It’s hard to admit, but my real first encounter with escargot was at Bunny’s Bar and Grill in St. Louis Park, with a flock of hospitality bats. Some of my fellow bartenders thought it would be funny to order the strange appetizer—what was escargot Bourguignon doing there alongside nachos?—and someone else thought it would be even funnier to drop one in my mouth without telling me what it was. Once I understood that I was eating snails, I could no longer understand why this definitive dish in the cuisine of cuisines was so maligned. In truth, my initial taste of these slimy creatures was an odd sort of awakening. The earthy, buttery softness of this accidental escargot led me to oysters and sushi and other culinary adventures that might have been postponed for who knows how long.
Piles of shells excavated from archeological digs across Europe indicate that snails have been enjoyed as a food by a number of ancient peoples. The Romans cultivated special vineyards where their snails could feed. By the sixteenth century, dining on snails was so fashionable that the Catholic Church classified them (along with frogs and turtles in France) as “fish” and they were therefore allowed on meatless days. But it wasn’t until the mid-1800s, when Alsatian-run brasseries proliferated in Paris, that escargot became a defining dish of French culture. Today the French consume some forty thousand metric tons of escargot each year, more than the country can produce. Just last year, the Burgundy Snail Festival was saved by the importation of Polish snails to handle the demand (to the delight and chagrin of the French). In fact, heliciculture, or snail farming, is becoming a popular economic solution for Eastern European countries as demands across the globe increase.
Gastropod mollusks, snails occupy one of the largest classes of animals and can be found all over the planet in both water and land environments. Gastronomically, the most popular are Helix aspera (or petit-gris), the common garden snail, and Helix pomatia, the famed Burgundy snail. Spending their lazy days grazing on wild herbs and vineyard plants, wild Burgundy snails are not as widespread as they once were, due to land development and farming practices. Meanwhile, the garden snail is detested by green thumbs because of its insatiable appetite for plant matter and its prolific breeding ability. (It helps that most snails are hermaphrodites, and toggle back and forth between male and female.) Indeed, it must be hard to appreciate critters on your table that you curse in your garden. Other haters are usually people who have, shall we say, “textural issues” with foods. Just thinking of the slimy, gelatinous nature of a raw snail is enough to set off their gag reflex. And yet many of these people would happily wolf down a lobster, the cockroach of the sea, which is actually similar in texture to a cooked snail.
The Slow Food organization, those champions of fresh and independently produced food, and of the meaningful and lengthy enjoyment of a meal, uses the snail as its logo. Puns aside, cooking fresh wild snails is a slow and laborious undertaking. Although gardeners may be inspired to boil up their nemesis as a tasty revenge, caution should be heeded as snails, more so than most animals, are what they eat—including pesticides and plant life that may be poisonous to humans. Therefore, preparing snails for consumption involves holding them in an untreated wood box while they fast for three to four days as a detoxifying process. It also may include burying them alive in rock salt to draw out harmful toxins, or boiling them at length while removing the frothy scum that gathers on the surface of the cooking water. Not surprisingly, canned snails are a popular alternative to the home-cooked variety; many brands use age-old French preparations and are becoming more readily available in the U.S. through gourmet websites.
Most of us, however, think of escargot as de rigueur on the menu at any traditional French restaurant. At Vincent in Minneapolis, escargot is prepared in the classic Burgundy style, with garlic, shallots, and butter; when perfectly cooked in this way, it is amazingly soft and delicate—like a divine portobello. (You will know the overcooked snail when you meet it: Chewy and rubbery, they lose all magic.) For a departure from the Gallic, venture to Solera for a warm tapas of snails with mojo verde.
While escargot may seem hopelessly retro, young chefs are rediscovering the dish. Over the last year, restaurants across the country featured such creations as escargot-stuffed figs, escargot with truffled parsnip puree and artichokes, escargot parfait with potato puree, and parsley pesto-dotted escargot pizzas. Escargot on the menu gives a restaurant a certain pedigree, since most everyone has heard of escargot, and many consider it a luxury item, whether they enjoy it or not. So perhaps these chefs are at the forefront of a new international trend, and soon enough, escargot will be as popular as steak frites.
Escargot Pasta
6 to 8 ounces linguine pasta
3 tablespoons butter
1 10-ounce can artichoke hearts,
drained and sliced
1⁄2 cup quartered mushrooms
(such as baby portobello or porcini)
1 7- or 8-ounce can escargot, drained
2 to 3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon chopped fresh sage
1 teaspoon chopped fresh parsley
1⁄2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano cheese
Cook pasta in water until al dente.
While pasta is cooking, melt butter in large sauté pan over medium heat. Add garlic and sauté until golden. Add mushrooms and artichokes and cook until mushrooms have softened and browned.
Stir in escargot, sage, and parsley, cooking until just warmed. (Don’t overcook snails or they will be tough.) Remove from heat.
Toss cooked pasta with half of cheese and place in serving bowl (or on plates) and top with escargot mixture. Sprinkle with remaining cheese and serve. Makes two large portions.
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