In Britain, to express admiration and love is a rather difficult affair. This may be of use if you require inspiration for abstract art. Just laud a Brit with personal praise and watch their face squirm into every possible corner imaginable, you’ll have the Tate Modern lining up for your portrait in no time. For our cousins across the channel, who so often make us feel guilty with their good fashion sense (I am aware that the ‘father of haute couture’ was an Englishman but don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret), their good looks and just general ‘I can make anything look cool’ vibe we Brits are faced with no other option than a bit of teasing. I promise you, it comes from a good place. How do we tease the French? No, I’m not suggesting burning a teenage girl alive and then claiming she’s a witch, bit far mate. It usually comes in the form of snails. Slimy, green snails. But with tensions running high between the two nations, can’t think why, I bravely ventured to calm international relations down by eating a few snails.
We are mistaken, as my girlfriend told me. They’re not as a widely consumed in France as we may think. Correct me if I’m wrong but snails are largely eaten for special occasions and my venture into the unknown was on Christmas Eve. To tell the truth, I didn’t mind. I thought about it and I couldn’t justify eating the ham amongst other meats and leaving the snails alone. Also, I might as well say it now with all the remorse necessary for such a statement I’m about to make...I don’t like a single type of French cheese. I had to find a path to redemption and what better way than pricking a dead, seasoned gastropod with a toothpick and eating it whole? If it wasn’t for France, then I did for the gardeners.
There were two variants offered to me that day, sea snails and land snails. The sea snail is best forgotten about, it was pretty measly and the grains of salt carried from the sea added no flavour other than an unsettling crunch. The latter is worth talking about. Before eating I had no idea what to expect but there was a concern about a potential texture. There are genuinely very few foods that I won’t eat and this is something I quite like about myself. But there’s always going to be something I won’t like. I love a salmon steak but smoked salmon? No way Jose. I wasn’t sure why I equated the texture of a snail with smoked salmon, maybe its a matter of the shiny colour one sees on smoked salmon or the soft, ever so slightly wet chewiness that makes my tastebuds recoil which I suspected a snail might have been about to do.
In the end, I couldn't quite put my finger on it, the flavours of garlic butter and parsley rolled away and of course, they were quite the treat but the actual snail? Well admittedly, its somewhat hard to focus the first time because I kept thinking, “there’s a snail, a snail, in your mouth”. So a few more attempts were needed and the best I can come up with is...a bit like gnocchi but a tad less fluffy? If that’s a terrible opinion then I’m sorry, it’s bad enough I, a Brit, is judging the French for their food. So if I can at the very least avert another 100 years war, then let me say, J’aime bien les escargots! They really are great little appetisers and I find I even find it strange that you won’t find a plate of buttered-up snails in ol’ Blighty. Come on my compatriots, if you can eat pork rinds then you can easily eat a snail.
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