In search of the alternative Big Five: A Swedish seafood safari

West Sweden is well-known around the Nordics for producing the best shellfish because the frosty, clean waters of the North Sea resemble a ‘natural fattening room’ for its crustaceans. It creates the perfect ecosystem to breed and mature them, resulting in fuller and richer flavors.

It’s effectively the maritime version of the Serengeti. It’s in these waters where you’ll find Sweden’s own Big Five: shrimp, oyster, crayfish, mussel, and lobster—collectively known as ‘skaldjur’ in Swedish.

Many of the insanely photogenic villages along West Sweden’s Bohuslän coastline are known for a specific type of shellfish … In the waters around Marstrand, with its large villas at the foothills of the Carlstens Fortress, you’ll find ‘black gold’—lobsters—while the village of Grebbestad produces roughly 90 per cent of all Sweden’s oysters.

These seafood safaris, known as shellfish journeys, take place year-round, according to each crustacean’s natural growth season. This means you can follow the entire journey of the shellfish all the way from the depths of the sea onto your dinner plate.

Local fishermen invite travelers onto their trusted trawlers to journey side-by-side and haul lobsters and crayfish together, as well as harvest oysters and mussels from sea beds.

Many of the insanely photogenic villages—think colorful wooden cottages in varying shades of red and yellow strewn across various rocky outcroppings surrounded by dark aquamarine waters—along West Sweden’s Bohuslän coastline are known for a specific type of shellfish.

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For example, around Smögren, fishermen harvest tons of crayfish and langoustines. And in the waters around Marstrand, with its large villas at the foothills of the Carlstens Fortress, you’ll find ‘black gold’—lobsters—while the village of Grebbestad produces roughly 90 per cent of all Sweden’s oysters.

And it was right at the dock of fisherman Per Karlsson’s 19th-century boathouse, Everts Sjöbod, where I harvested my own oysters before heading out on a safari with him around the surrounding archipelago.

Every May, Grebbestad sees an influx of passionate oyster lovers. It’s at this time when Nordic and Baltic fishermen, resembling bearded Vikings, descend upon the tiny village for its annual Nordic Oyster Opening Championships. Witnessing the energy and cheering within the massive outdoor tent as oysters were shucked at breakneck speed was akin to watching heavily-muscled wrestlers sweat it out on stage.

Seeing these crustaceans served up in their bounty belies the tremendous hard work that goes into sourcing each one. It was only by going out to sea with crayfish fisherman Martin Olofsson that I was able to appreciate the daily rigors of this nautical life.

Sweden’s own Oyster King, chef Johan Malm, has won the competition several times. He runs Restaurang Gabriel inside Gothenburg’s iconic Feskekörka (‘Fish Church’) and it was in his restaurant where he showed me how to properly shuck Grebbestad-sourced oysters. This means cradling the oyster firmly in the palm of your hand, inserting the tip of a specially curved knife into it, and then twisting gently to pry the oyster open.

While the act of shucking sounds deceptively easy, the odds of cutting off your finger are much higher than successfully opening one like a pro.

Going in search of blue-shelled mussels means heading out to the village of Ljungskile where fisherman Janne Bark sustainably grows oysters on ropes in multiple mussel farms. Janne runs Klocktornets Musselbaren where freshly harvested mussels are cooked outdoors in a large pan with herbs, garlic, onions, parsley, chili, and white wine to make his signature ‘Moule Frites’ mussel pot.

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You can travel out on his boat M/S Märta on a mussel expedition to ‘hanging’ farms, set within the cold waters surrounding the village. Hanging farms mean mussels grow and intertwine on ropes and wires that are at least a mile-long. And you get to pull up some of the plumpest mussels I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating.

Seeing these crustaceans served up in their bounty belies the tremendous hard work that goes into sourcing each one. It was only by going out to sea with crayfish fisherman Martin Olofsson that I was able to appreciate the daily rigors of this nautical life.

Martin knew his daily route by heart as he navigated us westwards, past the rocky islands of Smögen’s archipelago. We headed into the choppy waters of the North Sea to pull up langoustine traps he’d set the day before.

Brooding storm clouds formed above us and the water took on a dark blue viscosity. Seagulls trailed our boat like security motorcade of a presidential convoy, waiting for scraps of bait to be thrown out to sea.

Pulling up traps and peeking in to see if the night had delivered felt like digging for lost treasure. A good catch was a few handfuls of langoustine in each trap. He emptied the traps and effortlessly flicked them back into the ocean after lining them again with scraps of fish as bait.

Steaming a couple buckets directly on his trawler for lunch, we made a pit-stop on a rocky island in the Bohuslän archipelago to crack into freshly caught langoustines. A few hours later and it was time to head back to Smögen with the rest of our catch—we needed to outrun the storm which was now pelting the trawler with heavy rain.

As Martin’s boat cut through high waves, drenching me in saltwater, it felt so good to feel cool ocean spray splash across my face. Back on land, the taste of sea salt lingers on my tongue as a reminder of an unforgettable ‘safari’.