
10 minute read
In Search of Sargassum
India has a rich biodiversity of seaweed, which is just beginning to find its way onto plates. Could it be a food of the future?
TEXT Joanna Lobo PHOTOGRAPHY Rebecca D'Costa
It is a blanket of green. Thin green ribbons piled high atop blushing pink slivers of salmon, lying in a fragrant truffle ponzu dressing. In another plate, the blanket pulls apart to reveal delicate king prawns glazed with yuzu chilli. Above my head, a solitary lamp throws the ribbons into sharp focus, their rich green reminiscent of a forest, contrasting against the pink of the creatures from that same underwater forest.
I am seated inside a dark, low-ceilinged room awash with red light and papered with Japanese art and posters. This is Makutsu, a yakitori bar on a popular street in Panjim, Goa, where chef Pablo Miranda offers me my first taste of Indian seaweed.
The source? The Goan shores, and marine conservationist Gabriella D’Cruz.
Seaweed are macro algae—marine vegetables that grow in the oceans. These macro-algae are classified into three categories: brown, green and red. They can be dried and stored for a long time. Low in calories, high in fibre and boasting a high mineral content, these fast-growing algae are an important source of nutrition. They are also increasingly viewed as a sustainable and environmentally conscious way of eating.
India has high seaweed biodiversity. Over 800 species of seaweed, 600 of which are native, grow abundantly along the west coast of the country, including Goa, Mumbai, Ratnagiri in Maharashtra and Gujarat. Seaweed can also be found on the eastern coast, in Odisha, Tamil Nadu and the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.
Seaweed has long been harvested and used in the food industry. Some of its applications include in the thickening gel, agar agar; the additive and food compound, carrageenan; in alginate, an extract which is used as a binder and emulsifier, and in dairy and meat products.
On their plates, most urban Indians have so far been acquainted with imported seaweed through Asian restaurants that serve nori, kombu and wakame.
However, this is about to change. Indian seaweed is here, and ready to stake a claim to our palates and plates.
The change is surfacing in restaurants in Goa.
A large part of the credit goes to D’Cruz, who has been championing native seaweed for two years. The marine conservationist runs Good Ocean, a venture dedicated to highlighting seaweed diversity in Goa (and India at large) and exploring its potential as food.
Goa’s coastline is home to 145 documented varieties of seaweed. D’Cruz harvests one kind: sargassum, a brown genus of seaweed.
“It grows in bulk and up to 3 metres in length,” D’Cruz says. “It is larger than the other [types] and there’s less fear of it being overharvested. It has a similar flavour profile to kelp/ kombu, and can also be used to mimic it. In addition, it has its own interesting flavour, and is very nutritious.”
The winner of The Food Chain Global Youth Champion Award 2021, D’Cruz had a line of pet treats incorporating seaweed called Sea Doggos, but discontinued it as it was too expensive to produce. Today, she sells dried seaweed directly to restaurants, harvesting and processing it herself. Her supply chain is small. It includes just four restaurants for now.
For most chefs, even those familiar with seaweed, Indian seaweed is a new ingredient.
“Chefs need to familiarise themselves with native seaweed species. [They need to] understand the flavour and texture, [which] takes time. It needs innovation,” D’Cruz says.
There are ongoing experiments. While some are still in the research stage, others are finding spots on menus. Burger Factory, a chain of restaurants serving gourmet burgers with multiple outlets in Goa, is working on a seaweed burger. At Makutsu, Miranda uses it as a topping on his dishes. He is also currently working on dehydrating it to make a dashi, and tossing some in a fresh seaweed salad with ginger and chilli tamari.
Anumitra Ghosh Dastidar, chef and co-founder of Edible Archives, an experimental, ingredient-led restaurant in North Goa, has been experimenting with Indian seaweed for two years. The ingredient isn’t unfamiliar to her: she has seen seaweed farming in China, and has used it in her Japanese and Korean dishes. “I apply my Japanese and Korean experience to work with it, using it in stock, salads, and drying it,” she says. Dastidar prepares seaweed by shade-drying and sundrying it (just once) to ensure the delicate flavours are retained. As someone who makes a lot of furikake, she has also experimented with creating a podi version. Podi (colloquially called gunpowder) is a spicy condiment made of roasted lentils, seeds and spices, which is very popular in the South Indian states.
Down the road from Makutsu is For The Record Vinyl Bar, where Buland Shukla has been experimenting with cocktails featuring Indigenous liquors such as feni and mahua. He is now also working with seaweed. The new menu here stars seaweed in two ways: dusted over thick-cut potato wedges, giving them a truffle-like umami flavour, and adding another layer of crunch to a dish containing beer-battered mussels placed on top of a smoked aubergine bharta foam.
At the newly opened Elaa Café and Bar in Anjuna, chef Sandeep Sreedharan uses dehydrated sargassum in his vegetarian laksa. The menu of his “earth-based café” has a heavy emphasis on vegetarian and vegan dishes; he uses local, sustainably sourced ingredients in his versions of global fare.
“Seaweed is the closest thing to match the flavour profile of belacan [or prawn paste],” he says. “It tastes like the ocean.”
Sreedharan first used seaweed for a private dinner he catered in Mumbai two years ago, and now intends to add it to more of his dishes. He has even used it in rasam.
“The seaweed here is sometimes more intense in flavour. You have got to really understand it and treat every batch differently,” he cautions. “There’s a lot of responsibility involved in using this ingredient.”
That is why Najeeb Bin Haneef took three years to perfect his seaweed cookies. In 2016, the biotechnology student at Thrissur’s Sahrdaya College of Engineering and Technology started researching micro algae and seaweed and their applications in food. Zaara Biotech launched in 2019 with B-lite Cookies, healthy cookies containing spirulina and seaweed.
“Our research helped us realise that if we had to tap the nutritional profile of seaweed and package it in a way that


appealed to people, bakery items like cookies and cupcakes would be ideal,” Haneef says.
Zaara Biotech works with the Central Institute of Fisheries Technology (ICAR-CIFT) in Cochin and sources its seaweed from Rameshwaram in southern Tamil Nadu and the Lakshadweep islands. The seaweed is dried, powdered and used in cookies made with white and dark chocolate; they have also experimented with breads, buns and cupcakes. Their cookies are exported to the U.K., U.S. and Germany, among other countries. In April 2022, they aim to launch seaweed noodles too.
“There needs to be more awareness of the properties of seaweed and the potential of the ingredient,” Haneef says.
He wants to build it, one cookie at a time.
Seaweed appears to be the crop of the future. Globally, people are researching and talking about aquaculture as the future of food. Allied Market Research, a global research firm, says the seaweed industry all over the world is anticipated to generate $9.07 billion by 2024.
“The global popularity of seaweed and its applications in food is reflecting in India too, and there’s been more of a demand rather than us trying to push it,” says D’Cruz, adding that she has received enquiries from outside Goa as well.
However, the future of seaweed as food is likely to face a few challenges in India.
Seaweed is seasonal, and it cannot be harvested all at once: the tide has to be right, and the plant cannot be in its reproductive phase. There is also the concern of overharvesting, especially if there is large-scale demand. People need to know which seaweed is rare or crucial to the ecosystem.
India’s traditional food practices are also different from other Asian seaweed consuming nations like Japan. Its appeal may naturally be restricted to those who have had the opportunity to experiment with food.
“India is not a seaweed-eating nation. The local palate doesn’t know this flavour. The people eating seaweed in a big way are the upper middle class, who can afford to go
to sushi restaurants,” says marine conservation scientist Aaron Savio Lobo.
“Interestingly, none of our coastal communities eat it. It may be used as part of local medicine but not in the cuisine,” Dastidar says.
There is no doubt that it is an unfamiliar flavour, even for those who consume fish. D’Cruz first tasted seaweed during her stint at a seaweed company in Scotland. Initially, she says she found the taste alien to her palate.
“We are not used to eating it, so initially there was a lot of aversion to the new fishy flavour. But, as you start eating more, it grows on you,” she says. In addition, seaweed in India is different from what is available in other Asian countries. The difference is apparent in flavour profiles, nutrient content, texture and size. It’s a difference that D’Cruz likens to that between an apple and a banana.
Hence, the challenge lies in familiarising people with the ingredient and then offering them knowledge on how to incorporate it into their daily food habits.
“If it is in a faddish and fancy way, it will never go to every sector of society, which won’t be sustainable,” says Dastidar. “If it doesn’t go back to the community, then it becomes a commodity with no connection with the community harvesting it, and they are less likely to conserve it.”
To this end, Dastidar hopes to carry some of her seaweed podi to Tamil Nadu and introduce people to it.

Lobo believes that seaweed can be part of a larger solution in India’s food future, but needs to be approached delicately and with nuance.
It has to be a multi-concerted effort pushed by government policies and food technology institutes, involving coastal communities that farm seaweed. Recently, as part of the proposed Blue Revolution, an initiative that aims to augment the country’s production of fishing, aquaculture and seafood, the Indian government invested approximately $6.4 billion to increase seaweed production to at least 1 million tonnes by 2025.
Even though the money is available, there are regulations in place. When Haneef set out to sell cookies, he turned to international guidelines and followed them. The absence of

a proper policy regarding seaweed harvesting means it could become a free-for-all.
“Anyone can take over a local fishing area, decide they want to have a massive seaweed farm and start harvesting and selling it. Where are the checks?” D’Cruz asks.
Lobo agrees, adding that the harvesting should remain in the control of small-scale fishers and seaweed should have a beneficial impact on their lives. The change should begin with the coastal communities and their diets.
“We have to ask: do we need to push it into communities that don’t use it, or do we need to value–add, or uplift what agroecology is doing well? It’s about understanding what was part of local culture and diets, and build on what they know,” he says.
There’s no denying that utilising these nutritious vegetables from the sea could be the sustainable way forward. India has only just started flirting with the possibility of seaweed as food, in burgers, cookies and salads. With the right initiative and guidance, the future could very well be blue. And green.
