Tucking into my peach cobbler, I stared at the speckled, yellowish-brown topping, hoping for signs of life.
What’s the point of eating Formosan termites, I thought, if there’s no yuck factor?
Too dry for my taste buds, which craved some attitude, these creepy-crawlies were nevertheless a key ingredient in the invasive species dinner (called Can’t Beat Em, Eat Em), I attended in New Orleans last month at the Society of Environmental Journalists’ annual meet-up.
After we were seated at the Ye Old College Inn, chef-owner Johnny Blancher explained that the menu would emphasize invasive species – critters and plants that have strayed far from home base, often with human assistance, and are proving highly disruptive in their new environs.
First up were nutria, rodents closely resembling our muskrat. Nearly a century ago ranchers imported huge populations from South America for their fur. But powerful Gulf Coast storms freed them from their cages. Now, they eat waterfront vegetation like there’s no tomorrow, displacing native species at a spectacular rate. Blancher compared their effect to a “scorched earth policy” as he delivered them diced and baked into small cornbread pies.
“We soak the meat in milk,” Blancher said, explaining that this “milds” the flavour before the pie is dressed with sprout salad with honey from the restaurant’s own apiary, and a pleasant green sauce.
Next was sweet, succulent, plate-sized charbroiled tiger prawn. Originally from the Indian Ocean, the tiger prawn is believed to have escaped from a shrimp farm in the Caribbean Sea during a hurricane a decade ago. Like nutria and other successful invasives, tiger prawns breed and eat prolifically – in their case devouring smaller, native shrimp.
Another main, wild boar cochon de lait, followed. This enormous fried meatball mixed with ground rice is known locally as boudin and came topped with juicy, slow-cooked slabs of pulled meat that tasted slightly gamier than pork.
These feral hogs, escapees from domestic pens, forage for root crops and are blamed for significant agricultural losses and damage to the levees protecting coastal Louisiana from storm surges.
Our boar, caught and raised by a local farmer, came adorned with a pepper jelly and pimento aioli that contained purslane, an invasive succulent introduced to North America by European settlers as a food source. Purslane thrives almost everywhere here and is loaded with omega 3 and vitamins.
Finally, it was time for the termites.
“The Termite Control Board showed up and handed me two buckets,” Blancher said, explaining these wooden-crate stowaways from Asia have wrought millions of dollars worth of havoc on trees and houses in Louisiana.
Blancher is on to something. In Florida, rather than shooting Burmese pythons, one chef braised them in curry and slow-smoked them over hickory. Closer to home, Asian carp croquettes landed on at least one Chicago menu.
What potential, then, might invasives offer Toronto chefs?
Garlic mustard, brought to North America in the early 1800s as an edible herb, displaces native plants such as the trillium. It’s common in our city’s wilder areas, rich in vitamins A and C, and can be eaten fresh or used in pesto.
Rusty crayfish outmuscle their native brethren yet are reportedly delish in jambalaya and etoufee. Round gobies, the bane of local anglers, can be pan-fried or cooked in a bouillabaisse.
But of course, not all invasives should be eaten. European settlers brought wild parsnip for its edible root, but the sap can burn. Pharaoh ants are drawn to dead animals and the risk is high for diseases and parasites.
Zebra mussels, rampant throughout south-central Ontario, are said to be technically edible. But they’re great at filtering water and therefore accumulate toxins. Besides, they’re unbearably tiny.
Purple Loosestrife, long targeted by invasive-haters, is an astringent sometimes used to treat diarrhoea and has antibiotic and disinfecting properties. The leaves, cooked, are rich in calcium, but gut instinct suggests it’s more medicinal than culinary.
My purpose here isn’t to inspire you to eat invasive species willy-nilly. But let’s hope local harvesters and chefs will consider practical alternatives to poisoning or otherwise culling and wasting so-called weeds and pests.
In doing so, we must consider that if a particular invasive species does become popular in the kitchen, there’s a risk a globalized food industry will further its spread.
However, I’m hopeful invasive cuisine can provide a suitable, nutritious alternative that fits within the carbon-busting ideals of a sustainable diet.
