They were a princely gift maintained in secret.

One had only to break them with one blow and their sticky juices would gush forth and lose themselves in the palate like crisp mouthfuls of a sweet and spicy bread, alternating with knifefuls of rice.

The boat was at times near Brazil in sight of Fernando de Norona,--yet even while viewing the conical huts of the negroes installed on an island under an equatorial sun, the crews could almost believe--thanks to Uncle Caragol's magic--that they were eating in a cabin of the farmland of Valencia, as they passed from hand to hand the long-spouted jug filled with strong wine from Liria.
When they anchored in ports where fish was abundant, he achieved the great work of cooking a rice _abanda_.

The cabin boys would bring to the captain's table the pot in which was boiled the rich sea food mixed with lobsters, mussels, and every kind of shell-fish available, but the _chef_ invariably reserved for himself the honor of offering the accompanying great platter with its pyramid, of rice, every grain golden and distinct.
Boiled apart (_abanda_) each grain was full of the succulent broth of the stew-pot.

It was a rice dish that contained within it the concentration of all the sustenance of the sea.