XI.—RATS AS FOOD.
If you were lunching on something similar in taste to roast partridge, and some one told you, after you had finished, that it was only domestic house rat, your interior machinery would probably be disarranged—to such an extent is the bare mention of the word rat repugnant to our senses and stomachs.
In the course of an experiment, the writer has cooked and boiled rats, and has found that their meat is of a very tender quality, and of a white, inviting appearance, withal, although he never went the length of partaking of it. Our objection to the rat's serving as food is too deeply rooted and profound to be removed, although there are a great many animals whose flesh forms our staple food that have habits much dirtier, and who do not nearly live upon as cleanly a diet (and this is a broad statement) as our despised house rat. From this eulogium we gently but firmly exclude the rat gentry of the sewers. We must give the Chinese credit for having overcome the effete European prejudice against the rat as food. Seemingly, it is the most highly prized dish that the sons of leprosy have in their bill of fare. The crews of the American and English vessels lying in Canton harbor used to amuse themselves greatly in catching a rat, and then holding the kicking animal by the tail so that the Celestials in the junks alongside could get a good view of it. The Mongolians would then get very much excited, utter exclamations of a gobbling, clucking sound, and as soon as the spluttering, frightened rat was flung from the ship an uproarious scramble followed, that made them look like so many monkeys quarreling over a cocoanut.
A writer tell us, in a well-written magazine article, that he has lived fifteen years in China, and has had "experience at public banquets, social dinners, and ordinary meals, in company with all classes of people, but was exceedingly surprised at never having seen cat, dog, or rat served up in any form whatsoever." We are sorry the gentleman neglects to state whether he'd know the difference. The odds are twenty to one that he wouldn't; because, as he knows himself, the Chinese are excellent cooks, and can prepare a good meal from what in other countries would be thought offal. He makes the admission, however, that "there are some peculiar people in China, as well as elsewhere—credulous and superstitious—some of whom believe that the flesh of dogs, cats, and rats, possesses medicinal properties. For instance, some silly women believe that the flesh of rats restores the hair; some believe that dog meat and cat meat renews the blood, and quacks often prescribe it. What the Chinese really do eat does not vary much from that found on American tables; but there are certain dishes not on our programmes that are considered delicacies by everybody—such as edible bird's-nests and sharks' fins." To this we can add conscientiously, and upon weighty private authority—fried split rat, stewed dog, and curried cat with rice. In this place it would be appropriate of us to say something of the peculiarities of Chinese food—of the way the dogs and cats are carefully bred for the palates of the Chinese epicures; how these former animals are invitingly exposed for sale in the marketplaces; and we would willingly describe the methods of the dog and cat breeders, and the manner of curing and cooking the rats—but want of space forbids. We will merely state that there are many cases in which rats were eaten much nearer home than China; but, as the persons undertaking the experiment were slowly starving to death, and would have quickly eaten each other rather than accept the jolly alternative of dying by hunger, these instances are not of a remarkable nature, and are consequently unworthy of note in the present annals.