Friday, April 16, 2010
Snails by any other name are still….snails
I love food.
Baby corn is the only vegetable that I don't like. And I think that's mostly down to the 'baby' part.
I'm a terrific dinner guest because I will try anything. My pet peeve is picky eaters. It's food, someone made it for you, eat it.
Of course there are things that I prefer and things I may pass over if presented with a variety of dishes, but I will always taste.
I have one exception. Snails. I will eat oysters, octopus, squid--even the creepy squid body part—mushrooms of every variety, you name it. But I cannot stomach the idea of eating one of those slimy, antennae waving crawlers who leave a silver trail in their wake. UGH!
Of course it is only because I've seen millions of snails, have crushed them underfoot, plucked them off peony leaves, and even, if I'm brutally honest, poured salt on them.
The only reason I can throw back a dozen raw oysters doused with liberal amounts of horseradish and red sauce is because I don't live in the sea. My backyard isn't underwater. I don't have to pry their muscly selves off rock walls or witness their silver trails.
That, and they're really good with cold, cold beer.
You know where this is going, right?
Last night, I. Ate. Snails.
Well, just half of one snail, but I did it. It was kind of awful. The shells looked beautiful; like a mother of pearl necklace arranged on the plate. The sauce was heady with garlic and herbs. But it was very, very chewy and strangely horrifyingly enough, it tasted 'green', like grass. Like all the plant leaves and grass the little bugger had been happily munching on until he was snatched up, silver suction broken, and placed in a hot oven with all that garlic, butter, and herbs.
As you know, my Middlest is like his mother and will try just about anything. But even he was aghast when I told him that I tried a snail.
Pig brains, no problem. Just fry those up and serve them with a side of mash.
But snails, that's just not on.