On Pests

Outside my window, right at this moment, a small flock of Indian Mynah birds, non-natives, are chasing an Eastern Australian Raven from my balcony. At more or less the same instant, small herd of caterpillars is consuming the vestiges of my pathetic potted basil plant. Two different problems, for certain, but they share similarities, and I'm wondering if they mightn't share a common solution. Actually, I'm wondering, in typical fashion, what mynah birds and tiny green caterpillars taste like. I figure the former should be first hung, then roasted until medium-rare, and the latter flash fried, or maybe eaten raw.

My impulses may seem a bit strange, but, always my own greatest champion, I'll explain how I'm not alone. There is, in fact, a rich culinary history of consuming pests, both because they are tasty and because it makes a commodity out of a nuisance.



For example, it's common in many southeast Asian countries for rats and other rodents to be sold as meat in local markets. They are collected from fields and farms, and in many ways it is a case of eating the animal that would otherwise eat your crops. Famously, in 2005, a group of scientists discovered a new species of mammal in Laos at one such market. They recognized the rat-like creature, presumably hanging from its tail at a vendor's stall, as something new to science. Evidently the locals prefer them spit-roasted.

While I am on the topic of rodents, I'd like to point out a local absurdity. In Australia, rabbits are an introduced species and are classified as destructive and invasive. There have been several attempts to either contain or eradicate them. Why, then, do I have to pay $20 for one farmed rabbit when the country is teeming with them (I know about myxomatosis, don't start)? It wasn't always this way. Wild rabbits were once sold in the streets of Sydney by mobile vendors (think: the ice cream man). After the war, during which they were a staple, their popularity waned; no one wanted to eat poverty food anymore, no matter how delicious.

More destructive pests are subject as well. Surfing around the internet I found an article from the December 25th,, 1932 issue of the Michigan's Lundington Daily News that describes “Thousands of sacks of cooked locusts have been brought” to the southern Philippines for consumption by locals. Granted, the article is nearly a century old, but it is no less relevant. People do eat these things. This is, however, just about the only case of importing pests as a foodstuff that I can think of.

Well, there is one other such instance that comes to mind. The French import snails. We all know that the French eat snails, a common garden pest, but you may not know that the French have nearly eaten the local ones into extinction, and therefore have to import varieties from abroad. Fear not, however, for the species Helix aspersa (the most common of the French snails) for not only are they widely farmed, but they have been exported live in the past as a potential foodstuff, eventually escaped, and are now naturalized in in a great part of the world. Their slimy, global dominion includes North and South America, most of Europe, parts of Africa, and Australia, all places where they terrorize gardeners.



Which brings me back around to my first musings. My father-in-law, an avid gardener, employs poisons to control his snail problem. Every time I see one of their little spiral shells clinging to his silverbeet leaves, I start daydreaming about garlic butter. Tired of watching the little mollusks die needlessly, preferring they die for my lunch, I set about collecting and preparing the lethargic little creatures for cooking.

For those who might be interested, the consumption of snails by humans is ancient, as documented at several archaeological sites worldwide. We know from the writings of Pliny the Younger that Romans valued snails as a delicacy, often eaten at the close of a meal. It's no great leap of imagination that eating all those snails meant a reduced threat to the local vineyards. The Romans brought their love of snails (and knowledge of viticulture, mind you) to Gaul. Both remain.

There is a small amount of work involved in preparing snails to be eaten. Might I suggest that you process a great number at a time and freeze any excess. I cooked about 85 this time 'round.

Snails collected from the wild must first be purged of anything they may have eaten that might, in turn, be bad for you. This is done by keeping them in a container and feeding them food you would eat, such as corn meal or lettuce leaves, for a week or so (heliciculture, for all you trivia buffs, is the term for snail farming). (I should also point out at this time that I owe a great debt of thanks to my mother-in-law who looked after my snails at her home in the country until I could get back to cook them. Thanks, Helen.) After this time the snails are gathered into a small container and starved overnight. Several rinses in cold water cleans them of any excess slime. The snails are given a shake in their container ( to get them to withdraw into their shells), and then immediately plunged into boiling, salted water for 5 minutes. After straining and cooling, the meat is removed from the shells and the shells reserved.

At this stage the snails are far to chewy to eat. To soften them, they are slow-cooked in a court bouillon – a lightly flavored stock. For the court bouillon you will need:

1 celery stick
1 white onion, peeled
2 cloves garlic, peeled
1 lemon, halved
2 bay leaves
2 sprigs thyme
6 black peppercorns

Cut the celery and onion into large chunks. Place these into a medium pot with the garlic, herbs and peppercorns. Squeeze the lemon halves into the pot and then add the empty halves as well. Add enough water just to cover, nor more than 2 litres, and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Add the snail meat. Return to just a simmer and cook for 1 hour to 1½ hours, until the snails are quite soft when pressed. Drain, and pick snails from the solids. Discard the remainder. The snails can be frozen at this point if you require.

Now the snails are ready to eat. However, they are very low in fat (and flavor) so we need to add a bit of both. I'll give you a traditional recipe and one I though up after eating a few dozen of the traditional version one day for lunch. Call it my dream snail dish. Each recipe makes butter for about 50 snails.

Escargot in Garlic Butter

4 cloves garlic, fine dice
4 shallots, fine dice
2 sprigs thyme, leaves only
200 g salted butter, room temperature
2 Tbsp chopped parsley

Heat a small pan on medium heat. Add about a tablespoon of the butter and melt. When it begins to foam, add half of the chopped garlic and all of the shallots. Sweat gently until soft, sweet, and aromatic, but not colored. Remove from heat and cool. In a bowl mix the cooked ingredients (cooked butter included) with the remainder of the ingredients until the butter is smooth and even. Season liberally with salt and pepper.

Put a small plug of your snail butter in each snail shell, stuff a snail back in, and cover with more butter. Arrange the shells on trays lined with rock salt, opening facing up. Grill (broil) until hot and bubbly. Serve with bread.



Smoked Snails with Chipotle Butter

As I was happily munching away at my snails, I was reminded of the mouth-feel of smoked mussels. I love oily, slightly pasty, rich smoked mussels in a tin. So I cold-smoked some snails for about 30 minutes.

What to serve with smoked snails? Smokey chipotle butter, of course. Chipotle peppers are something of a rarity Down Under. My parents ship them to me from time to time, which is nice, as a tin of them in a import deli might cost upwards of $10. I'll have to learn how to make them.

200 g salted butter, room temperature
50 g chipotle peppers

Blend butter and chilies together until smooth. Follow snail cooking instructions above.