Clamming up

I’ve known about the existence of razor clams since I was a young child, but it took several years working as a chef before I saw a live one. The vast expanse of Ynyslas beach in Cardigan Bay is a razor clam graveyard. Whenever we were running around barefoot or wading through the shallows, my grandmother would tell us to watch out for the shells. For it is the shell, rather than its bivalve occupant, that resembles an old-fashioned cut-throat.

That said, the shell’s occupant is a pretty sharp operator, too. At the merest hint of trouble it can up-end itself and cut through wet sand like “a knife through butter,” as seafood guru Alan Davidson once wrote. Which is why charging around the Welsh seaside brought me no closer to any living specimens than the odd, painful encounter with their deserted homes. Things might have been different had I known about the art of ‘spooting’.

Several hundred miles north of Wales, on the Orkney Islands, hunting razor clams is traditionally known as spooting. When full moon tides expose vast flats of wet sand, those with the know-how head for the beach with trowels or clam-diggers. The trick is to walk slowly backwards through the sand. When they detect footprints, the clams descend but leave behind a shaft of air. It is the sudden emergence of one of these holes that alerts the spooter, and a quick dig should be enough to catch the poor wee beastie.

Spooting is hard on the back and not hugely profitable. Mechanised harvesting is frowned upon in this country, as it is known to destroy clam beds. This is why you rarely see razor clams in the shops. It is worth snapping a bundle up if you do, as they are very easy to cook and have a wonderfully rich flavour – a mixture of cockles and scallops that’s sweet and salty all at once. In texture, they are not unlike squid, which also means it is easy to overcook them. To get the best results, think ‘less is more’ in terms of seasoning and cooking.