The suggestion in last week's "PostScript" that "in Britain people simply don't eat horses" prompted the wrath of several readers, disputing this assertion in no uncertain manner. It was even suggested I should "hoof it".
Horse was apparently consumed in considerable volumes during and after World War II, simply because people were hungry.
Throughout Britain they were tucking into sizzling steaks, soups and sausages, all of an equine persuasion.
But it all came to a halt with the "Great Horsemeat Scandal" of 1948 when it was discovered that of the three million Brits eating horsemeat, half of them were totally unaware of it.
The current scandal, which has now inevitably become known as "Horsegate" or "Nag-gate", is not going away quietly, however. People are still very uncomfortable at the thought of eating anything that remotely resembles a pony, filly or stallion. The newspapers have naturally been chomping at the bit. Under the headline "Have you eaten a winner?" the Daily Mail even uncovered possible links of horsemeat with a well-known racecourse, featuring a gentleman known splendidly as "the knacker man".
The great horse banquet
I would be remiss not to mention a huge banquet that was held in a posh London hotel back in 1868 in a bid to popularise horsemeat.
Held at the Langham Hotel, it was billed rather ostentatiously as a "Banquet Hippophagique", although it became better known as the "Great Horse Dinner".
The menu was in French, so the word cheval naturally puts in frequent appearances. There were 10 courses, all featuring horse, opening up with "le consomme du cheval". There was also a separate buffet featuring "collared horse head" and other delights.
Among the guests was Frank Buckland, a celebrated naturalist known for his eccentric taste in food. Unfortunately for the organisers, Frank did not take to eating horse at all, calling it "an unwanted and disagreeable taste". Frank simply didn't enjoy eating gee-gees. He also noted the other guests seemed more interested in horsing around, consuming the plentiful supplies of champagne, but ignoring the plates of dead nags.
Anyone for earwig?
Buckland's distaste for horse was perhaps a little surprising considering he had previously consumed all sorts of weird stuff. Frank and his geologist father William had for years experimented in alternative foods, possibly inspired by living near London Zoo. The father dined regularly on crocodile, hedgehog and (pet lovers close your eyes) puppy. However, he met his match in stewed mole which even he found revolting. He also tried earwigs but admitted they were not to his taste.
It became clear that son Frank had inherited his father's eating habits when he hosted a party for fellow students at Oxford University and treated them to mouthwatering mice on toast. Among other treats he served up during his college days were such delights as porpoise head, elephant trunk, rhino pie and slug soup. At one party, Frank's guests were treated to Japanese sea slugs, kangaroo parts and parrot. According to guests, the sea slug resembled the contents of a glue pot.
You would have thought that after that, horse would have been easy meat for Frank, but apparently that was not the case. "Horse tasted nasty," he sniffed.
Bring back rationing
The eating of horse in the immediate post-war years brought up memories of ration books amongst British readers. Just about everything was rationed for a while. Some of my earliest memories were of my mum getting the ration book out of the drawer and checking to see if we had enough stamps before we headed off down to the local shops. There was even one butcher in town called Mr Bacon which my dad thought was rather amusing.
Rationing finally ended in Britain in July 1954, meat being the last item to come off the ration books. Ironically the rationing prompted a huge improvement in the health of Britons _ for the first time they had been forced to eat a balanced diet and life expectancy soared.
Perhaps we should reintroduce rationing and become, excuse the expression, as healthy as a horse.
Dear old Dobbin
In those days I remember our bread being delivered by a horse-drawn cart. The thought of eating the lovely old cart-horse that brought our daily supplies of Hovis is just too awful to even contemplate. We called the horse Dobbin, but it resembled Hercules, the old nag in the Steptoe and Son series. The poor old thing used to stagger down our cul-de-sac looking like it was about to drop dead, which is of course what happened eventually. But we refrained from having Dobbin for supper.
Pickled parrot
While on the topic of alternative food, more than a decade ago in Israel there was a celebrated case featuring two Thai labourers who were deported after it was discovered that they had eaten animals from the local children's zoo.
They were actually caught stealing a goose, but admitted to having devoured 40 parrots, four goats, two love birds and assorted other creatures. All they missed was a partridge in a pear tree.
It sounded like they had quite a party, but they must have got a little bored with parrot after a while. And the poor schoolkids understandably got a bit upset when they discovered their pet parrot had become the chief ingredient in an Isan curry.
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