It could be imagined that the prospect of consuming a creature even more
viscously repugnant than the frog might have inspired similar feelings of
horrific revulsion in the English-colonized part of my Frenglish stomach. Is
it because it has long been used to accommodating its sea-bound cousins? Or is
it simply due to the fact that this gastropod is called upon to suffer inertly?
Whatever the explanation may be, I can tolerate, even relish a dozen escargots,
without the Englishman in me manifesting even the semblance of a qualm. I must,
however, admit that his appreciation of the dish is perhaps due more to the
assertive flavour procured by the butter, parsley and garlic sauce the snails
are usually cooked in; for the flesh itself is characterized by a limpish,
rubber-like texture, and a taste which bears more comparison with chewing gum
that has been conscientiously masticated for at least an hour.
Though horrified by the method
used to cut the frog down to frying-pan proportions, my Englishman closes his
eyes to the even more hideous fate reserved for the snail: for, in order to
eliminate any toxic vegetation it may have swallowed, our gastropod is first
subjected to a three or four-week fast; and the little life then remaining is extinguished
by plunging the poor creature into a pan of boiling water. Moreover, if
quantities only are to be gone by, the French would be nicknamed ‘Snailies’
rather than ‘Froggies’. For two in every three of the snails swallowed on our
planet (a total of around 700 million per year) find their way into a
Gallic stomach. Usually the larger-sized Escargot de Bourgogne (helix
pomatia) is favoured, and though, understandably, native numbers are
steadily declining, snail-gathering (early wet summer mornings produce the best
results) is still legally permitted for private consumption, and even sale.
Disappointingly, as with frogs’
legs, most of the snails consumed today are of foreign importation, and usually
come in deep-frozen, or canned form. Ready-prepared snails, ensconced in their
shells, and topped with a butter, garlic and parsley sauce, are widely
available in French supermarket freezers, and need only be popped into a hot
oven, or simply micro-waved. Sauce-bound snails can also be found nestling in
flaky-pastry, vol-au-vent type cases. Though these are usually eaten as
a starter, they may be served up as an amuse-gueule - a tasty
‘gob-amuser’ to be enjoyed with a pre-meal drink.
As is the case with frogs’
legs, the self-respecting French snail-eater reckons in nothing less than
dozens, and the delicacy is, therefore, usually eaten from the shell on a
dedicated plate with twelve hollows. Finger-assisted consumption being messy, a
pair of snail tongs is provided for holding (and not crushing) the shells,
along with a specific slim-line extraction fork (at home a pin could be used).
It goes without saying that, not only is systematic dunking of the accompanying
sauce allowed, but is generally considered to be an indispensable way of
enjoying the whole.
This blog is adapted from an article in 'Barry's Frenglish Folies'. The Kindle edition of this book is available free on Amazon at:
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