My First Escargots

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This is one of my most clearly defined, early food memories. I was around five years old, and we had gone to a business dinner at some fancy-type restaurant with some of my father's colleagues. I sat next to a man who, by my memory, was not that much larger than me. He was short, I remember, and quite round to my 5-year old eyes. He had dark hair and a sort of reddish complexion, and eyes that I never saw due to his thick glasses obscuring them in the lowly lit restaurant. I don't remember his name, though I do remember talking to him the entire time we were there. He was very kind, and I guess he didn’t get much work done during the meeting because he was too busy being peppered by endless questions from me. Some things never change, huh? I do remember that he was blind despite the glasses, and that he was very willing to answer all of my questions about being blind. Until it came time to start thinking about dinner, which he was very much interested in.

He told me he was planning to order, for his first course, the escargots. I didn't know what those were, so I asked. I remember how severely my nose wrinkled up when he told me they were snails, and moreover, that snails are quite delicious. I didn't believe him for a moment, and so I quizzed him at length about them. This man told me the thing that most influenced my love of food, which was that even when things sound gross, there's a reason people eat them and so one might do best to try these foods out before judging them as Not Food. It was a longer, highly expanded version of "don't knock it until you try it," but it got through to me somehow, in ways my parents certainly never could have. After all of this, probably because he had been so honest with me about all the particulars of his blindness, I trusted this man. And so I too ordered the escargots.

I remember the dish arriving and being placed in front of me. The strange “bowl” with little cups in it. The heady smell of garlic, wine and butter. Because of the little cups (and the snail shells), I remember not having the first clue how to proceed. I of course asked the man. I figured that since he got me into this mess, he could explain the ways of escargots to me. And so he did. He instructed me on how to get the little gems out with my small fork, reminded me to swish and smash them more in the liquid to give them more flavor, and he also told me to chew my food slowly. At that point in my life I was a good chewer (I'm a much faster eater now that I'm grown, though I suppose that happens to all adults and especially those with kids) and so that last bit of information wasn't especially needed at that time in my life. It was a good reminder though, and one I give myself every single time I think of this man while I'm eating. You’d be surprised by how often I think about him while I’m eating.

I pried out a snail with my tiny fork, and I dipped and pressed it into the sauce before putting it in my mouth, as instructed. Then I chewed, slowly. The burst of flavour and happiness in my mouth was immediate. I could feel the slightly rubbery give of the snail's flesh, and taste its relatively mild flavor. The sauce was an explosion of fattiness and wonder, and as I chewed, the sauce pushed itself into the recesses of the snail, making sure each time my teeth clamped down was a new and wondrous experience. I was in heaven, and was changed forever.

This snail that I was so hesitant to put in my mouth... this bug in my mouth... was one of the most incredible things I had experienced. It remains, to this day, one of the most amazing foods I've experienced. I ate them all. Every. Single. One. The man and I sat in silence, eating our snails. This was probably the only period of silence for him while we were all at that restaurant. There was a table full of other people there with us, but to me? Only the man, the snails, and I existed. Nothing else. When we finished our escargots, the man asked me what I thought about them. I'm sure he regretted that decision, since I was a much more chatty kid than I am as an adult (unbelievable, huh?). I told him at length about my impressions of the snails, and he told me about other sauces they sometimes come with. We talked about nothing but snails. It was wonderful, that sense of adventure, exploration, fellowship, communication, newness, and wonder. It is the experience I look for every time I eat. Though only one in a thousand meals gives me this exact feeling, I am never able stop looking for it. I was addicted to food in that moment, and it's the reason I continue to be addicted to food.

It's strange sometimes to think that this man, whose eyes I never saw, and whose name I still don't remember, provided me with one of the most fundamentally influential moments of my life. It changed my life, and all my views about food. That change still exists in me today! Sometimes, I will be looking at a menu, or an ingredient in the store, and my first response is, "Ew. That's gross." Every time that happens, the escargots and the man come to my mind, and I can hear his gentle rebuke about judging a food before I've tried it. In those moments, even when I'd rather order something familiar, or even just something that seems a little less weird, I go with the escargots. They're obviously not actual escargots, but I never eat the weird food without remembering these specific escargots.

And so, this man, whom I met once, changed my life forever. He is the reason I write about food. He is the reason I eat with such abandon, and cook and bake with so much joy. He is the reason I try things I have no interest in trying (sometimes not even food-related!). He is the reason I seek that bliss with every bite I put in my mouth. I don't know who he is, and I assume he isn’t even alive anymore since it’s been almost 40 years since this happened, but I am thankful to him, every day of my life, for the incredible and inexpressible (though I'm trying) gift he gave me and the way it shaped my thinking.

Is there someone who does or did exist in your life who gave you a gift like this, or who influenced you in such a remarkable way? I'd love to hear y'all's experiences, too, so tell us about your influential food experiences in the comments!