I learned how to make tabang talangka as a very young girl. I would spend summers and All Saints Day holidays with my grandmother, Lola Charing (Rosario Valdes Gonzalez) in Bacolor, Pampanga. Sometimes it would be the season of talangka and seeing the whole ritual of this tiny crab being turned in crab paste (tabang talangka) was quite an adventure for me. Talangka is found in fishponds. The pond owners called them ‘singaw’ (because they come out of nowhere). When the ponds would be emptied and cleaned in preparation of the stocking of fingerlings, one would find the talangka in abundance, appearing seemingly from out of nowhere. In fact, pond owners would even poison them because they were the pests of the pond. Sacks of the talangka would be delivered to my grandmother’s kitchen then it was all hands on deck. First, the talangka would be poured into huge vats (batya), first to be rinsed and then the males would be segregated from the females. It was the tiny female crab that was needed for making this delicious paste. The males were then bound for the steamer and eaten; the prized ones were the females. It was the females with their delicious orangey fat that was needed to make the tabang talangka. In fact, one knew if the bottled paste was pure or had a mixture of male crabs by the color of the fat: if it was pale orange, then male crabs were added to it, lowering the quality of the crab paste. The more orange-y it was, the higher the paste’s quality. Nowadays, most commercial tabang talangka is a mixture of female and male talangka. Producers find it a waste to use only the female crabs, as adding male crabs into the mix add body to the paste. Also, a purely female tabang talangka becomes prohibitively expensive. Aside from segregating the males from the females, all the dead crabs would also be discarded. The major rule was: NO DEAD CRABS in the lot. This rule is rigidly observed: dead crabs had a rotten smell and would spoil the batch being cooked. Even when the crabs are ready to be squeezed, one had to smell each and every tiny crustacean just in case one dead crab escaped someone’s eye (and nose). The next step in the talangka preparation is more of an artistic approach. There is no measurement. One just knew, by looking at the tiny crabs, how much salt one had to put in to pickle the crabs. The crabs would now be divided into manageable amounts and put in huge casseroles that were covered, then vigorously shaken with both hands. I could see the crabs scrambling...