Basics Part 2: Tasters

My programs have been full of people who had to wait their turn to eat insects, and since we can't have you doubting me on that here's a more-or-less random gallery of tasters trying dishes at events from the last year or so.

Here's the scene at the Newark Museum's BugMania2. I was serving at the far tent.






This is Sarah, who really did enjoy her insects. I'm pretty sure that her grimace came from the fact that the cicada (barely visible between her teeth) was a little chewier than she'd expected.







One might ask whether images like this are good for the cause, given what an ordeal it looks like for her. But this may just be the face of someone readjusting her ideas about food, and getting used to a new concept -- after all, the vast majority of participants have never before deliberately eaten an insect -- one that, a week before or even 30 minutes before, seemed repulsive. So that's great progress then.



Besides, this blog is about what it's like to operate an edible insect company; therefore I'm not interested in pretending as though there won't be difficulties along the way. I'll blog the good and the not-so-perfect, like the resistance that inevitably comes..... Though Sarah was a great sport.


Visting with students in the Boston area.






Both Mom and Son tasted the crickets and/or cicadas; that day there were several kids -- and some adults -- who asked for seconds. I'm pretty sure he was one of them.










I never got this guy's name, but just look at that facial expression! He knew how to enjoy a good bug.









And once more: the look of YUM.

Next Bug: cicadas

Cicadas are the insects people hear more often than see; they're the loud buzzing sound we may associate with summer. When we see them, it's often as a flash -- they're super fast flyers. But they're not so fast when they emerge; they crawl out of the ground in their nymphal shells, climb up a tree or some other nearby vertical [like one's legs, if one stands still for a while], and struggle out of their skins. After that it's still a long while before they can fly. And all of this time is when you can scoop them up by the pound.

Some species live only one year; the periodic cicadas are better known due to their staggering emergences. A predator-response strategy has led the species to stay beneath ground for either 13 or 17 years (depending on the particular species) and then come up more or less at the same time. This allows a range of creatures to eat as many as they want and still allow a good percentage of the insects a chance to reproduce.

And here's a single one:


In 2004 the "famous" Brood X emerged in many states on the Eastern Seaboard; I drove down to Princeton, NJ; slept in my car on campus during Memorial Day weekend; and harvested eight or nine pounds of cicadas from a few massive beech trees on the Princeton campus. I've been serving them -- sauteed or dry-toasted -- to the public ever since. A few images of that event are on my website.

This year it was Brood XIII's turn. They were locally numerous in the Chicago area, and since I couldn't get out there I contacted a professor of Entomology, who knew of a few graduate students -- my official "THANKS" go out to James (Jamie) Zahnisser and his crew of friends -- who were willing to collect some for me. The cicadas arrived a couple of weeks ago.

After a little rinsing, I packed them into the freezer (as I've said before, I've got an understanding wife).

Though the bowl design features "pasta," we should note that insects are basically the protein source of a meal.

Cicadas are found worldwide and are a very popular food. Heck, Aristotle wrote that the last earth-bound stage, before the animal breaks through its thin brown shell, that's the tastiest. He loved them.