Wild Foodies
of Philly! In
search of the food beneath our feet!
Wild Foodies
of Philly! In
search of the food beneath our feet!
By Vincent M. Holt (1885)
CONTENTS
PREFACE
PART I Why Not?
PART II Insect Eaters
PART III Insects That Are Good To Eat, And Something About Their Cooking
PREFACE
"These ye may eat; the
locust after his kind, and the bald locust after his kind, and the beetle after
his kind, and the grasshopper after his kind."
— LEV.xi. 22
Why not eat insects? Why not, indeed! What are the objections that can be
brought forward to insects as food ? In the word "insects" I here include other
creatures such as some small mollusks and crustaceans which, though not
technically coming under the head of insects, still may be so called for the
sake of brevity and convenience. "Ugh! I would not touch the loathsome things,
much less eat one!" is the reply. But why on earth should these creatures be
called loathsome, which, as a matter of fact, are not loathsome in any way, and,
indeed, are in every way more fitted for human food than many of the so-called
delicacies now highly prized? From chemical analysis it appears that the flesh
of insects is composed of the same substances as are found in that of the higher
animals. Again, if we look at the food they themselves live upon, which is one
of the commonest criterions as to whether an animal is, or is not, fit for human
food, we find that the great majority of insects live entirely upon vegetable
matter in one form or another; and, in fact, all those I shall hereafter propose
to my readers as food are strict vegetarians. Carnivorous animals, such as the
dog, cat, fox, etc., are held unworthy of the questionable dignity of being
edible by civilized man. In the same manner I shall not ask my readers to
consider for a moment the propriety or advisability of tasting such
unclean-feeding insects as the common fly, the carrion beetle, or Blaps
mortisaga (the churchyard beetle). But how can any one who has ever gulped down
the luscious oyster alive at three-and-sixpence per dozen, turn up his nose and
shudder at the clean-feeding and less repulsive-looking snail? The lobster, a
creature consumed in incredible quantities at all the highest tables in the
land, is such a foul feeder that, for its sure capture, the experienced
fisherman will bait his lobster-pot with putrid flesh or fish which is too far
gone even to attract a crab. And yet, if at one of those tables there appeared a
well-cooked dish of clean-feeding slugs, the hardiest of the guests would shrink
from tasting it. Again, the eel is universally eaten, fried, stewed, or in pies,
though it is the very scavenger of the water —there being no filth it will not
swallow—like its equally relished fellow-scavenger the pig, the "unclean animal"
of Scripture. There was once an equally strong objection to the pig, as there is
at present against insects. What would the poor do without the bacon-pig now?
It is hard, very hard, to overcome the feelings that have been instilled into us
from our youth upwards; but still I foresee the day when the slug will be as
popular in England as its luscious namesake the Trepang, or sea-slug, is in
China, and a dish of grasshoppers fried in butter as much relished by the
English peasant as a similarly treated dish of locusts is by an Arab or
Hottentot. There are many reasons why this is to be hoped for. Firstly,
philosophy bids us neglect no wholesome source of food. Secondly, what a
pleasant change from the labourer's unvarying meal of bread, lard, and bacon, or
bread and lard without bacon, or bread without lard or bacon, would be a good
dish of fried cockchafers or grasshoppers. "How the poor live!" Badly, I know;
but they neglect wholesome foods, from a foolish prejudice which it should be
the task of their betters, by their example, to overcome. One of the constant
questions of the day is, How can the farmer most successfully battle with the
insect devourers of his crops? I suggest that these insect devourers should be
collected by the poor as food. Why not? I do not mean to pretend that the poor
could live upon insects; but I do say that they might thus pleasantly and
wholesomely vary their present diet while, at the same time, conferring a great
benefit upon the agricultural world. Not only would their children then be
rewarded by the farmers for hand-picking the destructive insects, but they would
be doubly rewarded by partaking of toothsome and nourishing insect dishes at
home.
After all, there is not such a very strong prejudice among the poorer classes
against the swallowing of insects, as is shown by the survival in some districts
of such old-fashioned medicines as wood-lice pills, and snails and slugs as a
cure for consumption. I myself also knew a labourer, some years ago, in the west
of England,
who was regularly in the habit of picking up and eating any small white slugs
which he happened to see, as tidbits, just as he would have picked wild
strawberries.
It may require a strong effort of will to reason ourselves out of the stupid
prejudices that have stood in our way for ages; but what is the good of the
advanced state of the times if we cannot thus cast aside these prejudices, just
as we have caused to vanish before the ever-advancing tide of knowledge the
worn-out theories of spontaneous generation and barnacle geese?
Cheese-mites, the grubs
of a small fly, are freely eaten by many persons, whom I have often heard say
"they are only cheese." There is certainly some ground for this assertion; as
these grubs live entirely upon cheese; but what would one of these epicures say
if I served up to him a cabbage boiled with its own grubs? Yet my argument that
"they are only cabbage" would be fully as good as his. As a matter of fact, I
see every reason why cabbages should be thus served up, surrounded with a
delicately flavoured fringe of the caterpillars which feed upon them. As things
are now, the chance caterpillar which, having escaped the careful eye of the
scullery-maid, is boiled among the close folds of the cabbage, quite spoils the
dinner appetite of the person who happens to receive it with his helping of
vegetable, and its loathsome (?) form is carefully hidden at the side of his
plate or sent straight out of the room, so that its unwonted presence may no
further nauseate the diners. Yet probably these same diners have, at the
commencement of the meal, hailed with inward satisfaction the presence on the
board of dozens of much more loathsome-looking oysters, and have actually
swallowed perhaps a dozen of them raw and living as quite an appetizer for their
dinner! At a table of gourmands, he who by chance thus gets the well-boiled
larva served up in its own natural, clean food should, instead of being pitied
for having his dinner spoilt, be, on the contrary, almost an object of envy, as
he who gets the liver-wing. I am quite aware of the horror with which this
opinion will be read by many at first sight, but when it is carefully thought
over I fail to see that any one capable of correct reasoning can deny its
practical truth, even if he himself, though a frequent swallower of the raw
oyster and a relisher of the scavenging lobster, continues to turn up his
delicate nose at my suggestion to put it to a practical proof.
The general abhorrence of insects seems almost to have increased of late years,
rather than diminished, owing, no doubt, to the fact of their being no longer
familiar as medicines. At one time the fact of their being prescribed as
remedies by village quacks and wise men made people, at any rate, familiar with
the idea of swallowing them. Wood-lice, which conveniently roll themselves up
into the semblance of black pills, were taken as an aperient; centipedes were an
invaluable specific for jaundice; cockchafers for the plague; ladybirds for
colic and measles. The advance of medical science and the suppression of wise
folk have swept away this belief in the medicinal qualities of insects, except
from out-of-the-way country corners, where a stray wise woman occasionally holds
a divided sway with the parish doctor. As these theories die away, why should
not the useful practice of using insects as food be introduced with advantage?
From time to time letters appear in the papers inquiring as to the best method
of getting rid of such insect pests as the wireworm, leather-jacket,
chafer-grub, etc., and I have seen one method especially recommended. This is to
set traps for the insect vermin by burying slices of turnip or potato stuck upon
the ends of small sticks, whose other ends project from the ground to mark the
spot. The slices, in the morning, will be covered with the mischievous ravagers,
which, one answer went on to say, "may then be dealt with at pleasure." I say,
then, collect them for the table. Man will often, in his universal selfishness,
take the trouble to do acts, if they directly affect him or his stomach, which
he would not do for their mere utility; and if these wireworms, etc., were
esteemed as articles of food, there would be a double incentive to the gathering
of them. We have only to glance through the pages of Miss Eleanor Ormerod's
excellent work on "Injurious Insects" to see what a power for harm lies in the
myriads of the insect world, even if we do not know it from sad personal
experience.
There cannot be said to be any really strong objection, among the upper classes,
to making any new departure in the direction of foods, if it once becomes the
fashion to do so. Here is the menu of a dinner at the Chinese Restaurant at the
late- Health Exhibition, whose quaint delicacies were eaten and well appreciated
by crowds of fashionable people, who turn up their noses at the neglected supply
of new delicacies at home.
HORS D'OEUVRE.
Pullulas a l'Huile. Saucisson de Frankfort.
Olives.
Bird's Nest Soup.
Visigo a la Tortue.
Souchée de Turbot au Varech Violet.
Biche de Mer a la Matelote Chinoise.
Shaohsing Wine.
Petit Caisse á la Marquis Tsing.
Roulade de Pigeon farcie au Pistache.
Copeau de Veau a la Jardiniere au Muscus.
Sharks' Fins a la Bagration.
Boule de Riz.
Shaohsing Wine.
Noisettes de Lotus a l'Olea Fragrance.
Pommes pralinée. Compôte de Leechée.
Persdeaux Salade Romain.
Vermicelli Chinoise a la Milanaise.
Beignet Soufflé a la Vanille.
Gelée aux Fruits.
Biscuit Glace aux Amande pralinée.
Glace a la Creme de Café.
DESSERT.
Persimmons, Pommes Confit, Peches,
Amands Vert, Grapes.
THÉ IMPÉRIAL
Let us look into some of
the items which these professedly most refined eaters partook of with relish
—though it is only fair to state that some of the ladies could not sufficiently
overcome their prejudices to enjoy their meal.
The "Bird's Nest Soup" was, I believe, universally appreciated, and, personally,
I thought that it was perhaps the most delicious soup I had ever tasted. Yet,
from what is it made, ye dainty feeders? The nest of a small swallow,
constructed by that bird principally by the means of threads of a viscid fluid
secreted from its mouth. Does not that sound nasty enough? Yet what excellent
soup is made therefrom, being not only delicious to the taste, but said also to
possess great strengthening qualities, and to be an excellent specific for
indigestion. The annual value of these nests imported into China and Japan
exceeds £200, 000. Surely, considering the general approbation expressed of this
soup at the Health Exhibition, it would pay some enterprising London merchant to
import nests into England.
The "Visigo a la Tortue" was also an excellent soup, a kind of imitation turtle,
made from the octopus or cuttle-fish. — The cuttlefish! Go to any aquarium; look
on those hideous creatures and tell me, are not they loathsome? Do they look
nice to eat?
"Biche de Mer a la Matelote Chinoise." — This was the dish which frightened the
more delicate ladies. Why? Merely because its common English name is the "sea
slug." There cannot be a particle of doubt that, if it had always previously
been known only by its less common name of sea cucumber or Trepang, it would
have been refused by none. What's in a name? The Trepang by any other name would
taste as sweet! Those who partook of this dish all pronounced it to be excellent
eating, although its ingredients did resemble in looks pieces of old shoe
leather or large black slugs. Not that there could be any valid objection if it
actually were made of either. Half the delicious calves' foot jelly in the world
is made from old parchment and leather clippings, and slugs are no worse than
oysters.
We have thus recently had an opportunity of tasting some of the varieties of a
usual Chinese menu, and our verdict upon them was proved to be favourable by
"the Chinese dinner at the Healtheries" becoming one of the fashionable
entertainments of the season. There one had opportunities of watching, with
wonder, the most refined ladies and gentlemen, in correct evening costume,
sitting down to partake of a dinner, whose most attractive items, as shown in
the menu, were such objects as bird's nest soup, cuttle-fish, sea slugs, and
shark's fins, for no other reason than that it was the fashion to do so. I will
venture to say that if it had been previously suggested to those people to have
such items included in the menu at a country house, they would have expressed
disgust at the idea. Fashion is the most powerful motive in the world. Why does
not some one in a high place set the common-sense fashion of adding insect
dishes to our tables? The flock would not be long in following.
After eating of those unaccustomed dishes at the Health Exhibition, and
discovering how good they were, is it not a wonder that people do not look
around them for the many new gastronomic treasures lying neglected at their
feet? Prejudice, prejudice, thy strength is enormous! People will dilate upon
the delicate flavour of one fungus, under the name of mushroom, while they stamp
upon, or cast from them, the disappointing young puff-ball and a dozen other
common kinds of fungi, all equally nice and wholesome, if people would only
recognize it, as the one they gloat over. People will, in like manner, enjoy
oysters and cockles, while they abominate snails; they will make themselves ill
with indigestible and foul-feeding lobsters while they look with horror upon
pretty clean-feeding caterpillars. All this would not be so absurd if it were
only the rich that were concerned, for they can afford to be dainty. But while
we, in these days of agricultural depression, do all we can to alleviate the
sufferings of our starving labourers, ought we not to exert our influence
towards pointing out to them a neglected food supply?
From almost every part of
the inhabited globe instances and examples can be brought of the eating of
insects, both in ancient and modern times, by people of every colour and nation.
If I bring forward examples from ancient times, or from among those nations, in
modern times, which are called uncivilized, I foresee that I shall be met with
the argument, "Why should we imitate these uncivilized races?" But upon
examination it will be found that, though uncivilized, most of these peoples are
more particular as to the fitness of their food than we are, and look on us with
far greater horror for using, as food, the unclean pig or the raw oyster, than
we do upon them for relishing a properly cooked dish of clean-feeding locusts or
palm-grubs. If we are to imitate in nothing these savage races, how is it that
from their example we cultivate the priceless Peruvian bark or quinine; that we,
rich and poor alike, feed daily on the imported potato; that we delight in
curry; and that our men, each at first struggling against his natural aversion
and sickness, accustom themselves by force of will to the soothing influence of
the noxious weed, tobacco?
Beginning with the earliest rimes, one can produce examples of insect-eating at
every period down to our own age. Speaking to the people of Israel, at Lev. xi.
22, Moses directly encourages them to eat clean-feeding insects: "These ye may
eat, the locust after his kind, and the bald locust after his kind, and the
beetle after his kind, and the grasshopper after his kind." Again, John the
Baptist is recorded to have lived in the desert upon locusts and wild honey.
Some critics, however, apparently considering locusts unnatural food, and
ignorant of how they are relished in the East, have gone out of their way to
produce long arguments to prove that the word which has been translated
"locusts" ought to have been rendered as the name of a species of cassia-pod.
This is not so. Almost every traveller of note has given us an account of how
the Eastern nations enjoy these insects. Pliny records the fact that in his day
they were much eaten by the Parthians. Herodotus describes the mode adopted by
the Nasamones of powdering locusts for the purpose of baking them into cakes.
The Hottentots, according to
Sparrman, welcome the locusts as a godsend, although the whole country is
devastated, for it is literally a case of the biter bit; and these locust-eaters
grow round and fat from the incredible quantities they devour of their
nutritious and appetizing persecutors. Cooked in many and various ways, locusts
are eaten in the
Crimea, Arabia, Persia, Madagascar, Africa, and India. Sometimes they are merely
fried, their legs and wings plucked off, and the bodies eaten, flavoured with
pepper and salt. At others they are powdered and baked into cakes; or, again,
they are boiled, turning red, like lobsters, in the process. In India, like
every other article of food, they are curried. (It has been cleverly suggested
by Simmonds, in his "Curiosities of Food," that their very name,
Gryllus, is in itself an invitation to cook them.) In Arabia, Persia, and
parts of Africa there are regular locust shops where they are exposed for sale;
and among the Moors they are highly valued, appearing in the menu at the
best tables. Their method of cooking is to pluck off the head, wings, and legs,
boil for half an hour, flavour with pepper and salt, and fry in butter. As I can
myself bear witness, of which more hereafter, this recipe applied to our English
grasshoppers renders that despised insect a truly tasty morsel. From the time of
Homer, the Cicadae formed the. theme of every Greek poet, in regard to
both tunefulness and delicate flavour. Aristotle tells us that the most polished
of the Greeks enjoyed them, considering the pupae, or chrysalids, the greatest
tid-bits, and after them the females heavy with their burden of eggs. Why this
taste should have died out in modern Greece one cannot tell, for it is much more
wholesome than many which have been assiduously perpetuated. Cicadae are
eaten at the present day by the American Indians and by the natives of
Australia.
According to Pliny, the Roman epicures were in the habit of fattening for the
table the larvae of the Cossus, with flour and wine. It is somewhat
doubtful as to the exact identity of the insect represented by the word
Cossus; but it was probably the large grub of the Stag Beetle {Lucanus
cervins) or a large Longicorn Beetle {Prionus corioranus). The
epicure of Rome was most dainty and discriminating in his food. Why, then,
should we turn up our noses at what he considered as a great delicacy?
Aelian tells us that in his time an Indian king served up, for his Greek guests,
as dessert, a dish of roasted grubs, extracted from some tree or plant, which
were considered by the natives a great treat. There is very little doubt that
these were the larvae of the palm weevil (Calandra palmarum), huge grubs
as large as a man's thumb, which are, at the present day, extracted from the
palm trees and eaten with great relish by the negroes in the West Indies under
the name of Grugru. Kirby in his "Entomology" says that a certain Sir
John La Forey, who was somewhat an epicure, was extremely partial to this grub
when properly cooked.
The family of Longicorn Beetles affords a rich store of luscious larvae, which
are sought and eaten by the inhabitants of most countries where they are to be
found in any abundance. As I mentioned before, it is considered by some to have
been a member of this family {Prionus corioranus) that was fed up by the
Romans for the table with all the care that is nowadays bestowed upon a prize
pig. One of this tribe is also mentioned by Madame Merian as being eaten by both
the native and white inhabitants of Surinam, who serve them up nicely roasted
after being emptied and washed. In St. Pierre's voyages also, this, or some
similar insect, is mentioned, under the name of the Moutac grub, as being eaten
by whites and natives alike. In Java there is a species of Cockchafer (Melolontha
hypoleuca) to which Wiedemann has drawn attention, as forming food for the
inhabitants. The last instance from among the Coleoptera I will bring
forward is the well-known meal worm, the larvae of a small beetle (Tenebrio),
which Turkish women eat in large quantities for the purpose of acquiring that
plumpness of form their lords so much admire. The Chinese, making use of "the
worm, a thing that crept on the bare earth, then wrought a tomb and slept"
as food, eat the chrysalids of the silkworms after the silk has been wound from
off the cocoons. They fry them in butter or lard, add yolk of eggs, and season
with pepper, salt, and vinegar. A certain Mr. Favand, a Chinese missionary, says
that he found this food refreshing and strengthening. Dr. Darwin, also, in his
"Phytologia," mentions this dish, and says that a white earth grub and
the larvae- of the sphinx moths are also eaten, which latter he tried, and found
to be delicious. The Hottentots eat caterpillars, both cooked and raw,
collecting and carrying them in large calabashes to their homes, where they fry
them in iron pots over a gentle fire, stirring them about the while. They eat
them, cooked thus, in handfuls, without any flavouring or sauce. A traveller who
on several occasions tried this dish, tells us that he thought it delicate,
nourishing, and wholesome, resembling in taste sugared cream or sweet almond
paste.
Passing now from the strictly insect world, I come to some common land mollusks,
which have formed, and indeed form at the present time, food for many nations as
cultivated as ourselves, but which we, strong in insular prejudice, still
refuse. Pliny tells us how snails were appreciated in Ancient Rome, and were
cultivated and fed to increase their number and size for the table. It is almost
too well known to need mention, that in most parts of Europe at the present time
snails are extensively eaten and enjoyed. No precedent ought, surely, to be
needed for the adoption of snails as food, when we copy and justly appreciate in
almost every other particular the cookery of France. Still, if English stubborn
natures wish for a precedent from their own beloved island they can have it, for
Lister, in his "Historia Animalium Anglicae," says that in his time
snails were served up at table, boiled in spring-water, and seasoned with oil,
pepper, and salt.
Even Spiders have been relished as tid-bits, not only by uncivilized nations,
but by Europeans of cultivation. For Reaumur tells of a young lady who was so
fond of spiders that she never saw one without catching and eating it. Lalande,
the French astronomer, had similar tastes; and Rosel speaks of a German who was
in the habit of spreading spiders, like butter, upon his bread. This taste I do
not in any way uphold, for the preying spider, which devours his fellow-insects,
whether foul feeders or no, should be avoided, as are carnivorous beasts in our
animal diet.
I think that I have now produced a sufficient number of precedents for the eating of insects, both in ancient and modern times, by nations civilized and uncivilized. These ought to be sufficient to incite any person of ordinary strength of mind to try for himself the unknown delicacies around him. We pride ourselves upon our imitation of the Greeks and Romans in their arts; we treasure their dead languages: why not, then, take a useful hint from their tables? We imitate the savage nations in their use of numberless drugs, spices, and condiments: why not go a step further?
We have seen that, from the
time of Moses down to the present day, various members of the insect family of
Orthoptera, which includes the locusts, crickets, and grasshoppers, have been
and are eaten and appreciated in many parts of the world. Now let us look at
home, and consider why we should not do likewise, adding to our tables that
clean meat, "the grasshopper after his kind." We are not without precedent. The
example of the Church has backed up the written permission of the Bible. The
Rev. R. Sheppard, many years ago, had some of our common large grasshoppers
served up at his table, according to the recipe used by the inhabitants of
Morocco in the cooking of their favourite locusts. Here it is. "Having plucked
off their heads, legs, and wings, sprinkle them with pepper and salt and chopped
parsley, fry in butter, and add some vinegar." He found them excellent. From
personal experiment I can fully endorse his opinion; and there are few who would
not, if they would but try this dish. I have eaten them raw, and I have eaten
them cooked. Raw, they are pleasant to the taste; cooked, they are delicious.
The above recipe is simple; but any one with a knowledge of cookery would know
how to improve upon it, producing from this source such dishes, say, as
"Grasshoppers au gratin," or "Acridae sautes a la Maitre d'Hotel."
Among the Coleoptera, or Beetles, we find many which might well serve as food;
some in their larval, some in their complete state, and some in both. Here,
again, there is no need to recruit from among the ranks of the carnivorous or
foul feeders. There are, without those, plenty of strict vegetarians.
The grub of the Stag Beetle {Lucanus cervus) is said by many, as before
mentioned, to be identical with the Cossus, which the Romans used to fatten for
the table upon flour and wine. As this destructive grub, before turning to its
beetle stage of life, spends some years gnawing at the hearts of our oak trees,
it would be a boon to timber growers if this taste of the Romans were revived.
There are many varieties of these timber-borers which might well be used for
food, as are the Grugru and the Moutac grub in the East and West Indies. I have
especially noticed a plump white grub which infests our young sallow trees in
great numbers, boring upwards from the foot of the stem. When the plantations
are cut down, why should this delicacy be wasted? If foolishly rejected at the
tables of the rich, these larvae should be a joy to the woodman's family, and a
reward for the toil of the breadwinner. If this were so, it would be the means
of keeping down the number of these destructive pests, which are not now
considered worth collecting.
What valid objection can there be to eating these insects, when the larvae of
similar beetles are eaten all over the world, both by natives and by whites, and
when such larvae are unanimously pronounced to be wholesome and palatable?
The Meal-worm, the larva of a small beetle (Tenebrio), is generally looked upon
with disgust, as only fit food for tame birds. Even the strong-stomached and
hungry sailor will rap his sea-biscuit on the table to shake out the worms
before eating it. Let him shake out the worms, by all means; but let him collect
them, fry in lard, and spread the dainty upon his dry biscuit. He will not again
throw Meal-worms away.
In the common Cockchafer {Melolontha vulgaris) we find an inveterate enemy,
which, after spending three years in gnawing the roots of our clover and grasses
as a huge white grub, turns to its beetle state, only to continue its ravages
upon the foliage of our fruit or forest trees. Literally tooth and nail we ought
to battle with this enemy, for in both its stages it is a most dainty morsel for
the table. The birds are more sensible than we. They know well the value of the
fat chafer as food. With what joy the jaunty rooks, following the plough with
long strides over the upturned clover lea, pounce upon the luscious grubs! What
a feast the birds have among the swarms of chafers in the tall tree-tops!
Erasmus Darwin, in his "Phytologia," says: "I have observed the house
sparrow destroy the Maychafer, eating out the central part of it, and am told
that turkeys and rooks do the same; which I thence conclude might be grateful
food, if properly cooked, as the locusts or termites of the East. And probably
the large grub, or larva of it, which the rooks pick up in following the plough,
is as delicious as the grub called Grugru, and a large caterpillar which feeds
on the palm, both of which are roasted and eaten in the West Indies." Here is
the openly expressed opinion of one of our greatest philosophers and deepest
thinkers; and there is not the slightest doubt that it is correct.
Again I endorse from personal experience. Try them, as I have; they are
delicious. Cockchafers are not only common, but of a most serviceable size and
plumpness, while their grubs are, when full grown, at least two inches in
length, and fat in proportion.
What a godsend to
housekeepers to discover a new entrée to vary the monotony of the present round!
Why should invention, which makes such gigantic strides in other directions,
stand still in cookery? Here then, mistresses, who thirst to place new and
dainty dishes before your guests, what better could you have than "Curried
Maychafers"—or, if you want a more mysterious title, "Larvae Melolonthae a la
Grugru"? Landowning guests ought to welcome the opportunity of retaliating, at
your table, under the "lex talionis," upon this, one of the worst of their
insect tormentors. Another dish, which should take with the farmer, would be
"Fried Chafers with Wireworm sauce." Perhaps, however, the little word "worm"
might be objected to. So let us pander to the refined senses of the delicately
fastidious by writing it upon our menu as "Fried Melolonthae with Elater sauce."
I know that wireworms are an excellent substitute for shrimps. There are, also,
thousands of members of the same family as the shrimp (Crustaceans) in every
garden, namely, the common Wood-lice (Oniscus muriarius). I have eaten these,
and found that, when chewed, a flavour is developed remarkably akin to that so
much appreciated in their sea cousins. Wood-louse sauce is equal, if not
distinctly superior to, shrimp.
The following is the recipe: Collect a quantity of the finest wood-lice
to be found (no difficult task, as they swarm under the bark of every rotten
tree), and drop them into boiling water, which will kill them instantly, but not
turn them red, as might be expected. At the same time put into a saucepan a
quarter of a pound of fresh butter, a teaspoonful of flour, a small glass of
water, a little milk, some pepper and salt, and place it on the stove. As soon
as the sauce is thick, take it off and put in the wood-lice. This is an
excellent sauce for fish. Try it.
Passing on to the order Hymenoptera, the Sawfly at once strikes us as a very
familiar insect, which in its larval stage plays sad havoc among the gooseberry
bushes, often stripping them bare of leaves, and thus spoiling all chance of
fruit. We all know in what myriads the grub swarms upon the trees, and how hard
it is to induce our gardener, or any one else, to take timely steps for its
destruction. If it were known to be nice to eat, there would be little fear of
this voracious feeder carrying on its destruction uninterrupted. It would be a
race between the cook and the gardener's wife, who should first arrive at the
poor gooseberry bush. There is also the Turnip Sawfly, better known to farmers
as "the Black," which sometimes devours whole fields of roots, leaving not a
leaf to be seen. In this order are included Bees and Wasps. From the former we
already derive a delicious sweet in the form of golden honey. From the latter we
might, if we chose, derive an equally delicious savoury. What disciple of old
Izaak Walton, when he has been all the morning enticing the wily trout with
luscious wasp grubs baked to a turn, has not suspected a new and appetizing
taste imparted to his midday meal of bread and cheese or sandwich? Perhaps his
own meal has travelled to the scene of action in the same basket as the rich
cakes of grubs; or it may be that the fish are biting too well to allow time for
a thorough hand-washing, and rapid bites are taken from the lunch in the
intervals between the bobbing of the float and the replacing of the nibbled
grubs. At any rate, it will, sometimes, so happen to every fisherman to get the
taste and smell of cooked wasp grubs with his meal, and I have never noticed
that it in any way spoilt his appetite. Attracted by the said taste and smell,
and having no prejudices against insect food, I have myself spread the baked
grubs upon my bread, and found their excellent flavour quite sufficient to
account for the fondness of the trout for this particular bait. I will admit
that wasps are occasionally carnivorous, but it is the exception and not the
rule. Moreover, the saccharine fluid with which they feed their infant grubs is,
I believe, entirely composed of vegetable juices, drawn from ripe fruits and
flowers. Their babes, like our own, are fed only upon what are called "spoon
victuals." Let us, then, welcome among our new insect dishes "Wasp grubs baked
in the comb." The number of wasps' nests taken and destroyed, in a prolific
season, is something extraordinary. I have known as many as sixteen or twenty
nests to be taken by a gardener within a very short radius round his house. What
a waste of good wholesome food takes place then, when cake after cake, loaded
with fat grubs, is stamped under foot! The next order, the Lepidoptera
(butterflies and moths), is rich in material for practical experiment and
demonstration of my theory of insect food for omnivorous man. The usual stock
terms for insects, "hideous," "loathsome," etc., cannot be applied with any
justice to this class, which, in its perfect state is renowned for its elegant
beauty, and in its larval or caterpillar state is almost invariably pleasingly
coloured and by no means repulsive to the eye. Their diet, too, is of the most
purely vegetarian description, consisting, as it does, in the first stage of
leaves, and the sweet nectar of flowers in the second. The tiny ant knows and
appreciates the sweetness of insects which feed upon the juices of plants or
flowers, for it keeps and tends with care numerous milch herds of aphides or
green flies, to coax from their plump bodies the pearly drops of the honey dew
it loves so well.
We have always been taught that in many points the ant is to be imitated. In its
just appreciation of insects as a sweet source of food it is to be imitated too.
I think it is in "Swiss Family Robinson" that there is a clever account
of some travellers, wandering at night through a forest by torchlight, being
greatly annoyed by huge moths, which repeatedly extinguished the torches by
their suicidal love of light. However, annoyance was turned to joy when, tempted
by the appetizing smell of the toasted moths, the hungry travellers ventured to
satisfy in part their hunger with the suicides, which they found as excellent in
flavour as in smell. From what I recollect of the tale, I believe this was quite
a fancy description, probably founded on the real habits of the natives which
had been observed by the travelled author of the book. I well remember that, on
reading that account, my youthful imagination reproduced without effort the
appetizing smell of a plump baked moth; but it did not occur to me then to try
such a tid-bit. Lately, however, I have done so, to find the dream of my
childhood fully realized as to the delights, both in taste and smell, of a fat
moth nicely baked. Try them, ye epicures! What possible argument can be advanced
against eating a creature beautiful without and sweet within; a creature
nourished on nectar, the fabled food of the gods?
In attempting to reconcile
the popular taste to the consumption of this same order in its larval stage as
"caterpillars," a more difficult task perhaps awaits me. But why? I never could
thoroughly understand the intense disgust with which the appearance at the
dinner-table of a well-boiled caterpillar, accidentally served with cabbage, is
always greeted. The feeling is purely one of habit, and the outcome of unjust
prejudice. These delicate, shuddering people, who now, with appetites gone, push
away their plates upon the appearance of a well-cooked vegetable-fed
caterpillar, have probably just swallowed a dozen live oysters; or they may have
partaken of the foul-feeding lobster, and are perhaps pleasantly anticipating
the arrival of a dish of ungutted woodcock! I have pointed out before that we
have Dr. Darwin's authority that the caterpillars of the sphinx moths, as eaten
by the Chinese, are very palatable; and another traveller has told us that he
found the caterpillars eaten by the Hottentots tasted like almond paste. Of
course, in choosing caterpillars for eating, it is necessary to discriminate
between those feeding on poisonous and non-poisonous plants; but there is no
more difficulty in this than in distinguishing between the edible and poisonous
in berries or fungi.
The caterpillar pests swarming in our kitchen gardens, which might with
advantage be collected for food, are really too numerous to be fully described
here, but I will point out a few of the best; at the same time calling attention
to the fact that they all feed upon the wholesome vegetables which we cultivate
for our own eating. To begin, the large white cabbage butterfly (Pontia brassica)
is one of our most familiar butterflies. Its caterpillar, when full-grown, is
one and a half inches in length, and, owing to its unpleasant habit of living
upon his cabbages, of which it usually leaves nothing but skeleton leaves, is
too well known to every gardener. It is of a greenish colour upon the back,
yellow underneath, striped with yellow along the back and sides, spotted all
over with black, and covered more or less with tiny hairs. Miss Eleanor Ormerod
(Manual of Injurious Insects) says, with reference to these pests,
"Hand-picking the caterpillars is a tedious remedy, but where there is no great
extent of ground, it is advisable as a certain cure."
This effectual remedy would no longer be looked upon as tedious if the fruits of
the picking were to form a dish for the gardener's dinner, or appear in the menu
of his mistress as "Larvae Pontiae a l'Hottentot." Again she says, "When the
first brood of caterpillars are full-grown, and have disappeared from the
cabbages in early summer, they have left them to turn to chrysalids in any
sheltered nook near, and may be collected in large numbers by children for a
trifle per hundred. They may be chiefly found in outhouses, potting-sheds, and
the like places, in every neglected corner, under rough stairs, step-ladders, or
beams or shelves, or fastened against rough stone walls or mortar." Why should
we not imitate the Chinese, who, as I have stated, eat the chrysalids of
silkworms?
Silkworms feed on the mulberry, lettuce, etc.; these caterpillars upon the
homely cabbage. Let us, then, cast aside our foolish prejudice, and delight in
chrysalids fried in butter, with yolk of eggs and seasoning, or "Chrysalids a la
Chinoise."
The foregoing remarks apply equally to the small white cabbage butterfly (Pontia,
rapae), whose caterpillars are smaller, of a green colour, and velvety, having a
stripe of yellow along the back, and spots of the same colour along the sides.
Sticking still to cabbage, we next have the. cabbage moth {Mamestra brassicae),
whose caterpillar is perhaps more generally known as a forward intruder at table
than any other. The larva is about an inch and a half in length, varies a great
deal in colour, from dirty flesh to green, and is smooth and naked-looking. Its
constant habit of gnawing right down into the heart of any cabbage or
cauliflower attacked renders it a great nuisance in the garden, and also
accounts for its frequent, and at present uninvited, appearance in a boiled
state at the dinner-table.
It was the accident of his house and pigstye being burnt to the ground that
first introduced the flavour of the luscious, but unclean, pig to the celestial
Chinamen. Let these minor accidental appearances at table make us acquainted
with the flavour of the clean and wholesome caterpillar, and let not the silent
appeal be in vain of these martyrs, who invite us to profit by their martyrdom.
Let us not, with a shudder, hide the evidence of their sacrifice under a
temporary shroud of vegetable, but rather let us welcome these pioneers of
future delicacies with smiles and open arms.
Continuing the list, I will
next mention the large yellow underwing moth, whose caterpillar feeds upon
turnip and cabbage leaves. The moth itself is a very familiar sight, its size
and yellow underwings rendering it a conspicuous object when, disturbed from its
day retreat, it rises with sluggish flight before us. In seasons when this moth
is numerous great numbers might be caught, both in the daytime and at night,
with the net and by sugaring trees as practised by moth-collectors. When nicely
fried in butter, their plump bodies rival the torch-cooked delicacies of the
traveller's tale. Again, there is the common Buff-tip, a handsome moth, with
forewings of a beautiful grey colour, marked with ruddy and black patches, and
tipped, as its name imports, with light buff. It is handsome. What is more, let
me whisper the ogreish suggestion that its body, an inch in length, is plump,
round, and sweet. Its caterpillars are well known to every one, whether Londoner
or countryman, for they swarm, at the end of June, in town and country alike
upon their favourite lime trees. Their yellow forms, striped and ringed with
black, are often to be seen crawling across the arid desert of the London
pavements in search of some congenial soil wherein they bury themselves for the
term of insect purgatory. Looking up then at the tree from which these wanderers
have descended, one may see branches, perhaps many, perhaps few, stripped of
their foliage and down the stem other caterpillars hurriedly crawling, knowing
that their time has come; that nature calls them to throw off their gay garments
and humble themselves beneath the soil, before bursting out into rollicking
Buff-tips. It never strikes the Londoner, as he hurries along beneath the shady
trees, that these caterpillars are good to eat. He either stamps upon or
carefully avoids them, according to his nature. The street boy picks up, plays
with, and finally squashes them; but the extraordinary part of it is that it
never strikes him to taste them. Boys taste almost everything. But this
prejudice against insects seems rooted in them from the earliest age, for I have
never seen a child experiment upon the unknown sweets of insect food. These
Buff-tip caterpillars swarm upon the trees in such numbers, in favourable
seasons, that many a dish can be obtained with a little trouble, which is amply
repaid not only by their flavour, but also by the saving of the tender foliage
of the limes. Most of the commoner moths which flit in thousands by night,
around our fields and gardens, have nice fat carcases, and ought certainly to be
used as food. Why, they are the very incarnescence of sweetness, beauty, and
deliciousness; living storehouses of nectar gathered from the most fragrant
flowers! They, too, voluntarily and suggestively sacrifice themselves upon the
altar of our lamps, as we sit, with open windows, in the balmy summer nights.
They fry and grill themselves before our eyes, saying, " Does not the sweet
scent of our cooked bodies tempt you? Fry us with butter; we are delicious. Boil
us, grill us, stew us; we are good all ways!"
I will now pass on to our British land mollusks, beginning with the snail, of
which it has been said, "As the fisherman hates the otter, so does the gardener
this voracious, destructive pest." Anathematized by every person who possesses
the smallest patch of garden; lying in abundance around our feet, a wholesome
food, and at the same time a pest to be destroyed, they are still almost
entirely neglected by rich and poor alike, though the rich long for new dishes
to tempt their jaded palates, and the poor starve. This is the more
extraordinary when it is considered how fond the whole nation is of such
mollusks as it is in the habit of eating. To the rich there are no greater
delicacies than oysters, while the poor consume incredible quantities of the
cheaper mollusks, such as cockles, whelks, etc. One has only to walk down the
streets of any poor quarter of
London to realize the
immense trade which is done by the numerous costermongers, whose barrows are
laden with little plates of ready-cooked mollusks, of many varieties. Yet in the
country the poorer labourers and their families go on week after week,
attempting to keep body and soul together with nothing but bread, varied, if
possible, by the addition of a taste of bacon, while hundreds of nutritious and
wholesome snails and slugs swarm at night upon the little cottage garden. Why
this wanton and reckless waste of food? Prejudice, foolish prejudice! Half the
poor of England would actually die of starvation before stretching out their
hands to gather the plentiful molluscous food which their neighbours in France
delight in. There are many cases—I have known several myself —where the poor
will gather snails and small slugs, and swallow them raw, as a remedy for cough
or weak chest; yet it never seems to strike them that this strengthening
medicine is quite plentiful enough to serve as a pleasant and strengthening
food. As a medicine, they are right to eat their mollusks raw, because snails
and slugs, like all their class, consist principally of albumen which when raw
is easily digested.
Of course the rich can afford to please themselves and reject a pleasant,
wholesome food if they choose; but it seems a sin that our starving poor should
continue to neglect this abundant food-supply. Something could be done by force
of example. Masters might prepare savoury snail dishes, according to the recipes
used in all parts of the Continent, and in course of time the servants would
follow suit. One great stumbling-block in the way is the generally prevailing
idea that there is only one species, the edible snail (Helix pomatia), which is
fit for food, or used as such upon the Continent. It cannot be too widely known
that this is quite a mistake. The only superiority of the so-called edible snail
over its fellows is its superior size. The fact of its superiority in size
recommended it to the Romans as the best species to cultivate for the table; the
fact of it having been so favoured and cultivated above its fellows has given
rise to its name, and to the false idea that none other is edible. This Helix
pomatia is by no means common in England, but is found in Kent, Surrey, and
other southern counties, where it is supposed by many to have been imported by
the invading Romans.
The common garden snail (Helix aspersa), as well as many other smaller kinds, is
eaten in France and everywhere else where snails find favour.
The real fact is that all
our species of snails are edible, unless they are gathered fresh from feeding
upon some poisonous plant. To avoid this danger, it is usual either to starve
the snails or to feed them upon wholesome herbs for some days previous to
preparing them for the table. The Romans, we read, used to fatten their snails
upon meal and new wine until they attained an enormous size and excellent
flavour. At the present day in
Italy, they are sometimes
kept in bran for some time before being eaten. In many places upon the Continent
there may be seen snail-preserves, or escargotieres, consisting of odd corners
of gardens enclosed with boards and netted over the top. In these enclosures
hundreds of snails are kept and fed upon wholesome vegetables and such herbs as
impart to their consumers an agreeable flavour. I should like to see a simply
constructed snail-preserve in every cottage garden in England. Further
information on the subject will be found in an excellent work, "Edible
British Mollusks," by G. M. S. Lovell, from which I take the following
recipes, the excellency of which I can personally vouch for.
1. To dress snails.—Snails that feed on vines are considered the best.
Put some water into a saucepan, and when it begins to boil throw in the snails
and let them boil a quarter of an hour; then take them out of their shells, wash
them several times, taking great pains to cleanse them thoroughly, place them in
clean water, and boil them again for a quarter of an hour. Then take them out,
rinse them and dry them, and place them with a little butter in a frying-pan,
and fry them gently for a few minutes sufficient to brown them; then serve with
some piquante sauce.
2. Snails cooked in the French way.—Crack the shells and throw them into
boiling water, with a little salt and herbs, sufficient to make the whole
savoury. In a quarter of an hour take them out, pick the snails from the shells,
and boil them again; then put them into a saucepan, with butter, parsley,
pepper, thyme, a bay-leaf and a little flour. When sufficiently done, add the
yolk of an egg well beaten, and the juice of a lemon or some vinegar.
Now, don't you think those recipes sound nice? I have eaten snails raw, and I
have eaten them cooked. Raw, they are nourishing, but almost flavourless; nicely
cooked, they are excellent. It is of no use for me to attempt to describe their
delicate taste. Try them for yourselves, and judge.
We do not find many instances of slugs being generally eaten, unless as a remedy
for lung diseases; but I fail to see why, seeing how nearly they are allied to
snails, they should be so generally neglected. I have known two gardeners who
were in the constant habit of picking up and swallowing any small grey slugs
they happened to see. One gave as his reason for so doing, that he thought his
chest was weak; the other, that he liked them: both honest enough reasons. The
poor might make most nutritious soup and palatable dishes from the common
varieties of slug, which, left to themselves, do so much damage to farm and
garden crops.
The great grey slug (Limax maximus), the red slug (Limax rufus}, the black slug
{Limax ater), and the small grey slug are all to be found in great numbers in
most parts of England,
and when properly cooked are all equally good. People who walk the fields and
gardens in the daytime wonder at the immense havoc played by slugs, of which
they see so comparatively few. Let them, however, go out at nightfall, with a
good bull's-eye lantern, and they will see, advancing upon their crops from
rubbish heaps, from hollow trees, from crevices in walls, and from every
conceivable hiding-place, hosts of slugs, grey, black, red, large and small. Why
should not these be gathered in hundreds and thousands by the poor for food? The
larger varieties might be treated like the Chinese delicacies, the sea-slugs,
cut open and dried for keeping. Slugs may be secured without the trouble of a
night attack, by placing garden refuse or cabbage leaves under the shelter of
boards or tiles. To these traps the slugs will come in the night to feed, and,
finding themselves sheltered when day breaks, will remain there to be caught,
instead of returning to their usual strongholds.
Let not the labourer say, "We starve. Meat is too dear; bread is almost as dear
because the wire-worm, the leather-jacket, and the May-bug worm have thinned the
crop; our little stock of flour is rendered useless by meal-worms. The
caterpillars swarm upon our cabbages; the sawfly has spoilt all chance of the
gooseberries we hoped to sell: hosts of great slugs and snails have devoured
what the others left. Upon our fruit trees the cockchafers are gnawing the
leaves to bareness."
Yes, meat is dear; but the wheat crop would have been twice as thick if the
wireworms, the leather-jackets, and the luscious white chafer grubs had been
diligently collected by you for food. Meal-worms are fattening. You should have
hand-picked your cabbages and gooseberry trees, so that you might enjoy and
profit by their would-be destroyers. The snails and slugs ought to be welcome,
and sought for, to be placed in your little snail-preserve. As for cockchafers,
you ought to get sixpence a score for them from the squire's housekeeper. They
are, like mushrooms, to be gathered and sold as delicacies; or you could fry
them for your own suppers, before they have a chance of baring your poor fruit
trees. Thus you would not only save all the produce of the little garden, but
also pleasantly vary your monotonous meal with wholesome and savoury dishes.
Nature, if undisturbed, balances all her creatures against each other so that no
one individual kind shall, increase and multiply to an undue extent. This
principle has been summed up in the quaint lines—
"Big fleas have little fleas
Upon their backs to bite 'em;
Little fleas have smaller fleas,
And so on, ad infinitum."
When not interfered with,
Nature's whole machinery works with perfect regularity, and her balance is
exactly poised. If, however, we presume to intermeddle, the whole system soon
becomes deranged. By importing or cultivating fancy fruits unnatural to the
soil, we have interfered with the machinery; by killing the birds to protect
these fancy fruits, we destroy Nature's balance of her creatures—for birds are
the natural counterpoise to insects. In consequence we have, to the great
detriment of our crops, an overweight and undue increase of insects. To save
them from their devourers, we must throw some extra weight into the opposite
scale to compensate for the loss of the birds we kill. I have done my best to
show how this weight may be added, and how the balance may be restored.
On the following pages I have sketched out two menus, comprising some
specimen dishes which may be made from insects. Of course these menus are
unnaturally crowded with insect items; but they are merely intended to show how
such dishes may be usefully introduced into the chief courses of an ordinary
dinner.
I.
FRENCH.
Menu.
Potage aux Limaces a la Chinoise.
Morue bouillie a l'Anglaise, Sauce aux Limaçons.
Larves de Guepes frites au Rayon.
Phalenes a l'Hottentot.
Boeuf aux Chenilles.
Petites Carottes, Sauce blanche aux Rougets.
Creme de Groseilles aux Nemates.
Larves de Hanneton Grillées.
Cerfs Volants a la Gru Gru.
I.
ENGLISH.
Menu.
Slug Soup
Boiled Cod with Snail Sauce.
Wasp Grubs fried in the Comb.
Moths sautes in Butter.
Braized Beef with Caterpillars.
New Carrots with Wireworm Sauce.
Gooseberry Cream with Sawflies.
Devilled Chafer Grubs.
Stag Beetle Larvae on Toast.
II.
FRENCH.
Menu.
Potage aux Limaçons a la Française.
Soles frites. Sauce aux Cloportes.
Hannetons a la Sauterelle des Indes.
Fricassée de Poulets aux Chrysalides.
Carré de Mouton, Sauce aux Rougets.
Canetons aux Petits Pois.
Choufleurs garnies de Chenilles.
Phalenes au Parmesan.
II.
ENGLISH.
Menu.
Snail Soup.
Fried soles, with Woodlouse Sauce.
Curried Cockchafers.
Fricassee of Chicken with Chrysalids.
Boiled Neck of Mutton with Wire-worm Sauce.
Ducklings, with Green Peas.
Cauliflowers garnished with Caterpillars.
Moths on Toast
THE END.