Many parents struggle to get young children to eat their vegetables, but Beth Xenos has the furthest thing from a picky eater.
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Her 4-year-old son, Pete, has discovered a taste for cicadas.
Xenos, a stay-at-home mom, was driving Pete to preschool when they heard a radio interview about using the emerging periodical cicadas, which have arrived by the billions, as a source of food. Her son paid close attention. They had noticed the hordes of red-eyed flying insects covering the trees in their neighborhood.
About a week later, Pete asked how they could catch some of the bugs to try and cook them. Xenos explained that the insects are slow-moving, so they could scoop them up in a plastic container.
While more than 1 billion people in other parts of the world eat various insects as either a source of protein or as a delicacy, the same can’t be said for the Western palate. Evidence shows that insects were a common part of our ancestors’ diets. So, what changed?
Anthropologists suggest that the aversion to bugs as food stems from different geography, history and cultural norms. In the warm tropics, where bugs thrive, they are larger and more meal-worthy than in temperate zones, where many lie dormant or die in winter. In colder climates, our earliest ancestors relied on animal meat for survival rather than bugs, which were not as accessible. When European colonizers encountered cultures in which eating insects was part of the traditional diet, they saw them as inferior, leading to a long-held stigma against the practice.
These cultural biases are often passed down from parent to child. But that’s not always the case.
When Pete expressed an interest in tasting cicadas, his mom looked up recipes online, and together they collected a few from outside. She boiled them, salted them and offered them with a side of olive oil for dipping. She and her husband watched in disbelief as their son calmly dipped a cicada in the oil and took a bite.
“I was really impressed with him being able to try it,” Xenon said. Pete's parents are proud of his adventurous palate. He will gladly snack on radishes, kalamata olives and dried seaweed.
Pete ate about a dozen cicadas the first time he tried them, and even requested them again the next day.
When I asked him how they taste, he said they are “awesome.”
His endorsement has not convinced his parents or 7-year-old sister to try a cooked cicada. His mom is trying to curb his enthusiasm for eating the bugs. She wants to make sure he doesn't eat too many and get an upset stomach. She might prepare a cicada snack once or twice more while they are in season, so to speak.
“It’s not an everyday thing, for sure,” she said. “It’s a treat.”
Pete’s recommendation hasn’t lessened my personal discomfort -- or, dare I say, disgust -- with the flying bugs. However, his experience is an example of how social norms around food can evolve. At his young age, he hasn’t been as intensely indoctrinated as most of us on the issue of eating bugs. His parents’ supportive response to his curiosity allowed him to try something different without fear of being judged.
Those who advocate for Westerners to get over their bug phobia and be more open to them as an environmentally friendly source of protein point out that tastes can change, citing the history of sushi in America as a prime example. It went from nearly unheard of 50 years ago to completely mainstream today.
It’s questionable whether periodical cicadas could undergo the same cultural shift. For one thing, their life cycle only brings them above ground every 13 or 17 years, limiting most people's exposure to the insects. The negative associations and perceived threats from bugs in general -- especially those that sting and bite -- are far more ingrained and widespread than those against raw fish.
But if cicadas ever do transform from noisy, creepy pests to culinary delights, Pete will be known as an early adopter.