Cooking camels, ostriches and horses at home

I recently tried giving away a few kilograms of camel meat. Nobody would take it — except for stray cats.

They’re not picky.

I ordered the ungulate meat, which was just too tough to chew, as well as ostrich steaks and eggs, horse flanks and a host of other food products from creatures I didn’t grow up eating from Taobao. Donkey meat, which I adore, is just too expensive. Otherwise, friends from Qinghai province sometimes mail me yak meat, yogurt and butter.

I was getting bored with just cooking beef, chicken, pork and mutton. Some of my pals call this my “weird-meat” phase. But I point out “weird” is relative. As such, I dislike the word “exotic” in general.

For instance, a few friends were discussing my newfound interest, when a pal from South Africa pointed out that ostrich foodstuffs are common there. And camel, likewise, is sometimes even roasted whole in places like the Middle East — although there are barely any recipes on YouTube.

Venison fills most freezers where I grew up in the rural United States. Hunting is such a part of life in Michigan’s countryside that, when I was young, the first day of deer season was an official school holiday, since many older boys in particular wouldn’t show up to class. Yet I’d never tasted mutton or duck before arriving in China, although they’re typical fare in much of the world.

During my 15 years in China, I’ve also dined on many things that’d be considered “unusual” in the West. I’ve enjoyed many of these. But I could especially go without sea cucumbers and silkworms. Oh, and river snails. I was actually a vegetarian for five years before a person put a plate of these boiled mollusks in front of me in my first days in the country.

I hated them. But I choked them down out of politeness.

That said, what started with a desire to be courteous to Chinese hosts soon blossomed into an adoration of meat in general, and especially how it’s prepared in Chinese cuisine.

Cultural and individual tastes truly are relative. For instance, a friend from Wuxi, where I savored a local snake soup, said she couldn’t imagine trying it, let alone liking it. And while I’ve feasted on rabbit heads in China, my wife’s student was a bit taken back when he told her, “I have a rabbit in my dorm”, and her response was, “I have one in our freezer”.

I’ve even extended this experimentation to plant-based “meats”. One night, I did a blind taste test in which I fried both a beef and a Beyond-brand burger.

I strongly suspect the fake meat wouldn’t fool anyone. At all. I ended up tossing it. I also had to throw out the ostrich egg because my son dropped it on our rug.

“And all the king’s horses …” I thought. The contents of an ostrich egg are equivalent to two-dozen chicken eggs. And their thick shells usually mean they need to be chiseled, sawed or hammered open. A drop from a sufficient height does the trick, too, it seems.

I did cook a bit of the yolk that was caught in the shell and hadn’t touched the floor. (Scrambled, of course.) It tasted paradoxically bland, yet gamey, and was conspicuously whiter than that of a chicken, duck, goose or quail egg. We put a plate of each side by side for comparison.

I’ve yet to cook the ostrich steaks, which — despite coming from a bird — are red meat.

Indeed, I’ve enjoyed this experimentation. That said, my most recent meat order was for beef, chicken, pork and mutton.

Erik Nilsson Second Thoughts