The Eat-A-Bug Cookbook

  • David George Gordon
Ten Speed Press: 1998. 140 Pp. $12 $12.95 (pbk)
Insect cuisine: From top left clockwise⃛ Sheesh! Kabobs, Cream of Katydid soup, Scorpion Scaloppine and Sky Prawns.

Entomophagy — eating insects — is nothing new. Most of the world's indigenous peoples include insects on the menu. But somewhere along the line, the population of Europe and the United States has lost the taste for a large proportion of the phylum Arthropoda. Why should we relish crustaceans, yet reject the culinary delights of their protein-rich, cholesterol-free, vitamin-laden six-legged or eight-legged cousins?

Other entomophages have attempted to right this anomaly. In 1885, Vincent M. Holt published a persuasive text entitled Why Not Eat Insects? , in which he attempted to convince England's starving peasantry that it would be much better fed if it were willing to embrace the locally collected invertebrate fauna. More recently, Ronald L. Taylor's inspired work Butterflies in My Stomach , and the accompanying volume Entertaining with Insects tried to appeal to the open-minded 1970s generation. As these authors evidently failed to change our habits, it would seem fair for another to try to convince us of the delights of an insect-rich diet.

In The Eat-A-Bug Cookbook , David George Gordon makes a fine attempt (he uses ‘bugs’ in its widest sense, to include anything that creeps, crawls, hops or wriggles). There is a very interesting section on government-approved entomophagy, which might make your skin crawl more than the raw ingredients do.

The US Food and Drug Administration has officially sanctioned permissible degrees of insect damage and infestation, including specified numbers of eggs, immature and adult insects, or their parts, that are allowed in various foods. It is acceptable if there are two or three fruitfly maggots in 200 grams of tomato juice, and as many as 100 insect fragments are permitted in 25 grams of curry powder. And if you've ever wondered why fig seeds stick between the teeth, then you'll appreciate knowing that up to 13 insect heads are allowed in 100 grams of fig paste. Not to mention cochineal, a red food additive, made from the pulverized remains of the bug (this time the word is used in its true sense) Dactylopius coccus — 70,000 bugs in every pound.

This useful information is not intended to put us off our salad, or to scare us into making hand-lens inspection a routine part of food preparation, but instead to convince us that eating insects is officially OK. To whet your appetite, here are some of the delicacies on offer. ‘Three bee salad’ and ‘Nine ways to turn the tables on household and garden pests’ were two of my favourites, closely followed by ‘Party pupae’, ‘Cream of Katydid soup’ and ‘Pest-o’.

For the inexperienced entomophagist, there are heaps of useful cooking tips, nutritional information, historical accounts, preparation techniques (how to disarm a scorpion or a bee, and how to prepare a cricket before it hops off), serving suggestions, and hints about biological suppliers or harvesting from the wild. There is even a description of how to create the cricket equivalent of Club Med, should you wish to keep fresh ingredients on hand. The anatomical details and ‘choice cuts’ section, however, was just a little more information than I really needed.

No self-respecting recipe book would be complete without its recommendations of the best wines to accompany the meal — apparently you can't beat champagne. The best advice was to take two bottles, one to eat with the meal and one to fortify the chef.