Deep-Fried Tarantula Spider

Deep-Fried Tarantula Spider
Deep-Fried Tarantula Spider
Readers of earlier printings of my cookbook were treated to the sad tale of my failed attempt to acquire specimens of the worlds biggest arachnid, the goliath bird-eating spider as the piece de resistance of this recipe collection. Since then, Ive had many opportunities to cook with lesser-sized tarantulas and have now replaced the original hypothetical recipe with the one on these pages. Although I am at times saddened to dispatch such charismatic and long-lived invertebrates in the name of bug cuisine, I console myself with the thought that most of the tarantulas Ive acquired were otherwise destined to unsatisfying lives as classroom pets and lab research specimens. Furthermore, lets face it: tarantulas make for a tasty and texturally satisfying meal. Heres why. Unlike heavily armored grasshoppers, beetles, and other land arthropods, tarantulas wear an outer layer of chitin that is comparatively thin and pliable. Thats right: their eight muscular limbs are chewy, not crunchy. As such, the plentiful meat on one of these animals is more accessible and, hence, the makings for a savory spider soiree. If, for my birthday dinner, I could order anything I wanted, Id request a Maine lobster or a tarantula spider. Properly prepared, either would make an awesome celebratory entree. Incidentally, this particular recipe helped me best three other chefs in a series of round-robin eliminations, assisting me in bringing home the gold at the first-ever Big Bug Cook-Off, held in May 2011 at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County.
  • Preparing Time: -
  • Total Time: -
  • Served Person: 4 servings
Appetizer Deep-Fry
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 2 cups canola or vegetable oil
  • 2 frozen adult texas brown, chilean rose, or similar-sized tarantulas, thawed
  • 1 cup tempura batter

A Housewife's Unexpected Culinary Adventure: Deep-Fried Tarantulas

My life is usually filled with the everyday routines of a housewife: grocery shopping, laundry, and the endless cycle of meal preparation. But recently, my culinary world took a delightfully unexpected turn. It all started with a cookbook, a cookbook that dared to explore the realm of entomophagy – the consumption of insects. Initially, I was hesitant, even repulsed by the idea. Insects as food? It was far outside my comfort zone, a concept that belonged in a science fiction movie, not my perfectly organized kitchen.

But curiosity, that ever-present itch, got the better of me. The cookbook featured recipes from around the globe, from crispy crickets to succulent scorpions. Among them was a recipe for deep-fried tarantulas. Now, tarantulas, those eight-legged creatures that inspire both fascination and fear, had always been creatures of the night, lurking in the shadows of my imagination. Yet, the recipe was intriguing. The author described the spider's meat as tender and surprisingly flavorful, a description that sparked a flame of culinary daring within me. I had to try it.

The initial hurdle, of course, was sourcing the ingredients. Forget your local supermarket; acquiring tarantulas required a bit more effort. After a few phone calls and some online research, I managed to find a supplier specializing in edible insects. They even sent me a comprehensive guide on how to properly handle and prepare these arachnids. This was beyond anything I had ever imagined preparing in my kitchen. It felt like embarking on a thrilling culinary expedition.

The preparation itself was surprisingly straightforward, although definitely unique. There was a certain elegance to the process, a careful precision as I followed the detailed instructions. The most challenging aspect was, admittedly, the initial sight of the frozen tarantulas. The unsettling feeling quickly faded as I focused on the task at hand. Once deep-fried and golden brown, their appearance was utterly transformed. They were no longer fearsome creatures but rather intriguing culinary creations ready to be devoured.

The taste? It was an adventure for my palate. The texture was surprisingly satisfying, like a delicate seafood, with a slight crispness from the batter. The taste was subtle, not overwhelmingly strong, allowing the accompanying spices to complement the spider's natural flavor profile. I served it with a simple side salad, and the contrast between the earthy, adventurous main course and the refreshing salad was perfect.

My family, initially skeptical, was pleasantly surprised. My husband, who previously viewed the idea with a mixture of amusement and horror, actually enjoyed it. My children, known for their picky eating habits, couldn't stop talking about the "crunchy legs." This experience taught me a valuable lesson: to embrace the unexpected, to step outside of my comfort zone, and to discover the extraordinary in the seemingly ordinary, or in this case, the extraordinary in the undeniably extraordinary.

Cooking deep-fried tarantulas became more than just a culinary experiment; it became a symbol of embracing new experiences and challenging my perceptions. It was a testament to the power of curiosity and the boundless possibilities that lie in stepping outside the familiar. Who knew my kitchen could be the scene of such an adventurous culinary escapade?

Step-by-step

    • In a deep saucepan or deep-fat fryer, heat the oil to 350°F.
    • With a sharp knife, sever and discard the abdomens from the two tarantulas. Singe off any of the spider's body hairs with a crème brûlée torch or butane cigarette lighter.
    • Dip each spider into the tempura batter to thoroughly coat. Use a slotted spoon or your hands to make sure each spider is spread-eagled (so to speak) and not clumped together before dropping it into the hot oil.
    • Deep-fry the spiders, one at a time, until the batter is lightly browned, about 1 minute. Remove each spider from the oil and place it on paper towels to drain.
    • Use a sharp knife to cut each spider in two lengthwise. Sprinkle with the paprika and serve. Encourage your guests to try the legs first and, if still hungry, to nibble on the meat-filled mesothorax, avoiding the spider's paired fangs, which are tucked away in the head region.