Seaweed Queen

A red door leads into a dimly lit space. Inside, lanterns create pools of warm light above four tables, while bottles of sake line the shelves, and anime posters hang on the walls. The sound of sizzling meat fills the room, drowning out the chatter from outside.

I’m in my home state of Goa, along India’s western coast, at a tiny Japanese restaurant in the crowded capital city of Panaji. This yakitori restaurant has been making waves since it launched, and I can’t wait to try the dishes that made it famous: skewers of yakitori, sticky gyoza, and salmon with truffle. But there is something else on my plate — something I’m used to feeling as it slithers around my ankles in shallow water or seeing washed up on the sandy shore. 

I look at the tangled web of silken, dark green threads. As a food writer, I’ve tasted plenty of things like this, of course, but I’ve never tasted this. 

My first bite is delicious — springy with a hint of brine. It’s a vibrant and refreshing salad, texturally pleasing with a touch of spice that lingers and an unexpected ocean saltiness. It’s an elegant dish. It’s also my first taste of Indian seaweed — algae that many believe is the future of sustainable nutrition.

~~

“I realized this is a fantastic food source, so why aren’t we eating it in India?”

India is home to around 850 species of seaweed, 800 of which are native. Seaweed is abundant along the country’s west coast, and yet, we are not a seaweed-eating nation. We much prefer our fish and crustaceans. 

So, to see the same seaweed from my home beaches on my plate is a surprise. 

This seaweed, I learn, is Sargassum — one of more than 100 species that grow in Goa alone. A little digging points me to the source: Gabriella D’Cruz, Goa’s “seaweed queen.” 

With a graduate degree in biodiversity conservation and management from Oxford University and a stint with the World Wildlife Fund, Gabriella, 32, is a marine conservationist who has been championing local seaweed for the last five years. Much of this work has been through her company, The Good Ocean. Some say she is single-handedly working towards popularizing the use of Indian seaweed in our cuisine. Battling widespread disinterest and the challenges of climate change, she might be a visionary at the leading edge of a new movement in conservation and agriculture.

Or she might be fighting a losing battle.

As dawn breaks in coastal towns like Rameswaram and Ramananthapuram, Tamil Nadu, it is not uncommon to spot a line of women clad in saris and rubber slippers, walking to work. Their workplace is vast and wet. Their equipment consists of simple diving masks and plastic bags attached to their waists. The women are of varying ages but united in one mission: harvest seaweed from the Gulf of Mannar — they’ve been doing it for generations. They wade into the waters, and dive close to the shore, their hands wrapped with cloth to protect them from sharp edges. In a few hours, the collected seaweed is dried in the sun and, later, sent to factories for processing.

When a 26-year-old Gabriella visited Rameswaram in 2017, she was fascinated by the system the women had set up, particularly their seasonal harvesting. They only harvested in certain months of the year — non-monsoon months — so the seaweed could regenerate.

“This was run by women, the money came back to the community, they understood the ecology, and were putting in safeguards to allow the industry to grow and the environment to thrive,” Gabriella says.

But the industry the women were participating in wasn’t food production.

Seaweed cultivation is increasingly big business in India, so much so that the government announced a package of Rs 640 crore — or roughly $76 million — to promote cultivation, build nurseries and seaweed farms, and invest in processing, marketing, and training. Just last year, a foundation stone for a seaweed park was laid in Tamil Nadu. But the applications of seaweed are predominantly in non-food sectors. Seaweeds are a source of agar, agarose, and carrageenan, which are used in laboratories, pharmaceuticals, cosmetics, and cardboard, to name a few. This is the future everyone seems to see in India, but not Gabriella.

I want to taste it when it is fresh, so I pop a leaf into my mouth. It’s a little salty, with a nice bite, and tastes like the ocean.

What she learned during her time at Rameswaram set Gabriella down her current path. The women were open with her about their lack of proper equipment and inability to set their own prices.

“It is interesting you come and take these interviews,” they said, “but nobody comes and helps us. We want better fins, better masks, and a stake in the industry.” They also shared that seaweed in the region had been declining. It got her thinking about being part of the seaweed industry and about how to engage fishing communities and understand their perceptions and practices. She wanted to help.

The rest came in 2019 when, after completing her master’s degree, she began working at a seaweed company in Scotland — that’s where she got her first taste. “We would eat it in everything,” she says. “I realized this is a fantastic food source, so why aren’t we eating it in India?”

Though the United Nations and World Health Organization estimate that direct human consumption accounts for roughly half of all seaweed consumption worldwide, people in India don’t typically think of seaweed as food. Sure, there are reports of a seaweed payasam here and a seaweed gel jigarthanda (a cooling summer drink) there. A research paper examining seaweed recipes even recommends using seaweed to make a halwa, pickle, and pakoda (a type of fritter). These are the exceptions, though. When seaweed washes up on the beach in Goa, residents recognize it as nutritious and collect it to fertilize coconut trees. It makes sense, then, that the main applications of seaweed here are not food-related — and still, Gabriella sees potential.

~~

When she returned to India after her time in Scotland, Gabriella went straight to the ocean to try Indian seaweed.

“I would go to the tide pools, look at seaweed and go, ‘Oh, this looks edible.’ I knew there was no non-edible seaweed in Goa so it wasn’t exactly a risk.”

It was her way of getting used to the flavor, but it also made her something of an expert on Goan seaweed.

“Now, I can taste and tell exactly what seaweed it is, and its quality,” she says.

These wonder ‘plants’ (they’re actually macroscopic algae) of the sea are being hailed globally as a renewable and nutritious source of food — one that is high in dietary fiber, calcium, magnesium, iron, folate, and iodine, with protein levels comparable to soy. The fact that it is also vegetarian is significant in a country like India where roughly 40% of people don’t eat meat. And that says nothing of the impact seaweed cultivation has on the economic wellbeing of women, their families, and vulnerable coastal communities. 

Just like in Tamil Nadu, women frequently are behind the farming and harvesting of seaweed in coastal communities. A U.N. report emphasizes the role of women and their leadership in the seaweed industry as a means of improving food security as well as taking climate action, as seaweed provides environmental benefits like carbon sequestration and nitrogen cycling. 

This is the visionary model that Gabriella sees: changing cultural norms around eating seaweed so communities can reap the nutritional and economic benefits from a sustainable food source.

~~

About two hours from Panaji, Talpona sits in Goa’s southern region — a pristine, sandy beach dotted with ghost crabs and stray dogs. As Goan beaches go, it is quiet and empty. It is January, but winter appears to be missing. The sun is harsh on my skin and the wind whips my hair around my face, but I am too distracted to care. It is my first seaweed harvesting expedition, and I am eager to get a closer look at the seaweed I ate. 

I am here with Gabriella and her colleague, Chaitanya Chowgule, 33. Both are dressed in shorts and comfortable tees; their many hours spent in the sun show in their almost identical tans. Gabriella has an easy smile, long hair, and toned arms and legs. Chaitanya is bearded, and heavily tattooed. After stopping to pet a trio of dogs who greet us with barks and wagging tails, we choose a patch of sand and set up shop. From one big beach bag comes two plastic baskets, a sickle, netbags, a pen and clipboard, a scale, a salinity meter, swimwear, snorkel gear, and a beach umbrella. 

“We don’t have an existing seaweed industry, so we make up a lot of our gear and tweak it to find out what works best,” says Gabriella, brandishing the sickle. “Sickles are a bit risky but it’s easier to cut and there’s no pull on the seaweed.” 

My gear, by comparison, is more tame: a notebook, a recorder, and a camera.

In smooth, practiced motions, Gabriella and Chaitanya enter the water, put on their masks and flippers, and dive in. For the next few minutes, all that’s visible in the water are their snorkels, but it is not long before Gabriella returns. 

“I brought you a sample of different species!” she says excitedly. 

She places each seaweed on the clipboard and names them: There’s Sargassum, which is the main crop they harvest, with its long leaves and tiny air bladders. There’s the spongy brown seaweed Dictyota, and the beautiful Padina, which looks like a fan.

Gabriella points out a root-like structure that latches the Sargassum onto the rock, and the air bladders that allow it to grow upward. Seaweed is pretty, I have to admit, almost translucent green and shining in the sun. 

“You can eat it like that if you trust the water quality,” she says, biting off a leaf and crunching on it. “I’ve been eating seaweed for a while, but I’ve never gotten sick. But I still tell people ‘eat it at your own risk.’” 

For those who don’t trust the water quality or for whom the ocean isn’t as accessible, the seaweed will need to be processed and packaged. But I want to taste it when it is fresh, so I pop a leaf into my mouth. It’s a little salty, with a nice bite, and tastes like the ocean.

“The flavour doesn’t come as much now, as there’s so much salt from the sea, but when you dry it, it really stands out,” Gabriella says. 

Indian seaweeds are tropical, which gives them a different flavour and texture than cold-water species like Kombu and Wakame. Sargassum has a distinct and strong umami flavor.

As I chew on the leaf, the air bubbles pop satisfyingly in my mouth, like caviar. 

~~

Half an hour later, the plastic baskets are filled with Sargassum. Chaitanya weighs them and then heads out to test the salinity of the water. Gabriella grabs the pencil and clipboard and heads off to measure the seaweed. 

“When we harvest, the seaweed forest looks like it did before. We harvest very little and small batches across the tide pool,” she says. 

Gabriella knows they risk depleting their wild stock and that farming is a must if seaweed food products are going to be widely available. But she tried farming seaweed — a collaboration with Goan conservation consultancy EcoNiche. It failed when the whole raft fell prey to a disease.

I have to wonder what this means for scalability. Is this really a food source that could feed thousands? Tens of thousands? Millions?

She might be a visionary at the leading edge of a new movement in conservation and agriculture. Or she might be fighting a losing battle.

I look at videos on Gabriella and Chaitanya’s camera, admiring the dense seaweed forests and the Sargassum waving about in the murky depths. 

By now, the baskets are gathering curious onlookers. Foreigners and locals alike seem intrigued. A heavily tanned fisherman walks up to us. At first, he thinks Gabriella is there to gather mussels, but he relaxes when he learns she’s there for the seaweed. 

“You eat this?” he asks in surprise. 

Gabriella chats with him, explaining her work. Within minutes, he is offering to take her on his boat to a patch of water where he has seen a lot of seaweed. 

~~

The day after we go harvesting in Talpona, I make my way to Porvorim, a short 15-minute drive from Panaji. At the bottom of a steep hill, surrounded by a cluster of houses, sits a building. What was once a parking garage now holds The Good Ocean’s processing unit.

In the beginning, Gabriella used the garage space in her father’s office to process the seaweed. “I am sure half of my dad’s office thought I was a nut,” she says. “I would bring these big baskets of seaweed, wash them, and hang them on a clothesline to dry.”

But the clotheslines are long gone in this new processing facility. It’s a small space, but everything within is customized, including the dehumidifying room. In one corner are the bundles of seaweed from yesterday, tinged a darker green. A few whiteboards are scribbled with data and figures. 

Seaweed has a short shelf life when wet, so Gabriella and Chaitanya try to process their harvests within 24 hours. Their processing is proprietary, but, at a basic level, it includes washing, drying, weighing, and vacuum sealing 200-gram packets. A kilogram of the packaged seaweed retails for Rs 10,000, or approximately $120 — more than a third of the median monthly income in India. The Good Ocean’s seaweed is expensive, on par with an imported, artisanal product. 

“We sell at [a] high price because it is a high-value market. It is low-extraction, high-value,” she says.

But at this point, it’s clear Gabriella is fighting an uphill battle. Seaweed is labor intensive. It might not be sufficiently scalable. It’s expensive. And, right now, it’s a food product for which there’s little demand. All of this means that profitability for The Good Ocean has remained elusive.

Back in 2016, Gabriella wanted to be able to return to Tamil Nadu and help the women who inspired her career in seaweed. Eight years later, despite her desire and her ongoing work in the seaweed industry, she has yet to return.

“Right now, I feel like there is nothing tangible I have to offer. I am still figuring things out myself.”

~~

On a balmy afternoon, I make my way to Larder & Folk, a bakery and café in Panaji. One section of the space is closed off to customers, and it is here that Gabriella and Chaitanya are setting up. In a few hours, they will be talking to students from the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) and introducing them to Indian seaweed. 

Gabriella is nervous — there’s been a miscommunication about time and the projector isn’t working. But once that is fixed and there’s coffee in her system, she is raring to go. It’s evident she has done this before. She doesn’t fumble when answering questions. 

Through her, I learn that India has one of the smallest seaweed industries in the world claiming just 0.02% of global seaweed production. However, because of our large coastline and Exclusive Economic Zone, we have the potential to expand seaweed cultivation quite significantly. 

“There is much potential to put seaweed into diets with nutrient deficiency. Seaweed also has a lot of potential in India as it’s vegetarian,” she tells the students. 

These wonder ‘plants’ (they’re actually macroscopic algae) of the sea are being hailed globally as a renewable and nutritious source of food — one that is high in dietary fiber, calcium, magnesium, iron, folate, and iodine, with protein levels comparable to soy.

As she talks, plates of seaweed dishes are passed around. The Good Ocean worked with the café’s founder, Priyanka Sardessai (an alumna of CIA), to create three dishes. The students pause between taking notes to observe the courses, gingerly dissect them, and then eat them. I hear the sound of seaweed butter with garlic being scraped on sourdough. Next comes a punchy seaweed salad with dried fronds and white wine vinegar. Finally, a stipe broth. The butter seems the clear favorite, its bowls swiped clean. 

“We want chefs to look at it as an indigenous Indian product used specifically for our food and not as a replacement for something else,” says Gabriella. 

But first, she’s had to convince people to believe in her mission. “Creating a customer facing product with a new ingredient like seaweed is expensive and the people who were most excited were chefs,” she says. These included Anumitra Ghosh Dastidar from Goa’s Edible Archives, Thomas Zacharias (formerly of the Bombay Canteen), and Varun Totlani from Mumbai’s Masque. 

Slowly, Gabriella’s seaweed has been appearing in restaurants. In Goa, it found its way into trial burger patties at the Burger Factory; a dashi sauce and a fresh seaweed salad tossed in a ginger and chilli tamari at Makutsu; a seaweed appalam at Hideaway Café and Bar; and a seaweed martini at Ahilya by the Sea. 

Elsewhere, it’s been used in a seaweed ponkh and a sea buckthorn pani puri where the fish was cured with Ulva at Mumbai’s Masque, and in a cocktail called “La Marseilles” at Rick’s Bar in Taj Mahal Delhi. The Good Ocean presently supplies small batches to three restaurants and a mix of chefs who are experimenting with seaweed or hosting small dinners. 

But despite these wins, the journey remains frustrating at times. 

The work is seasonal and dependent on growth patterns. This most recent season (November to February) has been a rough one both for seaweed and The Good Ocean. A significant drop in seaweed growth meant they had to seek out new harvesting sites like the one in Talpona. Except for Sargassum, they now harvest only when there’s a guarantee of sale. 

The unpredictability, the failed farm, the lack of demand, the cost — there is much that makes the seaweed industry a difficult place to be, but Gabriella is emphatic that it’s where she belongs. I am admittedly swayed by her confidence. It’s clear that she envisions a world in which Indian seaweed is on Indian plates. She isn’t ready to give up. 

“This is the hard bit,” she says. “Once you figure it out, you’re the first mover.”