

Northern Vietnam boasts three types of cáy: stinky, black, and red. The red cáy is the star cherished for its ability to impart a vibrant red hue to salted fiddler crab paste though the final result always hinges on the skill and methods of the paste makers. The tradition of crafting mắm cáy has been handed down through generations for hundreds of years, although its origins remain a mystery. 

Northern provinces with rich alluvial plains along rivers and the sea, such as Hai Duong, Hai Phong, Thai Binh, Ha Nam, Nam Dinh, Ninh Binh, Thanh Hoa, Nghe An, and Ha Tinh, are home to villages renowned for producing this delectable salted fiddler crab paste.

Each craft village guards its own secrets, but the first crucial step remains the same: only select live, healthy cáy to ensure the paste doesn’t spoil. Cáy are meticulously washed multiple times until they’re squeaky clean, then carefully drained. Its apron and shells are separated and the apron is discarded, but the shell is kept, as it’s the key ingredient that imparts the distinctive flavor of salted fiddler crab paste.

If cáy are kept whole and only slightly crushed, their paste is known as mắm cáy dập (crushed fiddler crab paste). When cáy are finely crushed or ground, the paste is called mắm cáy nước (watery fiddler crab paste). It’s crucial to use high-quality sea salt for mixing with cáy. The mixture is then stored in long-standing stoneware jars with a shiny surface or in earthenware jars that have darkened over time. After ten days in the shade, the jars are exposed to the sun by day and to the dew by night, allowing the combined energies of earth and sky to enhance the paste’s flavor.

The makers must vigilantly monitor the paste, stirring it regularly until it reaches the perfect ripeness. To enhance its flavor, once the paste is ripe, it could be buried in the ground for a while. The longer it remains underground, the more delicious it becomes, with a mellow flavor and a delicate, refined aroma.

Unburied fiddler crab paste has a robust, distinctive aroma that true aficionados cherish. To temper this potent scent, makers often add roasted rice powder, yeast, or a splash of rice wine. For those who love fiddler crab paste, this aroma is as essential as the fragrance of durian is to its fans. When savoring the paste, people typically add chili, garlic, and lemon. The perfect fiddler crab paste is a golden-brown creation, dotted with white garlic and red chili. The light tang of lemon juice enhances its rustic flavor, elevating the rich protein to a sublime experience.

No need for much to enjoy mắm cáy: just a bowl of steaming rice, a couple of crisp pickled eggplants, and a handful of tender, in-season sweet potato shoots are enough to create a soulful meal reminiscent of the Northern Vietnamese countryside. If your budget allows, you can add cluster fig, star fruit, boiled meat, and fresh herbs. Northern Vietnamese people hold mắm cáy in high regard for its gentleness; even the sick or women who have just given birth can savor it. This is why an ancient folk song celebrates it:

“Eating beef with rice, worries never cease. 

Eating mắm cáy with rice brings you perfect peace.”

I suspect our ancestors had deeper meanings behind this saying, beyond highlighting the gentleness of fiddler crab paste. Those who “eat beef with rice” are typically wealthier, constantly preoccupied with safeguarding and increasing their riches. Meanwhile, those who “eat mắm cáy with rice” require only enough to live, thus enjoying perfect peace. This concept of “minimalism” is now embraced by many around the world. Our ancestors were truly ahead of their time.

Vinh Bao district in Hai Phong city, the birthplace of the esteemed poet and sage Nguyen Binh Khiem, is renowned for its delectable fiddler crab paste. The district also boasts a unique delicacy: mắm trứng (salted eggs). These chicken eggs are fermented for an entire year in a ceramic jar filled with fiddler crab paste and sugarcane. The jar is half-buried underground, sheltered under a thatched roof or the shade of a jackfruit tree.

The protein from the fiddler crab paste and the sweetness of the sugarcane gradually seep into the eggs, blending with the harmonious yin and yang energy of heaven and earth. This magical process transforms the egg yolks and whites into a smooth, golden, and enchantingly fragrant sauce. Families that serve mắm trứng at ancestor anniversaries or New Year’s Eve feasts are revered as both affluent and culturally rich.

Southern Vietnam’s Fiddler Crab Paste: Mắm Còng

“With the wind’s call, to mudflats for fiddler crabs, 

To the river for fish, to the fields for land crabs.”

For generations, that lullaby has echoed through the riverside fields and coastal alluvial plains of the South. The image of còng (fiddler crabs) has been ingrained in the memories of the Southwestern people since the days of land reclamation, hundreds of years ago. Slippery, bumpy fields and muddy patches left behind by receding waters are always teeming with the quick silhouettes of darting fiddler crabs.

Is “còng” the same as “cáy” in Northern Vietnam? According to the Vietnamese Dictionary Volume 1: “cáy: a small fiddler crab with long legs, running quickly on the mud” (p. 158) and “còng: a small fiddler crab living on the beach, edges of a ditch, or a river” (p. 206) (Le Van Duc, Khai Tri Bookstore 1970). So, “còng” and “cáy” are essentially the same, though they can be categorized into different types based on their appearances.

Southwesterners don’t fish or set traps; instead, they catch còng by searching for them. When the rice season ends and the fields are at rest, with the high tide receded and thousands of stars twinkling overhead, it’s the perfect time for this nocturnal activity. As searchlights beam, they reveal còng, bewildered by the sudden glare on the shimmering mud. Còng chìa vôi has sweet, fragrant meat, making it perfect for roasting or grilling. Meanwhile, còng ta, with its sweet flesh and little roe, còng quều and còng lửa, small and skinny but rich in roe, are all ideal for making mắm còng (salted fiddler crab paste).

The first secret to making mắm còng mirrors that of mắm cáy: you must start with live fiddler crabs, wash them thoroughly, and remove the shell and the apron. Mix the crabs with coarse salt and add rice wine or garlic for fragrance, then pound or grind them. Dry the mixture in the sun for a day, then add water and squeeze out the juice. Filter the juice until it’s smooth, then spread it evenly on a tray and dry it in the sun again. 

If the weather is sunny, in just three days, the crab paste will thicken to a peanut butter-like consistency, releasing a special aroma. The finished paste, jet black like chocolate, is called mắm còng chà or mắm còng quết, and humorously referred to as “salty chocolate” by overseas Vietnamese from the Southwest.

Like mắm cáy, mắm còng was once considered food for the poor. Picture this: a steaming pot of hot rice, a bowl of mắm còng mixed with lemon, chili, garlic, and sugar, accompanied by a plate of sour star fruit, bitter green banana, mangrove apple fruit, and a bunch of fresh herbs picked fresh from the garden. This was all it took for a memorable meal. When there was a bit of extra money, they’d add rice papers, round rice noodles, and boiled meat to roll up and savor the delicious taste of mắm còng. 

Mudflat dwellers feel pity for city folks who can’t appreciate the exquisite flavors of mắm còng:

“You disdain my homemade mắm còng,

While you savor market-made fermented fish sauce.” (Folk song)

In Go Cong, there is also mắm còng chua (sour molting fiddler crabs). Around April and May, as the first rains herald the coming of the rainy season, it’s also the time for molting crabs. These crabs are marinated in wine for a while, then drained, and mixed with roasted rice powder, sugar, chili, and garlic. Placed in a jar, they are soaked in salt water, covered with star gooseberry leaves, sealed with mangrove palm stems, and dried in the sun. 

After a few weeks, the crabs become soft and brimming with flavors. Mixed with caramelized pineapple and rolled in rice paper with round rice noodles and fresh herbs, it’s a dish so delicious it will make your taste buds sing.

Mắm còng made with roasted rice powder ferments quickly and is challenging to preserve. To solve this, some resourceful women in Go Cong devised a clever solution: they replaced the rice powder and salt water with well-cooked fish sauce and sugar. This method allows the sour molting fiddler crabs to be stored for a longer time and makes them easier to sell.

While awareness of the need to protect the alluvial plains along the rivers and coasts of Northern Vietnam to preserve cáy is increasing, the habitat of còng in the Southwest is shrinking. Formerly flooded rice fields are now being filled with soil to create industrial parks or converted into shrimp farms. As a result, còng lose their homes or die due to shrimp disease prevention chemicals. Businesses making mắm còng are gradually disappearing, with only a few struggling to survive.

The future of mắm cáy thriving and mắm còng fading hinges on the vision of those planning Vietnam’s development. It’s essential that our culinary heritage is not sacrificed for a broad industrialization plan that overlooks the living environment and cultural values of Vietnam.

mlefood – Minh Lê