Fat-bottomed Ants, You Make The Rocking World Go Round

Ingesting invertebrates might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but, for naturalist John Wright, ants, woodlice and grasshoppers are the lesser of two weevils

I HAVE started to eat ants. Not many and not often, but I do eat them and quite like them. I learned all about ant collecting and eating from my friend and fellow forager Thomas Laursen. It is he who supplies ants to the restaurant Noma, in Copenhagen, that temple to odd food.

We were jointly leading a wild-food foray in Jutland when we came across a huge mounded nest in a pine forest, crawling with fat wood ants. He placed his hand flat on the nest and ants swarmed all over it. A woman asked if they were stinging him. ‘A little,’ he said with studied nonchalance.

He proceeded to eat a few before offering them around. I tried some and was surprised to find they tasted strongly of lemons, no doubt from the acid in their sting.

Later, we found a different species that tasted of oranges. This was all very interesting, but I was more curious about the reaction of our guests to what Thomas had done. Most of the women present were clearly impressed with this tall and handsome hunter gather and most of the men (including me) felt threatened by this ugly brute, who was clearly making his alpha-male move. We’re such basic creatures when returned to our natural habitat.

The chimpanzees, our nearest relatives, are very fond of insects. Studies of their diets show that much of their protein is of insect origin, chiefly termites and ants. Insects were once an important part of our diet, too, and, in many cultures, still are. Not so in the West—it’s surprising how revolted we can be at the thought of eating creepy-crawlies when we cheerfully eat prawns and raw oysters. Insect-eating or, rather, terrestrial invertebrate-eating, has become a tele-visual spectator sport, but it’s disgust that provides the entertainment.