Eating Camel.

Today, July 30th

The Australian explorer John McKinlay was given the task of searching for the lost Burke and Wills expedition which had set off in August 1860 with the aim of being the first to cross the continent from south to north. By the end of the year the deaths of Burke and Wills had been confirmed, and McKinlay turned his party northwards, as instructed, to explore the area to the north and west of Lake Eyre.

Eventually McKinlay and his men reached the Gulf of Carpentaria - to find the ship they were hoping to board had already left. They turned south and east, heading for Bowen on the coast of Queensland – six hundred mile trip for which their health, animals and supplies were not prepared. On this day in 1862 they killed and ate their last camel. With only a few horses left they were in dire straights, but a few days later they came across a cattle trail and within an hour were at the cattle station eating roast beef and damper.
Which brings me to my questions of the day. What does camel taste like? How does one cook camel? Not having any experience of my own, I am obliged to go to the experts.

In The Curiosities of Food, published in 1859, Peter Lund Simmons (who probably did not actually eat it but quotes others) says:

“ The flesh of the camel is dry and hard, but not unpalatable. … In Barbary, the tongues are salted and smoked for exportation to Italy and other countries, and they form a very good dish. The flesh is little esteemed by the Tartars, but they use the hump cut into slices, which, when dissolved in tea, serves the purpose of butter.”

The late Alan Davidson in The Oxford Companion to Food quotes Stobart (1980) on camel’s milk, which he says:

“has very small fat globules and cannot readily be churned to make butter.” It can however, apparently be made into a kind of yoghurt.

Waverley Root in Food quotes his correspondent Dr Lloyd Cabot Briggs, ‘an anthropologist who has spent a good deal of time in the Sahara’, and who presumably should know. He says:

“Camel [meat] has a distinctive taste which show up in a peculiar way. While you are eating it, it tastes just like rather ordinary beef or relatively tasty veal (depending on age), but when you’ve finished and run your tongue around your mouth, you suddenly discover a slightly sweetish after-taste, like horse but not quite so much, very faint, but definite.”

Hmm. So camel does not taste like chicken.

It seems that the experts give second-hand reports too. I would be delighted to hear some first hand experience, so please do leave a comment if you have some!

To my surprise, the Larousse Gastronomique (I have a 1961 edition) gives a number of recipes for camel. Here are a couple, in case you should get invited on a Saharan or Outback Aus tralian expedition.

Camel’s Feet Vinaigrette.
Soak the feet of a young camel. Cook them in a white court-bouillon in the same way as for Calf’s feet. Drain them. Serve with a vinaigrette sauce.

Roast Camel’s Hump.
Only the hump of a very young camel is prepared in this way.
Marinate the meat with oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper, spices. Roast it in the same way as for roast sirloin of beef. Serve with its own gravy and water-cress.

On this topic: For more about the role of camels in the exploration of Australia, see the story on John Horrocks.

Tomorrow’s Story …

All about cucumbers.

Quotation for the Day …

Abu el-Heidja has deflowered in one night
Once eighty virgins, and he did not eat or drink between,
Because he surfeited himself with chickpeas,
And had drunk camel's milk with honey mixed.
Sheik Nefzawi: The Perfumed Garden

A revolutionary dish.

Today, January 24th …

Lobster Thermidor is an extravagant, indulgent, classical dish, a dish that no-one makes at home anymore - the reasons for which will become obvious shortly, but have nothing to do with the level of culinary difficulty. A popular story which may be history or myth, says that the dish was invented on this very day in 1894 at the restaurant Maire in Boulevard Saint-Denis in Paris, in honour of the first night of the play “Thermidor”, by Victorien Sardou. Its subject was the French Revolution, which was still a politically sensitive issue 100 years later, and the play was banned after only three performances.

There are other stories of course, but whatever the route, the dish is ultimately named after the month of that name in the short-lived French Revolutionary calendar, one of the warm summer months (now July 19 to August 17). The play’s name was a reference to the political machinations called the “Thermidorean reaction” which occurred on 9 Thermidor 1794, and led to the end of the Reign of Terror and the execution by guillotine of Robespierre the following day.

The lobster must think this explanation is particularly apt, in view of its own last moments and method of execution.

Lobster thermidor.

Split a live lobster in two, lengthwise. Crack the shell of the claws and pick out the meat. Season both halves of the lobster with salt. Pour oil over them and roast them in the oven for 15 to 20 minutes.
Dice the lobster flesh coarsely. Make a stock of white wine, fish fumet [stock] and meat gravy, flavoured with chervil, tarragon, and chopped shallots. Boil it down to a concentrated consistency. Add to this concentrated stock a little very thick Bechamel sauce and some English mustard.
Boil this sauce for a few seconds, then whisk in fresh butter (one third of the volume of the sauce).
Line the two halves of the carcases with a little of this sauce. Fill them with the flesh of the lobster, cover with the remainder of the sauce, sprinkle with grated Parmesan and melted butter and brown quickly in the oven. (Larousse Gastronomique).

If this method of lobster execution makes you squeamish, please do use the standard method of death by immersion in boiling water – in which case a name change to “Lobster Plûvoise” would be doubly apt, since January 24th fell in the wet month of that name.

Tomorrow: And so the Lord be thankit.