"I'd eat it for $500."
"$500?"
"$500. Maybe $250, if there was sauce."
There wasn't sauce. The item in question was a tarantula, stuck on skewer like a shishkabob, which was, in turn, stuck in a pineapple. It wasn't alone; flanking the tarantula was a charming bouquet of cockroaches. The overall effect was that of an Edible Arrangement from Hell, the type of gift you'd send someone who gave you an STD. The interlocutors were a couple of reporters, who, like me, were spending their evening at the Explorer's Club, daring each other to ingest the sort of thing you find in the shed when you move the broom for the first time in two years.
The Explorer's Club is a members-only affair, which is both understandable and a tremendous shame: The Upper East Side headquarters is a treasure trove of excellent specimens—walk one way and you're in Theodore Roosevelt's former bedroom, walk another and you're face to face with a stuffed sperm whale penis. (Which, for the record, is about the size of a 10-year-old child.) And for one excellent evening, reporters are allowed inside the club's hallowed walls (some of which were brought over on the Mayflower I think?) to learn about the its flagship event: The Dinner.
The Explorer's Club dinner is held at the Waldorf Astoria, but it's not some stuffy affair. (Non-members are welcome to attend, and tickets are still available.) The first dinner was held in the '30s after a couple of folks unearthed a mammoth, which, naturally, they carved up and ate. Chef Gene Rurka, the sinister mind responsible for the elegantly plated dried earth worms and pickled grubs, makes sure that dishes served at the dinner are not only memorable, but haunting: Last year's main course was a 265-pound whole roast ostrich—feathers and all, neck still in the air, appearing for all the world like it would happily peck your eyes out if you didn't eat it first.
Attendees to this year's dinner can expect similarly exotic fare. The menu is crafted partially in the spirit of adventurous eating, yes, but also as a reminder that Westerners' perception of food is skewed terribly from the rest of the world, not to mention wasteful. "Very few of our foods look the way they should," Rurka said. "There's not one bit of waste on those insects." Indeed. Here's a reporter from Serious Eats tucking into a scorpion served on a slice of cucumber:
It's worth noting that the Roach Arrangement was for display only. How did I find that out? I was about 1.5 glasses of wine away from biting into one before Rurka strolled up and noted, offhandedly, that the skewered insects, placed directly next to the plated insects, were not for consumption.
"Oh no, don't eat that," he said before launching into a spirited explanation of the troubles involved with serving a 10-foot python. Because that would be weird.
Whale penis, obviously. (Lauren Evans/Gothamist)
