Cast Iron Crayfish on the Campfire

Cast Iron Crayfish on the Campfire.

This recipe is from The Shoalhaven in Coastal South Eastern Australia.

In early Autumn, we harvest olives by hand at our neighbour's orchid. It's after the heat of summer has broken, and the cicadas aren't so deafening. In the shade, we drink local wine instead of water and eat freshly baked bread with butter from the dairy farms on the ocean bluffs to the East. When we go home, it's with a mason jar of our very own glistening olive oil and a sway in our steps.

We must wait for Autumn to cook outdoors because lighting fires in summer is a sin. It wakes the monsters that we fear might swallow land each day the cicadas still sing. In the Summer of 2020, they came and swallowed the whole region. In Autumn, we celebrate the monster's departure by lighting the cooking fire in the circle of stones borrowed from the mountain.

The children wrap Sweet Potatoes, and buttery fresh dug Kipflers with sprigs of rosemary in foil. One for each person. They hand them to their father to bury in the earth under the edge of the fire.

Our friends gather, lounging on picnic mats and camping chairs. They graze on cheese and fruit they've brought up to the farm from the local markets. They sip whiskey or wine or sparkling water and wait.

When there is finally a nest of coals waiting in the centre of the stones, the best-loved cast iron skillet is put on them to rest. As the iron comes alive with heat, a splash of that glistening olive oil is joined by Garlic freshly dug from the garden on its surface. Everyone breathes deep as a knob of butter -that I recently swapped for a carton of our hens' eggs- lands in the centre of the pan too.

While the ingredients sizzle, I go about twisting handfuls of herbs and spring onions from the vegetable patch. Then I sprinkle them down into the bubbling butter.

We find the main ingredient in the dams, ponds and streams of our region. They are freshwater crayfish called Yabbies—about 25cm long and blue-grey. Earlier with a hatchet, I split 40 of them, freshly caught, head to tail in neat halves.

Oohs and aahs sound from the gathered crowd as I lay them flesh down- shell up amongst their accompanying ingredients. The smell makes everyone's mouths water. Our old dog bows down in worship before the skillet and looks from me to the heavily laden cast iron and back again with pleading eyes. I know exactly what she's trying to say to me.

It doesn't take long from here. You can't set a timer. It's not that kind of meal. Instead, you watch the blue shells turn brilliant pink and listen for a slight whistle of steam escaping their shells. Then you know they're done.

.Someone is already pulling the first of the foil parcels of fire-roasted root vegetables out of the earth they have cooked in. They bravely give the parcels a gentle squeeze, and the piping hot spuds have enough give to confirm they are done. With the fire rake, we free up the other foil parcels as I lift the skillet or Yabbies onto a nearby stump.

We set about opening the foil parcels and load them up with yabbies drizzled with caramelised butter, Garlic and herbs from the pan. We finish them off with a crack of pink rock salt and a stripe of olive oil.

There's a contented silence as everyone eats, punctuated by a crackle of foil and the thumping of our old dogs tail on the ground.

The flesh of the yabbies has a subtle crunch, but at the same time, they are soft and moist and full of flavour. We toss the shells back into the fire and tip the crispy disintegrated potatoes, herbs and butter into our mouths.

We've waited all year for this. It's worth it.

If you're ever over this way in Autumn, you best give cast iron crayfish a try.

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